comment_fic | Scary Stories Wednesday!

truthwritaslies.livejournal.com posting in

Hello, everyone. I’m

truthwritaslies and today's theme is Scary Stories. Prompts can be anything scary.

Just a few rules:
No more than five prompts in a row.
No more than three prompts in the same fandom.
Use the character's full names and fandom's full name for ease adding to the Lonely Prompts spreadsheet.
No spoilers in prompts for a month after airing, or use the spoiler cut option found here.
If your fill contains spoilers, warn and leave plenty of space, or use the spoiler cut.
If there are possible triggers in your story, please warn for them in the subject line!

Prompts should be formatted as follows: [Use the character's full names and fandom's full name]
Fandom, Character +/ Character, Prompt

Some examples to get the ball rolling...
Any, Any+/ Any, (Demonic) Possession is 9/10ths of the law.
Any Star Trek, Any non-human, They're fine with all the "campfire tales" the humans like to tell.... Except Tailypo
American Gods, Hinzelmann, It never occured to him that he had become the very monster that had made him.

We use AO3 to bookmark filled prompts. If you fill a prompt and post it to AO3 please add it to the Bite Sized Bits of Fic from 2017 collection. See further notes on this new option here.

Not feeling any of today’s prompts? Check out Lonely Prompts Spreadsheet 1 (not very current), Lonely Prompts Spreadsheet 2, or the Calendar Archives, or for more recent prompts, you can use LJ's advanced search options to find prompts to request and/or fill.

While the Lonely Prompts Spreadsheets and LJ's advanced search options are available, bookmarking the links of prompts you like might work better for searching for in the future.

tag=Scary Stories

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

truthwritaslies.livejournal.com

Any, Any+/ Any, (Demonic) Possession is 9/10ths of the law.

From:

truthwritaslies.livejournal.com

Any Star Trek, Any non-human, They're fine with all the "campfire tales" the humans like to tell.... Except Tailypo

From:

truthwritaslies.livejournal.com

American Gods, Hinzelmann, It never occured to him that he had become the very monster that had made him.

From:

aivix.livejournal.com

Stargate: Atlantis, John Sheppard/Rodney McKay, Serial killer.

From:

tigriswolf

inception/Supernatural, team + brothers, their minds are terrifying

From:

nevcolleil.livejournal.com

Sometimes The Monsters Are Inside of Us (Sometimes They Win)

For the record, Eames didn't approve of Dom's taking this job without conferring with him first (not that Dom ever conferrs with him first - but he bloody well should.)

Eames knew they couldn't trust the smarmy bloke who hired them, and recon turned up all sorts of fun little facts about their targets - like a history of grave desecration... Entire towns turning bloody; people disappearing or going starkers en masse. Grave desecration. (Eames isn't letting that go. Killing, Eames knows. He can understand. Messing with the dead is just nasty.) He wanted no part of this.

"You made me hire you, Eames," Dom might protest, but-

As one they dodge bits of exploding zombie and carry on as though there aren't more bits of jaw bone - and what looks like a tibia - now scattered amongst the rest of the gore coating every surface, even here behind their barricade.

"I told you we didn't need a forger on this one!" Dom shouts to be heard over the growls of the invisible beasties they've managed to hold off (so far) thanks to a bit of fancy architecture a la Ariadne. She's still twisting the landscape of this hell they've landed themselves in, in order to contain those monsters, but Eames can't look back to see how she's doing.

Arthur is on that side of the barricade, picking off bloodsuckers from a distance with a rifle on one arm, swinging a machete to behead the vamps who get too close with another. If he even catches Eames looking concerned in his direction, Arthur had said, "one more fucking time, Eames, so help me god-"

"You're welcome!" Eames tells Dom, refocusing his concentration on the undead battering their end of things in waves.

From:

nevcolleil.livejournal.com

Honestly, Eames is almost glad for the army of nightmare creatures descending upon them... he'll take a lopsided battle with big bad made-up things over the little girl in the blood-stained party dress they left on Usef's level... Or the meat hooks.

