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@torxnn
This is an independent, very selective, canon divergent Torunn Thorsdottir, daughter of Thor Odinson and Lady Sif from the Marvel Comics. With MCU, 616 and other verses.Β
Will only write with mutuals who are 21+, loved by Shayne 25+, she/her, time zone Australia
This blog is affiliated with @ppctts,Β @wormholxtreme,Β @naturesloopholeβΒ @divinityrisenβ and @asgardianhammerβΒ β
CARRDΒ
credit
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Laufey said, there were traitors in the House of Odin.Β
Part of him wished he didn't feel so conflicted about this; he hated the whole idea of letting somebody take care of him, and his girlfriend feeling like she needed to dress him felt a little weird. He was too independent, too fiercely self-reliant. Set in his ways, despite having to think on his feet living on the edge his entire life. But he could feel the care that had gone into the simple act of buying a couple bags' worth of shirts for him. She'd put thought into it, considered his feelings and personal style. The last thing he needed to do was bristle and push her away just because she'd wanted to do something nice for him.
"Jeez, girl. Good to know even growin' up in a bubble didn't stifle the feminine urge to shop." He turned a few over, taking them by the shoulders to flatten them out. There was a good variety, though he noticed she kept her picks fairly conservative; soft textures, colors that were either neutral or fit fairly well with his personal style. One turned up and he held it up appraisingly; a grayish-lavender button-down, with a geometric pattern reminiscent of arrows. His mouth turned up in a one-sided smile. "Figures."
Torunn stepped aside, allowing Francis access to the small collection of shirts she had painstakingly selected for him. She watched as he thumbed through them one by one, only for her expression to immediately shift into dramatic offense at his comment about her "feminine urge to shop."
Her mouth fell open.
"I'll have you know, Francis, that I am not an animal." She crossed her arms firmly over her chest. "I simply value being clean and possessing decent clothing." The Asgardian lifted her chin with all the dignity of a queen who had just been gravely insulted, just for dramatics.
Then Francis pulled the arrows shirt from the collection, which she is completely unapologetic, about having hidden it among the other shirts. Torunn's carefully maintained look of false indignation immediately crumbled. A small laugh escaped her lips, "I had to make sure you were still sticking to your brand."
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β i should not be left to my own devices
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β they come with prices and vices
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β i end up in crisis
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PEYTON LIST on INSTAGRAM
(byΒ autpops)
you'reΒ safeΒ now,Β okay?Β justΒ breathe.
There had been another attack at the school, which came as no surprise these days. Torunn, however, had been the only one capable of taking the monster on. While she had won the fight, she was now seriously injured.
Having taken a blow to the side of her abdomen, anyone else would have sought medical attention immediately. Instead, Torunn stubbornly remained leaning against one of the walls of the mansion.
Blood stained the side of her uniform, dark and spreading with every passing minute. One hand is pressed against her wound, trying to aply pressure. Her healing factor was already at work beneath the wound, slowly knitting flesh and muscle back together, but even Asgardian physiology had its limits. The injury throbbed with every heartbeat, sending sharp flashes of pain through her body.
Suddenly she hears footsteps approaching her and lets out a sigh of relief when she sees her best friend approaching her, telling her she was safe and to breathe.
"I need your help... To, get back to my dorm... I d-don't want to be seen like this."
@naturesloophole
Torunn is supporting Norway, again this year, btw, as is tradition.
π'π ππ ππππ ππππππππ, ππππππ πππππ ππ . . . Β Torunn couldn't understand it. Not really, but Hope wishes that her friend could. The path to becoming a vampire was not easy. Neither was turning off a switch in the brain to make everything dull & lifeless. It gives clarity as to what one really wants in life, too. Hope was able to think rationally about everything in a way she had never before.
Sit. I'm doing your hair. Hope lets out a hollow laugh. It had been ages since either of them had been able to just sit down & do the girly things like this. The tribrid takes a deep breath from her mouth, then quickly pushes it back out as she takes steps forward. Her eyes looked around the room to notice that Torunn had done a bit of cleaning up. I'm not even gonna ask. Disgust & shame fill her because someone else had to deal with the mess that she left behind in real time. I shouldn't have let her do that. I'm a terrible person for this. Hope shakes her head a little as she makes her way slowly over to the chair.
