Writer's Block: Getting Closer Than Perhaps Expected
Writer's Block Question: Have you ever crushed on your closest friend?
Did you keep it secret, were there problems, or did it blossom into something more?
"What the devil?" Holmes exclaimed, moments before he hit the floor. Watson appeared a split second later. Holmes pulled him to his feet, looking around warily. "What just happened?"
"I don't know," Watson replied, also looking around in confusion. "We were just sitting there, and then... we appeared in this room."
"That's entirely irrational. There must be a logical explaination--some sort of shared hallucination, perhaps?"
"Well, I suppose it's possible, Holmes, but what on earth could trigger it?"
They were interrupted by a popping noise--"Bugger and blast!"--and a dark-haired man in a black designer suit, black trenchcoat and sunglasses landed heavily on the floor next to them. A moment later a blonde man in a white shirt and light overcoat dropped to the floor beside him. Holmes and Watson shared an incredulous glance, then looked back at the newcomers, who were getting to their feet.
"Dear me," said the blonde, looking around with distaste. "There seems to have been some sort of... misunderstanding..."
"Don't be stupid, angel," said the dark one shortly. "Just have a look around." He spotted Holmes and Watson. "Oh, you two got pulled in too?" he asked disinterestedly, as though he was not at all surprised. "Figures. Well, at least we're not the only fandom being targeted."
"Excuse me," said Watson finally, "But who exactly are you?"
The dark haired man stuck out a hand. "The name's Crowley," he said, "Anthony Crowley. And this is my... er, my... well... er." Crowley went from sounding suave and sophisticated to confused and a bit embarassed in a matter of seconds.
"His friend, I suppose you could say," said the blonde. "Although I'm not quite sure if that's allowed, you know; perhaps "counterpart" is a better word. My name's Aziraphale, very pleased to meet you..."
"I'm Doctor Watson, and this is my friend and colleague Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Watson finally, after seeing that Holmes was too busy examining the blank room to respond.
"Oh, excellent!" said Aziraphale happily. "It's good to see some classics appearing in her assortment of fandoms. For a while there I thought she was never going to leave Artemis Fowl, but I'm afraid poor Julius' death rather embittered her towards that series. Strange, how often her favorite characters seem to meet untimely ends. That's the way of the world, I fear."
"You seem to have a firmer grasp of the situation than we do, sir," said Holmes, leaving his study of the room to join them. "Pray tell us, what exactly is going on?"
"Well, you see, it's a bit complicated, but it appears we've been thrust into a crossover of some sort. There's this fangirl, goes by the name of 'The Fool's Hope,' and she must have been given a prompt of some sort that called for us to appear here--although I can't imagine why we're just sitting here. Usually we're put into a story of some kind--"
"Look up, angel," said Crowley grimly. "This isn't a crossover."
"Look up? Whatever do you--Oh dear."
The four of them stared upwards. High over their heads, where the ceiling should be, were the words:
Have you ever crushed on your closest friend?
Did you keep it secret, were there problems, or did it blossom into something more?
"You see?" said Crowley.
"I'm afraid so."
"I don't," said Watson, feeling more confused by the second.
"Neither do I," said Holmes. "If you gentlemen would care to explain--?"
"Well, you see, it's like this," Aziraphale said, dithering slightly (which he had gotten quite good at ever since that little incident with the apocalypse). "This particular fangirl sometimes uses these "Writer's Block" prompts from her "LiveJournal," and just writes whatever they inspire for her fandoms."
"But this prompt--well, it's literally setting her up for slash," said Crowley bitterly.
Holmes and Watson shared a knowing look. "Your fandom too?" Watson asked sympathetically.
"Like you wouldn't believe," said Crowley.
"So as you can see, this prompt can only lead to her writing a slash fic," Aziraphale continued. "And the four of us have ended up here because she has two fandoms in which a pair of closest friends is often targeted for slash."
"We are not friends, Aziraphale," Crowley declared forcefully. "We are just two unlucky beings who have... known each other a long time."
"Yes, yes, whatever you say, dear boy," said Aziraphale in the patient tone of one who has had to deal with the same infuriating person for far too long. "But the point is--The fact that she uses these prompts, and the fact that she writes for these fandoms, means that from this prompt, a slash fic is inevitable; so inevitable that we, the obvious characters, have been pushed prematurely into an empty space, waiting for a story to fill it, as it must. The only problem is--"
"This particular author doesn't write slash," said Crowley shortly.
"Exactly."
