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tigriswolfTitle: that heart whose fervour was all thine
Fandom: Avengers movieverse
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Warnings: post-film; the aftermath of mind control
Pairings: Loki/Clint
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 100
Point of view: second
In your dreams, he’s always Sir and you’re burning with need, with want, with a desire as deep as your bones.
In your dreams, you’re drowning in blue, mouth open and eyes wide.
In your dreams, a door opens and the end of the world steps through.
In your dreams, he nods at you, holding out a hand.
In your dreams, you kneel, throat bared.
In your dreams, you’re nothing but a weapon.
In your dreams, he says, I’ll return for you.
In your dreams, you promise to always be waiting, ready for his command.
In your dreams, he smiles.
Title: I don’t want your crown
Fandom: Norse mythology
Disclaimer: I’m pretty sure the characters are public domain now. Either way, I didn’t think them up. Title from Florence and the Machine.
Warnings: violence
Pairings: Loki/Sigyn
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 365
Point of view: third
Prompt: norse mythology, odin/loki, see, I've come to burn your kingdom down.
He sounds the call, as chains break and venom burns, as Sigyn helps him rise. Nine realms tremble, ground quaking, as he sets his feet down.
He sounds the call and Jörmungandr uncoils, and Hel releases Fenrir, and Narvi's skin is reknit as Váli supports him, and Sleipnir rears, tossing the wise god-king on his ass, outracing the wind on his way to his family.
The call sounds and Loki stretches, working out the kinks from being millennia bound. Sigyn helps him into the sunlight and he smiles at the children waiting there.
.
Before declaring war, Loki visits Odin one last time. Odin does not ask how Loki has come to be freed - Loki's one-time brother is not a fool, all evidence to the contrary.
Odin says, "You cannot win," head held high, the might of most of the realms behind him.
Loki laughs. He replies, "Winning's not the aim, Valföðr." He grins, bloody and showing all his teeth, and adds, "Not anymore."
.
Millennia bound, venom and Narvi's viscera, Sigyn's song and Váli’s whimpers, Fenrir's groans and Jörmungandr's vows, Sleipnir learning everything there was to know about Asgardr and the aesir, and Hel's slowly growing army of the dishonored dead.
Loki does not want to win.
He just wants nine realms ground into dust so that everything is over.
Victory is futile. But the fire is started, and Asgardr, at the very least, will not survive.
.
Fenrir swallows the sun. Jörmungandr constricts around Thor until his head and ribcage both pop like ripened fruit. Sleipnir terrorizes the aesir's horses until they flee the battleground in panic, and Hel's army overwhelms Odin's because far more die than can fit in Valhalla or Fólkvangr, and quantity surpasses skill, when it comes to war. Váli tears his way through the gods that cursed him, and Narvi kills those who survive Váli’s frenzy.
And Loki burns his way to Odin, who roars, "Stop this madness, Loki! There will be nothing left!"
Loki laughs, long and loud, and then shouts, "Fenrir! Come feast!"
It is not Ragnarök, because there will be nothing left, and Loki leaves Odin to Fenrir as he lights more fires to burn down the worlds.
Title: shall I bring you the sound of poisons?
Fandom: Avengers movieverse
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Sylvia Plath
Warnings: AUish for Hawkeye’s backstory; darkish characterization
Pairings: implied Coulson/Clint
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 810
Point of view: second
This is how you kill: easily. Aim. Deep breath. Release, or touch the trigger, or a well-placed punch, or the quick surety of a blade.
That part doesn't matter. All that matters is the breath.
.
You refused to kill for Trick Shot or the Swordsman. You would have killed for Barney, but he ran without you and left you to the mercy of men you no longer respected and could no longer love.
You could kill for Uncle Sam, though. Cleanly, mostly. Quickly. Easily. It got easer every time, till it was just like taking a breath.
Inhale. Hold. Aim. Fire. Exhale.
.
It's not that you enjoy it. Not really. But it's easy like nothing else ever has been, and it's yours in a way nothing else ever was. Your eyes, your hands - your choice.
It's your choice to follow the orders, every single time.
You went straight from the circus to the army to the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. You've never made an unsanctioned kill, and you've killed everything you aimed at.
Well, that's not entirely accurate, is it? There's the Black Widow. And then there's Loki.
There's never been an order you didn't choose to follow.
Inhale.
You lie to the shrinks in the aftermath, to Tasha and Fury and everyone who asks, and everyone who doesn't.
Hold.
You'd lie to Coulson, your handler for ten years, the only man in the world you trust, the only man in the world you respect, if he'd survived.
Aim.
Loyalty has never been your strongest asset.
Fire.
You don't enjoy killing, in and of itself. Or spying, or not existing on paper anywhere (the easier to disavow or make you disappear, my dear). You don't like being the guaranteed success of a mission because there is no shot you cannot make, and that's all anyone ever wants from you.
