actually, yes! with the dlc out, i've been drawn back into gow. i do think i'll be scrapping what i have, though... it just depends. i need to check my notes before i decide 💕
I'm doing well! I actually was going to announce this as soon as I had the chapter up, but I'll be rewriting Perennial with some changes to it. I've been struggling so much with it that I decided to scrap some of the plot I had and rewrite which required rewriting the first chapters, also.
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instead of posting these each individually, i’ve decided to just make a dump of concept art i’ve been working on for the ekanox, specifically, illustrations for worldbuilding and for the informative page i’m making for my world! not all but enough to give y’all your fill of super-scary-apocalyptic-flesh world. enjoy!
check out more ekanox content here!
now, let’s travel into the world beyond the blood wall…
An old obelisk in the Dull Valley. Unlike many, this obelisk has not taken a completely rectangular form and displays signs of it’s earlier larval stages.
Thistle flies by a freshly formed obelisk in the Nesting Grounds, no doubt a telling sign that the Ekanox’s hibernation is coming to an end. Leaving it’s larval form- a horrid mess of keratin spines and tattered skin- the obelisk takes a more solid, rectangular form. This obelisk is in a transitionary stage between it’s second (known as “maggot” form) and third (known as cocoon) form.
The surface of the underground city “Narcissa”, a massive underground city located near the lower border of the Red Desert and home to the survivor colony known as the Deserters and the Tirani, two factions locked in political war. Narcissa is ruled and owned by Gore Halzaak, the leader of the Deserters. This empire was once a massive city that spanned to the California border, now burned beneath hundreds of years of erosion and decay.
Returning to the Blood Wall, we find…
… The City of Caeruleum, home of Thistle Khousuuh and the Western Hunters. This is the largest city in the Blood Wall society and a beautiful sight come night. By day, it appears to be an overgrown, decaying city reclaimed by nature, but when the sun sets, it becomes clear that this city is anything but empty.
I never planned to have kids of my own. The mere topic of getting pregnant was enough to turn any conversation awkward because most people don't understand why my face twists with disgust at the idea. The idea of giving birth didn't make me feel any less disgusted. And I'd suffered enough during my years spent hopping from foster home to foster home when I was a kid and having my birth certificate altered twice so they could pass me as younger in hopes of getting me adopted off before I finally grew out of the system, to know that 'adoption' is, in many cases, just a fancier word for 'child trafficking'. So that was also not an option.
But I love kids. It was the reason why I became a teacher and studied and continue to learn as much as I can to be the best role model I can be for them. Because all kids deserve to have someone to look up to, someone to turn to when they're excited, scared, angry. Someone who will be there for them. After all, kids are what we, the adults, make of them.
Louis was a godsend. I met him during a soccer game one of my students had begged me to go to, where Louis' eleven year old niece also happened to play, and it was the closest I've ever gotten to believing in love at first sight. He was handsome, hardworking —bordering on being a workaholic— and funny. The best part, the part that made me ignore his talk about leaving on work trips that could last weeks at a times, was that he didn't mind that I had gotten my tubes tied fresh out of college, because he already had a daughter and often joked about how she was more than enough for him. The fact he'd finished the sentence with: "Either way, I wouldn't mind. That's women's choice." earned him even more points in my book. We had a relatively short period as boyfriend and girlfriend —a year—, then spent eight months engaged, two of which were spent living together, before we finally got married.
He was just perfect. The kind of perfection that makes us broken people feel like there has to be something really, deeply wrong, because such perfection just cannot exist.
His only flaw was his daughter, Katie.
Katie was a grade A bitch. Not my words. I would have never called or even thought about calling or even thinking about a preadolescent kid as a grade A bitch. At first, to me, Katie was just a shy kid- some would say too shy for a 12 year old kid. But hey, some kids are just introverted and I saw no problem with that, nor did I see any problem with her behavior. Not right away, it took a while for Katie to show her true colors, long enough that when I received warnings from Karen, Louis' sister, I believed that she must have been exaggerating because describing your own niece as a 'grade A bitch' when your brother introduces his, at the time, girlfriend at Thanksgiving dinner isn't exactly normal. Also because she'd started the sentence with "I'm warning you now that you still have a chance to get out." as if a 12 year old girl's behavior could be enough to make me break up with Louis. Honestly, I thought Karen perhaps didn't like me and wanted to scare me out of dating her brother. I even joked with friends that, maybe, she was in love with her brother and didn't want competition, fully believing Katie was just a shy, introverted kid who hadn't yet opened up to the fact her dad was dating. Her name being Karen also played a role in me believing she was being overly dramatic.
But Karen was right and I was so, so wrong.
Katie was truly a grade A bitch. I tried my best to not let that description of her cloud my ability to create an opinion of my own, but there was just no better way to put it. Katie was selfish, rude, entitled and it seemed that the only thing that brought her joy was making others miserable. I should have known. The amount of times Louis had to leave work to go have meetings with the principal should have been the warning, but he never talked about the meetings and I just assumed Katie was being bullied, not that she was the bully. But her cruel behavior didn't just stay at school, she was banned from Karen's house, was never left alone with her cousin who, despite being only a year younger and both taller and heavier than her, was terrified enough of her to apparently be manipulated and terrorized into all sorts of trouble.
I somehow managed to remain oblivious of all that, until after the wedding.
Our carefully planned honeymoon was canceled because Katie faked appendicitis. I say 'faked' and not 'had an appendicitis scare like many girls going through puberty do' because she confessed to me that she'd been faking it, right after hearing me talk to the hotel we'd booked, begging them to understand our situation and be empathetic, only for them to tell me that, no, they couldn't refund us the price of the suite with a sea-view we'd paid for in advance, because the room had been kept empty and they hadn't been able to reach Louis within the 24 hours window to cancel and get a refund, curiously enough, Katie had been playing on his phone all day because hers was 'dead' and she 'needed a distraction from the pain'. It was the first time I saw her smile.
But I didn't complain, because Louis had promised that he could make that money back in no time, that he could refund me my half or we could make up for the missed honeymoon with a family vacation. Both to celebrate our union and to celebrate that, to him, Katie's appendicitis had been 'just a false alarm'.
Of course, I picked the family vacation. Even if it meant spending even more time with Katie than I had to at the hospital.
I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, willing to understand that having to share her father with a woman who wasn't her mother —another grade A bitch, I might add, and without shame because since I'd gotten engaged to Louis eight months ago, she had only spent time with her own daughter twice, and before that, only five times in two years— was something that took time to get used to and this must have been her way of crying out for attention. Until we made it to the vacation house.
It was a nice two stories tall house —Louis called it a cabin, but I wasn't going to call it a cabin because 'cabins in the woods' just don't look like that— in some heavily forested corner of Oregon. The kind of place with windows that cover a whole area of the wall from floor to ceiling on the second floor, and make you feel like you might get Friday the 13th-ed in there. We got there on a humid summer day, a Friday, intending to stay until two Mondays from that day.
The first day, Katie was just too exhausted from the road trip and having to unpack to start anything. Or so I thought.
The whole day had passed so easily, I ended up letting my guard down. We were sitting down for dinner later than usual, and I was putting down the plates with steak. Mine first, because my chair was the one closest to the kitchen door, then, I intended to walk behind Katie to get between her and Louis, and put both their plates down at the same time like in some fancy restaurant. I was planning to fake a french accent and everything, just to see if I could make them both laugh. But my plan was foiled by Katie planting both her hands against the edge of the table and pushing herself, chair and all, away from the table and into me.
Both glass plates crashed to the ground as I stumbled for balance, one hand gripping the back of her chair, accidentally catching her hair between my fingers and the wood, pulling enough that she shrieked.
It should have felt cathartic. But I apologized to her, profusely, right before I got down on my knees and started picking up the shards of glass and the steak. Louis joined me on the floor, smiling at me before he looked up at Katie, his expression hardening and, for once, I thought he was going to actually do something.
"Go get the mop and a bucket, young lady."
That was it. Katie huffed but obliged, and returned with both things, dropping the bucket an inch away from the floor and causing it to splash some water out. Clearly intended for me, though it mostly reached her father. I could tell she noticed because, unlike if more water had reached me, she looked regretful.