"Then why the deuce have we been put here at all?" Holmes exclaimed impatiently. "If she doesn't write slash, she's clearly not going to use the prompt."
"And we should't be involved in a fanfiction in the first place," Watson added.
"You know, that's a good point," said Crowley. "How can we be thrust prematurely into a situation when it's a given that no situation is going to arise?"
Aziraphale suddenly found himself under three curious and quite focused gazes.
"Er... It's all a bit ineffable, I'm afraid," he ventured.
Crowley rolled his eyes, which is unfortunately much less effective behind dark sunglasses. "Come off it, angel. That's just what you say whenever you don't know the answer to something."
Aziraphale's cheeks reddened slightly. "Well, that doesn't make it any less ineffable."
"Only ineffable to you. Not universally ineffable. There's a difference."
"It's not as though you knew the answer either, might I remind you!"
Holmes had been brooding throughout this exchange. "Logic is a wonderful thing at times like this," he said finally.
Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Is it, now? You're telling this to two of the most illogical beings ever created, let me tell you."
Holmes shrugged. "Be that as it may, there are certain facts that cannot be disputed. We have appeared, and are interacting. That speaks of a story. The prompt she was meant to use is the reason we are here interacting. Our conversation could be considered a story, and since this situation is far too fantastic to be a result of anything else, the only conclusion is that she is using the prompt."
"Oh, yes, that sounds quite reasonable," said Crowley with scathing sarcasm. "The only flaw in your reasoning is that we all appear to be fully dressed."
"Really, Crowley!"
"Don't 'really Crowley' me, Aziraphale, you said yourself that the only outcome was slash--"
"Ah, but that is not necessarily so," said Holmes with a knowing smile. "She is using the prompt, but in a way that was not expected."
Realization dawned behind Watson's eyes. "Holmes! You mean--"
"Precisely. She is using us to poke fun at what would seem the obvious outcome of this rather unfortunate prompt."
Aziraphale's eyes widened. "This very conversation," he blurted.
Crowley stared. "So she did put us all here? Just so we would talk about the prompt?"
"It appears to be the case."
"Right." Crowley stood and glared upwards (and even through sunglasses, Crowley's glare was a force to be reckoned with.) "Here, you! I don't care how bored you are, I don't care that you don't have another prompt! You can bloody well put us back in our respective universes, because I've had enough!"
"Come now, dear boy, there is such a thing as asking politely--Excuse me?" Aziraphale called up. "If you wouldn't mind, there really are some things I should be getting back to... I think that's true for all of us, in fact..."
"Bugger your politeness--Just put us back, or you'll be called out of the bath by telemarketers every day for a month! I'm not messing around," he said in response to Aziraphale's cringe. "You have to be firm with these people." He glared upwards again. "And I'll see to it that they mispronounce your name!"
A/N: *sigh* I guess you're probably right. It's gone on long enough.
"Why is it--now are we dreaming or something?"
"No, it's just an author's note, she always does them in italics. So you'll end this now?"
A/N: No worries. Just a bit more, to wrap it up and stuff. You know how it is.
"Oh, certainly," said Aziraphale. He turned to Holmes and Watson. "Well, it's been a pleasure meeting you gentlemen," he said, smiling and extending a hand. "I daresay any future crossovers are unlikely, but I suppose it's possible we'll be seeing each other again."
"Let's hope not," Crowley grumbled. "I've had quite enough of all this--being hauled to various universes without so much as a "beg pardon, but I'm about to screw with your life for a while, do you mind?" Let's just get out of here." He thumped the wall impatiently. "What's taking so long?"
A/N: Just adding closure. I can't just break off a fic without warning, you know. Gimme a couple more lines.
"Well, hurry it up." He put a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder and turned to Holmes and Watson. "Nice meeting you," he said. Something seemed to occur to him suddenly, and he grinned at Aziraphale. "See, I told you it wasn't ineffable!" he exclaimed, and they both vanished.
Watson stared at where they had been for a couple seconds. "What strange people," he said finally, for the sake of saying anything at all.
Holmes nodded. "In the words of Shakespeare, 'there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' Though I doubt even he dreamt of anything quite so extraordinary." He smiled suddenly. "It's been a remarkable experience though, hasn't it, old fellow?"
"It certainly has, Holmes," Watson agreed. "But I sincerely hope her next prompt is a better one."
And then they too vanished.
A/N: ...Well, that was weird.
LOL! That was enormous fun! Now if only I my muse would come back so that I could work on the CHAS AU challenge fic I've been trying to write for days...
