- Pantyhose, tights, leggings, and stockings are each different.
- Waxing hurts and leaves red skin for a while afterwards while shaving leaves stubble
- Most can’t run in heels unless they have been VERY worn
- Insecurity in appearance doesn’t mean “buy me a drink”
- EVERYONE HAS DIFFERENT TASTES IN EVERYTHING
-Having large breasts sucks. It sucks beyond belief. If a garment happens to fit your large chest, odds are it won’t fit the rest of you. Underboob sweat is real and terrible. Bending over for extended periods of time will tweak your back out. Running can be painful due to boob turbulence. Bras are hella expensive. Big breasts are not fun.
Putting a tampon in isnt a quick bend-poke-done kinda deal. It involves cubicle yoga, messy hands, numerous curse words as you realise it isnt in correctly and have to take it out and start again with a new one.
If her hair is in an updo, one does not simply remove a hairpin to send her hair cascading down her back. No. If her hair is an updo, it will take at least an hour and an extra set of hands to remove the 137 bobby pins that are holding her hair in place. Furthermore, there’s probably a can’s worth of hairspray in there, intended to withstand category 2 hurricane winds. There’s no cascading happening here - the best you can hope for is a misshapen nest of hair to clump and poof unattractively in the back while it still remains flat against her scalp.
This is one of the funniest posts I’ve seen in a while (especially if you read all the comments), but also really depressing because at 42 I still judge myself as having failed for not matching up to all these mythical stereotypes despite knowing they’re impossible
The odds of a woman having smoothly shaved legs and armpits are directly proportional to the amount of skin her clothing bares and/or the amount of fucks she gives at that particular moment.
GLASSES ARE NOT COSMETIC. If we whip them off, we do not become gorgeous fashion models. We become squinty.
-most women wear bras. Yes, even when they are trying to dress sexy. Because bras make boobs look perkier and rounder, which is something men apparently find sexy, so being a seductress or femme fatale is not an automatic reason for a female character to not be wearing a bra.
-a good bra will hide headlights, or at the very least drastically reduce their noticeability. A women with enough pointy nipple issues will opt for a padded or molded bra to hide them.
-women’s nipples do not automatically become hard pyramids visible through any and all layers of clothing the second they become even slightly aroused. They are not the female equivalent of boners. And even if their nipples do get hard, the bras they are almost certainly wearing (because even a goddamn succubus with big, honkin’ knockers for seducing men is gonna have those painful puppies in some kind of boob sling) should keep those pointy nipples from being visible to every other character in the scene, JIM BUTCHER. YES, EVEN LARA RAITH WOULD WEAR A BRA ONCE IN A GODDAMN WHILE.
if you’re being tied up and tortured in a freezing underground dungeon, then you probably have more important things to pay attention to than how hard somebody’s nipples are, jim butcher
- Wearing a bra that doesn’t fit HURTS. It’s not sexy to wear a bra that’s “two sizes too small”, it’d make your clothes hang oddly and you’d have a weird, uncomfortable “quad-boob” effect and your back would hurt, BEN AARONOVITCH.
Also, after removing a too small bra, there’s gonne be angry red lines on the boobs and ribs and the lady is not going to want them to be touched by anyone for a good long while
-Lips aren’t just naturally red “as if she’d been drinking wine but they were just like that without makeup cause she’s so perfect,” my dear little Kvothe from ‘Name of the Wind’. Also, girls do not naturally smell like fruit or flowers, it’s either perfume or something she’d been eating recently.
I’ve been appreciating this post but now it’s back very specifically calling out my problematic faves and I don’t think those male authors realize how much it totally takes me out of the story for a moment when they commit these errors. It does nothing useful for the plot and is annoying for half of the audience
(Most) Women do not look at themselves in the mirror and compare their breasts to fruit. Any sort of fruit. Especially melons. Please save us from the melons.
Also we are not aware of our breasts at all times. I do not walk down a flight of stairs and think “oh golly my breasts are bouncing so much right now”. They are as much as natural part of our bodies as arms. Do you constantly think about how your arms are moving? Sure you may be aware of them, but paying full attention? Doubtful.
Also: women working out are almost never sexy. They’re not glowing or glistening or (kill me) *sparkling*. They are red and sweaty and gross just like all the dudebros doing their time with the dumbbells. Stop ogling fictional women at the gym, TOM WOLFE.
