Because I just realised I never posted it, and it is juuust long enough to warrant doing so, a comment drabble (which really became more of a ficlet) that I wrote for genarti back in... March. Oops.

(Further O'Brian-flavoured tidbits to be found here. Warning: insanity.)

The prompt: Aubreyad folks meet waterbenders.

scuba soph: The problem with Aubreyad drabbles: a character can't even tie his shoelaces in a hundred words.
ravelfic: heeeee
ravelfic: true

( Untitled Aubreyad/Avatar crossover. Sort of. [Rated J for Jack's Puns, and U for Unbeta'd] )

Okay, the bulk of today is for writing up find/artefact descriptions for an index, and some gentle editing of Ch. 1. This is not brain-numbing in a bad way, but that isn't to say that I won't need periodic entertainment. So, with the usual caveats about completion: drabble requests! But, to mix things up a bit and because I had terrible amounts of fun with the last ones, I am especially looking for crossover requests. Give me two or more canons (or characters from said canons, or 'character A in universe B', etc.), and I will cross them over. If you're feeling adventurous, include a prompt as well - anything from a word or a scenario to a song lyric or picture/icon.

As usual, you guys more or less know my fandoms, and if you know I've read/seen/am familiar via osmosis with something, I'm willing to take a swing at it. If I can't, or if I don't know a requested canon/character at all, I'll let you know, and you can ask for summat else.

Cool?

Cool.

Ahahaha, okay. Attempting to collate orgy of Red Cross ficathon stuff from past two nights, mainly so I can force people to go read some MAGNIFICENT riffs on them by certain co-conspirators. By fandom, then.

( Rome [Marc Antony] )

( Rome/Good Omens )

( Good Omens/Aubreyad )

( Aubreyad/PotC; or, The Case of the Problematic Natives )

A heads-up: bookshop's Red Cross ficathon is open again, until 10pm EST tonight. The deal: for every 100 words of fic posted in the comments, bookshop will donate $1 (up to a total of $100) to this Red Cross drive, where every dollar raised this week will be matched by a local business. So far, $78.40 worth of fic has been written - that's 2,160 words left to go.

Alternatively, for every $1 you donate to the campaign, you get 100 words of fic from bookshop based on a prompt of your choosing.

So if anybody has any mojo left over from writing porn drabbles all day yesterday and/or is brimming over with fandomly creativity after striking against LJ for a WHOLE DAY, this would be a good place to dump it. Just sayin'!

ETA: Which it is I wrote moar, though am unsure if they are long enough to bother reposting. Rome and Rome/GO, respectively.

Move along, move along! Just reposting Red Cross charity ficlet (GO DO THIS WHEN IT OPENS UP AGAIN) here for neatness. Look ma! Actually archiving things and using tags as they were intended by God!

( Untitled snippet, Aubreyad/*ahem* crossover. )

"You are to consider that a certain melancholy and often a certain irascibility accompany advancing age: indeed, it might be said that advancing age equals ill-temper. On reaching the middle years a man perceives that he is no longer able to do certain things, that what looks he may have had are deserting him, that he has a ponderous great belly, and that however he may yet burn he is no longer attractive to women; and he rebels. Fortitude, resignation and philosophy are of more value than any pills, red, white or blue."

"Stephen, surely you would never consider me middle-aged, would you?"

"Navigators are notoriously short-lived, and for them middle-age comes sooner than for quiet abstemious country gentlemen. Jack, you have led as unhealthy a life as can well be imagined, perpetually exposed to the falling damps, often wet to the skin, called up at all hours of the night by that infernal bell. You have been wounded the Dear knows how many times, and you have been cruelly overworked. No wonder your hair is grey."

"My hair is not grey. It is a very becoming buttercup-yellow."

Jack wore his hair long, clubbed and tied with a broad black bow. Stephen plucked the bow loose and brought the far end of plait round before his eyes.

"Well I'm damned," said Jack, looking at it in the sunlight. "Well I'm damned; you are quite right. There are several grey hairs... scores of grey hairs. It is positively grizzled, like a badger-pie. I had never noticed."

Six bells.

"Will I tell you something more cheerful?" asked Stephen.

"Please do," said Jack, looking up from his queue with that singularly sweet smile Stephen had known from their earliest acquaintance.




THESE BOOKS DO SUCH TERRIBLE THINGS TO MY HEART.

Also, I wrote a thing (related). I know, try not to die of shock. To which point: you should all go fic for charity as well.

Ummmm. I wrote this too fast, too late at night, and skdjfdsl I have to go to class now, but Holly made me post it. Originally an AU of Holly's AU of Fahye's AU, but now apparently a sequel to 2522 and Rematch.

Drabble!

Over the centuries, there are only so many hobbies one can find to occupy oneself between temptations. The skydiving had been fun, if a little deja vu. But the hunting had been distinctly... unsavoury, and if Crowley were to be perfectly honest with himself, he'd have to admit that the cloudwatching may have just been an excuse to lay on the beach all summer. At any rate, this time around, Crowley was learning to cook. Or trying to, at any rate. His general method consisted of letting the recipe book fall open on a random page, conjuring up the ingredients, and mixing them together haphazardly until he inevitably got distracted. He'd started out with something simple - a summer salad. Only then Aziraphael had dropped by, and they'd wound up re-working their theories concerning the forbidden fruit. And when he'd been about to paint the honey glazing on the ham, the angel had showed up again. Aziraphael had been very distracted by the honey.

Oh well. If at first you don't succeed, wasn't that how the saying went? Crowley reached for the recipe book, balanced it on its spine, and let it fall open. Profiteroles. Crowley grinned, and began to whip the cream.