Miércoles de M. - Running with Scissors (Sharp Thiings)

[leni-ba.livejournal.com]

It's leni_ba reporting for duty at 2:30am. Today your mission is to do what every grown-up told you not to do when you were little - probably after you were already bleeding and crying. (Experience talking? -_- ) Aaaanyway.... Prompts can be anything from the literal (knives and their edges) to the metaphorical (like the sharp tongue of your fav. character). Just have fun, and don't cut yourselves!

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 above mentioned spoiler cut.

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. "I don't think that's sharp enough."
+ Superman (any version). Clark Kent &or/ any. (while under the influence of green kryptonite) "Look, a paper cut!"
+ Firefly. Zöe & River. Teaching each other knife tricks.

We are now using 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 2016 collection. See further notes on this new option here.

Not feeling any of today’s prompts? Check out the just created Lonely Prompts Spreadsheet. 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.

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

Comments

[helsinkibaby.livejournal.com]

Any, any, "What is sharper than a sword?" "The wit of a woman between two men." (Augusta, Lady Gregory)

[daria234.livejournal.com]

The Flash or LoT, Leonard Snart/any male, the sarcasm hurts more than the cold gun or fists

[daria234.livejournal.com]

MCU, any two characters who appeared in CW, regret can be sharp as a knife

Fill, Clint Barton + Wanda Maximoff

[schweinsty.livejournal.com]

"She stays with me," he says when they land.

Steve's lips pinch, but he doesn't say no. He hands over a cell phone and a gym bag packed with cash, weapons, and fake IDs, unless the weight is seriously misleading Clint.

"It'd be safer for you to split up," Scott pipes up from his place, slumped against the wall. Clint thought the guy'd been asleep, but when he looks Scott's squinting at Wanda, eyebrows scrunched up in concern.

"I know," Clint says. "But she stays with me."

Scott shrugs and shuts his eyes again, but his eyebrows straighten out.

Clint forgot, there, that Scott's a father too.

There's no time for bonding now, though. They're six hours out from the prison, which means that pretty much every country in NATO has trained assassins hunting the globe for them.

Wanda hasn't said a word the whole ride. The whole day. She hasn't spoken since they were all strip-searched in the processing room and they put her in a straight jacket. Clint doesn't know why. There's a lot of shit in her past, and he only knows enough about it to know he doesn't know enough to even try to figure it out.

She stands up shaky when he helps her, and he tries to think of the last time he saw her walk around her cell and can't.

Shit.

Steve set them down in Greece, on the beach near the city of Bouzi. Greece is fine. Clint's Greek isn't great, but he did a couple missions there in 07, and he's pretty sure he knows where to find them a safe house before dark.

"Come on."

Wanda follows him out of the plane. She looks like warmed-over shit and her eyes are bloodshot and glazed, but she's holding her hands ready at her side.

Good girl.

Sam waits for them to get well clear before he takes off.

"Village is two miles that way," Clint says, "And it's right out of Agrinio. I know a guy who can set us up."

He puts the gym bag over his shoulder and walks. Wanda follows and doesn't speak.

He knew what it meant when Steve asked him to help. Knew it might mean getting shut up in a very small hole, or dying, or spending the rest of his life on the run and maybe never see his kids again. It was his choice and his decision, and he'd do exactly the same if he had to do it again.

But asking Wanda to get involved? He'd take that back in a heartbeat.

[daria234.livejournal.com]

DCU, Jason Todd/any (crossovers welcome), sharp objects

1 sentence

[tigriswolf]

If you'd just done the right thing and killed that fucker, he thinks, watching Batman prowl the night, but you taught me, Bruce, and if this destroys you... and Batman saves an idiot from a mugging, and a woman from a rapist (but he misses three other muggings, and two attempted rapes (attempted because Jason doesn't let rapists live)), and he thinks, if this destroys you, I won't let it stop me.

[killing-kurare.livejournal.com]

Walking Dead, Any, The first cut is the deepest

[killing-kurare.livejournal.com]

Any, Any, Our love is like a knife, it cuts both ways

Highlander, Kronos/Methos, references to violence/death

[tigriswolf]

"Brother," Kronos proclaims once, standing on a battlefield, "the world is ours. What would you have me do with it?"