"You cooked mine wrong anyway so, no loss," she said, smiling at me.
As Katie made her way back to the kitchen, a smile of satisfaction on her face that I couldn't see but I could feel was there, Louis gave me an apologetic look. Another flaw of his, he just didn't know how to discipline his daughter despite being the adult and her being the child. But I didn't count it as a flaw back then, because I didn't know how to do so either.
Our second day there was better.
I was stuck taking care of Molly, the chocolate-colored toy poodle that Katie often, even that morning, made sure to remind me was not mine, but who I fed, played with, cleaned up after and walked. Even before this vacation. While Katie only picked her up after her grooming appointments to take selfies with and, very rarely, played fetch with when she had friends over at the apartment I'd been sharing with them for two months prior to the wedding.
"I'm tired of this fucking house." at first, I was caught off guard by the fact Katie was speaking to me. It shocked me enough to make me forget Louis had left to go to the store around forty minutes ago, and that the closest town was fifty minutes away. "I'm gonna go outside."
It took me a minute to react. I watched her walk out the back door and left Molly to her food before I moved to the kitchen window that had a great view of the backyard. I opened it.
"Stay in the backyard, you don't know the area!" I told her.
Katie showed me the middle finger over her shoulder, then disappeared past the treeline.
I deflated a little. But Molly butting my leg, demanding more food and greeting me with that cute little face of hers fixed my mood some. I played fetch with her, throwing the ball from the kitchen to the living room, watching her run after it and bring it back only to make me wrestle her for it. I wasn't really paying attention to the passage of time. I got the ball from Molly again and I threw it across the house again, Molly ran after it, but stopped right in front of the wooden back door, every hair in her little body standing on end as her ears pressed back against her head, teeth bared as she growled. Then, she ran and hid under the couch.
The door opened.
I felt my heart drop to my stomach and my world spin when I laid my eyes on Katie. Her jeans and blouse were dirty and torn, she looked like she'd rolled around in the mud and at the same time, like someone or something had tried to rip her clothes off her. But her body seemed pristine, not a scratch or bruise or even a speck of dirt on her skin, the high ponytail her long blond hair was pulled into was a bit crooked but, other than that, it looked the same as when she'd left. She stared at me, but looked as if she was staring right through me.
"I fell," Katie spoke, realizing I needed some sort of explanation, fast. But only giving me the most emotionless and short explanation.
She fell? She just fell?
I scrambled to my feet and stepped forward, not daring to touch her at first. Then, I dropped to my knees in front of her, my hands moved to feel the inside of her thighs for any wetness, any blood, as she just stared down at me with that thousand yards look in her eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line. Then, her eyes finally focused on me, moving slowly as if she was studying my face carefully.
"What happened?" I asked her, my voice more of a plea for her to tell me than a question.
"I told you," she said, just as emotionless as the first time. "I fell."
I stood up and reached for her shoulder. Without really meaning to, but needing proof that she was actually there and wasn't just an apparition while the real Katie was lying dead in some tree, having been attacked by an animal or taken advantage of by some sick bastard because I had too little of a spine to make her listen to me, I squeezed. She just stared at me. Then, as if she realized she was supposed to feel pain because she'd just told me she'd fallen, she winced.
"That hurts," there was just barely a hint of emotion in her tone. The kind of 'that hurts' that you voice when you get a drop of hot water on your hand while cooking, not the kind you voice when you've fallen in the woods hard enough to walk back home with torn clothes.
I didn't know what to do. I called Louis, I called the rangers. They both arrived at around the same time, with the park rangers car parking in our driveway just before Louis did. He must have broken some kind of record, and all speed laws known to man, considering the park rangers building was way closer than the town the store he'd driven to was located in.
The rangers came prepared. One of them had medical training while the other kept asking me questions. I insisted that something more than a fall had to have happened, and they agreed, but with no injuries, no signs that she'd been hurt other than the state of her clothes, and no word from Katie other than that she'd fallen while taking a walk through the woods and come back home right after, there wasn't really anything they could do other than go outside with Louis and check the surroundings for a little over two hours, before concluding that there was no sign of people nor any animal that could have caused that, only Katie's footprints going to and from the woods.
Afterwards, Katie had been… strange.
I blamed it on the shock of whatever had happened to her, but deep down I knew there was something else going on. Katie hadn't ever come in contact with me, aside from that first time we'd been introduced to each other and we shook hands. Any other time I tried to initiate any kind of physical attention: a gentle squeeze, a playful poke, or even as much as brushing my hand against her by accident, she moved away as if my touch burned her. If Louis wasn't looking, she'd pair her actions with a look of disgust that would indicate I'd touched her with a shit-stained stick instead of my very clean hand. Now, she became my shadow.
She sat by my side on the couch, cuddling against my side. She followed me into the kitchen and insisted on helping me cook dinner, which I had to guide her through like she had never done or before, which didn't surprise me because- well, she was spoiled and I wouldn't have put it past Louis to never teach his daughter how to cook. Since the night before's dinner had been impossible to enjoy and Louis hadn't been able to get more groceries with his quickly he'd returned in his panic of something happening to his daughter, I just decided to recycle the idea of making steak, which Katie seemed really happy with. She watched me open another package of four steaks, and put it in the microwave so that they would unstick from each other. I could have sworn I watched her mouth water when I pulled them out after five minutes and there were droplets of blood dripping from them when I got them with the fork to get them off the plastic container.
When it came time to turn them around in the oven, Katie was hovering behind me, staring over my shoulder.
"Can we eat them like that?" she asked me.
Her tone was gentle, hesitant and polite in a way that made me flinch because I fully expected this to be some sort of trap. I even looked down at her hands to make sure she wasn't folding anything that could be used to prank me or hurt me. That was the level of paranoia this child's behavior had reduced me to. But her hands were empty aside from a cloth I'd been using to clean some blood off the counter and I'd asked her to hold it for me while I checked our food. She was squeezing and twisting it almost nervously.
"You like your steak rare?" I asked her. Her eyes narrowed and her head tilted in confusion. "That's when it's juicy and red on the inside."
"Oh," she said, her tone suddenly monotonous. "Yeah, I like it like that."
I nodded, thinking to myself that, well, that was weird. But I would take this kind of weird behavior ten times over her usual angry-at-the-world behavior.
The next day, we all went to town. Even Molly came along, because Katie insisted on bringing her with us. It'd been an odd night, but slowly, Molly seemed to begin warming up to Katie again, enough to let her be the one holding the leash. I blamed the previous growling and hiding on the fact seeing Katie the way she'd returned from the woods had probably scared the soul out of Molly, or that perhaps she could smell some wild animal on Katie that made her wary of her. But that didn't matter. How could it matter when Katie walked ahead of Louis and I, trotting to make Molly run and bark, her fluffy tail wagging a mile per second.
We made it to the store and each of us went their own way, agreeing to meet back at the front to pay in fifteen minutes, while Molly stayed outside, tied to the bicycles rack.
As I made my way from hall to hall, I noticed Katie in the hall with all the hair products. She was holding a box of hair dye. It didn't surprise me, since I'd already seen her dye her hair different colors a few times. She had the hair for that, honey blond and healthy from her five products routine. What made me let out a punched-out gasp as I approached, however, was the fact that she was holding a brunette dye box, staring intensely at it and, upon realizing I was there with her, holding it up beside my hair.
"Do you think it's the same color?" she asked me.
Hesitantly, I took the box from her hand while grabbing a strand of my own hair with the other, comparing the color shown on the box with my own. Then, I looked up at Katie.
"I think mine is just a shade darker," I said, handing the box back.
Katie nodded, returned the box to its previous spot, even made sure that it was perfectly straight. Then, she looked for a darker shade and grabbed it. She looked at it, then at me, and she smiled a smile I could only describe as tense and unused.
"It's this one," she said. "Can you dye my hair when we get back?"
This time, I managed to hold back the punched-out gasp that threatened to leave me. I smiled a crooked smile, torn between shock and joy that this was actually happening, Katie wanted to spend time with me. "Of course I can!" I said, wincing at me own excitement because this felt unreal, felt like any moment now she was going to start cackling, mock me for falling for her prank. But, instead, Katie hooked her arm with mine, and walked with me around the store grabbing things, holding onto her hair dye box until it was time to pay and I had to tell her to hand it back.