Exhale.
.
This is how you walk away: midmorning, with nothing but your clothes. Pickpocket half a dozen pedestrians for cabfare, another dozen for lunch and a bus ticket. Avoid all cameras like the spy you no longer are.
You left the circus with three broken bones and authority issues. You left the army with record-breaking counts in everything and a well-deserved reputation. You leave SHIELD with no regrets because, well, you've never done regret. It's not in your nature.
Barney knew what you were. So did Trick Shot and the Swordsman, and Coulson, too.
And Loki.
.
There is a moment before you let go, before you touch the trigger, before you flick the blade, sharp and quick.
There is a moment, just a breath. You can change your mind. You can spare a life or follow orders. (Tasha. Fury. Hill.)
It's your choice every time.
.
This is how you choose: swiftly, between one heartbeat and the next.
Nothing is keeping you at SHIELD anymore. Coulson is dead and you don't trust anyone else. Tasha's debt to you was repaid when she cognitively recalibrated instead of killing you, so nothing ties you to her any longer.
You will not fight for anyone you do not respect or love.
There is no one on Earth you love. Respect... no, not anymore.
So. Why stay where you’re wanted only for your impossible aim and well-deserved reputation? No one trusts you. Few of them like you.
Time to move on. And if they try to catch you, whether for charges or a second recruitment...
Well. That'll end poorly for everyone.
.
You don't regret any kill you've ever made. Each time was your choice; each time was necessary.
You are a killer. It's in your nature. And it's as easy as a breath. Easy as bulls-eye and letting go.
.
This is you find what you've been looking for ever since the first bruise: you have heart.
But Natasha knocks the blue out of your head and the only way to stay free is to play along, and Loki is dragged back to his prison, taking the blue with him.
But he met your eyes, even hidden behind the shades. He met your eyes and tilted his head, and the blue whispered enticingly, swirling around in the back of your head, soft as a kitten and vicious as a tiger waiting to spring.
Killing is what you do.
Loki's man is what you are.
.
This is how it begins: you walk away, find a safe place, and wait. Your masters have always known what you are. If Coulson didn't tell Fury, that's Fury's problem. You won't obey him now, anyway.
The blue purrs to you. You settle down and count heartbeats, because your master'll be home soon.
.
This is how you kill: easily.
This is how you obey: always.
This is how you live: dangerously.
You have purpose. You breathe in time with Loki and your waiting is done.
Fandom: Avengers movieverse
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Warnings: post-film; the aftermath of mind control
Pairings: Loki/Clint
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 100
Point of view: second
In your dreams, he’s always Sir and you’re burning with need, with want, with a desire as deep as your bones.
In your dreams, you’re drowning in blue, mouth open and eyes wide.
In your dreams, a door opens and the end of the world steps through.
In your dreams, he nods at you, holding out a hand.
In your dreams, you kneel, throat bared.
In your dreams, you’re nothing but a weapon.
In your dreams, he says, I’ll return for you.
In your dreams, you promise to always be waiting, ready for his command.
In your dreams, he smiles.
Title: I don’t want your crown
Fandom: Norse mythology
Disclaimer: I’m pretty sure the characters are public domain now. Either way, I didn’t think them up. Title from Florence and the Machine.
Warnings: violence
Pairings: Loki/Sigyn
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 365
Point of view: third
Prompt: norse mythology, odin/loki, see, I've come to burn your kingdom down.
He sounds the call, as chains break and venom burns, as Sigyn helps him rise. Nine realms tremble, ground quaking, as he sets his feet down.
He sounds the call and Jörmungandr uncoils, and Hel releases Fenrir, and Narvi's skin is reknit as Váli supports him, and Sleipnir rears, tossing the wise god-king on his ass, outracing the wind on his way to his family.
The call sounds and Loki stretches, working out the kinks from being millennia bound. Sigyn helps him into the sunlight and he smiles at the children waiting there.
.
Before declaring war, Loki visits Odin one last time. Odin does not ask how Loki has come to be freed - Loki's one-time brother is not a fool, all evidence to the contrary.
Odin says, "You cannot win," head held high, the might of most of the realms behind him.
Loki laughs. He replies, "Winning's not the aim, Valföðr." He grins, bloody and showing all his teeth, and adds, "Not anymore."
.
Millennia bound, venom and Narvi's viscera, Sigyn's song and Váli’s whimpers, Fenrir's groans and Jörmungandr's vows, Sleipnir learning everything there was to know about Asgardr and the aesir, and Hel's slowly growing army of the dishonored dead.
Loki does not want to win.
He just wants nine realms ground into dust so that everything is over.
Victory is futile. But the fire is started, and Asgardr, at the very least, will not survive.
.
