psa. i am an agonizingly slow roleplayer — my muses are fickle and some days all i can manage is chat threads or shenanigans. other days i can pump out longer threads like no one’s business. if it takes me awhile on your thread it has nothing to do with you as a writer or me losing my muse for the thread.
i was made to destroy.
—— not to fix
& not to heal
but to break,
& to [ kill ]
Peter knew that Asgard would be heavily guarded, especially after the attack. Everyone in the galaxy knew about the attack—the distant, cold dignity of the mighty realm had its pride shattered with one swift blow and the moment news got out, it was all everyone could talk about.
But for Peter (and the Ravagers) all he could think about was the riches that lay within their halls—and whether they had all been looted yet or not.
"Trust me, lady, ‘brazen’ isn’t a word I’d use to describe it," he said with a scoff, but kept his hands up. He had no desire to lose his head that day, even if it meant dying at the hands of a beautiful warrior. "Name’s Star-Lord. You might’ve heard of me," he added with a roguish smirk. "Unless you don’t get out a lot, which is perfectly understandable. Asgardians don’t exactly get around a lot, do they?"
Cool steel pressed up against his throat, not enough to prick blood but enough to show that she could—and w o u l d —if it came to that. Sif did not like this man. She liked him less once he opened his damned mouth. He was bold, she could give him that; none would make an enemy of Asgard and Thor lest they desired to see the Helheim firsthand. This… Star-Lord was bold…
or a complete and utter fool.
Personally Sif would like to think the latter.
The (apparent) mortal hardly inspired [ bravery… ]
”—Stop talking. I am the Lady Sif. That alone should make you reconsider anything you say from this point on.” If the shieldmaiden had it her way, she would sooner have this so-called ‘Star-Lord’ thrown in the dungeons or brought from the king. But she would interrogate him first. She did not know what he wanted of how many of his kind were with him. She would not have Asgard in harm’s way. Not ever, not again. And certainly not by this scoundrel.
“What is your business here, Star-Lord?
Only thieves and assassins skulk in the shadows.”
” A fair trade, then? ” Steel blue eyes looked hard, though not without curiosity, at the woman before him. A warrior, she seemed.
” Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror. “
Though her face did not change, a sharp inhale of breath conveyed Sif’s distaste. A deceitful prank in her youth may have sullied any f o n d n e s s for Dwarf-kind, but the Dwarf gave her his name; she would honor him the same.
But a name is all she would give him, no names or grand titles of the lords and ladies that came before her. Sif was anything, if not, always to the point.
“So you are Thorin Oakenshield—
I have heard much about you.”