Theme by maraudersmaps.
40,990 notes
29/07/14 @ 11:21pm

assbutt-wizard-in-the-tardis:

I’m not even in this fandom, but hearing this made me feel so much better about life

Send my muse one of the following to see how they react:

"Is-- is it meant to be bleeding, that much?"
"Help me."
"Don't touch me!"
"You're a monster."
"Why are we in a graveyard?"
"How long's it been?"
"Do you even know what you've done?"
"Tell me you're sorry."
"Do it for me."
"They're fast, faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and whatever you do... don't blink."
"Good luck."
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Hurts, doesn't it?"
"Oh, yeah. It does suck when someone says one thing and does the other, doesn't it?"
"I'm scared."
"I need a doctor."
"Can I help?"
"Excuse you."
"What've you done?"
"What're you doing?"
"How old are you?"
"That's not how you use it..."
6 notes
@ 09:48pm
tagged as
silvertonguedgod

silvertonguedgod:

asgardianskybird:

“Well it’s a-one-two-three-take my head and come with me, 

‘cause you look so fine that I really wanna make you mine!”

Emma’s foot bounces in time with the upbeat rhythm of the song that blares through the speakers of her stereo system. She’d awoken alone this morning, and while it’s rare exception that she’s not particularly fond of, she’s clearly decided to make the most of it. Hair and body clad in a towel, she allows her shoulders to join in, and soon her whole body dances along with the beat, towels tossed by the wayside.

“Oh, four-five-six c’mon and get your kicks 

now you dont need that money

with a face like that, do ya?”

She’s opted for casual for the day, or at the very least for now. It’s been far too long since she let her hair down metaphorically and literally. A shirt is shrugged on over her bra, but before long the search for pants is forsaken, and the empath gives in to enjoying the moment, dancing freely around the room. 

“Big black boots, 

long brown hair, 

she’s so sweet 

with her get back stare”

It’s only as the song flies into its last chorus that she notices that she is, evidently, not alone after all. Stumbling in her steps, Emma blinks, and fights against the light blush that fills her cheeks.

“….Exactly how long have you been there?”

"Long enough."

He’s smirking quite broadly, and laughter glints in his eyes and folds the skin around them into mirthful wrinkles. Two cups of what smells like tea steam in the strong fingers of a single hand, not forgotten, but for the moment entirely ignored as he leans against the door frame with his free arm folded againt his torso.

Pointedly, and with obvious appreciation (and without taking leave of his smirk), he lets his gaze wander from her face down the length of her body and unclad legs, and then back up again, whereupon he grins, and offers one of the mugs to hi fiancee.

"I ought to make a habit of bringing you your morning tea."

The flush grows crimson, and she manages a pitiful, “Oh, good.” Her eyes close, and she does her best to put aside her obvious embarrassment. He is, after all, her future husband. Her random bouts of silliness really shouldn’t surprise him at this point, and judging by the gaze she catches wandering over her body, this particular happening truly doesn’t. 

"I…god, Loki, you’re going to make me sink into the floor if you keep doing that."

She can’t quite keep the flattered mortification out her voice. Because, even if he is to be her husband and is used to this, this wasn’t quite the response she would have anticipated. Had he been a tad more coy, a tad less…was that endearment she saw? Well, then it would have been easy to be less flustered. But no, there’s something in his face she can’t quite read, and it gives her butterflies despite her best efforts.

"But yes. You should. And really, you normally do. I’m just normally asleep beforehand so I don’t have time to notice your absence.” There is a pointedness to her words, gentle though they are. Enough to convey that she wasn’t thrilled to wake up alone, but filled with a tender sadness to convey that the only thing she wishes to express is disappointment rather than anger. She doesn’t move to take the tea, far too caught up in the flurry of sheepish emotions that run through her. 

"I really should find my pants," She mutters lamely. "I feel so pathetically awkward, and I’m not even sure why."

saviorofexistence:

I want them to argue. I want them to be sad. I want them to worry. I want there to be tension. Because that’s what a relationship is. They can love each other, but that doesn’t mean they get along or are happy all the time. It’s perfectly normal for people to be sad and worried or fight. Them being happy and loving all the time just doesn’t feel right to me.

