Thor Odinson, God of Thunder, King of Asgard (
pirateangelbaby) wrote2019-06-15 09:04 am
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Even a God Can Need a Friend [Open to friends]
[OOC: This post and its threads may contain Endgame spoilers. Potential trigger warnings include depression, alcohol abuse, and suicidal thoughts. (See the bottom section of Thor's updated permissions page for more detail on relevant warnings, Thor’s triggers, and a disclaimer about his narration style.) If you intend to tag Thor and are sensitive to this kind of content, please let me know before we begin so that I can provide a safer roleplay experience for you. Individual threads on this post will not be warned for on a case by case basis.
Thor has left his current address with the remaining Avengers, Loki (
coldsong), Prometheus (
liverfree), and Sif (
lady_sif). Other close friends are welcome to visit by getting coordinates from those listed, which may be done offscreen (of the Avengers, Rocket is the most likely to be out and about in the Nexus right now) - if in doubt, please ask the relevant mun. This post is intended to provide Thor with moral support as he grapples with his mental health; each thread will be treated as though it is a different day entirely so his mood and the immediate setting may vary. I do not mind slow tags, and this post will be perpetually open for a long while, so don't worry if you can't get to it right away but still want to play.]
Above the Arctic Circle, in the far north of Norway, the village formerly known as Henningsvær sprawls out across a tiny chain of islands. Despite the approach of summer, the weather is cool and overcast, sea breezes often sweeping through the narrow streets. For those approaching by road, the small single-lane bridge leading from the mainland now boasts a hand-painted sign in Norsk and Asgardian runes welcoming visitors to Asvera, which the local humans have taken to calling New Asgard. Population: 832.
Though much of the world still feels half-empty and apocalyptic, there is little of that here. Asgard has filled the empty spaces, each house claimed and occupied, as well as several hotels that once served seasonal tourists. Fishing boats come and go from the harbor, dock workers hard at work learning to repair nets and lines, others processing the day’s catch for consumption. There is no market, no selling of goods; everything is distributed communally through the grocery on the main island, every citizen entitled to a share, every citizen expected to work to support the others, save for the children who are too young.
The village is quiet, but busy. There is always work to be done, or new skills to learn to survive in their new home. The king, however, may not be so easy to find. Here in the tiny Norwegian village, there is no golden palace to give visitors a place to start looking. Perhaps it’s best to ask for directions.
Thor has left his current address with the remaining Avengers, Loki (
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Above the Arctic Circle, in the far north of Norway, the village formerly known as Henningsvær sprawls out across a tiny chain of islands. Despite the approach of summer, the weather is cool and overcast, sea breezes often sweeping through the narrow streets. For those approaching by road, the small single-lane bridge leading from the mainland now boasts a hand-painted sign in Norsk and Asgardian runes welcoming visitors to Asvera, which the local humans have taken to calling New Asgard. Population: 832.
Though much of the world still feels half-empty and apocalyptic, there is little of that here. Asgard has filled the empty spaces, each house claimed and occupied, as well as several hotels that once served seasonal tourists. Fishing boats come and go from the harbor, dock workers hard at work learning to repair nets and lines, others processing the day’s catch for consumption. There is no market, no selling of goods; everything is distributed communally through the grocery on the main island, every citizen entitled to a share, every citizen expected to work to support the others, save for the children who are too young.
The village is quiet, but busy. There is always work to be done, or new skills to learn to survive in their new home. The king, however, may not be so easy to find. Here in the tiny Norwegian village, there is no golden palace to give visitors a place to start looking. Perhaps it’s best to ask for directions.
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His smile is a small, subdued one, but it’s there nonetheless. “A happy ending for all, I suppose. Better than being chased out at swordpoint. Did you ever go back?” Judging by the blush on the Titan’s face, Thor is going to guess the answer is probably no, if a memory fourteen centuries past can still summon that shade of red to his face.
The gesture may be a more solemn one, but it is no less appreciated. “You’re always welcome here,” Thor tells him, managing to meet his eye for at least a few moments. “You... you’ve already done so much for us all. We... I owe you a debt.” Whether it’s friend to friend, or a king owing an ally, it makes little difference to Thor.
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He gives a nod of gratitude at being welcome among Thor's people. "Consider it a debt that can be paid at your leisure, without interest," he says warmly, patting Thor's shoulder before letting go. He'd never insist that Thor owes him anything, although truthfully, he does not not. But he will not insult the generosity of a king.
"I hate to ask, but how are you faring? I hope you are taking solace in the company of friends." Isolation is not a good look for Thor.