I never heard so many compliments about how pretty my curls were and how shiny my hair was as I did on the ride back to the house. Katie complimented me enough to make Louis feel like he had to, too, but his "I love when you have it loose like today." didn't compare with Katie's "Your hair is soft like cotton."
It was nice. But I still sort of expected the other shoe to drop. I made sure that Katie told me she wanted me to dye her hair the same color as mine and that it'd been her idea out of nowhere to do so, twice, in front of her father once we made it to the house, before I even made my way with her to the bathroom to actually do it, because I wasn't going to risk her claiming that I'd forced her or anything of that sort once it was done and there was no turning back. Once it was done, she stared at herself in the mirror, awestruck, and made me stand beside her, her expression growing even more joyful as we stood side by side with our now identically-colored hair. I even offered to get a curler and try my hand at giving her curls that looked like mine, but Katie very politely told me she just loved the color.
That day had been so perfect, I didn't even have it in me to get mad at Louis when he got a call early in the morning the next day telling him he had to go back home because something at work had gone wrong and nobody but him could sort the problem out. I just smiled and told him we'd be waiting for him, even after he told me that he'd be gone until Thursday night.
Louis left after lunch. I just resigned myself to having Katie go back to her old self the moment his car sped away from the driveway. I even walked back to the living room with fearful, hesitant steps, only to find her sitting on the carpet in front of the couch, Molly curled up on her lap, her tail wagging lazily as Katie petted her. Katie turned her eyes from the weather broadcast to me, smiling.
"It's going to rain tonight," she told me. "We could watch a movie."
That's how we ended up cuddling- yes, cuddling on the couch, a blanket over both of us, Molly lying over the blanket on Katie's lap, and a now empty bowl of popcorn on mine. Rain poured outside, but there was no thunder, just the howling of the wind and the crashing of water against glass and the wood of the porches.
Then, there was a much heavier, louder crash on the back porch.
We both tensed. Molly whined and shifted in Katie's lap, even barked, and Molly rarely barked. Something was wrong. I moved to stand and Katie's hand seized my arm, her features twisted into a fearful expression.
"Don't go," she whined.
I rested my hand over hers. It took me a minute to pry her fingers from my arm, the feeling of her grip lingered even as I brought her hand to my lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
"Stay here," I told her.
I moved the blanket off myself and petted Molly to try and calm her, before I slowly made my way towards the door. I peeked out through the peephole just as something heavy and human slammed against the door.
Katie stood outside, soaked to the bone. Her hair was a mess, knotty and dirty like she hadn't combed or washed it in days, her arms and legs were covered in scratches and bruises, some deep enough to bleed, she had a wild look in her eyes, looking back over her shoulder towards the woods with frantic glances, never ceasing her knocking on the door, her clothes were different from what she'd worn that day when she left the house to go for a walk, it looked like some kind of leather I couldn't recognize if I didn't open the door.
I pressed my forehead to the door and closed my eyes, feeling each vibration all the way to the bone as her fists frantically banged against the outside of the wooden surface.
"Dad, are you there?!" she cried out. "Let me in. They're going to find me! Dad!"
"I told you to stay in the backyard."
A couple seconds of shocked silence passed, then. "Teresa?" she asked. The little shit sounded almost surprised I was there, when this is my house too. "Teresa, what the hell are you waiting for?! Open the fucking door!"
"You should have fucking listened to me, you disrespectful little brat!" I spoke, louder, harsher than I'd ever dared speak to her before. I was tired of being the enabler and receiving only disrespect in return. "Now you're going to learn!"
Then came the insults. Being called an envious cunt, among many other nasty words that no twelve year old should be using with anyone, but much less with her father's spouse who had up until now been trying her best. It made it easier to turn my back to the door, eyes still shut as I took a deep breath, reminding myself it wouldn't be right to tell a child that this 'envious cunt' made her daddy's toes curl at night.
I looked towards the living room and there was Katie on the couch, where I'd left her. Her body remained facing towards the paused television, but her head was tilted as far as she could to the side, staring directly at me through the corner of her eye. Her face seemed to have paled, shoulders tense and eye wide like she'd been caught looking through my closet, but also like an animal ready to attack. Like a cornered rat, the thought popped in my head and, honestly, it was fitting. This was the most genuine emotion I'd seen on her face since she'd walked in with her clothes torn and dirty, but otherwise unscathed.
The microwave went off. The popcorn was ready.
I walked towards the kitchen slowly, holding my hands behind my back to let the Katie on the couch see them at all times. I poured all the popcorn into two bowls and added butter and salt to mine, ketchup and sugar to Katie's. The hairs at the back of my neck stood on end and, resisting the urge to look over my shoulder, I glanced towards the microwave door and saw the reflection of Katie peeking into the kitchen, staring right at me with that same 'busted child and cornered rat hybrid' look on her face. When I turned to face that direction, losing sight of her for perhaps half a second, she wasn't there. I walked back into the living room with one bowl in each hand, ignoring the banging on the door and the voice that had changed her strategy from insults to desperate pleas, and found Katie on the couch again, in the exact same position as when I'd left her.
"Remind me to add ketchup to the list of things I need your dad to buy on his way back," I hummed as I sat back by her side, resting the bowls on my lap, hers in front of mine, closer to my knees. "We don't want to run out or we'll have to find you a different snack for movie nights."
I grabbed the remote, swung one arm over the back of the couch and watched her flinch at my closeness. I didn't touch her, choosing to instead give her time to initiate contact on her own. After all, some kids are fidgety when they feel like they might be in trouble, especially kids like my Katie, always trying so hard to be the perfect child and make me happy, but not socially aware enough to tell that my previous upset had been directed at the rude little shit at the door, not at her.
It took a minute, but she finally returned to her previous position leaning against my side, and I wrapped my arm around her, tracing gentle shapes against the smooth, hairless flesh of her arm. There was hair growing there, I could feel it now.
The screams got loud and more desperate before they finally stopped and I was able to unpause the movie.
"I love you, mama," Katie said from where her head rested against my chest, one of her hands pressed flat over my belly, fingers sprawled out as if she wanted to feel as much of me as possible, as if she loved me so much she couldn't get enough of me.
Heimdall was untouchable, unreachable, unlovable. Upon meeting a mortal witch however, shrouded in secret and mystery, he soon learns that not everything is as it appears, and perhaps he isn't as invulnerable as he believed.
Story warnings included: Graphic descriptions of violence, graphic descriptions of sexual acts, blood, aggressive sexual behavior, emotional manipulation, voyeurism, smut, lots of smut, angst, hurt and comfort.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The midday sun was high overhead in the realm of Svartalfheim. Just outside of the bustling capital of Niðavellir, near the grim and dark Myrkr Tunnels, a blood soaked field glittered under its rays. The bodies of two-dozen dwarves lay scattered across the sandy, grass tufted terrain, as two sons of Odin roamed among them, checking for any who may still yet live.
News of Baldur’s defeat a little more than a year ago had spread across the realms like Surtr’s flame. The word was out, Gods can be slain. Handfuls of witless fools eager to test their mettle against Asgard would spring up now and then to try and oppose the Aesir in small guerrilla groups, their numbers made up of mostly young and not yet jaded fighters with fire in their hearts.
With dissent, however, came swift and merciless retaliation. Odin had a zero-tolerance policy on incursions, and every uprising, though few and far between, was extinguished utterly. Thor was the one who was normally tasked with putting down the rebels, however this time, he saw fit to send Heimdall as well, much to Heimdall’s chagrin. He was never one to intentionally disappoint the All-Father, though, and so he found himself in the sweltering, pungent realm of the dwarves, far away from the familiarity and comfort of his patrol at the top of Hrimthur’s Wall.
Thor, the eldest son of Odin, would occasionally use the tip of his booted foot to roll a corpse over here and there. He stopped, uttering a heavy sigh and turned his gaze to his younger brother, who had perched himself under the shade of a tree. His glowing magenta eyes met with Thor’s and he raised a defiant brow.
“What?”
Thor spreads his arms, gesturing to the carnage that surrounded them both.
“You are more than welcome to help,” he growled.