Methos laughs, glancing toward the endless horizon, already knowing that Kronos' ambition would be the death of him. "You are a god, Brother," he says, keeping his tone awed instead of mocking. "Do with the world what you will."

Kronos smiles, sure of their eventual conquest, and goes to order Caspian and Silas to begin counting their spoils.

Methos watches, already knowing how it will end, because even if he does want Kronos, to possess and control him, to have all of his attention - he wants to live far more.

(In more millennia than even he could've counted, once, Methos watches Kronos pace around as he plots, and he thinks, oh, Brother, I let you live once.

He still wants Kronos, will always want Kronos. To have the weight of his attention, to have the fire at his beck and call. But fire burns and Methos is not young anymore, to dare think Kronos' ambition can be managed.

I let you live once,, he thinks, and he knows that Kronos has ever misunderstood just what that meant.)

[brumeier.livejournal.com]

Any, Any,

I took it all for granted
But how was I to know
That you'd be letting go

Now it cuts like a knife

poem

[tigriswolf]

i held you so tightly
once
i thought we would never let go

and i know now, years and years on,
only my fingers clung

once we were
once we were something
once i promised forever

my words alone
filled the air

i held on so tightly
my fingers ached
my heart aches now

i held on

and you
silently
in the midnight air
the coldest night of the year

you looked me in the eye
said you were tired of
being held so tight

my fingers ached from my grip
my heart aches

i alone held on

and you
you cut me loose
said we had never been
what i thought

was i blind?
was i deaf?
how did i not see
how did i not hear

i held you so tightly
once

and you let go
you turned away
we were never what i thought
that's all you had to say

years and years on
i still ache
years and years on
i wonder
years and years on
i think of how i held
so tightly to someone
i didn't even know

[brumeier.livejournal.com]

Stargate Atlantis, Rodney McKay, His sharp tongue is learned behavior from his parent(s)

Fill 1/2: Oppie!Verse

[nagi-schwarz.livejournal.com]

“You are so stupid! How the hell are you even still alive?”

As soon as the words were out of Rodney’s mouth, he stopped short, horrified, but the damage was done. Tyler’s expression crumpled, and he turned and ran for his room.

“Rodney,” Cam said tightly, “you can’t talk to him like that.”

Rodney started toward Tyler’s room, but JD caught his wrist. “Give it a few minutes,” he said. “But then you have to fix it.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Rodney said. “I just - it just comes out of my mouth.”

“Why?” Evan asked. “Who taught you that it was okay to talk to people like that?”

“Obviously no one taught me that,” Rodney began.

“You make the scientists on base cry sometimes,” Evan said. “They’re fully functioning adults. Tyler’s a teenager who’s gone through hell.”

John had never believed in changing someone he was dating. Did he sometimes cringe when Rodney let loose at Zelenka or one of the other scientists? Yes. But Zelenka gave it right back, if not in English. And the culture of egotism among scientists meant they insulted each other frequently, gave as good as they got, and either they bucked up or they washed out. Did John think it was the best? No. Did he understand it? Absolutely. He was a soldier. Shared peril meant camaraderie. You didn’t have to like each other, but you had to be equally invested. If you had no skin in the game, you weren’t invested. And Rodney always apologized if he was wrong. Eventually. A little grudgingly.

But John had been in therapy long enough to know that that attitude was probably not healthy (but necessary for routinely saving the Earth from deadly aliens on a regular basis).

And Tyler wasn’t a scientist, didn’t have their same self-confidence and borderline arrogance, and he was a teenager. He was at a power disadvantage and couldn’t - wouldn’t - shout back.

The Science Department of the SGC ran on coffee and screaming matches.

Rodney sighed. “I didn’t mean it.”

“If you didn’t mean it at least a bit, it never even would have entered your thoughts.” Cam’s expression was dark.

“I just -” Rodney scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s reflexive. I - it was how I was raised, all right? My parents fired insults on all cylinders, and if you didn’t want to get yelled at, you excelled. Either you excelled to the point where they stopped yelling at you, or you stopped doing the thing that got you yelled at.”

