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heimdallsram · 1 year

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title: perennial

pairing: heimdall x female! goddess! reader

"You were a goddess of oaths and vows. It was only fitting that Odin would bind you to his service in only the most ironic way that he knew how: marriage."

this fanfiction contains the following: domestic violence, blood, gore, choking, violent sexual content, bad BDSM etiquette, non-consensual somnophilia, blood drinking, unhealthy relationships, and much more content that may be sensitive to some readers. reader discretion is advised.

*for inquiries about the taglist, please dm me and i will add you to it.

The collar felt like a brand against your neck as you stared at yourself in the reflection of the window. The spells that had been cast upon it were finally inactive, satisfied that you were no longer harming yourself or beating down the walls with your fists. There were holes the size of your hand littering the floor and the entirety of the room, save the door, that you had managed to punch through without managing to see any of it through your tears. The angrier you grew, the stronger the spells became, and consequently, the more you would cry and ruin the charcoal you had painstakingly smudged over your eyes. The design was as perfect as if the servant had done it herself, but it was no skill of yours; the magic in the collar had replicated it flawlessly. It utilized your magic and powers better than you could on your own, funneling it through the various runes and following the orders that Odin had spoken into the individual grooves of the metal. You weren’t sure how it worked, or how he had figured out that the collar had been in Vanaheim at all—that it even existed.

You had sold it long before you ever met Brok and Sindri. For, and now you hated yourself for it, a measly three hundred hacksilver. It bought you clothing and a warm meal but that had been all; you had sold the instrument of your control to a merchant and never looked back. You had been a child then, making ends meet where you could, smarter than your years and growing more quickly than any normal girl should have. Your eyes were bigger than your stomach during those years, and it was no wonder you had handed the collar over so freely, so easily; you were a growing girl with a growing stomach. It had been twisted, mangled, rusted, and worthless then, so it was a surprise you had even gotten what you had out of it.

“The fur,” you waved your tiny hand toward the stack of furs the merchant had laid in the back of his caravan. They were not good furs, and had been cured improperly and killed violently, so they were more leather than fur, but you would have to make do. “How much?”

At the time, you had only a vague understanding of how hacksilver worked. But the merchant was willing to make a penny where he could, and so he had accepted the ruined relic as long as you spent half of that money on his stock. A foolish deal, but the insects and plants were biting at your skin and your feet were rubbed raw, and you had suffered long enough in your mind. So you had done as he asked and bought the furs, clothing, and some of his food: stewed meat and stale bread.

“Thank you, mister,” you had said as you left, your belly full and a twinkle in your eye. The merchant waved you off, tucking the hacksilver into his pocket. When you would return the next day, hoping to sell some of your spoils to him, he would be long gone, traveling faster than your tiny legs could carry you.

You still owned the remaining hacksilver you had gotten from that ill-gotten bargain to this day. It sat in your waist pouch unused, tarnished with age, and even now, you could not bring yourself to spend it. Your shame was palpable, and now your childhood foolishness had brought the collar back to you, except this time, it was around your neck, binding you to the man who would rather see you dead if you were of no use to him. It was terribly ironic how full circle it had come.

Brok and Sindri would be disappointed in you. If they had ever known the collar existed, they would have bought it and hidden it away. You had never told them, though, too happy to have a home with the two dwarves for however long that would be before Odin would sweep you away. And as you had aged, the thought of it had slipped your mind, too concerned with other things to worry about an old relic that had been rusting and falling apart the last you had laid eyes on it.

It was obvious you should have worried. The proof of it was around your neck, after all.

“It is time,” Sif announced quietly at the door. She had been standing there while you had taken out your anger on the room, Thor’s lumbering form and Odin at his side alerting her that something had happened without her notice. Her apology note had been written before the two had ever arrived, apologizing not for the collar but for your nuptials. “The ceremony is to begin in a few moments.”

