#SHE USED A BLUNT METAL TOOL TO PUNCH IT OUT. IT REMINDED ME OF THE SPLINTERING OF A TREE. THE WAY IT TORE.

[sluckythewizard]

YOU JUST HƎARD IT FROM [HIS MOUTH] FOR SURƎ!!!

[aureolusfirewrites]

So I finally got around to writing a possessed Ben Zs'Skayr story surprised to find I'm actually motivated for once so here it is

Warnings: Brooken, PTSD

This takes place in October even though I'm writing it in February

Veined in Black

Chapter 1

Present Oct. 29/

Ben sat on his bed at plumber headquarters. Groaning and wincing in pain as his crush fussily wrapped bandages around his wounds. 

Once Rook finished patching him up Ben flopped over face first on his bed and moaned. 

"I hate October." The statement was enough to get Rook to look up at him.

"Do humans not generally enjoy this time of year?"

"Well yeah kinda but it's just so freaky to me. People walk around purposely looking like they're hurt and bleeding plus there's a Halloween eclipse which makes it twice as creepy... Not to mention everyone thinks it's an excuse to cause even more crime then normal." Ben ranted.

Rook grunted "I agree with you on that it seems as though the number of emergencies we get called out for have spiked to almost twice the normal amount..." Rook smirked. "However I would've thought you would be more than overjoyed at the aspect of receiving free candy."

Ben smiled at that "yeah free candy is pretty rad..." 

"Ben... Is something the matter?" Rook asked apparently picking up on Ben's distant additude. 

"Did... did anything about that fight earlier seem odd to you?" He thought back to it.

------------------------------

Earlier

He was walking through the mall with Rook and a kid dressed up as a killer clown had gotten a little to close to him and Rook. The anxiety attack was minor so Rook was able to talk him down relatively easy. He could still feel his heart racing a little to fast and Ben started feeling tired. 

Rook shook him lightly to snap him out of his post-anxiety attack daze. Ben look up at him and rubbed his head. "Ben it is alright everyone is still here safe and alive." Rook said gently. "Y-yeah yeah I know I'm good now Rook just... Just tired all of a sudden. 

Rook nodded and they continued their patrol. Well it wasn't so much patrol, as it was walking around the mall looking at Halloween ideas and hoping a bad guy would run into them so they'd have an excuse for doing nothing all day. Wish granted apprently. 

There was a loud commotion below them. Ben immediately jumped off the balcony fully prepared to transform before he hit the ground but Rook had other plans apparently. He felt warm hands wrap around his waist as Rook grabbed hold of him lowering him down on his proto tool's grappling function. Ben blushed glad his partner hadn't been looking at him.

Rook had seen him but that wasn't something Ben was ever going to know. 

He looked around for the danger. There were three humans wearing masks and another three aliens. They seemed relatively younger probably near teenagers by human standards. One was a Thep Khufan another was a loboan and then there was... He froze slightly. Enough for Rook to notice his tension. "It is not him Ben." Rook whispered the small reminder in his ear as he looked at a small ectonurite girl. 

He knew he shouldn't be afraid, he knew that just because one was bad didn't mean they all had similar plans but still. Whenever he was around ectonurites he couldn't help but see him. Pictures flashed through his head, gwen at the edge of a roof, a fight in space on a satellite, running through a city of monsters, Rook attacking him, a chill going through him and then a horrible pain as his body was taken over. 

Rook shook him again and he focused. "Right. Rook you take the humans I'll get the others." His partner nodded and ran for the three humans who immediately bolted in the other direction. Ben stood his ground hand over the omnitrix ready to activate at any moment. They all stood like that for a bit before they made a move. 

There was a long drawn out screech that threw him backwards. He flew back and his head hit something hard. He rubbed the back of his neck "y'know I might've had a concussion from that but at this point I've been hit on the head so much I think I might be immune." He joked to no one in particular. They was some pressure on him middle and he looked down at the bandages that had wrapped around his middle. He smiled up at the mummy sheepishly "oh boy," there was a tug and he got thrown out of the... Fountain? That's what he slammed into? ...That'd work.

He was being whirled through the air uselessly waiting for the right moment and then quickly grabbed onto a pillar as he flew by. 

The whiplash and inurscia from his sudden stop threw the mummy forward. It released it's grip as it was launched into the fountain. Water seeped into the alien's bandages and it began to unravel, water weighing it down. Ben was ready to go help it out of there, he didn't want him getting melted like some paper mache sculpture in the rain but the ectonurite beat him to it. 

The loboan was still an issue though. It lunged at him with sharp claws ready stab him. There was a lucky swipe and Ben staggered away clutching his bleeding arm. 

The loboan smirked and the ectonurite was still helping dry off her friend. Ben slammed his hand down on the omnitrix. 

He felt the familiar pain and tension he always felt when he transformed. Like he told Young One that one time it was like a stretch, except it was your muscles stretching out and changing into something new entirely just fast enough for your body to not go into instant shock. If it was any slower he would've guessed that he would immediately have some kind of seziure or something. 

Something was odd about it this time though like there was something else shifting with him. He shrugged it off.

He felt heavier and stronger but in a more solid way. "Alright! Diamondhead is gonna kick your butts!" He said excitedly. 

The loboan howled and he was less excited as he felt a crack run down his face. "That's enough of that." He said fed up. He sent a few sharp crystals at the sides of the alien and a few blunt ones to his stomach. The sharp ones scraped it's arms and trimmed off the fur where they connected. The blunt projectiles collided with his midsection and sent the loboan to the ground gasping for air. 

