xlethalhadesx

[xlethalhadesx]

YALL SONT KNOW HOW BAD I NEED HIM

[xlethalhadesx]

Do I have to come out of my cave to make street fighter 6 females x readers

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It’s been a while since I’ve posted

[xlethalhadesx]

THIS IS SO GOOD ���😭💕💕💕💕💕💕

I need help but he's soo😩

More Ai Heimdall 🛐 Lines from the fic 'The Opportunity' by @lethalhades Chpt. 1 through 5 since 6 DOESN'T INVOLVE BABYBOI.🧍🏻That will be all. Maybe-

[xlethalhadesx]

Random Thor Headcannons

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!

[xlethalhadesx]

I do write abby x readers if anyones interested

[xlethalhadesx]

Abby appreciation post

[xlethalhadesx]

loyalty binds chapter 3

Warnings: slight gore and blood

did i proof read: a little

words: 2K, please enjoy this chapter.

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.

[xlethalhadesx]

Gulltoppr… who loves me the most? Whooooo loves me the most? Idk I like this quote

[xlethalhadesx]

New banner for GoW fans to put on their posts because I can't trust any of you anymore. Free to use no credit needed

[xlethalhadesx]

Next chapter of loyalty binds will be posted Sunday

[xlethalhadesx]

Heimdall and Ular headcannons (nsfw included)

*hides in shame*

1. Heimdall sometimes lets Ular braid his hair

2. Since Ular works in the plaza shops he gets apples and cheeses for heimdall

3. Whenever a event is happening heimdall would dress Ular properly with good colors

4. Ular has a very strict no eating seafood policy

5. Heimdall adores kissing ulars markings

6. Ular spoons heimdall because heimdall thinks Ular is a nice cold blanket during the heat of Asgard

7. Their first kiss heimdalls face was very flushed and Ular kept laughing.

8. If heimdall doesn’t finish something he’s eating he gives it to ular

9. If their riding on gulltupper Ular always wraps his arms around Heimdall’s waist

10. When heimdall told Odin about Ular, Odin knew immediately that heimdall liked him very much even tho he sounded like he was insulting him.

11. They like washing in the tub together with extra bubbles (heimdall likes the extra bubbles)

12. Heimdall indeed wore the dress at the wedding after many begging from ular

13. Ppl tend to spot heimdall in ulars shirts

Now it’s time for the nasty nasty headcannon of Ular and heimdall

1. Whenever Ular puts his big hands on heimdalls body, he folds immediately.

2. Heimdall tends to forget Ular is 8FT, and tends to get overwhelmed (in a positive way)

3. Ular loves giving heimdall hickeys

4. Heimdall enjoys sucking on ulars fingers

5. The hate sex is something else because everytime Ular puts his hands on heimdalls neck, all he does is smirk at Ular

6. Heimdall will never admit that he enjoys laying across ulars lap and getting fingered

7. The advantage of ular’s tentacles has heimdall spinning in his head whenever he feels it on his body

8. Ular definitely gets a kick out of sucking heimdall off because each time he can’t handle it.

9. Ular always pulls heimdall by his hair whenever he’s fucking him from behind.

10. Even though their sex is rough, on their wedding night Ular cherished every second of it. Taking his time with heimdall and he loved it, being praised by Ular, and being called handsome maybe even a cute nickname made heimdall feel so in love with Ular.

11. Since Ular is a sea deity his hormones are off the charts, whenever heimdall is guarding the wall and hears the elevator coming up he knows it’s Ular.

12. Sometimes they fuck on top of the wall….sometimes

13. Heimdall likes hearing Ular moan for him whenever he sticks it in.

14. Since they both can read minds the eye contact is sexiest things with eachother since their fucking at night all the time, the slight following dim of heimdalls magenta eyes makes Ular fuck him harder, Heimdall’s thoughts are probably only about Ular and only him in that moment being drunk on it. Ular thinks about how much he’s gonna ruin heimdall.

15. Heimdall wILL NEVER let Ular cum outside he wants that hot FUCKING LOAD INSIDE

A/n: that is all I hope y’all enjoyed these as much as I did

[xlethalhadesx]

I’m holding off on posting loyalty binds due to personal reasons so I’ll put a chapter out next Monday not Saturday

[xlethalhadesx]

Yall want heimdall and ular headcannons with a lil spice

[xlethalhadesx]

confusing their dad is a hobby

[xlethalhadesx]

Loyalty binds chapter 2

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.

[xlethalhadesx]

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Title: Amaranthine

Pairing: Heimdall x Oc/Reader Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI)

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!

You can also read it on archive of our own