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tigriswolf) wrote2015-03-02 05:11 pm
tigriswolf) wrote2015-03-02 05:11 pm
Entry tags:
- fanfic: avengers,
- fanfic: highlander,
- fanfic: leverage,
- fic,
- gen,
- het,
- movie fic,
- original work,
- point of view: methos,
- point of view: original character,
- point of view: parker,
- point of view: sophie devereaux,
- point of view: steve rogers,
- point of view: third person,
- rated pg,
- series: comment_fic,
- slash,
- title: i,
- title: o,
- title: t,
- tv fic,
- type: oneshot,
- type: present tense,
- wordcount: drabble,
- wordcount: drabble plus
comment_fic 1030-1034: Leverage, HL, original, Marvel movies
Title: ‘til my dyin’ day
Fandom: Leverage
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: character death, violence
Pairings: Parker/Hardison/Eliot
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 135
Point of view: third
Prompt: Any, Any, "I'm coming back for you. I promise"
I'm coming back for you, she says, I promise. And then she runs.
He isn't awake to hear the words. It's the only reason she can find the strength to leave.
.
She still doesn't know what went wrong. But with Alec down (head wound) and Eliot not answering on the com, the only thing she can do is lead the bad guys off and hope Alec wakes up conscious enough to escape.
She’s bleeding from a gunshot to the shoulder and she knows she has no chance.
.
I’m coming back for you, she hears, I promise.
Eliot, she whispers, the goons loud as they hurry through the woods after her, get Hardison out. Forget about me.
She pulls the com from her ear, kisses it, and throws it into the brush. And then she runs.
Title: I saw the passing of times you will never know
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Louise Erdich
Warnings: character death; future!fic; post-apocalyptic
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 515
Point of view: third
Prompt: Highlander, Methos /& Duncan, three thousand years later Methos is surprised to find Duncan still alive, thanks to Methos advices. But now look at the state of his soul ...
To be quite honest, Methos had not expected Duncan to survive his first millennium. Rebecca and Amanda had both managed it by avoiding confrontation whenever possible but that has never been Duncan’s way. Methos himself used trickery when he could and running when he couldn’t, and fighting only as the last resort. As many opponents learned (to their detriment) just because Methos did not enjoy fighting (currently) did not mean he could not.
He spent a thousand years with the Horsemen, as a Horseman. Of course he could fight.
But the survivors must also know how to bend when necessary. How to adapt. Evolve or devolve, whatever is needed for survival. Methos can adapt and change. Rebecca, Amanda… Rebecca is gone, now. Darius. Kronos, Silas, Caspian. So many of the old ones are gone. Methos lost track of Cassandra about a thousand years ago, and Amanda 500 before that. And Duncan, the child, Methos expected him to die millennia ago.
Methos has been 5000 for over ten thousand years, now. It is the age he claims no matter who asks, or when, or where. It is what he told Rebecca when they met, and Silas, and Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.
He looks at Duncan, who is three and a half thousand years old, now, in bewilderment, and asks, “Are you a hallucination?” Duncan would not be the first former friend he has seen on the air.
The world is so warm, now. Desert everywhere, warmer than he can remember. Sometimes, when he dies from overheating, he misses the ice and how it felt to freeze. It was an easier death. Many mortals are gone now, either to the earth’s temper or to the stars. He could have joined them; he had the opportunity, in the beginning.
But perhaps he has grown sentimental. He did not wish to leave his home, and he is now one of the few left.
His hallucination of Duncan laughs. “I’ve survived,” the Highlander bites out, a rusted sword in his hand. “And I’ve grown so much stronger. And today, we fight.”
“What are you doing?” Methos demands, deciding that hallucination or no, he won’t be an easy kill.
“I’m hunting, Old Man,” the hallucination tells him. “All the buzzes I can find, I take. It’s my prize!”
Methos ducks and rolls, and Duncan swings madly – this hallucination is a pathetic thing.
But hallucinations don’t have buzzes, and this one does.
“Oh, MacLeod,” Methos murmurs, dodging and getting close with his favorite blade, stabbing Duncan in the heart.
Some people aren’t meant to live so long. Methos stares down at Duncan, dead on the sand, and ponders. The Duncan he knew once would hate that this had become his life, hunting the few of them left on a dead world for a prize that never existed in the first place.
“You have survived, my friend,” Methos says, picking up Duncan’s sword. “But you are not stronger. And you will never fight again.”
.
With the lightning still surging in his blood, Methos picks a direction and resumes walking.
