kissofmistletoe

[kissofmistletoe]

.

[kissofmistletoe]

.

[kissofmistletoe]

frostkingoftheapocalypse‌:

The set of the monarch’s jaw was more than sternness; it was the cage for the agitation that arrested Loki’s thoughts of logistics for a breath, as his throat clenched from the bite of that wonderment. This wasn’t a scent-caused empathy. Nor was it quite guilt. Merely that the son of Farbauti had too many implications to process; old orders and an old regime’s subversion, smuggled prisoners, and those that had not been given options as Baldr had. Had not survived long enough to do so.

Baldr would survive.

  “Take a seat, lítið As.” the King’s sonorous answer was unintentional. High ceilings were a frequent feature of Jötunheimr’s architecture, and the Jötunar’s love of elbow room, so to speak, much - in blasphemy - like the Aesir — even if that space was mostly angles, and rune-like, geometric ice and marble walls. A harsh beauty. The Frost Giants had no need to show off; their natural building materials provided an homely resonance without any ostentatious help. They were cruelly proud of it too.

Long azure fingers gestured to the lapping waters as the King strode across to the nook of oils, combs, and a small basket of spider twine. Here he hesitated. Stiffly contained breaths releasing quiet before he spoke low and clear,

“ Son of Odin. I feel that this would be a pertinent time to mention that some of the scrolls we brought back with you featured artworks of your peoples. What they looked like in celebration. What they wore.” thin ice-needles began to flow from his fingertips, filling one of the spare dishes there, “If it is your wish to re-connect with that heritage … I do not think it would be impossible for mineself to attempt to recreate some of their customary hair patterns. As opposed to what we do here.” he turned around, crimsons quietly free of judgement, “It would help you keep a distance from us. An individuality.” free of judgement - but not severity, “While you are under mine care, you are not required to conform to an idea of what a citizenship of mine rule looks like. I hope that much has been made clear.”

The speech cascaded about the room, sound barrelling from cove to nook as if the voice disembodied, directionless. Impossible to ignore, disconcerting at the least. Authority seemed to be etched into the very walls, that even if Loki cared to speak with a softer tone (an impossibility, in Baldr’s eyes) it would be warped by twisted ice and rock to become command. 

And so he did as indicated, the gentle noise of furs slipping from damp skin adding to the hushed ambience around. Naked once more, earth-stained eyes watched as the water flowed across his submerging body, seeing it map the newly-formed contours of curved muscle and straight sinew. A testament, as too this physical change to come would be, to the work of the Jötunar king. A power to shape a life, to decree what should be done with a god. 

It had not yet extended to holding reign over Baldr’s mind.

Settled on the underwater ledge, bath slowly warming once more to be of comfort to the creature of fire, the piercing gaze given was met by one with a subtler hardness. By some miracle or magic, although many perhaps felt it was not deserved, the Ás held some trust in Loki. He trusted the words, knew the other would hold to them in demanding no obedience as expected from those born on this realm. There was trust in the king, but he had not quite found respect.

“In my heart, I hold more heritage to your kind than my own,” replied the soaking god with a blunted truth, breaking his contact to settle back, eyes closing in a relaxed pose. “Contrary to my skin, my first words were Jötun, my first stories heard were of Jötunheimr and her people. I have seen and know more of your realm than I do of the one I am supposed to hold affiliation to. I have distance enough from you as it is, for gold is far more different than the shape of hair.” The sound of water moving broke the sudden silence, gilded skin shifting in warped reflections as Baldr turned, exacting a look that mirrored the King’s own severe sight.

“If it were possible, I would ask you to mark my skin azure and remove this tension between myself and your people. I would far rather give up this connection to the Æsir than live in this half state.”

[kissofmistletoe]

yellingmetatron‌:

@kissofmistletoe

Metatron laughs back.  His eyes follow every movement the young god makes as he shifts, but then meet Baldr’s gaze with confidence.

