#how someone adept at hiding and retelling their own story

[im-the-punk-who]

Honestly i think a lot about how the two things that stand out to me about silver as a character are:

1) what he believes becomes his reality

2) everything is always someone else's fault because otherwise the guilt and hatred would consume him

And given those, i think the main reason he doesn't do this is his absolute need and drive to stay alive and that his past, and the way he has internalized it, is so horrifying that it feels insurmountable. Its not even the trauma at that point. Its shame and guilt and fear and all the emotions that make a task so much more difficult to deal with than it actually is. And all the things that grow if left to fester - the only emotions that can grow in untended soil.

And so I don’t buy that it was something that happened to him that made him the way he is. Or, not to say that nothing bad has happened to him because obviously these reactions come from somewhere. but that the way he reacted or the things those traumas made him do, made him feel so alienated in himself and so full of shame/terror/disbelief that he rejected it even happening.

Like, when I was a kid, my childhood and the people I grew up around made me believe anger was the only real emotion - the power move you could pull out to drive anything how you wanted it driven. That if you were angry enough about something, it absolved you of any guilt you had of your part in it. That you could use anger and sadness to rewrite reality to make other people believe your version was the truth.

That made me do things that ended often with bad decisions, deaths, and a lot of things it has taken me years to even admit were my fault - let alone dealing with the feelings associated with that guilt.

But for years I thought not talking about it, ignoring it, leaving it unspoken, denying it, saying there was nothing I could have done differently and so my actions had no relevancy to the actual events, made it so those things never happened. Or, that they did but I didnt need to include them in my story. Because they werent a part of my story.

But here's the thing about doing that: it isnt possible. You can say the past has no meaning and that its irrelevant to who you are but what you're saying in reality is that you've locked that terrifying thing in a box so tightly sealed for so long that you can no longer even remember what looks like. Cant even really hear the screams from inside. But here's the secret: without those memories and experiences the inside of you is hollow and eventually all that fills it are the monsters' echoes. You don’t recognize them because they're so distorted - so unrecognizable as the cries you know the monster to possess. And so you might believe the actions they call up in you are completely separate from it.

But just believing in something hard enough doesn't make it true. The truth is buried in that box and yeah, the only way it feels like you can keep yourself safe is by keeping it buried, denying its existence. And that might work for a bit. But sooner or later those distortions are going to become all you hear, as the monster, ignored for so long, only gets stronger. Angrier. More powerful as the things it drives you to do multiply. The only way to appease it is to open the box and talk with it. To bring it into your story so you can write it an ending. But you've left it so long it feels impossible to do on your own and you've pushed away anyone who might have been willing to help you. Made it their fault. Made it someone else's fault. Someone else is the bad guy. They have to be - because you can't be and every story needs a well crafted villain.

Anyway it's that book meme but its black sails season 4 if instead of silver making flints confession all about how he sees it reflecting on flint dooming his loved ones, if he had used that opportunity to talk with someone he knows also did dark things - really terrible dark things, and things that have happened to him that still affect him a decade later - who has now finally opened up to him about the reason. But instead he turns it around. Says how the deaths of miranda and gates and thomas are flints fault because by now that need has grown so strong that it's become necessary even for things silver himself had nothing to do with - make sure they know it wasn't you - and he buries his own trauma deeper, adds another shovel full of dirt, another lock to the box. And the monster again has to grow louder to make itself heard.

(Of course that isn't the only time silver pulls this card - it's his ace in the hole - but it's the one I think really could have made a difference if he had taken a chance.)

(Also it's really super extra sad to me that I think the only time he DOES actually admit to thinking something is his fault is when he thinks Madi is dead. Because Billy warned him, silver knew, even flint knew his reservations about the people close to.flint being in danger, and yet silver still 'chose' to let her go to the exchange with flint. And it ended up costing him so much the box ended up breaking open of it's own accord. He cant blame flint for it - or Billy, or eleanor, or anyone and the guilt has no one he can direct it on but himself. and not just that sadness - but maybe all of them - come tumbling out, uncontrolled and uncontrollable except by lashing out at anyone and anything it could. And then madi ends up being alive and ending the things he could blame it on to make himself think it would never happen again becomes the only option. That if b not a, you fixed it and don’t have to think about it again. That by ending the war he could keep madi safe. That by locking flint away he could keep madi safe. That madi being safe is what he needs - not to work through his guilt or talk or listen to flint when flint says it will pass. If Madi is safe then the monster might go back in the box.)