Ben winced he knew the blunts were the equivalent to getting a punch to the chest at high speed but it was better than using a shard. 

He brought crystal walls up around the wolf alien to keep him in place until Rook got back but he doubted the loboan was getting up anytime soon. Then there were the other two...

The Thep Khufan was down for now so he wouldn't bother with him so that left... The ectonurite. 

The ectonurite girl was smaller, around his size actually. She had metal bands all around her sort of like clothes so she looked like a kindergartner covered in a ton of slap bracelets. 

The omnitrix suddenly started flashing and toning the timeout sequence. "No no no c'mon!" There was a flash and he was back to being a human. 

The ectonurite turned towards him. He felt wobbly 'run' kept going through his head but his body wasn't responding. Then at lighting speed she launched towards him. A logical part of his mind knew that even if she did get inside him she wouldn't be able to take him over, but that wasn't the part controlling him at the moment. 

Ben let out a surprised yelp and covered himself with his arms as a last ditch block effort. But what he was waiting for never came. 

The ghost alien stopped in front of Ben and silently looked him over. She let out a hum of frustration and flew back over to the Thep Khufan. 

Ben stayed staring at her. "BEN!" He heard Rook call and he ran to Ben's side. Ben raised his arm up to motion that he was okay to Rook but a pain shot across and he looked down at his still bleeding still injured arm. "Oh... Right... That-" and then Ben had passed out and Rook carried him back to the proto-truk.

Ben had woken up about 10 minutes later in the passenger seat slightly dizzy and tired but he hadn't lost enough blood for it to be serious so Rook was taking him back to his dorm room to patch him up.

Ben couldn't help but feel like something was off though...

---------------------------------------------------

/Present, Oct. 29/

Then it struck Ben what was so odd about that fight. "Rook what were they doing there?" Rook looked away in thought. "We are unsure. The ectonurite refuses to talk and the other two act as if they have no memory of the event." 

Ben mumbled a little.

"So three anur system aliens attack with no motive and didn't speak once while fighting..." He said quietly. 

"What are you thinking Ben-dude?" Rook smiled trying to cheer Ben up. 

Slight pink flushed across Ben's smiling face but the expression faded fast into his 'Im connecting the dots' face. "I dunno Rook just a hunch." His partner nodded. 

Ben felt like his eyelids were made of lead suddenly and he yawned wide. "Why do you not get some rest for right now Ben" Rook smiled at the tired hero. "Mmm'kay" Ben slurred before letting black wash over his mind.

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 15: Callout Post

Chapters: 15/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: Loki is a bigot, mentions of fear of sexual assault, mentions of past death Relationships: Loki x Reader (But not yet) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), OFC, Brunnhilde/Valkyrie(Marvel), Spiderman, Ant-Man Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending, Loki Needs A Chill Pill, Hey Here’s A Thought: How ‘Bout Ya Don’t Be Racist?, Reader’s Pretty Mouthy For Someone On A Sickbed, Thor And Brunnhilde Are Such Gossips Summary: Life is being very blunt to Loki.

Two days passed before the historians came to Loki with information about the dagger. It was a troll weapon, of a kind once prized as war trophies among Asgardian soldiers during the conquest of Nornheim. They were usually passed town as heirlooms, though only a few now survived.

None of the historians could tell him what family this knife might have once belonged to, nor how it came to be in human hands, if it was a human who threw it in the first place. Their best guess was that it had been lost in the last Asgardian visits to this world, roughly a thousand years ago.

They presented the knife to Loki with reverence, emphasizing how precious it was. It had been cleaned and restored, no trace of blood or dirt remaining. He could see his eyes reflected in the blade.

He’d seen items like this, in the palace’s armory display. Rock trolls had been surprisingly proficient crafters; of stone, crystal, and metals at least. They lacked Asgardian sophistication however, and could not even come close to the capabilities of the Dwarves of Nidavellir.  Still, as a reminder of Asgards first conquest, such items held great cultural importance. He knew just what to do with this one.

A young secretary contacted him on his way out of the library, to inform him of an incoming call on the computer. When he arrived however, there was no one on-screen, only an empty room presumably in the Tower. An alarm was ringing, and a red light flashing. It seemed something had rather suddenly come up.

Loki wondered for a few moments whether he had time to wait or not, when the alarm and flashing light abruptly ceased.

“Mr. Lang, you’re still here?” A soft voice called. “There’s a call open on the monitor, what should I do?”

“I dunno, who is it?” Someone else called back.

“Umm…” A masked face-red, with cartoonishly huge, almond shaped white eyes-took up the whole screen. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve met him before, but he looks familiar. Oh, shoot. The sound’s on. Uh, hi! Avenger’s Tower, how can we help?”

This person’s voice was altogether too young.

“Please tell me you are an intern.” Loki said.

“I’m Spiderman.”

“Man?” Loki repeated, incredulous.

The boy rolled his eyes. Or, at least, he tilted his head and moved his shoulders in the way that comes with rolling one’s eyes.

“Hey who is that?” Another face- this one thankfully adult-shoved into view. “Oh wow! Kid, that’s Loki! He bashed up New York a while ago, don’t you remember?”

The boy shook his masked head.

“But you live in New York!”

“C’mon, it was forever ago! I was like, ten!”