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Maybe one day. Right now, he is having a difficult time seeing a future where Asgard prospers as they once did. But it's enough that Prometheus accepts his thanks, meager though they are. At least it's something.
His expression sobers further at the question, and Thor looks away, though he impulsively wants to claim that he's fine and not to worry. Even he knows that Prometheus would not fall for it, no matter how earnestly Thor tries to pretend. "A few have come to see me," he says, which is not the same as him seeking them out, of course. "Harley's staying with me for a while." It's something he finds reassuring and aggravating in turns, chafing against being looked after as if he is an invalid, yet at the same time knowing that some days he is, no matter that his body is healed now. Why else would he struggle to get out of bed, or neglect to bathe and brush his hair? Why else would he feel so tired so often, when he does little to exert himself?
Thor continues fidgeting with the label on the glass bottle, studying it more closely so he doesn't have to look his friend in the eye. "I am... not well." It's a shameful thing for him to admit, no matter how many times he's told that it's to be expected, that he is not to blame for this weakness. He is a warrior, and a king, and a god besides. He's supposed to be strong.
Finally pushes my other humanity-loving, fire-giving immortal out of the way so I can tag!
It is reassuring to know that he is being looking after, although it takes him a moment to place the name. "I have heard of Harley," he says. "She's... involved with Loki, yes? Hopefully I can meet her sometime." Normally he worries after humans who enter relationships with gods. Very few of them work out in his experience, and quite often it is the human who suffers the most for it. But from what he's been told, Harley can most definitely take care of herself.
That quiet admittance from Thor cuts his own musings short. He nods in sympathy, placing a warm hand on his friend's shoulder. Not to urge him to look his way, but merely to remind him that he is there to listen. "Weaker deities would break in your position," he tells him. "You are doing as well as you can be, under the circumstances."
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Thor nods, swiping at the dampness of his eye. “Yes, that’s her. She’s around, somewhere. You might see her yet.” He passes no judgment on their relationship, of course; Loki is not the first Odinson to fall for a mortal, though he’d mocked Thor for it at the time. But Thor’s relationship had not lasted, and now that he’s seen far more death than any man or god should ever have to, he would be the last to begrudge anyone for the solace they find in each other, no matter how short-lived.
His laugh is barely more than a breathy chuckle, directed more at himself than the friend at his side. “You sound certain that I haven’t.” Thor himself is not so sure. He’d like to believe so. Yet he feels like a stranger living in his own body, his own mind turned against him. But Prometheus does not know the cruel twist at the end of the story, what had happened after the last time they’d spoken, and Thor finds the words spilling out of him before he consciously chooses to speak. “The stones are gone.”
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(Although he makes a mental note to give Epimetheus a call when he returns to his Earth. Just to see how he's doing lately, not because he misses the idiot or anything...)
"You're with your people," he answers with that same level of certainty. It is true that Thor is up here instead of down in the village, but he could have just as easily taken off to some far-off port to drink alone, to forget his duties in an effort to scrub away his shame. That's a good sign, in the Titan's opinion, and he's about to voice as much, but then Thor drops some information that puts his continued depression in a new and unpleasant light. "Gone?" he repeats in surprise. "Is that possible? I thought that they were as old as your universe. What happened to them?"
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His grip on the empty bottle tightens, the aimless fidgeting grinding to a halt as Thor stares out over the sea, his mind's eye entirely elsewhere. "He destroyed them. With each other. Two days before we found him."
They'd been so close.
Even just thinking about that day is enough to make his breathing harshen, his heart thudding more heavily in his chest. The glass creaks in his hand and Thor forces himself to drop it before it can shatter, letting it fall to the grass. By now, he's had enough panic attacks to recognize the start of one, but if he doesn't get this out now, he's not going to be able to at all. "I cut his fucking head off. Like I should've the f-first time. It didn't change a thing."
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"I am sorry," he says quietly. He puts his hand on Thor's shoulder, turning towards him, body language open and accepting. "I am so sorry. I know you were hoping..." He trails off. He was hoping, too. He doesn't want this to be the ending of Thor's struggles. "Listen, friend. Killing Thanos may not have changed the past, but a madman like that, who knows what else he might have done. You were right to eliminate him. It was a justice done."
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With the other, he reaches blindly for Prometheus’ arm, grabbing hold as he struggles to bring his breathing back under control. It’s humiliating, letting anyone see him like this, no matter how understanding they are. It’s one of many reasons he isolates himself from the others, yet in the grips of anxiety’s claws within him, none of that matters so much as the desire to make it stop.
