Tuesday: Messy

[marlex.livejournal.com]

Hello, everyone. I’m marlex and today's theme is messy. No matter how hard we try, things can get messy, so today's prompts can be anything about the literal or figurative messes we find ourselves in.


The rules still haven't changed:
No more than five prompts in a row.
No more than three prompts in the same fandom.
No spoilers in prompts.
If your fill contains spoilers, warn and leave plenty of space.

Prompts should be formatted as follows:
Fandom, Character+/Character, Prompt

Some examples to get the ball rolling...
Fullmetal Alchemist, Ed/Winry, he knew he really should have tried hard to stifle his laughter when Winry tripped and fell in the mud puddle
Harry Potter, Trio + Ginny + any, Harry never knew how intense a wizarding foodfight could get
any, any, life is messy

Not feeling any of today’s prompts? Visit the lonely prompt archive and brighten someone’s day. For more recent prompts to write, you can also use LJ’s advanced search options to limit keyword results to only comments in this community.

Comments

[marlex.livejournal.com]

Fullmetal Alchemist, Ed/Winry, he knew he really should have tried hard to stifle his laughter when Winry tripped and fell in the mud puddle

[marlex.livejournal.com]

Harry Potter, Trio + Ginny + any, Harry never knew how intense a wizarding foodfight could get

[marlex.livejournal.com]

any, any, life is messy

Fill: Musketeers (BBC), Aramis + Athos, Spoilers for Episode Six 1/2

[sasha-b.livejournal.com]

Aramis wants to stay and watch Agnes walk away - he knows she's got plenty of money and will be safe (he hopes; he'd never forgive himself if she wasn't) - but the others are ready and his own mount is chomping at the bit.

The pissy misty rain wets his hair and he finally claps his hat back on his head, the feathers bedraggled (which annoys him), his coat damp and his skin goose-pimpling from the dank air. He watches until she is almost out of sight, the darkness of her hood finally obscuring her bright hair.

Sixteen? And you've never loved again?

He rolls lips inward and turns his horse on Porthos' impatient shout, wheeling the animal about, heading over the hill and away from … something he's not sure what might have been.

*

He's really drunk.

Not just tipsy or what he considers comfortably numb, but drunk enough that the walls of the tavern they're in (their regular haunt) are melting and he puts his hand out to catch the ugly paint as it flows, sparkling and muddy, through his glove covered hands. He smiles at it, but then frowns as it won't stay still enough for him to catch.

He picks up his goblet and snarls at Athos, who's stopped him being able to lift it. The other musketeer's face is smooth and unfeeling as it almost always is (although Aramis remembers the night at the derelict chateau rather well) but Aramis, in his haze, thinks he might detect something of a -

"Enough." Athos takes the cup from him, and secrets it someplace Aramis can't see. His snarl turns into a low growl, and he stands, wavering, the melting walls melting sideways now and reaches for the disappeared cup. Athos puts his hand on Aramis' shoulder, and he stops swaying. The crackling of the fire in the tavern is suddenly way too loud and Aramis pushes past the other man; his sword and musket heavy at his waist, threatening to drag him down. His hat he carries in his hand - he attempt to put it on - managing at last, but he has the feeling it's cockeyed. Well, that's a new fashion he can take credit for. Another one.

[marlex.livejournal.com]

Leverage, any, they all had messy pasts

Leverage Fill: One Big Happy Mess

[scribblemyname]

"You know why you took so long to join us?" Hardison gestured at Nate with his soda.

"You joined me," Nate reminded him. "You all asked me."

Eliot nodded. "That aside."

"Here's my theory," Hardison went on as if he hadn't been interrupted. "You couldn't be a thief until you had a messy past."

"No, no." Sophie held up a finger. "Growing up with Jimmy Ford was messy."

"I'm just saying. Until you started drinking, man, and totally screwed up your life"—Nate groaned at that—"with the divorce and the living in your car and going broke, you weren't a thief, you know? Am I right, Parker?" Hardison turned to his girlfriend.

Parker was staring in fierce concentration at his latest robolock, about halfway through cracking it. She looked up, clearly caught out, and nodded. "Uh, yeah. Wait... What?"

