#i NEED to be mentally ill about this otherwise i cease truly existing. let me be INSANE and MAD about this

[uncanny-tranny]

I was watching a lecture about elements, and it finally stuck in me that literally everything around me - including myself - is so ancient. Everything that makes you and me and this world is billions of years old. It is just our consciousness and our physical form that are so young. We are intricately woven into this universe, we are so ancient and so young

[cloakedandsoaked]

Celestial North

It was warmer than Dantalion was used to it being, when he visited this place. Barely below freezing, in fact, and the ice was thinner than he would have liked, though there were still several metres of it separating him from the sea below. A glance skyward showed he was as close as the stars could guide him. He would travel on foot from here, and rely on his other senses to find his destination. 

A few kilometres north, he stopped. The feeling of the entire earth spinning directly below him couldn’t be faked.

He cleared a circle some twenty metres across, and smoothed the surface down to a perfect sheen with a wave of his hand. Only the keenest of eyes could spot the reflection of the Cynosure and the surrounding sky, but Dantalion had keener eyes than most. The star declined farther away from the celestial pole than it had sometimes done in the past, but closer than usual. In fact, of the hundred or so times he’d made this journey, only a dozen saw the five-fold light of Polaris as the North Star at all.

When everything was prepared, the demon sat and rested for a moment.

He sipped from a verdigris can that could only be described as incongruent. He would need his strength, and tonight, strength came in the form of aspartame. Chilled fingers drew small loops on the ice.

<You're late.>

The voice caught him off guard. (The voice didn't catch him off guard.) 

The voice seemed even colder than he had expected, laced with a familiar irritation that he probably should have expected. (The voice was exactly as cold as he expected, and, indeed, could not have been otherwise.)

The voice spoke directly to his mind. (The voice, as is most apparent to us outside viewers, was from his mind.)

A figure appeared in the center of the circle, only a meter away, mirroring Dantalion's pose exactly.

Dantalion didn't allow his gaze to linger for long. "I'm sorry, Teacher. I was-- " He reached for a lie: I was tending my garden, and found his mind forcibly redirected to the truth: my library.

<As well as usual?>

"No."

<No.> There was no judgement in the agreement, merely a quiet acknowledgement. The figure tilted its head. <What are they like?>

Dantalion flinched. His forced hallucination was going off script; that was never a good sign. <~A dead tree's root system holds the earth together, and provides a home for many creatures.~> He sat his soft drink aside. <~Honeysuckle and lilac grow on the banks of the river. The waters rise again and again, but each year, the flowers return. The river becomes rerouted by a dam. // Fire, and fire, and fire. // A man follows a mirage in the desert, and finds water. // A copse houses many small creatures, but its resin burns at the cars parked below. // A dust devil. A meal tainted with ash. // A broken pane of glass. // An open cupboard reveals that the mementos within are now moth-eaten. Sour cherry candy, melted, blisters the skin it touches. // Rum burns in a throat and belly. Heirloom china is broken without a thought. // A hatchet strikes a wrought iron fence. Sparks fly. // A grain of wheat gives way beneath a mill. Bread comes later. // Fairy lights and grave dirt and blood and sugarcane. // A flame that appears small, but is really just far away. // A would-be martyr considers recanting.~> He paused, grimacing as he drew out the last image: <~A garden, scorched to the soil, is never replanted. In place of new life, a gift of honey is spilt upon the ground.~>

Is this good enough? It's not an excuse, but is it worthy? Two hundred thousand years, two deaths, and a very long reconstruction had failed to temper his desire to please, even as he tried to stifle the thoughts.

The other figure gave no answer, which Dantalion at least knew to take as a genuine lack of an answer. <Why are you here?>

Dantalion pondered the point for a moment, images flashing through his mind -- crisis, confusion, brokenness, despair -- and tried to find the trail that would lead to a true answer. <I think I broke something vital in me. I need to find out when and why and how, so I can fix it.>

<You noticed you were confused,> the other voice summarised, not incorrectly. 

Dantalion felt his mind suddenly enveloped as if in an embrace, and let himself be taken in whole. This was why he was here, uncomfortable though he knew it would be as his own recent memories began swirling around him like a smoothie in a blender, a trillion thoughts and feelings and sensations reeling about at incomprehensible speed. He knew better than to try and grasp at any individual one, as the disorientation would grow exponentially. Instead, he waited (minutes? surely it could not have been hours) for the spinning to slow to a comfortable twirl. At this speed, he could see the memories tinged with crisis almost as if they had a separate color filter laid upon them, instead of the color being smeared into the total. Spinning, spinning.... stop!