I never understood why men feel the need to address all this telltale “feminine” awareness when writing women. Like once in grad school one of my male colleagues wrote from a female character’s POV and was like sure to notice how her feet felt in high heels and all the women’s lifestyle magazines on the coffee table and also that like, her breasts were “heavy” or some shit. I write male characters all the time. Not once have I ever stopped to make sure they notice the weight of their own balls or been hyper aware of their chest hair or some bullshit like that. ????? why????????
Love this. I’ve been cackling to myself for good 20 mins reading all the comments as well but the last reblog had me dying like can you imagine!!
“Chad was late. He had an important meeting to get to and was mad at himself for oversleeping.
He quickly washed and brushed his teeth and then ran downstairs, his balls bouncing playfully in his pants.
Do I have time to make a coffee? he thought. He decided he did so went into the kitchen and switched the kettle on. As he was waiting, he noticed his thick, curly chest hair was poking through the button gaps of his shirt. He giggled to himself and tucked his manly fuzz back in, hoping it wouldn’t happen during the meeting.”
AN: THANK YOU @monstatron FOR HELPING ME WITH THIS OMG
AND REMEMBER THESE ARE HEADCANNONS, TAKE THEM OR LEAVE!!
Also, request and questions are open, sorry this headcannon took so long!
-Arkham 💋
I feel like Thor would be like a physically warm person. And not like just warm, like WARM WARM. Like WALKING heater warm. He got a stern personality BUT, when you hug him, he’s a warm fluffy cloud. SOFT TO THE TOUCH.
Definitely musically inclined, not with instruments but SINGING FR. Despite his low and gruff voice, his singing voice is actually a bit softer and a lot more smooth. He likes singing like war songs, and might hum a few tunes while brawling.
I feel like he reads, like anything. A little curious fellow. He might try writing (like journaling or something like that) but doesn’t particularly enjoy it. He doesn’t reveal it though. To like ANYONE.
HE TALKS TO MJÖLNIR, LIKE GOSSIPS, IDC IF YOU DONT AGREE, TALK TO THE WALL!!!!!
They spilling BUCKETS of fucking tea. Either about stupid Heimdall or just something stupid in general. Might talk about personal problems with the hammer as well. The kind of problems he just can’t talk to anyone with.
Also Mjölnir is a she/her lmao.
THOR IS A NON-BINARY GIRLYPOP!!! He doesn’t give a fuck about gender. The concept of it is just meaningless to him. When it comes to expressing his gender, he does it in anyway he wants.
IDC WHAT YALL SAY , HE HAS GOOD ASS HYGIENE!! He smells like a mix of
metallic smell of rain
Smoky Oak / Mahogany wood
small hint of like musk.
He loves the night. Stargazing is a great pastime during the night. It’s one of the healthier ways for him to let go of stress.
Looking at star patterns win calming silence. No think, only look at pretty stars.
He may like mead a lot but he’s favorite is a light wine, like a girlypop would.
He likes to collect weapons, just to collect them.
MF GOT THE MOVES LIKE JAGGER! WITH THE MEAD IN HIS SYSTEM, HE MOVING FR HE BALLING FR!!!!!
He’s feels like it’s difficult to express himself in talking so he does it in fighting or…dancing!
end of post
have a good day!
The blood dripped slowly from the Caramel skinned man’s knuckles, eyes filled with impatience and bloodlust. Tendrils sprawled out of control from his back, staring down at the dwarf on the floor, riddled with fear.
“How do you know that name?” Ular murmurs, venom laced in every word he says. The man’s voice snatched from him as he listened, thinking up any answer to get out of this situation.
The man’s dry lips tremble before speaking. “Dagon…son of Cthulu, the half-breed of the nine seas,” he exclaimed, hands flailing to hide his face from the demonic golden eyes Ular possesses. A shirtless torso revealed countless scars, including a tattoo of lines across his chest pointing toward calloused hands and another on the neck. That name…that name was so familiar to him, so distasteful and disgusting to him. He never wants to hear it again…
“Did you tell anyone else?”
“N-no, no one else knows. Please just let me go, Dagon!” The man cried. Ular felt his chiseled jaw tighten again from the name, horrific memories and screaming of his past flooding in as if the man had just opened an ocean filled with pain, suffering,…and lies.