“Well, we’ve established my ego charms you, first of all.  That’s from your own fucking mouth.”  And what a fine fucking mouth it is, his intoxicated mind helpfully adds.  "You enjoy testing it, and I enjoy having it tested.  I’m not so inflexible as to never concede a point, yet not so agreeable that you’ll easily overcome me.  That would bode well for a long stay, hm?“  He takes another drink.  The feels particularly satisfying as it flows down his throat, as if proper punctuation for his words.

“Shall I go on?”

The hum of ponderous thought reverberated overly dramatic through the drunken god, half of a laugh and half a sweet feeling within his chest. It was easily brought on by Metatron, witful as the angel always was. There was no denying the absolute truth spoken, for those traits were what kept the stag at bay. A delightful dance of words, so refreshingly honest and far from the reserve nature of his own.

“I can fault you nothing there,” Baldr readily admitted, heady to keep testing the ego as far as it would go in this elastic joy. “But I require a little more... persuasion. I do not quite think that would keep me by you forever.”

[kissofmistletoe]

asgardianhammer‌:

[ ϟ ]—– No ward, nor foolish, incompetent guards scattered along Asgard’s borders would keep wrath from penetrating the realm.

He had known this of course, and still there was a sliver of surprise at the sight of it all, chaotic evidence of Baldr’s arrival examined with a vague, barely present sense of disappointment. Beneath stoic expression embers of something else tickle the nerves, mirth perhaps, or something akin to it, a form of pleasure-filled gratification that carnage, any carnage, was known to evoke.

A tutting sound is the first greeting the stag receives, lips pursing a fraction before disdain finally breaks marble-like features, folds emerging and edges seemingly sharpening as a scowl is born.

‘ You sought my attention, clearly, and now you have it.’ 

Where there any other company a shudder would have traveled through their forms, rumbling bass more icy than it had ever been. Fire and light, its eternal flame ever-present in the god’s irises, now was directed at the other, steps taken denting entrails upon the ground.

‘ What is it you wish of your king, brother? And choose your words carefully. Your linage, the blood in your veins, it holds as little meaning to me as these carcasses do.’

The threats did little to perturb the stag, ice unwavering in the apathetic gaze. Kill him the king could try, but that victory could not come from those battle-hardened hands. That fate was an immovable truth, and no punishment or retribution to rain down otherwise would sway the promise he had made to the Norns. Success would be his and no other, no matter the challenges to be crossed. 

“An exchange, one hopefully worthy enough for your grace.” A tip of the head, an acknowledgement. You hold some of the power here. 

“While I had hoped your attendance would be somewhere with a little more grandeur than this, I seek aid. I ask for Loki’s location. In return, I gift you a favour of your choosing.”

❛ Whatever you did, you have been officially labeled a disturber of the peace. ❜

“By you and who’s useless army?” 

The figure who answered seemed preoccupied, caring not for the Thunderer that had strode into the scene. The arrival of one man, god though he might be, held no sway on the carnage before the shadowed stag. It was priority, instead, to clean the blood-smeared blade further, each careful brush of cloth upon metal done with precision, with love. It was perhaps akin to rewarding a hound after hunt, speaking compliments to a beloved companion, or a mother to wash her babe for the first time. 

The viscera that coated the floors and walls of the stable yard seemed of no concern. That gore which stained stone and wood held no such regard in Baldr’s mind, instead treated as more an unpleasantly to be dealt with by another. Dust on a mantelpiece of someone else’s home. Nor too did the remnants of the bodies, if enough even remained to still be classed as such, pose any worry upon the slender one’s shoulders. All a misfortune of a situation out of their disembodied hands.

“I am rather flattered by your presence, my liege,” it was the slightest bow given, a dip of a turn that could be construed mocking should one care to, should any doubt the feline grace held beneath golden skin. “I would have expected you too busy for so personal a meeting. I had heard tell that to even see you in court was a rare event indeed, let alone roaming the wild outskirts of your own lands.”

