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Independent, semi-selective RP Each of the Æsir looked to his neighbour blog for Týr Odinson of Norse and none were willing to part with his mythology. hand, until Týr stretched out his right hand and laid it within the Wolf’s mouth. One liner posts to novella. The more the Wolf struggled, the tighter 1+ years of RPing on Tumblr. the band became, and then all laughed, Multi-verse and multi-ship except brave Týr; he lost his hand. ⊰; HOME *⊱ ⊰; MESSAGE *⊱ ⊰; LAWS *⊱ ⊰; VERSES *⊱
"You do that damn thing with your eyebrows, you fu- Ah, shut up. So, where the hell have you been, may I ask?”
"Do you expect me to govern the realms from your armchair? Or has the entirety of Asgard taken up residence in your home during my absence?"
”Are you another idiot proclaiming to be a god? ‘Cause I’ve run into enough of those to last me a lifetime. Cut the crap, buddy, and get out of my flat.”
"I've found it best to leave the trappings of idiocy to those best suited for them -- your kind do often enjoy a good scavenger hunt, perhaps you should lay your titles elsewhere. I'm afraid I must decline; your argument, while thoroughly compelling, does fall flat."
”You’re doing the thing.
It’s difficult to stay mad when you do the thing. And you know you’re doing it.”
"I know not what you speak of, though you must be commended on the explicit detail of your answer. I wager many a mortal could learn from such high standards."
"Is that the word of Midgard, or the word of one? Do keep it up, mortal, I believe there are still some in Niflheim who have yet to be roused from their slumber."
"Don’t look at me like that. Jerk.”
"Look at you like what, pet?"
Mark Lawrence (via organizedxlightning)
"Þú hefur vaxið, barnið mitt."
I FEEL N O T H I N G
;; - were it not for the resilience of her heart, for the cracks that adorn it’s blackened glow and the darkness that had consumed her, she would have surely fallen victim to the perils of love and loss and lust a long, long time ago. but in a way, perhaps she already had. for surely one as callous and malevolent as she deserved only hatred, and loneliness. true happiness was unattainable to those with black hearts and evil minds, when she should come to accept that is a mystery she will forever be puzzled by.
and yet, still she tries. hope and faith, buried deep beneath guilt and regret and hate, burns with a light near swallowed by shadows and perhaps it was time to simply — give up. a fight fought for decades has no end, will never have and end unless surrender is given and perhaps it’s time for her to wave that damned white flag.
when she is a villain, she is abhorred. and yet, as a hero, she is ignored.
there is no happy ending in her future, there never was and never will be and why she keeps fighting for one is beyond her for it only ends in pain, and heartbreak. brooding, though she were, she stares with a resigned gaze across calmed waters in to a clear grey sky, gloved hands twisting before her whilst a shiver runs down her spine. why keep fighting when she will never win?
and so she stands, alone, as she has all her life, contemplating better days before she realises there were very few to begin with. images flash through her mind as if on repeat;- snow, emma, henry, robin, daniel, leopold, cora, rumplestiltskin - over and over again until she’s snarling with a shake of her head and a scowl, hands clenching into fists with her eyes screwed shut tightly until there’s only the sound of waves crashing against the pier and footsteps behind her.
”what do you want?”
Solitude did not truly become the King, though it was a well-used tool to lie alongside his tongue. As a child, he had not understood it, the inherent loneliness that had held firm within his bones even when he was surrounded by those who knew themselves as his friends, but adulthood had brought knowledge with it's birth, dragging ice throughout his blood and the hellish blue tinge across once-pale skin. He was no more of Asgard than the mortals he had once made play toward subjugating, a shadowed moon to walk amongst gleaming suns and reflect their own light, spilling it back upon them in the name of glamour and deception.
To think they named him the Liar when he had been deceived all of his life.
News had come to him of an absence in Heimdall's vision, a gaping hole to consume all attempts at descrying what lay beyond it's bounds and see unease grip the golden fools he ruled. A proclivity for swords was not truly the answer, the burden of steeled warriors too great for a mere human world to bear, and so Loki had ventured there alone, shedding grand armour in favour of a far simpler, but no less elegant, suit.
"--Hello to you too." Teasing words lapped eagerly at smirking lips, all too keen in their birth to see their poison drip upon a mortal form. "I did not know passing by was to be heralded a crime in these times."
"No, I heard you, I just…”
Didn’t believe him? Didn’t want to believe him? Couldn’t believe him? Or, was she merely not allowing herself to in a display of self-defence?
"'Tis usually a requirement that a sentence has an end, even upon Midgard." Teasing though his words were, the Liar could not help but note the shade of reticence colouring Darcy's mumbled words. Perhaps such an admission, despite the veracity it had been forged in, had bewildered her, laid waste to the shaky construct of reality that been wed to the God of Lies had necessitated the birth of, but if truth was to grasp at a silvered tongue, Loki did not regret his words. "You just what, pet?"
You probably should. I’m sure I could schedule in somewhere in, I don’t know… Fifteen years.
"How considerate of you, Stark, truly. I daresay the realms could learn from such a -- shining beacon of generosity."
"Such a pity that is. Still, I would not expect you to comprehend the words of a god -- your kind rarely do."