Idk

“A lot of things start with violence and wailing. A lot of them end that way too.”

[fadingcoast]

Death of the Lie  ||  Chapter 5: Unworthy

AUTHORS: @fandom-and-feminism & @fadingcoast

Summary: Odin and his daughter Hela are the perfect conquerors of the universe. The nine realms fall one after the other into their clutch. After Odin takes a second wife and has a son with her, he doesn’t need Hela anymore. Hela abandons her father and ends up marrying Laufey, a sworn enemy of the Aesir people. Not long after, she becomes pregnant with Laufey’s child. Odin cannot let that son be born, but against all odds, the boy survives. Odin is forced to bring him back to Asgard to be raised as his own until he could make further use of him. The half-Jotun-half-Aesir boy grows up to look and act a lot like his mother, which disturbs Odin, and makes him treat the boy horribly. Odin’s lies are deep and complex, but one day the boy will find out the truth about everything he is.

PAIRING: None. RATING: Teen. WARNINGS: Graphic depictions of violence. Graphic depiction of childbirth. Child abuse. Angst. Bullying.

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: CHILD ABUSE & SUICIDE

Taglist is open!!

Masterlist

@igotloki  @xalgaliareptx  @wolfpawn  @fairlightswiftly

Chapter 5: Unworthy

Despite Odin’s reservations, Frigga’s plan worked perfectly.

Loki was finally able to understand that whatever was “wrong” with him, wasn’t actually wrong. For the first time in his life he had something that belonged only to him. With his mother’s guidance, the little prince of Asgard quickly learned how to control his powers and his inheritance.

It was a slow process, not without problems.

As Odin had predicted, people talked. Asgard, as Odin himself, expected the younger heir to be just like his brother: adept with weapons, strong and athletic, another image of a righteous god. Seidr was a woman's craft, not for a Prince.

But Loki was none of that. He was a born sorcerer, and training proved that he was better adapted to smaller, lighter weapons. Broadswords and axes were too heavy and bulky for his lean build. Daggers and short swords were more his type and style.

As usual, Odin opposed to Loki’s weapons of choice, as he opposed to basically everything about Loki. His magic, his weapons, his studies, his books. Even the color of his clothes had been an issue. Green? Really? Could he mock me any further?

At least, this time, Odin kept it to himself, after he saw Loki become quite skilled at handling knives.

Thor also got out of Loki’s hair. After the pond incident, he was grounded for months. Frigga made sure Thor knew he had almost killed his brother that day. The boys’ relationship never fully recovered. Thor would play and train with Loki, be nice to him and pretend they were friends at family dinners and social events. But afterwards, Thor would leave with his friends and Loki would find solace in the library.

Loki also learned the hard way that he wasn’t welcome to join in his brother’s revels, even on the rare occasion that he wanted to.

When the day finally came that Thor had proven himself worthy to wield the legendary hammer Mjölnir, the castle celebrated with a lavish party. Of course it was a day to honour the heir to Asgard’s throne, if he was going to grow to be a mighty king with an unstoppable weapon. Never mind that the Prince in question was still a boy, in Aesir standards, and would likely not inherit the throne for several more centuries at least. To earn a weapon such as Mjölnir meant that Thor was on the right path.

Loki had genuinely felt happy for his brother, despite the aching jealousy gnawing at the pit of his stomach each time Thor would show off his strength by tossing Mjölnir in the air and summoning it back to his hand with ease. Despite his better judgment, Loki had decided to show his support to please his parents, and had stood beside Thor while he talked to his friends and enjoyed being the center of attention as usual. A group of at least a dozen of their peers had gathered around them to watch Thor retell the story of him finally being able to lift the hammer as if it was tale as old and as mythical as the Norns and not something that happened less than a week before.