A heavy feeling settled inside Loki. How many buildings had he damaged that day? How many vehicles did he destroy? And all the while, this child had been there, somewhere, his life barely measuring the double digits.

How many people? He’d never found out.

“I am Loki, Prince of Asgard, and…look, is Barton there? He should have some information for me.”

“Just left.” The adult said. “Looks like he left some notes though. I can read them out for you.” He picked up a notebook from the desk. “Ooh. Looks Like Tony left some notes too. I’m, uh…” His eyes flicked from the notebook to the masked boy. “I’m not going to read those out loud.”

“I can hazard a guess as to their content. I doubt he has added anything important. Read away.”

“Alright well, it says here…’Ex-boyfriend, angry and vocal on Facebook. Toothless; cannot travel. No prize’. Huh. Okay. And then ‘mixed opinion news articles, none seems to know her personally. Sensationalist at best.’ Uh, ‘Security video viral; massive debate in the comments. Conspiracy theories. Over four hundred million people have seen Loki get punched in the face by a girl half his size.’ And here Tony adds ‘nice’. And that’s the only one of his comments that’s safe to read.”

Loki frowned.

“What? You’ve gotta show me that video.” The boy said.

Loki frowned deeper.

“And lastly, ‘Second video uploaded by someone called Sofie Snowfox, currently residing outside New Asgard. Shown alive and well, described as “Devoted to Loki.”

Loki perked up at that. Yes, that sounded rather nice.

“Most long-time subscribers positive and supportive, but recent waves of American commenters overwhelmingly negative. Accusations of treason, death threats, unflattering sexual speculation, more conspiracy theories.”

That sounded far less nice.

“I have no idea what this is about.”

“You don’t need to-“

“He kidnapped some lady, but I guess it was supposed to be a good thing. Maybe?”

“What? You stole a whole person?”

“I didn’t steal her, I saved her-you know, never mind. If you have not already been informed of this, you don’t need to know. I have the research I asked for, and I have no more time to waste here. Goodbye, Spiderchild. And also you.”

He ended the call without another word, and stalked away from the computer.

So. Your people had abandoned you. Typical. Thor was so optimistic about humanity, but Loki had seen the rot underneath. While his brother would praise how strong and helpful human’s natural social bonds were, Loki knew how they used those same social bonds as a weapon; to shun, to manipulate, to control.

Now you were outside of that control, and your country had turned on you. Viciously. Predictably.

No matter. You had him now; he would take care of you. He had sworn it, and he meant to keep his word this time.

But that meant that your assailant had to be found. This couldn’t be let go, not if he didn’t want them to feel empowered to try it again. You required some means of protection. And he had just the thing.

He found his way to the equipment stores, speaking briefly to the quartermaster. She was a formidable, battle-scarred woman, but when he explained that he wanted some of the old, busted up knife sheathes to attempt to fix up, she was happy to let him rummage around.

During the exodus, people had mostly just grabbed whatever they could find to bring with them. Unfortunately, some of it turned out to be trash. The quartermaster had been saddled with far too much unusable equipment, and Loki was able to come up with several sheathes that, between them, should provide enough intact material to put together a new one. Loki thanked her, and left with his prizes.

Prince or not, Loki had always taken care to know how to maintain and repair all of his own equipment, even learning how to make certain things from scratch. With the amount of knives and daggers he used, a simple sheath would take no time at all.

He found a place away from anyone else, where he didn’t have to be a prince, and could concentrate on being an artisan instead. A wave of the hand brought him his tools, and he went right to work.

                                                                                  *****

 “So the big mystery about the Jotnar, is that it’s clear from their extensive colonization of multiple worlds, that they used to be a space-faring race. But they aren’t now, and no one knows why or how that knowledge was lost to them.” Brunnhilde explained. The Valkyrie had moved this lesson into your room, where you were still being asked to stay. You had been longing for companionship for what seemed like such a long time, so long in fact, that you were now uncomfortable to have it. You hadn’t gotten out of bed, just sat up with your pillow to lean against. Brunnhilde evidently thought you were injured worse than you actually were, and made no comment about it.

“We’ve encountered them in several galaxies, always slightly different. Thousands, possibly millions of years removed from wherever they originally came from, and an unusually flexible genetic structure allows them to adapt to whatever planet they live on within just a few generations. For instance, here are Aegir and Ran.”

She held up a book, showing you an illustration of two people with deep blue skin, round black eyes, and green hair that was textured like seaweed. They were both adorned with shells, coral, and pearls, and not much else.

“These two rule a world of oceans. They’re pretty friendly with Asgard, and let us build small colonies on their islands. That’s the only land on their planet, and the Jotnar that live there don’t have much use for dry land. They make such exotic alcohol.”

You managed a weak smile. Of course she was impressed with the booze.

“Freyr is married to one of these?” You asked. You still wondered how big they were.

“No, no, these are sea giants. Gerd is a mountain giant. I found a picture of her earlier, give me a second…”

Brunnhilde leafed through the book.

“Are the Jotnar all just named after the terrain they live in?”

“Yeah, basically. They adapt so fully to their environment that they almost seem to become a part of it. So we usually just call them what they look like. Desert giants, and forest giants, and fire giants, and frost giants. All kinds. Ah, here she is!”

She turned the book back to you, showing a picture of a powerfully built woman, whose snowy white skin and hair shimmered with a diamond-like quality. There were long streaks and patches of silver skin on her bare arms that reflected light like a mirror.

