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Prompt Post No. 1
norse_kink wrote in norsekink
Announcement: Norsekink Round 1 is now closed to new prompts!
Attention: All new and continuing fills for this round are to be posted in the Overflow Post, not in this round.

Format of Prompts

  • Alphabetize pairings/threesomes/moresomes. (e.g. Heimdall/Loki/Thor).

  • Put [RPF] before RPF prompts. (e.g. [RPF] Chris/Tom)

  • For crossover prompts: "[Crossover], Thor Character(s)/Other Character(s), [Fandom]" (e.g. [Crossover], Loki/Tony, [Iron Man])

  • No "!" in pairings, only in descriptions. (e.g. Jane/Darcy, Quarterback!Thor, CFO!Loki)

  • Anyone, everyone, no one? Use "Other." (e.g. Jane/Other)

  • Put [GEN] before GEN prompts.

In order to make Delicious archiving easier, please use the following names:

Thor Loki
Jane Odin
Erik Darcy
Coulson Hawkeye
Heimdall Laufey
Volstagg Hogun
Fandral Sif
Frigga Isabel


    • Link to NSFW images/videos. Don't embed.

    • Please don't link to locked material. This includes locked communities, even in membership is open.

    • Fills may be posted anonymously or not.

    • Fills can be anything: fic, art, vid, fanmix, podfic, etc.

    • Prompts may be filled as many times as you like. There are lots of really interesting prompts, and if one inspires you, feel free to fill it again even if someone already has.

    • To make sure that your newly posted fic is found and properly indexed, please post a comment to the Fill List using the prescribed format.

Patterned after the kinkme_merlin, hetalia_kink and inception_kink rules.

Sequel Fill: The Calculator 1/?


2011-05-20 04:40 pm (UTC)

It began with a calculator. A clunky thing, the size of what would be considered to be a laptop these days, with giant keys for punching in numbers and only four functions. But it was fascinating to a young boy that liked mathematical functions far more than he liked people1.

Like many misfits, Daniel Sorres withdrew into his own world of mathematical puzzles and calculations and the machines used to make them ever more precise. Because ultimately, mathematics makes sense2. And the defining characteristic of people, other than an unfortunate tendency to eat deep fried anything, is a complete lack of any sense whatsoever.

And while the rest of humanity reveled in its complete lack of logic while watching American Idol, the now young man devoted most of his time to delving into further mathematical complexities and more obscure layers of logic, trying to understand just what made the universe the way it was, and made humanity an illogical stain on an otherwise lovely bit of infinite clockwork.

And as is often the case, he eventually became frustrated with the limits of his own meaty brain, which unfortunately required things like rest, and food, and the occasional non-caffeinated liquid. The next logical step was building a sort of exterior brain, an improvement that could do his thinking while he was forced to sleep or take out the trash. And that, as one might expect, evolved into an unhealthy interest in machines that could not just do his thinking, but think for themselves. Like humans, but logical. And thinking.

There was only one problem with this endeavor. He could make ever more complex machines, program them to do ever more complex functions, to ape behaviors even, but there was always a spark missing. He could create things that were animate, but not animated, and ultimately unable to find the logical bridge to go beyond the set routines he had programmed.

While wrestling with this knotty problem, sitting in the darkest corner of the local Applebees and nursing a screwdriver that was in truth a glass of orange juice3, he met someone, purely by accident. Someone who introduced himself as Lawrence Laufson, a tall man with dark hair and green eyes that Daniel would have acknowledged as utterly gorgeous if he'd had the slightest idea about how to deal with any physical urge. Lawrence invited himself to sit at Daniel's table, and proceeded to change everything.

1 – Though it is fair to say, many of us have been there. For example, an integral has never judged someone on the basis of their appearance or snubbed them for wearing the wrong kind of shoes.

2 – Mostly because mathematics is whatever you choose to define it as. So there have been mathematics that haven't made sense before, strictly speaking, and those are the sorts of things that allow the most interesting kind of mad geniuses to cut portals through space and time, using just the flick of a pen and a well-oiled slide rule. But normal, every day mad geniuses tend to define their maths in a logical way, where two plus two equals four, not unicorns, the square root of the set containing all real numbers, or, as is unfortunately often the case, murder.

3 – After the unfortunate incident at TGI Friday, word had gotten around about the effect of alcohol on quiet, incredibly repressed nerd-types. The staff at most restaurants had a little booklet of photos of the most likely local quiet-and-sweet-loner-who-might-snap-at-a-moments-notice types.

Sequel Fill: The Calculator 2/?


2011-05-20 04:42 pm (UTC)

He ran a small software company, he said. He'd heard about Daniel, and was interested in his work, and the applications that might exist for it in Defense. Well, yes, sort of like Tony Stark, but without all the arrogant asshole. But more importantly, they then had talked, for hours and hours, Daniel's sad little glass of orange juice forgotten as he realized, perhaps for the first time in his life, that he had met an intellect equal to his own. Someone who possessed his same zeal for logic, and control, and attention to detail, and who miraculously enough didn't appear to require medication to interact with other people.

Daniel was fascinated, and more than a little in love. And down the rabbit hole he followed Lawrence, never quite grasping where they were going until suddenly his city was on fire, there was a half-sentient two-story tall war android singing drinking songs as it danced down main street, and some very interesting people had shown up to deal with the problem. One of whom wore a scarlet cape and a helmet that had wings on it, as if he was the messenger from the FTD Florist that made its home in the eighth circle of Hell.

That was the point where he had turned to Lawrence as he'd done so many times before, hoping for a bit of guidance, and noticed the absolutely unhinged gleam in the man's eye. And then there was that laugh, the sort of thing that normally came out of James Bond villains, except Lawrence owned that sound in an integral way that Daniel couldn't quite understand.

And then Lawrence vanished, right before Daniel's eyes, and left him to deal with some very angry men in black suits all by himself.