The whirling came to an abrupt stop, one memory focused in his mind: the first domino in the particular line of crises that currently held him hostage. Bingo. But unexpectedly (unexpectedly!), the spinning began anew, disallowing his mind to find purchase in the memory, disallowing any of the analysis he had come to this place expecting.

Another crisis memory presented itself. A pause. 

Again the spinning, again a pause.

Again.

Again.

Addled beyond all prediction, Dantalion grasped at each memory, striking out for purchase with the grip of his mind, only to be forcibly ripped away each time. Each furious pull was agonising, in a way the demon had never experienced pain before, not in his entire existence.

Again.

Again.

Suddenly the voice thrilled across the surface of his mind in a violent bellow. (He had never heard that voice bellow. Such a thing seemed anathema.)

<WHY ARE YOU HERE?>

Stunned, Dantalion skittered back from the other figure in the circle, bum never leaving the ice. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.

<Why are you here?> the voice repeated, still firm, but (blessedly!) no longer shouting.

The demon, now shaking as if from the cold, took a deep breath. "I notice that I am confused!" he spat. Somehow, repeating his part in the script forced the crest of terror in his gut to ebb into a thing closer to soft alarm. This was what he had come for, not whatever-the-fuck had just happened.

<Let us try again.> This time, the other mind grabbed Dantalion with all the subtlety of a typhoon, pulling him under and into the maelstrom of his own memories.

Gasping and flailing against the current, the demon took his next breath as the churning slowed once more, stopping at a very familiar memory. This time, the greenish tinge of crisis was minimal. Instead, the memory glowed golden with contentment: A folk-styled resort room in Finland, burrowed beneath a stack of blankets with someone he loved. Dantalion clung to the mirage as if to a life preserver, sucking in the warmth like a man's next breath.

He cried aloud when he was ripped from it and thrown into the chaos once more.

The next stop again featured a bed, this time a hospital bed with a lovely, if wan, redhead within. He was bent over her, and this time saw the scene from two impassioned directions. Then, before he could so much as react, he was flung back to spinning.

Again. A London flat.

Again. Magical hands in thick fur.

Golden memory after golden memory, each torn from his bleeding mental grasp like a toenail ripped from its bed by a particularly unforgiving kerb. His physical form sobbed, collapsing forward onto the ice in supplication. <Make it stop, Teacher!> But it did not stop, and the pain continued with each memory shredded from his consciousness.

Some two dozen memories in, he finally submitted, letting his mind be heaved and hurled every which way without resistance, taking only the shortest moment of solace in each pause before the disorientation began anew. Still, it did not stop; fond moment after fond moment found him, all within the past decade. Nor did the confusion cease, for each memory was followed by the careening press of time and rhythm and ways to live that interspersed the few moments of genuine joy he was allowed.

Surely, this time it had been hours when the spinning slowed to a final and complete stop, spitting Dantalion back into himself, a ruined spectre to inhabit the body lying prostrate on the ice. Sense was truly beyond him, now, and with it, speech; he was unaware of his own mental howling, a cant consisting only of why-why-why-why?

Only minutes, though, did it take for him to come back to himself. He grasped for the memories, making sure each was still in its designated place. Safe. They're safe. His mind was still its own. Wild confusion lit his eyes as he dared a glance up at the other figure, who was still sitting quite upright, quite unbothered, quite normal (as much as such a creature could be called 'normal' in the first place). Dantalion flinched when the voice arose once more:

<Why did you fight me so?>

Pain, again, and this time a pain of the heart. They were never meant to be opposed. Not in the beginning, when there were truly two of them, and certainly not now. Why are you here? The question echoed in Dantalion's mind, with no voice needed to call it forth. And then the pain was joined by shame.

"Is this the lesson, then, Teacher? Am I set against myself, a clinging, pathetic thing? No great crisis to undo the Great Duke Dantalion, merely the inability to let go of the past, good or ill?" It was a bit of an intuitive jump, accepting the horrible thing he had just experienced as an object lesson rather than a direct attempt at correction, but, well. They rather did know one another's language. "Have I come all this way to be merely kicked down the road like an empty tin can that doesn't know its place?"

Of course, he was allowed to be a touch bitter, if the mental construct he put so much effort into creating was allowed to torture him. Or so he reasoned.

<Let go,> the voice adjured, though it carried the weight of a command. Such things always did.

Dantalion pushed himself up, grabbed the can of soda which had emptied itself onto the ice in the fray, then stood and brushed the stray crystals from his clothing. He stared at the other for a long moment, heavy with spite and tenderness.

