╰ lucky me

[shuibhnc-blog]

valadhxfndr:

            Let a king OFFER the whitest heifer from his herd and blessing comes. Let a peasant offer what last there is of all he had, and everything shall be given. It was never about the grandest, it had always been the pride wrought from SPOILS of who is willing enough to offer everything they have; bone and dignity. It wasn’t about who can get the most, but who can get it ALL. And it was a good thing that all of them—from the highest GOD to the most insignificant—are damned and POOR. Maybe there was already luck just before it could actually come.

            “——well, the night’s young. Things can HAPPEN…”

            ❝ – I’ll drink ta that. ❞

            The leprechaun readily agreed, bracing one elbow against the bar top as he leaned over in an attempt to garner the bartender’s attention. Once he had, he held up one rough, slender finger with a muddled brogue.

            ❝ – southern comfort n’ coke. ❞    

[shuibhnc-blog]

lumicide:

Baldr lit up, literally and figuratively, at that. Yes, yes, he’s heard much on the wind, much from the sharp mouths of ravens, and talk of his father’s new man was among them. 

“I may have heard a word or two, yes. Our kind like building myths so much it’s hard to tell what’s true.” Baldr tipped his head, bright cat eyes fixed on Sweeney’s sneer like a variable in an equation. “Did you have the good fortune of meeting him? Perhaps not, if you’re no man of Wednesday’s. I’d envy you if you did. With any luck, he’ll be at the convocation of the gods. A mortal man among such things! To think of it!“ Baldr wasn’t so much excited as he was puzzled from the tales he’d heard of this long shadow that trailed at Wednesday’s heels. The humans chosen by Odin were warriors, kings and heroes who moved the world. What will this odd creature move?

"Is it true that he shines? That the new gods grab at him like jealous children at a toy?”

            As his hands were usually wont to do in the absence of anything to occupy them, they slipped into the pockets of his worn down denim jacket and found a box of cigarettes in the dark cockles. He retrieved the box and slapped the bottom of the cardboard square against the heel of his palm a few times before bringing it up to his lips to pinch one between his teeth and draw it out from its uniform position alongside the others.

            ❝ – Oh, I did a little more’n see -- don’t think he’ll soon                         ferget the shiner I left ‘im. Know I sure as shit won’t                         ferget the crack in my jaw. ❞

            He admitted, flicking absently at his lighter as he curled his hand around the tip of the cigarette to guard it from the cold night. The flames licked at the tobacco and cast ghoulish shadows across his sharp, tired features. A scoff left him his lungs in a plume of smoke.

            ❝ – Christ. Fuckin’ bullshit, ain’t it? Just cause Wednesday                          says he’s the guy, suddenly he’s like some goddamn                          demi-god. He could be a pile of shit an’ those assholes                          would fill their fuckin’ mouths with if Grimnir told ‘em he                          was honey. ❞    

[sebastian-flyte]

Neil Gaiman, American Gods

[theunrequitedlover]

[shuibhnc-blog]

reprogramcd:

    “Hmm.”

He smiles behind clouds of smoke that pour from  his nostrils. The Younger God wants to cut the  shit get straight to it, get the fucking details he  needs. His Children materialize on either side  of the Leprechaun.

    “Don’t fuck with me. Just tell me       what he’s planning.”

            Seemingly unperturbed by the sudden appearance of pseudo-bodyguards flanking him, he wrinkled his nose and takes another drag -- he might not be easily shaken, but he’s also not stupid enough to not raise his guard at least a little when someone puts a metaphorical gun to his head. Particularly with his shit luck. He’d be fortunate if the whole limo didn’t end up turned over in a ditch about a mile down the road, if he were truthful.

            ❝ – you know what he’s fuckin’ planning. -- War. ❞

[fdtdsource]

— santanico pandemonium

[mrbenhardys]

i’d wish you luck but would that make you happier…

[fauchschabe]

What do you think gods do? They do what they’ve always done. They fuck with us.

[reprogramcd-deactivated20171231]

@shuibhnc | liked

He blows the thick cloud of smoke  out towards the other at the end  of his limo. Fucker looks like shit,  and he knows its best to bite his  tongue regarding that. He’s not  here to throw out petty insults, not  just yet. 

    “Word on the street is, you’re Wednesday's        new lapdog.” 

[shuibhnc-blog]

            His wide nose wrinkled against the onslaught of the synthetically produced smoke -- what the fuck was that smell? How many fucking flavors were they making tobacco oil in now to filter through those idiotic electronic pipes? What a crock of shit ; he made it a point to pull a hand rolled cigarette from his pocket and pinch it between his teeth, calloused fingers flicking at his lighter to ignite it.