John sucked in a sharp breath. He knew Evan, JD, and Cam would assume Rodney was referring to things like being too loud while playing or running around and having regular kid fun that disturbed the adults. John knew Rodney was referring to his playing piano and his acting, that he’d excelled at as a youth. Things Rodney had loved. He still loved playing the piano, but he wouldn’t play for anyone but John unless it was karaoke night.

“Welcome to parenting,” JD said quietly, “and that moment when you realize you’re more like your parents than you were ever going to let yourself be.”

Rodney’s brow furrowed. “No. I refuse to be my parents.” He yanked out of JD’s grip.

“Where are you going?” John asked.

“To do what my parents never did.”

“What’s that?” Evan asked.

Rodney called over his shoulder, “Apologize.” Then he knocked on Tyler’s door.

John, Evan, Cam, and JD fell silent, straining to hear. The door opened, there was a murmur of voices, and then silence when the door closed again.

“Think it’ll go okay?” Cam asked.

“Rodney will fix it,” John said. “He’s a good man.”

“That he is.” But Evan looked anxious.

JD winced. “He’s got a sharp tongue on him.”

“He does,” John said, “but he’s learned to be soft.”

Cam raised his eyebrows. “You taught him?”

“No,” John said, more sharply than he’d intended. “It’s not my job to fix Rodney. But he’s softened, over time.”

“Being in love will do that to a man,” JD said wisely, and John couldn’t help but blush a little.

Cam released a breath. “You’re right. It’ll be fine.”

[brumeier.livejournal.com]

Stargate Multiverse, Evan Lorne, Even a kitchen professional can cut himself

Not a fill yet

[nagi-schwarz.livejournal.com]

But I am interested

[nagi-schwarz.livejournal.com]

Stargate SG-1, Jack O'Neill, the sharp knife of a short life

Not a fill

[brumeier.livejournal.com]

But this is giving me thoughts. Can't promise anything, though. I've never written Jack before.

[obsessed-psyco.livejournal.com]

Stargate Sg1; Sam/Jack; She was always the 'sharp' one

[enmuse.livejournal.com]

Scream (tv series), any, standing on the razor edge


((I may have marathoned through every single episode yesterday....))

[enmuse.livejournal.com]

Marvel (any), any, Punny villain names

[enmuse.livejournal.com]

MCU, Natasha Romanov + any, She likes to maintain her knives in the common areas... she's amused by the wary looks cast her way.

[enmuse.livejournal.com]

Haven, any, pain so sharp, steals the breath away

[fresh-brainss.livejournal.com]

Once Upon a Time, Emma Swan + or / Ingrid, broken mirrors

[fresh-brainss.livejournal.com]

Star Wars Original Trilogy, Han Solo + or / Luke Skywalker, sometimes Han's quips and retorts actually bother Luke

[fresh-brainss.livejournal.com]

MCU, Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, keeping a knife under the pillow

[nagi-schwarz.livejournal.com]

Stargate Atlantis, Jeannie Miller, she speaks poniards.

[tigriswolf]

Leverage, Eliot Spencer + author's choice, (no Nate/Eliot, please), people are like knives

like steel, eliot/parker/hardison, pg-13

[raise_the_knife]

A good knife is distinctive; Eliot knows his knives, how they have personalities and feelings because of how they're weighted, how they fit in his hand, the sound they make if he has to sharpen them, the way oil settles into the blade as he cares for them. He knew knives before he knew people, named the ones in his pouch and the ones in his arsenal and learned to tell them apart in the dark, how each wants to be used. He knows how to make them a part of him, if he needs, and without them he's lost, hyperaware and tense.

"Cheer up, grumpyface," Parker says, nudging his upper arm with her shoulder. Parker is steel, never dulled, a solid practical handle, weighted perfectly for flexibility and damage. "It's just a plane." The word silly is unspoken, because she knows him as well, and how flying leaves them both exposed - him without his weapons and her in a confined space with people.

