A Picture is Worth... Meme.

[yohko]

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.
<a href="http://IMAGEURL" _fcksavedurl="http://IMAGEURL">TRIGGER WARNING GOES HERE</a>
Feel free to use this template to stick your image in there.
<img src="IMAGE URL" _fcksavedurl="IMAGE URL"width="400"><br />

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

Original Meme here.

Comments

[debts]

[ 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.) ]

[treachery]

[ 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?