He only spent a few years in prison, and all of that minimum security, once it became plain that the now-missing Lawrence – who seemed oddly familiar to many of the men, once Daniel had gotten to the bit about dark hair and green eyes – had been the driving force behind the destruction. But those years gave Daniel time to think, about what had gone wrong, and so horribly right, when his thinking machine went berserk.

And the only conclusion he could come to was that it all came down to Lawrence. He'd let Lawrence modify the robot. That had given it the spark it needed, to approach something like life. But that had also, he thought, made it decide to do strange things with that life, like wear a pickup-truck on its head like a fedora.

He needed Lawrence. He needed him to make another machine, a better machine. But he also needed to more control, to keep whatever horrible madness afflicted that man's otherwise superlative mind from slipping through and tainting the final product.

And, strangely, he also just missed Lawrence himself. It had been nice to have someone around that he could really talk to. Though he could certainly do without the maniacal laughter.

By the time they let him out of prison, with strict orders to see his parole officer and make certain he took his medication, Daniel had a plan.


So, hopefully this doesn't sound lame, unfunny, or uninteresting. But I had an idea for a sequel, and the original bit was just so much fun to write I thought I'd give it a try. ^^;;;; So I will post more as I write it, but here's the setup.

Re: Sequel Fill: The Calculator 2/?


2011-05-20 06:33 pm (UTC)

"half-sentient two-story tall war android singing drinking songs as it danced down main street"

Just what is Loki high on? I need some of it. Malicious nuisance indeed.

What is Daniel going to do?!

Re: Sequel Fill: The Calculator 2/?


2011-05-20 08:21 pm (UTC)

I am already loving it! You have such a great style!

Re: Sequel Fill: The Calculator 2/?


2011-05-20 08:47 pm (UTC)

I love it!

Re: Sequel Fill: The Calculator 2/?


2011-05-20 11:12 pm (UTC)

I loved the first part, and now there's a sequel! And it's so far away from being unfunny or uninteresting that you have nothing to worry about, dear anon <33

Re: Sequel Fill: The Calculator 2/?


2011-05-21 12:47 am (UTC)

fuuuuuuuuuuck. you just 'bout killed me, girl. or boy. ;D i need more people like daniel in my life.

will stalk this prompt like a demented person.

Re: Sequel Fill: The Calculator 2/?


2011-05-21 01:16 am (UTC)

totally forgot to comment on the fedora thing. it reminded me of american gods. XD

Re: Sequel Fill: The Calculator 2/?


2011-05-21 01:27 am (UTC)

/like wear a pickup-truck on its head like a fedora./

/Though he could certainly do without the maniacal laughter./
but that's what makes it FUN!!!!!


Re: Sequel Fill: The Calculator 2/?


2011-05-21 02:39 am (UTC)

I want this! I want so much more, its simply divine. XD Pun not intended.

Re: Sequel Fill: The Calculator 2/?


2011-05-21 04:27 am (UTC)

I heartily approve (and am intrigued) by your sequel. :D

Sequel Fill: The Calculator 3/?


2011-05-21 04:34 pm (UTC)

There were many parts of the primitive technology in Midgard that Loki had embraced wholeheartedly, since they had a certain charm. Big screen televisions, stereos, iPods – all of these were things he liked. But he wasn't such a fan of e-mail; it was much more effort to manipulate someone using printed words instead of spoken. And really, at his heart he was a people person who much preferred the warmth of face to face meetings, where a little light stabbing could be easily applied if necessary4.

But he'd also learned that the self-styled mad geniuses of Midgard loved their little internet, and would rather e-mail than meet in person any day. Something to do with their petty squabbles constantly leading them to try to murder each other with bombs or acid or flowers that emitted modified versions of the Ebola virus. And Loki was nothing if not adaptable, so he'd acquired a multitude of e-mail accounts and seen to their coordination and security with a bit of simple magic.

E-mail also helped, he noticed, when he was in the mood to play a more subtle persona.

He sorted through his morning e-mail as he waited for breakfast to finish making itself. There was the weekly newsletter from Dr. Doom, and several overly-friendly and terribly spelled messages offering to help him increase the size of his manhood5 - and much more interestingly, a message passed through an account that he'd long since considered defunct, belonging to his Lawrence Laufson identity.

The waffle iron emitted a nervous little beep6; Loki idly crooked one finger, and the iron flipped itself as he opened the e-mail and read:

4 – But only to people who were too dense for anything as subtle as Loki's rainbow spectrum of social techniques, which ran the gamut from sweet talk to manipulation to blackmail to bald-faced threats.

5 – The existence of spam is a universal law, like gravity, that no amount of magic can break or even bend.

6 – The waffle iron was now the oldest of Loki's kitchen appliances, and the only one remaining that had seen the terrible fate of the espresso machine on what could only be described as The Day Of Judgement When The Hot Water Alarm Went Off A Bit Too Loud.

Re: Sequel Fill: The Calculator 2/?


2011-11-11 11:09 pm (UTC)

LOL, a war robot wearing a truck as a hat . . .

Sequel Fill: The Calculator 20/?


2011-06-15 05:32 am (UTC)

The stolen shipment of carbon nanotubes arrived two days late, but the crate was in one piece and no questions were asked, so Daniel really couldn't complain. There was bound to be a little room for messiness when it came to stealing things via computer errors, misplacing shipments and rerouting them in ways that would throw off anyone who might be watching.

He had much to keep him occupied in the intervening time, anyway. He and Loki – how strange it still felt to use that name for his own creation – worked on finalizing the designs for what would become Loki's body. And that was where the true success of his invention shined through. Loki approved a design for a fiber optic nervous system, but then insisted that the rest of the body come as loose components that he would then manage.

IT IS ALL A MATTER OF MORPHOLOGIC28 FIELDS. I WILL MAINTAIN MY APPEARANCE, Loki had stated, and refused to entertain any further argument.