Heimdall glowered at his brother and repositioned his sheathed weapon in his lap. He opened his mouth to retort when his eyes darted to one of the bodies behind Thor. With an exaggerated groan, he stood up, clutching his sword to his side and sauntered over to the seemingly deceased dwarf. Thor followed him with his eyes and watched as Heimdall stood over the body and gave it a hard kick.
The dwarf let out a gurgled grunt, followed by a choking sputter. Heimdall looked up at his brother with a facetious smirk on his lips. In one fluid motion, the god of foresight unsheathed his bronzed blade and gave it a small twirl before he pointed it at the face-down dwarf.
“There is no point in pretending anymore, scum,” Heimdall sneered, pressing the tip of his blade against the back of the dwarf’s head. A small, glassy bead of crimson blood pooled around the cold metal and trickled down the dwarf’s dirt stained neck. With another wheezy cough, the dwarf rolled over to see the two sons of Odin standing over him, tired boredom in Thor’s eyes, mild amusement in Heimdall’s.
The dwarf was undoubtedly young- no older than twenty-one summers at the most. His youthful face was flecked with blood and mud from the recent skirmish, and he had an ugly blackened wound from a blast of lighting in his side. He looked from one brother to the other, fear plain as day in his dark, bloodshot eyes.
“I-I-,” the dwarf sputtered, pure unadulterated terror etched into his face.
“You-you,” Heimdall repeated, his tone dripping with derisive mockery.
Now shaking uncontrollably, the dwarf swallowed hard, his features contorting in visible pain as he tried to speak again.
“I- I didn’t want to,” the dwarf stammered, eyes darting from Thor to Heimdall, and back to Thor. “They forced me to join them because I was the best with magic! Honest to the All-Father I didn’t want to fight but they made me! They threatened my mother, if I didn’t join them…they were going to hurt her. Please believe me, I didn’t want anything to do with this!” The dwarf winced again, gritting his teeth as he shifted on the ground. Heimdall stared unblinkingly into the dwarf’s wide eyes, then pursed his lips. He straightened his posture and flourished his fingers against the hilt of his sword.
Thor backed up and folded his arms across his bare chest, curious to see what his younger brother was going to do.
“Please,” the dwarf pleaded again, “Please you have to believe me!”
Heimdall, his eyes glowing and shifting brightly, leaned over the dwarf so he could see his face up close. He plastered on a false warm smile and held his free hand out to the dwarf.
“I believe you,” Heimdall purred, his gaze fixed on the dwarf.
“Y-You do?” the dwarf asked, tentative relief starting to wash over him.
“I do, now please, take my hand,” he insisted.
The young dwarf smiled sheepishly and reached for Heimdall’s outstretched hand.
“Thank you, M’Lord, you have no idea how grateful-” before the dwarf could enunciate another syllable, Heimdall gripped his hand and pushed the tip of his blade into the throat of the stunned dwarf. His eyes bulged, pain and confusion and betrayal written all over his face. With malice and a touch of titilation, Heimdall slowly slid the length of his sword further and further into the dwarf’s neck, watching as the bright scarlet blood spurted forth and glistening streams of it oozed down dirty skin. He croaked one final time, spattering blood across the front of his already filthy rawhide breastplate.
Heimdall watched as the dwarf’s head thudded to the earth, eyes still open, his face forever contorted in agonized disbelief. Disappointed and now quite bored, Heimdall pulled his sword from the now truly deceased corpse and wiped the blood from the gleaming blade on a patch of nearby grass. He stood up, easing the sword back into its dark leather sheath, and turned on his heel to face his brother.
“Satisfied?” He asked Thor, who had been watching in silence as the scene before him had unfolded, expression unchanging.
Thor’s bright cerulean eyes were still on the dead dwarf, watching as blood continued to leak from the fatal wound Heimdall had inflicted on him, a puddle of viscous mahogany collecting beneath his head.
“Was he telling the truth?” Thor finally spoke, looking straight into the younger God’s eyes.
“He certainly was telling the truth,” Heimdall quipped, thoughtlessly running his fingers along the burnished copper studs that decorated the cross-guard of Hǫfuð.
Thor shook his head, his red hair falling into his eyes. He should have known better than to ask. Heimdall often took pleasure in petty cruelty, a symptom of their upbring, he figured to himself. There was a stark contrast between them, where Heimdall enjoyed subterfuge and self-imposed “justice” in the name of the All-Father, Thor was more at home on a battlefield, seeing the whites of his enemies eyes as he slaughtered them effortlessly with Mjölnir, his legendary hammer. In the end, he supposed, they both got what they wanted out of putting down this ill-fated revolt.
“Hopefully this is the last time we have to do this,” started Thor, giving the bloody, corpse-littered field another visual once-over. “These attempts at rebellion are getting more pathetic each time.”
Heimdall tilted his head and looked off in the distance. His eyes narrowed and he sucked his teeth matter-of-factly.
“Perhaps I should pay a visit to my old friend Durlin, and remind him of the price of treason.”
Thor turned and gave Heimdall an incredulous look.
“You think he had something to do with this?”
Heimdall shrugged with his mouth, still fidgeting with the hilt of his sword.
“It doesn’t hurt to make sure, despite his proclamations of loyalty to the All-Father,” he suggested, his eyes meeting Thor’s.
“No,” Thor growled, snapping his fingers. A low hum of metal sang through the air as Mjölnir dislodged from the skull of another dead dwarf. As if it had a life of its own, the dark metal hammer soared through the air and landed in Thor’s large hand. He didn’t bother wiping the gooey viscera from its polished surface, as he shoved it back into its hook on his belt.
“We’ve wasted enough time here, the job is done. We are leaving.”
Indignantly, Heimdall crossed his arms and planted his feet in the dust.
“Perhaps I would like to question him myself,” he began.
Thor’s brow knitted as he slowly trudged toward Heimdall. He didn’t stop until their chests were practically touching. He looked down and stared menacingly into Heimdall’s eyes.
“I wasn’t asking,” Thor snarled as he unblinkingly maintained eye contact with his brother. After what felt like an hour of combative staring, Heimdall averted his eyes and shrank back from his brother, seemingly withering in place in the shadow of the Thunder God.
“Thought so,” grumbled Thor, as he turned his back on Heimdall and stared up into the starry, azure sky.
“Huginn!”
Thor’s voice boomed through the valley, as loud and commanding as the thunder he often summoned. The soft echo of fluttering could soon be heard as glistening, iridescent black feathers began to swirl around their feet. In mere moments, the two Gods were enveloped by countless, inky spectral ravens, their glowing yellow eyes an ethereal blur as they flew faster and faster.
Heimdall glared at the back of Thor’s head while they traveled, wishing just for a moment that looks could actually kill. He despised how he always retreated in stand-offs with the larger God, despised himself for giving Thor the satisfaction time and time again. His fingers twitched on the hilt of his sword, and for a breath, he imagined himself running his brother through from behind. He’d never see it coming, and even if the blow didn’t kill him right away, he’d never be able to retaliate in a way Heimdall couldn’t see coming. Alas, as quickly as the thought manifested in his mind, it faded in an instant and once again, Heimdall, admitting defeat, dropped his hand from the hilt of his blade.
The ravens dissipated, vanishing into the ether like they were never there. Where the two Gods landed was not, however behind the confines of the great, pale stone wall that surrounded the dwellings of the Aesir and the All-Father himself. Instead, and to Heimdall’s bitter dismay, they had landed right outside of the Midgardian refugee camp. Shortly after the beginning of the Great Desolation, Odin, for reasons he had never disclosed to Heimdall, had started taking in refugees from all over Midgard. After Baldur was defeated, Fimbulwinter had begun, and more and more Midgardians came pouring into Asgard, all hopeless, helpless and to him, worthless.
“What in the Hel are we doing here?” Spat Heimdall, his brow furrowed so intensely his eyes threatened to disappear beneath it.
Thor gave a small snort and looked over his shoulder at his brother.
“What, too busy getting a hard-on over killing a dying man that you didn’t bother to see I intended to stop here before we head back?” He chided, making sure to lean into ‘intended’, taunting Heimdall for his ironic lack of perception.