Eames is going to dream of those meat hooks for months. And he hasn't dreamed in over a decade.

That is, he's glad until the creatures begin to dwindle in number and some stop attacking altogether. Outside of the dreamscape, killing off all of the predators clamoring to get a little nibble out of you is a positive development - but down here...

"What the fuck now?" Eames hears Arthur mutter when he notices the deluge letting up as well.

They're all so tense he can feel it - wonders if their target can, for all that what they've seen so far hasn't been the least bit militarized. (Too disorganized for that - meaning these "boys" their client, Mr. Crowley, sent them after haven't been trained; their brains are just this awful and destructive naturally.)

The team draws together in unspoken agreement, backs to one another and weapons lowered but ready. They are, to the last man (and woman), blood-stained, bleeding and ragged; wild-eyed and grim.

"You've been using that word an awful lot lately, haven't you, Arthur?" Eames teases quietly, stepping closer to Arthur's side so as not to be as readily heard by Dom and Ariadne, who are themselves chatting quietly. He just fought an army of zombies. He can brave taking a piss when the mood calls for it, nevermind Arthur's tragic inability to appreciate his good humor when they aren't both covered in the entrails of mythical dangers and their own blood.

Arthur raises one brow at him and nudges a severed head out of his path with the tip of one shoe, as if to say, 'Well.... obviously.'

Eames grins. "I'm only saying, you ought to be careful with talk like that," he says, knowing the joke to be a stretch - but in their gory context, he'll take what he can get. "Someone might get the impression that you've been thinking about fucking more than is common lately."

He can tease about their near encounter of several evenings ago (he won't call it a rejection; Arthur didn't reject him. He wasn't making a serious pass at the man, only... gathering intel as to the likely success of one... So.)

Eames can even convince himself that he 's fine with the scathing laugh, the half-fond eyeroll he's most likely to get for his comedic trouble. ('s better than Arthur not being fond at all, isn't it?)

But that's not what happens. Arthur looks at him - just looks, no defensive glare, no scathing blank stare. His lips twitch, almost as if he might like to smile, except he sighs somewhat sadly instead.

(Eames will try and interpret that later. Right now his mind is stuck on the almost-smile. 'Of all the bloody-' he thinks, bemused and unforgivably fond himself - of course Arthur would have the time of his life besieged by demons...)

"Well, denying it hasn't exactly kept you out of trouble," Arthur remarks, so casually that it takes Eames a moment to realize-

Oh.

Oh, he is going to murder this little shit! Right after he shags him senseless... and perhaps (certaintly) vows his eternal devotion.

And then some bastard in a trenchcoat appears directly behind Arthur and drops him with a single touch to his head.

In the immediacy and surprise of the action, Eames even forgets that it isn't real for a second - that this is a dream and there's no such thing as a death touch. He feels a pain so sharp in his chest, he actually looks to see if he's been stabbed, and then Dom's shouting again behind him, fingertips graze his forehead, and there's nothing.

From:

nevcolleil.livejournal.com

It's a day for realizations, apparently.

And not those of the insignificant type.

Angels are real - yes, that is a significant realization. As is that most of the nightmare creatures they saw in the head of one Dean Winchester are, in fact, real and exist outside of peoples' minds. Eames could have lived a long, happy life not knowing that - he thinks.

But, most importantly (to Eames, in any case) Arthur is not as invulnerable to Eames's many charms as the blighted, beautiful, psychopathic pointman had seemingly wanted him to believe.

"Say it again, darling," Eames asks, not at all ashamed to milk this particular revealation for all of the joy and goodwill that is to be had from it.

Arthur groans so loudly, the neighbors must think they've started on another round.

Honestly. They thump on the wall and everything.

"Oy, I've got stamina, but now you're just being silly!" Eames yells loud enough to be heard next door.