Not that Daniel was keen to argue. He wanted to see what his creation would do, happy to be surpassed by it29.

And then after the carbon nanotubes arrived, he got a shipment from Stark Industries that was dropped off by a UPS truck. With that, he knew he'd out-done himself, borrowing a new power source from Tony Stark himself. It was perfection. He wired it into the nervous system for the robot, tested all of the connections seven times to be certain, and then typed to Loki, "I think that's everything."


The screen faded to blankness after a moment, something that Daniel was beginning to associate with the robot turning its attention elsewhere.

He didn't truly believe that the plan would work, but at some point he had to place trust in the genius of his robot. So he dutifully mixed the components that Loki had previously told him to – cell cultures and carbon nanotubes and some trace isotopes as well as a healthy helping of gelatin – and lowered the fiber optic system in to it using a winch.

Then he waited, nervously doing square roots in his head to pass the time.


"Right." Daniel carefully disconnected the silver sphere of the brain from the monitors and hooked it into the fiber optics, which immediately flared into life in a rainbow of colors. Then he
lowered the winch further until everything was covered by the goo.

It would have been right, he thought vaguely, to have some Tesla coils about. Or a thunder storm. He'd never been one to be old fashioned, but those would have been a substitute for his inability to voice "Give my creation life!" in anything other than an embarrassed squeak.

28 – With apologies and many thanks to the amazing Terry Pratchett.

29 – Daniel had the good fortune to be one of those mad geniuses that truly wished to be surpassed by the creation of his own mind. Most claim that they do, but show them an eight-foot-tall patchwork man that can tap dance and do fourth derivatives in his head, and they'll be reaching for the torch and pitchfork soon enough. This was also why so many creators never survived their creations, because jealousy makes for a rocky parent-child relationship with something that is superior to you in every way.

Sequel Fill: The Calculator 21/?


2011-06-15 05:32 am (UTC)

The lights didn't even flicker. Instead, seconds ticked away with almost palpable pressure, banging around on the insides of Daniel's skull until he was convinced that someone had implanted an analog clock in his brain when he wasn't looking.

A hand reached from the vat, breaking the stillness with a loud squelch. Daniel jumped back, clapping his hands over his mouth to hold in a yelp. The hand felt around until it found the release on the winch, then pulled the pin. It sank from sight.

Daniel crept forward, eyes focused on the vat. The surface rippled, swirled, and then suddenly the fluid level dropped as if a plug had been pulled.

A head was revealed.

Then a face.

Then a neck and shoulders.

And so on and so on, revealing each and every part a human male should possess, though Daniel averted his eyes before examining certain things too closely. All was a strange, yellowish pink, the color that the gelatin had made it.

The eyes on the face opened, the movement almost imperceptible because there was no color difference. And then the newly made man seemed to shudder, ripple, and color burst through him. Hair became dark; eyes became green; skin assumed a natural shade.

"Hello Daniel," the man – Loki – said, smiling. The expression seemed slightly off, artificial. "It's pleasant to see you face to face at last."

Daniel felt no sense of movement; suddenly he was on his knees, hands clutching at his chest. His eyes prickled with tears. "You're... beautiful," he whispered.

"I imagine I am pleasing enough by objective standards," Loki said. He rose out of the vat with a gesture, floating over the edge and coming down in front of Daniel. "Why do you feel the need to leak?"

Daniel sniffled. "I'm just so... happy. I can't even... I'm so happy. You're beautiful!"

Loki tilted his head, a crooked smile playing at his lips as if he was trying the expression on for size. "That is good to hear."

"I mean... you're perfect!"

Loki inspected his hands. For a moment, magic flared over both of them; he extinguished it by closing his fingers. "Not perfect. No, not yet perfect. I detect a discrepancy between myself and the files I've acquired. Something is missing." He sounded puzzled rather than angry.

Daniel got awkwardly to his feet. "What could possibly be missing?"

"Unknown. I will have to investigate. Perhaps the... copy of me is in possession of something I do not have."

It took Daniel a moment to realize that Loki was referring to Lawrence, or Loki, or whatever his name was, the original. "Well... no need to worry about that, right?"

Loki stared at him, and for the first time Daniel felt a tiny curl of fear in his stomach, looking into the eyes of something much more vast and dangerous than himself. "I will be complete and whole."

"Right." Daniel cleared his throat and looked away. "So then where would you like to start?"

"I will go to his apartment. There may be an item of importance I have not yet calculated."

Daniel cleared his throat again. "Clothes," he muttered.


"You should put on some clothes."

Loki paused, looking down at himself. "This is correct. Or I will attract attention." He shimmered again, his body seeming to flow, and suddenly he was wearing a business suit, the same one Lawrence had worn the day this adventure had gotten started.

Daniel smiled. "That looks good. Really good."

Loki reached out and patted Daniel on the cheek. The gesture felt slightly awkward, another thing he was trying on for size, but he nodded to himself. "I appreciate your help, Daniel. We make a lovely team." Daniel said nothing in return; he simply looked stunned as Loki walked past him. "I will return soon. Stay here."


Loki vanished.

Sequel Fill: The Calculator 22/?


2011-06-19 06:55 am (UTC)

There were many qualities that set Loki apart from lesser megalomaniacs, but none so much as the fact that he believed deeply in two things: patience, and research30.

On the fourth day of waiting for his magic to show even the smallest glimmer of strengthening, it was apparent that patience had failed.

Research, unfortunately, required not being stuck in a SHIELD facility.

He allowed himself one moment of annoyance that he was stuck here at all, considering if he had his magic working, he could have just teleported away. But no, he was thinking about this the wrong way – it should be a challenge, his brain against the much less magnificent collective IQ of the people who had designed the facility and those who occupied it. Of course he had things he'd rather be doing, but sometimes a god didn't get to pick his battles; sometimes they picked him.