With a long inhale and a shaky exhale, ular’s eyes shined in the barely lit room. To the man’s gaze, he portrayed a predator ready to kill his prey.
“hm, I am glad you know the name of the person who will kill you.” He preached silently to the man.
“NO WAIT-“ before he finished his sentence, it was silenced by a massive hand colliding with his face. The hit, not killing the dwarf at first, only put him in a daze as he touched his face. He could feel the warm blood trickling down his cheeks. Barely can see out his right eye, holding his trembling hands up again to Ular in a defensive position. A defense that can’t save him.
“Please..please, I beg you.”
“There is no PLEASE in this, and there will never be a..please,” Ular rasped, punching the man again.
“I NEVER GOTTEN A PLEASE” Ular's fist collided with his face again.
“I WAS NEVER GIVE A CHANCE..not a damn BREAK,” Ular swore with rage, each hit being more brutal than the last. Seeing nothing but red and the dwarf as blood is scattered, anger filled in each word and breath. The man lay lifeless as he continued to stomp with rage with his foot, yelling each time his foot crashed into the man's face, memories flashing over and over of his beating before slamming his foot down one last time as a Kraken-like roar left his mouth. Loud like a siren's call, he stepped back, heavy kids shut closed. Opening slowly to action, he just caused, seeing the dead dwarf on the floor.
His body shook with realization as his teeth clashed together, hands shaking before clenching them into a tight fist.
Not again…
It is what he said to himself as he stood in the backyard of his home, shirtless, to avoid he wouldn’t get his shirt wet as he dipped—his dirty clothing into the bucket of water, washing them since Ingmar moved in with Thor and Sif. Ular didn’t mind living down here, outside the wall alone. Give him time to think.
To think about what occurred three days ago between Heimdall and Ular on ingmars wedding night, and the other thought that scratches his thoughts with every chance they have. Killing that dwarf wasn’t his first time, so why is it affecting him now? Some would call Ular crazy for not even being bothered about killing them, and he didn’t get a kick out of it, either. It was more of a release, a distraction, a blind rage of anger that had been building up for centuries.
What could he do? What could he say?
He didn’t know who to turn to with these emotions, and they spiraled out of control whenever his dead name was even muttered.
He hated it.
Despised it to every end of Helheim, he wanted that name to burn with cthulu’s empire. With cthulu’s lif-
“Ular..!” A booming voice called to him; he twisted his head to the side, facing the person who called him. It was Heimdall. The young boy filled the merman’s vision. Ular sat tall on the stump and focused his attention on magenta eyes. He could feel the warmth from Heimdall being close to him.
“Have you picked those apples for me, ul ul?” he teased, bent down a little to be faced with ular. He was giving him a warm smile.
“No! I picked these by request for the all father,” Ular quips, holding the basket as he continues to pick the beautiful red or maybe green apples as well, putting them into the basket. While Ular was determined to get one off a branch, Heimdall snatched one from the wooden basket, taking a bite out of it and humming in satisfaction of the perfect taste.
The blonde boy leaned against the tree, watching the boy pick apples, “ever since you started picking the apples, they taste so much better than those maiden ones.” He comments, voice laced with pride, and compliments the sea kid. Ular could feel his Caramel skin flush on his face, not being used to the praises from the Aesir. This interaction is quite surprising. Usually, Heimdall would hate the very existence of Ular for being even in his presence, but now, it seems different, is what Ular told himself.
“Thank you, I guess. Would you want to help pick apples?” Ular asked, a beaming smile to back it up as he faced Heimdall. Standing with widened eyes at Ular’s bright smile, this smile catching Heimdall’s gaze, why would anyone smile so brightly for Heimdall? A smile that made him feel warm and appreciated, a smile that made him feel something new.
Pursing his lips, eyes glancing in a different direction to not be persuaded by the wicked smile that can win anyone’s heart, “I suppose I will assist you, lamb. Only!…this one time.” Heimdall noted, taking the lead ahead as he strolled to the next tree. The fish boy was as happy as he could ever be, following behind him like a trained dog.
Memories such as those felt as if they happened yesterday. What did he do wrong?
“Ular?” Heimdall called, “when do I never catch you washing something like as if you are a maiden.” seeing Ular behind his home. He wasn’t wearing his usual tunic today, only a golden silky shirt and brown pants. He never took a day off, but it was early in the morning. Maybe it’s not his shift yet.