“Wow.”

“Yeah, she’s a keeper.  We get along with some of the giants; others not so much. Frost giants for one. Our most recent war involved them. We won but relations are still pretty tense. I only fought in the very first battles of that particular war, but it was only about a thousand years ago.”

“Only a thousand?” You were still constantly startled by the massive age differences between you and the Asgardians. It was hard to comprehend a person who was older than most modern countries.

There was a knock at the door, and Loki let himself in without waiting for very long. He looked slightly excited about something, but the expression disappeared the instant he noticed the Valkyrie in the room.

“Oh, we are learning, I see. It’s good to see that kind of determination, but you shouldn’t overdo it.”

“The cut is almost gone, and I’m going crazy in here.” You protested, cursing the edge of a whine that snuck into your voice. “I thought another lesson would be low effort and give me something to think about.”

Something else to think about. Something other than him, and what he might eventually do to you. Why was he waiting so long? The fear and torment was making it harder and harder to think of anything else.

You shouldn’t think about it. Brunnhilde was here. You were safe for now. Think about giants.

“What is today’s subject?”

Brunnhilde turned the book to him.

“Look, it’s Gerd.”

“So it is. Jotnar? What, ah…what about Jotnar?”

“Different kinds. Sea, and mountain, and frost. Friends and enemies.” You said. He fidgeted a bit, rubbing at his palm. “I just kinda wonder how big they are, if we’re calling them giants. Are they really very tall? I’ve never seen one before.”

The Aesir’s eyes flicked back and forth to each other, as if expecting one another to say something.

“Well!” Brunnhilde said brightly, breaking the increasingly uncomfortable silence. “Why don’t you show her a comparison? With Gerd!”

“Oh that’s easy! Here. So this is Freyr…” He gestured and the image of the man with flowers in his hair popped up. Loki caught your wrist as you reached out. “Still not here.”

Heat crept up your neck. Stupid involuntary reaction! You really needed to get a handle on that.

“And here you are…”

A little image of you popped up next to the other, clasping your hands behind you and beaming happiness. It was adorable. Brunnhilde pressed her lips together to swallow a smile.

“And here is Gerd…”

The shining woman appeared next, easily two feet taller than both of the other images, to scale.

“Wow! Okay that’s pretty big.”

“Oh this is nothing.” Loki said, some of his earlier excitement creeping back in. “Here’s Aegir and Ran.”

The sea giants appeared, even bigger than Gerd.  “And the tricky mason who owned Svadilfari.”

A pale, rocky giant sprang up next. He would have been taller than a multistoried house.

“I bested him in combat, and took his horse. He was of the same line as Sleipnir, which is what gave the fool away in the first place. My Leynarodd is one of only two survivors of that line.”

“Yes, and we all know you’re very proud of that.” Brunnhilde interrupted. “How about you show us a frost giant?”

“How about I don’t?”

“I’d like to see one.” You interjected. Loki seemed to recede in on himself.

“I’m actually pretty sure you wouldn’t. They are hideous, brutish savages. You wouldn’t like them at all.” He said bitterly.

That was so infuriating. You were growing to hate the way he described other races. He was always so nasty about it.

“You know, your highness.” You said, sitting up a little straighter. “You say that about pretty much every race that isn’t Asgardian. How will you describe me to people in a thousand years, I wonder?”

He lifted his chin, mouth pressed thin.

“As a mouthy twit who thought she knew more than I did about subjects she hadn’t even learned yet. I’ve seen frost giants. I’ve fought and killed frost giants. I know about them, and you do not.”

“Then show me!” You challenged. “Because right now, you just sound like a huge bigot, and like a bigot, you’ve got nothing to back you up!”

Brunnhilde quietly chuckled.

“You insolent little-You think you can just sit in the bed, in the room that I provided you, and say such things to me? I am your prince, and-“

“Not mine!”

“-and your benefactor! Are you fed? Are you clothed? Are your medical needs seen to? Yes! You have me to thank for that, me and no other!”

“Now just a damn-“

“If the Bifrost could handle it, I would drop you on Jotunheim right now, and see how you fared, you little ingrate! Here!”

He tossed a little bundle onto the bed.

“I intended to present this to you properly, but I feel no need to waste any more time here. Figure it out yourself, since you know so much.” He whipped the door open. “But before I go, here is Surtr, the largest giant yet known.”

He slammed the door behind him, just as the illusion of the enormous fire giant filled the room and began knocking things over.

                                                                                *****

“So then I had to fist fight an illusory giant.” Brunnhilde said, cleaning grime off her favorite sword. “It was pretty cathartic, actually.”

“What did he give to her?” Thor asked, running a whetstone down the blade of his axe.  Norns, but his brother was bad at this. Scheming, manipulating, planning, organizing, oh yes, all of that and more. But openly caring about someone? Practically hopeless.

“No idea. She was not in a good mental place by the time I beat Surtr, and then her maid came and saw the state the room was in. Poor girl was beside herself. But at least _____ doesn’t have much to get tossed around. Still, the place was a mess, and she was of no mind to even open the thing up and look.”

“If he keeps on like this he will lose all chance of gaining her respect. He keeps moving forward and then taking a flying leap back.”