"Is that my lock you're breaking? Tell me that's not my lock you're breaking."

Eliot put his head in his hand. "Oh, please."

"It's not your lock." Parker shook her head vigorously.

Nate hid his grin behind his hand while Hardison complained loudly in a long stream of admonition while he tried to wrangle it back from her. Parker held the lock out of his reach.

Sophie interjected with, "I'm fairly certain I've seen him working on it. That is definitely Hardison's lock."

"He said to tell him it wasn't!" Parker took off for the stairs, Hardison in pursuit.

Nate chuckled and lifted his glass. "So much for that theory."

[marlex.livejournal.com]

any, any, how do you find anything in this mess?

X-Men Fill: What Are Brothers For?

[scribblemyname]

"How do you find anything in this mess?" Rogue demanded as she stared at the catastrophe of a living room Remy had dragged her into.

"It's not usually a mess," he commented. He surveyed the room more thoroughly than she had, but she couldn't be sure if the slight disgust on his face was meant for her or the room.

She went fishing. "How does that make it better?"

Remy looked amused. "Didn't say that it did, chère." He started moving then, weaving his way around stacks of books and equipment to unerringly fish a stack of papers from the middle of a heap of odds and ends on the couch. He brandished the paper. "This be it."

Rogue stared at him. He'd found the file he wanted in all of five seconds flat. "How did you do that, swamp rat?"

"Mon frère's in town." Remy shrugged and flipped through the papers, scanning for something. "There's a method to his madness."

"I heard that!" an aggrieved masculine voice sounded from the back bedroom with a distinctive Cajun accent that matched Remy's. Clearly, the brother.

"Y' mad, Henri," Remy yelled back. "We just put up with you anyway."

Some more mutterings and cussing in French, then Henri appeared in the doorway and ran a sharp gaze over Rogue. Had to be a Thief thing.

"Hi," she said dryly.

"This your girl?" Henri asked, aiming the question at Remy.

Rogue snapped back, "No," swiped the papers from Remy, and stalked toward the front door.

"A regular spitfire, ain't she?" were the last words she heard before the door slammed behind her.

[evil-little-dog.livejournal.com]

Fullmetal Alchemist, Risembool kids, Mud fight

[evil-little-dog.livejournal.com]

Any, Any+Any, This is another fine mess you've gotten us into.

[evil-little-dog.livejournal.com]

BtVS, Buffy, Another outfit ruined by messy demon goo

Fill (sometime in Season Two)

[foxstarreh.livejournal.com]

“It was so disgusting,” says Buffy as they enter the library. Her nose wrinkles in distaste. “The thing was, like, this”—she spreads her arms out wide—“big, half stabby porcupine, sea urchin—sea urchins are the stabby ones, right?”

Willow nods.

“Half oozing gooball, and half mould. Half of the goo was mould, but also still gooey,” she clarifies when Willow opens her mouth with an interjecting ‘ah…’ “And look,” she rolls up the sleeves of the sweater she’s wearing despite the heat to display her arms to Willow and to Xander and Cordelia sitting at the table. Her skin is covered in small but very noticeable red slashes, like she’d barely won a battle with a particularly grumpy cactus. “What am I going to tell my mom if she notices? It’s not like we have a cat I can blame it on.” She rolls her sleeves back down and sighs. “Can I blame it on your cat?” she asks Xander.

He shrugs. “I always do.”

“And I’m not even to the worst part. The thing shredded my halter and then it melted.”

“The demon?” asks Willow, eyes wide from her intense listening and mouth tight to show her concentration in following the woes of her friend’s demonic altercation du jour.

“I meant my halter, but, yeah, it did, actually.”

“The same one you were wearing yesterday?” asks Cordelia.

Buffy nods sadly.

“Well, then thank God at least one good thing came out of that.”

When Willow and Buffy turn to face the cheerleader, Xander hastily tries his best to cover. “No, she means, you know, at least it was… only the halter and… No, I got nothing.”

Cordelia rolls her eyes. “I mean, now you don’t have to wear it to make your mom or whoever gave it to you as a lousy present feel better, which is the only reason I can figure out for why you ever even put that thing on in the first place.”

Buffy glares, indignant and still mourning the loss of her outfit.