Then, in a blink, both figures were gone, and the circle held only Fresca and starlight.

[cosmictulips]

Good time, it's very nice to know you exist 🍵🛶🏰🪔🍯🍯🍯 I'm 18, T, libra sun, leo moon, cap ris. if u could help, that'd be a big thank you

recently I've been feeling kinda shut off from any type of spirituality, universe, can't trust my own mind because i don't want to make things up and go with a lie, not imagination play - a terrible lie to oneself. so, i can only trust others. been asking for a clear sign that i wouldn't doubt for as long as i can remember, and nothing... am i tryna knock on the door that wasn't meant for me? then i don't understand anything. i feel left out of my own life. i try pulling out any advice, but then, my intuition may be just wishful thinking. nothing i ever do comes as i intend. I've let go of logic, of expectations, but it feels like a one way communication. can't remember dreams. locked out of everything and losing hope. i don't think it's a wall i made. i don't want to make up a voice in my head, it is my biggest fear, i want to actually hear one.

so, one question - why am i being unanswered?

pun unintended

thank you in advance, you're very kind.

have a wonderful weekend, and every weekend some good news

Hey Friend =) I truly hope other people see this ask too because I think your ask is very important.  so I hope you don’t mind that I kind of get personal with you.  Truth be told,  I’ve been feeling the exact same way recently.  it’s happened when I was first starting out with the Craft -as I like to call it -  and it happens from time to time.  even now.  these past two weeks have been a wreck for me and it really feels like I haven’t been heard by the universe.  No, not heard.  I’ve been heard.  but to me, it feels like I’ve been deemed unworthy.   

And especially with divination,  reading for myself has always been wrong.  which is why I no longer trust reading for myself.  and I don’t particularly trust it when people say they read for themselves. because too me, how do you know you’re not lying to yourself? I always, always tell people to be careful because the universe can and WILL tell you what you want to hear.  it’s hard approaching divination with a very unbiased, neutral head.  and it’s kind of why I’ve fought some people over their readings.  people only ever project to others and to the univeres what they want. so if I or you were to tell them otherwise, it’s wrong. 

So you’re right to take a step back if it doesn’t feel right to you.  and here’s where I’m going to start contradicting myself a little bit here.  You need to start trusting yourself.  fully, undoubtedly and ruthlessly.  trust yourself so much that people almost think you’re full of arrogance.  and that’s the key word, almost. Be open minded enough to new ideas and to change the way you think of things.  but always, always trust yourself to know what is best for you. Only YOU are going to know the best route to take for yourself. 

I started being answered when I started trusting the guidance that was coming in for me.  I started to notice the little signs at first.  Notice any repeating numbers?  colors?  any certain phrases you hear too often? read too often?  is there an animal or group of animals that tend to show up at odd places?  slowly start to take notice of these things.   Also,  truly dig deep into what you believe in.  if you want to get into spirituality,  ask yourself why. what is it that you believe that matches that.   I got into it because I felt so alone in a church and no one was listening.  and for awhile, I was thrown in circles the minute I opened myself up to the universe.  but instead of blocking it out,  I kept pushing.  I kept trying to see the pattern, and I kept trying to change it. 

and that could be what’s happening for you.  I know you said that you think it’s not a wall you built. but darling, it is.   I think it comes from a fear you’re not ready to recognize yet.   it could be the fear of the unknown, it could be a fear of failure,  but you’ve built a wall.  

Spirituality is made for everyone.   It’s okay to have blocks,  to doubt your abilities and be unsure of whether or not the universe actually hears you.  the universe brought you to me.  so obviously it hears you.  =) 

but you cannot hear it and I think that’s what needs to change.  

So let me give you some advice on what I do when I begin to feel these blocks. like I have been recently. 

1. I pray to my gods.  you don’t have to be into worshiping gods.  you can simply pray to the universe like I did and still do from time to time.  You’ll know it’s listening when you feel the warmth of the sun, and the gentle breeze of the wind.  perhaps you’ll see an animal or two ;) my sister is a good example of this, she sees dogs everywhere when she’s looking for a sign from the universe lol.  2. I turn to divination.  My readings for myself may not be true but it’s good practice.  I also turn to other forms to try to grow in those skills as well.  Runes, bindrunes, automatic writing,  etc there’s SO MANY divination techniques.  tarot may not be your thing but scrying might be.  look around and see what fits.