“Don’t know if it’s just her respect he wants. But this might not be as bad as it seems. For one thing, his wall is thinner around her. The things he feels he has to prove to her are different than the things he feels he needs to prove to us. He’s more open with her, probably because he thinks she is harmless. Now granted, that openness includes childish tantrums, but at least he isn’t closed off and stagnant anymore. He’s moving forward.”

The Valkyrie examined her sword closely, searching for any leftover dirt. Finding none, she dribbled oil onto a cloth, and began wiping the blade.

“For her part; I haven’t seen that fire in her for some time. Something is going wrong there, but I’m not sure what it is. She seems unusually passive, you know, she hasn’t even been asking questions like she used to. I think she might be afraid of something, or holding something in.”

“Because someone attacked her, and we don’t know who or why? I can see why that would be frightening.” Thor set the weapon aside, and began polishing his armor instead.

“Possibly. Probably. I know you don’t like to think of it, but we really do need some kind of prison facilities built. Criminals still exist, and if you don’t want to execute them…”

“Absolutely not.” Thor asserted.

“Then we need a place to put them. Whenever we catch this person-and I’m sure we will- we’ll need somewhere to stash them. If we get to them before Loki does, anyway.”

“Loki knows better now…” Thor began.

“Oh does he? Well that’s great to hear. How many milliseconds do you think he’ll hold his composure where the safety of his ‘responsibility’ is concerned?”

Thor scrubbed until he could see his eye reflected in the bosses of his chestplate, then began checking the scale and chain portions for any captured bits of debris.

“About sixteen. Which is ten longer than he would have done previously, so things are getting better.”

“If you say so. I’m not completely sure this has to do with the attack though. I saw signs of _____ withdrawing in on herself even before then, and just didn’t notice what was happening at the time. I wonder if there isn’t something around here that is bringing back memories of bad times. It’s easy to forget she lived through that damn ‘snap’ just like we did. We don’t know how she lived during that time, or what she went through. There might be all kinds of triggers hidden inside her, and the only way to find them is to accidentally trip them.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that.” Thor said, inspecting a nick on his helmet. That was unlikely to buff out, but he tried it anyway. “Probably unavoidable though. We’ll just have to be ready, be understanding. Which means Loki will have to get a handle on his temper.”

“We’re just a big bundle of problems each, aren’t we?”

“Part of being alive. Besides, better that we suffer than the alternative.”

“Psh, speak for yourself, your Majesty!”

“I do believe I am.”

Loki stalked into the room, clearly still disgruntled. Noticing what his brother and the Valkyrie were doing, he took a seat of his own, and began seeing to the maintenance of his own weapons. As the minutes ticked by, and more and more daggers piled up, he seemed to grow even more annoyed.

Finally, he slapped one last knife down on the pile. “Thor. Am I a bigot?”

“Oh yeah.” Thor said.

“Absolutely.” Brunnhilde agreed.

Loki made an offended noise.

“You are not unlike a great many Asgardians in that respect.” Thor continued. “I was like that as well, until recently. You remember.”

“I was too.” Brunnhilde added. “The social climate under the previous Allfathers practically guaranteed that. I only unlearned it by spending a thousand years at the ass-end of the universe, surrounded by people of every species, all of us knowing that we lived and died at the whims of a single madman.”

“I had to be stripped of all my power, and then choose to die at the hands of an ancient weapon forged by my own people, while protecting a non-Asgardian species.” Thor said.

“Well, what do I have to do?” Loki demanded. “I’m not going back to Sakkar, and I’ve already died! Where’s my magical personality cure?”

“I mean, it did take me a thousand years.” Brunnhilde reminded him. “And I don’t think ‘depressed, alcoholic, slave-taker’ is really the kind of personality you want to aspire to. “

“Besides, there is little chance of being able to make amends with the Svartalfari, or the Frost Giants, at least, not for quite some time. And I stand by my decision to forbid contact with the Dark Elves. Never again. If any remain, let them be.”

“Agreed.” Loki said. “But that still doesn’t help me. You didn’t see how she looked at me.”

“I did.” Brunnhilde pointed out.

“And you have no doubt regaled my brother on all the details. But that does me no good. I cannot simply stop feeling how I feel.” He paused. “Can I?”

“If you’re thinking about trying any memory or emotion altering spell, I must advise strongly against it.” Thor warned. “I know you can handle dangerous powers, Loki, but even the smallest mistake, and your entire self could be lost.”

“I know that!” Loki snapped. “But if I need to stop, how do I start? To stop?”

“Well, first of all, maybe you could stop describing every other race as ‘uneducated, brutish, savages’ to your only student, who happens to be one of those other races…” Brunnhilde suggested.

“Loki!” Thor scolded.

“Well how would you describe a Frost Giant?” Loki demanded.

“Hm. Fierce warriors with strong ties to an ancient heritage.” Thor said. “I suppose that could be taken to mean the same thing as ‘savage’, but without such negative connotations. It might help you if you just rewrote the propaganda to remove the negativity. That’s all it is, after all. A great many things we were taught about the other races was just propaganda.”

Loki gaped at him.

“Moreover, since the only Frost Giant I personally know is clever, well-learned, and sophisticated, how could I possibly describe them so crudely?”

Loki continued to gape.

“Y-your time among the humans has made you soft.” He whispered.                                                                                

[brkfstfordinner]

words by Fred

[Au] 

In its most refined form, in function and currency, music is no less valuable gold. 

