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tigriswolfTitle: The world shall burn
Fandom: Avengers movieverse/Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Milton
Warnings: future!fic for Highlander; post-Avengers; primordial!Methos; very Loki friendly as he's my favorite
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 415
Point of view: third
Prompt: Any, any, "Life is pain, [Highness]. Anyone who says differently is selling something." (Westley in The Princess Bride)
He finds the boy in a cage, bound by iron and magic, bound by masks and years of self-hatred.
There is fire left, yet, though, deep inside. Embers, barely sparking - but fire. The potential to scorch worlds, to raze realms to salt and ashes.
The start of Ragnarök, shackled like a common criminal and left to rot.
So very interesting.
.
He takes the boy, of course.
No one notices for months.
.
Healing is not instantaneous. Physically, the boy is a wreck, skin and bone held together by sheer hatred and innate magic. The boy has so much potential. He must have been breathtaking before. With care and time, he can be breathtaking again.
Mentally, the boy is curled inside himself, hiding somewhere deep inside, where the fire pulses. If he is sane, he's clinging to it by his fingernails, through pure determination. But he has not peeked outside to see that his circumstances have changed, but that's fine. Time is plentiful.
Emotionally… well, the boy was fucked up before being shucked into that cage and forgotten. He has been broken for centuries. No problem.
.
The boy blinks and raises his head. He waits to see what the boy will say.
"You are not Asgardian," the boy rasps. He startles when his magic responds to his call, twining around him, prepared to defend and strike.
He lets the boy keep it for peace of mind and comfort. "No, I'm not," he replies. "Do you know who you are?"
The boy nods. "I'm traitor," he answers. "Monster. Evil."
And, oh, but that burns. Burns like the heart of a mountain, deep and dark and hungry, for worlds, for lives, for the very fabric of being.
"No," he tells the boy. "You are not those things unless you wish to be."
"I…" The boy hesitates, glancing down at his hands, where the magic writhes, then to the sky. There are no walls or ceilings or doors here, unless willed into existence. No cages. "I am free," he whispers, and laughs, throwing his magic up and out, reaching for the horizon.
"Yes." He smiles, laughing as well, and holds out a hand. "I am Pietro," he says. "And you are?"
The boy smiles, wide and enchanting, and he clasps Pietro's hand tightly. "I'm Free," he says.
.
There a thousand worlds to see. Asgard is but a stone in a river, forgotten – except for hate, deep in the fire.
Ragnarök still burns fiercely, but there is time.
There is always time.
Title: a good man
Fandom: Avengers movieverse
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: temporary character death; violence/bullying
Pairings: implied Bucky/Steve
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 435
Point of view: third
Prompt: Avengers, Steve Rogers, The noblest question in the world is What good may I do in it?
When Steve was eight, he got the shit beat out of him. He was on the ground, trying to protect his middle and his head, and he couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't make a sound except gasps for air he couldn't get.
And then it stopped. There were cries above his head, and shouts, and he uncurled a little to pull in air.
"You alright, kid?" a new voice asked.
Steve uncurled all the way and blinked up at his savior.
Jim Barnes was barely ten, but he was already gorgeous. He smiled at Steve and held out a hand and said, "Call me Bucky."
.
Steve never forgot. Bucky spent the next decade and a half pulling Steve's ass out of the fire, and he never asked for anything. He just wanted Steve safe and happy.
Steve tried to live up to Bucky's blind loyalty.
Bucky defended the little guy without a thought. How could Steve do anything else and still call himself a good man?
.
Bucky went to war and Steve followed as quickly as he could.
Bucky got captured and Steve let nothing stop him from saving him.
… Bucky fell and Steve crashed a plane into the ice.
.
Steve woke up in the future and looked for Bucky and couldn't find him anywhere. Because Bucky fell.
.
When Steve is twenty-eight (not counting the ice, because he doesn't), he is getting the shit beat out of him by HYDRA experiments (seriously, how are they still around?). He's on the floor, curled up to protect his middle and his head, because each experiment is as strong as him and there are five of them. He has broken ribs and he's bleeding too quickly for his healing to replenish, and his team is still hours out.
And then he hears gunshots. He turns his head to look through his arms as each experiment falls: five shots, five kills.
Hawkeye could do it, but Hawkeye isn't here.
Something drops onto the floor behind him. Mostly silent steps – intentional. To let him know where the shooter is.
"You alright, kid?" a voice he hasn't heard in two years (not counting the ice, because he doesn't) rasps.
Steve uncurls with a stifled gasp and blinks up at Bucky.
"I thought you were dead," he says blankly.
Bucky grins and holds out a hand. "I got better," he says, waving with his other hand – silver, metal. Something Tony might build. "C'mon, Steve. There's more where those fuckers came from and you need a doctor."