3. I play hertz music.  I find that music really helps me out lol.  hertz is juts frequency waves set to a certain wave length so parts of ... our... ... so like our energy can pick up on it.  there’s a better explanation for it but for me, it really helps lol  4. I keep pushing.  even when it feels like I’m not being answered, and sometimes you won’t be answered. that’s the thing.  the universe wants you to better yourself. and to grow.  and sometimes that means trusting yourself to know where to go because it won’t give you an answer.  be brave, and go forward. 

I’ll go more into what I want you to do, but let me pull out your cards first so you finally have a reading lolol.  

So for you I pulled the Lovers, Strength, The Sun and the Knight of Pentacles. with the Ace of Cups as the overall energy. 

so it’s really what I’ve been saying lol.  The knight of pentacles here is telling me to move slowly.  it’s okay that things don’t make sense to you right off the bat.  Patience is a virtue here.   Going into your craft, your practice,  it’s okay to question things.  spirituality is a lot different than most religions so coming from a different place and settling into a new one can be tough.  it requires a lot of change.  and that tends to scare some people.  Ya know?  we’re all so used to hearing different things -mostly bad-  about sprituality and how it’s all “fake”  but darling,  dipping your toes in and slowly breaking the surface is how everyone starts out.  Once you get comfortable with the idea and with your own intuition the fun will begin. 

Next you have the Lovers, Strength and the Sun.  This is telling me you need to let yourself love.  bring courage and strength into this.  It’s going to take you loving yourself,  being confident in yourself and going forth even if it seems fake.  does that make sense?  You might have a mental illness. I’ve got some strong anxiety that borders on paranoia.   Okay,  but in my heart of hearts I knew this was the call for me because I’ve seen too much shit to not believe spirituality wasn’t my path.  so I forced myself to be more confident in my abilities.  I forced myself to be open to the universe even if it felt like I was talking to a wall.  I forced myself to sit down and learn divination and kept a dream journal even if most nights there was nothing but darkness.

and you need to bring that to yourself.  if you are serious about this,  learn to open yourself to the universe.  In the beginning I had to lie to myself.  it’s just what it is.  but the more I connected to the universe,  and the more I began to trust my intuition,  the more the lying ceased to happen.  because suddenly it was true.  suddenly those signs told me I was on the right path.  and suddenly everything I was studying made sense.  given time it will make sense for you as well. 

People, including me,  are telling you what you already know.  You just don’t trust yourself to hold onto those words.  you don’t trust yourself enough to put that same love into you and out into the universe.  and maybe you’re afraid of getting hurt.  being vulnerable to the universe does mean that sometimes we go through rough patches.  we have to break old cycles for new ones to begin. but much like the Lovers,  once you make that choice to love and be loved,  you will shine. 

The ace of cups tells me there is something new coming for you.  but you have to choose to let it happen okay?  you have to stop thinking you’re not good enough and that you’re not being heard.  because you are... because you’re here talking to me ;)   the universe wouldn’t have sent you to me if that wasn’t the case.  and I think a part of you knows that. 

so here’s what I want you to do.  Take the first steps.  Start keeping a dream journal.  the only way we as humans can recall our dreams is if we’re actively thinking of them when we first wake up.  that means no media ;)  lay there and think about what you dreamed.  Like last night I had a dream I set the house on fire and was crying that I lost a textbook.  idk, it was weird lol.  dreams don’t have to make sense.   write them down.  keep a glass of water by your bed. for some reason it helps. 

If you’re gonna sit there and tell me but you’ve tried everything, try again ;) try it from a new perspective.  instead of going in all “this is going to fail”  think of it as “this has already worked once and I’m doing it again to better myself”  

let your confidence shine.  I had to lie to myself everyday until I finally believed I was a decent human being.  I still struggle with it but damn have I gotten noticed by more people who tell me that I literally shine like the sun.  people notice your changes.  some of us just won’t say it ;) that being said, be prepared to fight for your beliefs. 

Learn what your beliefs are. Learn to defend them.  because the universe does not take this journey lightly.  the minute you start to doubt that you’re ever made for this, is going to be the second it closes on you until you force yourself to try again.  much like how we’re both in this spot now ;) trust and KNOW that the universe wants what is best for you.  

Tap into your higher self and your shadow self.  work on what needs to be healed and what your higher self wants for you to do.  this could literally be anything from getting therapy, to doing art, to listening to music, to talking to people who have hurt you.  like it’s endless but it helps.  

Lastly,  understand that these things take time.  You have some major energy wanting to work with you.  you need to start trusting yourself more, and letting down that wall. you built it, you can destroy it.  

I don’t hear a voice telling me which way to go.  I get feelings.  very strong ones.  that I’ve had to learn are different from my anxiety.  In the beginning that meant I had to pretend to ignore the feeling to see what the reaction would be.  when something happened and I knew it was going to happen,  I knew what I had felt was my intuition. 