Hardison is a precision scalpel, best used for the purpose hee carved for himself, but good enough in an emergency, a reliable backup, a last line of comfort and defence. "Why couldn't I be the husband?" he grouches. "You two make me sick, with all the touching and the thing and the other thing." He gestures with his hands, and Eliot has no idea what that's meant to mean.
"Is that us?" Parker says, grabbing Eliot's arm and leaning over him to see better. She likes the aisle seats and Hardison always books himself the window, so Eliot is in the middle, again.

"Here," Hardison says. "Stop scaring people with your face." It's not much, a ceramic butterfly knife that had to be imported illegally, but it's as if the coolness of the blade and handle radiates from his hand and spreads through his body, until he can breathe again. He is a machete, capable of wide sweeping damage; he is a scorpion, sharp and deadly; he is the knife in his hand, silent and undetectable until his task is done.

He is whatever they need him to be.

[tigriswolf]

author's choice, author's choice, sarcasm so sharp the air sizzles

[emmatheslayer.livejournal.com]

Shadowhunters, simon Lewis/ Raphael, sharp fangs

[tigriswolf]

author's choice, author's choice, on the edge of a knife

[tigriswolf]

Supernatural, Dean Winchester(/Alistair), pick up the razor

no mercy (dean/alistair + meg), nc-17 (graphic torture)

[raise_the_knife]

Alistair has taken Dean apart and put him back together enough that Dean knows how things work now; the knowledge hums just out of reach, as if he could use it without consciously referring to it, though he's never had the need. A quick kill was good enough, until now.

The knowledge is there, second nature to his hands and he doesn't even think, picking up the razor and holding it to the demon's throat.
"Did you think this would be easy? That I would make it quick?" he says, sliding it over her chest and down to her hip, where it's harder to get the artery, but the blood will still flow. She could see it there, as it starts, the holy water on the blade making the wound stay open, a thin red line on her pale skin. Her eyes are black and her hair is blonde.

Alistair is pressed against his back, skin on skin, giving Dean a kind of warmth he had never expected to need. "Everything she's done," he whispers, "you can return to her." The words themselves are everything: an encouragement, a reminder, a warning, a promise. Alistair's hands slide down Dean's arms and then clasp loosely over his hands, so each cut is from them both, and Dean can pretend, if he chooses, that Alistair is making him do this, lift the skin from her stomach and stroke the exposed muscle, feeding her the blood from his hand as she looks at him, still defiant, as if she expects not to be able to die. But Alistair taught him magic, too, and if Dean wanted, he could; he could carve the symbols Alistair taught him and drive the black smoke in on itself until there was nothing left and even the body would disappear, no longer being made by the thoughts of its owner.

But he wants her to suffer, and Alistair would be disappointed if he shows her mercy. Alistair wants Dean to break, the give art to his rage that is thoughtless and wide, and Dean will not. Even as Alistair moves behind him, forces him to stand wide and then takes him, making him time the blade to each thrust in order to keep control of the damage, he doesn't snap. He removes her skin, her appendix, and everything else she doesn't need in order to stay alive, to be trapped in the body she made and feel all the pain she caused him, and he offers her to Alistair as proof that he will not so easily be undone.

Alistair remakes her, and then she is gone.

"If you want to torture demons," he says, dressed and stainless, as if it had never happened, calm as if Dean is not naked and covered in her blood, his hand shaking and the razor only staying in his grasp because he can't uncurl his fingers to let it go. "If you want that, you can do it here. As long as you like."

And Dean, torn between his rage and his shame and his lust, forces himself to let the razor drop.

"I'm going to need a proper knife for that," he says, and Alistair smiles, blood on his teeth and glitter in his eyes.

"You can use whatever you like, of course, but I know what you like best." Alistair waves his hand and a rack appears, in a way Dean will never be used to. It has everything he could need: scalpels, razors, double-edged tactical blades, and even a machete, so real and beaten down it could be Dean's own, stolen from the Impala and hidden away until now.

Dean lifts the machete from the rack, recognising the familiar weight and wear pattern, and he smiles too.

[tigriswolf]

fairy tales, Sleeping Beauty/any female, bloody fingertip