Tisdag: Lets Get Lovecrafty!

[ravenspear.livejournal.com]

Hello again! This is ravenspear, back for another day of thrilling heroics guest hosting.

On this beautiful Tuesday, we're going to take a walk on the sanity-rending side. That's right, today's theme is Lovecraft! And don't worry, fandoms aren't limited to only H.P. Lovecraft's works, but prompts today have to have a decidedly Lovecraftian flair; dark gods, eldritch horrors, abominations from beyond space and time, and Things That Should Not Be. 

As usual, you have to follow the rules:
♥ No more than five "live" prompts at any time. If someone fills a prompt of yours, you may then prompt again.
♥ No more than three prompts from one fandom at a time.
♥ No spoilers in your prompt until at least one week after the original airing/publication date. If there are spoilers in your fic, warn in bold and leave at least three spaces.


And remember to honor our codemonkey overlords with proper prompt formatting:

Fandom; Character prompt
Fandom; Character/Character; prompt
Fandom/Fandom; Character(s)/Pairing(s); prompt

If you don't find any of the day's prompts to your liking, feel free to head on over to the Lonely Prompts Archive and make someone's day!

[theme tag=lovecraft]

Comments

[ravenspear.livejournal.com]

Alcatraz; team; There is something sleeping beneath Alcatraz. Something that needs to be fed.

[omorka.livejournal.com]

Ghostbusters; Dana; The music she's performing as part of the orchestra for the play's not so bad, but the yellow paper they keep printing it on is giving her a headache - and she can never correctly remember the title . . .

[marbleglove.livejournal.com]

Highlander, any, if they knew what "The Prize" really was, no immortal would fight for it

The Eaters of Souls

[icarus-chained.livejournal.com]

They are the Eaters of Souls, the dark servants of a necromantic god, cursed eternally to a life of predation, of blood and glee and the throes of endless death. Who fall upon each other, and embrace each other, and devour each other without end. Led through dark aeons with the promise of eternal reward, incited to an endless orgy of death by the promise of some brighter thing, they move through time untouchable, and increasingly maddened. In this grip, in this quest, all virtue is madness, all hope the gibbering throes of lunacy. They are led, inexorably, through passages of blood and death and the eating of souls, towards some distant Prize.

And he, or she, who reaches it? They who devour most perfectly of all, who kill most sweetly, who live most ruthlessly, who the mad vagaries of blind fortune favour? They who survive, glutted on the souls of their brothers and the blood of their victims? What shall they see? What shall they gain? What purpose, this perfect Eater of Souls?

In death, power. In sacrifice, power. In the summoning cries of a thousand tormented souls laid in the altar of one breast, one throat, in their severing, in their death ... There shall they meet their god. There shall they see its face. There, in extremity, in perfect savagery, shall they call it forth, and know its nature. There, screaming, they shall be devoured, as once they themselves devoured.

And all the earth behind them shall quake in the terror of their passing.

[marbleglove.livejournal.com]

Good Omens, Aziraphale/Crowley, was one of them supposed to support it, and if so, which of them? Because in the one hand it was a god, but on the other hand it was evil. And vice versa, of course.

Fill, then why call him god?

[hobnailedboots.livejournal.com]

"Better late than never," said Crowley under his breath. His lips had curled back in the sort of smile the lower-downs would expect him to produce after meeting God and finding Him like this. "Right, Aziraphale?"

"Better late. God being dead would have solved the Epicurean conundrum right off the bat. Having him show up and start smiting indiscriminately--" Aziraphale waved a hand at the destruction they could see through the windscreen. "Quite frankly, it's a little embarrassing."

Embarrassing for Aziraphale, yes. Which by default made it a victory for Crowley. A defection from the big man himself? Even better, what if he'd been this way all along? It was glorious.

It was completely incorrect.

God was supposed to be good. God defined good. If God was torturing his creations and hurling them into an abyss rent in the fabric of reality, then where did that leave Crowley? Perhaps he was now a prized member of the heavenly flock. Perhaps Crowley would be praised and Aziraphale damned. But if Crowley's role was to oppose God, and God was a textbook psychopath, did that mean Crowley needed to donate his suits to the charity shop and start taking in strays?