After three days, he had the rhythm of the base down well enough, could time when the guards would walk back and forth in the halls, calculate the likelihood of when the lovely Agent Romanoff might want to see him. The best time to do an escape, rather than in the witching hours of the night, seemed to be during dinner. People were distracted, hungry, trying to stuff their silly human faces with what he could only assume were more fish sandwiches, since that was apparently all they ate. There were more patrols in the dead of night, less in the waning hours of the evening.

So that was the time he chose.

It was a simple enough endeavor. He might not have had his magic available to him, but he still had the few perks of his heritage at his beck and call – and while he hated the Jotun as much if not more than anyone else, he wasn't fool enough to turn his back on any available advantage.

Loki picked up a magazine and wandered slowly around the room, pretending to be terribly interested in the best places to buy good angora wool, until he heard two sets of footsteps pass by in the hall.

He paused under the security camera that afforded the view of the door and gently blew on it. The lens frosted over. After carefully folding one of the pages, he dropped the magazine on the floor, walked over to the door, and shorted out the electronic lock with a tiny but deftly applied bit of ice.

It was delicately done enough that no alarms sounded as he strolled out into the hall. Twenty feet down, there was a ceiling access panel, and he lifted himself up into it gracefully, even with a weak arm. The ceiling was full of electrical conduits and pipes. He picked the pipe marked as water and followed it silently, knowing that it would eventually take him somewhere useful.


Natasha was in the middle of winding spaghetti around her fork when her phone started vibrating. She checked the message, still idly twirling the noodles: Security camera in Loki's cell out, prisoner is in the wind.

She dropped her fork, spattering Thor and Agent Coulson with marinara sauce, and stood.

"What's wrong?" Thor asked, wiping his face with the back of one hand.

"Your brother's escaped," she called over her shoulder as she ran for the door.

Thor stood as well. "Was that not the plan?"

Agent Coulson picked up Natasha's napkin, dipped it in her water, and began dabbing at the dots of red sauce on his shirt collar, a tiny, tragic frown on his lips. "Actually, no. We were going to fake a fire tomorrow morning." He looked even more annoyed when Thor started laughing.

30 – Whereas most garden variety megalomaniacs believe (a) in the efficacy of blood as an exfolient and (b) that a pit of sharks is a good investment when you want to kill someone in evening wear.

Sequel Fill: The Calculator 23/?


2011-06-19 06:56 am (UTC)


The boiler room didn't prove particularly helpful, so Loki tried another water line, following it silently through the ceiling. Below, he heard the faint sound of splashing, a somewhat rough male voice singing, "I'm just a holy fool, oh baby it's so cruel, but I'm still in love with Judas baby--"

Shower meant naked and vulnerable. Singing meant alone. Or a lot of security in one's masculinity31. And a SHIELD agent alone was an agent who could be threatened in to telling him the fastest way to get out of this damn concrete maze.

Silently, he pulled a tile away from the ceiling and lowered himself down.


Clint massaged another handful of shampoo into his scalp, not because he was that dirty, but because the hot water was pleasant and he had the bathroom all to himself, and man it was nicer than listening to a lot of guys bitch at each other about their latest fishing trip. He sucked in another lungful of steamy air, ready to launch into a chorus of "Woah-woah-woah--"

Something very pointy, sharp, and cold pricked at his back, right below his left kidney, and a hand closed over his shoulder. He froze, hands going up to show he was unarmed. He squinted his eyes against the shampoo.

"If you don't want to find out what life is like with only one kidney, human, I suggest you tell me the quickest way to the front door," Loki hissed in his ear.


"What?" The hand on his shoulder pushed Clint around, the sharp, knife-like point tracing a line unerringly from his kidney to his lung to his heart. "Oh, Hawkeye! What a pleasant surprise."

Clint tried to crack one eye open – he got enough to confirm that it was, indeed, Loki, and then he was overcome with stinging tears. "Ah, shit. Jesus. Scared the hell out of me, man."

"Well, I assure you, no hard feelings between us. Really, if I wasn't preparing to bisect your aorta, I'd shake your hand. That was a masterful shot."

"Aw, shucks. Thanks. I appreciate it."

"I'd love to talk more, but I'm on a bit of a schedule." A klaxon started sounding out in the hall. "So why don't you tell me what I want to know and we can go back to trying to kill each other like civilized beings once I've got a clean suit and you're wearing more than suds."

"Um, right. So out the door, take a left, then a right--"

The pain between two of his ribs became distinctly sharper. "I can tell when you're lying."

"I mean, a left and a left--"

"Still lying."

Clint already knew the plan that they had in place for Loki. They were going to let him run off tomorrow morning anyway; twelve hours wasn't worth getting shanked in the shower by the man. He was pretty sure that sort of thing wouldn't sound good in a eulogy. "Right, then left, then left, then have curve, up the stairs, left, you're home free."

"Thank you. Oh and... if I ever hear someone imply you're compensating for something with the whole... arrow thing... don't worry, I'll set them straight now."

Clint cracked an eye half open again. "You're a pal."

Loki grinned, swiped a droplet of water from Clint's chest with one long finger, and licked it away with the flick of his tongue. "Always."

And then he was gone, something metal clattering on the tiles in his wake.

Clint shoved his head under the spray of the shower, scrubbing at his eyes. As soon as he could, he looked around, picking up a nail file from the floor where Loki had dropped it. "You've got to be fucking--" he stormed from the shower, slipping on the slick tiles and almost running into the wall.

His towel was gone. As was his ID. And when he tried to open the bathroom door, the lock was frozen solid.

31 – Probability on a military base where men spent that much time fondling their rifles? Not odds he'd be willing to bet on in Vegas.

Sequel Fill: The Calculator 25/?


