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@warlikelady | starter | verse : 001
❛ i don’t believe i’ve ever told you what it is i love about brunettes ❜ and with this he allows his eyes to wander over her still figure. ❛ it has something to do with their daring personality. ❜ the open space between himself and the other soon lessens and slender fingers find themselves leading away the brunette's stranded locks of hair from her forehead. ❛ tell me what’s so daring about you ? ❜
artificiallyimplantedmemories asked: “You want us to bargain with a lizard?” warlikelady answered: meme: starter sentences
“Skrull.”
Corrected with blunt forwardness, but there was no disapproval in her tone. Sif let her head lean slightly towards the reptilian creature on the other side of the holding cell’s thick glass.
“And yes. You will need to if you wish to obtain the information you seek regarding the Kree.”
“If you don’t mind, explain to me exactly why the Skrulls look like lizards this time around? Last I knew of them, they could alter their shape and appearance. It made a huge problem for us when they started taking on the figures of our companions.” Co-workers, friends, tore people apart by being someone else, gave people hope and snatched it away.
Natasha raised an eyebrow, looking at the <prisoner? specimen? enemy? source?> skeptically. “Is the lizard-like figure meant to intimidate us? Because it’s not working particularly well.”
warlikelady
A low snarl caught betwixt tooth and snarling maw, rattling as a madman’s grasping hands upon cruel, cold, cell doors between ravenous sinew and blackened bone. No hand of Justice stood before he, no ill-regarded Lawbringer curtailed with a bloody haunch of unpoisoned meat; nay, a known face was she, branded upon hatred and memory as foulest Æsir. Bared teeth, shown in the bloody rictus of an eternal promise ( there are no bargains between wolves and men ), gnashed against the dull warm air, hot breath spilling as a viscous plume upon a lashing silver tongue. No Asgardian had won a right to parlance, to calm acceptance hoisted in the burned and blackened veins of vitriolic hatred, and Fenrir would not play the companionable mutt to poisoned, gold, desires.
“Why are you here, Sif?”
*
There was a note in Thor’s voice which ran the gamut, tripped its way across the spectrum of old familiar and new injury, and for a precious tensed-jawed breath, Sif felt like herself again when she rounded on him. The resulting sweep of irritation played across her face, stung openly and made itself plain rather than hiding behind skittish hurt. For that moment, she gratefully shrugged off reserve and nerves, letting frustration do as it pleased.
“Aye, you did and oft there are times I wonder if I know at all the man who came back from death.”
And there, that was that. She was left standing with palmful of ash & breathing just a shade too fast, wholly uncertain unwilling to throw herself against him the way she might have, once, until everything was same and sane again. Sif wasn’t sure she wanted to think past now and reach for ephemeral future, to consider what had been, or what might be – if she made herself stay grounded in this present absurd moment of fanned-flames indignation, then she could forget worry, deny however foreign and incomprehensible this all was, and it’d just be Sif-&-Thor, the usual campfire flaring up at the usual sun star. She shut her eyes instead, closest thing she could offer to surrender or apology in a deep breaths slow count to three.
“Can you keep doing this?” One. “This, what we’ve been doing since you came back. Whatever we’re doing now. Can you keep at it?” Two. “Because I can’t.“
Three and she boxed it all away. Everything: the war goddess’ temper and the woman’s nerves, the fingernails-in-palm reach for calm, tics and shivers which left her halfway between feeling like poorly-strung puppet & someone walking on eggshells. It was force it all down in desperate need for it-has-to-be-better.
"I miss you but am uncomfortable around you, and looking at you hurts.”
---- Countenance no doubt carries the distinct signs of broken and beaten, his weariness dotted in thick shadows under the eyes and sharp lines framing tense mouth. A wretched and paled well of remarks that should have stayed closed for a while longer, at the very least should have formed the words differently. In hindsight everything appeared worse these days, he certainly felt the weight of it , thick discomfort ( an unwanted and unfamiliar companion that joined them some time ago) reminding him everything had changed.
‘ I would have been able to, if I knew what awaited me after the battle was done.’
Apathy, how he longed to have it blanket him at this moment, a shield of indifference young prince and this new, older yet not much wiser one wished he could conjure. That or a thicker skin, tan-colored armor that would not prickle and strain too tightly around the tension in his muscles.
‘ I had thought a hardened man would please you, what you see is forged by none other than yourself. Batter ram turned blunt, I am done colliding with the unbreakable.’
warlikelady said: ✿
SEND ME A ✿ AND MY MUSE WILL REACT TO YOUR MUSE PUTTING A FLOWER IN THEIR HAIR
Iðunn’s smile was fond, hazel eyes bright and rounded with child-like fascination. She looked on, fidgeting to keep still as the other goddess adorned her curly locks with a single flower. Iðunn wished for a mirror, that she might see how it looked. Pleased nonetheless, she smiled widely at the other. “Thank you,” she said, as happy as she was sincere.
warlikelady
❛ is it standard practice for all to be trained in battle on asgard, or is it a choice? ❜
warlikelady
“So, how’s Asgard? Things still shiny and gold?”
