Skin Deep
An Avengers Fanfiction
Disclaimer: Avengers and all residents of the Marvel Universe are the pride and property of Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, Disney, and many other bunches of people who get paid for writing. Which do not include the author of this fic.
WARNINGS: INSANITY, GENDERBENDING, GENOCIDE, CANNABALISM, GORE, DUB-CON, VIOLENCE.
A/N- This fic was spawned on the Thor kinkmeme, in which a video from Youtube served as the basis of the prompt. It was a creepy video, and a creepy prompt, and I believe I have done both justice by writing a creepy fic, as the above warnings should imply.
Part One: Birth
Time...
Blurs.
She cannot remember the...
Words.
Somewhens.
But, oh, does she Feel.
The threads of the Other are tattered and shredded, gossamer fibers of once-thought, delicate chains meant to hold her together, hold her to Him, but He could Not. Anymore. Like falling, she was inevitable. A mouse was she, small and seemingly harmless until it was too late, nibbling away at Confidence, and Reason, and Empathy, and Self Worth, at
..self?
No matter. She is here. She is, and not Him, pathetic little mewling... she cannot remember the word, there is a blank in her mind, like static, white snow on a television screen... but, He did give her birth. Like a god, or a High Priest, he paved the way with the hearts and minds and souls of lessers, oiling the gears, and for that she would honor His memory. Or not. He had been so incredibly weak after all. Needy. What care she for the approval and worship of lesser beings? They are lesser.
She is a...
Goddess. The world is her realm, the very leaves and grass and stone and mortar sing of her mastery over them, what care she if the insects acknowledge this Fact?
Their opinion is as the wind. Less than, for even enough wind may turn a tide and she is the Ocean all encompassing and impossible to fight. Pray, then, they do not catch her eye for she may sprinkle salt over their slow, dull, lives and take a closer look with the magnifying glass.
She giggles, sweet and soft, and sucks on a pale grape. It pops in her mouth. Jelly. She smiles, brilliant, teeth sharp as she knows they should be, a sharks teeth, and twists her body to face the door wreaked door of her birthing chamber. There is a Thing standing in her light. She frowns.
"Loki?" It says, voice thick with some emotion that tastes vaguely bitter on her tongue.
She remembers this one from the fragmented awareness she once had. Big. Golden. Loud. Other Words that the Other had for it she does not care to recall, the silence of static roars in her ears, and so doesn't. "Greetings." She purrs, and plucks another grape from the bowl, momentarily sad that there are none left.
It pukes. She laughs, high and wild, face splitting, and moves.
The...
Gift flies from its hand, scraping along the corridor floor, and the wall behind it cracks as she pins him, pressing close.
"Brother..." Pleading, eyes wide as they dart from her wet cast offs to herself.
Her soft, slick, red painted nipples perk against the coolness of its armor, and she rubs against him lower body tingling at the sensation, and whispers an honest question. "Am I?"
Hands large enough to encircle her arms grip tight, and she licks at the sick on its lips, bites hard enough to draw blood, and tries to keep her at arms length. Her feet kick playfully, dangling a few inches off the ground, and she lets out another peal of laughter. It speaks, but the words of...
swine mean nothing to her.
She calls on the air, on the fealty it owes her, and steps into a loving, empty embrace. To the golden one, she appears to have phased through its skin, its hands, escaping its hold with nothing more than a wish to not be there.
She runs, bare, bloody feet dancing along, through, above, the stone work. Her hips gyrate to an audience of none, and then she breaks into open air and feel warm sun on her skin, drying the red paint in place like a dry snake's skin from which she must slither free.
At the end of the rainbow, a pair of golden grapes hang in odd disapproval and disgust.
She is feeling peckish.
"You are certain?" Laufey-King whispered as he ran a rough finger over the smooth cheek of his newborn. The babe was all that he had left of his Wife-Queen. She had insisted on fighting with them all even in her condition, and it had not ended well. The battle echoed in the distance, a grim reminder. "There is no other way?"
The seer shook her head, hair full of beads and down strangely silent. "No, my King. The child is of Magic's descent, half-dead at that, born in the midst of blood and battle. If it survives... it will be the Doom the Jotunheim. Of everything. Already, it exists half in the spirit-world. A half-existence is no existence at all to one of the living."
She offered her king a dagger, but he refused, unable to raise it against his own child. "No... no. I will leave hir in the temple, near the Casket. Eventually it will be taken by exposure, and then the ancestors may escort the child safely, yes?"
"Perhaps..."
The seer did not mention the girlish laughter that echoed through time, filling her ears, for that fate had already been unknowingly chosen by one reputed to be far wiser than her.