From the frown upon the angel's face, Aziraphale was grappling with similar metaphysical issues. Two tornadoes, five swarms of locusts and one flash flood later - not to mention three plays of Bohemian Rhapsody - Aziraphale turned to him, shrugged, and rubbed at his eyes.

"Ineffable?"

"On the contrary, darling," said Crowley, reversing into another timezone and parking at the beach. "Very effable indeed. Effing inconvenient, that's what. Effing confusing. Gods're supposed to affirm your identity, not subvert it."

"Vodka?"

"Please."

[nevcolleil.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, any,
Bunch together a group of people deliberately chosen for strong religious feelings, and you have a practical guarantee of dark morbidities expressed in crime, perversion, and insanity.

[nevcolleil.livejournal.com]

SeaQuest, any, But more wonderful than the lore of old men and the lore of books is the secret lore of ocean.

not a fill...

[mizz_destiny]

and now I want some holographic!Professor+Crowley interaction. Sheppard family actors FTW!

would you mind?

[ravenspear.livejournal.com]

Any; any; "They'll come for you through the angles. Only curves are safe. Only curves." (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hounds_of_Tindalos)

[jaune-chat.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Dean and Sam, after killing a few pagan gods, they aren't quite as cautious when another "old god" surfaces in a small coastal town.

[elfinmouse.livejournal.com]

Thor, Loki, When falling between the branches, Loki meets something ancient and learns things best forgotten.

Nidhoggr

[icarus-chained.livejournal.com]

He lands from his falling mad. Of course he does, he must, he cannot not. He lands insane, a shaking thing, furious and desperate. He lands in search of a home, and in his seeking he will never more be merciful. Not now. Not knowing.

There are things, beneath the Bifrost's span. There were reasons for its making, that bright and rainbow bridge. There were worlds of monsters, in its reaching, but none ... Nothing to the monsters beyond. Nothing to the things he saw, in his falling without end.

Beneath the Bifrost. Between the gleaming rivers, the branches, the threaded lanes of Yggdrasil. Beyond, between, beneath. There are gnawing things. There are ancient things. In the roots and the branches and the void. Mindless, hungry, aching things, waiting, waiting, always waiting. He fell between, he walked between, and not, now, nevermore.

He is mad, now. Desperate, now. He must have a home. He must not fall again. He must dig his hands into this Midgard, into this Earth. Or Asgard, or Jotunheim, or anywhere. It does not matter where. He is monstrous, they are monstrous, these worlds carry endless monsters. He will make them.

But not like those. Not like the things beneath. Not like the dragon, gnawing at the roots of the universe. Not like Níðhöggr. Never again that.

He is mad. But there are greater madnesses yet. And he will not, never more, let them touch him.

[ravenspear.livejournal.com]

The Mentalist; Red John (& any); he's a priest, and he does as his gods instruct.

[with-rainfall.livejournal.com]

Silmarillion, any Feanorian, the Everlasting Dark contains more than just darkness

It is a wise father that knows his own child - The Silmarillion - Curufin

[moetushie]

A voice greets him, close and yet far from him. "Curufinwë Atarinkë! Will you accept your summons?"

He struggles against it — feels his lungs shudder, fill with blood, his heart gives one last reluctant beat — he says, "I follow only my father's Oath, in death as in life."

The voice rumbles, unsatisfied. "As you wish."

There is darkness. And there is something moving in the darkness.

He blinks — useless, useless — what is keen Elven-sight when he has no eyes, when there is nothing to see?

That something comes closer.

His pride is abandoned at last, and hope wars with caution.

He calls, “Father?”

It comes to him then, scalding breath and rending teeth.

It is not his father.

Or it has not been, for a long time.

[ravenspear.livejournal.com]

Supernatural; any angel(s); angels need a god, and when they are currently godless, they are not so picky about which one.

[elfinmouse.livejournal.com]

Thor/Avengers, Loki +/ Thor, Frost Giants are considered monsters in Asgard for a reason. Someone manages to seriously wound Thor, and an infuriated Loki stops holding back.