“Well, when you're getting your hands dirty, you tend to wash things constantly.” Ular lectured, his soft lips being in a taunt line as he looked at the Aesir. Heimdall took this time to take in Ular’s shirtless appearance, with faint scars littering over his body while tattoo markings starting from his neck, leading down to his collarbones and chest like thick lines of veins. The sight memorized him before he realized he was staring too hard and long at him. He was clenching his chiseled jaw, seeing that Ular noticed him staring.
“Mhm, I understand clearly, little lamb. Now I’ve come to fetch you because the all father requests your presence, and I do as well, but that..will be handled later.” Heimdall commands, somewhat bulky arms crossing over his chest, peering up at the tall man. He could hear the slight hum of confirmation come from Ular, watching him walk inside his home. Heimdall didn’t want to follow behind, but how else Ular was going to get on the other side of the wall, catching up to the sea because he admired the home's interior.
Heimdall isn’t so used to such places that felt more comfortable than wealthy, “does Odin request my presence urgently?” He spoke, standing near his wooden table. Reaching over to take an apple from the basket he has placed there, golden eyes still cast at Heimdall. Who was more interested in the home's design than the fish man.
“His request wasn’t urgent, but I wouldn’t want to keep all father waiting.”
“I'm curious about your request for me,” he questioned, taking another bite from the apple as he felt those judging eyes on him. Heimdall’s expression only resembled his resting bitch face, thinking he should feed into it or worry about it later. His mind wants to worry about it later, but his body wants answers now. It was a struggle and even a challenge for the past few days for Heimdall to stay focused when he kept remembering Ular.
Who could forget? Why would he forget? Every time those memories flooded in, he remembered every bit of it as if they were coming to life. Ular's cold and rough hands brushed Heimdall's smooth pale skin, his heated breath, and the feel of his lips, feeling passionate and sweet that night.
He felt so high, so perfect in Ular’s sculpted, muscular arms while he was kissing him. The bruised lips Heimdall’s eyes combed over the following day were a deep red hue on his pink lips, and while getting dressed for patrol that morning.
Ular’s chilled body made Heimdall yearn for it more. He fantasized about it. The feeling controlling his urges, a fresh beginning, opened inside him.
“Have you told anyone?" Keeping his eyes on ular, he asked, "What happened the night of the wedding?"
“Told anyone about what? that you were singing siren songs for me on our wedding night.” Ular laughed his tone like a mocking one, fighting back at Heimdall's game. The man wasn’t blind to the blonde's objective. He could practically see it play in the Aesir god's mind.
His words filled Heimdall's ears and made his expression become determined. He was refusing to let Ular beat him at his own game.
“I don't sing songs for anyone,” he replied furiously, "especially not for someone like you."
"Despite saying that, why are you here? Did the all father send you for me, or are you here to threaten me with keeping your shame about me a secret?” Ular snarled, sizing up the blonde Aesir.
As he watches Heimdall's expression flash between anger and confusion, it is followed instantly by realization. Ular catches his real intentions, the ones being protected by false lies.
Ular continues, tone still the same in his voice, “You're more of a liar than your father.”
“My father is no..liar, Dagon!” He shouted; he could see Ular’s irises flash different emotions that Heimdall didn't have the time to understand nor read. Even his mind was no use either. It was everywhere, being so damn loud and out of control.
The cold venom that washed in Ular’s skin made his jaw feel tight with frustration as he pursed his lips, peering down at Heimdall with soulless eyes.
“My name is Ular, never call me that again, Heimdall…if you know what’s best for you,” the vicious threat that ular spoke, reaching to take Heimdall shoulders into his calloused hands. The grip tightened with frustration; he should smite Heimdall down as he did to those dwarfs, make him gravel for his life. “The All-Father may have told you, like the dog that you are, to come and get me, but you are also here because you are ashamed and worried Odin would be disappointed in you if he found out that you were having sex with a man rather than a lovely woman for your future bloodline..”
What had felt like hours, the grip faded once Heimdall realized Ular had let go of him. Ular brushes past him, heading outside to wait for him. not a single word is uttered.
I will make his life miserable, thought Heimdall in anger. How dare he control me?
Turning on his and clenching his fist, he stomps out, catching up to Ular to meet with the all-father. ‘Huggin!’ Heimdall called. A second later, the feathers surrounded the two of them. Transporting them to Asgard, the uncomfortable silence filled their space as they stood beside each other, with the ravens blocking the light.