Learn to recognize what is your instinct and what is your intuition. my instinct is that my hands get a little shaky and I can’t stop moving around.  my intuition keeps me still.  it’s quick and alert.  for you it could be something different.  you might actually hear a voice.  

I’m willing to work with you if you want me to.  I’ve been in that exact same situation and form time to time I feel the same way.  it’s never about the destination, it’s always the journey.

You’ve got this.  You know you do.  break down the wall,  and come join us ;) I hope this helps sorry for the long.... long post lmao If you ever need anything, please reach out =) 

[iamanartichoke]

Ok, trigger warning, and I understand if you want to skip this one, but... Loki being caught by Thor self harming?

Apparently, this AU is happening, because I keep coming back to it. Here are the two previous fics, but you don’t necessarily have to read them to understand this one. All you need to know is that this takes place in an AU where Odin saves Loki from falling into the Void, and now Loki is in the Asgardian equivalent of psychiatric care, I guess? So I hope you like it! 

(If anyone is curious, I will be expanding this AU into a fic and posting it on AO3 soon!) 

TW/CW: suicide ideation, self-harm, suicide attempt, mental illness, and general feels and angst.

Word Count: 1876 

Time has ceased to mean anything. One day fades into the next, and the next after that, and Loki’s life has come to an odd standstill. He stays in the private infirmary, his quarters there comfortable and cozy - suitable for a member of the royal family, except he is not really a member of the royal family. Prince Loki of Asgard was a lie, just one stacked against the many fictions and illusions upon which his life was built. Prince Loki of Asgard does not exist.

It leaves him with the question of who remains. It is a question he silently grapples with while the world around him spins on. He is tended to mostly by Eir, who keeps him on a steady stream of elixir that calms his fury and rage. He sleeps much of the time. He is aware of Frigga (not his mother) and Thor (not his brother) coming in and out of the infirmary often, but he sleeps or pretends to sleep throughout their visits, and neither stays for very long.

Odin has not come at all.

Surely, he cannot stay away forever. Loki asks Eir about it one day. “Has my - Odin - has the Allfather been to see me?” he asks, tripping over his words. He is sitting up in bed, his hands wrapped around a large mug of soup. He has not been eating much in general, but even he cannot always say no to Eir.

Loki sips at the soup carefully. It is a warm broth, easy on the stomach, rich with the flavors of chicken and vegetables. He feels a lump in his throat that he tries to swallow past. It is his favorite flavoring when he is sick - Frigga must have requested it, then.

Eir is standing near the bed, fussing with her elixirs. There is an assortment of colored bottles and powders and shimmering honey mixing bowls spread out on her supply gurney. She looks up at him, her forehead creased with sympathy. At least she has stopped looking at him as if he is a stranger. “No, darling. The king has been otherwise occupied, I am afraid.”

The king sends a jolt of icy hot resentment through Loki’s lungs. Loki, King of Asgard, King of Monsters, King of Nothing. His fingers tremble and he has to draw in a breath to steady himself. “Oh,” he says, softly.

“I am sure he will visit soon,” Eir says, misinterpreting the crestfallen expression on Loki’s face. Odin’s absence does sting, but it is not that which troubles Loki. Instead, his mind has wandered back to his very brief, very disastrous reign upon a throne he’d never wanted. He had done his duty, when Thor had gotten himself banished and Odin had retreated into his rest, and in return Loki had gotten mistrust, disdain, mockery, and treason.

The truth of his Jotun roots may have been long-buried and hidden away, but certainly the wrongness inside of Loki radiated anyway. Loki thinks of Heimdall, Gatekeeper of Asgard for millenia, who preferred to be a traitor rather than serve Loki, King of Ugly, Broken Things.

Loki realizes that he has started crying. It is silent, the tears slipping down his cheeks and dripping into the mug he still holds at his lips. Eir has not noticed. Loki drags in a breath and lets it out slowly. He carefully sets the mug down on his night table and brushes at his cheeks. “What are you doing?” he asks, to change the subject.

Eir looks up from where she has been creating a liquidy, glowing blue mixture. “Medicine,” she explains simply, her gaze flicking worryingly over his face. “Your illness is not borne of disease, my prince. Rather, it is your mind that ails you.”

“That medicine is supposed to help my mind?” Loki tilts his head doubtfully.

“The brain is an organ, like the heart or the lungs,” Eir responds, “and when it breaks, it must be healed. I believe this elixir will help.”