Title: of thieves and hoards
Fandom: Leverage
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: fantasy AU but set in the modern-day
Pairings: Sophie/Nate
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 290
Point of view: third
Prompt: Author's choice, author's choice, "I collect kingdoms. Not really to do anything with them. I just like having them."
"Well," Nate says, "I must admit, this is perhaps the most interesting hoard I've found." He steeples his fingers, gazing down at the map Sophie's spread across the kitchen table.
"I know that door was locked," Sophie says after recovering from her shock.
Nate smiles. "I knew how to pick locks long before Parker."
Sophie huffs, letting a little smoke out with the sound. "With magic, too, you irritating mage." She deliberately turns her back, rolling the map and sealing it closed again.
"So," Nate says, summoning two mugs of rowan tea, "kingdoms. How many, now?"
With a deep sigh, Sophie accepts the tea. Blasted man, it's the perfect temperature and her favorite flavor. "Twenty-nine," she admits.
"What will you do with them?" Nate asks, the same tone he uses when commenting that Hardison's spell was just a bit strong, and that Eliot should maybe leave one of the goons conscious to answer questions.
"Do with them?" Sophie repeats. "Why should I do anything with them? I just like having them."
Her cousin Arabella hoards the skeletons of serial killers, and her Great-Aunt Tatiana has the greatest hoard of graveyard dirt the world has ever seen. What is Sophie's modest hoard of kingdoms compared to that? It's not like the mortals even know they belong to a dragon.
"Oh, boy," Nate murmurs.
Parker teleports in, grabs Nate's mug of tea, and teleports back out. Sophie conceals her grin behind her mug and begins plotting on how to get her thirtieth kingdom.
If she pitches it right to Parker, Hardison, and Eliot, they'll even help her steal it. Nate, of course, will have to come along to keep them all out of the kind of trouble that clings to their heels.
continues here
Title: to look at a soul
Original characters in a daemon reality
Prompt: Any, any, dæmon AU: as though it wasn't weird enough when that person's dæmon didn't settle in high school, they never expected them to settle as ____
"Holy shit, look at that!" Mark hisses, pushing at Lizzie's shoulder. Titus follows his gaze, nearly falling off Lizzie's head; Zara is still crouched between Mark's legs, ignoring everything because she didn't want to come to the reunion anyway.
"No way," Lizzie breathes. "Is that...?"
Mark can't think of a thing to say. Zara heaves a heavy sigh and then begins climbing up Mark's leg. "Hey!" he yelps, reaching down to grab her and then quickly depositing her on his shoulder.
"Oh," Zara says when she's high enough to see. "Huh."
.
Of course Mark remembers her. Everyone from their class does. She was the only one who graduated with them whose daemon hadn't settled yet. Some days, the daemon (whose name she never uttered that anyone Mark knew heard) was a platypus; others, a tiger.
No one hassled her; no, it was all jeers behind her back. Comments she pretended she didn't hear.
She was a quiet girl. Pretty, in a plain sort of way. She wore the same uniform as the rest of them, and tattered shoes. She transferred in junior year with hair shorn close and she let it grow. Never brushed it, that Mark could tell, though Lizzie (of course) had a better eye for that sort of thing.
Zara settled when Mark was thirteen, after Mom passed. Titus settled a few months later, not long after Lizzie turned twelve. Mark was sixteen, the first time Titus let him stroke along the spine on his head. That same night, Zara butted up against Lizzie's chin.
By junior year, most everyone was settled. The new girl wasn't.
(What was her name? Mark can't remember. They called her a lot of things.)
.
“What is it?” Titus asks.
“I don’t know,” Lizzie answers. She’s a biologist and works at the local zoo, so that’s a little… odd. “A kind of ostrich, maybe? Emu?”
“That’s not an ostrich, don’t be silly,” Zara says, claws digging through Mark’s shirt and into his skin.
It’s… an enormous bird, stalking behind her, eying them all like they’re prey. Like it remembers everything they said. The fear in Mark’s gut is stupid because it’s not like they really did anything bad. No one ever hurt her.
The daemon had never spoken, not that Mark or any of his friends heard. She’d only spoken when called on in class, which was rare. She didn’t interact, just handed stuff in, shuffled from class to class, ate by herself. A year and a half, and no one ever learned the daemon’s name. it ignored the daemons just like she ignored the humans.
“Satisfied, Clara?” the daemon asks, focusing those laser eyes on his human. His voice is deep, thudding somewhere in Mark’s sternum.
