Ása-Þórr

⨳ — MUNDAY; send one to get to know the mun better!

ϟ  Ohmygod. Literally alI I would ever want from Thor is his beard. My genetics do NOT favor me and I’m doomed to a baby face for life. I wouldn’t mind his height too since I’m 5′ 3′’ but what can u do. 

⨳ — MUNDAY;send one to get to know the mun better!

ϟ  So, it’s not entirely creative – But my URL is an Icelandic word plucked from Google ‘eldingar’ which refers to lightning, and although ‘divinity’ ties into the whole God of Thunder shtick it’s actually more of a homage to my past RP blog. 

    “It is due to my own being much similar that I have way to gain leverage.” Smile litters over expression, leaves no question to smug air and once kiss has been placed, it becomes a modest thing. 

     Settling beside Thor, he grasps the handle and flickers his gaze to drink in the sight of Thor before he turns to his drink. Lifting the beverage, a glitter in his eyes casts with mirth. “You have yet to decide what it is you would want have you strength to win.” He toasts, turning the rim to lips and letting himself down it the way he has seen Thor drink before. The flavor is not unkind, nor does he think it will do much good. This game holds in his favor.  

    Though not the most impressionable of the brews he’s partaken in, the ale coils warmth in his throat and entices a simpler memory to surface, mundane and long forgotten. Setting his glass down momentarily, he chases the aromatic reminiscence... It is twined with the muse of a sun-kissed earth and promises of harvest. One of summer’s departure, a prelude to fall-- 

                                                                          -- Honeydew, Thor discerns. 

    Alongside it gentle flirtations of mint cradled his tongue in the aftertaste, and the comfort of melted caramel is laced in the finish, skimming delicately like satin ribbons. A touch too sweet for his favor, but not enough to spoil its purpose.

    Once he was pointed a direction, locating Loki was almost frustratingly smooth, given his prolonged and blind chase. Thor wasn’t always quite so adept to see through the guise of the trickster, but with resource and recognizing the faintest, just barely esoteric seidr Loki emitted the hunt was finally met with tangible acquisition.

    It was inevitable their meeting would rise dispute, brutal and desperate with deep-rooted ire. How many times Loki had actually inflicted harm, his blades lacerating and biting to indulge in raw ichor, Thor couldn’t discern. Adamency and conniption dulled every wound, sweetly, until his mind was abandon of everything but the image of his dastardly brother.

    Resolve was granted when Thor charged, grasping at the other and exuding brilliant flickers of electricity and in its wake the gradual beginnings of rainfall. Unhinged, every nerve rattling, the stormur vehemently raked calloused fingers through the tresses of Loki’s hair, the resounding scrape of his nails ensuring him this was no apparition. Despite only having a subtle height advantage, Thor towered over Loki, demanding, and backing him rashly against the wall.

    His breath was short, nostrils flaring and eyes alight with warning. He had come this far, he realized, and he had also come this far without a proper plan. Thor tensed, inwardly chiding himself. Bringing Loki back to Asgard, to Odin, was ideal in order to pay penance for his crimes… But it wasn’t so simple, on many accounts.

He nodded at Thor’s answer, tilting his head slightly. “I’d like to hear more about it and if I was able I’d like to help.” he said as he stood up so he could at least offer his brother a hug if he wished for one. 

“Though seeing as it’s not of my verse, I doubt I can help very much.” so much he wished he could do, but there were rules so if he did try he might make things worse.

    It was a squall of emotion that took reign of Thor’s maimed heart and gave it faith, to see Loki so compliant, gentle and empathetic. Nostalgia dripped from his conscious, warm and saccharine like honey, and it’s benign simplicity would outweigh the despondency that grew and thrive along Thor’s self-forged walls bolstered from trial and trial again. Finally, he found his breath again, and it tasted of youth, preserved from a memory cradled in gold.