[elfinmouse.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Castiel, SPOILERS>>>>


Once, long ago, humans cowered and ran in terror before Castiel for the horrors he unleashed under heavens orders. Now he's trying to figure out which of the Lucifers is real so he can strike.

[nevcolleil.livejournal.com]

Inception, any, I never ask a man what his business is, for it never interests me. What I ask him about are his thoughts and dreams.

Soft Chains of Dreaming

[icarus-chained.livejournal.com]

One slipped free. In mad despair, in desperate hope, she laid her head upon the rail, her foot upon the ledge. She slipped my chains, and spun herself free into the abyss. Not mine. No more mine. Begging for her love to follow her.

But he, but he. Ah, he. Not so easy, for him. Not so wise, so fierce, so desperate. Not so free. He gave to her the key, doubting in the dreaming, and she used it. But in giving to her, he was left with nothing. Though he clung to her, and held her hand, and gave to her whispering doubts, he could not hold her, and she could not tear him free.

And now. Oh, now. Ask a man about his dreaming. Ask a man what cities he builds, lost Carcosa, inside his head. Ask a man what strangers, what masks, what puppets, he makes to fill their empty streets, when she who loved him is gone, and all that is left to him are nameless cities, and the whispering echoes of my voice. Ask men what they dream. Ask me who they dream of.

The partner, the man, the totem clung to as the world falls shattered past, the false idol of reality that can never, that will never, leave him. The woman, the muse, the whisperer and the maker of mazes, she who leaves him shining threads, and convinces him which world is real, upon whom he places desperate and falsing hope. The potioner, the poisoner, the soft dripping of endless dreaming, the dark eyes in which he sees his endless slide to a limbo he cannot escape. The shapeshifter, the forger, the maker of faces, the dancing kaleidoscope that reminds him that every face is a mask, and every mask a face.

And her, and her. In every corner, in every level. Her echo, her form, her face. The chains, his children, the promise of freedom, her cry. Ever twisted, now. Ever false. Ever echoing.

She slipped her bonds, the woman. She slipped my chains. But he, but he. He never shall.

I never ask a man his business. I ask a man his dreams. And one and the same, regardless ... they fall to me.

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

White Collar, Peter/Neal - Peter'd never take advantage of his power over Neal, never get him alone just to hurt him. Too bad for Neal that the thing that looks like Peter, the thing in Peter's body, isn't really Peter at all.

Fill: the place where the wall meets the floor

[nevcolleil.livejournal.com]

He spotted the differences immediately. The new shape of Peter's smile. Something sharper - more calculating - about his gaze...

Or maybe Neal just sensed it.

"Picking me up at home... You haven't done that in a while. Should I be pleased that I won't have to walk, or worried about why?" Neal asked as Peter pushed open his passenger door and waited for Neal to climb into the car.

"No worries. Just wanted to get us started on this one right away," Peter answered, with a sort of quiet cheer Neal couldn't decipher. Like he'd just heard a joke he was still mulling over; Neal wanted to ask about the punchline.

"Alright. What've we got?"

"I'll tell you about it when we get there. I think you're going to like it."

Neal doubted it. Cases that require such immediate attention that Neal doesn't even have time to check in at the office are rarely likeable, but when Neal frowned Peter just laughed.

And... Neal's hand to god - Peter patted Neal on the thigh.

Not Neal's knee - not that Peter's much of a knee-slapper, either - but his thigh.

"Come on," Peter said. "Don't look at it like that."

"How should I look at it then?"

"As you and me, out there, together, just the two of us. We haven't done that in a while either. It'll be fun! I'm even taking you off the anklet for a little while."

Neal noticed the lack of the words 'on a job' after the word 'together' in Peter's explanation. He might have realized that all of this was very un-Peter-like behavior, except that his pulse had sped up - stupidly - when Peter said "just the two of us", and then sped up again at the memory of Peter's palm resting briefly atop Neal's leg moments earlier. Also, Neal was distracted by the promise of freedom - no matter how limited and temporary.

"Seriously?"

Peter pulled the key out of his pocket and tossed it to Neal. Just like that.