“Well it’s a-one-two-three-take my head and come with me, 

‘cause you look so fine that I really wanna make you mine!”

Emma’s foot bounces in time with the upbeat rhythm of the song that blares through the speakers of her stereo system. She’d awoken alone this morning, and while it’s rare exception that she’s not particularly fond of, she’s clearly decided to make the most of it. Hair and body clad in a towel, she allows her shoulders to join in, and soon her whole body dances along with the beat, towels tossed by the wayside.

“Oh, four-five-six c’mon and get your kicks 

now you dont need that money

with a face like that, do ya?”

She’s opted for casual for the day, or at the very least for now. It’s been far too long since she let her hair down metaphorically and literally. A shirt is shrugged on over her bra, but before long the search for pants is forsaken, and the empath gives in to enjoying the moment, dancing freely around the room. 

“Big black boots, 

long brown hair, 

she’s so sweet 

with her get back stare”

It’s only as the song flies into its last chorus that she notices that she is, evidently, not alone after all. Stumbling in her steps, Emma blinks, and fights against the light blush that fills her cheeks.

“….Exactly how long have you been there?”

lokiwholockfactory:

homestucktrollala:

you-should-put-it-on-a-t-shirt:

ladydaffodils:

I am so amused.

oh god, it´s back

thanks

I just love it that this motherfucking adorable bastard has no idea that he just turned himself into a fucking meme

0 notes
27/07/14 @ 05:09pm
tagged as
kitty
catvideos

Hell hath no fury like a frustrated #kitty. Apparently I post #catvideos now

16 notes
26/07/14 @ 07:34pm
tagged as
silvertonguedgod
Hello, my lord. As of now, you will find yourself afflicted by a parasite that attaches itself to your chest. It effectively ceases the use of any magic on your part, and the only way it can be removed is if Emma carves it out of your flesh with a blade. One more catch. While this will by no means kill you, it will cause significant pain, and she cannot heal you for at least 8 hrs after it is removed. Your choice, trickster. Your magic or your vitality.
Anonymous

silvertonguedgod:

asgardianskybird:

silvertonguedgod:

silvertonguedgod:

His eyes widen and he lifts a hand to his chest in panic as a new weight — different from the heaviness that perpetually plagues him — settles into it. And as the curse takes effect and the parasite begins to siphon the magic from the sorcerer-god’s body, his fingers press desperately against the plate of hardened leather that guards his flesh, and he staggers.

"A simple choice," he spits furiously, and his free hand clasps at a dagger that refuses to manifest. He snarls in frustration, and grasps the back of the chair in which he had been sitting for purchase as his head swims. 

"Get out of my sight!” He growls, more weakly than he had really intended. “Mocking, pernicious creature! Away!”

And with that, he crumples back into the chair and doubles over, clutching at his chest as he fights the lightheadedness and flashing darkness at the edges of his vision. Losing his magic had always felt to him like losing blood (though with less permanent repercussions to being drained of it), and this time is no different.

He leans forward as she sinks to her knees, cupping her face in his hands and drawing it gently toward his own. His lips meet hers with adoring tenderness, and he grazes a thumb against her cheekbone before sliding from the chair to his own knees and wrapping his arms around her. 

"There’s no need," he whispers, carding his fingers delicately through her hair. "There will be no need. Nothing for me to forgive, and nothing for you to atone for. This is a favor to me, my love — just a bit of surgery to remove this thing that hangs on me like a cancer. That’s all that it is. And I shall be comforted, knowing that I am in the hands of the one I trust the most."

He presses a soft kiss to her forehead, and only then does he draw her away slightly. The slightest smile rests on his paled lips, and there is calmness and affection even in the depths of his dulled eyes. 

"Now… loath as I am to have you leave me… asking one of the healers to make an emergency delivery would require more explanation than I am willing to give them — for my head is pounding, and if it is at all possible to avoid expending the effort to come up with a decent excuse, I will take that option.”

"I’ll be alright…" he manages a weak copy of his teasing smirk, and lays his head back against the seat of the chair he had just vacated. "…after all, what’s the worst that could happen?" 