“What?” asks Cordelia. She looks to Xander and Willow for support. “Oh, come on, you were all thinking it.”

“No,” Xander says, “actually I was going to ask where she got it so I could get one for myself, but then I thought that might make me look to much like a sheep.”

“Whatever,” says Cordelia. “All this just goes to prove what I’ve been saying this whole time. The dry cleaning is definitely the worst part of this whole gig.”

“Aside from, you know, the constant threat of death and all the lies and everything,” says Willow.

But Buffy is nodding glumly even as she does and she sinks into one of the seats at the table across from Xander, her chin in her hand. “I’m really, really starting to agree.”

[falkner]

any, any, blood everywhere

Red Red Red (Twilight, an immortal child)

[rett-chan.livejournal.com]

The little red-eyed child giggles and claps and jumps into a red puddle. Splosh. She jumps again and again. Splosh. Splosh.

Her family says that she shouldn't make a mess or waste food, but she likes jumping in puddles and she's full anyway. The sound of a heartbeat reaches her ears ba-dum ba-dum and maybe she isn't all full up after all. She smiles wide and skips towards the sound.

There's a man lying on the ground, pretending to be dead. Such a silly man. He's very pretty with red on his skin and in his hair. Red is her favourite colour out of all the colours that ever were. She wishes that she had red hair - not orange, either, but real red - but all she has is boring brown hair. At least her eyes are red.

She sits down next to the man and licks up some of the blood. His eyes fly open and he yells, he really is bad at playing dead. She laughs and grabs his arm so that he won't run away, and then she bites. It tastes good and makes her throat feel better.

He cries out and struggles, but she's much stronger than any silly human who can't even play properly. Soon she can't hear a heartbeat anymore, so she lets him go and jumps into another red puddle. Splosh. She wants to jump in every single one before they turn dry and brown and boring.

[falkner]

any, any, cleaning a messy room and finding things that bring back old memories

[tigriswolf]

Avengers movieverse/Despicable Me, team + the girls, on-a-quest-to-rediscover-himself!Bucky finds the girls and decides to clean up Miss Hattie’s School

(because dear god that place was awful)

[tigriswolf]

Avengers movieverse, Bucky/Steve, Bonnie&Clyde syndrome

fill

[likewinning.livejournal.com]

--

one day the water's gonna wash it away.

The first time they lock Bucky up he and Steve are sixteen. The cops keep him over night, just to give him a scare, but they let him out early the next morning – they know Bucky's dad is gone, they're all sure he's just a good kid caught in the wrong situation. One of the cops slips Bucky a couple dollars and tells him to buy himself something to eat – he doesn't have to steal.

Bucky doesn't bother to explain he wasn't stealing for himself.

When he gets out of the police station, Steve is outside on the steps. Steve's been there all night. He looks tired, and cold, and he's shaking a little when Bucky puts his arm around him and starts to walk with him, but there's this look on his face like he's never been so happy to see Bucky.

"You didn't have to do that for me," he leans up to tell Bucky, when they're blocks from the police station and he's stopped shaking so much.

But he's grinning a little, like he doesn't exactly mind.

Bucky is more careful the next time. He steals more than they need, and a cop chases him three blocks, but they don't catch him – and Steve laughs, nervous and happy, when he sees what Bucky brought.

He should stop, but he won't. Not until Steve tells him.

When they're seventeen, he pulls Steve out of a fight and Steve's bleeding and Bucky wants to kill the guy that did it, but he lets him go this time. This time. The guy runs off, and Bucky ruffles Steve's hair, kisses the top of his head and asks, "Hey, you want to go for a ride?"

Steve keeping watch, Bucky shows him how to hotwire a car. They take it for miles, speeding from Flatbush straight up to Williamsburg with the windows rolled all the way down to beat the summer heat. The drive until the gas runs out, and then they hop the turnstile and take the train back home. Steve is laughing and breathing too hard, loving every second of it.

They're twenty when they kill a man.

Not they – he.

Steve is there; Steve is always there, but it's Bucky who sticks the knife in, Bucky who steals the light out of someone else's eyes. Steve cleans the blood off of him in the bathroom of a café miles from their shitty apartment, and he's saying, "I can't believe you did that, you didn't have to do that," all in a rush but he can't keep his hands off Bucky, can't keep the excitement out of his voice.

