#thelittleblondapprentice

My muse shows up at your muses doorstep in the middle of the night. Without saying a thing, they collapse into your muse’s arms. Put your muse’s reaction in my ask box.

The wounded man who had appeared like a ghost before her seemed to rally and managed to get back on his feet and stumble away from her, shoulders heaving with every breath he took. He was soaked from head to toe from the rain and his clothes were stained red here and there, presumably from his own blood. His hands trembled and his eyes were wide, as though he had seen something that had chilled him to the very core. 

Send me a ⌘ to hear what my muse’s last words to yours would be.

Send me a ➳ and I will generate a number from 1-300 (yes, 300!) for what my muse will say to yours.

{137}

{{But seriously: What twisted soul would make those things?

I was tagged by esmeraldo-the-gypsy

I can easily be won over by any pumpkin spiced flavored drink

I was raised with Star Wars but am slowly loving Star Trek more and more

If i were to go to Hogwarts all of my friends, family, and myself know that i would be placed in Hufflepuff

I was raised Mormon but don't really believe in it any more. I believe in god but i think as long as you're a decent person to yourself and other and live a good life then he's not really going to care which religion you're in.

My favorite musical without a doubt is Wicked.

Tagging:

Send a ø for my muse’s reaction to yours taking a bullet for them.

The battle had raged long, and it didn’t take a genius to realize just what the point of the fight had been. It seemed as though there were an infinite number of enemies sprouting up from nowhere–diseased corpses that oozed a sticky blackness where blood should have been. No wisps animated these dead, and so their eyes and bodies remained disturbingly void of the twinkling white light so common in Hollow Men. A much darker power had given these creatures a false life. There was no soul, no thought that powered them; they were like toys moved by an invisible hand, and they did not tire, nor did they stop until there was nothing of them left.

He was meant to fight until he grew too tired to continue, and then they would take him, slaughtering those he loved, and leaving his old life in ashes. He knew this, and yet he rebelled against the thought of leaving, not wanting to be bested or seen as a coward. His pride would not suffer such a wound.

He quickly came to realize that this was a mistake.

Everything seemed to move both in slow motion and far too quickly for him to react in time. Among the grey and drab brown in the sea of the dead that surrounded him, he spied a head of gold, a spark of life in the dark expanse of death. He called out a warning, telling her to go back, to run, but even as the words fell from his lips and took to the air, a thundering sound rang out.

And she fell into his arms.

He caught her awkwardly, going down on one knee as he supported her sudden weight. He could feel the enemy pressing in, surrounding them, lifting their weapons, and he did the only thing he could think to do: He sifted place. 

He silently thanked his lucky stars that Morgaine was safely hidden away in Brightwall as the slate grey streets of Bowerstone fell away and were replaced with the crisp mountain air and frosty hills of Mistpeak. The cold clashed horribly with the warmth he felt spilling onto his arms and lap as he held the girl, and he quickly lay her down. 

She was still alive–barely breathing, but alive nonetheless. He could sense her heart beating weakly in her chest, could hear her tiny ragged breaths quicken as he pressed a cloth ripped from his shirt against her wound.

“Hold on, little bird, hold on…”

Sentence Meme {Princess Bride}