"You must remember that I will continue to make your life miserable, Ular."
“Hm, I hate for your voice to break, Heimdall, but if you insist.” Ular quips, the threat making Heimdall double-take on Ular’s words. What did he mean by ‘break his voice.’ Why would he try to do such a thing, he thought. As close as Ular is, hearing Heimdall’s thoughts was no problem for Ular.
Ular couldn’t help but chuckle at the older man.
Furthermore, they arrived at the front entrance of Odin’s study. “He isn’t here. He must be downstairs.” Heimdall notices, taking the lead to head down into the deeper part of his study. As Ular followed closely, Heimdall could feel his cold aura stalk behind him.
Odin stood at his desk, flipping through pages in his book, noticing their presence once they stood before him.
“What took you boys so long? I thought I had to call Thor to fetch you,” Odin complains, sitting up in his wooden chair. "I called you here, ular, to assist Heimdall with a task that I've assigned him."
"What may the task be?" Ular wondered, his attention focused on the frail older man.
"I'm glad you asked; I first wanted him to go to Midgard, but that place does not have what I need. So, I thought of a great idea to send him to vanaheim, not alone, though." Odin assured, catching the attention of the two.
Ular lips turned to a slight grin. “I’m grateful that you didn’t send us to Midgard. I despise the midgardians,” he said.
"Good; I would love to keep our bond with each other since we are now a more prominent family," Odin quips back.
The blonde aesir scoffed at the 'bond' they were making, glancing between the two, bonding? Such a thing shouldn't exist when he has a son. "All-father, why may be the reason for Ular's assistance? I have no issue with going..alone," he drags the word alone; the tone is laced with jealousy.
"I need more of...a trained mind with artifacts, and Ular is quite the character to fit that task." He objected, giving the answer he so badly wanted.
Heimdall backed down, didn't try to argue back with Odin, and just accepted his horrible situation. However, something constantly challenged his patience for the handsome seaman. He was finding it annoying that he even thought Ular was handsome. Sure, the appeal is there with his noticeable, piercing gold eyes and a raven chin curtain of hair to follow suit. The details his eyes know all too well, always finding himself staring, admiring him like the saint he is.
The sound of the raven's feathers made his thoughts clear out, turning his attention back to Odin. "oh, and don't forget this." Odin reminds, reaching behind his desk to grab something. It revealed to be Heimdall's sword and belt that he had forgotten to put on this morning. The all father lightly tossed it to him and caught it with ease. Raven's feather's blocked their vision once again as they were transported to vanaheim and greeted by the green atmosphere.
Beside Ular, he could hear a slight groan of annoyance from the blonde aesir. Taking the lead in their journey for the relics.
"What have you so frustrated, mtu mdogo?"
"Let's just get this done…quickly as possible." Heimdall quips.
He knows this will go as quickly, the way he wants it to....
a/n: I hope you enjoyed this new chapter as mush as i did writing it, its getting a little drama in here.
a/n: after many struggles i finished the next chapter, i hope your day is going amazing and enjoy the gay love.
warnings:lots of kissing
The sound of the wooden door shutting echoed through the silence of Odin's study as Heimdall held the metal handles. He turned to his father, who sat in his cushioned chair, fingers gliding smoothly across the book, his judging eyes focused on the book he was reading. "You wanted to see me, father?" Heimdall voiced, his weight shifting slightly from the uneasy feeling in the room. Odin gazed up from the pages to look at his son with a frustrated expression.
Seeing him look up made Heimdall gaze elsewhere than at his father.
What could have him in a hissy attitude today? Heimdall questioned himself. "You know your brother's third wedding is tomorrow, right? When am I going to hear about yours?" Odin scolded, only being answered by silence from his son, the effects of the scolding showing. Deep down, Odin knew how Heimdall was with such a subject like this. Being the same as when it was the last time they talked about this.
"All-father I-"
"Cut the excuses, Heimdall!.. I gave you years, time, and patience. Then what do I get? More fucking excuses!" he yelled, the two ears in his study being met with the screech of his chair scrapping on the floor as he rose from it. Heimdall could see the anger building on his face, and the aura made the blonde man tense up.
