When the gods seek direction, where do they roam? To whom do they turn to one-hundred years after the world the Lord of Storms swore to protect ceases to need his guidance? He seeks for answers, for impetus - and it is found in a maiden whose blood burns fierce and her heart pulses out the last gentle beat as she lays waste to kingdoms and countries all for her Iron Throne.

It is to her that the thunderer pledges allegiance, swearing an oath of fealty that states that he will help her attain what is hers with fire and blood - and thunder and cooling rain.

Where There's Smoke

He could not remain here forever. There was a fine line between exile and self-banishment, in remaining in one state because you knew that there was no other option than to cater to the needs of one’s own weakness. To have a penchant for bravery was not something that he had maintained in the years he remained here, attempting to make peace with the fact that there was no sign of a rainbow, that there might not be a familiar face that returned to find him, to grasp hold of his forearm and return him to his world.

He could not keep his heels ground in this soil for all eternity. Tireless were his pursuits of Asgard, his eyes squinting come every dawn to seek a touch of rainbow-spattered hues against the endless firmament of the skies. All he knew was the silence of the morning and the rapid increase of his breathing that sliced into the peace of his days, hurting his eyes with the shadows that clawed through the colors of his world as he sought beauty, as he focused on the innocence and the exhuming of what good he could do here.

And he had done good here, for he had helped with the townsfolk in the mountain town, helping the men with the heavy lifting only to deny their money, for he had no need for it; he had his sack of gold that would be replenished should he spend a coin only to have it recovered and weighed within a few minutes.

He could not stay here and know true peace; there had to be somewhere he could physically push through, a place where he would know the truth of the world. For though he stood at the peak of his mountain, an area that he only called “his” because there was nowhere else for him to be, he knew none of the past clarity that he had felt.

All he knew was that there had to be a change, a frantic burst of melody that would seep into his veins, drenching him in the waters of absolution. Lambent were the symphonies that he would uphold, a steady crystal that weaved over the tides of his personal ocean, a catch over his eyes that would fill his world with new purpose, with a definitive thought of something more.

And so he had to push, to shove – for there were other worlds that dangled just along the fringes of this one, simply waiting to be discovered by those that knew the way. It was not a step, for he could not use such magicks here without summoning a great amount of energy; however, he could shove, push against the mesh and find himself tumbling forward into a land that was bright and real and true.

It was all a matter of understanding if this was a world he wished to visit, one that was not thrown in shadow and chaos.

With a final look at his cabin, the God of Light pushed off on his heel, walking up and into the darkness of the night, seeking the strand he had caught, one that when pushed with the tip of his finger, would expose him into a new world entirely.

To look back or not was the question at hand. And he chose to leave without as much as a farewell.

It was night-time in this world also, but there was a heat that choked his lungs, burning his eyes. The sands of a desert sank into his feet and an air of something unknown overcame him, the thought that perhaps, being restless was not as bad as the mystery of what was undiscovered.

A savage land, a black horizon with a scattering of stars that offered none of the light he was familiar with.

‘Come on – walk forward. Walk.’ And so he walked.

Of Piety and Fire-Drenched Voltion [Thor & Daenerys]

War. The sound of it had once made his jaws ache with a fierce hunger, his teeth wishing to bite down on something bloody and meaty, his throat thirsting for the thought of something to slake his bone-dry vocal cords, meaning to elicit a fierce cry from his lips that had too-long been pressed to quiet his inner-proclivity.

Battle. The thought of it had always made him thrash in his sleep, for showcasing what his hammer could do to any veritable foe that would cross his path was something that he was most certain would inspire from him the best dreams, visions of his arms cleaving Frost Giant heads from their bodies, their eyes gazing in wide-eyed wonder at who had bested them. That would be Thor Odinson, the Lord of Storms and the God of Thunder - He would be the one to carve a name for himself with the victory of his strength and the blood of any who dared venture too-close.

How naive he had been; how very lost in his arrogance. To think himself invincible merely to prove himself a man in the hall of gods that he had grown up admiring, looking up to when he had been a short young boy with a head filled with battle vestments and a heart filled with the voracious need to prove himself to the might of the kingdom; to prove himself worthy of wielding his weapon, of being heir to the throne of the Realm of the Gods. That was a mighty undertaking; which was why he had made that word his surname.

And now he knew of one truth: the thought of taking care of those in his charge, of allowing for the BiFrost to take him where he needed to be, for that mighty compass to point him and shoot him towards any calamity that was befalling man or myth alike. That was what he had done, nearly one-hundred years after saving the world from his once-brother’s attack against the world he continued to love.

Now, he knew the impetus of the BiFrost, the whirring of the machine that shot him through space, his right hand clenching Mjölnir as he sailed, past color and sound, past the stars and their ever-twirling nebulae. 

To Earth he would go; to Earth, towards an answer, towards a cause he would dedicate himself fully to.

of-storm-and-dragons-blog asked:

((Red, blue, pink, rose, aqua, and tangerine my dear <3))

((Red - I love you. I LOVE YOU. You were one of Thor’s first interactions, and you have bestowed me such a friendship my dear; thank you for that, I’m ever grateful to you, wife of mine.

Blue - you’re amazing. ;A; I just. I’m so flattered, truly.

Pink - I think you’re cute. AH. AH. THANK YOU. TRULY. You know my shenanigans better than anyone, thank you my dear. ;A;

Rose- you’re pretty. //smiles and grins and loves upon forever and always// Thank you, truly - as are you, goodness are you ever.

Aqua - I could stay on your blog for hours. ;A; I enjoy building up my queue, and writing as this magnificent character; thank you, my dear.

Tangerine - we do have a lot in common, yes! Oops, I just broke my pattern; bah, we’re gods, we have no need to follow the limitations of mortals! But truly, we do.

I adore you, my dear; thank you for being you.))