Did you keep it secret, were there problems, or did it blossom into something more?
"What the devil?" Holmes exclaimed, moments before he hit the floor. Watson appeared a split second later. Holmes pulled him to his feet, looking around warily. "What just happened?"
"I don't know," Watson replied, also looking around in confusion. "We were just sitting there, and then... we appeared in this room."
"That's entirely irrational. There must be a logical explaination--some sort of shared hallucination, perhaps?"
"Well, I suppose it's possible, Holmes, but what on earth could trigger it?"
They were interrupted by a popping noise--"Bugger and blast!"--and a dark-haired man in a black designer suit, black trenchcoat and sunglasses landed heavily on the floor next to them. A moment later a blonde man in a white shirt and light overcoat dropped to the floor beside him. Holmes and Watson shared an incredulous glance, then looked back at the newcomers, who were getting to their feet.
"Dear me," said the blonde, looking around with distaste. "There seems to have been some sort of... misunderstanding..."
"Don't be stupid, angel," said the dark one shortly. "Just have a look around." He spotted Holmes and Watson. "Oh, you two got pulled in too?" he asked disinterestedly, as though he was not at all surprised. "Figures. Well, at least we're not the only fandom being targeted."
"Excuse me," said Watson finally, "But who exactly are you?"
The dark haired man stuck out a hand. "The name's Crowley," he said, "Anthony Crowley. And this is my... er, my... well... er." Crowley went from sounding suave and sophisticated to confused and a bit embarassed in a matter of seconds.
"His friend, I suppose you could say," said the blonde. "Although I'm not quite sure if that's allowed, you know; perhaps "counterpart" is a better word. My name's Aziraphale, very pleased to meet you..."
"I'm Doctor Watson, and this is my friend and colleague Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Watson finally, after seeing that Holmes was too busy examining the blank room to respond.
"Oh, excellent!" said Aziraphale happily. "It's good to see some classics appearing in her assortment of fandoms. For a while there I thought she was never going to leave Artemis Fowl, but I'm afraid poor Julius' death rather embittered her towards that series. Strange, how often her favorite characters seem to meet untimely ends. That's the way of the world, I fear."
"You seem to have a firmer grasp of the situation than we do, sir," said Holmes, leaving his study of the room to join them. "Pray tell us, what exactly is going on?"
"Well, you see, it's a bit complicated, but it appears we've been thrust into a crossover of some sort. There's this fangirl, goes by the name of 'The Fool's Hope,' and she must have been given a prompt of some sort that called for us to appear here--although I can't imagine why we're just sitting here. Usually we're put into a story of some kind--"
"Look up, angel," said Crowley grimly. "This isn't a crossover."
"Look up? Whatever do you--Oh dear."
The four of them stared upwards. High over their heads, where the ceiling should be, were the words:
Have you ever crushed on your closest friend?
Did you keep it secret, were there problems, or did it blossom into something more?
"You see?" said Crowley.
"I'm afraid so."
"I don't," said Watson, feeling more confused by the second.
"Neither do I," said Holmes. "If you gentlemen would care to explain--?"
"Well, you see, it's like this," Aziraphale said, dithering slightly (which he had gotten quite good at ever since that little incident with the apocalypse). "This particular fangirl sometimes uses these "Writer's Block" prompts from her "LiveJournal," and just writes whatever they inspire for her fandoms."
"But this prompt--well, it's literally setting her up for slash," said Crowley bitterly.
Holmes and Watson shared a knowing look. "Your fandom too?" Watson asked sympathetically.
"Like you wouldn't believe," said Crowley.
"So as you can see, this prompt can only lead to her writing a slash fic," Aziraphale continued. "And the four of us have ended up here because she has two fandoms in which a pair of closest friends is often targeted for slash."
"We are not friends, Aziraphale," Crowley declared forcefully. "We are just two unlucky beings who have... known each other a long time."
"Yes, yes, whatever you say, dear boy," said Aziraphale in the patient tone of one who has had to deal with the same infuriating person for far too long. "But the point is--The fact that she uses these prompts, and the fact that she writes for these fandoms, means that from this prompt, a slash fic is inevitable; so inevitable that we, the obvious characters, have been pushed prematurely into an empty space, waiting for a story to fill it, as it must. The only problem is--"
"This particular author doesn't write slash," said Crowley shortly.
"Exactly."