Loki nods slowly. He watches her work, studying the graceful movements of her fingers, and wonders if his parents (not parents) have told her the truth. Would she tend to him with such care if she knew what he truly was? Certainly not, he decides. No one in their right mind would give care to a savage Frost Giant. To Eir, he is still a prince.

He wonders how long it will be until his secret spreads beyond the reach of his family, into the rest of the palace, the court, the council. He wonders how long it will be until people like Eir, whom he’s known his whole life, will look at him in outright disgust, no longer bothering to hide their dislike. Loki can imagine their scorn already. How dare a Jotun contaminate Asgard’s shiny, golden interior? Loki, King of Foul, Loathsome Creatures, will not belong.

It is a shame, he thinks, that Odin had not simply let him fall.

Loki must fix this error. He realizes it with startling clarity, almost losing his breath at the thought of it. His face remains impassive but somewhere in his core, his pulse begins to race.

Eir finishes her elixir and gives him an experimental dose. She tells him it may take awhile for him to feel any difference but that it is intended to fix whatever has broken in his brain, cure his sorrow and grief so that he may return to his normal life. There is no normal life to return to, Loki knows, but he nods anyway. She leaves him alone to rest and he waits until she has been gone for more than twenty minutes before he slowly climbs out of bed.

Loki stands in the center of the room. He lifts one hand and, in a shimmer of green-gold magic, a dagger materializes in his palm. Loki turns the blade over in his hands, running a finger along the hilt. Loki, King of Repugnancy, is a plague upon Asgard. His kind is a disease, and there is no place for him in the royal household, in any household, nor in any realm or world.

Nausea falls over him at the thought of it as angry tears burn his eyes. It is not fair. Loki has always been so certain of his place - less desirable than Thor’s place, perhaps, but still his. Now, it has all fallen away from him - no, not fallen, he corrects himself. Nor has it been stolen, for it was never his to begin with. No, his place has simply been taken back from him, leaving him floundering mid-air. Loved by no one, worth less than nothing.

He is only correcting an error, he thinks as he lifts his tunic, revealing his pale white stomach. He runs the blade along the edges of his ribcage, trying to remember his anatomy lessons until, with a harsh laugh, he realizes that those lessons pertained to Aesir anatomy, not Jotun.

If he knew where to thrust his dagger, he could pierce his vital organs and bleed out and be done with it all. Loki presses the blade harder against his skin, frustration mounting in his fingertips. He doesn’t know where. He doesn’t know how to do it.

Tears blur his vision and he presses even harder. He hardly notices the stain of crimson on the blade, or the sting of pain as he slices into his flesh. His pale skin is a palette, clean and pristine; it is a lie that must be revealed, an illusion he must shatter. If Loki cannot do the job in one swift plunge of blade, then he will draw it out. He will kill the Jotun underneath, let the monster bleed and rot until Loki is swept away with it. King of Insignificance, Prince of Nonexistence. Loki is nothing and nothing is Loki.

He hears someone scream, a deep anguished sound from the far end of a very long tunnel. Loki panics - he is not finished yet - and he begins slicing his skin with abandon, harder and faster than before. He only manages two or three swipes before Thor is grabbing him, pulling him into his arms, trying to wrench the dagger away.

“No!” Loki struggles blindly. “I am not finished! Let me go, Thor! No!”

“You’re finished.” Thor’s voice is irritatingly soothing, but Loki can hear the edge of panic underneath. “Give me the knife, Loki. Please.”

It is no use. Thor is much stronger, and Loki is beginning to feel the burning sting of what he’s done. His wrist goes limp, allowing Thor to grab the dagger, and then Thor is shaking him roughly. Dimly, Loki hears him call for Eir, but all Loki feels is panic and dismay and utter hopelessness. No, no, no. His shoulders slump and he begins to sob in earnest.

“Why did you stop me?” he demands through his tears. Thor looks absolutely wrecked. “I have to kill it, Thor. I have to get rid of it, get it out of me.”

“Get what out?” Thor asks gently, smoothing some of Loki’s hair back.

“The monster,” Loki snaps. “The Jotun. Isn’t that what you always said? We must break their spirits, we must slay every last one of them. I am one of them and so I must be slain.” He cries harder, pressing his palms flat against his bloodied abdomen, digging against the skin with his nails.

“No, Loki,” Thor says, a note of desperation - and fear? - climbing into his voice. He grabs Loki’s hands, holds his wrists tight. “I was wrong. I was so very wrong.”