“I suppose, Valan,” she sighs. “Don’t know why I bothered coming, anyway. God, I hated high school.” She turns on her heel, the bird neatly sliding to the side, and then they both leave, heads held high.
“Well, okay then,” Mark mutters.
“Hey, is that Uriko?” Titus says, standing up tall on Lizzie’s head. “Uriko! Hey!”
Zara sighs disgustedly and begins climbing down Mark’s back.
Title: the mercy of one voice speaking from far away
Fandom: Marvel movies
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Denise Levertov
Warnings: takes place after Avengers2
Pairings: maybe implied Steve/Bucky
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 400
Point of view: third
Prompt: MCU, Steve/+Bucky, oh, to see what they did to you... It would break your captain's heart.
He still goes to the memorial. Sits at the base, stares at the stars. It's quiet, here.
He talks, too. Tells the granite things he tells no one else. Natasha would listen, he knows. So would Sam. Even Bruce and Clint and St- Tony, if he let Tony fiddle with something while he talked.
Three days out of the ice, he’d snuck away from SHIELD and come here, traced the name with eyes and fingers and lips, and talked and talked and talked until the sun came up. There’s no body in the dirt, no ashes in an urn – two soldiers who never made it home, names side-by-side, and little things left by mourners and visitors and tourists to honor heroes who died for their country.
Steve didn’t die. Neither, it turned out, did Bucky.
But he still comes here. He did every week for two years, talking to a ghost because he couldn’t talk to anyone else. Even after he started seeing Peggy – but she’d understand, if she knew. If she remembered.
Steve Rogers had Bucky Barnes when he (literally) had nothing else. Bucky went to war and Steve followed when he could. Bucky died and Steve went down when could’ve found a way to live. Two years later (decades in the future) and Steve shouldn’t have been shocked when that mask fell off and Bucky turned.
He talks and talks and talks, through grief and rage, through joy and regret, through enough guilt it’d drown him if he didn’t have hatred to counteract it.
Bucky’s out there, somewhere. Ultron is finally down and Steve isn’t needed by this team (not his, not yet, maybe not ever if — ).
They’ve all talked at him, what’s left of SHIELD and their therapists, their doctors, their specialists. Bucky’s damaged, Bucky’s the enemy, Bucky this that and the other. Except, they don’t use his name. They use what Hydra called him, and Steve’s fists clench every time, he grits his teeth, he focuses his eyes on the nearest wall and he thinks one simple thing: Bucky’s alive and so am I.
His eyes trace the name. His fingers follow. “I’ll see you soon,” he says because this is a second chance and he’s going to grip it with all his strength, track the line to wherever it ends, and he does not care in the least who tries to stop him or gets in the way.
Fandom: Leverage
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: character death, violence
Pairings: Parker/Hardison/Eliot
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 135
Point of view: third
Prompt: Any, Any, "I'm coming back for you. I promise"
I'm coming back for you, she says, I promise. And then she runs.
He isn't awake to hear the words. It's the only reason she can find the strength to leave.
.
She still doesn't know what went wrong. But with Alec down (head wound) and Eliot not answering on the com, the only thing she can do is lead the bad guys off and hope Alec wakes up conscious enough to escape.
She’s bleeding from a gunshot to the shoulder and she knows she has no chance.
.
I’m coming back for you, she hears, I promise.
Eliot, she whispers, the goons loud as they hurry through the woods after her, get Hardison out. Forget about me.
She pulls the com from her ear, kisses it, and throws it into the brush. And then she runs.
Title: I saw the passing of times you will never know
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Louise Erdich
Warnings: character death; future!fic; post-apocalyptic
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 515
Point of view: third
Prompt: Highlander, Methos /& Duncan, three thousand years later Methos is surprised to find Duncan still alive, thanks to Methos advices. But now look at the state of his soul ...
To be quite honest, Methos had not expected Duncan to survive his first millennium. Rebecca and Amanda had both managed it by avoiding confrontation whenever possible but that has never been Duncan’s way. Methos himself used trickery when he could and running when he couldn’t, and fighting only as the last resort. As many opponents learned (to their detriment) just because Methos did not enjoy fighting (currently) did not mean he could not.
He spent a thousand years with the Horsemen, as a Horseman. Of course he could fight.
But the survivors must also know how to bend when necessary. How to adapt. Evolve or devolve, whatever is needed for survival. Methos can adapt and change. Rebecca, Amanda… Rebecca is gone, now. Darius. Kronos, Silas, Caspian. So many of the old ones are gone. Methos lost track of Cassandra about a thousand years ago, and Amanda 500 before that. And Duncan, the child, Methos expected him to die millennia ago.