Steve almost passes out on the way up, but Bucky's got him. He's not worried.
Title: lightning strike
Fandom: Leverage/Greek mythology
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: minor language
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 155
Point of view: third
Prompt: Leverage, Eliot, "It's a very particular type of [insert storm characteristic here. Lightning? Thunder?]"
Lightning flashes and Eliot flinches. "Fuck," he mutters.
Alec shares a bewildered glance with Sophie but Parker keeps making the celery dance while Nate flips through the TV guide. (And why he's reading paper-copy, Alec doesn't know. He'll worry about that later.)
"Somethin' wrong, Eliot?" Alec asks hesitantly after Sophie commands him with an eyebrow raise.
Eliot sighs. "No," he growls. "Just a distinctive lightning bolt, is all."
"A distinctive… lightning… bolt," Sophie repeats.
"Yeah." Eliot slams the bottle of vegetable oil onto the counter. "My daddy'll be by any day now, the fuckin' deadbeat." He scowls at the frying pan of carmlizing onions. "Sophie, don't let Parker outta your sight. Dad's got no self-control and if he touches her, I'll have to kill him again, king of the mountain or not."
Alec shares another glance with Sophie, but this time he doesn't say a thing. He's not touching that with a thousand foot pole.
Title: what you are in the dark
Fandom: Amazing Spider-Man (2012)/Avengers movieverse
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: future!fic; implied character death; dark; AUish
Pairings: Peter/Gwen
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 385
Point of view: third
Prompt: Author's choice, author's choice, I'll weep all night, with stars I'll fight / The fray shall well become me.
When he falls, it's hard. Hits the sidewalk and it cracks. Doesn't move.
For a very long moment, he doesn't breathe.
They are the greatest heroes in the world. Against them, who could stand?
A careful hand turns him over and pauses, just to see. When he doesn't move, the same careful hand pulls off his mask.
He's been here before, standing against the heroes, misunderstood and disliked.
(always misunderstood and disliked or ignored, except by his blood and the girl of his dreams - but they're all gone now, everyone he loved, everyone who loved him.
they're gone and he's alone.
alone on the ground, bruised and bloodied, unmasked.)
"He's just a kid!" one voice lashes out and his eyes open.
Iron Man. Captain America. Hulk. He can't see Black Widow, but she can't be far; he doesn't see Hawkeye, but Hawkeye definitely sees him. Thor's back on Asgard this week.
Iron Man probably has his life story streaming into that helmet by now, but there's no one left to protect.
He's been doing his best to be a hero, but his best is never good enough.
(alone on the cracked sidewalk, bruised and bloodied, unmasked.
alone.)
He moves, flipping up and grabbing the wall, too quick to see.
"Whoa!" Iron Man shouts.
He dodges Hulk, Hawkeye's arrow (tranquilizer? no way to tell without being hit), Iron Man. There is nowhere the boy he used to be could hide without being found.
But he's not the boy he used to be. Everyone who knew that boy is dead, and who is he without those who knew him? Nothing.
(alone.)
All that's left is the spider.
The entire city is looking for him. The greatest heroes in the world. All he's ever tried to do is the right thing, and his best is never good enough. There's no one left to protect. No one left to love.
(Uncle Ben. Aunt May. Gwen.
Mama. Daddy.
Peter.)
Let them look. Let them find.
He's done trying his best. He's done trying at all.
All that's left is survival.
… and maybe vengeance.
He's fallen, now. Nothing left but blood and dirt, and so much rage, so much hate.
His eyes are open and the world is spread wide.
(alone. so alone.)
Peter Parker is dead.
Long live the spider.
Title: on butterfly wings
Fandom: Kings
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: spoilers for everything
Pairings: implied Jack/David
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 230
Point of view: third
Prompt: Kings, Jack Benjamin, once and future king
He dreams of being king; of course he does. He dreams of being respected and loved - the most adored king Gilboa will ever have. He dreams of a dynasty that lasts until God returns from the heavens to welcome His people home.
He wakes to a room he cannot leave without permission and guard, a woman he doesn't love and likes less by the day, a father who will not look at him, a mother who refuses to speak to him, and a sister no one talks about.
Jack has never been patient. He learns, slowly and painfully.
Jack has never prayed sincerely. He still doesn't. Not to his father's god, anyway.
When Jack prays, late at night and lying next to the mother of his father's heir (a daughter that Silas names Hope and never lets Jack hold), it's David he sees in his mind, David's name that doesn't pass his lips, and David he hopes returns with an army.
If David comes back, Jack will kneel at his feet, neck bared, and swear fealty for however long David keeps him alive.
But until then… he will be patient. He will survive.
He will never be king, and he's come to terms with that. All he wants now is to tear down his father's throne.
He dreams about fields of blood and butterflies littering the ground.