As Thor retold the story yet again for a fresh group of blushing girls, Loki's mind wandered to the discovery of his own unworthiness, mere moments before Thor had lifted the hammer. The two had descended to the vault following an argument about who was stronger, where Loki had tried everything he knew (which, granted, was not much yet) to try to pick it up, and had watched with horror as Thor pushed past him, boasting about his power, and raised the hammer above his head as though it had weighed nothing. Loki was grateful that at least Thor had decided to leave out that part of the story. But just seeing the hammer now, Thor twirling it around by the strap like it was made of air, was a reminder, was proof, of everything he had believed about himself for most of his young life.

He was weak. He was less.

He was unworthy.

“Come, Loki, why don't you try to lift it?” Fandral’s arrogant voice interrupted Loki's mental spiral and Loki looked to the young boy's handsome face, unamused.

“It is obvious to all, except perhaps you, it seems, that I cannot,” Loki reminded him dryly. “Neither can you, for that matter.”

Loki's words did not deter Fandral. “Come on, I want to see you try! It'll be fun!” He was joined by several other people egging him on. One boy even insulted Loki's integrity by saying if he was a true prince then he should be able to lift it too. Loki didn't want to engage with these ill-mannered courtiers, but he could see his father watching from his seat on the throne, so he sighed and mumbled, “Fine.”

Thor furrowed his eyebrows at his brother, an unspoken question - Are you sure? Loki nodded briefly, holding out his hand. Thor shrugged his shoulders - all right then, your choice - and held out the handle for Loki to grasp. The instant Thor released his grip, the hammer dropped to the floor with a deafening crash, crushing Loki's foot beneath it.

Loki's scream echoed around the throne room, followed by laughter rippling through the crowd. Thor stood there, paralyzed with fear until Frigga burst through the throng and knelt next to Loki. The Queen tried unsuccessfully to get the hammer off of Loki’s foot. She snapped her fingers at her elder son.

“Thor! The hammer!”

The elder Prince shook his head and lifted the hammer, making Loki howl in fresh pain again. Tears poured down his face and embarrassment flushed his face bright red as he watched everyone - even Odin - laughing at his mistake.

Everyone, Loki realized, save for Thor, with his unreadable expression set like stone.

The Queen called for a guard to carry Loki to the Healers, as this was one injury that needed tending to by someone more experienced. She trailed close behind the Einherjar, holding Loki's hand, and stared daggers at the people still watching with a smile on their faces.

“Shame on all of you,” she scolded them. “The Prince only wants to be included, and this is how you repay him.”

In Eir’s capable hands, Loki was set to rights in no time, but his foot still ached for weeks after. The scene in the throne room kept playing in his head on repeat, as though to torture him. Every pulse of pain in his foot was like a mantra: Unworthy. Unworthy. Unworthy.

Loki resorted to keep away from Thor and his friends ever since. He dived head first into his studies. Magic was hard and demanding: the perfect getaway from life itself. He still had to endure a few hours of weapon training 3 times a week. Most of the time, he was able to train by himself or with common soldiers.

Other times, the weapons master insisted he should train with Thor. Not wanting to anger his father, Loki did his best to hold his own against his brother. But deep inside he was terrified. He just wished to finish as fast as possible, leave and avoid Thor’s friends before they could get to him. Loki’s nightmares were full of what they did to him when he failed to escape.

.-

As she did every quarter moon, Frigga walked into her studio, carrying several books in her arms. It was nearly time for Loki’s lessons, and she had found some things in the library she thought he might enjoy.

The door was slightly open when she arrived. It wasn’t like Loki to show up on time, let alone before she did. Her questions were answered the moments she heard Odin’s booming voice.

“How? How did you do that?”

“I-I don’t know!” Loki said.

“Well, you better get knowing real fast, boy! How can you not know that you stabbed one of your friends!”