Heimdall's slender fingers flexed from the pit, feeling conjuring up inside, "father, what do you mean? I don't need marriage to define me." Heimdall criticized, knowing the result of this argument, a never-ending turn with no end. His magenta eyes looked down at the wooden floor, fearful of looking into the eyes of disappointment. The Aesir silently cursed to himself, hearing his father's heavy footsteps approach him with ill intentions, dreadful silence filling the room once his stomps stopped.
"You think you get to choose this, wasting my blood like its cheap mead. I did NOT birth you to have it dry out, Heimdall!" Odin cursed, hands resembling what Heimdall was doing, balling them up from frustration, denial of others' choices, and not having the option to choose. Seeing Odin's hand gesture like this made Heimdall prepares for what was to come, he knew how much Odin saw him as a tool because he could hear it.
The thoughts that screamed out each time Heimdall was in Odin's presence. A heavy sigh follows up as the old man grazes his receding gray hair on his head, "furthermore, you will take the marriage I have arranged for you since you have a problem with…deciding." Odin corrected, the floor creaking under his boots as he stepped away from the young man. Again, he tries to choose for Heimdall, choosing what's best for him and not letting him decide. Hearing that he was arranging one made the Aesir's expression turn sour with irritation.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me, and I will not take another rebuttal from you, boy. As I said, your brother's wedding is tomorrow, and you haven't even thought of a proposal in centuries." odin said, The expression of a curious father on his wrinkled face.
"...Unless you have anything in mind," the old man theorized, leaning forward on his desk. Heimdall's thoughts ponder in question, wondering who would take him on such an offer, but then his thoughts fall on one person. Playing with fate and maybe even testing his luck with others' kindness, the worse this person could say is no.
His jaw set, preparing himself before speaking, "Ular waru." Heimdall uttered, eyeballing the all-father's expression filled with confusion and a hint of disbelief. He could hear the doubt and even see it right before him.
"The whale man's boy? What makes you think he'll play upon your offer?" Odin mocked, eyebrows raised in question.
The sound of Heimdall's nervous swallow echoed in his ears "he has an eye for me. He had it for a very long time,... so it shouldn't take long with a little convincing," he insists, words littered with lies and barely truths but how would the all-father notice this. Odin watched him closely with a cruel gleam in his one eye, listening to his son.
Odin Purring in his chest slightly as he leaned back into the wooden chair he sat in "3 months; you have three months, Heimdall, and if that boy isn't ready to marry you. We are going with my decision, no BUTS!" He warns, pointing a frail tattooed finger at Heimdall. The echoing silence filled the room again with dread before Odin decided to send him away the gesture of his hand, Heimdall turning his tail, with his loud stomping following behind. Shutting his father's door with a slam, yet still holding on to the handles, a breathy frustration leaving his lips.
He will convince Ular, and he will not fail. He refuses to yield.
A few hours passed, and after the odd deal Ular knew nothing about, his mind was elsewhere as he was assisting others in preparing for the upcoming wedding Ingmar, Sif, and thor were having tomorrow. Knowing that ingamr was getting married made Ular very excited about the event. It'll be his first time witnessing an actual wedding since the wedding he attended was for him but was arranged by his 'father' for a truce between other sea beings.
Neverminding that, ular continued helping by using his tendrils to hang a few beautiful blue-colored henbane flowers, requested by the god of thunder himself.
Luckily, Ular had these flowers growing a good while ago out of curiosity for the beautiful colors once thor introduced them to the sea deity. Finishing off with the flowers, humming like a young boy in love as he carried crates filled with mead from one place to another, he bent down to reach for a bin on the floor, glancing at his finger and seeing old, dried-up blood, he'll have to remind himself to clean that off later. He stood straight, only to be met with an unexpected blonde visitor.
"You are very flexible, for a gigantic squid." Heimdall raved, his words followed by that classic mocking smirk he likes to flash, golden teeth gleaming.
The tense grip ular had on the bin tightened with annoyance.
"What do you want, Heimdall?" he murmured, through his clenched teeth as he gave the Aesir a fake smile. Tension built between the two as their thoughts overflowed each other, Heimdall nervously biting his lip, striding slowly towards ular. He was not practically noticing the eight-foot man stepping back slightly to separate the distance from this.
"You better be lucky I favor you, lamb. I bumped up your privilege with the opportunity to marry someone under Odin's wing." he declared, not paying any mind to Ular's confused expression and reaching over to one of the shop owner's apples and grabbing it, examing the delicious red apple.