Growing up, I had pals but my best friends all either held mics and played instruments, or could be completely wiped from existence with a pencil eraser. I wasn’t their friend but they were certainly mine. Blink 182, Pepper Ann, Em, System of a Down, Missy Elliot, Doug, Nas, the Recess gang. And later along the way Kid Cudi, BoJack Horseman, Morty, Lincoln Park, Frank, Mac, Chano, Ye, Tyler, Gene and Louise Belcher. These guys all seemed to ‘get it’ more than most people I actually interacted with every day. They were with me in my room for hours starring at the ceiling after moms would hit the light switch, they were waiting for me every day when I got back home from school and they even occasionally provided a wide range of advice on how to approach not dying a virgin.    

The mic holders, in particular, I think speak to us all in two main ways. When a song is relatable, it means listening to Bryson Tiller’s ‘Don’t Get Too High’ after a breakup and ugly-crying because your estranged girlfriend of 5 years is now a Veuve Clicquot savant and stores every nuance of the French champagne in the part of her brain where she used to house the memories you made together. This is the kind of music you don’t just listen to, you hear it. The songwriting, composition and delivery feel like the artist twisted the lid off your head open, reached into your brain, and used your thoughts to decorate their lyrics.

A song can also be aspirational. This means when Jay-Z boasts, “I have cars I haven’t seen in months… Niggas thought Hova was over, such dummies/ Even if I fell I’d land on a bunch of money,” you can’t quite relate because that isn’t your reality… But, you’re empowered because it makes you feel like it could be. It’s a transfer of energy that makes the dream of wealth, of beauty, of notoriety and abundance, depending on what you’re listening to, feel tangible, even if that feeling is only momentary. It keeps the hope of better days alive.  

There is a third, less cerebral, more visceral level that music connects. You don’t just listen or hear it, you feel it; like a painting or photograph you see and are completely enamoured with but can’t explain why. When it hits, it feels something like Mr. T punching you repeatedly in the stomach, with all his finger-rings on and all of his might. It hurts sometimes but when it gets going, you don’t want it to stop. You can’t explain why you are compelled by it – it’s not always the subject matter, may not quite be the lyrics (if there are any at all), not specifically the melody – you just are. It is its own, almost spiritual language, manifesting itself through any sonic means you are willing to receive it; able to penetrate through all the barriers that separate us from one another. It consoles the inconsolable, it comforts the comfortless.

I happen to believe that the force that makes these fourth-dimension connections possible through art, exists as a raw element floating in the universe, almost in the same way a precious metal occurs in nature. Sure, it’s valuable and has the potential to spark a revolution but it is too unassuming in its natural state to reach most of us. It often needs a vessel that will translate its value before it can be consumed. In the case of a valuable metal like gold, that vessel is a process called extraction; while in the case of music, I believe, it is the sonically inclined who are connected to the universe, that become that vessel.

Bar Macedelic, which is sentimental to me for many reasons, Mac Miller’s Faces mixtape is my favourite of all his projects. From the beginning of his career, Mac always had drug references sprinkled across his music, in the “causal” way we’d known suburban white kids to dabble in the forbidden fruits. This might sound weird but it never occurred to me that he had a real problem until he was on his GO:OD AM media run over a year after the release of Faces and he spoke openly about his mental and physical condition during its recording, and eventually overdosing. Probably because even when Mac candidly and very specifically rapped things like “I've been to hell and back trying to get attached to my better half/ Never that, the smile’s so gone, so bring the coke on”, the delivery and attention to detail that carried these words were always so masterful that it didn’t seem consistent with the image you have in your head of an addict. Also, you never ever got the sense that Mac was glorifying the use of the stuff. It was always more like he was speaking openly about himself in the sometimes quirky, sometimes dark candour that he always did and drugs just happened to be a part of that reality. Insomnia, nostalgia, melancholy, space, Bill Murray, and euphoria were also parts of that microcosm. The bluntness never shocked me. If anything, it was consoling that here was this guy who was at the top of the world with access to everything and anything he could possibly fathom and yet, the degree of separation between us and him seemed minimal. He had the same questions about life than I did. But, he was processing all of it and fashioning it into something beautiful.

Here he was, essentially taking the universe’s proverbial ore and through the painstaking, emotionally and mentally exhausting process of creating (not unlike gold extraction), turning pain, love, uncertainty and all the raw materials he was interacting with in the universe into pure gold. For him, quite literally because it made him a fortune, but for me (and others) it was gold because it felt at times like it was necessary for my sanity. More than something nice to hear or look at, the product of this alchemy became a tool.

There is a high cost to those who allow themselves to be vessels for this kind of transcendent communication though. As human beings, we each have the profound capacity to feel intensely; love, regret, ecstasy, shame, sorrow. These emotions are often reactions to our experiences and need to be felt in order to emerge from them into a place of relative peace. In practice, many of us don’t exhaust our capacity to be present in our feelings because the cost is too high. It’s why we stop ourselves from loving as hard as we could. It’s why we’d rather front than confront that we’ve deeply hurt or been hurt by someone. It’s why we’d rather get dumb-wasted than deal with personal traits that make us feel shitty about ourselves. Being completely vulnerable is not only painfully crippling but also actively requires a lot of work.  