She leans into the kiss, vaguely aware of the taste of salt upon their lips. As she sinks into his arms, she allows silent resolve to wash over her. Yes, this is her husband, and yes she loathes the idea of harming him more than anything. But this is a necessity, and more than that…her hands are capable. He will suffer yes, but if her focus is true, the pain should be minimal beyond what is inescapable, and her medical skills should be enough to keep him somewhat comfortable until she can heal him in earnest.

“I promise to try my best, my love. I will be strong for you. I promise.”

At his implied instruction, she nods, clearly not enthused with the option, but accepting of this logic nonetheless. “Don’t joke, my love.” The chastisement is weak at best. “The last thing we need is a perceived challenge being overheard by one of our lovely greyfaces.” The last few words are bitter, though not meant for him. Pressing a kiss to his head, she stands and nods again, mostly to herself. “I’ll be back shortly, my love.” Pulling herself to her feet, she exits their quarters swiftly, headed towards Eir’s domain. 

True to her word, she returns fairly quickly thereafter, needed component in hand. Smiling (a little more confidently this time) at her husband, she moves to his side and takes his hand.

“Are you ready to proceed, sweetheart? I’ll wait as long as you need, of course, but I’d rather not delay.”

He nods as she takes her leave, then heaves himself back into his chair, taking a short moment to let the spinning, heaving room grow still and to let the flashing fade from before his eyes. He breathes deeply then, and shifts himself to his feet. The outermost component of his armor — the long vest that falls in strips past his knees — is shrugged off with relative ease, for the buckles that bind it to his more fitted armor are within easy reach. The straps that keep his vambraces in place are also undone… with slightly more difficulty, but he does manage, and deposits them (along with the coat) — onto the chair. 

All else will have to wait for his wife’s return, and he takes a cautious step toward the wardrobe in which he knows his box of bandages and potions is stored, as though trying out his legs for the first time. 

Exhaustion screams through his every vein and fiber — a heaviness that weighs him down like a suit of stone — and it is all he can do to keep himself from dropping to the inviting coolness of the marble floor and curling into the fetal position. He refrains from it, somehow, and steels himself against the heaviness for long enough to make it to the sofa, onto which he promptly collapses.

It is only upon Emma’s return that he opens his eyes again, and sits up slowly enough to prevent the worst of the dizziness from assailing him again. His lips pull upward into a faint smile as he catches sight of hers, and he nods at her question, and takes a deep breath.

"Nor would I, and I am ready. Save… I tried to retrieve my medicine kit, but was unable to move that far without significant difficulty. It isn’t crucial to have, but… it could be useful."

She steadies him with her spare hand as he sits up, gently rubbing his back in a soothing fashion that doesn’t quite offset its practical purposes. “Well,” she muses aloud, “The good news is, I can’t feel anything wrapped around your back, so…if the Norns have decided to be kind, it would seem whatever this parasite is is solely in your chest.” 

Emma bows her head slightly at his nod and prepares to help him up, pausing only when he mentions the medicine kit. “Ah, yes. That would be….well, I don’t intend to make you suffer anymore than I have to.” There is a forced lightness to her tone that somehow manages to remain genuine. She’s farther away now, having slipped into the role she promised she would. This is friendly Emma. Distant Emma. Emma that has killed more men than she cares to remember and still gone for drinks with friends after. Even so, there remains a clear inkling of the affection that is only reserved for him in her eyes, and she releases his hand so she can retrieve the kit and then returns to his side. Taking a seat beside him, she places the kit down, and gives his clothes a thorough once over with her eyes.

“You wear far too many clothes, my love.” She wrinkles her nose in mock distaste and sets to work on the many sets of buckles that need to be loosened first to allow her better access to his under layers. Deft fingers make quick work of them, and she leans forward to press a reassuring kiss to his shoulder. “I’m going to need your help with the other layers, my love. I’m not really sure how it all fits together from here. Are you alright to stand if I promise to be as quick as I can?”  There is a pause as her face grows slightly pained, and a small sigh leaves her lips. “And I suppose I have one further question…” Her gaze finds his. “Do you want me to see if I can enter your mind and distract you while I remove it? I could, if you think your mental barriers would allow me, try and hold you in some sort of subconscious stasis. I am, however, hesitant to do so, because I’m likely going to need you to tell me if I’ve been successful at removing all parts of the parasite, and I’d need you lucid to do so.”

29 notes
@ 06:40pm
tagged as
Memories