            ❝ – then word on the street’s worth shit. ‘Cause I ain’t. ❞

[shuibhnc-blog]

deadwiife:

Keep reading

            Her voice was breathless, and while he supposed she no longer had the need to draw breath he knew the tremor in her tone to be born of something else entirely ; something that sent waves of heat rolling down his stomach and a tight coil of lust knotting at the base of his spine. Her mouth moved against his with such fervency it almost made him tremble -- the sort of desperation one could only understand for knowing starvation. And Sweeney knew what it was like to be starving -- to be thirsty and cold and loveless. To be dying, quite literally, for any semblance of something, some evidence that you still existed. He saw so much of himself in her that it terrified him to his very core ; and so he buried it deep beneath thick layers of perceived hatred and resentment to cover the insurmountable emotion he’d come to hold for this hard, fierce, dead woman. But he could hold no hope of masking his desire for her now ; not when her tongue was dragging against his own and her body was arching so deliciously, praying without words for the pleasure his touch promised. 

            A laugh, sharp with an edge of satisfaction, slipped past his teeth and into her mouth as he kissed her hard and without yield, her plea for him to continue sending a thrill ricocheting down his spine. He swallowed her moans whole as rough, greedy fingers slipped further down along her lust-slick seam at the urging of her rocking hips. Driving her hard against the brick wall at her back, he drove his two forefingers deep into her center and forced the rough pad of his thumb against the bundle of nerves just over her apex -- cold. Still cold, but still alive enough to feel, he knew, as he curled his fingers and writhed inside of her, drawing his wrist back and pressing in again with the eager roll of her hips, setting a brutal pace as he continued to kiss her mouth raw with his own ; fucking her with his hands and tongue.

[the-beautiful--and-damned-deact]

Grief is the price we pay for love.

Queen Elizabeth II Simplistic, yet a beautiful notion (via valadhxfndr)

[knights-of-the-glittery-table]

VI: A Murder of Gods

[achills-deactivated20160908]

[knights-of-the-glittery-table]

[shuibhnc-blog]

technogod:

                   pursed  lips  twitch  to  a  SNARL.   ‘ accidents  happen  all  the  time,  I’m  sure  the  brakes  on  the  car  could  go  &&  just  happen to  roll  down  a  hill  &&  off  a  fucking  cliff.  so  make  it  happen  or  one  day  you  might  just  wake  up  in  a  safe  at  the  bottom  of  the  fucking  ocean. ’  leaning  back,  vape  was  raised  to  his  lips.  sweet  smoke  filling  artificial  lungs  as  he  glared.  ‘ so,  what  will  it  be ?? ’ 

            Seemingly unperturbed by the new god’s persistent threats, the fae relished another drag from his own hand-rolled cigarette -- the difference between their respective poisons clear evidence of the juxtaposition between them.

            ❝ – depends on exactly what it is ya want.                            Ye’re daft if ya think I can kill a god. ❞

[sparknshinerpmemes-blog]

Reblog this your muse gets nightmares.

[shuibhnc-blog]

feminafatalis:

                       Laura was simply driving. Not thinking much at all, which was a relief, but simply following road signs and the light off in the distance that pulled at her heart. She hadn’t thought about the cold. It was such a relief to feel something, she hadn’t considered that Sweeney’s body would be unable to handle it. While Laura was cognizant of the fact that her senses were dulled and mute and on their way to becoming completely voided, it was still difficult to fully conceptualize just how intense it was to have a mortal body, a mortal mind. She looked over at him when his boot landed on the dashboard, brow furrowed, and turned her attention back to the road. When he began to speak, she turned again and pulled the truck to a stop on the empty road.

                  ❝ If we turn off the air, I’m not gonna be clear enough to feel my feet on the pedals. So if you want to drive, fine! I don’t give a shit. ❞

            When the truck proceeded to roll to a stop on the roadside, he’d have been lying if he’d denied the trickle of trepidation that ran down the length of his spine. He didn’t doubt much in this world -- but if there was anything he didn’t posses a shadow of a doubt in regard of, it was just how much pain this minuscule woman could inflict on him. 

            But he was surprised ( and maybe just a little relieved ) when no walloping came -- but the lack of ire that was so characteristic of her unsettled him in a different sense. It served to completely empty the wind from his sails, taking the edge off his own maddened rage as he hissed and leaned back in his seat, throwing his eyes up in a roll.

           He knew that if they cut the air conditioning, she was as good as a rotten pile of dead meat and bones. She’d never make it all the way to Kentucky in this heat -- but why the hell did he care? Why was he doing this? Why on this green earth was he dragging this decomposing banshee all the way across the country line? What happened to waiting for the meat to slide off her bones, then plucking that coin out of her ribs like a berry? 

            -- he knew damn well why he was doing that, too, he cursed himself through grit teeth.

            ❝ – you know damn well that if I drive with my luck,                          we might as well just drive straight into a ditch now. ❞