Fandom: Avengers movieverse/Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Milton
Warnings: future!fic for Highlander; post-Avengers; primordial!Methos; very Loki friendly as he's my favorite
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 415
Point of view: third
Prompt: Any, any, "Life is pain, [Highness]. Anyone who says differently is selling something." (Westley in The Princess Bride)
He finds the boy in a cage, bound by iron and magic, bound by masks and years of self-hatred.
There is fire left, yet, though, deep inside. Embers, barely sparking - but fire. The potential to scorch worlds, to raze realms to salt and ashes.
The start of Ragnarök, shackled like a common criminal and left to rot.
So very interesting.
.
He takes the boy, of course.
No one notices for months.
.
Healing is not instantaneous. Physically, the boy is a wreck, skin and bone held together by sheer hatred and innate magic. The boy has so much potential. He must have been breathtaking before. With care and time, he can be breathtaking again.
Mentally, the boy is curled inside himself, hiding somewhere deep inside, where the fire pulses. If he is sane, he's clinging to it by his fingernails, through pure determination. But he has not peeked outside to see that his circumstances have changed, but that's fine. Time is plentiful.
Emotionally… well, the boy was fucked up before being shucked into that cage and forgotten. He has been broken for centuries. No problem.
.
The boy blinks and raises his head. He waits to see what the boy will say.
"You are not Asgardian," the boy rasps. He startles when his magic responds to his call, twining around him, prepared to defend and strike.
He lets the boy keep it for peace of mind and comfort. "No, I'm not," he replies. "Do you know who you are?"
The boy nods. "I'm traitor," he answers. "Monster. Evil."
And, oh, but that burns. Burns like the heart of a mountain, deep and dark and hungry, for worlds, for lives, for the very fabric of being.
"No," he tells the boy. "You are not those things unless you wish to be."
"I…" The boy hesitates, glancing down at his hands, where the magic writhes, then to the sky. There are no walls or ceilings or doors here, unless willed into existence. No cages. "I am free," he whispers, and laughs, throwing his magic up and out, reaching for the horizon.
"Yes." He smiles, laughing as well, and holds out a hand. "I am Pietro," he says. "And you are?"
The boy smiles, wide and enchanting, and he clasps Pietro's hand tightly. "I'm Free," he says.
.
There a thousand worlds to see. Asgard is but a stone in a river, forgotten – except for hate, deep in the fire.
Ragnarök still burns fiercely, but there is time.
There is always time.
Title: a good man
Fandom: Avengers movieverse
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: temporary character death; violence/bullying
Pairings: implied Bucky/Steve
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 435
Point of view: third
Prompt: Avengers, Steve Rogers, The noblest question in the world is What good may I do in it?
When Steve was eight, he got the shit beat out of him. He was on the ground, trying to protect his middle and his head, and he couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't make a sound except gasps for air he couldn't get.
And then it stopped. There were cries above his head, and shouts, and he uncurled a little to pull in air.
"You alright, kid?" a new voice asked.
Steve uncurled all the way and blinked up at his savior.
Jim Barnes was barely ten, but he was already gorgeous. He smiled at Steve and held out a hand and said, "Call me Bucky."
.
Steve never forgot. Bucky spent the next decade and a half pulling Steve's ass out of the fire, and he never asked for anything. He just wanted Steve safe and happy.
Steve tried to live up to Bucky's blind loyalty.
Bucky defended the little guy without a thought. How could Steve do anything else and still call himself a good man?
.
Bucky went to war and Steve followed as quickly as he could.
Bucky got captured and Steve let nothing stop him from saving him.
… Bucky fell and Steve crashed a plane into the ice.
.
Steve woke up in the future and looked for Bucky and couldn't find him anywhere. Because Bucky fell.
.
When Steve is twenty-eight (not counting the ice, because he doesn't), he is getting the shit beat out of him by HYDRA experiments (seriously, how are they still around?). He's on the floor, curled up to protect his middle and his head, because each experiment is as strong as him and there are five of them. He has broken ribs and he's bleeding too quickly for his healing to replenish, and his team is still hours out.
And then he hears gunshots. He turns his head to look through his arms as each experiment falls: five shots, five kills.
Hawkeye could do it, but Hawkeye isn't here.
Something drops onto the floor behind him. Mostly silent steps – intentional. To let him know where the shooter is.
"You alright, kid?" a voice he hasn't heard in two years (not counting the ice, because he doesn't) rasps.
Steve uncurls with a stifled gasp and blinks up at Bucky.
"I thought you were dead," he says blankly.
Bucky grins and holds out a hand. "I got better," he says, waving with his other hand – silver, metal. Something Tony might build. "C'mon, Steve. There's more where those fuckers came from and you need a doctor."
