Somewhere I lost control of this one
prompt: For convenient reasons, Loki is captured and forced into therapy. The therapist suggests Loki try to express his emotions through a less destructive medium, like poetry. Which rapidly deteriorates into Flyting.
So, at first I thought, hey, this could be really funny, but then I started writing and realized that Loki was just going to be bitching and the end result was... not as humorous as originally intended. But not bad (I hope).
Warning: Well, It's flyting, so obviously there are going to be cheap shots, not so subtle sexual references, and occasionally inappropriate language.
---
Lokasenna: Self-expression through creative writing
Or, how Loki spends his time in therapy creatively insulting everyone else
And where should I start with Thor’s little toy soldiers.
Well, they’ve not broken yet, a plus I suppose,
and it’s true they have heart, though it really just goes
to provide me with fodder to troll them at will
and I am quite surprised they’re still giving me fuel,
but that is not hard to do since everything that they say
is a joke to be told or some fun I could have if I put it away
in my list of ideas.
My first impressions of Midgard, you ask? Oh, I’m sorry, Earth.
Your insistence on the name has filled me with mirth
from the absolute smallness of your brains and your lives,
like the thought that there’s more to it boggles your minds,
and the world is the size of the sheath of a knife,
if it doesn’t fit in than it causes the strife
that will tear you apart with no help of mine,
which is fine, since asunder it pulls, and by fault of your own,
will drag you right under the waves of unknown and despair and demise
where the only truth that you hear will be one made of lies.
And the funny thing is that I don’t really care,
since the unholy lot of you whine and you moan
and it got me to thinking as noise fills the air
that the thought of ruling you just isn’t fair,
for me I mean,
and the headaches you’d cause would be only obscene
and without ever pause. It’d be easier I know
to just crush you like ants that invaded my home.
And let me just tell you the worst of it’s Stark,
who bites at the bit like a dog with a bone
and waves science around like a light in the night.
As if he’s a child that just can’t let go
of the blanket he needs to make his world right.
Except he’s a drunk that the rest of you see as a king among insects
(by which I mean you, just so there’s no mistake)
and you all sit back and let him take
control of your lives (your freedom’s a joke)
but when I try the same, well that’s just too much.
And you rage and you fight as if there is such
a thing as the chance that I might leave and let you alone.
But I’m chaos, my dear, and as much as you try,
I’ll always be here when men act as my bards.
Now, back to Stark, have you noticed he’s hard
for the weapon your Captain continues to wield
when he jumps around city streets hurling his shield?
Stark thinks that he’s slick, bu I’m sure that the number
of women he’s claimed to have slept with is only a cover
to hide the real goal that he's trying to bed.
It’s really so sad that he is unrequited
since the member in question is stuck in the ice
with the thoughts of a silly brunette with a gun
(though she’s better than both, you’d think that she’s dead would give one a sign),
but regardless of that, he continues to pine.
It’s not that your Captain is out in the trenches
in terms of offers, though he’ll accept none.
He’s a frigid old man who sits on the benches,
which doesn't make sense
since one of his team mates is kept in suspense
at the possible thought of his interest.
But not only Stark, maybe Coulson I think.
Even if he won’t claim it, it’s really quite sweet,
though he’s got it pent up. It must be quite a feat.
… you know what, I like him. He’s competent.
Has more power too.
The only thing he’s done wrong is associate with you.
On that note, the Widow, a woman of talent.
The problem is that she’s fixated on her little boys
and the drunken lech who fears her and gives her new toys.
It is sentiment and arrogance and perverse pleasure she gets
from their silly awed reactions when she pulls their strings,
because no one sees it coming when she does anything.
Then Bruce Banner, their doctor who has no MD
and the giant green monster
who runs about smashing their tower for me.
I come and I go, and then so does he,
but when Banner is back he’s panicked to see
that the walls are half gone and the floor a big hole.
Why, I hardly do anything to fulfill my goal
of pissing them off and keeping them busy
and not on my case when I stroll through their city.
And little Clint Barton’s a coward, you see.
Like a tiny song bird in the leaves of a tree,
he hides up on rooftops singing his tune
of “whitty” one-liners through the tech that they use
to communicate while dashing about.
They’re as clever a sound as the noise of a trout
as it drowns on the bank.
Is it you I should thank for this fun exercise?
I had doubts at first, but I want you to know,
that this little trick is starting to grow
on me. It’s very effective in relieving my stress,
but oh, don’t you worry, I won’t make you press.
You wanted to know my thoughts about Thor.
Well.
Let me assure you, there will always be more
I can say on my darling not-brother
and adventures he’s had that I can uncover
for you, which, let’s be honest, he doesn’t want you to know.
Like the time that he drug us all into the snow
and wanted to decimate the land’s population.
But let’s not be tacky, I won’t hold a grudge,
besides it’s more fun to discuss when he couldn’t budge
the hammer that time in Thrym’s court
and the lovely pink dress he decided to sport
when he married the giant. It brought out his eyes.
He’s arrogant and brutish, and generally lies with anyone that is willing.
Why when with the giants he got a taste for steel,
I don’t care if you think the story’s not real. It’s still true,
why do you think Mjolnir’s handle is so thick,
it’s really a replacement since he’s missing their-
Yes, don’t give me that look. I know that it’s crass,
not my fault he likes taking it up in the-
oh, your expression is really too much.
Fine, I’ll move on, you impertinent lush.
I do know about the flask in your coat, don’t act so surprised.
There’s no point in hiding it. I’m the God of Lies,
you imbecile.
If you’re this troubled now you might as well get it.