Blade sheathed with barely a movement, those gilded hands cast open in gesture of peace, albeit it the crimson unavoidable trapped in the lines of his palm. No remorse could be found on the Star God’s expression, however. No emotion but stoic wariness was held in those night black eyes. 

“But if your arrival was through this alarm, then it seems I have killed two… five birds with one sharp stone. I have wished an audience with you for a while, brother Thor.”

[kissofmistletoe]

frostkingoftheapocalypse‌:

Eggplant in hand, Loki unfolded to brush the green draperies from the ceiling with his head. It felt like broken record in here, his body. The kind that creaked and groaned in delight, on loop, or in his case, on stoop. The pin had been set down to play him from the get go really; self-inflicted, from the fatal moment his fond thoughts had caused him to hesitate in the street in-front of the Girl Scout brownies. His body felt like deja vu because it was. In Baldr’s world, everything involved either a bend or a straighten, or a squeeze into a miniature space the tattooist should not have fit in, but somehow did. He was at the mercy of this carefully crafted Eden. Endearingly. Blissfully so. A slave to his own smile that crept wider and wider as he listened to the rambling tenor, and let it petter out on its own.

      “That is quite the drive for a plant consultation.”

Loki was nothing if not a man of mental maps, and precisely balanced scales that set the law and order for his life. And he would always, given the chance, seize whatever extra time he needed to ensure it stayed that way. Oh he was fully aware of the embarrassment that was stuttering away, in what was everything but a blatant invitation out on a date. But he did not turn. Did not acknowledge it. Continuing to snip away at some of the oversized eggplants weighing down the top of the bushes. Even if it was only Baldr’s socially awkward hand extending in the mere hopes of a friendship. This world had it hard on men - where a single misunderstanding could lose you your teeth, or the fine arch of your nose - and Loki did not want Baldr to frighten should the ill-sized guest in his garden make any sudden moves. Or exhibit any silly feelings that were more than what was wanted.

“I live nearly an hour from here.” vegetables stacked into the crook of Loki’s elbow, “I should also forewarn you, that includes an occasional detour for road accident victims. ‘tis a treacherous mountain path even without the ice.” Nana’s wet nose snuffled at his exposed ankle, drawing another smile. She had obviously decided to insert herself back into the conversation, “Sometimes even the wolves get caught unawares.”

—Of course the tattooist had noticed Baldr. Not just now, but long before. As an artist, and as a man. He had two eyes, and no trouble in seeing through the perch of his glasses. The faint breathlessness was not to be blamed from anyone trying to absorb the impact of what could only be described as The poster boy for Natural Beauty, that first day Baldr had piped up hello, flower in hand, and cheer in his grin. The plump lips, damp from the wet of a nervous tongue. The curls that no brush might tame. A full curtain of lashes that on any other man could give the accusation of girlishness, but on Baldr, did nothing but give him the obscene beauty of a renaissance youth.

The air was rich in this garden, and in the shop, if gold were the happiness of well-watered plants, and fertile soils. Everything about Baldr’s life, and Baldr himself, was like gold in a time capsule; far from modern sterility. 

Loki inhaled, composing his features before he faced Baldr dead on, still holding his eggplants,

“But if animals do not worry you, you are most welcome.” he paused, noting the other’s blush, and wondering if what he had been saying was too roundabout a way to make his internal emphatic yes, apparent - clearing his throat softly as he said with a wry twist of his mouth, “I would like that.” a gesture of the aubergines, “All of it.” easy now, keep it casual, “… I could probably even muster up some coffee, if that is what you prefer?”

A coffee machine came with the obvious assumptions, but it never hurt to confirm. Coffee was casual. Coffee was safe.

He had only read about such tension in books. Even with such well-crafted words, black ink on white paper painting so rich a feeling and view of another world, it could never have prepared him for this torture. The air felt solid, as if every branch in his lungs had become full, hot resin to cast the empty space within. How he teetered on the brink of collapse, every sinewed muscle in quivering tension waiting on an answer, some retort, inevitable denial. 