"Then why the deuce have we been put here at all?" Holmes exclaimed impatiently. "If she doesn't write slash, she's clearly not going to use the prompt."
"And we should't be involved in a fanfiction in the first place," Watson added.
"You know, that's a good point," said Crowley. "How can we be thrust prematurely into a situation when it's a given that no situation is going to arise?"
Aziraphale suddenly found himself under three curious and quite focused gazes.
"Er... It's all a bit ineffable, I'm afraid," he ventured.
Crowley rolled his eyes, which is unfortunately much less effective behind dark sunglasses. "Come off it, angel. That's just what you say whenever you don't know the answer to something."
Aziraphale's cheeks reddened slightly. "Well, that doesn't make it any less ineffable."
"Only ineffable to you. Not universally ineffable. There's a difference."
"It's not as though you knew the answer either, might I remind you!"
Holmes had been brooding throughout this exchange. "Logic is a wonderful thing at times like this," he said finally.
Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Is it, now? You're telling this to two of the most illogical beings ever created, let me tell you."
Holmes shrugged. "Be that as it may, there are certain facts that cannot be disputed. We have appeared, and are interacting. That speaks of a story. The prompt she was meant to use is the reason we are here interacting. Our conversation could be considered a story, and since this situation is far too fantastic to be a result of anything else, the only conclusion is that she is using the prompt."
"Oh, yes, that sounds quite reasonable," said Crowley with scathing sarcasm. "The only flaw in your reasoning is that we all appear to be fully dressed."
"Really, Crowley!"
"Don't 'really Crowley' me, Aziraphale, you said yourself that the only outcome was slash--"
"Ah, but that is not necessarily so," said Holmes with a knowing smile. "She is using the prompt, but in a way that was not expected."
Realization dawned behind Watson's eyes. "Holmes! You mean--"
"Precisely. She is using us to poke fun at what would seem the obvious outcome of this rather unfortunate prompt."
Aziraphale's eyes widened. "This very conversation," he blurted.
Crowley stared. "So she did put us all here? Just so we would talk about the prompt?"
"It appears to be the case."
"Right." Crowley stood and glared upwards (and even through sunglasses, Crowley's glare was a force to be reckoned with.) "Here, you! I don't care how bored you are, I don't care that you don't have another prompt! You can bloody well put us back in our respective universes, because I've had enough!"
"Come now, dear boy, there is such a thing as asking politely--Excuse me?" Aziraphale called up. "If you wouldn't mind, there really are some things I should be getting back to... I think that's true for all of us, in fact..."
"Bugger your politeness--Just put us back, or you'll be called out of the bath by telemarketers every day for a month! I'm not messing around," he said in response to Aziraphale's cringe. "You have to be firm with these people." He glared upwards again. "And I'll see to it that they mispronounce your name!"
A/N: *sigh* I guess you're probably right. It's gone on long enough.
"Why is it--now are we dreaming or something?"
"No, it's just an author's note, she always does them in italics. So you'll end this now?"
A/N: No worries. Just a bit more, to wrap it up and stuff. You know how it is.
"Oh, certainly," said Aziraphale. He turned to Holmes and Watson. "Well, it's been a pleasure meeting you gentlemen," he said, smiling and extending a hand. "I daresay any future crossovers are unlikely, but I suppose it's possible we'll be seeing each other again."
"Let's hope not," Crowley grumbled. "I've had quite enough of all this--being hauled to various universes without so much as a "beg pardon, but I'm about to screw with your life for a while, do you mind?" Let's just get out of here." He thumped the wall impatiently. "What's taking so long?"
A/N: Just adding closure. I can't just break off a fic without warning, you know. Gimme a couple more lines.
"Well, hurry it up." He put a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder and turned to Holmes and Watson. "Nice meeting you," he said. Something seemed to occur to him suddenly, and he grinned at Aziraphale. "See, I told you it wasn't ineffable!" he exclaimed, and they both vanished.
Watson stared at where they had been for a couple seconds. "What strange people," he said finally, for the sake of saying anything at all.
Holmes nodded. "In the words of Shakespeare, 'there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' Though I doubt even he dreamt of anything quite so extraordinary." He smiled suddenly. "It's been a remarkable experience though, hasn't it, old fellow?"
"It certainly has, Holmes," Watson agreed. "But I sincerely hope her next prompt is a better one."
And then they too vanished.
A/N: ...Well, that was weird.
LOL! That was enormous fun! Now if only I my muse would come back so that I could work on the CHAS AU challenge fic I've been trying to write for days...