Fenrir swallows the sun. Jörmungandr constricts around Thor until his head and ribcage both pop like ripened fruit. Sleipnir terrorizes the aesir's horses until they flee the battleground in panic, and Hel's army overwhelms Odin's because far more die than can fit in Valhalla or Fólkvangr, and quantity surpasses skill, when it comes to war. Váli tears his way through the gods that cursed him, and Narvi kills those who survive Váli’s frenzy.
And Loki burns his way to Odin, who roars, "Stop this madness, Loki! There will be nothing left!"
Loki laughs, long and loud, and then shouts, "Fenrir! Come feast!"
It is not Ragnarök, because there will be nothing left, and Loki leaves Odin to Fenrir as he lights more fires to burn down the worlds.
Title: shall I bring you the sound of poisons?
Fandom: Avengers movieverse
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Sylvia Plath
Warnings: AUish for Hawkeye’s backstory; darkish characterization
Pairings: implied Coulson/Clint
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 810
Point of view: second
This is how you kill: easily. Aim. Deep breath. Release, or touch the trigger, or a well-placed punch, or the quick surety of a blade.
That part doesn't matter. All that matters is the breath.
.
You refused to kill for Trick Shot or the Swordsman. You would have killed for Barney, but he ran without you and left you to the mercy of men you no longer respected and could no longer love.
You could kill for Uncle Sam, though. Cleanly, mostly. Quickly. Easily. It got easer every time, till it was just like taking a breath.
Inhale. Hold. Aim. Fire. Exhale.
.
It's not that you enjoy it. Not really. But it's easy like nothing else ever has been, and it's yours in a way nothing else ever was. Your eyes, your hands - your choice.
It's your choice to follow the orders, every single time.
You went straight from the circus to the army to the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. You've never made an unsanctioned kill, and you've killed everything you aimed at.
Well, that's not entirely accurate, is it? There's the Black Widow. And then there's Loki.
There's never been an order you didn't choose to follow.
Inhale.
You lie to the shrinks in the aftermath, to Tasha and Fury and everyone who asks, and everyone who doesn't.
Hold.
You'd lie to Coulson, your handler for ten years, the only man in the world you trust, the only man in the world you respect, if he'd survived.
Aim.
Loyalty has never been your strongest asset.
Fire.
You don't enjoy killing, in and of itself. Or spying, or not existing on paper anywhere (the easier to disavow or make you disappear, my dear). You don't like being the guaranteed success of a mission because there is no shot you cannot make, and that's all anyone ever wants from you.
Exhale.
.
This is how you walk away: midmorning, with nothing but your clothes. Pickpocket half a dozen pedestrians for cabfare, another dozen for lunch and a bus ticket. Avoid all cameras like the spy you no longer are.
You left the circus with three broken bones and authority issues. You left the army with record-breaking counts in everything and a well-deserved reputation. You leave SHIELD with no regrets because, well, you've never done regret. It's not in your nature.
Barney knew what you were. So did Trick Shot and the Swordsman, and Coulson, too.
And Loki.
.
There is a moment before you let go, before you touch the trigger, before you flick the blade, sharp and quick.
There is a moment, just a breath. You can change your mind. You can spare a life or follow orders. (Tasha. Fury. Hill.)
It's your choice every time.
.
This is how you choose: swiftly, between one heartbeat and the next.
Nothing is keeping you at SHIELD anymore. Coulson is dead and you don't trust anyone else. Tasha's debt to you was repaid when she cognitively recalibrated instead of killing you, so nothing ties you to her any longer.
You will not fight for anyone you do not respect or love.
There is no one on Earth you love. Respect... no, not anymore.
So. Why stay where you’re wanted only for your impossible aim and well-deserved reputation? No one trusts you. Few of them like you.
Time to move on. And if they try to catch you, whether for charges or a second recruitment...
Well. That'll end poorly for everyone.
.
You don't regret any kill you've ever made. Each time was your choice; each time was necessary.
You are a killer. It's in your nature. And it's as easy as a breath. Easy as bulls-eye and letting go.
.
This is you find what you've been looking for ever since the first bruise: you have heart.
But Natasha knocks the blue out of your head and the only way to stay free is to play along, and Loki is dragged back to his prison, taking the blue with him.
But he met your eyes, even hidden behind the shades. He met your eyes and tilted his head, and the blue whispered enticingly, swirling around in the back of your head, soft as a kitten and vicious as a tiger waiting to spring.
Killing is what you do.
Loki's man is what you are.
.
This is how it begins: you walk away, find a safe place, and wait. Your masters have always known what you are. If Coulson didn't tell Fury, that's Fury's problem. You won't obey him now, anyway.
The blue purrs to you. You settle down and count heartbeats, because your master'll be home soon.
.
This is how you kill: easily.
This is how you obey: always.
This is how you live: dangerously.
You have purpose. You breathe in time with Loki and your waiting is done.