How could he think any different? It was not by some design of a sorrowed life, neglected from such honest interaction, nor by an anxiety to be social, but simply by chance. Opportunities to be more than customer and shop-keep were rare, reserved in nature that Baldr was. His walls were locked tight simply by designed, but decorated with every flower under the summer sun. 

And so the fawn teetered and tipped, falling closer to that imagined disappointment as the giant simply carried on his gentle actions. Finally when the other did speak, the first words set to be that set-up, the foundations on which the florist would crumble amid ruined hopes, that open heart on his sleeve was buried. A weight across his chest, as brutal as if Loki had calmly stood and slammed his fist into sternum. 

Only as the speech continued on, the subtle tone falling discordant against what was expected, did his sigh laced in violent disappointment halt. Meaning was still being deciphered when the tattooist finally decided to stand, half-heard words being churned through a fog that was slowly burning up as realisation dawned.

I would like that.

“Truly?”

It was not a speech given half as much thought as the others delicate admission. Subtlety, as was clear, was a tool not well wielded in Baldr’s hand. Brash, innocent honesty was a far more comfortable fit on the slender man, and no force of nature could have stopped the word from rolling past astonished lips. 

“Ah, yes, no, animals do not bother me,” he rushed out, the awkwardness of the last few moments now catching up to chastise him. Mind only seconds ago blank, it now raced to fill the silence left. There seemed no time to breath, recentre, and return back to the flow of time as it so normally lazed. Caught in the rapids of such churning emotions, Baldr was thrilled. 

“Coffee is always appreciated,” he fired back, as if he’d drunk half a gallon, “but when would be best? My evenings are always free, but I would have to find someone to watch over Nanna, and obviously preparing the meal can take a bit of time...”

Breath. Slow down. Calm.

“Pick a date, and I will be all yours.”

Idiot.

Ink and Petals (Open AU)

[kissofmistletoe]

zzapzzaptasers‌:

Carefully, she disentangles her hand from his in order to search her pockets for her keys – it is like throwing off the kiss of a summer sun and walking straight into an unforgiving winter, the ones that old people talk about for years to come when children complain about being cold.  Winter comes and goes and swirls dusty powdered snow around Darcy and it only seems so long because Baldr’s been gone for it all. The season changed twice without him and she’s trying not to let the cold in with her sniffly nose and frost-bitten hands devoid of his warmth, but bitterness knows how to sink in through the cracks under the door and around the windows.

Her myriad of keychains clack together and the lock clicks softly, as if too tired to truly protest, as if it was exhausted from trying to keep her out of her own loneliness and heartache, their shared space that had been hers alone for months. The time for playful banter has ended, and she bumps the door open with her hip before turning to Baldr with that stupid not-smile Darcy is so quick to insult on others; lips pressed tight together into a single line, cheeks blown full of expelled air. An awkward expression given when nothing else feels right, but the absence of it weighs more heavily than not.

“That’s how it is, huh?”

Inside, the heater kicks on. It feels somehow colder than the brash January wind outside and Darcy hesitates in the doorway, uncertain if she wants to explore the dark corners of Baldr’s truancy.

“You never complained about stuffing your face before.”

Why can’t she just stop? Why can’t she face what’s coming without the shield of her own humor, of the glancing blows of her teasing?  Why can’t she ever take what’s coming head-on?

“You coming in, babe?”

That’s how it is, huh?

How would that sentence sound in the future, in the nearing moment when truth was spilt and Baldr’s heart lay on the floor? Would it sound so falsely casual then, a try at jesting despite the hardships to come? Or would it sound far colder than the feeling both shared, of Fimbulvetr unending at this modest threshold? 

Slowly, as if each cell metamorphosed into that beast Asgard bayed for him to be, muscle stiffened and skin prickled. His senses screamed instinct, that the next footfall would plunge him to war, hard taught lessons demanding he protect himself from blade and steel. But this would not a battle tutors had taught, and not even the wards gilded over his skin would save him here. 

With fingers shaking, caressing over sun-aged wood of the door frame, the god bowed his head and entered, trying not to wonder what kind of man would come out.