Instead of acknowledging Thor’s insult, Heimdall continued with his protest. “What could you possibly need from this place, of all places?” Thor ignored his brother and began walking through the settlement. With an angered huff, Heimdall tailed behind him. He had spent countless hours at the top of the wall, watching these mortals carry about their meager daily routines. The men would spend day after day working on improving their dwellings, shacks and tents, with bits of wood and animal pelts they had gathered out in the Plains of Iða. The women and children would while the hours away cooking, sewing and gathering useful plant-life. He had in fact spent so much time watching these people out of boredom that he knew every single one of them based on appearance. All of this to say, he couldn’t think of a single refugee they would need anything from.
Heimdall waited for Thor to explain himself as the two Gods lumbered through the makeshift hamlet, feeling entitled to a reason as to why his time was being wasted. After waiting a grand total of five seconds, he instead focused on Thor’s mind, shoving down the dull roar of the thoughts and intentions of the refugees that watched as they passed.
“You try that,” Thor started, his tone inflected with as much caution as he could be bothered to muster, “And I’ll shove Mjölnir up your ass sideways.”
Scrunching his nose in revulsion, Heimdall withdrew from Thor’s thoughts and continued to follow him. He would just have to deal with his brother’s silence while he led him to whatever wretched corner of the camp he wanted to visit.
Soon, the chatter from the Midgardians could no longer be heard as Thor stopped at the end of the rows of shacks. The atmosphere around them was eerily still. No sound could be heard save for the distant gurgling of the nearby river and the odd bird that would fly overhead. Heimdall stepped out from behind Thor, coming face to face with their apparent destination.
In front of them stood a hut, though it could almost be called a cottage as it was noticeably superiorly built. Luscious green, leafy vines covered the exterior, sprawling like a living cobweb across the aged, grey wood. The ground around the home was carpeted in numerous, colorful flowers with just enough room worn down into the grass for people to walk to and from the residence. White smoke plumed from the patchwork chimney and a faint but sweet and earthy aroma wafted out from behind the rough plank door, and thin, delicate wisps of it curled out from between the slats of the closed shutter window.
“What is this?” Heimdall muttered, unable to fathom the scene in front of him. “I’ve never seen this one before.” And he hadn’t. Ever since mortals started seeking asylum in Asgard, Heimdall had kept track of every single one of them, and he did not recall seeing this particular home once. It was as if a shroud had been cast over the entire piece of land they were standing on, shielding it from the rest of the world. Now that he was focused, though, he could feel the unmistakable warm tingle of aberrant magic in the air. It would have been considered a pleasant sensation in any other situation, but Heimdall was too fixated on the fact that this place had somehow escaped his notice, and it had been almost quite literally under his nose the entire time.
Thor exhaled and stepped up to the front door. “This is the place,” he droned, choosing not to address Heimdall’s bewilderment.
“What do you mean ‘This is the place’? This place shouldn’t even exist!” Heimdall spat, gesturing wildly with his arms before dropping them down to his sides again. “You’re just okay with the fact that I have no memory or knowledge of this place?”
“Yep,” Thor interrupted, still not turning to look at him. “Now, are you done throwing your little tantrum, or can I get back to what I was doing here?” Heimdall sulked and folded his arms across his breast. Aggravated but profoundly curious, he took two paces back and watched attentively. It was now his top priority to get to the bottom of this perplexing scenario. With his eyes transfixed on the closed door, he waited impatiently as Thor slowly raised a large fist and knocked.
An echoed clatter could be heard from within the house, followed by the sound of footsteps running from one side of the room to the other, and finally stopping right beyond the front door. Slowly, it inched open and in front of them stood a slight, young woman, wiping her hands on a rag attached to her girdle. Her large, round russet colored eyes slowly widened as she began to realize who it was standing outside, darting from Thor, to Heimdall and back to Thor.
“Is Signý here?” Thor inquired bluntly as he loomed over the frightened woman. Hearing that this wasn’t the person he had been dragged along to meet, Heimdall opted out of entering this girl’s mind. Mortals never had anything interesting going on in their heads, to the point of being pitiful in his eyes, and this one was almost certainly no different. ‘Signý’ however, had Heimdall’s attention, and he had every intention of picking her mind clean for information the moment he was able to.
“You can answer anytime now, half-wit,” Heimdall hissed, his vehemence rising with every passing second.
The woman’s eyes flitted over to Heimdall once more, her jaw agape in a mixture of dread and displeasure. She quickly closed her mouth with an audible click of her teeth as she shot a quick glance over her shoulder. “I-I think she’s s-still in the b-back,” the woman sputtered, anxiously stepping to the side. “You-you two can c-come in and wait while I g-get her?” For the first time since they landed in Asgard, Thor turned to look at his brother. Without uttering a word he jerked his head in the direction of the door before he turned himself sideways and hunched down to get under the door frame. Heimdall rolled his luminous, violet eyes as he followed Thor into the hovel, his arms still folded in aggrandized ire.
Heimdall barely paid attention when the thin woman dashed toward the rear of the cottage and burst out the back door, leaving it hanging ajar just enough to be able to see a little bit of the outside world. He promptly went to work assessing the home’s interior, trying to see if he could piece together what sort of person they were supposed to meet with.
He immediately noticed the inside was just as verdant as the outside, with dainty, flowering vines somehow growing along the tops of the shabby wooden walls, similar to the vines he witnessed growing on the exterior. Other plants sat in pots and vases, many of them native to Asgard but a few that were undoubtedly from somewhere else. To his right was a long wooden table that faced the still shuttered front window, lined with cloudy glass bottles and vials, containing dried flowers and herbs that emitted a soft peppery scent. He continued to observe the table, which he was fairly certain was a workstation of some kind.
The source of the sweet smelling smoke they detected from the outside was identified as a small bundle of dehydrated budding stalks, bound with red twine and placed in an empty tin cup. Next to it lay a bouquet of aromatic, freshly harvested flowers, their petals a deep and exquisite indigo hue. His eyes traveled to the center of the floor, where a magical stave had been hand drawn with faded, white paint. He could feel latent energy coming from it, though weak, as if it had been used somewhat recently.
A witch, and a foreign one at that. Heimdall sneered, gritting his teeth in abhorrence. What could Odin, of all people, want with an unwashed mortal witch. It made his head ache trying to comprehend. Before he could put much more thought into it, the back door was swung open all the way. This time, a different woman stepped through, the woman Heimdall could only assume was ‘Signý’. Her expression was peculiarly calm for being in the presence of two Aesir Gods, a stunning disparity to the woman they were initially greeted by.
With light and airy steps, she drifted toward one of the shelves that adorned her walls, carefully and quietly searching through the many phials that lined it.
“You must be Thor,” she spoke in a confident and gentle voice as she continued her search. “Ah!” she went on as she picked up a thin, dark blue flask and clutched it in her slender hand. She turned to get a good look at the brothers, one hand on her hip. Her eyes moved over to Heimdall, taking note of the gilded, blue war horn strapped to the back of his belt. “And you must be Heimdall, right?”
He didn’t respond, but instead peered directly into her rich, amber eyes. Drawing on his power, he pushed beyond her eyes, attempting to enter her mind and scour it for the information he sought. His brow furrowed in frustration as he pushed deeper and deeper, only to be met with…nothing. A thick, opaque fog laced and interwoven with runic magic that he did not recognize was all that he could uncover. Impossible. Absolutely impossible. Now desperate, he pushed once more, using all of his willpower in one last ditch effort to penetrate through the enigmatic veil that protected her thoughts.
Nothing.
She squinted at him, ostensibly untroubled, or quit possibly altogether unaware of his efforts to invade her head.
“Is he okay?”
Thor shook his head and groaned quietly. “He’s fine, don’t worry about him. Do you have the requested item?”
Signý shook the vial in her hand lightly and held it out to the God of Thunder. His fingers comically dwarfed hers in comparison, as he carefully lifted the object from her hand and held it up, giving it a quick appraisal before closing his fist around it.
“Tell the All-Father two drops mixed in water, or mead or whatever you lot drink about…one half hour before he intends to sleep. If he’s having more trouble than usual, three drops is fine but no more than that unless he wants to sleep through Ragnarök,” she explained with a light-hearted smile on her lips.