Your throat must be parched, don’t you want to whet it?
No? Your choice I suppose.
Are we done yet? I tire, and your company’s pathetic.
So, at first I thought, hey, this could be really funny, but then I started writing and realized that Loki was just going to be bitching and the end result was... not as humorous as originally intended. But not bad (I hope).
Warning: Well, It's flyting, so obviously there are going to be cheap shots, not so subtle sexual references, and occasionally inappropriate language.
---
Lokasenna: Self-expression through creative writing
Or, how Loki spends his time in therapy creatively insulting everyone else
And where should I start with Thor’s little toy soldiers.
Well, they’ve not broken yet, a plus I suppose,
and it’s true they have heart, though it really just goes
to provide me with fodder to troll them at will
and I am quite surprised they’re still giving me fuel,
but that is not hard to do since everything that they say
is a joke to be told or some fun I could have if I put it away
in my list of ideas.
My first impressions of Midgard, you ask? Oh, I’m sorry, Earth.
Your insistence on the name has filled me with mirth
from the absolute smallness of your brains and your lives,
like the thought that there’s more to it boggles your minds,
and the world is the size of the sheath of a knife,
if it doesn’t fit in than it causes the strife
that will tear you apart with no help of mine,
which is fine, since asunder it pulls, and by fault of your own,
will drag you right under the waves of unknown and despair and demise
where the only truth that you hear will be one made of lies.
And the funny thing is that I don’t really care,
since the unholy lot of you whine and you moan
and it got me to thinking as noise fills the air
that the thought of ruling you just isn’t fair,
for me I mean,
and the headaches you’d cause would be only obscene
and without ever pause. It’d be easier I know
to just crush you like ants that invaded my home.
And let me just tell you the worst of it’s Stark,
who bites at the bit like a dog with a bone
and waves science around like a light in the night.
As if he’s a child that just can’t let go
of the blanket he needs to make his world right.
Except he’s a drunk that the rest of you see as a king among insects
(by which I mean you, just so there’s no mistake)
and you all sit back and let him take
control of your lives (your freedom’s a joke)
but when I try the same, well that’s just too much.
And you rage and you fight as if there is such
a thing as the chance that I might leave and let you alone.
But I’m chaos, my dear, and as much as you try,
I’ll always be here when men act as my bards.
Now, back to Stark, have you noticed he’s hard
for the weapon your Captain continues to wield
when he jumps around city streets hurling his shield?
Stark thinks that he’s slick, bu I’m sure that the number
of women he’s claimed to have slept with is only a cover
to hide the real goal that he's trying to bed.
It’s really so sad that he is unrequited
since the member in question is stuck in the ice
with the thoughts of a silly brunette with a gun
(though she’s better than both, you’d think that she’s dead would give one a sign),
but regardless of that, he continues to pine.
It’s not that your Captain is out in the trenches
in terms of offers, though he’ll accept none.
He’s a frigid old man who sits on the benches,
which doesn't make sense
since one of his team mates is kept in suspense
at the possible thought of his interest.
But not only Stark, maybe Coulson I think.
Even if he won’t claim it, it’s really quite sweet,
though he’s got it pent up. It must be quite a feat.
… you know what, I like him. He’s competent.
Has more power too.
The only thing he’s done wrong is associate with you.
On that note, the Widow, a woman of talent.
The problem is that she’s fixated on her little boys
and the drunken lech who fears her and gives her new toys.
It is sentiment and arrogance and perverse pleasure she gets
from their silly awed reactions when she pulls their strings,
because no one sees it coming when she does anything.
Then Bruce Banner, their doctor who has no MD
and the giant green monster
who runs about smashing their tower for me.
I come and I go, and then so does he,
but when Banner is back he’s panicked to see
that the walls are half gone and the floor a big hole.
Why, I hardly do anything to fulfill my goal
of pissing them off and keeping them busy
and not on my case when I stroll through their city.
And little Clint Barton’s a coward, you see.
Like a tiny song bird in the leaves of a tree,
he hides up on rooftops singing his tune
of “whitty” one-liners through the tech that they use
to communicate while dashing about.
They’re as clever a sound as the noise of a trout
as it drowns on the bank.
Is it you I should thank for this fun exercise?
I had doubts at first, but I want you to know,
that this little trick is starting to grow
on me. It’s very effective in relieving my stress,
but oh, don’t you worry, I won’t make you press.
You wanted to know my thoughts about Thor.
Well.
Let me assure you, there will always be more
I can say on my darling not-brother
and adventures he’s had that I can uncover
for you, which, let’s be honest, he doesn’t want you to know.
Like the time that he drug us all into the snow
and wanted to decimate the land’s population.
But let’s not be tacky, I won’t hold a grudge,
besides it’s more fun to discuss when he couldn’t budge
the hammer that time in Thrym’s court
and the lovely pink dress he decided to sport
when he married the giant. It brought out his eyes.
He’s arrogant and brutish, and generally lies with anyone that is willing.
Why when with the giants he got a taste for steel,
I don’t care if you think the story’s not real. It’s still true,
why do you think Mjolnir’s handle is so thick,
it’s really a replacement since he’s missing their-
Yes, don’t give me that look. I know that it’s crass,
not my fault he likes taking it up in the-
oh, your expression is really too much.
Fine, I’ll move on, you impertinent lush.
I do know about the flask in your coat, don’t act so surprised.
There’s no point in hiding it. I’m the God of Lies,
you imbecile.
If you’re this troubled now you might as well get it.
Your throat must be parched, don’t you want to whet it?
No? Your choice I suppose.
Are we done yet? I tire, and your company’s pathetic.