Little had changed in the passing, which gave the stag a moment of surprise to see. Even in the obvious illness, Darcy had still attempted to live on as normal. Crockery washed, laundry hung, signs of normal life continuing on, and it broke Baldr’s heart just a little more to know it was done alone. Soap bubbles did not douse the kitchen tops as she flicked suds at him, shirts in crumbled heaps as they laughed and flung volleys of cloth across the rooms into the waiting maw of the machine... 

Even through the leather boots, his feet remembered the softness of the carpet beneath, toes dipping into the synthetic weave. Reminders of nights he carried a slumbering lover from sofa to bed, or danced to the electronic music of adverts between shows. It did not feel quite right now as he turned, back to a home he had known, to face the one thing he loved. The one thing he could lose. 

“I left because Asgard was under siege.”

Finally the words were spoken, as final as the lock slammed to rest in it’s cradle, and only soft silence for a moment more. A shifting shirt broke such peace, hands raised in soft surrender, the god’s face honest, sad, as he followed Darcy’s movements with a gentle gaze.

“This is no excuse, and I ask for no pity. You deserve an explanation, and I will give you every truth I know. Whatever you wish to do with that, whatever you wish me to do... I will respect it.”

[kissofmistletoe]

.

[kissofmistletoe]

❛ Even the smallest person can change the course of the future. ❜

“Then let me!” the desperate plea answered, voice pitched wild in begging and anger, to sound as if madness had finally touched the god’s mind. 

Feral too did the footsteps fall, body moving one way then another on the hallowed ground where the divine lived. Dark eyes that had been so muted burst with fire, fuelled by each heartbeat as they bore into the other, a cacophony of emotions driven by each passing moment confined. 

But there was no torchlight to capture the writhings of both flesh and mind. No shadows defined the edges of where reason stood and beast began. Darkness in it’s entirety had flooded those underground chambers where the despised lay, shattered glass the only trace of what precious gift had been allowed.

One thing given, only to removed on whim, on will.

How much more could he stand of this torture? The

Jötunn had seen it as a generous act to offer the sights of the worlds above, to give knowledge to the words Baldr had no reference to even imagine. Such vastness shown, of horizons and skies, of uninterrupted land broken by nothing but their footfalls. Then taken, himself returned once more to a solid cage, left only with those bitter memories and excruciating knowings, that something more was not to be his. 

And now another thing removed, another privilege revoked. Light, a sweet force that grew his mind like food grew his body. How long too would it be that even water would no longer be allowed, and his existence returned to before upon another realm? How much more could he stand of this torture before he willingly begged to return to that state once more?

“If that is what you wish of me, then let me do it,” his shaking voice murmured, unknowing whether the giant still stood at the barred door or had vanished into the dark. That iron now grasped by golden hands, eyes closed to see only the blackness of the eyelids, forehead touching cold metal. “Let me be free and I will shackle myself to that purpose, no matter the cost. Give me a future and I swear I will honour it. Just.... please....”

His skin still complained in whispered discomfort at the chill to the skin, slumped god sat in the corner where he had been still since the argument sounded. Days had returned to having no meaning while the sun was not able to shine in the depths of the earth, but perhaps it could be measured in the thrice meals given since. Now dutifully did others work to fix the damage, and restore a little of the illumination once blessed. 

A memory altered, twisted by the turns of time, but one that seemed still to echo against the rock-walled prison. Even if only the meaning remained, audible in it’s ringing fury, to the captive, it was still enough to pierce that fragile heart as if the fight still ensued. The feeling stayed true, raw, even if the syllables did not. A scene to replay, imagination now taking a cruel role on filling the endless moments. Not of hazily remembered worlds glimpsed through near-blind eyes, or gentler conversation passed between the two. To rot among rock and to rot among row was all that he allowed himself.