"I've created a monster," Arthur says, in his usual scathing voice, but he's almost-smiling again, face soft and body relaxed, at odds with his knee-jerk reaction to Eames being cocky, so Eames only nips him a little with his teeth as he turns over and snuggles in.

"Dear God, no more talk of monsters, please!" Eames mumbles into Arthur's skin, knowing in the way that Arthur stills, just momentarily, that they're going to be talking a lot more about monsters eventually.

He'd seen Dean and Dom exchanging numbers, but he hadn't known if they'd been discussing business or pleasure.

Content at Arthur's side, Eames hopes generously for both.

"Let's talk about how much you-"

"I'm not saying it again, Eames," Arthur says firmly, but the 'right now' is fairly audible.

"Well, if you won't say it, then I won't say it," Eames warns, rubbing at the corners of Arthur's lips before a frown can even begin there. "Which, you knows, means only one thing."

There's that look of half-fondness Eames had been resigned to settling for - enjoying it, greedy, even now that he's gotten so much more; has been promised so much more, not just aloud.

"What?" Arthur dares ask.

"I'm just going to have to show you," Eames gloats, with his wickedest grin.

Let the neighbors thump their hearts out.

From:

tigriswolf

This is wonderful! Thank you!

From:

ami-ven.livejournal.com

Supernatural, Sam and/or Dean, they are surprisingly terrible at telling scary campfire stories

From:

vanillafluffy.livejournal.com

MCU, The Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes is a nice guy. The Winter Soldier is scary AF.

From:

evil-little-dog.livejournal.com

Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Gentlemen, If Sunnydale won't do, they can go somewhere else...

From:

evil-little-dog.livejournal.com

Lucifer (tv), Lucifer Morningstar+Any, Taking a taxi? The horrors.

From:

jdl71.livejournal.com

"Take a taxi? Surely you must be joking. I'm the Devil, detective just" He didn't get to finish his thought. Lucifer looked at his phone in disbelief. Not only had the detective hung up on him, she had the audacity to refuse to pick them up. She had told him to take a taxi. Was that even a thing anymore? Realistically he knew they existed, but he wasn't one to "hail a cab."

"What did Decker say? Is she on her way?" Lucifer turned to Maze still stunned from his exchange with Chloe. " No, she said to take a taxi!" He huffed out. Maze's features hardened at his response.

"She what? Did you tell her I was with you?" Maze had her hands on her hips, one foot tapping in annoyance. "I didn't get to. She hung up on me."

Maze set her lips into a thin line, trying to decide what to do. The car they were in had broken down, needing to be towed and stranding them in the heart of the city. After very little debate, Maze stood at the edge of the sidewalk, arm in the air, leg jutted out. Lucifer watched her through narrowed eyes. "What are you doing?" She threw him a look of irritation, not answering him. A few cars sped by before a taxi appeared, stopping in front of them. Maze threw a smug look at Lucifer before sliding into the back seat. Lucifer followed, awe struck. "Who knew that would work?"

The driver looked at them through the rear view mirror. "Where to?"

Leaning forward, Lucifer answered. "First and Main. Just look for the police cars."

The taxi lurched forward, causing Lucifer to steady himself against the window. He withdrew his hand. A look of disgust on his face as he rubbed his fingers, feeling the grime on his skin. He looked a Maze. She had a look of horror on her face. Her feet were hovering over several food wrappers. "Is this some sort of punishment humans go through for not maintaining their cars?"

Lucifer took a breath, then wished he hadn't. He tried to roll the window down, only to find that the handle was missing. "Try your window, Maze." The window only lowered an inch, before stopping. She pulled her hand away, feeling a stickiness on her fingertips. The smell of stale air, smoke and body odor wafted from everywhere. Maze gagged. "What is that smell?"

Lucifer cocked an eyebrow at her. "I have a feeling you don't want to know." The taxi weaved in and out of the lanes, stopping and starting in jerking motions. Maybe walking would have been a better idea. So what if the crime scene was fifteen miles away?