Loki shakes his head, trying to wrench his wrists from Thor’s grasp, but he cannot. Then there is a flurry of activity as Eir rushes in, along with another of their healers. Loki drops his head, dragging in breath after breath, trying to slow his tears as they haul him to his feet, bring him back over to the bed.

Thor hovers close by as Eir and her healer set to work and, soon, the blood is cleaned away and the ugly red gashes against his skin have closed up, healed and vanished. By the time they have finished, Loki is no longer crying, but he feels wrung-out and exhausted. Eir gives him another dose of her blue mind-healing medicine as well as the soothing elixir.

“He must be prevented from conjuring his daggers,” Loki hears Thor tell Eir in a low voice. Loki’s eyes are closed and they assume he is not listening.

“I will speak with the queen,” Eir murmurs back. So they will take his magic away from him next. Loki’s heart falls and he rolls onto his side, pulling his blanket up around his shoulders. Eir and her healer take their leave, and Thor comes to sit by the bed, taking one of Loki’s hands in his own.

“I’m so sorry, Loki,” Thor is saying. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Loki opens his eyes. He gazes at Thor’s earnest features. “You should have just let me finish,” he replies, injecting every bit of ice into his tone as possible. “It would be better for everyone.”

Thor looks stricken, but he says nothing. He simply squeezes Loki’s hand more tightly.

[myvoicenottheoneyougiveme]

Do I have the energy or motivation to say what needs to be said now? Especially when it’s all been round this block before? 

I ask you... what kind of despair could I have felt? What kind of desperation could I have felt to be driven to what is decidedly out of character for me? Then you say, “no we’re talking about RAGE, ANGER, BLOWING YOUR LID”. Oh, so we are talking about the same thing. “Anger” is simply the motivating force to right wrongs. “Rage” is an explosion when everything else has failed and the walls are closing in.

So, I ask you again, what conceivable cause could I have possibly had to feel such despair when for the first time in years something finally gave? Do we have to define despair? Any way that a person can be trapped between a rock and hard place. It can be internal. It can be external. It can be both, but it must bind. It must render sufficiently helpless. And when the walls are closing in, they’re compressing emotional energy. Keep squeezing someone and the container will rupture.

What power did Emma have over me? There was power she tried to wield. She tried to pick up the strings I’d ripped from Michelle’s grasp, but she was not Michelle. Who was she? No one. Nothing more than a possibility. Of course I was hurt. Of course I felt angry. When you’re being played and manipulated, how can you not? But that doesn’t make the kind of rage, the kind of despair you’re talking about, the kind of despair I have been experiencing now for some time. What power did she have? What power did she have that I hadn’t given her? None.

What had finally given? After so many years, it was finally over, I was free. For the first time (perhaps) in my life, I was my own master well and truly. It was impossible for anyone to do to me again what Michelle had done. ...But let’s talk about the years spent there for a moment. ...I have never felt more helpless, more completely at a loss, more torn, more crushed between the inside and the out than I did during those days. There are no words for what was done to me. Images I’ve presented describing this last half of these 11 years, they would have described those days back then first. ...And for the absolute horror of it, when it all finally broke me, where was the rage? Despair does not have to result in rage. There are two directions that all of that compressed emotional energy can go. It can go out into the world, or it can go into the person suffering it. Much to be said of personal disposition and character where such an explosion is most apt to go. It was a nervous breakdown the likes of which left me physically ill. Mental exertion of any kind was panic inducing. ...Broken. It was a shotgun blast through my mind, heart and soul. It was a structure collapsed that groaned under any weight, any weight at all.

Those I once called friend who then pulled me out, pulled my lifeless body out of the place beneath it all, out from under “this”. Not struggling anymore. ...Broken. Lifeless.

Into therapy to pick up the pieces and resolve the traps that had put me down there in the first place, buried alive. I was then given the keys to myself, the keys she’d wielded in place of me. I untied my own hands and feet, instead of begging her, waiting on her to make or break my reality. Power she had now lost was power over my own person I had gained. It was now impossible to be so helplessly tied again. I was not fully, completely healed, as history has managed to repeat itself. What I might have considered a one-off and just her, I have since learned is half my responsibility for being one half of a dysfunctional whole.

There is material power and there is emotional power. What you have exerted over me in place of the control she once wielded to unparalleled effect, is material power. From the outside in rather than from the inside out you force yourself and your will upon me. Michelle did not have the same means you do. She did not have the power to invade the way you have. Her power was much the same as yours, but what omnipotence and omniscience you display is beyond belief. All advice for dealing with narcissistic abuse (because it was very much that) falls flat on its face when my life has been made literally and figuratively a prison.