[kissofmistletoe]

❛ I thought I had wandered into a dream. ❜

A year had flown far quicker than Baldr had ever believed time could go. So many months of toiling away within the shop, setting floors and painting walls, service station stops to make sure his bouquets were perfect for out of town brides. Simple, gentle stresses that had been the staple of the American life. 

Even though those moments still existed, even if that part of life had never changed, there was no worry anymore. 

How could there be, when such beauty existed in his life? A phenomenon Baldr never thought possible, for one to rival the morning sun and symphony of colours for grace. Yet here it sat, across from him, splendour made flesh and all his. 

His in mornings, where the dark eyes were set to watch the slumbering face rather than the rising light. His in the noon, striding close beside through forests of clothes racks or farmer’s stalls. His in the evenings, the scent of dinner cooking gently away as they lay engrossed in text or film. His in the nights, succumbed to love or lust or equal measure of both. 

“If that first meeting was akin to a dream, then I have been sleep-walking ever since.”

[kissofmistletoe]

❛ Whatever you did, you have been officially labeled a disturber of the peace. ❜

“By you and who’s useless army?” 

The figure who answered seemed preoccupied, caring not for the Thunderer that had strode into the scene. The arrival of one man, god though he might be, held no sway on the carnage before the shadowed stag. It was priority, instead, to clean the blood-smeared blade further, each careful brush of cloth upon metal done with precision, with love. It was perhaps akin to rewarding a hound after hunt, speaking compliments to a beloved companion, or a mother to wash her babe for the first time. 

The viscera that coated the floors and walls of the stable yard seemed of no concern. That gore which stained stone and wood held no such regard in Baldr’s mind, instead treated as more an unpleasantly to be dealt with by another. Dust on a mantelpiece of someone else’s home. Nor too did the remnants of the bodies, if enough even remained to still be classed as such, pose any worry upon the slender one’s shoulders. All a misfortune of a situation out of their disembodied hands.

“I am rather flattered by your presence, my liege,” it was the slightest bow given, a dip of a turn that could be construed mocking should one care to, should any doubt the feline grace held beneath golden skin. “I would have expected you too busy for so personal a meeting. I had heard tell that to even see you in court was a rare event indeed, let alone roaming the wild outskirts of your own lands.”

Blade sheathed with barely a movement, those gilded hands cast open in gesture of peace, albeit it the crimson unavoidable trapped in the lines of his palm. No remorse could be found on the Star God’s expression, however. No emotion but stoic wariness was held in those night black eyes. 

“But if your arrival was through this alarm, then it seems I have killed two... five birds with one sharp stone. I have wished an audience with you for a while, brother Thor.”

[kissofmistletoe]

❛ I have wished you joy since first I saw your mopey-ass face. ❜ Said with the most tender of affection, surely.

“And it is the easiest wish I have ever been able to fulfil.”

The god stood close, each gentle inhale taking in the sweet smell of her, the scent of spiced coffee on her words, the aroma of detergent on her clothes. Each little thing that marked her as human, as something so dearly precious in the expanse of the worlds. Every moment spent in Darcy’s company was one that astounded the stag, to be given such beauty without asked. Of all the words she could speak, of all the people she could speak them to, it was to him that love was given so freely, unasked. 

Thumbs deceptively soft sparked fire beneath the skin as he cupped her sculpted face. Fingers found gentle purchase as the curve of her neck, hair like static as it fell across his knuckles. Their foreheads touched, earthen eyes lidded in sweet euphoria to be so close to her, so warmed by her. His words were akin to the tamest breeze that brushed over stilled water, with no need for more. No need for anything but the lowest of voices, lips against lips. 

“For all I need do is look upon you, think of you, and I am joy incarnate.”

[kissofmistletoe]

the lotr movie trilogy; starter sentences.

