Saturday free-for-all

[tigriswolf]

Today's Saturday, so that means free-for-all.

Y'all know the rules, dudes. Have fun!

Comments

[tigriswolf]

DCU, Bruce + Dick & Jason & Tim, father and sons

[tigriswolf]

Charmed, Wyatt, (alternate future) the world where Chris died instead of Piper is even worse

[tigriswolf]

Animorphs, Visser 3/Tobias, as close as he’ll ever get to Elfangor

[tigriswolf]

Suits, Harvey/Mike, Mike wants it, of course – but he’s not actually sure he can say no and it’s messing with his mind

[tigriswolf]

Avengers movieverse/Stargate Atlantis, author’s choice, … Bucky Barnes wakes up in Atlantis

[effingeden.livejournal.com]

Sherlock; Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty; "This is the way I'd kill you"

Fill: Tiger, Tiger (Warnings: lots of edgeplay, violent fantasies)

[aunt-zelda.livejournal.com]

When Sebastian wakes with Jim's hands around his throat, he reacts on instinct. A few quick movements and Sebastian has his boss pinned down, forearm over Jim's throat, free hand groping for the knife on the bedside table.

But Jim just lies there, perfectly still, tilting his head back as far as he can, giving Sebastian what seems like miles of pale skin. Tempting.

"This is how I'd kill you," Sebastian says quietly, tracing the knife from Jim's ear, down across his throat, and looping up to his other ear. "I used to think I'd do it with my rifle, but no, you deserve a more … intimate death."

"Mmmm, go on," Jim squirms, Sebastian's weight keeping him trapped for the moment.

"Oh, there's so many ways, Jim, so many wonderful ways I could do it. I think I'd like to hang you, actually. Watch your eyes bug out and your feet kick. Bet you'd enjoy it, bet you've tried jerking off with a belt around your neck -"

Jim moans and tries to thrust up against Sebastian, who can feel Jim's growing erection against his thigh.

"But you like knives too, don't you? I could make it last so long, Jim, I know so many tricks. Have you ever seen your own skin being peeled off? I could do you like an apple, I swear." Sebastian is reaching now, but Jim is writhing under him with delight and anything that can get Jim to make that screwed-up face of desperate arousal is something to keep going with.

"Or I might use a gun. Not my rifle. Obviously, no, I want to be up close. A nice pistol, I think. Maybe something antique with a nice long barrel, make you suck it off." Sebastian grins at that mental image and files it away for the future. "I'd make you suck me off too, but you'd bite, wouldn't you? As a final act of defiance."

"Noooooo …" Jim rolls his neck and shakes his head emphatically. "I wouldn't mind, if you were there to kill me, I wouldn't mind sucking you off. I'd want to. And I wouldn't need to bite, I've left enough scars on you for you to remember me."

Sebastian laughs at the wording. Of course Jim would think of it in those terms, of "needing" to be remembered with a vicious bite scar or the puckered burns he's left down Sebastian's ribcage.

"Do you want to hear how I'd kill you?" Jim trills.

"Not especially no. It probably involves vats of acid and me still being alive going into them."

"Ooooo, so close!" Jim cackles.

"There's not just one way with you, you'll have hundreds of ideas swimming around in that crazy skull of yours. I bet you think about smothering me with a pillow every night."

"I do, I'm afraid. Compulsion, someone being so vulnerable next to me just triggers something and my hands start going for the sharp objects."

Sebastian huffs a laugh. Sleeping with Jim is like sleeping next to a tiger, wondering not if but when it will attack. But Sebastian likes things that way, keeps his life an interesting kind of terrifying.

[iceybreath.livejournal.com]

Elementary, Sherlock/Joan, mystery solvers club.

[elfgirljen.livejournal.com]

any, any, dreaming of home during Christmas

[elfgirljen.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Dean, I stopped believing in Santa Claus when I was 4 years old

minifill

[tigriswolf]

The Christmas after the fire, all Dean asked Santa for was Mommy.

He woke up Christmas morning to Sammy crying and Daddy stinking of booze.

Mommy was still gone.

Dean didn't believe in Santa or God after that.

[mahmfic.livejournal.com]

any, any, panic attacks

[mahmfic.livejournal.com]

any, any, your hands are too cold

[mahmfic.livejournal.com]

any, any, samuel l. jackson is overrated

Micro-fill

[classics-lover.livejournal.com]

It was Tarantino Night at Stark Towers. Partly because Steve still hadn't seen Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction or Kill Bill, and Tony felt it was his patriotic duty to make sure the good Captain did, and partly because Tarantino Night was guaranteed to brin all the Avengers to the sofa.

