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@triickstergod

Prisoner 56898 had woken up with a start when he heard the orderlies and doctors shouting at a fast pace in Russian. Sitting up on his cot as he rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t been entirely fluent yet though he still listened. Glancing out his  small grate patterned cell room window, he could tell it was still sometime during the night from how dark it was outside. 

“Chto, chert voz'mi, on? Neytralizovat’ etu veshch’. Poluchit’ aktiv zdes’ i seychas!“

He climbed off the of the cot quickly as he heard footsteps approaching his hall way. Watching the guard unlock his cell door, there wasn’t any exchange of words as he was escorted down a few hall ways. Stepping around a couple of corpses. His chest tightening up as he became a little anxious. Though, he did his best to not show it. 

Nearly stumbling as the prisoner was pushed into a more secure holding cell than his own. Glancing back over his shoulder while the door was locked. Looking forward to see the individual that he assumed had killed a couple of the orderlies in the hall. Noticing the power dampening restrains around the newer prisoner’s wrists and ankles, as well a metallic muzzle around his mouth. He’d also seen that the stranger was wounded under the long jet black hair. 

Keeping his arms at his sides as he slowly walked over to him. “I’m not going to hurt you..okay?” He spoke quietly and gently as he knelt down next to the roughed up stranger. Slipping his bionic hand under the back of the metallic mask. Crushing the back of it before slipping it off the young man. 

Hela walked towards him with arms crossed, and a serious, yet quiet expression, but that had many emotions hidden. Anger, above them all.

Continued from here.

“They won’t leave me alone,” the god admitted, finally. He loathes the feeling of WEAKNESS that comes with the confession, yet at the same time it feels like a relief to finally be able to talk. “–– these voices. They’re still there sometimes.”

Send “You’re Mine” for my muse’s reaction to yours being possessive of them. / @triickstergod

BOTHERED. It’s an interesting look on the Prince, the hand that anchors her arm back to him in passing enough to set her soul on fire. He’s bested her a thousand times in spars littered all across Asgard, but warriors prove best to fight among their colleagues. To better them. To best them. While she’s used to fighting against the impossibilities of magic, it proves that she reigns supreme when it comes to predicting the next move. Her friend has made her infinite; yet he appears to feel as though her time belongs to him.

“Magic--- makes NO sense.” Tony points out with a huff. “I bet you were just hiding this one under your sleeve.” He comments with an unimpressed frown seeing a smirk spread across Loki’s face. 

As impressive as it was, Tony wasn’t a fan of magic. Other than having no logic behind its existence, it did a range of things that made Tony’s skin crawl - which, again, did not happen too often.

Her attempts to resist and remain curled up on the thin mattress proved fruitless and she soon found herself padding silently past guards, barely hidden in poor illumination. They didn't appear to be military, though with their weaponry you could be forgiven for assuming otherwise. Lou cringed and cast a glance down to her empty hands, pausing only for a beat in consideration of retrieving a blade before she felt the compulsion to continue on unarmed.

                  “Get off me! GET OFF!” Maybe he didn’t mean to panic or burst out like that, but regretting his action was too tedious of a task for him to bother. Right now, his focus was on scrambling away and getting to his feet again.

Eli scrambled to their feet, backing away from the man as best they could, tripping over their own feet in the process. Honestly, they hadn’t thought they could survive a fall that high. It probably helped that they’d landed on someone.