❛ Something draws near. I can feel it. ❜

❛ You shall not pass! ❜

❛ All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. ❜

❛ What about second breakfast? ❜

❛ What about elevenses? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? ❜

❛ Gentlemen, we do not stop ‘til nightfall. ❜

❛ Many that live deserve death. Some that die deserve life. ❜

❛ A wizard is never late, _____. Nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to. ❜

❛ Nobody tosses a Dwarf. ❜

❛ The world is changed. I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it in the air. ❜

❛ One does not simply walk into Mordor. ❜

❛ Do you remember when we first met? ❜

❛ I thought I had wandered into a dream. ❜

❛ I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone. ❜

❛ One small bite is enough to fill the stomach of a grown man! ❜

❛ Fly, you fools! ❜

❛ If I take one more step, it’ll be the farthest away from home I’ve ever been. ❜

❛ It’s a dangerous business, _____, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to. ❜

❛ Not the beard! ❜

❛ I know what it is you saw, for it is also in my mind. ❜

❛ I know what I must do, it’s just that… I’m afraid to do it. ❜

❛ Even the smallest person can change the course of the future. ❜

❛ Keep it secret. Keep it safe. ❜

❛ I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve. ❜

❛ Anyways, you need people of intelligence on this sort of… mission… quest… thing. ❜

❛ Whatever you did, you’ve been officially labeled a disturber of the peace. ❜

❛ It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing. ❜

❛ Men? Men are weak. ❜

❛ I suppose you think that was terribly clever. ❜

❛ Oh… That’s nice. Ash on my tomatoes! ❜

❛ If you’re referring to the incident with the Dragon, I was barely involved. ❜

❛ I can avoid being seen if I wish, but to disappear entirely, that is a rare gift. ❜

❛ I spent all my life pretending I was off somewhere else. Off with you, on one of your adventures. But my own adventure turned out to be quite different. ❜

❛ This, my friend, is a pint. ❜

❛ It comes in pints? ❜

❛ Oh, it’s quite simple. If you are a friend, you speak the password, and the doors will open. ❜

❛ I’ve thought of an ending for my book - ‘And he lived happily ever after… to the end of his days.’ ❜

❛ You cannot hide. I see you. There is no life in the void. Only death. ❜

❛ My own… my love… my precious… ❜

❛ I think I’ve broken something. ❜

❛ Have you ran out of those nice shiny daggers? ❜

❛ There’s an eye-opener, and no mistake. ❜

❛ I’m sorry that… you must carry this burden. I’m sorry for everything. ❜

❛ We must move on. We cannot linger. ❜

❛ But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. ❜

❛ I cannot jump the distance, you’ll have to toss me. ❜

❛ What we need is a few good taters. ❜

❛ I wonder if we’ll ever be put into songs or tales. ❜

❛ He was twitching because he’s got my axe EMBEDDED IN HIS NERVOUS SYSTEM! ❜

❛ You don’t have any friends; nobody likes you! ❜

❛ A red sun rises, blood has been spilled this night. ❜

❛ No parent should have to bury their child. ❜

❛ Looks like meat’s back on the menu, boys. ❜

❛ I did not pass through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm. ❜

❛ What do trees have to talk about, hmm… except the consistency of squirrel droppings? ❜

❛ You could have picked a better spot. ❜

❛ You have some skill with a blade. ❜

❛ I fear neither death nor pain. ❜

❛ Stupid, fat hobbit. ❜

❛ Once it takes hold of us it never lets go. ❜

❛ You’re late. ❜

❛ You look terrible. ❜

❛ Leave me alone, snake! ❜

❛ Your words are poison. ❜

❛ Bring your pretty face to my axe. ❜

❛ So much death. What can men do against such reckless hate? ❜

❛ But that one counts as mine! ❜

❛ In one thing you haven’t changed, my friend - you still speak in riddles. ❜

❛ And this in turn has given rise to the belief that there are no Dwarf-women, and that Dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground! ❜

❛ You’ll find more cheer in a graveyard. ❜

❛ A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. ❜

❛ I didn’t think it would end this way. ❜

❛ End? No, the journey doesn’t end here. Death is just another path… One that we all must take. ❜

❛ Certainty of death. Small chance of success. What are we waiting for? ❜

❛ I will not say ‘Do not weep’, for not all tears are an evil. ❜

❛ I am no man. ❜

❛ I can’t carry it for you, but I can carry you. ❜

❛ There never was much hope. Just a fool’s hope. ❜

❛ I’m glad to be with you, ______, here at the end of all things. ❜

❛ What are you waiting for? Just let it go! ❜

❛ I have wished you joy since first I saw you. ❜

❛ I do not fear death. ❜

[kissofmistletoe]

“What are you the god of? I know what our records say, but I want the words from you. Your truth.”

