InsaneJournal

Thor came home that night with an appetite as was fitting of a Norse god. His clothes were dingy, covered in dirt and sweat from a long day's work. His shoulder still struck him where Fenrir had bitten down into muscle. There may have even been teeth buried deep inside, lodged into his bones. There were still scars that branched across his chest from the various bites. Thor got a kick out of it, he liked battle wounds. It made for good stories and let him show off his manliness.

Stripping out of his shirt he stomped through the kitchen (there was no light stepping with a thunder god), looking through the fridge and cramming a slab of cooked beef in his mouth. He hardly chewed it stripping what was left of his clothes to take a good shower. He'd stay in the stench of work except Sif had said she wanted to have a night together. She was a Scandinavian woman, but she was still a woman. She liked him better when he didn't smell.

Once out of his shower he slipped into some jeans, pulling a clean knit shirt over his head, hair still hanging wet. It was still tinted a blond instead of the reddish brown he'd been used to. There was no part of the image that he liked now thanks to mortals and their silly comic books.