Thor nodded his head, making a mental note of the instructions she had just given him. Her gaze gravitated back to Heimdall, who was still visibly distraught over his inconceivable discovery. His eyes met hers once more, a frown etched so deeply into his features she feared it may become permanent.
“You uh,” She said, lifting her index finger and lightly scratched at the side of her nose. “You’ve got something right there, on your-”
“I do not recall addressing you, wench,” He spat, cutting her off mid-sentence and directed as much vitriol in her direction as he could convey through his eyes and the curl of his lip.
Silence hung in the air for a brief moment before Signý let out a protracted snort, trying very hard to keep her laughter from bubbling over into a full on guffaw. She put her hands up in mock defeat as she continued to giggle.
“Ooh, so serious,” She exclaimed, very much amused by the sternness of Heimdall’s admonishment. Before he could get a word in edgewise, Thor gave a short bark of laughter to echo her.
“Ha, I like her,” He proclaimed, elbowing Heimdall roughly, who aggressively jerked away from the reach of his brother. He clenched his jaw tightly, as his gaze still bored into her while he seethed. Heimdall wanted nothing more than to wipe that unearned smug grin off of her face, and for a moment he considered acting on that impulse. The audacity of some lowly, nameless mortal to speak to him in such a way made his blood boil in his veins, compounded by the realization that for whatever reason, her thoughts were inaccessible to him.
“Anyway,” Signý conceded, her tone dropping its mirth. “Same as last time, tell the All-Father his request comes free of charge and if he needs anything else to send one of his brutes or…you two, I suppose,” she added, her nose wrinkling ever so slightly at the prospect of that happening again.
Thor nodded once more, heeding Signý’s words as he turned and pushed the front door open, again awkwardly turning and maneuvering himself to fit under and through the frame. Heimdall stormed after him and slammed the door closed behind them, resulting in one of the rusted hinges holding it up to fracture and come loose. He made a point to walk on the flowers instead of the path as he met up with Thor, who was waiting for him several yards away from the house, arms crossed and a slightly impish grin playing at the corner of his mouth.
“She was right, you know,” Thor rumbled, markedly entertained by the mortal woman’s thorough dismissal of Heimdall’s typical intimidation antics. “You do have something on your face.”
Vigorously, Heimdall rubbed at the spot Signý had pointed out with the back of his hand. Sure enough, a smear of half-dried blood came off on his skin. A fleck must have landed on his face when he pulled his sword from the throat of the dwarf he encountered earlier. After snickering yet again, Thor turned his back on his brother and called for Huginn.
Heimdall felt his ears become uncomfortably hot, the heat spreading to his neck as he fumed silently. His mind was roiling over his inability to see into Signý’s mind, not to even mention the blatant lack of respect and humility he had just been subjected to, and by an ignoble human woman, to add insult.
He desired retaliation with ever fiber of his being, but he couldn’t, not yet. Odin required her for something, and had evidently had dealings with her before, something else Heimdall was sore over. Not once had his father ever mentioned this woman, or felt the need to include him in whatever plan he almost certainly had in motion. All of those possibilities notwithstanding, Heimdall was not going to let this go. He may not be able to carry out his ideal retribution against her, at least for now, but there were other ways he could get wanted.
“If you’re finished soothing your ego over there, this is your stop,” Thor’s words broke through Heimdall’s racing thought process and he looked up. He hadn’t even noticed they had been transported to the top of the wall, his usual haunt when he wasn’t made to run odious errands for reasons beyond his understanding. Without answering or even bothering to look at the elder God, Heimdall turned heel and headed off further down along the wall. A fluttering of feathers and a beating of wings could be heard as Thor was whisked away, most likely to the Black Thunder to further disappoint his remaining family, Heimdall mused as he continued to walk along the chalky, white stone that made up Hrimthur’s Wall.
He stopped suddenly and crouched down as he often did when he surveyed the lands below. To his estimate, he should be standing right above where ‘Signý’s’ woeful little abode was situated. Scoffing to himself, he kicked a loose rock over the edge of wall as he stared downward, feeling much like a hawk stalking an oblivious and helpless rabbit, just waiting for the right moment to strike. A smirk crept across his lips. His attention had been captured and his curiosity piqued… and that was dangerous.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
a/n: Thank you for reading! after much work I finally present to you the introduction of my longfic. I'm choosing to label it as oc and also reader because when I first started writing, I had every intention of making is solely Heimdall x reader but then Signý forced her way into my brain so while it it technically and oc fic you guys are free to imagine yourself in her place as much or as little as you desire. Again, thank you for reading, I hope to have chapter 2 up soon!
a/n: oop, is that me posting. yep it is, im back and alive sadly, i missed yall very much so i decided to work on this heimdall x non binary oc type series. i thought it would've been really cool to finalize it and write it out. this story is pretty much a back story series for my oc, let me know what you think. this is will going on my ao3 as well.
warnings: theres nothing too bad in this first chapter besides hemidall being heimdall.
words: 2k
Running, that’s all ular ever did, not once did he ever let his fears catch him. If they did, he knew he would be a dead man, the same dream plays like the repeating song of morning birds, the voice of someone calling out his name. Chanting, and chanting until “hey boy! Get up.” his sealed eyes were now open, looking around in a panic before finding the person of this voice.
Ingmar, the big friendly man who took him in. Raised him like his own. His deep blue eyes and jet black hair with slight grays as he crosses his arms looking down at her, “you know I’m not so positive about being late, plus it’s your first time in Asgard! Don’t want to make your first time a horrible experience, get up and get ready!” Ingmar shouts, The teenager groaned in response, rising from the bed he slept in. Today is a special day for this cute sea boy, Ular. As Ingmar said, it was her first time visiting Asgard, the only time he heard about Asgard was whenever ingamr talked about it. The place sounded like a myth or something that didn’t exist, but it did.
“So, today is finally the day you take me there?” ular teased, in a child-like tone as he hopped around behind Ingmar, heading outside their home to walk up the trail that leads to the wall of Asgard.
“You're getting bratty, kid?” he remarks, looking down at him before standing with his arms crossed. The boy silenced himself in mere seconds of that familiar tone, “huggin!” He barked, raven feathers slowly circling them, Ular’s golden eyes widened in curiosity at what was transpiring in front of him. The birds enclose the two as they are transported. A new life, something new to explore, and Discover is the one thing Ular adores. Fresh things perked her interest in mere seconds.
Once the birds cleared a wonderful sight greeted the little boy, the scenery of the Wooden homes, greenery as far as the eye could see. The lively plaza, shops, and friendly faces around the town. Seeing Ular enjoy the warm and welcoming feeling, Ingmar felt brought a smile to his face, “come on boy! There are lots more to see.” Ingmar shouts, getting the attention of Ular’s ears, he moves quickly catching up to him to follow behind.
In front of him was a tall, wooden, and rather large lodge. Ingmar pushes the two heavy doors open with ease, the slight scrap of wood brought the attention of the people in the room. Ingmar greeted himself with unfamiliar faces Ular doesn’t recognize, There stood a tall woman with long blonde hair and a redhead man with a very bulky body, nearly as big as Ingmar
“Hey, you two! Remember that little fella I always talked to you all about?” Ingmar lips curved into a bearded smile, “even though he ain’t my son, I still treat him like one” he grinned, revealing the small ular to them. The Leventhion ruffles up his hair, earning a slight whine from Ular.
Thor, the redhead, bent down to look at Ular with a cheeky smile. “You look like a tough boy, I mean you were raised by one” he boasted, eyebrow gesturing towards Ingmar, even though all three of them were gigantic compared to Ular. Surprisingly, he kept his composure.
Sif and Thor were their names, ingmar mentioned them a few times to Ular whenever he asked about Asgard. Saying things like Thor being the god of thunder and sif carrying many scrolls of the nine realms, these two were quite the character. “I hope Asgard is a welcoming place as much as you think it is. You two came in time just for breakfast, come have a seat” Sif stated, giving Ular a soft smile as well, going over to one of the maidens and whispering something to them, marching off to the personal quarters of the lodge. Ular didn’t question much about it, for now, he followed behind Ingmar and takes a seat at the big table, very excited about what was being cooked.
