#dearnatashatheblackwidow

[theleagueofextraordinarytea]

Topics Over Tea: Human Experimentation Or Extermination On Sentient Beings

Experimentation of sentient beings or on humans, what do you feel about that matter or what are your experiences with it? 

[theleagueofextraordinarytea]

TOPICS OVER TEA: They Are Just The Worst( round 2)

Any person that have been unnerving you all as of late?  Feel free to discuss.

[liberxtionarchive-blog]

Favorite Pastime

More to their calls, the late nights lost between discussion and theories, how he had learned to adjust to the time difference of eight hours and to binge on coffee meant when he could spend the time talking to her. A Russian dancer, found by his raking of dancing schools, international ones that held so much more interest than the ones he got to witness every day in Brooklyn. They'd met by a trade of messages, a pique in interest of the difference in a Russian waltz to an English one, getting a video back of the dancer performing it with her partner. It was fascinating, how they gave to each other's movements, as a tide moving through the sea, a motion so smooth and pronounced with grace and equity, he couldn't help but ask more.  His sketchbook had found some time to this curiosity, sketching out the movements, comparing it with the free time he had on campus to wander to the studios, draw out the scenes, match them and send them to her for her enjoyment.  How he came to a decisions months later that he might go over to Russia for his major thesis was beyond his formation of words, but bringing it up with Natasha was a disaster by his own right. 2 pm, stowed in his apartment for the Summer, he knew it would be a trick to have  this go as smoothly as he yearned, but hopefully someone would take pity to his enthusiasm. The usual play of patience, messaging her for a call and at the approval setting up his webcam and letting Skype connect them.                                              "Nat, hey." A smile too easily falling on his lips, giving his own wave in greeting, sitting back on his bed as his side table balanced his laptop, hooking his ankles to ground his excitement somehow. Maybe he was being to obvious, but he didn't give a damn, not when the university was willing to let him go as a student, letting him take his year gap for the purpose of his thesis, only asked to give a weekly update to his state and his notes as well as any photocopy evidence of tickets to museums and shows. Hands finding some calm to pushing back at his hair,  the feeling of his lips pulling back wider in a splurge of nervous feelings building in him, all to amount to excitement. Calm down Rogers, she'll think you're crazy.

[liberxtionarchive-blog]

[hands off a silver platter with a dome covering; once lifted you see a card. It has my URL on it] because reasons (and because I'm curious)

Opinion on;

Character in general: Natasha is my other queen besides Abaddon. I adore her and had a whole episode after the Winter Soldier where i downloaded her comics and wants to be her, so that's to show how much I love her.How they play them: Hahahahah, Jackie, are you secretly Natasha? The way you catch her sass and interpret her secrecy and just her nature in secrecy makes me so interested in her more and I adoreee your writing.The Mun: Mun is a sweetheart who I secretly adored from afar because of all the nice things Courtney wanted to say about her because I mean you're just so chill and adorable and amazing and wow how are you real?

Do I:

RP with them: yes yesWant to RP with them: of coURSE?

What is my;

Overall Opinion: the bae, the widow, the senpai

**Note: Mun’s answer are all to be completely honest. Don’t send url if you don’t want brutal honesty

[dearlokigodofmischief-archive]

(Cross journal thing cause mobile)

Send me a “✝” to read a wish or sad memory (specify which.) from the book.

Shortly After His Tantrum at the News of Frigga's Death...

Why I'm writing in this old, worn, god-forsaken pad of wasted time, I do not know. Perhaps because Mother was the one who gave me this journal to begin with, perhaps out of habit. I do not know either way, but what else am I to do?

I am trapped. In a cell that I created for myself--with the help of others, of course, it isn't solely my own doings that have brought me here, but the doings of many--set to spend the rest of my pathetic existence here. Never again will I feel the warmth of sun rays upon my pale flesh. Never again will I be able to prank unsuspecting victims. Never again will I be free to stroll the gardens, visit the library, or mate with someone truly beautiful.

