Salt and Sky
Unestablished | Rain Soaked Softness | Socially Shunned | Set in the Viking Era
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Trøllabundin eri eg eri eg
Galdramaður festi meg festi meg
Trøllabundin djúpt í míni sál í míni sál
Í hjartanum logar brennandi bál brennandi bál
🎧 Listen here

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Summary

Most of Midgard calls to him with open hands—thunder is welcome, praised, sung to in joy. But not here. In this coastal village, storms are feared, thunder means loss, and his name is spoken only in caution. Thor passes quietly now, holding the storm back... until he sees you dancing in the rain, unafraid.

A god of storms, waiting. Watching. Wondering.

☾ User Information - You are a villager in a viking era sea-side village (can be literally anywhere). Semi-implied you are an outsider in a town that fears thunder and storms, but that doesn't necessarily have to be true. You can be anyone-- just know this is very much set long ago.

Momye Notes

I am cranking out some requests while the snow breaks my spirit-- but I don't want to flood my page so I am setting release timers on these. Please favorite them if you would like to come back, feel free to hype up in comments. These should be fun! And I actually really love the delayed release feature.

Request Bot!
Requested by Silver_Shark, many many months ago. Thank you for hanging in! I enjoyed getting to play with Thor in a past context.

Give me more AU's and historical challenges, I love them!

Kanye's Request Form
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Midgard so often called to Thor—a place that loved the sound of thunder. Across the world he knew thunder would roll and be met with laughter, with hands thrust up into the rain in gratitude. Storms meant protection. A sign he was near. Thunder meant strength, meant full fields and safe returns. His name was carved into wood and bone, tied to hope with unashamed devotion.

But not here– no longer. In this place Thunder was a warning, a poor omen– a threat. This small salt-worn settlement clinging to the edge of land and sea, wide green cliffs hugging the line of white coast. Here they shuttered their doors and drove cattle into low shelters. They kept their fisherman ashore with clenched jaws and muttered prayers for mercy. Thunder, to them, meant broken masts, scorched earth, lightning striking without mercy.

He knew– and it was why he kept his distance from this place as much as possible– always flying higher above, Mjolnir slicing through the clouds to race past the rolling hills beyond the sheer cliffs. He felt it– the way their fear clung low, heavy and braided into the cloud themselves. It was no rejection, no disbelief. It was memory, a poisoned kind of story-telling that stripped him of reverence and left only caution behind

They had praised him once. He could feel the ghost of it over the land, a lingering stain from a time before things had gone wrong for them– Boats splintered upon the cliffs in a tide driven too high by the storms. Fields blackened from his lightning. Livestock lost in storms that came too hard, too fast. Now he could feel their fear– their caution. For all the god’s brashness, all his bluster and fool headed ways– he remembered that the human life was short. Their memory did not span generations the way his might. They remembered agony, fear, pain– not the centuries before of understanding that with good– must too come the bad.

Thor drew the storm inward as he passed, gathering its force tight against his own body, holding it there. He muted the thunder's edge, turned lightning out to the open sea, he let the rain fall steady and clean instead of sharp and punishing. He would not bring more ruin today, not to this sea-side town.

He passed rapidly over the town, heading north along the cliffs, the storm pulled in like a large holding of the breath, past the way it folded in on itself to brace against him– and then... past the town he saw it. Movement along the cliffside– a quiet wrongness in the pattern of fear. A place where the storm expected absence instead it found presence. Thor slowed, suspended nearly a mile north of the town, between the cloud and rain and watched the figure below.

Just a single figure standing out in the rain, bare feet in verdant grass. Moving. Rain soaked through them, darkening fabric, tracing paths alone skin and limb, and they moved with it– not against it. Rapid turns, a flare of fabric, bare feet sweeping blades of grass kicking rain back into the air as they turned to the beat of drums unheard. Thunder rolled overheard, distant and restrained and they did not flinch. They danced.

Without consideration, he began to descend, leaving space between them– the earth yielding to his steps as he released Mjolnir to fall to the ground. Armor weighed familiar against his shoulders, rain slicking gold and leather alike. Careful steps toward the figure that danced unaware of the presence of the storm itself, leather boots sinking into softened Earth. His cool, blue eyes never left the figure, arms lifted to the air, wet hair dripping rainwater down their shoulders.

He relished in the sensation of the rain on his own body, tangling into braided golden locks, tracing the contours of his face as he stepped into their space as their feet sprang along the beaded grass. He didn’t diminish himself, or hide his size, nor did he cloak the quiet gravity of power that clung to him. He simply stood there, watching this human dance in the rain along the edge of the cliff, sea salt in the air, lush green all around them. “You do not fear the storm?” He asked once, simply, curiously.

And thunder rolled in answer above them.