“Your records will seek to reduce me to simple things,” the stag’s eyes were hard, gold, a swirling storm of sun fire lazily moving about the iris. There was something deep to the naturally coarse voice, as if the words had been set at birth of the universe. A speech to decree one would be made to hold such ferocity and fire.

“I am light, from the smallest ember to every star in the cosmos. I am father, brother, son to every and all that shines. It is mine to silence and mine to create. I am truth, which comes as power and curse. It is mine to know but mine to speak, no matter the cost. 

In each moment I can feel the darkness destroy a piece of me, as if I die a death with each heartbeat I take. Upon my tongue rests knowledge that can never be spoken, least it picks apart the threads of the universe, those terrible truths. I can be as vicious and cruel in my might as I can be craved and soft. 

I am... balance. I am the reason the dark lingers and the lies are born. I know the universe cannot contain both in their whole, as shadows define the edges of everything, and deceit drives the need to speech. It would be a silent, sightless existence should I not be, the keeper that walks the lines of balance.”

[kissofmistletoe]

Gods and Deities Sentence Starters

“And what are you the god of? Bad tastes?”

“You’re not my god.” 

“It’s been a long time since anyone invoked my name.” 

“I’m a god, not a genie. I do not ‘grant’ wishes.” 

“You haven’t an inkling of an idea of what you’ve just done, haven’t you?” 

“And what is a mere mortal to a god?” 

“A god is only as powerful as their believers.”

“When’s the last time anyone prayed to you?” 

“Don’t be stupid. Gods don’t exist.” 

“Your petty discourse is highly amusing.” 

“What a cute little shrine! I wonder who’s it to?” 

“Your title may have “Evil” in it but you just look sad.” 

“No one’s ever built me a shrine before…” 

“You mustn’t be a very good god then.” 

“Your mortal woes are beneath me.” 

“You dare speak to me in such a tone?” 

“Be careful of what you wish for.” 

“You don’t know the meaning of “God-King”. 

“You know not of who you speak to, do you?” 

“You don’t look very… godly… to me.” 

“’A god’? Don’t be so full of yourself.” 

“What are you the god of?” 

“Does it get lonely?” 

“Oh god, please don’t hurt me!” 

“Your god has no sway here.”

“And what brings you into my domain, little one?” 

“I think I just woke something up. Something powerful.” 

“Um… hello? Any… anyone listening?” 

“This is stupid. Of course no god will listen to me.” 

“You probably look nothing like your statue.” 

“I hope this shrine is worthy enough for you…” 

“I’m here as a sacrifice, as promised by my people.” 

✨+ add your own!

[kissofmistletoe]

Inseminate me, Baldr-chan!

“N... No? Does this even work?”

[kissofmistletoe]

I use to rp with you a long time ago. When I go back to my blog to reread our writings, it always puts a smile on my face. Thank you for the many, many memories over the years. Glad to see you're still rping.

(Hey, I mean, there’s a compliment hidden there. If our threads are good enough to reread, years later, we must have crafted art together. There’s many old partners I go back to read old interactions. It’s almost replaced reading a book at night, instead just scrolling through some beautiful universes. It’s heartwarming to hear people doing it as well.

I’m still rping, although nowhere near as much as I wish. Once work destresses and my wrists stop doing the pain thing, I’m going to be back full force. No-one can keep Baldr down (apart from Loki... Loki is kinda fated to keep him down). 

The thanks is returned a hundred-fold. Thank you for being a part of my life, no matter how long ago, and writing masterpieces with me.)