The touch helps ground him, and several minutes pass before Thor is able to calm himself enough that he can breathe properly, and a light drizzle of rain patters down on the bluff where they sit. A little thunder rumbles distantly, muffled, rolling slowly across the sky like the waves across the ocean below. It’s a soothing sound to Thor, although he knows his titanic friend doesn’t share this particular viewpoint. It’s probably selfish of him not to send the storm away, but he’s not ready yet. Nor is he quite ready to let go, though he lightens the strength of his grip. “Sorry. That... it happens to me. Sometimes.”
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The rain is not a bother at all, especially because he knows that Thor needs it. When his friend finally speaks, he shrugs and smiles, letting go so that he can brush back his damp curls. "Don't worry about it. The jacket's waterproof." Warmly, he offers his arm again. "Would a hug help? I've been told I'm good at those."
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At least then he would have earned the right to enter Valhalla, and be with his family.
Thor knows he's not the only one in the village suffering like this. Save for perhaps the youngest children who don't understand what has happened at all, it'd be a wonder if there are any Asgardians without nightmares anymore. But there are only two healers who yet survive to manage eight hundred in need of care, and with Earth's resources also stretched thin in the wake of the culling, it's the innocent who deserve what little help they can give. Not the man whose lust for revenge has doomed them all, no matter how great his need.
Though the anxiety squeezing its fist around his lungs has finally eased, Thor still does not feel quite himself, and if he'd found it difficult to look Prometheus in the eye before, it's almost impossible now as shame smolders within him. He can't hide how far he's fallen, and there's a part of Thor that simply does not understand why his friends still want anything to do with him like this, yet still grasps for any scrap of comfort he can find. Prometheus' quiet, steadfast support is as solid as the rocks being battered by the ocean, immovable even by the storm, and Thor feels a guilty pang of gratitude for it. How does he deserve this?
He's tempted to say no, to try to salvage some shred of pride and pretend just for a moment that he's the same Thor he used to be, who was never so needy as he is now. But he is so tired of fighting himself, of being alone, of pretending he's all right when even he can see he's not. He lets out a bone-weary sigh, closing his eye as the rain soaks his clothes and drips from his unruly beard. "Yeah. I'm... I'm good with that."
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He smiles and follows through on that hug, leaning in and wrapping his arm around Thor. His other one, too, if Thor lets go. This is no bro hug, either -- no quick pat on the back and release. He holds Thor as one would a brother, or a son, keeping him there so long as he wants. He smells like clay and feels like the warmth of a great kiln, his inner spirit ever burning, so long as there are people to care for.
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He makes a choked sort of noise as he turns to better face his friend, leaning into the hug and returning it with equal strength. Nor is he going to be quick to let go either, emboldened by the way Prometheus does not seem to mind him doing it. He can’t tell if his cheek is wet from rain or tears, and wonders if there’s even a difference anyway, when it comes to himself.
Eventually, though, he feels ready to pull away again, having gathered himself enough to feel a little like a person again. “Thanks,” he murmurs, managing a fragile sort of smile.
He’s not ready to let the storm go just yet, but the rain does taper off, leaving only the thunder rumbling across the horizon. It’s just a little too cool to be comfortable, and Thor pulls his damp knit hat off, scrubbing his metal fingers through the mess of his hair, grown long enough now to tangle. “There’s a coffee machine at my house, if you want to warm up,” he says impulsively, suddenly quite done with sitting out here on this cold, hard rock. “Or I’ve got lots of mead, if that’s your thing.”
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"Anytime," he says, his expression warm as always. He smiles at the offer of a drink. "I'd like that very much, friend. I'll take either, so long as it's hot." He wipes some rain out of his hair, giving an exaggerated shiver. "It's beautiful here, but when you're used to hot, sandy beaches, Norway can be a little chilly. Definitely not bathing suit weather."
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Thor's house is at the far end of the village from here, an old lighthouse-keeper's cottage that's much cozier than the golden palace he once called home. The rocky ground has prevented most of the plant overgrowth from making it look too neglected, although there are a few weeds and wildflowers stubbornly sprouting here and there around the perimeter of the house. The interior is very Norwegian in decor, still shaped by the previous owner, who seemed to have a love for mountainscapes and sailing ships if the paintings on the wall are any indication. Most of the furniture and the appliances look decades old, though there are a few modern amenities scattered here and there. Even more out of place is the stack of kegs in one corner of the living room, stamped with dwarven runes, and Stormbreaker propped up in the corner, as gleaming and deadly-looking as ever.
At least Harley's help has kept the place from falling into the mess it would be if Thor was left to his own devices. There are a few empty bottles on the coffee table, and a few bottlecaps scattered on the floor, but at least it's only today's trash rather than weeks' worth. The couch isn't in pristine condition either, a small pile of blankets heaped on one end as if someone suspiciously Thor-sized has been sleeping there, even though there is a perfectly functional bed in the bedroom that he isn't using.
