Friday: Free For All
Feb. 18th, 2011 02:14 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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comment_ficHappy Friday, guys! The weekend is almost here, but you can console yourself with today's Free For All. All fandoms, pairings/characters, and prompts are welcome.
Just please remember to follow all the rules.
No more than 5 prompts in a row, no more than 3 prompts per fandom. If someone answers a prompt you may prompt again.
No spoilers in your prompts for at least 1 week after the original air/publication date. If your response contains spoilers, please warn in bold and leave at least 3 spaces.
Please format your prompts correctly. For example:
Not finding prompts to your liking? Feel free to check out the Lonely Prompts.
Happy writing!
Just please remember to follow all the rules.
No more than 5 prompts in a row, no more than 3 prompts per fandom. If someone answers a prompt you may prompt again.
No spoilers in your prompts for at least 1 week after the original air/publication date. If your response contains spoilers, please warn in bold and leave at least 3 spaces.
Please format your prompts correctly. For example:
Justified, Raylan Givens, things you just don't tell a manNote: Please take the monkeys into consideration when writing your prompt. If the prompt is too long, it becomes very hard to record it properly in the archive. Fics are also meant to be comment sized! If you get very inspired, that's ok, but long detailed prompts deserve long detailed stories, and that's not what we're about. Thank you!
Good Omens/Supernatural, Aziraphale/Castiel, the problem with being angelic
Not finding prompts to your liking? Feel free to check out the Lonely Prompts.
Happy writing!
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no subject
Date: 2011-02-18 08:15 am (UTC)Turkey in the Henhouse, PG, Justified, Raylan
Date: 2011-02-19 06:29 pm (UTC)Winona pretended to sip the bourbon in a plastic cup he'd handed over when she'd arrived; legs crossed and pretty, impractical shoe dangling off her heel like an ambivalent attempt at a white flag.
Everyone had looked at him funny after the divorce, as if they expected that would be the knock that turned him into Arlo. He wasn't his old man and he didn't hurt women. Raylan didn't even blame her. He was a miserable husband who had been dragging her deeper into his dark turn every day. If it would take anything short of eating a bullet, he might look for a way out of his own life.
And Gary was just Winona coping, so he couldn't fault that. The moving back to Harlan County was harder to figure, as was the lingering way she looked at him. He supposed it was her home as much as it was his, even with all the bad things around them.
He'd learned a strange amount of sensitivity as a Marshall. Raylan had learned there were things to say or do that made very little sense or impact, but made a world of difference to a person in trouble. He'd learned how to look at a woman and decide whether her fear was for her fugitive husband getting himself killed, or surviving to get home and beat her. He'd seen a lot of ways to live, and none of them particularly valued shutting up. You could blame the water or the bourbon, but it was Kentucky and free advice was very free.
"I sometimes think I shouldn't have signed the papers," Winona told him softly, shoe snapped back onto her foot as she stood crisply. "I wonder if I'd just held out another half a year we might have made it through to something that would keep us both happy. People assume you did something that I just got fed up with - and I'm a coward because I don't correct them."
She put the plastic cup down as prettily as if it had been crystal, and hurried to the door. Raylan shifted on the bed as if to stand, and Winona's eyes went wide.
"It's okay, I'm just sorry," she said, ducking out quickly.
He would have preferred a dozen solid beatings. She was probably close to crying, and he didn't feel too far off from it. He'd always thought the job, the hours, the danger and the violence was her breaking point; that loving the man underneath all that was what had kept her as long as Winona had stayed. The truth was she left him for everything he was that he had no hope of changing.
Re: Turkey in the Henhouse, PG, Justified, Raylan
From:no subject
Date: 2011-02-18 08:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-18 12:53 pm (UTC)The problem with being angelic under these circumstances, Aziraphale rather thought, was that you couldn't exactly explain to the angel curled up at your shoulder that it was quite alright, you'd done this sort of thing before, with the demon up the road. Not and expect the poor dear to remain calm, anyway. Warrior angels could be so ... judgemental, about things like that.
On the other hand, this particular angel, blue eyes closed in exhaustion and head slumped tiredly against Aziraphale's shoulder ... this angel hadn't seemed very judgemental at all, when he'd come here. When he'd curled in almost fearful longing into Aziraphale's embrace. When he'd watched, with confusion and then a sort of stunned pleasure, as Aziraphale decided to risk it, and show him all the little things Crowley had taught him over the years. Not judgemental at all.
"Is something wrong?" Castiel asked him softly. Eyes still closed, borrowed body loose and sprawled next to Aziraphale's own, wings draped almost haphazardly across them both. Still loose, but with a soft, gentle hum of tension beginning to spill through him. Beginning to bring him back to the fear that had drove him here in the first place. The exhaustion.
And Aziraphale paused to consider that no. The problem with being angelic under these circumstances was not the judgement of a warrior. The problem with being angelic, here and now, with this angel curled against his shoulder ... was that this fallen, battered creature feared him. Feared Aziraphale's judgement, the judgement of an angel not yet fallen, and no matter that Aziraphale had been the one to open his arms, to tug Castiel down and show him all the little wonders of this world. Castiel still feared him, simply because Aziraphale was yet angelic.
Smiling softly, a little sadly, Aziraphale leaned down to drop a kiss to the exhausted angel's forehead, and brush tangled hair gently back. "Not at all, my dear," he murmured softly, and wondered if he shouldn't explain the demon after all. Wondered if he shouldn't explain that, fallen or not, Castiel, like Crowley, had no cause to fear him.