Every person after Michelle has only wielded a fraction of the emotional power she had. ...I very much was at the mercy of Emma, the same as you and you after. But I was not her prisoner. Emma had neither the material power nor the emotional power. Who was she? No one. Just someone I thought might be, just someone I thought wanted to be. I was wrong. I had only to shut the door on her, and it was over. I struggled to not look back, just as I struggled to not look back to Michelle. “Pathological Loneliness” has a way of doing that. But nothing that had plagued me before was anything that it had been. The power, the noose, the grip, the absolute power over me had been broken. I now stood a fighting chance. I was my own master. I didn’t need someone else to do for me or to give me what I should have been giving myself. Her bonds over me were broken. That despair I would never again taste.

I ask you, what despair, what powerlessness, what helplessness, what walls closing in, what impossibilities, what “Double-Bind” did I experience then, then after something had finally given, after I had finally found my way out, after it was now finally over? It was the beginning of the end anyway. The tide had turned. Everything was looking up. The silver linings were there. A new chapter was beginning as “this” cabal’s sense of control unraveled.

What despair? What absolute desperation? What force behind what explosion?

It’s a better question to ask, “WHOSE” despair? Whose desperation? Whose slipping grip? Whose growing sense of powerlessness? Whose need for control over others? -Over me? How came you by me? How did it get to be what it is now? Who, what kind of person has needed and manufactured day in and day out, crisis after crisis?

What kind of despair could I have possibly felt? And what about the other people there that were also being attacked. Doesn’t that look uncannily familiar to the shit you’ve been pulling in recent memory? What about them? What reason could I have had to hate, to destroy people who had nothing to do with anything? Why? WHY IN THE HELL, would I want to hurt this person or that person? What have they done to me? What had they done? Nothing. I was in like-minded company, if “company” you could call it. One abusive girl does not make, does not dissolve empathy defaultly in place for another. WHAT ABOUT THEM?! What about EVERYONE you were attacking? What despair could I have felt? What crime of passion? What RAGE could have possibly existed for any girl or person minding their own business whose mutual musings enriched all of our lives? Do I walk into a room filled with people and pick people out of a crowd to target? Are we back to “serial killer”, again? Do I feel anger and resentment for anyone and everyone just because? Do I manage my frustrations purely externally through others? Are we back to “psychopath” again? No. It’s the verdict, the first verdict, of your best followers, “we’ve got the wrong guy” which you then take and twist into something that suits you. “Multiple personality”,  it’s got to be, it has to be. He is the guy, I will accept no other explanation.

I wonder why...

I could not have felt the kind of despair that could have produced the kind of act you’re charging me with. You have run the gamut trying to find other ways to make it possible, but you’ve been called on your bullshit at every turn. There was despair, like there’s been despair, but it’s a question of “whose” despair? Your every day rage, your desperate scrambling to secure any, any power at all. Your NEED to dominate my life. How was it that you were there waiting? How was it all so part of the plan?

“This” cabal, with one of its sets of hands, attacked every person around me in that place, the same as you’ve attacked others in anonymity on twitch the moment I walk into a “room”. I would hesitate to say, Emma did it, and did it to herself just to make a scene. I don’t know what’s true about what you’ve said of her, but I just know that one day everything changed. Everywhere I looked someone was being harassed. Some more secure in themselves, some unable to shut out the invalidating voices, but when all was said and done, all pinned on me.

...how fucking convenient.

What despair could I have possibly felt? How could I have been so trapped, so at the mercy of forces within or without to do something I didn’t even do when I was well and truly driven over the edge?

Just one more question, I guess, you will avoid answering. Can’t allow the great cause to be put on the stand to be scrutinized. You can’t allow your game to end. You can’t allow yourself to be found out a lie.

Who is “this” for? Who has gained from the crises you orchestrate? Who has benefited to a throne of her own making? Who?

EDIT re re: You seem to have missed the part where I’ve told you countless times to cease and desist--to leave and take all of “this” with you. Your mental gymnastics about being held here against your will never gets old does it?

New question: who is holding you here? What force from the inside of you has you in a bind? Why do you fight like your life depends on it to maintain your throne? What cause have you for despair? Why do you need “this” like oxygen to breathe? Your desperate scrambles to justify your forcing yourself on me and the rage you strike me with, always speaks volumes to the black hole inside of you. You can no more stop yourself than you can accept that you have a problem. 

You are a slave but not to me. That is the pathology you then try to offload onto your target, everything that would otherwise eat you alive you would pour out on him instead. All failure is his. All shortcoming is his. Everything you don’t want to see in your own mirror is his. “Assign your disowned parts.”