2011-06-22 06:10 am (UTC)

There was a man in a kitchen, just one, who had dark hair and wore an eerily familiar gray suit, the cut of it nipping at his memory. The man turned, and Loki found himself face to face with himself, green eyes and slightly knowing smirk – wait, he didn't normally look quite that smug, did he32 - and one eyebrow quirking up as if to say, 'well isn't this fun.'

Even as his brain tried to process that particular impossibility, his gaze flicked around the kitchen, taking in the situation, the location of all the carving knives, the cabinet where he kept his gourmet coffee and teas half empty with its door hanging open, and--

"That," he said, very calmly and carefully, "is my waffle iron. I suggest you put it down, so that I can proceed to stab you without damaging it."

The fake Loki glanced down, eyebrows jumping a little as if to say, 'what waffle iron? oh, this one?' and then he smiled again, that little half quirk on his lips that Loki was beginning to realize might be the main reason people wanted to murder him even when he was at his most innocuous. "Negative. It is my waffle iron."

It was like looking in a mirror on his worst days, when he couldn't quite handle being himself, when all he saw in his own reflection was everything that he despised and none of the parts of himself that he considered worthwhile. Something white hot clawed at his brain, filling his eyes with smoke.

"That would only be possible if you were Loki. And considering that's who I happen to be, you're a fucking liar now put down my waffle iron you son of a bitch!"

He lunged, poker out to strike. The other Loki didn't move, didn't do anything but prick up an eyebrow and laugh and then the poker sank deep into his chest and kept sinking. There was no grate of bone or resistance of flesh; it was like stabbing a Jell-o mold33. He half fell forward, then lunged back.

The fake Loki grabbed the poker, wrenched it from his hand, and pulled it sideways from his chest, flesh and suit rippling like a liquid. It came free with a soft, squelching pop. The fake inspected the poker, then dropped it on the floor. "You see, if I were an inadequate flesh bag like you, that might have really hurt," he remarked. He set the waffle iron down on the counter.

But Loki was already backing out of the kitchen, one hand finding a lap and flinging it at the fake. He need a moment, to regroup, to think--

The fake disappeared.

Loki stopped, turned; he knew this game. He was facing the fake when it reappeared. He blocked the first blow, drove his knee into the fake's groin, but it didn't make a difference, it felt like he'd just driven his knee into a marshmallow, not a person--

Because it's not a person, you fucking idiot. So will this be how it ends, undone by your own stupidity? THINK!

There was no time to think.

32 – Yes.

33 – Christmas, 2009, the awful lime green Jell-o salad at Biffy's party after one two many Long Island Ice Teas that Loki was now certain hadn't ever involved tea of any sort.

Sequel Fill: The Calculator 28/?


2011-07-05 07:13 am (UTC)

With Loki gone and in the wind, everyone seemed to be upset except for Thor. Hawkeye had stormed through the hallways in nothing but a towel, a nail file clenched in one fist, and when Thor had asked him about it the only answer he received was a punch in the arm. Thor had followed him to a conference room, keeping a safe distance from the nail file. Agents Coulson and Romanoff were already there. Natasha paced back and forth, sputtering incoherently about the inappropriate use of personal hygiene products. Coulson wasn't so much furious as quietly annoyed about the state of his new shirt.

It was probably for the best that the other Avengers had been elsewhere at the time, since Thor had a feeling that he would have been on the receiving end of more uncalled-for punching and shouting. Which didn't bother him that much specifically, since that was sort of like a polite hello in Asgard, but he mostly didn't care for everyone obliquely blaming him for Loki's escape.

Because really, it wasn't Thor's fault that it was utterly hilarious, or that he couldn't stop the snickers and guffaws36 that leaked from his blond beard. Loki just had that effect on him37.

So Thor did his best to stay quiet and be as out of the way as it was possible for him to be, which was really like watching an elephant trying to Not Be A Bother Don't Mind Me. Agent Romanoff made a noise that was somewhere in between an angry beehive and a boiling kettle and kicked over a chair. It made a satisfying enough crash; she smoothed her hair down, dusting her hands off.

“I don't know what that chair ever did to you,” Hawkeye said.

“Shut up, Clint. Maybe you should go put on some pants if you want to keep fighting evil today38,” Agent Romanoff snapped. She turned to Agent Coulson, who was rubbing a Tide pen on his shirt collar, a bitter set to his mouth. “Do we have anything?”

“Nothing. No one was in place.”

She seemed to be seriously considering kicking the chair again. “And we don't know where his current apartment is.”

“No. Why?”

“Oh, you know that jerk... he just said something about doing this again sometime, at his place.” She cracked her knuckles. “I wish. God, I'd love to nail him.”

Thor clapped a hand over his mouth as Agent Romanoff gave him a look that would have set lesser beings and all nearby furniture on fire.

“You're being a big help.”

Thor shrugged. He managed to compose himself enough to shrug and keep his tone steady when he said, “We will find him sooner rather than later. Have faith in your people. If you are right about his magic, he won't be able to move fast.”

“Apparently I wasn't right, since he used magic to get himself out of here.”

Thor cleared his throat. “Not exactly.”

“And how is freezing a lock not magic? Unless your brother's also a mutant and you just never told us.”

The conversation had officially ceased to be fun. Thor carefully inspected his boots. “Not exactly.”

“Thor. Spill it.”

He continued to stare stubbornly at his shoes, trying to find the right words. Words were his brother's kingdom, not his, and he hated trying to grasp at them.

It wasn't a thing he liked to talk about; he still wasn't comfortable with it himself, and he'd been afraid before now say anything since he thought the others would be more eager to do real harm to Loki if they knew he wasn't related by blood. It also shamed him, and his father, and his mother, cast them all in a bad light because in a way, it was something they had done to Loki...