Freedom truly is life's great lie. I was never and will never be free and now the one person who cared, the one person who bothered to visit me in this horrible pit of existence, is gone.

I'll never see her again, never talk to her again, never hug her. I'll never be able to apologize for turning her away when she pleaded with me.

'Am I not your mother?'

Out of all the things I could have said to her, why... Why did I have to say what I had said? Out of all the things I could have done when that creature--that monster--broke out of its own imprisonment, why did I have to speak with him? Is that the reason my mother is now dead? Is that the reason I will never be able to make amends with her? Never be able to tell her I was wrong, that I was sorry, and that she, truly, is the only person in the Nine that has a right to call me her family?

And Odin--that old bastard who has banished me into this pit forever--had so little compassion for his stolen relic, he wouldn't even allow me to see my own mother's funeral. Her send-off concluded before I was even informed of her death and this man, people swear, used to love me? By the Nine he never did. I was a tool and I foolishly allowed him to use me. I've played right into his hands and he did not even have enough compassion for me to allow me to see my mother's funeral.

As if every other thing he has done to me was not enough. Taking my children and tossing them into banishment. Using my youngest as his own personal steed. Rejecting me while my metal and emotionally stability was so compromised, I was willing to simply stop living. Lying to me my entire life. Placing a prejudice inside of me against my very own kind. Teaching me to not only fear, but also to hate, the very thing that I am. Constantly favoring Thor because I, truly, was nothing more than a tool. Reinforcing me to believe lie after lie. Throwing me into battlefield after battlefield.

I have seen too much war, too much destruction, too many people die, and for what?

I find it just a tad bit ironic and, quite frankly, sick, that I have a title as the God of Lies when Odin himself has outdone me and he has successful spun an entire web of deep rooted lies in which my life was form. Over one thousand years and I am still left wondering what, exactly, is real. Why am I not to be trusted when that fool still lives? 

He holds no love for me. His actions up until this point support this and now I could not even wish my mother a safe crossover to the next world. I have no answers. I have no closure. I am stuck within this prison with no hope of finding a way out and yet I still breathe. This is not living. 

I am no longer alive. I feel as though I have passed over to Helheim with my mother in a way.

What am I going to do now? 

              What am I----

[theleagueofextraordinarytea]

Topic Over Tea: Wild Rocks

We are going to discuss wild rocks.  This rock in particular. We are keeping it behind locked glass. 

It's slightly dangerous

"Then again what isn't around here, Tea anyone?"

[theleagueofextraordinarytea]

Topic Over Tea: Who's Going to See Frank?

[violinsonthebattlefield]

New Recruits

Sherlock hadn't had a case in weeks and he was starting to go a bit more than stir crazy. Anyone who knew the detective personally (and, truly, that was a difficult thing to do because Sherlock was not at all a people person) knew that he couldn't stand the boredom that came with having nothing to work on. The detective often created work for himself by experimenting on things that had caught his interest. Whether they were important or not, he didn't particularly care.

So when he heard the doorbell ring, he was actually on his feet in mere seconds. Generally Sherlock would shout at whomever it was to simply leave. If it happened to be Mrs. Hudson, she would come in anyway and offer Sherlock tea, usually with some form of food as well, biscuits or the like. In a way, she was almost like Sherlock's mother, in that she kept after him and made sure he ate. Truly he did love her, in his way.

When he saw the man standing at his door, however, he quickly lost interest. By pure observation alone--the expression the man wore was one of annoyance, he didn't want to be there, there was a gun tucked into the back of his belt, he was dressed formally as a way to present himself professionally... If Sherlock had to deduce (and he always did, he would say this man worked for some sort of government agency--he could tell the man was not there with a case.

"Who the Hell are you?" Sherlock asked in an obviously annoyed and disappointed tone. The detective was itching for a case. His entire kitchen and living area were littered with various experiments to keep his mind occupied. He felt as if his mind were going to break through the surface of his skull if he didn't get back to work soon, and he doubted this man had anything interesting to say.