βIt's been forever since I did a wash day.β Saturdays were a tradition. Hope would spend at least two hours cleaning herself up. Taking a long, soothing bath, brushing out her hair & doing it up in some fancy style for the afternoon. Hope didn't need to go as far as adding extensions to her hair or putting on eyelashes, since her hair was full & fluffy. But Hope would paint her long nails (or have them done) on Saturdays. βNor have I done anything fun with this hair in ages.β
Torunn knows NORSE TRADITION well & could give Hope something that connects with her heritage. Hope knows that if she verbalized the ask, Torunn would go for something that makes her feel at home in her own skin, but Hope isn't sure how to ask. So instead, she decides to just allow Torunn to do whatever she sees fit for the now dry hair that the tribrid had. βMaybe next Saturday we could do it together?β
Torunn waited patiently for Hope to settle into the chair before reaching for the leave-in conditioner spray, carefully working it through her hair with gentle, practiced motions. As she worked, a soft Nordic lullaby slipped from her lips out of habit, low and soothing, an attempt to ease some of the tension Hope is carying.
The melody faded the moment Hope admitted it had been a while since sheβd had a proper wash day. A flicker of sadness crossed Torunnβs face. To her, wash day had always meant comfort, care, tradition and home. Most especially an important part of both their culture.
Still, she said nothing. Instead, she picked up the brush and gently worked through Hopeβs soft brown hair, carefully easing out knots before speaking with a small grin. βRemember when we thought pink highlights were a good idea? We couldnβt get that dye out for weeks.β
Once finished, Torunn parted Hopeβs hair and began a simple Dutch braid, choosing practicality over one of the more elaborate Nordic styles she usually preferred. Though she still added two tiny hidden braids amongst it, woven quietly with intention. One to ward away bad spirits and negative energy. The other to remind Hope that she was loved and not alone.
At the suggestion of doing wash day together next Saturday, Torunnβs eyes immediately brightened. βI like that idea.β She said quickly. βBut hear me outβ¦β A mischievous grin spread across her face as she tied off the braid. βI know this amazing spa in New Asgard. How do you feel about spending a few weeks in Norway?β
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dear tumblr
STOP UPDATING WHAT'S NOT BROKEN
Regards,
A very pissed off Shayne
raregcms: "Hey Francis how come you're on blood pressure medication and you're only 21?" -- Look at her and ask yourself that question
"You know Francis. I'm so glad you went ahead and purchased that couch. Because you're sleeping on it tonight!"
βUgh, I swear, itβs always, βDonβt do that, Torunn,β βDonβt do this, Torunn,β βPut the sword down, Torunn!,β but never, βWhy, Torunn? WHY?ββ
35/β Blindspot moments | 1.02
Β©
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starter for @asgardianhammer and @divinityrisen
The first thing Torunn notices as she drifts back toward consciousness is the rough, scratchy fabric beneath her fingertips. It drags faintly against her skin when she shifts, unfamiliar and uncomfortable.
Then comes the sound, a continuous beeping that cuts through the fog in her head.
Her breath catches. For the last thing she remembers is the alley, the cold, the fear, the dark figure, the dizziness creeping in. A flicker of panic sparks in her chest as the realization settles in, sheβs been moved.
Her eyes donβt open straight away, but her body tenses, every instinct sharpening despite the lingering heaviness in her limbs. The air smells different too, cleaner and sharper, almost clinical, which only makes her pulse quicken.
After what feels like a lifetime, her eyes finally manage to open, only for Torunn to flinch at the harsh brightness overhead. The light burns, sharp and unforgiving, and she squeezes her eyes shut again with a soft, pained wince.
A few slow breaths.
Then she tries again.
This time, she blinks rapidly, vision swimming as she forces her eyes to adjust. Shapes begin to form through the blur, white walls, muted colours, unfamiliar equipment and unoccupied chairs. The steady beeping she heard before syncs with the flicker of a monitor beside her bed.
And just like that, it clicks. She's in a hospital room.
She tries to sit up, needing to look for her parents, but instantly regrets it. Pain hits her from two different places at once, her head and her left arm, forcing a sharp hiss from her lips. The sudden intensity makes her abandon the attempt and she quickly sinks back down onto the bed.
Instinctively, Torunn reaches up with her other hand and touches her head, feeling the bandage wrapped around it. Then she glances down at her left arm, noticing the IV line connected to it, fluids steadily running through the tube.
The young blonde reaches over and unscrews the IV, and disconnecting herself, along with the leads that were connecting her to the monitor, before pushing up into a sitting position again. She bites down hard on her lip, trying to ignore the pain as it flares through her body. The overwhelming urge to get out of here, to find her parents, drives her to push through it.
She throws the covers off and shifts toward the edge of the bed, hands moving to the side rails. With a strained breath, she tries to force them down, but they donβt budge.
"Come on... Come on!... Just let me out!"
she wanted to be a princess but life made her a warrior