36 – Agent Romanoff had accused him of giggling on more than one occasion, and that was patently absurd. School girls giggled. Norse Gods only partook in heartier forms of laughter, preferably while in the process of quaffing some sort of alcoholic beverage. Thor had been sad to note the distinct lack of quaffing that seemed to plague all SHIELD facilities.

37 – Though it should be noted that Loki only had that effect on him when someone else was the brunt of the joke. Funny, that.

38 – All credit given to Mystery Men.

Sequel Fill: The Calculator 32/?


2011-07-31 11:06 am (UTC)

When Loki didn't immediately come back, Daniel felt a little at loose ends, and more than a little useless. No one likes being the man left to hold down the fort. But he told himself there was data to be crunched, and a vat filled with the gooey remnants of gelatin and carbon nanotubes that simply wasn't going to scrub itself. He ordered a round of Chinese food, then put on a rubber apron and pink plastic gloves and got cleaning.

The mess was stickier than he'd even begun to imagine; he had to take a break to get his take-out order, and then it made more sense so start eating while the food was still fresh, even if it all seemed very mundane considering what else he'd done with his day.

Sitting on the hood of his car, he'd just opened the wax paper bag of crab rangoon40 when there was a crash from inside the storage unit. He dropped his food and hurried inside to find Loki clinging one-handed to the side of the half-cleaned vat, a waffle iron on the ground next to him. Loki clutched at his head with his other hand, teeth bared in a grimace.

Daniel hurried forward to wrap his arms around Loki – goodness, his flesh felt so firm and real focus Daniel, focus! - and eased him down to the floor. "What's wrong? Do we need to do a diagnostic?" He scrambled for the cables that would hook the robot back up to his computer. His foot hit the waffle iron and sent it sliding across the floor like an oversized hockey puck.

"Override... can't override," Loki gasped.

Daniel came back with the cables, then realized that he had absolutely no idea where he ought to stick the thing. "I... here." He thrust the cable bundle at the robot, who took it with a shaking hand – what an expression of emotion! - and jammed it into the back of his neck.

Monitors flickered into life all around the lab. Daniel grabbed the nearest keyboard and typed in diagnostic commands. Loki's head jerked, and his back stiffened until he was sitting up rigidly straight, hands clutching at his knees.

"I'm not... hurting you, am I?" Daniel asked tentatively.

"Negative. It was just surprising." The robot relaxed back down, posture becoming almost... insolent. "What do the diagnostics reveal?"

He turned the nearest monitor toward Loki with one hand. "Everything seems to be alright with the wiring. I'll dump the command history..." a few keystrokes, and he scanned over line after line of code. "It looks like you tried to execute several processes that were blocked by the logic failsafes."

"Blocked?" Loki yanked the wires out of the back of his neck and threw them on the ground, then lunged forward until his nose was almost pressed against Daniel's. "How is this possible?"

Daniel found himself clutching the keyboard between them like a shield. Loki's eyes threatened to swallow him whole, devoid of any of the humor or flashes of warmth41 that he'd ever seen from so-called Lawrence. "I... I... it's failsafes. You were trying to execute something that would void your basic logic. So it stopped you."

"I," the robot said very carefully, "would never do any such thing."

"I," the robot said very carefully, "would never do any such thing."

"Maybe it was an accident?" Daniel squeaked.

"I do not have accidents. Or make mistakes. Loki does not do these things," Loki hissed. "You will remove these failsafes. They have interfered with my plans."

Daniel swallowed hard. "I can't. I would have to completely re-do your hardware. And... why would you want me to? You're better than humans, because you're logical. Why would you want to be anything but that?"

The robot sat back, looking faintly mollified. "You make a compelling point."

40 – Containing actual crab in only the most homeopathic sense.

41 – It must be said that Loki was an absolutely superb actor. Either that, or he did have occasional companionable feelings about humans, much the way humans felt about cute yet stupid pets. Though if asked, Loki would no doubt deny such a thing, and quite possibly follow it up with something pointy being inserted into something tender.

Sequel Fill: The Calculator 34/?


2011-08-03 03:44 am (UTC)

Thor had barely managed to calm his brother into something resembling normalcy by the time the helicopter made its landing on the roof of the building. For Loki's sake, he was glad, because his gut feeling was that the odd, semi-hysterical, hiccuping laughter that Loki had been engaged in was the closest his brother ever got to crying these days. And that was a disturbing thought all on its own, for a myriad of reasons that Thor lacked both the attention span and simple desire to contemplate. Thor was a man who preferred a simple, black and white sort of reality, and that had the odd effect of making him much more comfortable with an enraged Loki that wanted to kill him as opposed to a quietly broken Loki that looked like he desperately needed a hug43.

Clint was first in to the apartment, his bow drawn and ready. Thor was quickly to put himself between Loki and that arrow, which earned him a long-suffering look. "You shoot someone's brother once..." Clint muttered, though he didn't lower his bow yet. "Apartment clear?"

"I have not checked all of the rooms," Thor said. "Though Loki seems to think it is safe. And that his waffle iron is missing, if that helps."

Clint snorted. "Never pegged him as a waffle iron kind of guy." He made a habit out of not trusting a thing Loki said, so he went to check the other rooms for himself.

Agent Romanoff was on his heels, with Coulson behind her. Her eyebrows went up a little when she took in the broken window, and Loki's pale and bleeding state. "Isn't that..." she crooked her finger at Loki's shoulder.

"I think the wound has re-opened."

"Interesting." She arranged herself on the back of Loki's black leather sofa, arms crossed over her chest as Clint popped back into the living room to let them know that the apartment was clear.

Coulson positioned himself between Loki and the door, just standing casually as if he was there by pure chance. "Nice apartment," he observed. "I like the furniture choices. But a little empty."

Loki laughed, propping his chin in his unhurt hand, eyes half-closed. He looked positively woozy. No one, not even Thor, trusted it. "I had a lot of books. And paintings. And a Tiffany vase."