“He’s not my friend. He’s Thor’s friend!” Loki snarled. “That’s why you care so much… you don’t care about me at all!!”

“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me!” Odin towered over Loki. “I am your father and I am your king!”

“As if you act like it!” He said defiantly.

Odin wasn’t going to stand for Loki disrespecting him. Just like Hela. With a rapid swing, Odin smacked Loki with the back of his hand and sent him flying to the floor. Loki looked up to his father in disbelief, too stunned to say anything. His eyes were shining with tears, but he willed himself not to cry.

“ODIN!” Frigga said, dropping all the books she was carrying.

Odin was furious. Loki shook violently, one hand trying to hide a growing bruise on his left eye, his other hand hovering over where Odin struck him. A bloody dagger lay on the floor by his side: gleaming obsidian metal shone in the golden light, sharp and cold.

Frigga went to her son and took a deep breath, trying to keep calm. “Loki, tell me what happened.”

“They were making--” Loki swallowed hard and looked at his father. He didn’t want to admit they were bullying him. “They said things I don’t agree with.”

He closed his eyes and saw them making fun of him for being skinny, and weak. For wielding magic instead of weapons. For all the things Thor was and he wasn’t. He saw them pushing him to the wall. He felt their punches on his stomach, their fist on his face. He saw Thor a few feet away doing nothing.

“So you decided to stab them?” Odin said, snapping Loki out of his head.

“Only after they gave me this!” Loki yelled, pointing at his black eye. “I don’t even know-”

“How did you conjure the dagger, Loki?” Frigga said softly.

“I don’t know.” Loki muttered. “I just wished I had it and I did.” He looked at the dagger on the floor.

Frigga glared at the king. “I will take it from here, Odin,” she said as calmly as she could. Her tone, though, left no room for Odin to argue. He left.

Loki took the dagger and gripped it tight in his hand. “Why does he hate me so?”

“Your father doesn’t know better.” Frigga said, pulling Loki up, and made him sit on the couch.

“Everything I do is always wrong, he always finds a reason to reproach me.” Loki started shaking again, feeling the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. “Nothing I ever do is fine by him.” Against his will, he started crying, but tried his best not to let it show. Frigga still noticed. “He doesn’t care I was being beaten.”

“You what?” Frigga said, suddenly worried.

“The other kids…” Loki sniffled. “They- they-”

“Loki. Tell me exactly what is going on.”

Exhausted, angry, and frustrated, Loki broke down. He was still holding the dagger on his hand. Frigga noticed the soft layer of frost on top of it, and the frozen blood. Holding Loki’s wrist, she made him drop it before he saw it too. Loki wrapped his arms around his mother and hid his head in her shoulder, crying softly. Odin always said crying was for the weak, so Loki always fought against it. But now, wrapped in the warm embrace of his mother, he just gave up.

Loki told Frigga about the bullying, the verbal and physical abuse he was being subjected to. He told her of the beatings, the name calling, the jokes at his expense. Frigga just held him close until he was finished. Loki felt the tight knot in his throat had loosened a bit.

“… and then today, Fandral was all over me. I lost control. I don’t remember summoning the dagger, but it was there and I--”

“You defended yourself.”

“That’s not how father sees it.” Loki said, rolling his eyes.

“It is what it is.” Frigga reassured him. “No matter what your father says.”

She waited another moment, until she felt Loki had relaxed enough.

“Do you remember that day in the pond?” Frigga started. Loki just nodded, it wasn’t a pleasant memory. “Remember I told you that sometimes, a sorcerer who doesn’t know better might lose his temper? And therefore lose control over his seidr.” Frigga spoke softly, placing her hand on his, using magic to heal the cuts and bruises.

“You said I had some magic in me and that day it protected me from the heat.” Loki said softly, watching his wounds heal.

“This time is not different from that time. Seidr is meant to protect us. You were being attacked, and your magic reacted to it. Gave you a weapon so you could defend yourself.”

Loki looked at his mother, wiping his tears with his sleeve. “It makes sense… But-- I should be able to control it now. The pond thing - I was a little kid!”