"Take it off," Peter encouraged him. "It'd just get in our way today. Today... the only thing keeping close tabs on you, Neal... is me."

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

White Collar, Peter/Neal/El - El is a vampire, and she wants her boys to be with her forever

[nevcolleil.livejournal.com]

Chuck, Chuck, The most merciful thing in the world... is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

White Collar, Peter/Neal, alien invasion

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

HIMYM, Ted/Barney, Ted can read Barney's thoughts, and realizes Barney's always been in love with him

[nevcolleil.livejournal.com]

Grimm, any, Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.

[classics-lover.livejournal.com]

Thief: The Dark Projest, Garrett, the theft of the Jewels of Sarnath

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

Glee, Kurt/any - the bullying, the abuse, is suddenly just too much; Kurt develops the ability to wreak havoc with the power of his mind (think Carrie) and takes his vengeance on all those who've hurt him, not terribly concerned if his loved ones get caught in the crossfire

[classics-lover.livejournal.com]

Tortall, any, The Kraken (http://www.online-literature.com/poe/930/)

[classics-lover.livejournal.com]

Author's choice, author's choice, discovering a peculiar book (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Necronomicon)

Dead Tomes

[icarus-chained.livejournal.com]

[Not sure if Good Omens is any good to you, but figured I'd go for it. *smiles sheepishly*]

Dead Tomes

"... Angel?" the demon asked, very carefully.

Aziraphale blinked absently, looking up from his stock-taking. "Yes, dear? What ... Crowley! Put that down!"

He stood rapidly, moving to the demon's side and almost slapping the heavy book out of his hands. Crowley let it go handily, in favour of narrowing golden eyes in his direction.

"I thought you'd stopped hunting for that thing," the demon accused, softly, raising one elegantly questioning eyebrow. "Angel, you promised me, after all that fuss in San Francisco in '06."

"That was different," Aziraphale snapped back, dropping the heavy weight of one of the few remaining greek translations of the Necronomicon back onto the table. The tome thudded ominously. "That was the original Arabic copy, al Azif itself. These things are dangerous enough with translations mucking them up and fouling the magics. If someone got the original, untainted ..."

"Yes, I know," Crowley grumped. "That's why I bloody stuck around with you, in an earthquake zone, not to mention the bloody fire, to make sure it was taken care of!" He growled, slapping a hand off the table next to the book. "But this doesn't look like al Azif, does it?" Aziraphale winced guiltily, and Crowley sighed. "Angel ..."

"It's just ... I've been keeping an eye on it since he wrote it," he explained, softly. "I just want to make sure ... well, to keep people from going the way he did."

"Poor sorry bastard," Crowley agreed, gently, but still unimpressed. "Still. Aziraphale."

"I tried to steer him, you know," Aziraphale went on, eyes distant. "Men aren't supposed to look, to see. I tried to at least steer him towards the gentler aspects. But by the time I reached him ... The face of an angel was nothing to fear, by then. And the others ... the poor silly children. I did try, you know. Patriarch Michael, back in Constaninople. Making sure Dee's bloody version never made it to print. You know I hate ruining books, but that bloody stupid man ..."

"No arguments there," the demon said, very softly, reaching out with a wry smile to pat the angel very gently on the shoulder. "Hair-brained bloody Elizabethan. But you have to let this go, angel. So long as Miskatonic and Buenos Aires keep their copies, you're not going to get them all. Once was enough trying to break into those places. We agreed."

"I know," the angel said, slumping tiredly. "I know, dear. But ... there are still the others. I might not be able to ... to stop it utterly, but at least I can hold it back. I can at least ... I can at least try."

And if he'd wheedled, or looked beseeching, or given even the slightest indication that he was playing Crowley, the demon would have shot him down with only a narrowed glare, and nary a blink. But he didn't. Only stared at the floor, one hand resting beside the damned tome, and looked ... vaguely defeated. And Crowley may have been a demon, and a vicious bastard besides, but he did have his limits.

"Just ... be more bloody careful this time, won't you?" he sighed at last, and tried not to feel too much of a warm twinge when the angel offered him a tremulous smile.