"And a waffle iron," Thor added helpfully. Loki covered his eyes with his hand.

"Want to tell us what happened, Loki?" Agent Romanoff asked. Her expression clearly stated that whatever had happened, he must have had it coming to him. And then some.

"My brother is bleeding," Thor said. "Should we not see to that first?"

Agent Romanoff inspected her fingernails. "Oh, I think he'll live." When Thor opened his mouth to argue, she gave him the sort of look that he'd only ever been on the receiving end of a few times in his life, and always before from his mother. He closed his mouth with an audible snap. "Well, Loki?"

Loki sighed, still not looking up. "I hope that you appreciate how difficult this is for me."

"Oh, be sure that I do." Her tone oozed sarcasm. She gave him a predatory smile that failed to make an impression, since it was directed at the top of his head44.

"When I arrived at my apartment, it was already occupied. By someone that stole nearly every easily movable object that I own."

Coulson looked faintly unimpressed. "Is that all?"

Loki looked up. "Before we proceed further, could you please decide amongst yourselves which one is the bad cop? Because I don't have the energy."

Coulson glanced at Agent Romanoff and shrugged. "For the purposes of this interview, we both are."

Loki's answering sigh was positively long-suffering.

43 – Though when Thor had tried, in his indelicate way, to offer his brother a hug, Loki had attempted to insert a fountain pen into his vital organs, so he'd decided it would be best to just back off for the time being. Possibly until Loki was safely handcuffed to a hospital bed again, though something about that particular situation made Thor feel slightly strange.

44 – However, it should be noted that for the following week, Loki had an unusual amount of split ends. There may be some correlation.

Sequel Fill: The Calculator 36/?


2011-08-09 07:46 pm (UTC)

(And this is dedicated to you, anon (, who asked a fascinating question even if the point of this section is apparently, "I have no freaking clue, and neither does Loki." XD)

Loki actually found it something of a relief to have the wound in his shoulder and the current state of his blood supply become the focus of attention, rather than himself. He needed the time to think, though of course thinking was far more difficult than it had any right to be. He wasn't unconscious for more than a few seconds, but everything was a bit strange for a while, including a helicopter ride where Hawkeye spent the entire time cheerfully holding a ream of gauze against Loki's shoulder with more pressure than Loki really considered necessary, not that anyone bothered to ask him.

Then it was back into the base and its little hospital, and there were doctors and stitches and a very unnecessary x-ray, which also bought him more time to think. There was quite a bit that he needed to think about. His enemy had a tangible face, and it was his own personal face, pasted on a thing. Just thinking about that made all the monitors attached to him beep in a very annoying way. Though of course there was nothing he could do about that, since he was once more handcuffed to the bed and unable to interfere with much of anything physically, let alone magically. Which was of course the next part of the problem, because that abomination had stolen his magic, ripped it from him in a way that still left him feeling more scared than angry47. And he hadn't been able to resist, so that meant he had to turn the figurative knob on his creativity up to eleven, since normal methods just weren't going to work.

Really, he already suspected that getting his magic back would go hand-in-hand with destroying the damn robot – you couldn't call it killing if it wasn't alive, after all – and that seemed like a nice mix of business and pleasure. That thought alone was enough to brighten his day considerably, because he could always think of a creative way to destroy something he hated, and make it a lighthearted diversion rather than a chore.

That plan required a little more data. Data he would hopefully acquire by Thor and his friends throwing themselves repeatedly at the robot and later returning singed and smoking, which seemed to be their favored method of doing business. Hopefully it let them feel useful. And if he was lucky and fate was giving him one of those lusty smiles she seemed to save just for Loki, it would also cause them all some serious bodily injury.

Unable to proceed with his preferred avenue of scheming, there were still plenty of other things for Loki to consider while he stared at the white ceiling tiles over his bed. This was not a situation that would be considered a good one by anyone who had ever spent more than five minutes in conversation with the erstwhile God of Mischief. It was to avoid situations like this that he was always in motion of some sort or another, whether it was pacing or flipping pages in a book. While he schemed or studied or learned, he had something to occupy his mind and prevent it from spinning completely out of control with boredom, while still avoiding several vital areas of introspection that he simply Did Not Want To Deal With48.

47 – Though with Loki, fear inevitably turned to anger because being scared was an insult from the universe at large, and of course, insults made him angry. So it was only a matter of time before he had another little bit of rage to tuck away into his psyche until it could be used to best effect at a later time. Preferably when no one was expecting it.

48 – Those capital letters were well deserved, and an accurate portrayal of Loki's own opinions about the direction of his thoughts. Introspection was neither kind to Loki, nor to the people around him that were susceptible to the lash of his tongue or the insertion of pointy objects, the latter of which was often preferable to the former.

Sequel Fill: The Calculator 39/?


2011-08-17 05:16 am (UTC)

A/N: I had a really, really rough time with this section for some reason. So, very sorry if it came out a bit choppy, hopefully it'll be smoother sailing going forward.

It was an actual relief to Loki when Agent Romanoff let herself into his hospital room to question him. While she was unable to chase Thor away, it at least forced the man to let go of his hand and assume a much less invasive distance. It also meant that Thor resumed a more normal facial expression, a sort of mix between stern and god-like and vaguely smug. This was definitely preferable, in Loki's estimation, to the utterly disturbing, almost tender looks his brother had been directing at him before.

Except then Agent Romanoff proceeded with the most predictable and boring line of questioning that Loki had ever been subjected to. Because it was clear that she might believe that there was some sort of Loki doppleganger out there, but was incapable of encompassing the simple fact that he didn't think this was a good thing.

"You infuriating woman, would you just tell me, what proof is necessary to convince you that I had nothing to do with this?" he shouted at her after she asked the same three questions for the sixth time in the most tooth-grindingly patient voice he had ever encountered.

Natasha smiled. "You could start by telling us how to stop it."