It's been a while since Thor has had hot mead, but right now that sounds like just the thing. The glasses he manages to find aren't exactly the right ones - too tall, too skinny, not even shaped correctly - but as long as they can hold liquid, that's all that Thor cares about. He taps one of the kegs and pours out a generous portion, sticking the glasses in the microwave to heat it up to the right temperature before delivering one to his waiting friend. "Skål," he says, tapping his own glass against Prometheus' before taking a deep drink of it. It's too soon for it to have a real effect on him, even as godly strong as it is, but his hands seem a little steadier already, soothing rattled nerves.
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He looks over Thor's current living arrangements with a small smile, making note of the distinct decor. It doesn't fit Thor, but it does fit the style of this part of the world. And at least the couch looks comfortable, even though Thor would be better off in a bed.
Using a microwave to heat up mead is a bit of a surprise, but hey, whatever works. He accepts the glass with a warm thanks. "Yamas," he replies, before taking a much lighter sip. Ah, that's better. He blinks at his drink. "Wow, this is the good stuff, isn't it? I haven't had a drink this strong since Dionysius's last birthday party." He pauses, then adds for clarification. "God of Wine. Real sweet guy, love him to pieces. His groupies? Not so much."
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Whether that will be enough come winter, well, that has yet to be seen. Many things in the village are a work in progress, and it's fortunate they have an existing framework to build from, rather than starting from scratch.
Once he has his drink in hand, Thor does not hesitate to make himself comfortable on the couch from force of habit. "Make yourself at home," he adds, realizing a little belatedly that he's not being a very good host. That happens a lot, these days. The commentary on the drink gets a small smile out of Thor, a little too eager to talk about anything that isn't directly related to the tragedy overshadowing his entire being. "It's dwarven, from Nidavellir. Earth booze is nice but it doesn't really cut it." He takes another swallow, most of his glass already emptied despite having just sat down. "Thank the Norns I can still get it through the Nexus."
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Hopefully. Now it's the Titan's turn to look a touch worried. He doesn't want last winter to have set a precedent.
So far as Prometheus is concerned, Thor is being a great host. He's inside where it's warm and he's got a glass of hot mead. What else does he need? When Thor tells him to make himself at home, he also takes a seat on the couch and slumps back into the cushions. "Nice," he says, both in reference to the comfort level of the couch and the origins of the mead. "Yeah, Earth alcohol is... well, I mean, it's made for humans, it's not going to pack the same punch." He takes another sip from his glass. "Dwarves know their mead, apparently. Who's your supplier in the Nexus?"
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It's not a perfect solution, of course, and Norns forbid they have an outage on a day when Thor is struggling to get out of bed. But he would rather not think of that, right now. He's still exhausted from his last panic attack, and doesn't really want to risk provoking another.
Prometheus is being sensible about his alcohol consumption, whereas Thor is... not. The placement of the kegs in the living room, rather than the kitchen, makes it a lot easier for him to refill his glass without getting up, though this time he doesn't bother to warm it up. "Place called the Viper's Pit," Thor answers, leaning back again, and maybe it's just his mind playing tricks on him that's making him feel the warmth of the alcohol already, but he doesn't particularly care either way. The quicker it takes hold of him, the faster he will feel better, or so he tells himself. "It's run by a... another Loki." He wavers only for a moment before pushing on, not giving himself time to dwell on that. "Maybe if I run into that nature spirit from last autumn, she can curse me and I'll make my own again," he adds, and chuckles as if that's supposed to be funny.
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Prometheus has no reason to overdue the drinking, but he's not about to chastise Thor over it. If it continues into the winter, then he'll have something to say about it, certainly, but for now, his friend's grief is so raw that he won't deny him a small measure of dampening it.
"I know the place you're talking about." He'll leave that topic alone, as well. One might consider it a blessing that Thor has two alternates of his brother in the Nexus, but the Titan knows that it can also be a cruel reminder of what he's lost. The joke is sour in his own mind, but he tries not to let that show. "Hazel is a surprisingly reasonable nature spirit, I don't think she'll curse you now that you've made amends." He sighs and adds, "All the same, Thor, you're better off here. The Nexus has become more complicated than I had thought at first glance. Now that I think about it, Hertha and her children are probably better off here. I'll try hard not to convince her otherwise, it would only be for selfish reasons."