Halfway through Jackie Brown, Tony muttered something derisive into his popcorn.

"The fuck did you say about Samuel L Jackson?"

"Uh... Nothing , Director Fury," Tony replied very quickly, before lunging across the room and defenestrating himself.

[mahmfic.livejournal.com]

any, any, my little albatross

[mahmfic.livejournal.com]

any, any, coccinellidaephobia (fear of ladybugs)

[iceybreath.livejournal.com]

The Walking Dead, any, on the warpath.

[mangacrack.livejournal.com]

The Avengers, Steve & Tony Friendship, Let me be your armor, Let me be your shield.

[mangacrack.livejournal.com]

The Avenger's, Loki /& Thor, When the beds are burned
And the tables turned
There's nothing left for you
To do but, you to do but

Execute me
For you I'll take bow
Execute me now

Filled: Never

[aunt-zelda.livejournal.com]

The first time Loki barely set foot on Earth. The real fights took place on Asgard. Earth had been the place Thor was banished to, a pitiable place full of pathetic mortals. Loki barely remembered it.

The second time was much longer. Loki was actually quite proud of his work the second time. He'd enslaved several mortals to do his bidding, destroyed buildings, torn down the so-called "Avengers" and opening a portal to space. He remembers the destruction the alien army wrought on "precious" Midgard and smiles. He was responsible for that. He was responsible for things Thor could never have possibly achieved.

The third time is different.

"You have gone too far this time, brother," Thor growls. Around them the city is burning. The others are fighting the flames, evacuating people, but they're only staving off the inevitable. This city will burn to the ground and there's nothing they can do to stop it. They can only save the people, and put up trenches to contain the flames from going farther than city limits.

Loki is lying on the roof of one of the taller buildings downtown. He and Thor fought, heedless of the flames, and now both men are scorched, their clothes and armor burned in patches. Loki had another staff this time, but Thor snapped it and threw it into the fires of Central Park. Loki put too much of his power into the staff, he's weak and drained now, with barely enough energy to raise himself back up onto his feet. He sways in place. "When are you going to stop me, brother?"

"I've tried -"

"No, you've never given up on me. This? All of this?" Loki gestures to the burning city around them. "It's time to give up, brother. Look at what I've done to the people of Midgard. You can't just gag me and drag me back home this time."

"What would you have me do?" Thor asks, voice leaden.

Loki sinks down onto his knees and bows his head. Thor is the only person he has ever willingly knelt to.

"No," Thor's voice is hoarse. He takes a few steps back; Loki watches his boots retreat.

"I won't stop. Next time I'll be worse. I can't … I don't want to stop, Thor." Loki's mind swims. "Do you want me to beg?"

"No!" Thor comes forward, grabs Loki and shakes him. "This is madness, Loki, please …"

Loki knows he should fight, but lacks the strength and the will. "You know you want to. Think of all the humans you'll save, the lives you'll free from pain and suffering. Think of your broken companions, the archer who fears me even now, and his whore -"

Thor lets him go, and Loki falls, hard, on his knees. Pain radiates up his legs and he wants more.

Thor raises Mjolnir and Loki closes his eyes, dares to hope that finally it will all end, the fighting and the frustration and his constant attempts to surpass his brother.

But instead of the crushing blow of a hammer, Thor presses a kiss to his brother's forehead.

"Never." Thor promises, wrapping his arms around Loki. "I will never give up on you, brother."

Loki doesn't know whether to scream or cry or laugh. So he just rests against Thor's shoulder and watches the city burn.

[doreyg.livejournal.com]

Henry V - Shakespeare/Harry Potter, Montjoy/Henry V, the first time he realized he had a crush

Filled: What is Thy Name?

[aunt-zelda.livejournal.com]

The first time Montjoy meets Henry, he’s afraid. He’s got a piece of parchment in his hands, and has to read it out to Henry, in front of him and his whole Quidditch team. It’s something his cousin Louis “the Dauphin” wrote, full of insults and taunts and a sneering challenge to a duel. Montjoy is certain that Henry is going to hex him, or his team is going to beat him up, for being so insulting. He remembers the last time someone got Henry angry, really angry, and the kid ended up stuck in a tree at the edge of the Forbidden Forest covered in honey and feathers. It had never been proven, but the kid, Scrope, didn’t talk to people much anymore.

So when Montjoy reads out the challenge, slaps Henry’s face with a glove, and finishes with an unflattering comment about Henry’s Muggleborn mother, he’s expecting the worst.

But Henry takes the parchment, reads it, burns it with a muttered spell, and considers Montjoy not as an enemy or a bug to be squashed, but as a person. “What’s your name? You’re in my Transfiguration class.”