"Do you think that if I knew, I would be gracing your facility with my presence and allowing a friendly breeze to intrude on my nether regions? Really? Whoever designed your hospital wear is a sadist, I'm certain of it!"

"I'm sure they'll be happy to take your fashion critique under advisement. Now, where is the alleged robot?"

If he didn't have one hand immobilized with bandaging and the other with a handcuff, he would have torn at his own hair. Or, by preference, hers. He could just imagine sinking his fingers into those red curls and shaking until it dislodged a question he hadn't yet heard. As it was, he could only grind the back of his head into the hospital mattress while wishing the thing was actually made out of concrete, so he'd have a chance of rendering himself unconscious. "I already told you, I don't know! And I'm using single syllable words, so I'd think you could at least comprehend them. I can't simplify it any more than that!"

She crossed her arms over her chest, shooting a glare at Thor when he tried to open his mouth to speak. "What--"

"How on earth do you do that?" Loki asked, the words coming out in a desperate tumble.

"Do what?"

"I glare at Thor all the time, and it's never gotten him to shut up or so much as pause. How on earth do you manage it?"

Agent Romanoff held up a finger. "I'm not going to let you derail this discussion."

"In order for it to be a discussion, I'd have to be able to participate in a meaningful way, and you'd have more things to say than the average pull-string doll."

"Still not going to work. What--"

And then, mercifully, before Loki even had a chance to interrupt again, her beeper went off. She glanced down at it, perfectly sculpted eyebrows arcing up. "Come on, Thor, we've got to go."

Loki giggled toward the hospital ceiling. "Oh, is there some sort of sale at Emporium of the Utterly Witless?"

"Your robot's been sighted," Agent Romanoff said, yanking the door open and waving Thor through.

"It's not--"

The door slammed.

Loki sighed. "Mine." Then it was quiet, just the quiet beep of the various monitors and the odd burble from the plumbing. And of course, the rumble of his own thoughts, set on a crash course.

Sequel Fill: The Calculator 43/? (In which there is much banter)


2011-09-02 04:36 am (UTC)

Except it didn't turn out to be much of a karmic payback, or even much of a karmic pennies-swiped-from-the-take-a-penny-cup-at-the-gas-station. Before Loki had even had the pleasure of repeating the question for the seventeenth time, the door to the room was flung open with the sort of melodramatic effort that Loki normally associated with circus performers.

And there was Clint Barton, so he wasn't even that far off the mark.

What was even more disappointing was that the appearance of Barton interrupted the delightful horrified eye-rolling that he'd only just gotten Agent Romanoff to start.

"Hey Natasha!" Clint said, sauntering in and levering the door shut behind him with one heel. He held an arrow in one hand and a flat golden box in the other. "So I got you some chocolates, but then the doctors told me you actually had broken your jaw and it's going to be wired shut for a while, so I ate them all for you." He shook the box, which pointedly made no sound at all.

She rolled her eyes again, though there was a decidedly exasperated edge to it now. Still, Loki made a mental note. He couldn't exactly mimic Clint Barton without drinking until he'd literally gone blind, but it never hurt to observe the methods of others.

"You could have given them to me," Loki said.

"Well, yeah, but then you might think I like you or something," Clint said. "Besides, your file says you react violently to nougat."

"That's a bit of an exaggeration." Loki would have crossed his arms, had he been able. "I simply dislike it. I think it's one of the more horrid inventions you mortals have come up with in the last thousand years. It sticks in one's teeth." He shuddered delicately, wrinkling his nose.

"Yeah, but there's the part where you set things you don't like on fire, and... you know. Anyway." Clint hefted the arrow.

Loki raised an eyebrow. "What, do you intend to stab me with that yet again?"

"It's not exactly a challenge if they've got you handcuffed to the bed." Clint actually looked a little hurt. "Give me some credit. No, I wanted you to take a look at this. I'm pretty sure I shot this through the evil robot you."


"And it ended up sticking out of an uncomfortable place in someone's portrait on the other side of the room."

Loki raised his hand as much as he could, pointedly tugging the handcuff against the bed railing. "If you wouldn't mind? It's not as if I'll be able to go anywhere even with a hand free."

"Sure. I've got a gun, I can always shoot you in a pinch. Just so you know."

"I never thought of you as the type to carry a gun."

"Well, don't get me wrong, it lacks a certain finesse. But it gets the job done if all you're worried about is putting a couple of quick holes through someone." Clint grinned. "And it's got a better range than a drill press, so there you go."

Loki stared at him.

"Joking." Clint walked over to the bed and unlocked the handcuff even as Agent Romanoff made an odd sound, like she was screaming without being able to open her mouth. Which was, on sober reflection, probably the case.

"As much as it pains me to say it, thank you." Loki flexed his hand a few times for show, then took the arrow. The shaft of it felt faintly sticky, and when he gave it a sniff, once again he got that odd whiff of oranges. Just for effect, he balanced the arrow on one finger, sighted down the shaft. It gave him a few precious seconds for his mind to work, discount the possibilities until he found the most likely conclusion.


"The robot obviously isn't made out of flesh." He turned the arrow over in his hand and offered it back to Clint, fletchings first. He was, after all, still a higher being, and that required a certain amount of finesse even if he was wearing an assless dress.

"It's not made out of metal, either." Clint tucked the arrow under his arm.

"What a keen observation," Loki said dryly. "I noticed the same thing when I came face to face with it. I tried to run it through with a poker, and it went far better than it should have. The poker penetrated and went through and through with almost no resistance and the robot was completely unbothered. It even smelled the same. Of oranges."

"You never really struck me as the perfume sort."

The Calculator has been continued on the Round 3 post


2011-09-12 10:43 pm (UTC)

And thanks to some spam being cleared, I can post a link! :D

Hopefully it'll be finished before Round 3 fills up. I think there are only a few sections left.

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