quigonejinn: (crack QUEEN rhod)
[personal profile] quigonejinn
Avengers moviefic.

How does Loki's spear work? It doesn't take subjects utterly; it leaves them with plenty of mind of their own, but a reasonable description is that, by and large, it convinces them to work with Loki's best interests at heart. During the four weeks you spent on the other side of the table from SHIELD, you have clear memories of waking, eating, going to sleep, all under your own volition. Organizing deliveries of food and water, assigning quarters and work shifts as the scientists and technicians and muscle from various stakeholders arrive. Humming under your breath as you worked your way through the underground tunnels, bow in hand and arrow nocked, but the string largely relaxed, thinking through lines of retreat and choke points, listening to the water drip and the far-away sound of the generator. Where will you fall back if SHIELD finds this place? How will you draw their forces off, so that Loki can escape?

Selvig is able to insert an emergency kill switch, and you --


A week and a half into being compromised, you come down into the workshop. It's nighttime. Loki has recruited a few other scientists and technicians to work under Selvig's direction, but they have gone to bed, and the room is empty. The tesserect is at one end of the room, glowing gently, and Loki sits at the other end, arm propped against the conference table that you had brought in earlier that week. The spear is leaned against the table, and Loki is wearing a white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and gray slacks. Where did he get those from? You did not bring those in for him.

Weeks later, you'll recognize the scarf he's wearing that night as the one he wears to Stuttgart.

That night, though, he has a few questions about how you've ensured the cooperation of some of those scientists, and when you answer them, describe in generality rather than particulars, he understands. With luck, there will be more scientists, more manpower and materials, all coming very soon.

"You're very devoted, Clint, aren't you?" he says.

"How would you like me to answer that?"

Not very distantly at all, you hear the generator thrumming. The Chinese supplied it three days before in return for information about certain -- operations being run by SHIELD in certain other parts of the world. You happened to have been reading about it the day before SHIELD shipped you to the dark energy lab, and you are very, very aware of the fact that using contact channels you supplied, he has opened talks with the Mandarin.

"Put down your weapons," Loki says. You start to put them on the conference table, but he stops you. "On the floor," he says, so you do. First, the bow, then the quiver slung over your back. You put them at his feet.

He looks down at them, then back at you.

"Take off your armor."

What do you say to that? You take the guard from your arm, and you unzip the torso piece of your body armor. They go by the floor, next to the bow and arrow.

"The Mandarin offered me technicians and materials for you," Loki says. "The scientist -- "

"Selvig," you supply

"Selvig," he corrects himself, with a little movement of the mouth. "Selvig says it's a reasonable offer. Almost generous. Why does the Mandarin want you so badly?"

"I killed his top lieutenant last year and disrupted his operations in South America."

Does Loki know where South America is? Does he know what a lieutenant is? You remember reading the file on his brother; initial contact suggested that Asgardians didn't have much knowledge of Earth. You don't know, either, how much access Loki has to your thoughts, but he considers you for another moment. The generator goes on humming; the tesserect goes on shining. Your armor and bow are at his feet.

"Take off your clothes," he says, and you hesitate.

"Do it, and then lie down on the table, face up," he says, and with a strange tightness in your heart, you do it: underneath the body armor, you wear an undershirt. You pull it off, and when he doesn't tell you to stop, you take off your shoes, strip off your socks, pull off your pants. You take off your underwear. You lie down on the table, face up. It's a metal table and is cold against your back, and you lie with your hands by your sides.

Loki gets up out of the chair and stands by you. For some reason, your heart is beating very fast. Your throat is dry.

"The Mandarin asked for you," Loki says.

"I know," you reply. You were there in the room, standing by Loki's shoulder.

"He mentioned that when you disrupted his operations, you worked with a woman. What was her name?"

"He doesn't know it. He called her the Black Widow."

Loki thinks about this for a moment, then looks at you, lying naked on the table, the fluorescent lights shining down on both of you. The shirt he is wearing is made out of thin, fine material, and it's open at the collar.

"I usually work with Natasha," you offer up, without prompting. Why won't the words come out properly out of your throat? Why does your body fight you so much harder when you say her first name?

