Your bodies can't take it.

[burntviolet]

the random icon meme

1. comment with your character with character name and canon in the subject line. click random icon-- that icon will be your writing/scenario prompt!
2. taggers reply by also hitting random icon, and coming up with a response for that icon. try not to change the icons!
3. remember, your icons are the tag prompts!
4. rinse and repeat, be one with the madness :)


I stole this from places. places being bakerstreet

Comments

[goddamnironman]

[ ah fuck. you know, there came the vindictive acceptance, the cynical this can't be happening so clearly it's not kind and now, with his vision blurring and his muscles growing heavy, body disobeying him, the reality is settling in. he'd cry, but you know. loki's here. that's a sobering thought.

his head lolls to the side, focusing on breathing, wincing, feeling those little shards in him shifting just slow enough to make this agonizing. motherfucker. ]

This is really it.

[mischieving]

[It's bewitching in a way, to watch death settling in. Especially in one with such vitality as Stark--he thought it might be rewarding, but he feels a bit...ill.

Loki kneels down, leaning over him to drink in those last precious moments. Everything counts--the struggle of his breath, the pallor of his skin, the begrudging surrender he offers. Then and only then does his hand slip up, slowly and carefully reinserting the device just upon the precipice of death. With the final twist, he murmurs--]

Tell me...what did you see?

[goddamnironman]

[ his eyes are wild and murky, wide as he watches loki draw close, like he's not all there, no, like he's struggling-- holding on. and then it's reinserted and it's like the air is knocked out of him again, choking on a noise, body jerking with the effort of stabilizing again, accepting that much energy back into his system, the pull of shards back and still just as painful as feeling them inch their way toward his demise. he swallowed a pained noise, and with energy anew, gives loki a solid shove, scrambling, trying to get himself to stand. but energy alone won't make his body function immediately and his legs are weak. he collapses back against a workshop table with quickly rising breaths, the arc reactor brightening just momentarily into a flash that seems to echo through him as it settles itself in finally finding equilibrium.

good god. ]

What-- is your fucking problem?