    By degrees he approached Loki, acknowledging the silent understanding, and pulled him carefully forward in an embrace. Though comfort and something much more wistful was enveloped in the gesture, Thor took heed to not hold on too tight nor for too long. Not for anyone’s sake, but his own, for if the moment remained too prolonged something delicate in the balance may collapse under the bittersweet pressure. 

Loki walks away from Sida, taking up his packed bags and hanging them carefully from her saddle, ensuring they rest comfortably against the mare’s side and that they won’t rub or otherwise be comfortable. Sida looks at him with her round, brown eye, and lets out a soft huff of air, shifting her hooves, impatient to leave the stable.  From his pocket, he holds up one of Idunn’s golden apples, and he hears her forgiveness for his absence in the crunch of the fruit.

                                        “Make me relive it? Ha.”

He hears Thor walk behind him, hears the shift of Thor’s own steed in his stable, and he presses his lips together, patting Sida’s side and stepping away so that she can  move to her trough to take a drink. 

      “Your requests are nothing more than platitudes, Thor                       - you know, I hope, that I need not ride where you can follow?

       My SKYWALK need not come through the soles of my own feet:                          Sida’s hooves might walk as easily upon the eastern wind,                                                       if I should permit it.”

    Patience had been a nice notion, but the very finite reserve of it was running dry. Tightening his jaw and scrunching the features of his face into an obvious glower, it takes every willing fiber of restraint not to diminish the space between them and shake Loki senseless.

                                       This does not, though, prove to stave his pettiness.

    “Fine, Loki. What will you have me say? Have me do? 

    Send “💤” for my muse to fall asleep while resting against yours.

    By then Thor’s body was flushed with a gratified warmth, inspirited by the burn in his throat paying homage to erstwhile spices of grogs wasted away in the fleeting night. Paired with a mind that hummed sweetly, the finer details of the Bifrost blurred softly and rendered it impossibly bewitching, almost painterly. Still he drank, despite himself, walking over his own feet with a bizarre finesse only he could accomplish, his composure only spared from Loki enacting as his tolerating anchor.

    “You fall off, Thor, and I will not follow heedlessly only to salvage the scraps of your pitiful self.” Loki chided, for the third time yet this evening.

    “If I fall — Loki, you best be damned I will ensure you go down with me.” To which Loki does not share his mirth in such a jest and flicks a pellet of tangibly charmed seidr at him.

    Only once do they reach their especial lookout does Loki relinquish Thor to gravity’s design, and the Stormur slumps to the ground with a grand impact that even stirs the stars above them. And, as priorly avowed, the Liesmith is yanked down unceremoniously to equal ground as recompense. It doesn’t bode over well, and Loki is swearing, bedamning Thor’s demise in seven different and elaborately outlined ways amidst the cacophony of his brother’s riotous laughter.

    It’s moments like these that defy the centuries and slather their hearts with undying youth. Neither Thor nor Loki would trade them for any lackluster rarity that the realms could only hope to scrounge.

    Everything falls into rhythm and ritual and Loki is sitting upright, encased into the impossible heat and sinew of Thor’s embrace. In silence they turn their focus to the eventide’s divine canvas and greet, revere each individual brilliance of each individual star. Like heartbeats they flicker, dusting the universe in a numinous purity encased in sterling flames. It’s sacred, this very ordinary phenomenon, to the both of them.

    Eventually time seemingly halts, preserving their reality and omitting the excess, and Thor prompts Loki to recount the lore of each stellar engraving, resting his head along the slope of his shoulder.

