vaerdig | open.

Edited 2017-11-18 06:19 (UTC)

[ if there's one place thor visits more frequently than steve's bedchamber, it is the stasis units. perhaps more often than he'd like to admit, he finds himself here, standing in front of one particular pod: the one housing his brother, in a sleep he isn't sure what to call. the odinsleep? or is it the thorsleep now that odin is gone and he's king? (he vaguely recalls someone calling it cryosleep, and wonders why he had never heard of this cryo before.) possibly, it's neither, and loki remains suspended by some other form of magic until such time he deems it worthy to return. and, knowing loki, prolonging that return has always been more satisfying than the return itself, all the better to play thor's heartstrings like a well-tuned instrument. ]

[ at least, he thinks, loki is alive. at least, he thinks, he has one piece of home left. at least, he thinks, he isn't doomed to walk this realm as the last of the asgardians. ]

[ it's the middle of the night, sleep nothing but a distant notion. was ragnarok but a precursor to this storm that ravages realms? was he always meant to end up in this place? what connection does all of this have to larger hands at play? there are few answers to be found, and even less peace. it helps, sometimes, to be here, surrounded by the faint mechanical hum of the pods and the faces of those not yet awoken. they may not all be asgardian, but he still feels some obligation to protect them, just as he swore to protect the people of midgard so long ago. ]

[ he turns at the sound of footsteps, and a small smile graces his lips at the sight of steve coming toward him. he doesn't say anything yet; this ritual of sorts has been going on long enough that it doesn't require explanation, and steve knows well enough by now that thor is not always a man of many words. ]

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( the curve of thor's lips against loki's skin seems to indicated he does, indeed, remember that one instance, some ages ago when they were not yet men, still foolish princes of the crown with worries only as big as whether or not one could drown in a cask of ale. of course, one might argue thor is still a fool now, even with the crown on his head — and, truthfully, he wouldn't think them wrong.

this, after all, is incredibly foolish. but loki has always made him a fool, in this and in other things, forever until the end of time. a wise man would let him go. a wise man he is not. )

And what, pray tell, was this very important work of yours? ( if there truly was important work at all and not just the excuse of it, which thor finds highly more likely. still, that isn't the most important matter at hand.

he guides loki's hips downward with the weight of his hand, his cock already swelling beneath his pants, beckoning for the heat and friction only loki can provide. his hand could, too, he supposes, but it's never quite the same. )

( upon further reflection, it may not have been the best idea to allow mantis to read loki. it had started out as something of a joke, a dare, really, to see if she could even get a read on him at all. he'd boasted all the usual (god this, magic that), and thor had opted to keep his mouth shut on the matter, more invested in the truths loki no doubt would conceal from himself that mantis might reveal. he could guess, of course, at a few, but the one mantis chose to announce ... well, it had been less than expected. a surprise? not entirely. perhaps the both of them had always known, in some way, it had simply never been expressed so blatantly until now. a confirmation of a feeling as old as life itself.

he could have said something, then, in front of the motley crew of so-called guardians of the galaxy, but these particular matters are always best discussed in private. not out of shame, for there is very little thor feels ashamed of — it is, quite honestly, because he knows there are only two ways a conversation of this nature could go: a knife in his side, or his cock buried to the hilt, neither of which he would like to display publicly. the complex relationship he has with his brother is of no one else's concern, anyway.

now, they're alone in what has been designated thor's quarters (and by extension loki's), a strange tension buzzing between them. thor sits at the edge of a cramped bed, his arms folded across his chest, his gaze unwavering on loki before him. )

You're going to have to speak to me eventually, you know.

You know they keep finding thousand year old Viking ships in the ice up here. They've got museums full of the stuff. Very well preserved! The details are incredible, really.

So I figure I can just jump into a fjord and call it a day. Or a century, maybe. That's viable, right?

Hey. It's Steve.

( obviously. c'mon, steve. in his defense, thor isn't always on-world, let alone within the range of cell towers. until recently, steve wasn't sure thor knew how to use a phone. so, doesn't hurt to play it safe. )

You doing okay?

Stop bringing snakes into the house.

[ Thirty six hours out of asgard and Bryce is not-quite-pacing back and forth in the room Thor had claimed for himself, shuffling a few scraps of parchment scribbled to the very edge of the margin with names of Asgardians and gladiators alike. The Statesman was not built for anything but things she'd rather not think about, thank you, and certainly not for hauling a mixed bag of refugees across the universe, but this is what they've got and so they've got to make it work.

Which first means finding a place for everyone. ]

That's Korg and Mung and Miek all bunked together, and. No-Name and Yaeris went and cleared out what looked like a linen closet? Or something? Regardless there's now a cocoon on the ceiling and a nest on the floor so they're set. Which just left Hiroim and Elloe and [ she frowns at the scrap of paper in her hand ] Bill, I still don't know how that's his name but not the point.

[ Then again there are many things that Bryce still doesn't know, first and foremost why she's apparently the one in charge of the non-Asgardians shortly followed by why the non-Asgardians want her in charge and actually listen to what she has to say and think she knows what she's doing. Just more people that she'll inevitably disappoint before they wise up and pick somebody who won't screw everything up.

Focus. ]

They just squared away in some backup pantry on the third deck. Which is all to say that unless we stop and pick up some hitchhiker off an asteroid or something, everybody has a room now and there's, um. One less thing to worry about for the next... [ a moment to calculate before she just shrugs ] Five minutes? At least.

[ Of course nowhere on any of Bryce's lists is her own name but that's a minor detail. Sleep is for other people— Even if it weren't (except it definitely is, shush) she'd grown out of needing something as luxurious as a bed years ago, learned to appreciate any relatively flat surface that wasn't freezing cold or flooded up to the knees. Anything past that is...you know. It's gravy. She'll live.

But as stated, sleep's for other people who aren't terrified to blink and lose another two years of their life. So she's fine. ]

have some pretentious images bc I feel like it

sparkles at

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el nysa au.

i'm doing it i'm doing the thing

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no subject

single dads au.

what's an endgame can you eat it (aka better ending)

text;

( text ) iw/endgame who i don't know her

doo de doo doo de statesman