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Once upon a time in Week 3...

A retelling of a fairytale.



This prompt runs until about this time next week, so hie thee to the Aarne-Thompson Index!

The Beast- by Naomi Lasenby

Date: 2016-01-23 01:43 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
First time writing fanfic instead of drawing fanart, but this idea wouldn't leave me alone.I plan to draw something to go with it, but haven't yet. Input welcome! I'm on tumblr (naomilasenby)

Loki/Natasha as Beauty and the Beast
Set in first Avengers movie
Mind control
(I haven't really learnt tagging yet)


“What will you do if I spare him?” Loki stood in the middle of a glass chamber, staring down the assassin with curiosity.
“Not let you out.” Natasha quickly interjected.
“No, but I like this. Your world hangs in the balance and you bargain for one man.”
She lifts a small shrug. “Regimes fall every day, I tend not to weep over them, I’m Russian. Or I was.”
“Then what is it? Is this love, Agent Romanov?”
“Love is for children, I owe him a debt.” the words echo from her lips, a shadow of a mantra from long ago.
“It’s really not that complicated, I’ve got red in my ledger, I’d like to wipe it out.” She continues.
“Can you though? Can you wipe out that much red? Draykovs daughter? The hospital fire?” the memories flood back to her, as they often do, but she remains calm on the exterior, not betraying her raised heartbeat. She’s done this many times before, used her past to get information. Despite her cold exterior, Agent Romanov has never forgotten what she's done.
“You think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything? This is the basest sentimentality! This is a child at prayer!” his magnetic voice swells with the force of his words, ringing loose the message she’d heard over the phone two days ago- ‘Bartons been compromised’ - and she raged with her brain to keep on point. Suddenly he’s smacked his fist agaisnt the glass of the cage and is glaring hungrily right at her.
“..this is my bargain you mewling quim!” Loki shouts then adds, barely above a whisper, “Unless you want to trade places with him”.
‘Bartons been compromised’... ‘love is for children’... ‘red inmy ledger’...... “owe him a debt’.. echo loud in her mind. She knows what she came here to do, but she is still reminded of what she owes the man in danger. The act of a tear comes to her eyes, a simple bodily manipulation, and before she pretends to compose herself Natashas eyes meet his; green, quiet and burning and her head tilts in the smallest of nods. She'll get what the team needs, then attend to her ledger.
“You’re a monster”, she chokes out, the final ploy.
A smile flickers across Loki’s thin lips and he cackles.
“Oh no, you brought the monster.”
Her brain kicks back into gear. Banner.

The floor falls out from under her...years since she last lost her footing.
She cowers amid the wreckage..... years since she’s shied from the fight.
Barton..... her debt.....
She meets him on the walkway. He fights back immediately, eyes unnaturally blue and unseeing, lost in a world beyond her. Their fight is vicious, swings and blows and kicks and bites ingrained in the both of them beyond conscious thought. Natasha kicks, launching herself out of the way of his swinging blade and Barton gets propelled into the hand rail with a dull thud. He shakes his head, the blue fading slightly from his eyes, replaced by a flicker of recognition.
“Natasha?”
“Take me.” she whispers and throws her fist into his face.

She is vaguely aware of her body’s movements as she climbs into the quinjet next to the man in green, the sceptre glowing blue in his hand. She is barely noticing the words that spill from her mouth as he questions her about her team. Her body is not her own, and her mind..... her mind.....