      The way Thor responds to his touch is enough for Loki, all doubt fleeing from even the darkest corners of his mind. To think that the kiss itself had not been cause enough to assuage his trepidation! But this is Thor, reveling in his touch and his affection and the kisses pressed along his palm cannot be denied. It has been a long time since they were together, truly together, and it always felt to Loki like the yawning void between them, akin only perhaps to the ginnungagap, boundless and eternal. And yet now a bridge, Thor pressed close against him, all the edges of his armor, the softness of his touch, even when it is firm.       “And I you, brother,” Loki admits, his voice still careful but earnest at the same time, as if he dare not believe him. “I truly believed…in my death, in sacrifice, I thought there an honor I could not achieve in life. To give mine for you, for Asgard, I could think of no better way to die. But I yearned for you. I told myself you left me there, a lifeless corpse, that you cared not for what befell me, and I clung to anger but when the anger passed, I only missed you. I did not imagine your forgiveness, Thor. I could not.” Another kiss, as if to silence Thor before he can begin a reply. Sweeter now, gentle, as Loki braces his hands against Thor’s chest. “I am grateful for your failing conviction,” he confesses.       “I promise, you will not lose me again, not by my own doing. You have me, now until the end. You are my brother and my King and I will not abandon you to that alone, Thor. You have my word, whatever it is worth. I am here now, with no intention to leave. Where would I go? You are my home.” A flurry of sentiment, reserved only for those Loki loves the most, that number now dwindled to one.

    To witness the raw gravity of sincerity from Loki, in unending waves, nearly broke the God’s hallowed heart. Promises that would unearth abandoned rapture and perish the events paved of animus, dried blood in each heavy tread of its path-- It was an ideal, and Thor was anxious to submerge in its splendor. But, as to how he’d advance forward, even the first step would inevitably be shackled with the weight of his conscious.

        For now, perhaps just for now,

        he urged himself, pleaded,

        still the noise in your head.  

    “I have always been pegged as the sentimental fool among us, but I am wary you may thwart me of my title.” And back into step, without a stumbled breath, normalcy was in a more optimistic light. Stilling Loki, his hands alight atop of each hip, thumbs idly painting nonsense patterns into leather. 

Mind turning quickly at every unfamiliar word, they searched the other’s eyes for truth and trust.  What they found, instead, was frustration and impatience.  From the assumed history conjured by a few short statements, both appeared to be warranted.

Both hands raised in front of themselves, they attempted to forestall further advances toward full fury.  "Whatever has been done in the past, I assure you I am at no game.“ 

Tracking through the words already spoken–leaving out, for the moment, ‘firstborn’–their mind whirled.  ”You are Thor…“ they aimed a finger in the man’s direction, ”…and Loki, that is my name?“

    Thor’s eyes flickered to an empty space in the room as if it withheld any clarity to this dilemma. Of course, he wanted to give Loki the absolute benefit of the doubt, but it was secondhand nature to be wary. For now, he would tone down absolute suspicion to a fair moderation.  

@eldingardivinity cont. from here

    Loki returned the smile, but a stab of sudden     realization thinned it. He could not bind guilt to     the sensation - the Loki that Thor saw had no     capacity for such a feeling. No, he was still the     god of mischief and although he could be more     and was trying to be, what reason had he given     Thor to believe him?

    “But I’ve certainly been lost to you,” he said      finally. If Loki’s slip from Gungnir weren’t      enough, the battle of Svartalfheim and      assuming Odin’s guise proved his words.      “You have changed. In times past, I’d have      a hand crushing the back of my neck by      now.”

    Loki offered a smile just strong enough to     show mirth lay in his words, not venom. He     was unsure he had the energy for anything     more.

Oh, Loki--             A weight is forged in the hollow of his stomach. In a sense his brother was right; the other had become someone that was more of a memory.                                   Estranged, yes, but not forgotten.

“Aye, I have.” Thor replied, lamely. His fingers are suddenly struck with an itch to be occupied, and impulsively fidget, rake  through the cropped, dull and unkempt locks of his hair. 

“But irregardless, you are not lost to me, brother.” He finally follows up, and ever earnest to his character, his words do not waver and there is adamant emphasis in addressing Loki with kinship.               “----- Besides               I was assuming by now that you have had it with my incessant coddling.