terresdebrume:

alekina:

Thor’s Death WIP

Music: What the water gave me - Florence and the machine

Not finished yet, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong but every time I sit and try to work on it… I just forget how to paint or something!

I could use some inspiration right now so… Do you have any speculation on Thor’s death?

It is strange really, that your death should occur now.

All these years I fought you, hunted you, haunted you, unrelenting and unrepenting, with all the strength of thousands of years of want and need unsatisfied.

For milleniums you were my only support, the only one to trust me, to love me, to accept me, the only one to genuilnely enjoy my company without afterthought or reservation.

Then you stopped, and I hated it.

Why do you think I rebelled? Why do you think I snapped?

Because for the very first time in my life, i was well and truly alone, and all those fights, all those plots, those attacks on this Midgardian city you seem to love so much, were little more than desperate attempts at catching your attention.

Over the top, yes, but how else could I hope to be worth your time otherwise?

I have missed you, brother, more than you will ever know.

I never wished for you to die, or even to be seriously injured. I merely wished you to see me once more, like you used to do before, when we were young still, and Midgard still retained some form of Magic.

Before we both started to realize how different we were.

It took me too long to understand this, too long to stop and sit long enough to realize that what I was truly looking for wasn’t power, or supremacy, but you, always you Thor, brother.

Now I watch you burn, splendid and royal even in death -perhaps especially so- and my eyes are dry, for the time for tears has not yet come.

I never wished for you to die, and your friends knew this, for they didn’t protest when I took your body for a proper funeral.

I couldn’t stand the thought of them burrying you.

I couldn’t stand the thought of trapping you here on Midgard when you belong with the worthy and the Heroes.

Whenever one cycle ends, another has to start, Father used to say, and as I look upon your funeral pyre, I am forced to admit our next cycles are to be separate, as you go onto your last journey, and I start on the hard path of redemption.

My eyes are dry when I step out of the water, for the time of tears has not yet come, and I feel no surprise when I see the Man of Iron standing on the shore, suitless and without empty comfort for me.

Of all your friends, he is the one that ressembles me the most, and despite the closeness of your bond, his eyes are dry when he looks at me, knowing exactly what it is I intend to do now that you left me for the last time.

“Is there anything you want to bring with you?”

I clench my fists, arms heavy with the weight of your armbraces, my eyes burning with the tears I cannot yet shed, my heart screaming with the pain of your loss, and say:

“I have all I need.”

The time for tears has yet to come.

It only awaits for the time for revenge to be over.