Then Castiel sighed faintly, tension spilling out again once more, burrowing closer into Aziraphale's side, and Aziraphale smiled. No, he decided. Not now. Not just yet.
The problems of being angelic could wait until the morning.
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Date: 2011-02-21 03:58 am (UTC)Elle was leaving. Reid didn’t care if she was resigning or being sacked, the result was the same… she was leaving the team. Leaving the family that they had become.
The thing was, as wrong as what she’d done was, Reid understood why she’d done it. Sometimes he found himself wanting to do something like that himself. Each time he’d managed to turn around and walk away, and each time it became harder and harder to not cross the line.
Sometimes the thought of crossing that line scared Reid out of his mind. The thought of what would happen if he crossed the line, how things would change. Once that line was crossed, you could never go back, and as much as Reid hated to see the criminals get away, he needed the team more.
He just hoped Elle leaving wasn’t going to be the beginning of the end of things as he knew them.
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Date: 2011-02-18 08:29 am (UTC)Like a Horror Movie Cliche, pg13, Puck/Sam
Date: 2011-08-12 03:27 am (UTC)This plan is a total failure. They’re sitting on entirely different cushions on either ends of the couch. It’s not even a small couch. The plan was not to be this far apart by now.
“Dude, you don’t think this is scary?” Puck asks. Sam shrugs.
“Not really,” he says, sighing and leaning back against the arm rest. “I kinda grew up on the hardcore horror stuff. My dad loves it- I saw ‘The Exorcist’ when I was like, nine, and when I didn’t have nightmares for a week mom took me to a kid psychiatrist.”
Puck frowns. He’d been too busy thinking about getting laid, and Sam, and getting laid with Sam to consider Sam’s horror tolerance when he came up with this plan. Then again, most plans that start with “find Sam” and end with “get laid” at the end tend to have weird and/or unexpected things in the middle in order to get from Point A to Point B.
He’s mostly thinking about how he can fix this plan in order to still get to Point B, i.e. boning Sam, which is why he doesn’t really think about what he says next when he probably should have.
“See, thing is, I thought you’d freaked and be, like, climbing me by now.”
Sam snorts.
“Dude, not a chick.”
The girl on screen gives a particularly terrified scream, and Puck winces. Basically comparing your maybe almost a boyfriend a chick is probably not a good way to get him to bone you. He glances at Sam, and is relieved to see he doesn’t look particularly mad.
“Dude, did you invite me over to your house for a horror movie marathon to try and lure me into your lap?”
Puck can practically hear himself blushing.
“Let’s just watch the movie.”
And now Sam’s grinning at him. Puck pretends to pay attention to whatever the annoying chick in the movie is screaming about now.
“You know, something?” Sam says suddenly. “I don’t even like horror movies.” Great. Fucking great. Now not only is he not going to get laid, Sam’s probably going to leave and he’ll never get laid again. “I only said I’d come because you seemed really excited about it. I mean, I thought you were gonna make a party of it, invite over some of the other Glee guys or something. I was kinda surprised when it was just me here.”
And then he feels a hand slide around the back of his neck, fingers catching in his Mohawk and oh. When Puck looks over Sam’s face is a lot closer than it used to be, but not close enough. He tries not to stare at Sam’s lips, but they’re kinda big and kinda right there and fuck it, he can feel his IQ dropping.
“So, not a horror and gore kind of guy?” Puck manages to ask.
Sam hmms, fingers scratching idly. Puck shivers a bit. Sam’s lips quirk in response.
“Nope. Not enough spaceships.”
“Or blue people,” Puck adds.
Sam laughs and presses forward and Puck goes with it, lets himself be guided to lie down on the couch, Sam coming forward to kneel between his legs. Puck’s hands come up to grip Sam’s hips, helping him keep his balance.
“You know, you coulda just asked,” Sam says. Puck gives the closest thing to a shrug that he can manage in this position. He’s not actually very good at asking Sam for what he wants yet. There’s a lot he wants from Sam.
“Still worked, didn’t it?” he says, trying to lean forward for a kiss. Sam pulls back just far enough where Puck can’t reach. Tease. He’ll pay for that later. Except then Sam lowers himself down to his elbows, letting more of his weight settle onto Puck. Puck tries not to groan, because he kinda likes being held down like this, and Sam is at least half-hard in his jeans. This is so working out for him.
“Wanna make out?”
Always go with a classic, Puck thinks as Sam coaxes his mouth open. It really doesn’t take much coaxing.
In the background Freddie Krueger probably dies or something. Puck really doesn’t care.
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Date: 2011-02-18 10:59 am (UTC)where grows the tree, from hence how far? - PG, gennish
Date: 2011-02-22 12:56 am (UTC)Lucifer saw beauty in the garden, beauty he had not seen since the Fall. Envious and angry, he planned and plotted, and then he spread his darkened, bloody wings and soared upwards from the Pit.
There was a tree in the garden, a tree of knowledge. There were rules in the garden, and a curious creature of innocence and beauty. Such beauty.
He spoke to the creature, asked her questions. She answered, she considered, and she chose to taste.
Father was furious, of course. But Lucifer knew that Father had known and he was content at Father's pain.
The garden was still beautiful, but now forbidden and Lucifer returned to the Pit.
(Much later, Lucifer gazed upon his vessel in wonder. Sam's soul was much like that first curious creature, and Lucifer would be so delighted to have him taste.)
Re: where grows the tree, from hence how far? - PG, gennish
From:Re: where grows the tree, from hence how far? - PG, gennish
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Date: 2011-02-18 11:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-18 11:12 am (UTC)