Torsdag: Rarepairs

[ravenspear.livejournal.com]

Good way-too-late-in-the-afternoon! I'm still ravenspear, guest hosting for grate justice.

Today is Thursday (yay, almost weekend!), and today our theme is going to be Rarepairs. No popular pairings allowed, so show your favorite rare- and crackpairings some love. <3

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=rarepairs]

Comments

Fill: Libera nos a malo - part 2

[terryh-nyan.livejournal.com]

– Oh, c’mon. It’s not polite to keep your eyes closed at the movie theater –

And, with these words, he moves one hand towards you, tracing the borders of your eyelid with his thumb, setting fire to each eyelash. It hurts.

It hurts so bad you can barely grind your teeth together in time, before the pain comes at waves and makes you scream. And still, you keep them shut. Because what awaits outside the reassuring darkness of your eyelids is far, far worse.

Until he opens his mouth, you stay that way, clenching fists in the white sheets of the bed.

But then he does it again.

It’s a faint touch, so phantom you could as well have imagined it – yeah, actually… –. He brushes his lips on your earlobe as he speaks, and the problem it’s not the fact that they’re colder than anything you’ve ever felt, anything in this world or any other; it’s your Grace. It’s the way it leans into the touch in awe like a purring cat, like the creature beside you is the most desirable blessing in the whole universe. It’s so horrible your eyes startle open before you know it; and there he is, closer than he should, closer than anyone should – anyone but one.

One you can’t afford to think about, not now.

– Now, that’s good. Be a good boy and sit tight, little brother. The movie is starting –

And if that sentence alone wasn’t yet enough to give you the chills, what happens next totally complies.

The room goes dark and a scream arises from the TV. A familiar voice cries out in pain, calls, hisses, through the blood and through the knives.

Stop.

A mutilated hand reaches forward as the walls start to melt, and so does the screen. You can’t take your eyes off the scene. You can’t take your eyes off his.

Suffering, dried, begging, a look that shouldn’t ever be on anybody’s face, that shouldn’t be on that face, not anymore, at least.

He prays to his torturer to put the blade down. He looks at him with something in those green eyes that makes you shiver hard, something that’s not repulsion, not fury, not hate.

It’s faith.

Make it stop.

His voice calls out again. Not to “Sam”, not to “Bobby”, not to “dad”, not to “someone, please”. Not to God, either – it never did that, not even in the Pit.

It calls you.

– Cass. Cass, man, please, wake up. This is not you. I know you’re still in there. Fight it, Cass, please, I-- –

And there, in front of him, silencing him with another deep cut of the angel blade – there’s you.

– No. That’s not true. That never happened – you breathe, gaze fixed on the blood that spills from the wound, on the smile on your other self’s face while he slices, pierces, breaks.

You glance at Lucifer with an expression of pure terror and hate. But he just looks back with slight surprise.

– Don’t you remember, Castiel? You did this. When you tried to steal Daddy’s wheel –

His voice is low and serious.

– It didn’t happen – your head shakes, but so does your conviction. Lucifer always seems so honest when he speaks. It doesn’t help reminding yourself that he’s the freaking devil, that he lies, that he’s inside your head and will take your worst memories and fears just to use them all against you.

And he looks so concerned about your words.

– But it did, little brother. You did this to him. To your precious Dean Winchester –

– I would never –

– No, maybe you wouldn’t – he concedes. – But you weren’t really “you” at the time, remember, Castiel? You were a billion monsters’ souls plus the Leviathans. It’s hard to admit, you know, but I think you even surpassed me, back then –

And if those words are meant to flatter you, they truly don’t.

– Look at him, little brother. Look at how hard he tries to snap you out. Look at how much he trusts you, even with your sword down his throat –

You physically can’t look away. Your eyes are chained. You can do nothing but watch as Dean chokes on his own blood and his own prayers once, twice, so many times you can’t count them all.