"Does the Mandarin want her, too?"

"Yes," you say, forcing the words out. Your voice is harsh. "If he doesn't want her directly, he can sell her to someone who does."

Loki considers this for a moment, and then, leans forward, his eyes on your face, on your mouth. His hand is on your hip; the fingers are long and slender, and they feel very cold. "What would those people do to her?"

"I -- "

"Tell me what they'd want from her, and how they'd get it out of her," he says.

This time, the words can't be forced out of your throat; you choke and struggle, and then, you start to twist away from the hands on your bare hip. Loki has to tell you to lie still. You go flat against the table and don't move your arms or shoulders or legs anymore, even though your chest is heaving and shaking. Loki puts his hand flat against your stomach; without moving your head, you can see the nails on the hand on your skin. The hand is clean; the nails are glossy and smooth.

"You're afraid of me," Loki says.

"Yes," you manage.

"The tool should not be afraid of the hand that wields it," he says, quietly, almost softly and gently and reaches down and picks up the spear from where it had been leaning against the table. The instruction to hold still means that your arms and shoulders and legs lie still, but it doesn't keep you from suddenly feeling dizzy, almost nauseous. He touches the sharp end to your chest; again, it's soft, almost gentle. It doesn't break the skin, doesn't come close, but you still whimper. You tremble. He traces the point back down your bare stomach. All you can manage are more whimpers.

"Slide down. Your legs should hang down off the table," he says, and even though you're lightheaded from fighting to breathe, you do it.

You push yourself down, so that your knees are at the edge of the table, and Loki stands between your knees. Still using the sharp point, he begins at the sole of your foot, then traces his way up your calf, then your knee, then an inch above. He waits there for a moment, and you are vividly aware of the sharpness of the point. He pushes a little, but you don't know if it's hard enough to break the skin. It stings. If there's blood, there isn't a lot of it.

"Are you still frightened?"

"Yes," you say, because you can't lie to him, only resist.

He tracing his way up the inside of your thigh with the sharp end; you brace yourself on the table as best you can with shoulders and arms and legs that won't obey you, and the only relief that you get is that before he pushes it into you, he flips it around to the dull end. It's wide. It hurts. Why wouldn't it? You fight it. You hear the high-pitched whine from your throat as you try to fight it. You try to draw your legs closed, too, but your knees won't move, and Loki looks up from between your legs. His face is very pale; his hair is dark, and his smile goes from edge to edge of his face.

"Want this," he says.

And suddenly, you do.

Afterwards, you crouch at Loki's feet, naked, aching, and tell him everything and anything he wants to know.


For the portal, Selvig is able to insert a kill switch. For yourself, you arrange to meet Natasha one-on-one, and you hope she will, in fact, kill you.

(no subject)

Date: 2012-05-07 05:52 am (UTC)
jamaillith: (iron man - creator)
From: [personal profile] jamaillith
I love everything about this and you.

(no subject)

Date: 2012-05-07 07:01 am (UTC)
prosodi: (MARVEL Natasha is my queen)
From: [personal profile] prosodi
Don't mind me I'll just crawling under the bed like a sick dog and never coming out ever again.

In other words this is perfect.

(no subject)

Date: 2012-05-07 08:26 am (UTC)
destronomics: (Default)
From: [personal profile] destronomics
"Yes," you say, forcing the words out. Your voice is harsh. "If he doesn't want her directly, he can sell her to someone who does."


And that last line is killer, it's just all sorts of killer. Small mercies, small, small mercies.

(no subject)

Date: 2012-05-07 08:17 pm (UTC)
From: [personal profile] redradio

(no subject)

Date: 2012-05-07 08:31 am (UTC)
th_esaurus: (Default)
From: [personal profile] th_esaurus
I'm so unholy glad to be back in a fandom with you.

(no subject)

Date: 2012-05-07 09:27 am (UTC)
kitchenklutz: spices in bottles (spice bottles)
From: [personal profile] kitchenklutz
What [personal profile] th_esaurus said, amen and agreed.