The mess of blood cleaned off Bucky's hands, Steve tugs him down until they're face to face and says again, "You didn't have to do that."

Bucky doesn't bother telling Steve he didn't do it for himself. And it's still not stop.

He's not sure it'll ever be that.

[tigriswolf]

Teen Wolf (TV), Peter + Stiles, manus manum lavat


(Latin for hand washes hand

[tigriswolf]

Political Animals, TJ, breaking the habit

fill

[likewinning.livejournal.com]

He doesn't know how he got this way.

He can blame his parents to a point. Any kids thrown into the White House, thrown into the spotlight, are bound to come out a little messed up. Double when your dad's been cheating on your mom since seemingly the beginning of time, triple when you figure out you're gay under the scrutiny of everyone.

But Doug's always been. Okay. So TJ can't blame the rest of his family for everything.

And he knows he used to be. Different. Everyone's always telling him what a happy kid he was, laughing and joyful, full of light. These days, TJ can't even remember what light feels like. He can't remember anything but the weight on his back, deep in his heart. He can't remember anything but the blackness that keeps him angry and sad, keeps him pushing everyone away who wants to help him.

He's pushed himself away.

Booze, weed, coke, pills. They're all different names for the same symptom, escape routes same as east, south, north, west. He has pushed himself as far as he can go, and when he wakes up in the morning (late afternoon), he is still right there, despite all efforts to disappear.

But TJ is tired. Tired of the way people talk to him, like he'll break under their hands. Tired of finding himself in strange apartments at 3AM with powder under his nose and his skull feeling ready to explode.

When he checks himself into rehab that first time, he doesn't tell anyone - not even Dougie. He knows Dougie would want to drive him there, would want to tell him he's doing the right thing.

He knows just those words would make him start another fight.

So he doesn't say a word. He disappears, but this time into clean sheets and counselors. He prays that it will be enough, the way nothing has been in years.

[tigriswolf]

Justified, author’s choice, a Harlan where Raylan never came back

(I'm picking up season 3 later today, so no spoilers, please!)

[nanoks.livejournal.com]

Supernatural: Wee!chesters, Baby Sammy got into the toy chest and pulled out every single toy, making a mess. But Dean can’t be mad at him because the only reason Sammy did it was so he could reach his favorite toy at the bottom so he could give his favorite toy to his big brother Dean.

[sasha-b.livejournal.com]

Musketeers (BBC), Athos (+ OT3), mess and destruction wherever he goes

[sasha-b.livejournal.com]

Pacific Rim, Raleigh/+ Mako, nothing is clean anymore

[sasha-b.livejournal.com]

XMFC (or DOFP), Erik/Charles, Charles is secretly messy

[daria234.livejournal.com]

Hank, Logan, and Erik returned from their mission to find the mansion a mess. Scattered on the floor were days-old bowls half full of cereal, pillows, crumpled up pieces of paper, and various bongs.

"What the hell is this?" Logan said.

"I told you Charles is a mess when no one's around," Erik sighed, starting to clean up as if it were second nature to him.

"We thought you meant metaphorically," Hank said.

"What a dirty hippie," Logan muttered under his breath, and then a metal pan smacked him in the back of the head.

"Dick," Logan said, throwing a wooden bookend at him.

"Guys, stop making the mess worse," Hank said.

They all started picking up the floor, then, until Charles came out of his room and said, "Why are you cleaning? Don't you have anything better to do?"

Erik looked at the others and said, "You see what I deal with?"

[scribblemyname]

MCU, Clint/Natasha, contrary to popular belief, he's the clean/neat one after the discipline of the military and she's the one who lives in organized chaos

fluff, fluff, all the fluff *hee*

[tigriswolf]

For a very long time, Natasha doesn’t have 'things.'

As a child, she has a small room which is truly a cleverly disguised cell, one set of clothes, fresh toiletries as needed (that she never chose for herself), and a new file every week. (When she is not on missions, those files are how she counted.)