Music that accesses this dimension is almost always the result of an artist aggressively exploring their full capacity to feel. They give themselves completely to their emotions, often at a personal expense, and let the results of that process bleed onto pieces of paper, through instrumentation and into microphones. It’s harrowing and traumatic and exhilarating and once the piece of art is complete, we are ecstatic to receive it and that’s where it ends for us (the consumer). Except, that’s not actually where it ends. Because after the lengthy, complex process that is the extraction of gold from rock ore, there is an industrial vessel that is left filled with all the impurities and by-products of the process. The muck and dirt that had to be gathered somewhere so that this timeless, valuable metal that literally builds (and destroys) economies and will be used for fashioning jewelry and shaping the electronic and aerospace industries, can exist. Whose job is it to attend to that vessel? To make sure that the wear and tear of the strenuous process is not causing it to corrode internally with each cycle? Who makes the call to maintenance to find out if the vessel has been serviced after the gold has been dispatched to buyers and we’ve moved on to focusing on the Pateks and satellites it’s been for? Or, as Kendrick so poignantly put it on ‘Feel’:

“I feel like the whole world wants me to pray for ‘em

But who the fuck praying for me?”

There isn’t much I could have personally done to help Mac. Even though one day he got on the piano and played a beautiful ballad for me in my living that got me to call mother when I was being a shitty son, or that he talked me into reminding myself who the fuck I was one afternoon when I almost abandoned a project I was passionate about, the reality is I didn’t know him. And he certainly had no idea who I was. But there are people around me who I can call or go see. There are people who I interact with every other day who are vessels for gold. And we should all make it our collective responsibility to not just admire shiny stuff but also really try to take care of each other holistically. Put a call in. Get a hug in. Be kinder to one another. Listen more.

Because we rob the world and ourselves of our gold when we don’t take care of each other.  

Rest in Peace, Mac. Rest in Peace,   Pro.  Rest in Peace ,Sharpa.  Rest in Peace, Sammy. Forever with us.

[mage-cat]

Unbubbled, Chapter 3

Yeah, I go a month without posting a chapter, then I do two in one night. Really, a good chunk of this was written back in August/September before going on the back burner and my little shippy one-shot idea turning into a multi-chapter story. So when Chapter 2 took so long, I decided I wouldn’t post it until I had a more satisfying follow-up ready to go. I’m just getting started.

Chapter under the cut.

Chapter 1 here.

Link to AO3 here.

Pearl stepped into the Forge, the notes of one of Steven's compositions reaching her ears before the words became clear. “… and birth and peace and war on the planet Earth...” Bismuth's back was to her, hunched over her workbench, likely doing sharpening or inscription work. A bag by the door was already filled with throwing knives, shuriken, chakram, and objects that reminded Pearl strongly of musket balls. She picked up one of the star-shaped shuriken. “Well, this is how you've always ultimately gotten to know new recruits. By their weapon preferences.”

The sudden addition of a new voice gave the smith a start before she turned towards Pearl and smiled. “Weapon preferences tell me a lot about a person. For example, Peridot wants to stay at a distance. That tells me she wants the chance to plan her attacks as much as she can. I don't think she's afraid of a fight, but she wants as much information and preparation for it as she can get. When I find out how she uses what's in that bag, I'll be able to say more.”

“Personally, I find Peridot rather insufferable at times, but I'm glad you seem to be getting along.”

“She does have quite an ego on her,” Bismuth admitted. “Between that and knowing she was getting solo missions, I peg her for a Crew Chief, probably getting evaled for a Site Manager job. Let me guess,” her smile grew wider, “she tries to give you orders?”

“Not after the incident when she called me someone's shiny toy and I punched her in the face,” Pearl said smugly.

Bismuth doubled over, her whole body shaking with laughter. “I keep finding out about great stuff that I missed. You literally knocking sense into newbies is always classic.” She was still chuckling as she straightened up, throwing a glance over her shoulder to the project behind her.

“So what are you working on now?” Pearl asked.

“I... um... I thought I would try something Peridot said about creative endeavors aiding in emotional processing.”

“That's probably wise. I know the Corruption is a lot to take in.”

“That's not what I'm processing here.”

“Then what?”

“I'm not really sure I can tell you.” There was uncharacteristic hesitation in Bismuth's voice.

“Oh come now.” Pearl started closing the distance between them. “I know all too well how bad the effects of keeping things bottled up can be.” She poked a finger at Bismuth's chest. “I've been missing you for a long time, and I'm not going to have you back just so you can slip into a funk.”

Bismuth seemed to develop an intense interest in the ceiling. “You know, I just keep thinking about when Steven pulled me out of Lion's mane, the way you jumped into my arms. I had fantasies about you doing that for centuries.”

Whatever Pearl had been expecting her to say, it hadn't been that. She developed an equally intense interest in the shuriken she was still holding.

“Why wouldn't someone fall for you?” Bismuth continued. “A Pearl fierce enough face Quartz soldiers and win? And you were so eager to learn, coming here to the Forge and asking about the things I was working on. I had never seen someone so riveted by the properties of tungsten.” She looked at Pearl. “Please don't tell me you really believe that it was Rose that made you incredible. That's just too sad to think about.”

She was still fiddling with the shuriken. “If it wasn't for her I never would have...”

“Hey, Rose unlocked something special in all of us, but there's a funny thing about keys. You don't need them to keep a lock open.”

Pearl looked up, her head still bowed. “Why didn't you say anything back then?”

“I tried, now and then, but I'm pretty sure blind people could see the way you looked at Rose. That was a level of devotion that wasn't going to let a third person in. Be honest. Did I stand a chance back then?”

“I... I don't know. I never considered the possibility.” She closed her eyes. “Oh, but I'm sure I would have felt so disloyal.”