And gyah, fic that's very very all too plausible. *shudder*

(no subject)

Date: 2012-05-07 08:26 pm (UTC)
From: [personal profile] redradio

The spear is a curse--perfect for the Lord of Mischief. The problem with curses is that they're not easily broken, head trauma and whiplash offer a respite but they do not eradicate. Not completely.

(no subject)

Date: 2012-05-07 09:12 pm (UTC)
amanuensis1: (Default)
From: [personal profile] amanuensis1
jeebus fuck everything is beautiful and everything hurts


compromised, Oh, YES, I understood why that's in italics, oh god YES.

"You're very devoted, Clint, aren't you?" he says.
"How would you like me to answer that?"

And that's exactly how you answer that when you're under mind control but you don't have the luxury of being mindless, isn't it. Don't have the kindness to be well and truly mindwiped even though you're no less enslaved. Christ.

You start to put them on the conference table, but he stops you. Because Loki already knows how far he's going to take this. HE ALREADY KNOWS.

"Why does the Mandarin want you so badly?"
"I killed his top lieutenant last year and disrupted his operations in South America."

I'm about to meander here. Stay with me. There's this song from Gilbert and Sullivan's The Mikado where the two would-be lovers are lamenting that they can never get together, so they sing a song about what they'll never do, punctuating it with kisses:

This, oh, this (kiss)
Oh, this (kiss)
Is what I'll never never do.

This is exactly what I feel for you right now, wanting to shower you with kisses while I fall apart, knowing I will never write in Clint's head like this, cannot hope to feel what it's like to be an agent who's been all over the globe, who has enemies who get referred to as things like the Mandarin. I can't do it and can't hope to, but I'm so so glad you can and you do.

Your armor and bow are at his feet. That's the real reader orgasm moment in this fic, you know that, don't you? OF COURSE YOU DO YOU WROTE IT.

The undressing, oh fuckity I love you, thank you for going piece by piece and not glossing over that.

"The tool should not be afraid of the hand that wields it," he says, quietly, almost softly and gently LOKI YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO BE QUIET OR SOFT AND GENTLE IN ANYTHING. ANYTHING.

"Want this," he says.
And suddenly, you do.

*bursts into tears of ecstasy*

For the portal, Selvig is able to insert a kill switch. For yourself, you arrange to meet Natasha one-on-one, and you hope she will, in fact, kill you. *dies and dies in joy and pain*

My version of this encounter is going to be weak in comparison, so I'll apologize right now, but at least I know already I wasn't going anywhere like this (because I can't) so that means it will at least be different. FORGIVE ME FOR NOT BEING ABLE TO GIVE YOU WHAT YOU DESERVE IN RETURN.

(no subject)

Date: 2012-05-08 04:44 am (UTC)
sinope: a hundred thousand fireflies (A hundred thousand fireflies)
From: [personal profile] sinope
Please note that I need to upgrade last night's estimate of "a million yeses" into "100 BILLION YESES."

This is just . . . perfect. Yes. Horrible and plausible and perfect. And Loki in it, he's . . . completely accurate, and smiling, always smiling.

I <3 you.

(no subject)

Date: 2012-05-12 02:32 pm (UTC)
marina: (Default)
From: [personal profile] marina

(no subject)

Date: 2012-05-13 02:43 am (UTC)
anatsuno: JGL in a platinum blonde wig (as Nancy Spungen), one hand bloodied, slowly dying of angst (blondes have more angst)
From: [personal profile] anatsuno
Wow. Yes.

(no subject)

Date: 2012-05-13 05:25 pm (UTC)
From: [personal profile] memoryhouse
So tragic and cruel and bad/good hot! And I love how clearly you outline all the layers of what they both want and know and don't know and can and can't control in this.

(no subject)

Date: 2013-01-17 03:04 am (UTC)
verymilkytea: (Default)
From: [personal profile] verymilkytea
Oh my god, I love this so much. It's perfect. The voices, both for Loki and Clint, are just exactly right. I really like how we the readers can feel Clint's emotion but as if through glass - the haze of disconnection from himself and his own will permeates everything. I love this fic as an experience. Ugh, it's just too good!!!

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