“You still are a little kid.” Frigga said with a half smile, and Loki huffed. “You keep learning. Studying. Practising. You never stop learning with seidr.” Frigga explained. “You can use it as your weapon, or you can use it a shield.” As she spoke, Frigga made her own seidr conjure a small gold knife and then a golden bubble. “Seidr has many ways,” he added, making her hands glow green as she again used it to heal Loki’s wounds. His face felt warm and itchy, the swelling and the bruising fading slowly.

“Can you teach me how to do this? It will come handy,” Loki said with a sad chuckle.

Frigga felt her heart sink. “I will speak to your father about this.”

“He won’t do anything,” the boy mumbled, emotionless.

“You are still a prince.”

Loki pressed his lips together. “They are Thor’s friends, mother.”

The underlines of that phrase were clear. Frigga knew not to push it. Instead, she focused in getting the books for today’s lesson back in one piece.

“We weren’t supposed to start with teleporting and summoning for a few months, but I think you need to learn how to control it.” Frigga picked the black dagger from the floor and gave it to Loki. “Put it away.”

Loki looked at his mother, confused. “I don’t know--”

“Yes, you do. You called for it, you can dismiss it.” Frigga said.

Loki stared at the blade and concentrated. It took him several seconds, but the dagger disappeared in a green flash. It surprised him. “Where did it go?”

Frigga handed him a book. “This will tell you all you need to know about that. Go get some rest, we’ll discuss it next lesson.”

Loki smiled faintly while taking the book from his mother, and went to his room.

While he was no longer showing the evidences of the beating he took that day, his body still felt it. He was sore and walking pained him. He needed to rest, shut his brain off.

Once in his chambers, he tried to read, but his muscles weren’t allowing him to find a comfortable position on the bed. He gave up and tried to sleep, but it was also proving difficult. After tossing around in bed for a couple of hours, he got up again.

“A bath could help…” He muttered to himself.

It was late. He didn’t want anyone coming to his chambers, so he locked all doors and got the bath ready himself. Once in the hot water, his body relaxed, but his mind didn’t.

His tired brain started playing all that had happened during day. His skin was unblemished and clean, but the pain was still there, coursing through his system like poison.

Images flashed in front of his eyes, reminding him of other painful days. There were so many of them, Loki had trouble finding even a small moment of happiness. His head throbbed.

If only I could make the pain stop.

He closed his eyes and concentrated. It took him a few tries, but he managed to conjure the black blade. He stared at it, wondering how such a small thing could elicit such a violent response from his father.

Loki felt tears burning in his eyes. No, it wasn’t the blade, it wasn’t his magic. It was him. Since he could remember, his father had hated him. No matter what he did… he was never going to be good enough. For anyone. Thor clearly didn’t give a shit about him either. He had witnessed first hand what his friends had done to him. Even if Thor hadn’t willingly taken part, his indifference hurt more than all the abuse.

As for the people of Asgard, he was just the spare: useless, disposable, discardable. Unworthy.

An idea grew in his mind, dark as the obsidian blade in his hand. A parasitic thought, convincing him that it was the only way to end the pain. Drain it like venom from a wound. His mind was so tired that any attempt to fight the thought was pointless. He surrendered to the thought.

The cold metal felt like a relief in his flesh. The blood dropping to the water looked almost beautiful. Dark figures swirling in the dim light. Loki repeated the motion, drawing another slash on his forearm. The blood was now flowing freely, like his tears. He didn’t even feel the pain anymore.

Loki did the same to his other wrist, cutting deeper.

Watching the blood pour out was cleansing.

I just hope mother will forgive me.

Somehow, he had willed his body not to heal. The wounds on his arms itched and prickled, but remained open. Blood poured out to the rhythm of his heartbeat. Tears tickled the sides of his head as he stared at the ceiling. Loki felt faint. His ears were buzzing. His sight was blurry. His hands couldn’t hold the blade any longer, it made a sharp sound when it clattered on the floor. He was fading away. The pain would stop any time now.

Mom?

.-

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