“And it's not like I would have felt much better, getting between the two original Crystal Gems.”

“So, what is your creative endeavor here?” Pearl stood straight as she walked around Bismuth to get a proper view of the project.

“Well, it started out as a replica of your spear. I really don't know what it is now. I'm doing it in bronze, mostly 'cause it's easy to work, but I'm kind of proud that I got the alloy to match the color of your hair, which I really hope is not creepy. Steel would have fit to, maybe even better, but I just didn't feel like getting the fires hot enough for it.”

"Well if the point of this project was to get yourself less hot and bothered, that makes sense."

“And now you're making fun of me.”

“I'm processing.” She put the shuriken down and picked up the spear. Being entirely metal made it a bit too heavy to be practical, but Bismuth had, after all, been making an art object, not a battle weapon. She must have started with some particularly ruddy copper for the tin to lighten the alloy to its peach-pink color. The curves and proportions were exaggerated, calling attention to just how sharp and deadly the weapon was. Bronze blunted fairly easily, but for now everything had a fine edge. Pearl squinted at the delicate tracery Bismuth had been engraving on it when she walked in, leafy briars with rose hips but without a flower in sight. She carefully placed it back on the workbench, but she didn't take her eyes from it.

“I think I would have sided with you over the Breaking Point, you know. Back then during the heat of the war. A lot of us would have.”

“I guess that's why Rose didn't tell anyone.” Pearl was a little surprised Bismuth didn't sound more bitter than she did.

“Rose always said that it was important for a leader to have secrets, but it's only in the last few years that I've found out how many secrets she kept from me.” Pearl gripped the edge of the workbench. “Now I keep thinking of all those thousands of years fighting monsters that used to be friends, and I think about how you could have been there. You could have helped, and having even one more Gem around would have been a comfort.” Her shoulders slumped. “You would have been there for the peaceful times, too. There really were some great times in between the fighting.”

“Listening to the others talk about you, it barely sounds like they're describing the same person I know, and why does Amethyst act like the idea of Ruby training her is the funniest thing she's heard all week?”

Ruby would have been a better fit then she had been, Pearl thought, but there had never been a chance of that. “We thought we were so close to winning, Homeworld forces were retreating, and then we lost so much so fast. I know seeing Biggs was a shock, but imagine seeing that a hundred times over on the first day with no warning. And again the day after, on and on. After a while we stopped even trying to call them by their real names. It hurt too much. We clung to the comforts we had. Rose clung to her ideas about humans. I clung to Rose as much as I could. Ruby and Sapphire clung to each other. I know you're used to seeing Garnet around for weeks at a time, but I've sometimes gone years without seeing Sapphire or Ruby.” Pearl finally looked at Bismuth again. “They're getting better though. I've seen them twice in the past year.”

“And what exactly were you doing while Rose was off being fascinated by humans?”

“Trying to be better. Training, studying, keeping busy.”

“And I'm guessing that while you were hurting, o selfless knight, you never actually said anything to Rose, while she continued her streak of being completely unable to recognize anyone's negative emotions if they were not actually crying or yelling.” Pearl stared at her. Bismuth continued, “Rose had a lot of great qualities. Empathy was never one of them.”

“I keep forgetting that Steven actually gets that from Greg.”

“She left a lot on the little guy's shoulders. I hope he gets to do more with his life than clean up her mess.”

Pearl rested her hand on Bismuth's arm. She may have never jumped into those arms before the day Bismuth had effectively returned from the dead, but that didn't mean she had never been in them at all. There had been many comforting hugs and the occasional need for Pearl to be carried off a battlefield or boosted over a wall. One thing Pearl remembered being glad of was how Bismuth never held her like she was afraid that Pearl was about to break. For all Rose had respected her, there never stopped being times that she treated her like she was fragile.

Maybe Rose couldn't help it. Her instinct had always been to shield those she cared for as much as she could, both from physical harm and from painful truth. Bismuth cared every bit as much as Rose had, but she wasn't a shield. Her instinct was always to build and to make, and she would give everything to insure that those she cared for had the tools to protect themselves. If they doubted their ability to use those tools, well, Pearl had walked in on the middle of many long talks with new recruits, sometimes doubling as weapon design sessions, sometimes not, and had seen endless sparing matches. She had seen Bismuth build confidence in countless Crystal Gems. Pearl had missed that when Bismuth was gone. She had loved that about her.

“Look, if you need time to think or if you're just trying to think of a nice way to say no, just say so and I promise I won't...”

Pearl cut her off by pulling Bismuth down by her apron front and stopping her mouth with a kiss. After a second of surprise, Bismuth returned it and picked Pearl up in the same firm grip the pale Gem had just been remembering so fondly. After a beautifully long moment, Pearl pulled away to look Bismuth in the eye. “I have been far too careful for far too long. I've missed you, and I miss who I used to be. Will you help me remember her?”

Bismuth's smile was wider than Pearl had seen it since she had arrived at the Forge. “To me it was day before yesterday. I would be happy to help.”

Pearl threaded a lock of yellow hair that had fallen over Bismuth's shoulder between her fingers. “You know, I've kept up quite an armory in my room back at the Temple. Some of it's your old work. Some of it includes some interesting innovations you might like to see. We could head back, and when I'm done showing you that, I could also show you this cozy little reading nook I have.”

“That sounds fantastic.”

Chapter 4>