The caramel-skinned man double-takes on Heimdall's words. Why would he help? All these years now, he wants to try to help ular? "I’m marrying who?! and what makes you think I need your help?" he responded, setting the wooden bin he carried to the side with a slight slam, watching the skimming Aesir take a bite out of the apple he held. His Magenta eyes glared at Ular, laughing under his breath.
"Don't you want to live up here with that whale-man?"
"you mean my father," Ular corrects, without hesitating to talk back to the blonde. Heimdall sees the man continue his volunteer work to avoid throwing the watcher across the muddy ground. This problem was bound to come up eventually. Ingmar marrying the borson's meant he would have to move to the other side of the wall, and ular would still live in the house they stayed in. secretly, ular knew the loneliness would get to him sooner than he would least expect it, like how everything is out to get him.
Not hearing Heimdall even make a sound from behind him made the realization come to life that he was probably reading his mind.
" Is the poor puppy worried about being alone?" he cackled, Ular giving him a disgustful stare, then ignoring the continuous laughter. This constant banter only adds to the list of reasons why ular can't stand the spoiled man-child.
The sea man’s jaw tightens from Heimdall’s mocking words “don’t test my patience, minha amiga. I’m not worried about that. Now, if you don’t mind, I have other things to attend to.” he responds, saving himself the trouble by speaking in his native before distancing himself from the man. Heimdall being so small-minded, couldn’t recognize the language, proceeding to brush it off and get the last laugh.
"don't forget to save me a seat at the wedding, dearest!" Heimdall mocked, still focused on Ular, walking further away from him to tune the man out. Well, it could’ve gone worse if he had told him the person was him.
This day keeps getting better by the hour for Ular.
The next day's beautiful afternoon, Guests for today's wedding were excited about the beautiful exchange of last names. Ular, standing in his room, fixes his dark-blue tunic with silver accessories. With a cuff and a few rings, adjusting the shiny silver, he glances at himself in a reflection of water he used to clean his face this morning. Watching the waters ripple in the warm water, his trace was broken by heavy footsteps that were familiar to him.
"Woah, look at you being all fancy!" Ingmar compliments, Ular expression lights up like a deer hearing this. The deity took this time to see Ingmar's wedding outfit: a blue tunic with a fur coat across his shoulders.
"me being fancy, look at you," he bellows, gesturing to Ingmar's outfit. The big man laughed it off with a slight yanking off Ula'r's arm to pull him towards his big chest, ruffling up his hair. Ingmar knew no matter how old Ular would be. He'll still treat him like his own kid, even while they make their way toward the walls of Asgard. They will be added to a more prominent family, and that family brought them happiness, a warm feeling the both of them haven't felt in a while.
Once they arrived in Asgard, the place looked as lively as ever, the beautiful flowers ular put up, gleaming like stars. Guests dressed in fitting outfits for the wedding. Seeing them all for Ingmar's wedding made them smile hard. getting closer to the great lodge, Ingmar spots his soon-to-be husband and wife, their outfits matching the colors of Ingmar's, thor looking handsome as ever and his wife Sif's bright smile. He silently murmurs to ular that'll he see him during the wedding and steps away to talk to sif and thor. Ular gave them a little wave, turning around only to be surprised by a stranger.
She was eating from a wooden bowl. Ular recognized the smell as the food being served for the wedding, and from the disgusted expression on her face, he could tell that she didn't quite enjoy the taste.
"you know, the food here tastes like vanaheim's swamp. No flavor and barely any spice. Are you the one who made this?"
"No, I did not, ma'am,..it was those dwarves. I told them not to mess with the cooking," Ular nervously explained, the woman staring daggers into Ular's eyes with her amber ones. It felt like hours before she finally gave him a reassuring smile, handing the wooden bowl over.
"Well, next time, young man. Make sure they don't touch it," she warns, striding back to the wedding guest and maybe, grabbing more food along the way that is good. She is a fine woman but struck a chill in Ular's spine with that glare. Deciding that the interaction was a little weird, Ular roams off to find his close friends that he'd made sure to invite. Gazing at Larvisa and Leif, he couldn't help but smile, talking to them about making sure to a nice spot before it started.