Montjoy feels himself blushing and doesn’t know why. “Montjoy …”

“And you’re a Ravenclaw … what’s the Dauphin got on you, to get you to read out crap like this?”

Montjoy sighs. “He’s family. We’re cousins. It’s my … responsibility, to listen to him.”

Henry scowls, but seems satisfied. “Ok. I accept the duel.”

Montjoy leaves, stunned that he’d gotten away without a scratch. And Henry had asked for his name, had a conversation even. None of the other people the Dauphinhas sent him to deliver messages to paid him attention, treated him like a servant or a slave, unseen and unheard except for the messages.

He feels a blush rising to his cheeks at the memory of how Henry had looked at him. It’s no wonder Henry is so popular with the girls at school (and some of the boys, it’s rumored).

Montjoy finds himself guiltily hoping that he’ll have to issue more challenges to Henry. If he has to do his cousin’s bidding, at least he can do it while getting to talk to a polite, attractive boy his age, who might be up for a bit of flirting.

At night, Montjoy is plagued by the distracting mental image of sneaking in to sabotage the Gryffindor Quidditch team’s brooms and being caught by Henry, pressed against the wall and kissed by those teasing, smirking lips …

Montjoy wakes up hard and confused and annoyed. He really doesn’t need a crush on Henry the Gryffindor Golden Boy on top of everything else in his life.

[doreyg.livejournal.com]

Richard II - Shakespeare, Richard II/Henry IV,

Furious dreams, rivers of bitter certainty,
decisions harder than the dreams of a hammer
flowed into the lovers' double cup,

[odette-river.livejournal.com]

NCIS, Ziva/Gibbs, lying there watching planes just disappear ("Rochester", Mat Kearney)

[doreyg.livejournal.com]

Arsenic and Old Lace, Einstein/Mortimer, Begin again

[odette-river.livejournal.com]

Greek Mythology, Cassandra/Apollo, better run girl

tw: implied non-con

[rattyjol.livejournal.com]

Her crime is composing poetry.

The words flow from her lips like a summer's breeze, bobbing across the chamber and out the window, to escape above the city. She lies back on her bed and recites fully-formed stanzas to the ceiling (she thinks); the lines take shape on the way from her self to her tongue and unravel again once spoken.

And then suddenly he is there, in lowly human form and a burst of sunlight, poised gracefully on a stool and strumming his lyre to fit to her words.

She sits, the unfinished poem festering like a half-healed wound inside her. "My lord," she says to the god in her bedchamber. She has been taught how to speak to princes and kings and lords from a thousand distant lands, but none of her tutors ever told her how to speak to a god in her bedchamber.

"Your poetry pleases me, my lady." He smiles like the sun. "I should like to listen to it forever."

"I fear your lord uncle may have something to say about that, my lord. We mortals are, generally speaking, quite mortal."

"Bah, Hades." He strokes two fingers down her cheek. She feels briefly dizzy, as though from too much time spent in the sun. "He could not touch you on Olympus."

"Would you take me then, my lord, and leave King Priam with only eleven daughters?"

"He has two and threescore children. He will not miss you."

"Perhaps not." She frowns. "And would you take me to wife, my lord? Would I be by your side always? Or would I be locked away, a forgotten princess in a lonely tower? Forgive me, my lord, but the gods have never been kind to their mortal consorts."

"Your beauty has captured me. Your verse has no equal among men and gods alike, and the words fall from your tongue like sunlight. How could I help but love one such as you until the very fall of Olympus?"

"I have many sisters, my lord. I have seen men promise them wealth and marriage, only to leave them weeping. Like the sun, love must rise and set, but in between it seems as if it will hang in the sky forever. No. Forgive me, my lord, but I must decline."

And suddenly -- like a bolt of thunder, like a quarrel from Apollo's golden bow -- she is struck with the knowledge of what those words have (will) cost her. "My lord," she whispers. "Please, you cannot . . ."

"I can," he murmurs, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes. "One of the many benefits of being a god. I can."

When he is finished he picks up his lyre and straightens his laurels. "A forgotten princess in a lonely tower," he echoes back to her. "You know everything, now."

"Yes," she whispers, the flames of Troy roaring behind her eyelids. He is gone then. The unfinished poem still lingers within her, but the rest will not come. And now -- now, only -- she sheds a tear for all the things that have been (will be) lost.

[doreyg.livejournal.com]

Person of Interest, Finch/Reese, oh Christmas tree

[doreyg.livejournal.com]

Greek myth, Helen of Troy, queenly

[elfgirljen.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Dean, secret yearning