The smell from the kitchen passed by the boy's nose, sweet and meat, is what he smelled, stomach growling, Heavy footsteps brought him out of his hungry daze, and glancing to the source, the maiden guiding a sun kissed-skin colored boy, Blonde but slightly Curly hair draped over his face and wearing a long sleeve silky golden shirt and brown pants. His appearance resembled a prince, the most noticeable detail that stood out was his eyes. His iris shining the color of a deep magenta, Ular’s interest in the new-found friend sparked like a match seeing him, excited that he was meeting someone his age. Someone who he can relate to instead of Ingmar whose way older than him. After Ular reframed from his thoughts to distract him, the boy sat down in front of him at the table with everyone else, Thor scoffs “you look like helhiem visited you” he laughed, getting the attention of the younger boy with a slight groan of annoyance.
Ular thought that joke was a bit funny. A chuckle left his chocolate lips, then immediately silenced himself once he felt the male's piercing, magenta gaze on him. “You think that’s funny? How would you think the all father would react knowing you’ve brought an unknown guest, Thor?” He spat back, staring daggers at the poor boy, The other aesir continued to eat his food.
“Get your head out of ya ass, Heimdall. You think he doesn’t know about them.” Thor remarks, chewing on more food, before turning his attention to sif and Ingmar. Leaving the two boys in awkward silence as they eat their breakfast, not once did those hateful eyes leave ulars gaze.
Ular looked between his bowl and the boy, hoping he doesn’t talk, but his wishes aren’t always answered “you're pretty silent for a boy with a loud mind, I’m talking to you!” he stated, waiting for ular to raise his focus from that food. Seconds go by until the caramel teen gave Heimdall his attention.
“Sorry, it’s been a while since I had good food” ular elaborated, a cheeky smile following behind, the blonde hated that smile, how can he smile with those loud thoughts in his head? Heimdall questioned, his thick brows furrowing.
It annoys him.
Sliding the bowl over to Ular, insisting he can have the rest of his meal, Ular swipes the bowl immediately and continued eating the meal, “what is your name?” Ular asked, chewing his meal. The other male felt quite disgusted by the sound and sight.
“I’m Heimdall, I see you enjoy shrimp stew, it’s my favorite” he replied, a smirk growing on his face watching Ular eat the food. Heimdall admires the sight of such a fragile boy, eating the meal, oblivious to what's in the bowl, hearing the last words the aesir told, Ular’s expression turned from happiness to disgust in seconds. Maybe he’s going crazy but how did Heimdall know Ular is allergic to seafood, in a quick session Ular tries to get the taste out of his mouth, gulping the nearest water. The sound of Heimdall’s laughter echoes in the background from the show.
Ular finished his mead with a loud gulp to add, before slamming it down, “and that’s how he nearly killed me.” he concludes, his head leaning into his rough palm as he sat at the table with his two close friends, Leif the huldra and the bright redhead larvisa. His two friends indulged in the horrible yet, cute memory ular wanted to tell them about. The taller man remembered the memory like it was yesterday, it was probably the last time he has seen the aesir, purposely avoiding him for many years, but to his dismay Heimdall always found him. Giving him a scare or cry, words of judgment even, whenever ular was caught he wouldn’t hear the end of it from that blonde dog. Years went on, and Ular noticed how he hasn’t seen Heimdall that each year. Which is a good thing, right?
“He’s truly an asshole, straight up!” larvisa comments, kicking her boots up as she sips her mead, the huldra beside her silently drinking their water.
Leif gazes over at ular with a slight tilt of their head, “I'm surprised he hasn’t tried to sabotage you when you were volunteering.” they added, to the already bad look heimdall has for himself. The deity’s mind tried to ponder on that thought but it no longer did once he realized he has many things to do today, ones Sif told him specifically to do
“I’ve forgotten I’m on volunteer today for Sif, she doesn’t like it when I’m late, so I’m heading off!” he exclaims, leaving quickly out the bar. Pushing the bar door open, his soft boots mooch on the grounds of Asgard, speed walking to the great lodge. Some people question, why ular who’s a great being of the many seas is on volunteer duty. Well, he prefers to be on the sidelines knowing there's blood on his hands from his family name, he wants to be the opposite of dangerous. If he’s out all willy-nilly, keeping his hands busy doing many jobs like guarding the sea, helping in the mess hall, maybe even helping with training, or going on important missions for Odin with Ingmar and Thor.
It makes him feel, human. It may sound like he’s your local housewife, but he’s able to do many things that he’s proud of. Those were the very goals he took seriously to the T as he strides to the great lodge, opening the door with a heavy swing, his vibrant irises already finding Lady sif in seconds. Talking to one of the helpers about the task for the day, the seaman moved over to sif and listens in on the conversation.
Looming over her for a while before she feels his presence, turning around and receiving a beautiful smile from her. Opening her lips to speak elegantly “I hope you rested well, young man” she charms, earning a cheeky smile from ular out of embarrassment realizing he was a bit late to the party.
“I rested greatly, lady sif” he assured, Sif’s eyes lingering on him for a few seconds before nodding and explaining to him the very task he has today, handing over the wooden basket for collecting the sheets in the back of the great lodge. This wasn’t anything fresh to ular, she was used to doing these tasks every day whenever Sif needs him.
Her walking stopped as finished her orders, and she turned to him again, looking up at Ular “you heard everything I said, right?” She pressures, handing him a wooden basket. Watching Ular nod with haste before she strolled off to deal with her duties, His finger slightly tapped on the wooden material, strolling over to the first place, thrud’s room. Picking up anything that needed to be washed, and doing this slightly with haste, his muscle memory knowing what to get or what to not get. These tasks stray him even further away from his father, it's not a bad thing either, knowing that people mistake him for the son of Cthulhu define him only as that and not his own person, they don’t bleed the same color.
The thought of it drives the man insane because he knows he couldn’t do such a thing nor even try, the result of it is a sigh of irritation leaving his trembling lips trying to cast the thoughts aside. Why, why? is all he could ask himself, this life that was given to him by force was no mistake but held a purpose.
A purpose he hasn’t quite figured out yet.
The sound of soft scrape of stainless leather and clanging metal plates stood out to Ular’s sensitive ears. It is the hinted of armor that holds no extended use, that was shined and oiled, with grace. The kilt was no foreign sound to him, something so unique that it entered the room; a particular person that wasn’t unfamiliar to him, the kilt shifting with the steps he takes.
“Wow, you’ve grown to be a maiden! A questionable occupation,” Heimdall cackled, the handsome man standing proud as his gaze combed over the deity. It was hard for ular to hate people, even Heimdall himself isn’t going to break that habit for him.
“Is that your way of asking to get your dirty sheets, Heimdall?” He asked, attention going elsewhere to the task at hand.
Heimdall’s hum slipped to scoff from the response, “reading my mind? As if you could, but since you insist..”
Walking away from the door frame with a slight shake of his head, Ular followed behind from afar, This interaction feels no different from when they were younger, with Heimdall bashing Ular with his words, maybe even with his hands if they spared. Ular never lets him walk all over him as he does with others.
“Do you have nothing else better to do? Maybe something Odin needs?”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry a bit about that. I simply came to help you organize,” he retorted, stopping at his room door. The aesir’s gaze searches ular's expression for something with a curious eye
His eyes only found a stiff expression, the deep golden eyes of a man with little patience. Not even being slightly different from before.
“No matter my words, your thoughts think nothing of them?” he questions, a mocking smirk dawning on his lips as his hands graze his own chin.
“Why should I question the words of a dog?”
“Of what?” He snarls, stepping forward with an intimidating posture to suit him. Magenta eyes pierced daggers into golden ones, They know one of them is always ready to talk back to the other with no problem, why should he be scared?
“Heimdall!” The fair old man called, Heimdall’s focus breaking as Odin’s voice shattered the tension between the two.
“Could you come to my study, I want to have a talk with you.” odin commands, stepping away to leave for his study. Ular could notice the movement on his cheeks, the silent biting of his cheek before stomping away from him. Another thing to settle for future preferences, he has all the patients in the world.
But not for Heimdall.
A/N: this took a while to write, i'll try my best to keep up my flow and im gratful you read the first chapter of something very chaotic thats brewing.
THIS REQUEST IS FOR SOMEONE IN MY INBOX,
ITS MY FIRST TIME DOING SOMETHING LIKE THIS HOPE YOU ENJOY!