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Though it was not all that long ago, and only for the span of a year or so, there’s still a deep nostalgia in Thor for the glory days of the Avengers. What he wouldn’t give to return to those days! A more innocent time, when they did not know they were chasing an infinity stone, and Asgard had stood serene and beautiful in the cosmos, and the only grief that weighed heavy in his heart was his mother and brother alone.
The presence of his brother’s alternates is both a blessing and a curse, for all the reasons Prometheus thinks. Yet it was Loki whom Thor went to after the Snap, and after the Garden, and only Loki had been able to pull him back from the precipice. A reminder of all the reasons Thor has to mourn, but Thor would never trade this cursed gift for anything, clinging to what little he has left, no matter how much it hurts.
If any of Prometheus’ distaste at the joke shows on his face, Thor doesn’t notice at all. Speaking ill of the Nexus, subtle or not, does grab his attention however, and he frowns a little as he looks over at his friend. “You’re still welcome to visit,” he says, knowing he’s already said so before, but suddenly a little worried that Prometheus is considering going home and never returning to the Nexus, if he has decided the downsides outweigh the good. “There are no perfect solutions or perfect places, but the Nexus - and you - were there when we needed you most. If... if they’ve outgrown that need, that just means it did its job, right?”
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Haha, just kidding, he never lets his phone go below fifty percent.
Prometheus considers Loki's presence in the Nexus a gift as well. He has grown very fond of the both brothers, and though they are from different universes, he's grateful to the Fates that they can rely on one another in this trying time. And that their people had someone to care for them during their evacuation into the Nexus.
Picking up on Thor's worried tone, Prometheus smiles reassuringly. "Oh, I'll be here as often as I can," he says, relaxing back into the couch as if to demonstrate the point. "Whether they come here or not, I recognized many faces here and would love to help out as needed. My pottery shop does not need as much tending to as one would think. My numel has gotten quite good with the cash register."
He takes a sip from his glass, leaving Thor to picture Hephie working a machine with his stubby little feet. "Depending on how this winter goes, I may need an atlernate place to stay. But I have a few months to worry over that. You might want to think about what you'll do if the Nexus becomes inaccessible again."
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Privately, Thor muses that if the shop needs as little tending as Prometheus suggests, the sleepy little pokemon might spend a good deal of time catching up on his naps. Not that he's judging or anything. That'd make him quite the hypocrite. "Is the next step teaching him how to run the potter's wheel, too?" He's mostly joking. But that would be pretty convenient, wouldn't it?
Reminders of what kinds of trouble the Nexus might bring is slightly less welcome, of course, and his smile dims a bit as he takes another drink of mead. "Shouldn't be as dire this year, if it happens. I mean, with us being on Earth, we should still be able to get food and water. I might have to... speed things up."
Supplies are a problem he can do something about, so that's all he mentions. Not having access to Loki, or Prometheus, or his other Nexus friends... he has yet to test his sanity against that particular loss, whether it's short-lived or not, but part of Thor is afraid of what might happen to him if he truly needs help and cannot get it. So he'd rather not think of it, and just hope that it doesn't happen, knowing all the while that ignoring something has never once made it actually go away.
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"I have tried already," the Titan replies, amused by the question. "He doesn't have the dexterity for it, unfortunately. But he is a big help, regardless." Thor is probably right about the sleeping thing. It's not like Prometheus needs the revenue from his shop, although a cute little pokemon behind the counter does help sales.
He's glad to hear that Thor has given the future at least a little thought. "Speed things up?" he asks curiously, before taking a long sip of mead. Fates, this is a good mead. He'll have to pay a visit to the Viper's Pit sometime. Still, he can't shake his concern about Winter causing problems again. As if sensing that concern mirrored, he leans forward and pats Thor's knee. "Tell you what, if there are signs that the Nexus is going to go through another bad storm, I'll do what I can and then relocate here instead of my own world. If that is all right with you?"
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By now, Thor has had enough of the mead that the warmth of it is settling into his blood, and while it's responsible for some of the pink flush to his cheeks, not all of it can be blamed on the alcohol. "Yes, I uh... I have a talent. For fertility magic. Crops, babies, that sort of thing." A thousand years of thinking of it as women's magic is not so easily overcome as just deciding to embrace it, but it still might mean the difference between survival and withering away. The one thing he can still do to help his people in a real, tangible way. So embarrassment or not, there's no reason to deny this part of himself anymore. Nor should any other man among the Asgardians, should he have a talent for seidr.
If only his brother had lived to see the day.
That's a thought that will lead him back down a dark path, though, so the surprise of Prometheus' offer is a welcome distraction to cling to. "You'd do that?" he blurts out, then hastily corrects himself. "I mean yes, of course. There are still beds to spare, though you'd have to share space with someone. Everyone does."
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