Steve almost passes out on the way up, but Bucky's got him. He's not worried.
Title: lightning strike
Fandom: Leverage/Greek mythology
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: minor language
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 155
Point of view: third
Prompt: Leverage, Eliot, "It's a very particular type of [insert storm characteristic here. Lightning? Thunder?]"
Lightning flashes and Eliot flinches. "Fuck," he mutters.
Alec shares a bewildered glance with Sophie but Parker keeps making the celery dance while Nate flips through the TV guide. (And why he's reading paper-copy, Alec doesn't know. He'll worry about that later.)
"Somethin' wrong, Eliot?" Alec asks hesitantly after Sophie commands him with an eyebrow raise.
Eliot sighs. "No," he growls. "Just a distinctive lightning bolt, is all."
"A distinctive… lightning… bolt," Sophie repeats.
"Yeah." Eliot slams the bottle of vegetable oil onto the counter. "My daddy'll be by any day now, the fuckin' deadbeat." He scowls at the frying pan of carmlizing onions. "Sophie, don't let Parker outta your sight. Dad's got no self-control and if he touches her, I'll have to kill him again, king of the mountain or not."
Alec shares another glance with Sophie, but this time he doesn't say a thing. He's not touching that with a thousand foot pole.
Title: what you are in the dark
Fandom: Amazing Spider-Man (2012)/Avengers movieverse
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: future!fic; implied character death; dark; AUish
Pairings: Peter/Gwen
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 385
Point of view: third
Prompt: Author's choice, author's choice, I'll weep all night, with stars I'll fight / The fray shall well become me.
When he falls, it's hard. Hits the sidewalk and it cracks. Doesn't move.
For a very long moment, he doesn't breathe.
They are the greatest heroes in the world. Against them, who could stand?
A careful hand turns him over and pauses, just to see. When he doesn't move, the same careful hand pulls off his mask.
He's been here before, standing against the heroes, misunderstood and disliked.
(always misunderstood and disliked or ignored, except by his blood and the girl of his dreams - but they're all gone now, everyone he loved, everyone who loved him.
they're gone and he's alone.
alone on the ground, bruised and bloodied, unmasked.)
"He's just a kid!" one voice lashes out and his eyes open.
Iron Man. Captain America. Hulk. He can't see Black Widow, but she can't be far; he doesn't see Hawkeye, but Hawkeye definitely sees him. Thor's back on Asgard this week.
Iron Man probably has his life story streaming into that helmet by now, but there's no one left to protect.
He's been doing his best to be a hero, but his best is never good enough.
(alone on the cracked sidewalk, bruised and bloodied, unmasked.
alone.)
He moves, flipping up and grabbing the wall, too quick to see.
"Whoa!" Iron Man shouts.
He dodges Hulk, Hawkeye's arrow (tranquilizer? no way to tell without being hit), Iron Man. There is nowhere the boy he used to be could hide without being found.
But he's not the boy he used to be. Everyone who knew that boy is dead, and who is he without those who knew him? Nothing.
(alone.)
All that's left is the spider.
The entire city is looking for him. The greatest heroes in the world. All he's ever tried to do is the right thing, and his best is never good enough. There's no one left to protect. No one left to love.
(Uncle Ben. Aunt May. Gwen.
Mama. Daddy.
Peter.)
Let them look. Let them find.
He's done trying his best. He's done trying at all.
All that's left is survival.
… and maybe vengeance.
He's fallen, now. Nothing left but blood and dirt, and so much rage, so much hate.
His eyes are open and the world is spread wide.
(alone. so alone.)
Peter Parker is dead.
Long live the spider.
Title: on butterfly wings
Fandom: Kings
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: spoilers for everything
Pairings: implied Jack/David
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 230
Point of view: third
Prompt: Kings, Jack Benjamin, once and future king
He dreams of being king; of course he does. He dreams of being respected and loved - the most adored king Gilboa will ever have. He dreams of a dynasty that lasts until God returns from the heavens to welcome His people home.
He wakes to a room he cannot leave without permission and guard, a woman he doesn't love and likes less by the day, a father who will not look at him, a mother who refuses to speak to him, and a sister no one talks about.
Jack has never been patient. He learns, slowly and painfully.
Jack has never prayed sincerely. He still doesn't. Not to his father's god, anyway.
When Jack prays, late at night and lying next to the mother of his father's heir (a daughter that Silas names Hope and never lets Jack hold), it's David he sees in his mind, David's name that doesn't pass his lips, and David he hopes returns with an army.
If David comes back, Jack will kneel at his feet, neck bared, and swear fealty for however long David keeps him alive.
But until then… he will be patient. He will survive.
He will never be king, and he's come to terms with that. All he wants now is to tear down his father's throne.
He dreams about fields of blood and butterflies littering the ground.