bakerstreet | A Picture is Worth... Meme.

A Picture is Worth.... Meme
This ain't your mama's meme. Forget your RNG, forget your tired old prompts.
A picture is worth a thousand words.
It's easy. Comment with your character. Then go comment around.
But instead of pre-filled prompts with words or numbers, you find a gif or image (any gif/image from any canon or scenario you please) that sets the scene.
The picture is the prompt.

WARNING: THIS POST WILL BE IMAGE HEAVY. AND POSSIBLY NSFW AND THERE MAY BE TRIGGERS.
Some images will not be able to be hidden behind cuts, so please be aware that triggery material may be found within.

If you post an image that is violent or sexual in nature please LINK it, do not embed it into the comment.

Feel free to use this template to stick your image in there.

Good resources for images/gifs are weheartit or tumblr. For not so safe for work gifs/images go here and here.

Original Meme here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ In the end, he chooses her.

She had been the only one to truly best him, after all. While her companions fought with steel and brawn alone, she had looked upon him with her flickering mortal life already curling into smoke, and she had seen past the glint of teeth and eye to the shape of his mind beneath.

Because Loki is no madman to crow his adulation for power and glory upon the rooftops. No, better that a thousand blood eagles rise from split rib and flesh to soar into the clouds and sing of his victory instead. Better that SHIELD's lady spider tie the noose about her own neck, and smile in gratitude as she takes the step that will snap her own neck. ]

Natasha. [ says the master smith of lies, nothing more than a white sliver of moonlight in his threadbare tunic, in his fading britches. He comes to her as one who has seen nothing but cage after cage for an age, and his convalescence has not yet broken into health. It cannot, for Loki's sickness is heart-deep.

He is curled now in another of SHIELD's glass cages, looking upon her with a murmur of a smile. A week ago, he had followed the thread connecting master to thrall, and he had thus hidden Barton away. ] He calls for me, did you know? When the fear floods out sanity and memory: he thinks only of how my hand clasped his, how I made him more than mortal alone.

[ Her eyes blink. Once, then twice. There is nothing in her expression, as it should be, save the seamlessly constructed expression of someone who knows the weight of a lie. It won't be easy, like the time before: this isn't a questioning, this is a bargain, and she knows this as easily as she knew the in-between of his words. Loki might be slighter, his physicality smaller, but Natasha remembers the power of a god and what it means to be selfish. What it means to look at your hands and think this is not the end, because these claws can still tear with a hunger that pains the inside of your maw.

(She wonders what Clint is doing. If there is anything in relation to his disappearnce and the small rise in kidnapped girls, aging from seven to ten. All redheads.) ]

Give him back. [ It's phrased as a demand and disguised under neutrality: there, a tiny kernel of something other, carries the shuttered words. To me; give him back to me.

Natasha wouldn't be herself if she had given Loki alternatives. No bargain, no plea. There's no pretense this time (fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, as that saying goes), no take me instead — just a chair that creaks when she leans forward, arms braced on her knees. She looks at him through the brief smudge of glass.

(Give him back to me, she doesn't say. Before he becomes you.) ]

Edited 2012-11-22 09:46 (UTC)

[ Oh, she may not let the sentiment drip from the eaves of her mouth, but Loki hears it all the same. Lies are no object, not when his gaze has been sharpened by months of captivity. He is a skeletal apparition of his former self, pared down to the necessity of only malice and manipulation.

In the end, she cannot understand. Barton was made and unmade, the song of the hawk changed in tempo and key until Loki alone knew to conduct its crescendo.

(If Barton calls for her beyond the shroud of Loki's influence, then it is no matter: she will never hear it. Because the blackness of space cannot be traversed by words nor will, only by power taken and power lost. Loki is a sorcerer; he has spent his life giving away the sweetest parts of himself for that power.

No, she cannot understand.) ]

You misunderstand. He does not wish to return.

[ He is calmer now than he was when the Chitauri first spilled their fury upon Midgard, but the brittleness of ice remains. ]

I am his god, now, beyond love, beyond hatred. Beyond the pettiness of emotion that drives the flicker of a mortal lifetime. Why do you deserve his service more than I do?

A Picture is Worth... Meme.

no subject

no subject

no subject