hey man. suns gettin uh. real uh. yknow. low. its gettin low. not higher. see that? sunset. gettin lower. Suns Gettin Real Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Low. Suns G
@battlefall being annoying.
the sun, is in fact, very high in the sky and only rising. (he does wish it weren’t. early morning anxiety attacks aren’t part of the recipe for a good day.) are there two suns, here on this planet, or--? no, that’s just a really big, flaming hole in the sky. wow. that’s pretty amazing. and nerve-wracking. and frightening. absolutely nothing about thor’s repetitive, forceful mantra of nonsense is really getting through to him; except maybe his voice itself. the god of thunders’ always was pretty calming. bruce should ask him about the origin of that accent sometime.
(he likes linguistics.)
‘thor! thor --’ he puts one hand on his friend’s big chest, the other fluttering uselessly around his arm. he couldn’t wrap his hand around that beefy bicep even if he tried. he drops it to his side, then up to his hair, up over his head, rubbing nervously. if he doesn’t watch out he’ll really start rocking back and forth here. bruce hates waking up himself after he’s been the hulk too long. waking up confused is hard. it’s like waking up in a hotel, bleary-eyed and bleak, panicking because the bed is in a different position than the one at home and oh god, where am i, oh yeah that’s right i’m in a hotel 6. except it’s not a hotel 6 and it most definitely wasn’t a restful nap. it was a two year gladiatorial space escapade full of murder, smashing, and that weird man with the flip flops. yeah. not a fun time. he waves his jittery hands and grabs at thor’s forearms, taking more comfort in the physical contact than the verbal reassurance. ‘i get it, i get it the sun’s going down or whatever. it’s not helping -- ! please, just shut up, thor, please.’