Methos has been 5000 for over ten thousand years, now. It is the age he claims no matter who asks, or when, or where. It is what he told Rebecca when they met, and Silas, and Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.
He looks at Duncan, who is three and a half thousand years old, now, in bewilderment, and asks, “Are you a hallucination?” Duncan would not be the first former friend he has seen on the air.
The world is so warm, now. Desert everywhere, warmer than he can remember. Sometimes, when he dies from overheating, he misses the ice and how it felt to freeze. It was an easier death. Many mortals are gone now, either to the earth’s temper or to the stars. He could have joined them; he had the opportunity, in the beginning.
But perhaps he has grown sentimental. He did not wish to leave his home, and he is now one of the few left.
His hallucination of Duncan laughs. “I’ve survived,” the Highlander bites out, a rusted sword in his hand. “And I’ve grown so much stronger. And today, we fight.”
“What are you doing?” Methos demands, deciding that hallucination or no, he won’t be an easy kill.
“I’m hunting, Old Man,” the hallucination tells him. “All the buzzes I can find, I take. It’s my prize!”
Methos ducks and rolls, and Duncan swings madly – this hallucination is a pathetic thing.
But hallucinations don’t have buzzes, and this one does.
“Oh, MacLeod,” Methos murmurs, dodging and getting close with his favorite blade, stabbing Duncan in the heart.
Some people aren’t meant to live so long. Methos stares down at Duncan, dead on the sand, and ponders. The Duncan he knew once would hate that this had become his life, hunting the few of them left on a dead world for a prize that never existed in the first place.
“You have survived, my friend,” Methos says, picking up Duncan’s sword. “But you are not stronger. And you will never fight again.”
.
With the lightning still surging in his blood, Methos picks a direction and resumes walking.
Title: of thieves and hoards
Fandom: Leverage
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: fantasy AU but set in the modern-day
Pairings: Sophie/Nate
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 290
Point of view: third
Prompt: Author's choice, author's choice, "I collect kingdoms. Not really to do anything with them. I just like having them."
"Well," Nate says, "I must admit, this is perhaps the most interesting hoard I've found." He steeples his fingers, gazing down at the map Sophie's spread across the kitchen table.
"I know that door was locked," Sophie says after recovering from her shock.
Nate smiles. "I knew how to pick locks long before Parker."
Sophie huffs, letting a little smoke out with the sound. "With magic, too, you irritating mage." She deliberately turns her back, rolling the map and sealing it closed again.
"So," Nate says, summoning two mugs of rowan tea, "kingdoms. How many, now?"
With a deep sigh, Sophie accepts the tea. Blasted man, it's the perfect temperature and her favorite flavor. "Twenty-nine," she admits.
"What will you do with them?" Nate asks, the same tone he uses when commenting that Hardison's spell was just a bit strong, and that Eliot should maybe leave one of the goons conscious to answer questions.
"Do with them?" Sophie repeats. "Why should I do anything with them? I just like having them."
Her cousin Arabella hoards the skeletons of serial killers, and her Great-Aunt Tatiana has the greatest hoard of graveyard dirt the world has ever seen. What is Sophie's modest hoard of kingdoms compared to that? It's not like the mortals even know they belong to a dragon.
"Oh, boy," Nate murmurs.
Parker teleports in, grabs Nate's mug of tea, and teleports back out. Sophie conceals her grin behind her mug and begins plotting on how to get her thirtieth kingdom.
If she pitches it right to Parker, Hardison, and Eliot, they'll even help her steal it. Nate, of course, will have to come along to keep them all out of the kind of trouble that clings to their heels.
continues here
Title: to look at a soul
Original characters in a daemon reality
Prompt: Any, any, dæmon AU: as though it wasn't weird enough when that person's dæmon didn't settle in high school, they never expected them to settle as ____
"Holy shit, look at that!" Mark hisses, pushing at Lizzie's shoulder. Titus follows his gaze, nearly falling off Lizzie's head; Zara is still crouched between Mark's legs, ignoring everything because she didn't want to come to the reunion anyway.
"No way," Lizzie breathes. "Is that...?"
Mark can't think of a thing to say. Zara heaves a heavy sigh and then begins climbing up Mark's leg. "Hey!" he yelps, reaching down to grab her and then quickly depositing her on his shoulder.
"Oh," Zara says when she's high enough to see. "Huh."
.