Her hand runs down the smooth wooden bannister as she descends the stairs. The room is old, stately, formal yet domestic. Something blue glows from within the display cabinet but she doesnt have time to look closer, her attention is caught by the clatter-clack from the nearby room.
He beckons to her, the tall man in green, and leads her through the stately manor where she grew up. Only this time instead ofother candidates training within the rooms she sees his minions – men in black combat gear, scientists in white coats, an elderly man with white hair and a dress shirt, all eyes unnaturally blue.
Glowing behind them is a long slender staff with a blue orb, pulsating. She steps closer to try and make out its shape, but as she comes within reach of the glass around it, the room behind her empties of scientists and goes silent. Her nerves react instantly to the person who comes up behind her, she ducks low and gracefully slides out of his reach just as she had done many times before. She knows where she is now. Second training room, first floor, Red Room Academy. The mat beneath her now bare feet and the targets on the wall are as familiar as the instructor she’s sparring with. Gregov. She uses her smaller stature and flexibility to slip under his long arms, putting her now behind him and she leaps for his shoulders. The exertion barely causes her breath to pant. She could do this all day. He spins, artfully grabbing the underside of her thigh and turns to throw her to the mat, gathering his force. She uses the raised help to her advantage and wraps her legs around his head, diorientating him. Thrusting him to the floor, she rolls off and away, keeping low to watch for his next move. Gregov takes a staff off the far wall and points it at her, for the next type of combat training. The red-head smiles and turns the the cabinet behind her where she saw a spear of some kind of earlier. But as she reaches for it a hand grasps her wrist still and the training room is filled with sciensts again. tThe tall man in green has a tight hold on her wrist and fiery look in his eyes.
“Don’t touch that!” he snarls. He lets her pull her hand free.
“We have work to do.”

The red-head stood in front of a window, the tall man in green close over her shoulder. He waved his hand in front of the glass and the image shimmered. It cleared to reveal stars like none she had hever seen before. Moving between the constellations were creatures swimming in armour, and a thousand hungry eyes on faces with beaks and bodies with claws for hands.
“This is my army,” he whispered, “they will will me the Earth. And no one, not even your friends can stop them.”
He waved and the glass shimmered again. She saw the man in red don his armour and the man in blue take up a shield. When the man in black with a quiver on his back flicked his bowstring, something hummed inside her. A debt. A ledger with a little less red. The sceptre in the man’s hand glowed a little brighter, and she forgot it all again.

The assassin stood atop the tower and watched the man in green fight the man he called brother, the scientist a crumpled heap next to the device. She watched the man the green, awaiting his need of her, and when he stabbed his great brother and dove from the tower, she knew it was now her turn. She came forward, leaping onto the back of the great man, faltering his intent to follow the man who commands her.

“We are not your enemies, Natasha, try to think!” the great man bellows, an earnestness in his eyes.
He lifted his hammer to protect his face, deflecting the last of the bullets from her gun. Seeing the red-head toss her empty weapon aside, he swung the hammer to the ground, a crack opening in the floor of the balcony, careful not to blast it too close to her. Her eyes cast about for a weapon as he raised the hammer again. The corner of her eye saw the curve of the 3 sceptre, left on the ground when the man in green lept from the tower. Her hand reached for it and her mind was assaulted by images as the sceptre tried to keep her at bay.
- The man in green, his fist tight around her wrist-
- The red room academy, training room mat under her feet –
- The man with the bow, eyes blue, mindlessly fighting her-
- The man in green slamming his fist against a wall of glass, offering her a bargain-
- The stars swimming with an army-
- The sceptre glowing blue-
The light is almost blinding as her fingers graze the cold metal and then in a rush....... he mind was her own again .

The man with the hammer, hair golden and gleaming armour, she remembered is called Thor, and he looked at Natasha and smiled as she looked back at him with recognition. A scream pierced the air and they looked up to see Loki, atop a flying chariot, cursing losing his hold on the assasin. The sceptre in her hand glowed the same blue as thedevice behind her ans suddenly Natasha knew what to do. Giving a quick nod to Thor, he spun the hammer by his side and launched himself towards Loki, and Natasha approached the device.
“I can close the portal.” Natasha called, the piece still in her ear, crackling with the sounds of the battle below. She grinned up at the chariot, and its attempts to dodge the thunder god, and she whispered,
“You thought you were the beast of this story, didnt you?” and plunged the tip of the spear home.

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