#shieldofasgard

[freyja-njorddottir]

This doll-making online game is perfect for making Asgardians!!

[the-mjolnir-owner]

回

send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse —

回 = patching a wound “Easy there, Sif.” Thor tried to stifle a groan to no avail. “I am not made of marble.”

[balderoncebrave]

Showstopping | Closed RP

The columns of the theatre had grown dirty from the street traffic over time. Grimy finger streaks, scuffed up foundations, and discarded cigarette butts at the base tinged the white stone into something browned and dulled. Ben approached to the side of it to come to the entrance of the box office.

He had switched out of his uniform after the questioning at the hotel, opting to change into his civvies once he and Sarah had returned to the station. While she informed the traffic bureau of Armistead’s plates, he had gone and sorted out the files while shifting into his suspenders and shirt. Now as he came up to the window, he found far less of the apprehension and fumbling that had greeted him at the St Clarence Hotel.

He checked to see Sarah was still beside him and came up to the employee. “Two please,” he said, reaching into his jacket for his wallet. He was hardly good at acting subtle, he thought, and would far rather have gone in with his uniform for official questioning, but Sarah was likely right in this situation--as she had been with others. It was far more likely they would have better access if they were paying customers rather than investigating officers.

“Morena wouldn’t happen to be working at the moment, would she?” he tried his best to sound casual.

[arin-sur]

shieldofasgard replied to your photoset: 02/04/18 this is my favorite shirt, i love my...

*waggles eyebrows*

i love youuu <3

[the-mjolnir-owner]

loss, betrayal, helplessness

Give my muse three fears you think they have, and they will order them from what scares them the least to what scares them the most.

1- Betrayal (least)2- Loss3- Helplessness (most)

[balderoncebrave]

Parade of Wooden Soldiers | Closed RP

The precinct buzzed and rang and pattered The electric lights in the ceiling sometimes flickered out but mostly hummed along while telephone mouthpieces  jangled from their holders and the typists tapped on, adding to the din with the ring of finality to each line before ratcheting back. Ben’s steps, heavy as they were, were hardly noticeable.

Detective, he thought, shaking his head. The new badge felt odd, and he unpinned it from where Captain McAllister had set it on his chest, looking at it. The entire awarding ceremony had been singularly uncomfortable, and Ben took a long breath, trying to settle himself from it. In and out--

Pow!

Pow!

In and out, he forced himself past his recollections as he walked among the desks. In and out. He reached his, and noted the new nameplate had already been set there.

Benjamin Baldwin, Detective, Ashby Bay Police Precinct 616

In and out, he reminded himself, setting his badge upon the desk and leaning upon his hand at the corner. In and out.

[the-mjolnir-owner]

The Fool, Death, The Lovers, Justice, The Hanged Man

Put a tarot card in my inbox and I’ll answer the question

The Fool: What is the stupidest thing your muse has ever done?He believed for a long time that his Father was the most wise person he knew, that everything he did was for an unknown, noble reason.Death: If your muse had to change something about themselves, what would they change?His temper. Thor knows he needs to be more patient and think before acting.

The Lovers: At what age did your muse first fall in love?Around 15-16 (in human years). One cannot simply offer their life for another without feeling a deep, true love. 

Justice: What's something your muse has been dying to admit or confess?Humans stand no chance against the threats that are coming towards them. 

The Hanged Man: Name a bad habit your muse can't give up.Alcohol addiction.

[firstsonofasgard]

Critical Defeat | Closed RP

Thor leaned against the wall of the lesson hall as others shuffled about the corridor. Break was short but at least a welcome reprieve from Mistress Vör’s detailed assessment on their last stratagem simulation, and wit the last chimes of the bell’s echo just fading breathed for what he hoped would be a good fifteen minutes of relief.

His coursebook still felt hot in his hand

Thor furrowed his brow, willing himself not to look back on the edited page for his applied history assessment. Willing himself not to crack open the spine and see those letters that had shifted and illuminated to be that glaring, scripted red ink.

Critical Defeat.

He did not need to open it. The words had burned through to his brain, muddled now with a sensation that felt extremely distressing for its unfamiliarity to him.

Anxiety.

What was he to do now? Father had spent such time teaching him the stratagems, taken him to council meetings where he watched how it was done, and he had gone and received a critical defeat--more than three quarters of his simulated troops slaughtered, the remainder surrounded and forced to surrender to enemy forces.

He clutched his book more tightly. He simply could not show Father that mark. What if he did not mention it? Father would likely be busy, perhaps would not know . . . would never need to know . . .