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Sometimes reading an amazing story or seeing some amazing art inspires me to create my own.

Sometimes reading an amazing story or seeing some amazing art makes me never want to draw or write again.

No no matter how I feel at the time, I still find the work to be amazing, and I would never in a million years say something nasty to the creator.

There’s no shame in feeling down about your work because of theirs, but there is shame in attacking them over it.

They didn’t create something just to spite you, and you know what?

Sometimes they read an amazing story or see some amazing art that inspires them to create their own.

Sometimes they read an amazing story or see some amazing art that makes them never want to draw or write again.

The Day Loki Stood Still [p1]

__________________________________

Time, for a moment, stands still. There’s dust in the air, dust that Loki knows is not just from the rubble, but from mortals. He breathes in their deaths, and runs.

Across the street, jumping past one ruined life or another. They do not matter, their not his to save. They never were.

His breath runs ragged, a sheen of sweet forming unnaturally on his brow, and he’s never felt this worn down before, never so tired that his bones ached with every breath. Something—everything hurt. Even his fingers, curling into that ruined band shirt that stretched across an unmoving chest, even they were bruised. His lips, split and bloody, creak as he whispers a name to himself over and over again. He babbles a plea to the figure below him, and it’s the most honest he’s been in days.

“Please… please, please, please… you can not… please…”

His eyes burn from the dust, it’s only the dust, as they take in every detail of the unmoving body tucked up against him legs, head lolling over his arm and he foolishly worries that the metal of his vambraces will hurt him. As if he could feel it digging into the flesh of his neck. As if he could feel.

His thin fingers rip away the fabric and go for the device implanted in the man’s skin. He might be crying, he couldn’t tell. Everything felt so distant now, like looking down the well and seeing your reflection stare back at you from the darkness below.

He looks so small, Loki thinks while he traces the cold, metal circlet under his hand.

"Hey!"

He smiles down at the graying face, a wide grin with far too many teeth to be normal. He needs to look the part—pretend you’re still the villain—they can never know.

It’s a secret. Not because i’m ashamed, i’m bigger than that, but because this is between you and me, not you and them,” he was told once.

You and me.

"Get away from him. Right now!"

"You are too late," he drawls so easily, not a quiver in his voice. He doesn’t take his eyes off the man sprawled out across his lap, though, he can’t do that just yet.

"Move away from him or I will shoot,” the voice warns, and Loki looks up at last.

His lips form the words, but he will not—cannot say them. The archer looks furious and the others behind him display an equal mix of grief and anger. 

They already know, oh, they know.

He meets each of their eyes for just a moment before his voice finds him again and he finally manages an ounce of truth.

"He is—"

... Read more
Reblogged from askaspookyskeleton  34,431 notes

askaspookyskeleton:

nothingbutskeletons:

image

greetings! if you see this, you are being recruited to the skeleton war. have a nice day!

T̸̙̫̖ͅH͇͈̱E̪͉̥R̮͔̱̬͍͍E̺̬̙̮ ̤͚̮̩̥̥̣I͓̖̯̙͓̟̰̕S͖̣̙̠̳ ̧M̙̲̣͞O͇̖̗̦̼ ̨͍͚̜E̡͉̺̫̪͉S̟̝͍̘͓C̴̙͎̲ͅP̮͕̙̮̝A̷̟̩I̦̪NG̹̻̭̥̞͇ ͏̭̖̳͕̪̳Ṱ̴̤̠HE ̼̞͈͈Ś̤͇K̯̝̺̣̦̙E̛̫̬L҉̣͕̯̠̙ͅE͏͖T̖̫͍O͖͕̹̲̳N̤̘ ̧̱̱̯̹D̪̜͝ͅR̙̣A̷̟̤F̻̠̭͖̻̤́T̻͔

Think of the mothers… 

So I had this thought.

Loki isn’t one to just sit around and become dull. He’s not going to allow himself to become predictable unless he’s utilizing the predictability as a way to trick you into some false sense of comfort. (Because that’s what tricksters do.)

He’s chaos, he’s the run in your stockings before a board meeting, the crack in your glasses before your exam, the little bastard going around telling lies about you and the trumpet player from band camp when the guy you’re crushing on is a flute player.

So this means that he’s not going to stick to the same tune forever. Things like:

'I want a throne.'
‘I hate Thor.’
‘You are all beneath me.’
‘I’m a monster.’
‘I enjoy this flavor of ice cream.’

Are, at some point, going to become something else. He’s going to change to a new direction, and it’s not always going to be one that others will like. (Cough-Thor-cough)

So, basically, he’s not going to become stagnant, not for anyone or anything.


Now, Tony’s anything but predictable. He’s impulsive, but in a high-functioning way. He turns those impulses into speedy calculations that actually work (usually) and somehow still have that same showy flourish that keeps people interested. Or rolling their eyes.

He’s a version of chaos too, the kind that gets under your skin and drives you nuts. The kind of stuff that ends up making you the conduit for chaos because he’s driven you to a point that you have to do something before you shave off all his hair. (IE: Steve and Rodney. Steve, go find the guns, Rodney, go find a suit and stop me.)

If he wants something done, it gets done, even if he has to blow up a few things along the way.

Now, put the two together, and you’ll find they have the same sort of anger and pleasures that will keep them content for a long time. But what really keeps them going strong, and possibly from killing one another or everyone else, is the chaos.

Chaos keeps things interesting, keeps things fun, and a challenge.
And if there’s anything these boys like best, it’s a challenge.