Of course Mark remembers her. Everyone from their class does. She was the only one who graduated with them whose daemon hadn't settled yet. Some days, the daemon (whose name she never uttered that anyone Mark knew heard) was a platypus; others, a tiger.
No one hassled her; no, it was all jeers behind her back. Comments she pretended she didn't hear.
She was a quiet girl. Pretty, in a plain sort of way. She wore the same uniform as the rest of them, and tattered shoes. She transferred in junior year with hair shorn close and she let it grow. Never brushed it, that Mark could tell, though Lizzie (of course) had a better eye for that sort of thing.
Zara settled when Mark was thirteen, after Mom passed. Titus settled a few months later, not long after Lizzie turned twelve. Mark was sixteen, the first time Titus let him stroke along the spine on his head. That same night, Zara butted up against Lizzie's chin.
By junior year, most everyone was settled. The new girl wasn't.
(What was her name? Mark can't remember. They called her a lot of things.)
.
“What is it?” Titus asks.
“I don’t know,” Lizzie answers. She’s a biologist and works at the local zoo, so that’s a little… odd. “A kind of ostrich, maybe? Emu?”
“That’s not an ostrich, don’t be silly,” Zara says, claws digging through Mark’s shirt and into his skin.
It’s… an enormous bird, stalking behind her, eying them all like they’re prey. Like it remembers everything they said. The fear in Mark’s gut is stupid because it’s not like they really did anything bad. No one ever hurt her.
The daemon had never spoken, not that Mark or any of his friends heard. She’d only spoken when called on in class, which was rare. She didn’t interact, just handed stuff in, shuffled from class to class, ate by herself. A year and a half, and no one ever learned the daemon’s name. it ignored the daemons just like she ignored the humans.
“Satisfied, Clara?” the daemon asks, focusing those laser eyes on his human. His voice is deep, thudding somewhere in Mark’s sternum.
“I suppose, Valan,” she sighs. “Don’t know why I bothered coming, anyway. God, I hated high school.” She turns on her heel, the bird neatly sliding to the side, and then they both leave, heads held high.
“Well, okay then,” Mark mutters.
“Hey, is that Uriko?” Titus says, standing up tall on Lizzie’s head. “Uriko! Hey!”
Zara sighs disgustedly and begins climbing down Mark’s back.
Title: the mercy of one voice speaking from far away
Fandom: Marvel movies
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Denise Levertov
Warnings: takes place after Avengers2
Pairings: maybe implied Steve/Bucky
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 400
Point of view: third
Prompt: MCU, Steve/+Bucky, oh, to see what they did to you... It would break your captain's heart.
He still goes to the memorial. Sits at the base, stares at the stars. It's quiet, here.
He talks, too. Tells the granite things he tells no one else. Natasha would listen, he knows. So would Sam. Even Bruce and Clint and St- Tony, if he let Tony fiddle with something while he talked.
Three days out of the ice, he’d snuck away from SHIELD and come here, traced the name with eyes and fingers and lips, and talked and talked and talked until the sun came up. There’s no body in the dirt, no ashes in an urn – two soldiers who never made it home, names side-by-side, and little things left by mourners and visitors and tourists to honor heroes who died for their country.
Steve didn’t die. Neither, it turned out, did Bucky.
But he still comes here. He did every week for two years, talking to a ghost because he couldn’t talk to anyone else. Even after he started seeing Peggy – but she’d understand, if she knew. If she remembered.
Steve Rogers had Bucky Barnes when he (literally) had nothing else. Bucky went to war and Steve followed when he could. Bucky died and Steve went down when could’ve found a way to live. Two years later (decades in the future) and Steve shouldn’t have been shocked when that mask fell off and Bucky turned.
He talks and talks and talks, through grief and rage, through joy and regret, through enough guilt it’d drown him if he didn’t have hatred to counteract it.
Bucky’s out there, somewhere. Ultron is finally down and Steve isn’t needed by this team (not his, not yet, maybe not ever if — ).
They’ve all talked at him, what’s left of SHIELD and their therapists, their doctors, their specialists. Bucky’s damaged, Bucky’s the enemy, Bucky this that and the other. Except, they don’t use his name. They use what Hydra called him, and Steve’s fists clench every time, he grits his teeth, he focuses his eyes on the nearest wall and he thinks one simple thing: Bucky’s alive and so am I.
His eyes trace the name. His fingers follow. “I’ll see you soon,” he says because this is a second chance and he’s going to grip it with all his strength, track the line to wherever it ends, and he does not care in the least who tries to stop him or gets in the way.