The taxi came to a quick stop in front of the address. The brakes squealed in protest. "That's $22.50." They both fought to get out of the taxi as quickly as they could. Lucifer reached into his pocket, retreating his money. He threw a fifty at the driver. "Keep the change. You might want to fire bomb that tin can."

Turning to Maze, he looked at her and then down at himself. "We're going to need several showers to feel clean again. I for one will be setting fire to my clothes." Maze looked at him, anger flashed in her eyes. "Don't ever make me do that again."

From:

evil-little-dog.livejournal.com

This is hysterical! Thank you for such a great story.

From:

jdl71.livejournal.com

You're so welcome. I'm glad you liked it. I had fun writing it.

From:

withasmile87.livejournal.com

The Flash, Caitlin Snow/Joe West, Not another ghost story

From:

helsinkibaby.livejournal.com

"Here you are."

Joe's voice registered his surprise and Caitlin looked over her shoulder at him as he stepped into their bedroom and closed the door behind him. "You ok?" Crossing the room, he lay down on the bed behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist - or what was left of it, at any rate - and tucking his legs in behind hers. He propped himself up on his other elbow so that he was able to look down at her and while it might have been straining Caitlin's neck to keep looking back at him, she figured it was less trouble than trying to turn to face him, so she'd do it for as long as she could.

"Just tired," she told him honestly. And then, also honestly, "A little fed up."

Joe grinned, which wasn't exactly the response she was expecting. "Which is why I came up here... Wally's looking for you."

Caitlin closed her eyes, deciding that it was better than rolling them, which had been her first instinct. "Don't tell me," she groaned. "Another ghost story?"

Joe's chuckle was deep and amused as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, his fingers tracing patterns on her swollen stomach. "And this one's super scary, allegedly," he told her. "He's convinced it's going to do the trick."

"Just because it worked for his old room-mate's aunt does not mean ghost stories are an effective way of inducing labour." She'd pointed that out, more than once but it hadn't stopped Wally.

"What can I say, the kid's really excited about becoming a big brother." Joe flattened his hand over her navel. "Besides, you've tried everything else... walking, that yoga ball, spicy food..."

The memory of the spiciest chilli she'd ever eaten was enough to make Caitlin wince, all the more so since it had turned out to be in vain. Seven days past her due date, ridiculously uncomfortable, she was more than ready for this child to be born. "I'm blaming you for this," she grumbled, as her neck finally gave up the ghost and she laid her head back down against the pillow. "What is it you keep saying about the West family and its stubborn genes?"

"Sorry." Except he didn't sound it and she huffed an unamused laugh against her pillow.

"You know..." He spoke after a moment and as he did, his hand resumed its movement. This time, however, instead of idle patterns, there was a purpose to the motion - even without being able to see his face, Caitlin was familiar enough with Joe's touch to be able to tell the difference. "There is one thing we haven't tried..." His hand slid down lower as his lips found what he knew to be a particularly sensitive part of her neck and she sucked in a sharp breath.

"I'm not so sure there's any empirical evidence to support-" she began but she could hear the strain in her own voice and when his hand merely ghosted between her legs, the spike of desire that ripped through her had her biting her lip to stop a moan from escaping. He had the grace not to laugh aloud but she felt him shake with amusement against her back. Then again, as she pushed against him, she felt something else that maybe made her think it wasn't just amusement that made him shake. "I'm the size of a small planet," she managed as his hand, warm and determined, made its way under her shirt. "How can you still want me?"

He did chuckle at that. "Sweetheart," he said, voice low, "I will always want you."

Then, pushing up her shirt, pushing down her yoga pants, he proceeded to provide her with more than enough empirical evidence to prove that point.

And at five in the morning, when she woke him up with the words, "I think it's time," there was more than enough empirical evidence to prove his former point too.