-Arkham 💋
warnings: NSFW, bottom bitch Heimdall….hhehe
Like I said in my last headcanon post about him loving the feeling of his hair being combed and scratched… the same thing here but KINKY!
He likes his hair pulled my GOD, small little whimpers might come out of him but he’ll try to keep them from coming out which would fail. Just tug on it suddenly, and you are gonna get some yelps.
No, but for real, he wants to be dominant but just the feeling of your mouth on him, my God, IM SORRY, he’s not lasting long. Especially, if you are…eager
TEE HEE
Him looking down at you, sucking him off, and him with a SHAKY BREATH. PUTTING HIS HAND THROUGH YOUR HAIR, CARESSING IT OMG
Ok I’m getting too excited IM SORRY
Like we can all pretend that he gets bitches but be REAL…he doesn’t. So a touch of a lady makes him QUIVER AND SQUIRM. He can act all dominant and stuff, but when you put him in place and take the reins, he isn’t prepared in the slightest. (hehehe)
When you edge him from his release, my god the way he begs….well, more so groans and whines as his body starts getting inpatient. I can imagine him looking at you with his spiraling purple eyes pleading at you to keep going, so he can reach his climax already.
You just shake your head at him and keep edging him more and more, teasing his body, he whines like a lost little puppy. His hips twitch a bit just to get a hint of satisfaction.
and he definitely has a mommy kink, talk to the wall of Asgard if you disagree.
LA LA LA I CANT HEAR YOU!!!
sorry this is a bit short, just testing the waters!
Have a good day!
The Himinbjörg is a 17+ Discord Server for fans, writers, and artists, of Heimdall from God of War: Ragnarok. It was created for the sole sense of gathering into a community and pushing further interaction between readers, writers, and artists and bridging the gap that relies on likes and reblogs to spread content.
While this is Heimdall-centric server, discussion of all other characters is welcome, as well as the plot, original mythology (or what remains of it), and more.
In this server you can:
make requests for writers and artists that anyone can choose to pick up.
share ideas, plots, prompts, especially if you are a reader and want to see something specific!
create a collection of Heimdall content that is not hidden away within the darkness of tumblr!
And much more! The server is small, at the moment, so if the idea of large servers does not interest you, no worries!
hello everyone 💕 i just wanted to let you all know that i won't be posting to tumblr for a bit, mostly because i don't have the mental energy for formatting at the moment. for personal reasons (some of you already know what) i am relegating updates to every Sunday if i am able and exclusively updating to AO3. all of the requests i received will be in my inbox and worked on over time.
a/n: surprise my sunshine, i came to give out another chapter to enjoy because i enjoyed writing this. after this post my delivery of chapters might be a tad bit slow but i will try my best give write them and get them out.
warnings: nothing too bad besides a hot man....and it aint heimdall
words: 1,1k
Chicken out? Why would he chicken out, is what Heimdall kept asking himself, you're advancing towards him weren’t ignored. Just hard to understand, hard to read, he never admitted to you but even when he reads your thoughts, even your intentions he still can’t understand you. He hasn’t quite had this feeling before, in a while, the time when you two were alone, touching his hair with gentleness and affection even though he treated you so low sometimes.
You gave him respect and even occasionally a little remark to his bratty attitude, whenever he peeked inside your mind in those moments, he didn’t see any false emotions.
These new-found feelings you were giving him were something new, enjoyable, and fun, nothing that didn’t make him uncomfortable or feel like it was competition. Knowing you for years, he still hasn’t gotten used to you, the few times whenever you are around him.
He could actually think for himself, think about you, things about you or where you are, standing there brushing gulltopper’s fur. The feline purred and grazed against Heimdall's torso.
“Stop, moving animal.” He hissed, combing the beast to distract himself.
Surely you wouldn’t mind him visiting you today, you are only being caught up in your shop sharpening a few weapons and armor that were requested from you. Hearing the chime from your shop's door, turning around, only to be greeted by the same customer from last time. Kamur, your favorite person “someone’s looking woe today, do I have to put a curse on someone” the silver-haired man said, leaning his elbow against the counter.
Your eyes were directed towards his sweet, beaming smile that he adores whenever he comes in “you don’t have to curse anyone, I don’t even think you can curse an Aesir” flicking your hand in a noncaring gesture as you drop another piece of metal into the furnace, he watched you closely seeing your expression.
“Are ya talking about that Blondie?”
A smirk comes onto your face, looking up at him, “You can read minds as he can?”.
His chest rumbles from the laugh he holds back, “maybe I can do a lot of things, don’t let that man get into your hair. He’s Notorious for ticking women off” he is? You asked yourself, turning around quickly and leaning more closely onto the counter.
“Is he?” You questioned.
“Hm, oh very. That man is very well-known around women, especially the ones who tried to cuff him with their womanly ways.” He takes a small brisket, taking a bite out of it “ but it never works because he’s an asshole, and doesn’t want them to work” words being muffled by the delicious brisket, a few crumbs on his pink lips, seeing slight black scars on them. Examining him like this made your face flush a little, looking back up at the dark, shadowed eyes.
Kamur hummed in satisfaction from the tasty snack, “you know so much about him, sibling?”.
“Nope, just an old friend of his. He doesn’t like the nice ones” you can understand where he’s coming from with that, he listens to your sigh and turns your back to him.
His pale, long finger grazed your shoulder after he reached over the counter, “you know you're quite the character, I’ve seen many weird people come into my shop before but not like” he smirks behind you as you stroke his ego with your words.
“Well I am the special type” he hums “what if I take you to see my shop in vanaheim” your ear perks up at the familiar realm being mentioned.
Those poisonous green eyes finding yours, “I'm listening”.
➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶
The beautiful nature of this land is ready to kill you at any second. At this moment, you felt somewhat self since the taller man led you to wherever you wanted him to go, “I’m amused you’ve been here before, judging by your reaction to this place” he looked back at you, a breathtaking grin that gets you grinning slightly each time.
“I was here once as an order from od-, the all father” he hums in approval, this man to you didn’t make you feel like you were beneath him nor better, more like an equal. “What do you do out here? I'm curious” you watched him open a gate to a lively cabin that has jars, and many other items. The sight you took in the place felt calm and a little homey.
He turns to look at your surprised expression, “I do brewery and craftsmen of witchery” he tells her, having a slight touch on your shoulder “no, I will not harm you little one, you mean too much valuable alive than dead” walking in front of you with a grin, you didn’t expect him to say that, was he reading your emotions.
The time you came here with Thor, you’d never seen this place or even a glimpse at all, maybe something kept it hidden, did he keep it hidden? By each day you learn something new, and mysterious things among the realms.
“Like Freya, the woman who used to leave here?” you hear a slight ‘mhm’ from him, moving one jar to the other side of the table, his voice enriches your ears as he tells you the many things he creates in this very shed, plants, mist, and even poison if needed. The time you spent with him hasn’t felt wasted, not one bit, entertained you, teaching you the many things he’s created in this very shed. It was an amazing talent, you’ve never seen, watching him and learning everything was a trip. Time was flying, not realizing how late it was.
You stood near the window, admiring the dark star-filled sky, hearing a slight Russell behind you that caught your ear “I should maybe head back to Asgard” a sigh leaving your lips, somewhat missing this place already even though you haven’t left yet. The light footsteps behind you.
“Scared the hound dogs of Asgard would come for you?” his tone teasing as he caresses your shoulder, you look up at the source of the comforting touch. He is standing beside you and looking into your eyes.
Feeling a small warm feeling brewing inside you, “more like I’m scared that they’ll know I’m gone, but they wouldn’t worry” you insist, some would’ve said his eyes looked evil but to you, they didn’t. “You know you have such a sly smile, Kamur” pinching his side and earning a dramatic gasp from him.
“Ah, I only get this sly grin from my father. It always wins the hearts of beautiful people” you couldn't help but laugh at him a little, witnessing the dramatic acting display he did.
That smile could kill you if you don’t take your eyes off him for once, silence brewed in again between you two, and your eyes found his. Looking at you, admiring you, taking your soft chin in between his fingers.
“Such a cute little mortal, with such a fragile body”
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