When she burns her masters behind her, she chooses not to acquire ‘things’ because they are traceable. Because they are pointless. Because they are weight she can ill-afford to carry.

She has weapons and that is all.

Until Clint Barton.

.

Clint leaves little things in Natasha’s quarters: baubles he finds on missions, music he thinks she should try, books that she might enjoy. She stares at the baubles, listens to the music, and reads the books, and then –

She keeps them all, hidden away in her quarters where they will be safe. When Clint finds himself a safehouse away from SHIELD, Natasha’s treasures slowly migrate there. (She does not trust SHIELD, of course not. She trusts herself. She trusts Clint.)

Clint keeps his own things put away neatly. When she leaves her belongings spread out over his territory, he lets it lie. They are the only two ever there, so it doesn’t matter.

.

She does not think about it.

.

“I am shocked, shocked I tell you,” Stark prattles as he weaves his way through Clint’s front room. “The mess! The horror!”

Everything is in its place; she and Clint could both get through it blindfolded. She ignores the sense of satisfaction she gets from surveying the realm: her books scattered across the floor besides the couch, four different iPods charging at the wall, cords tangled together; yesterday’s clothes on the back of the armchair and her cat curled up on the shirt; Clint’s dog, half-on and half-off his bed, toys spread haphazardly around; DVDs piled next to the bookcase; and Clint himself, half asleep with his head on her lap as she reads the worst trashy romance she can find. Or, well, was reading, till Tony Stark barged his way in.

She sighs, lowering the book. Clint stares up at her, resignedly. “What are you doin’ here, Stark?” he mumbles.

“Inviting you to the clubhouse!” Stark announces, presenting them with two embossed invitations. “We’ve already got a Hulk, and I think two master assassins are just what we need.”

“No,” Natasha says, raising her book.

“No?” Stark repeats. “No?”

“Shall I say it in Latin?” she asks. Clint snickers.

Clint’s dog finally realizes there’s a stranger and lunges to his feet with a howl. Of course, that wakes the cat, who hisses and flees to the bedroom.

This time, it’s Clint who sighs.

[scribblemyname]

Leverage, any, "Would you clean up this mess?" "Define 'mess.'"

[scribblemyname]

any, any, she doesn't like relationships because they always seem to get messy

MCU/AoS

[daria234.livejournal.com]

Maria likes Melinda's mother. She really does. But it's a little annoying when they're all having coffee and Mrs. May says, "Why don't you find someone to settle down with, Maria?"

"Mom," Melinda said, annoyance in her voice.

Maria just smiled politely and changed the subject.

Truthfully, what were her options?

Everyone who wasn't an agent just... didn't understand her life. At all. No point in building something that's a lie.

And agents... well, they're not exactly well adjusted. As a group.

Not to mention the ones that are intimidated by her.

And then there are the ones who aren't intimidated by anything, ever. The ones who leap in front of bullets and jump off buildings. Steve and Natasha and Clint and too many others.

Maria wouldn't be able to stand the stress.

Fury and Coulson were both good catches, but Coulson wasn't into women and Fury was her boss, and also currently involved with Coulson. So they were both out.

It wasn't until after coffee was done and Melinda's mother had left, when Melinda had apologized, that Maria realized what her question was really about.

"I'm so sorry, Maria. My mother is just, like, constantly trying to fix me up with people. It's so embarrassing."

Maria paused. "She was trying to ... hm."

"What?"

"I don't suppose that if we ever dated that there's any chance you'd go back to your desk job so I wouldn't have to have a heart attack every time you went out in the field, is there?"

Melinda smiled and cocked an eyebrow. "Are you asking me out?"

"Yes."

"Then yes. To going out. No to going back to the desk job."

Maria sighed. "All right. But this is probably going to be very messy."

Melinda just smirked and eyed her body with a quick up and down. "That's okay. I like making a mess of things."

[scribblemyname]

Roswell, Maria, Hurricane DeLuca is in the house

[scribblemyname]

any, any thief, work habits breed a clean room: it's never safe to leave a trace

[icarus-chained.livejournal.com]

The Musketeers (2014), Author's Choice (though Aramis and/or Richelieu would be awesome), Vampire/Demon Hunter AU: Lava Quod Est Sordium