As time passed, everyone was standing in there, smiling in glee, waiting for the bride and groom to do their walk. Ular takes his place in the far backside, still having a perfect view of the walkway, slightly hearing the murmurs and whispers of the guest about the wedding. The sight of thor, thrud, and Ingmar walking together is a memory-capturing ular. He knows for sure that his father was the happiest fish man alive, the grey hair man looking off to the side as he walked, sparring a slight glance to ular. Instead of waving with his hand, Ular waved with one of his tendrils, a cheeky smile that Ingmar couldn't help but chuckle at the boy.
Listening to their vows and the heartfelt exchange of weapons, watching thor and sif give Ingmar Mjölnir meant so much to him. the man got teary-eyed, kissing the two and hugging them so tenderly, even ular felt a few tears peaking up as well. The moment was later filled with a circle dance, sif, thor, and everyone cheering Ingmar on as he danced, clapping, and unique sounds of instruments. It was most definitely Ingmar's band. Ular knew that sound from anywhere. The deity off to the side eventually strolled away, knowing he did an excellent job with the wedding.
Ular escaped to step off to the side, behind a wall of the great lodge. At first, his golden eyes focused on the muddy ground, then his eyes cast above to see the starry night smiling wide. His moment getting ruined by footsteps approaching where he was hiding. Glaring over to the source of the sound, he sees Heimdall, the Aesir he despises.
"why aren't you dancing with them, lamb?" the familiar voice questioned, but Ular barely could understand what they were saying from their words being in a drunken slur. The tall man gazed to his side to see the familiar blonde asshole that seemed always to find him.
"I'm not much of a dancer, and are you drunk?" Ular mocked, seeing Heimdall barely able to keep his eyes wide open, his eyelids on being narrowed, magenta eyes glowing like fireflies. Wearing a silky yellow button-up tunic with many leather belts, This is the first time he has ever since the perfect aesir, drunk and slurry like a wise older man. The tone of Ular mocking him made Heimdall furious. Stomping over to him until he stood in front of the giant caramel-skinned man, reaching his pale hand out to grab Ular by the fur on his body.
"Are you mocking me?" he scowls, breath smelling like very cheap mead, Ular's expression somewhat disgusted by the smell.
"Yes, I am. You smell exactly like your brother," he notes, leaning slightly away from the drunken aesir. When Heimdall heard the very words of his brother being mentioned, His chiseled jaw tightened, Ular getting a slight taste of the man's thoughts. Hatred, disgust, and longing as Heimdall stare daggers into Ular's non-judging glares.
Heimdall Raised his free hand to point a pale finger at Ular's face. "I hate you. I hate you so much because of you and your whale of a.. goddamn father! I have to marry someone, getting the all father in such a marry fucking mood!" he voiced, anger in every word he spat at Ular, the other hand having a tight grip on the soft fur Ular wore. Heimdall glimpsed back up at Ular again, He was expecting something different, but instead, the look in Ular's eyes was sympathetic. Again, not an ounce of judgment. He had never had someone gaze at him like this, the slight movement Heimdall felt when Ular moved his hands, putting a callused hand over his small, smoothed ones.
"Hating me isn't going to get you anywhere, Heimdall," Ular's hushed voice murmurs to Heimdall. He doesn't know if the mead is doing this to him or how Ular scent comforts him. It smelled sweet, with the smell of the salty waters. The smell blinded his senses, barely noticing the small distance between them, yet still, he refused to look away from ular's golden gaze.
A secret he'd take to the grave with him was the jealousy of others' happy romances, but right now. Seeing his hold on Ular made him want to be selfish, and he can experience it, to experience the euphoria. Feeling the tension snapping, He exhaled sharply before leaning in, closing the distance between them, and taking Ular's lips into his. The taste on Heimdall's lips was the sour taste of mead, nothing but that, the kiss feeling delightful to Heimdall, barely able to breathe.
The air Ular took away from him as he kissed him deeply, not until the aesir pulled away. The two of them caught their breaths, Ular gazing down at Heimdall's flushed face and blissful expression, Hearing each other's breaths.
"I can't believe it. I just-.."
Ular gazed into his glowing, magenta eyes. "are you sure...about this?"
"..I surely didn't tell you to stop" heimdall whisper, licking his pink, soft lips and kissing him again into the night....
When Heimdall finally opened his eyes, they shined with lust and animalistic gaze—looking into each other's eyes one last time before Heimdall pulled him down to capture his lips again, the hint of mead still lingering on his tongue.
This moment they shared opened a new door to something fresh for the two.