When you opened the door, her eyes strayed to your raw hands and the collar around your neck. She did not comment on the redness of your eyes and instead gently pushed a bundle of flowers into your grasp, arranging the silk ribbons around your knuckles just-so to hide the marks. She arranged the wheat and flowers in your hair to look more properly put in place and used her magic to heal the bruises and bloodied welts around your neck completely.

“Now we go,” Sif whispered. You did not reply. She tucked your arm into hers and walked you to through the building, letting you school your features into neutrality.

She did not utter a word when you snatched up a bottle of wine and guzzled it, nor did she stop you when you also picked up tankards of ale along the way, pulling them roughly out of unsuspecting Midgardians’ hands and drinking them in four or five large gulps. Some were full of ale and others had a strangely bitter substance within them that was making your head spin, but that was well within your goals before you had to look at Odin and Heimdall’s faces while your vows were spoken for you. You would be thoroughly drunk while you attended your own wedding or you would strangle Odin where he stood.

As you passed through the halls, several familiar faces floated your way. They did not congratulate you or raise their cups like the Midgardians were doing. Ullr, the god of winter and hunting; Höðr, the black sheep of the family and the blind son of Freya and Odin that had been sequestered away by Odin’s shame and presumed dead by Freya; Lofn, the godess of arranged marriages, you noticed bitterly; Aegir, god of ocean, storm, alcohol and banquets; and young Sigyn, the youngest Aesir to exist among the gods, normally only present outside the walls of Asgard. These were gods you did not know, did not associate with, yet they held sorrow and pity for you—Odin’s crimes had, in many ways, touched all of them, twisted them from their original beliefs. But none more than Höðr, with his dark hair and milky white eyes, a spitting image of Queen Freya.

Though he could not see you, he smiled when you stopped drunkenly in front of him. Sif tried to urge you away, but you refused, too incensed at seeing the long forgotten god that your Queen had thought dead. Odin had been smart to take Höðr away, knowing Freya would never finish her spell if he was alive, and had lived to regret it when that same spell had not been given to him. He even kept feathers in his hair, though they were of an albatross’ wing and not of a falcon as Freya had kept hers.

“It may not seem so, small goddess, but every path has its end,” he said. He gently touched the sprig of wheat nestled into the braids upon your head. Then, it drifted to a flower, one symbolizing power. “May you rise above this as my mother did.”

Now you were being pulled away, the alcohol making you pliant enough for Sif to drag you towards the small gathering of gods where Odin stood, waiting. All of the confusion drained out of you to be replaced with repulsion and anger—your grip tightened on the flower stems in your grasp. His eyes lingered on the flowers in your hair only for a moment, and there was a twist of distaste to his mouth, but it was wiped away quickly when attention began skipping over him to you.

“He should not have said that,” Sif whispered urgently. “Now Váli will be following him like a bloodhound.”

You watched, in a daze, as the aforementioned half giant worked his way through the crowd. Whereas Höðr was the spitting image of Freya, Váli looked as if he could be a younger version of Odin. It was surprising to you that Váli, born before Odin married Freya, had not sought vengeance for Baldur and instead was ordered to keep an eye over the blind god. He had been good friends with the now deceased god for longer than you cared to recall; all of Odin’s half giant spawn were either dead or imprisoned now, killed by Thor or chained in a cell by their own father. It was a thought you had had, not frequently as of late, that Odin found the resistance to his manipulations to be completely fostered by the giants. His numerous children gave no evidence to that theory, especially that of Thor, who was pliant to his father’s whims. Those he could not control he did away with.

“He will be fine?” You mumbled, eyes searching endlessly for another cup of ale to steal. “’S not like he said anything bad.”

Sif frowned at you where Odin could not see. “To you, perhaps. But to Odin, it was the same as treason. He was the one who kept the mistletoe that killed Baldur. And stop drinking; I should not have let you drink the first one.”

As you opened your mouth to give her a drunken reply, Heimdall emerged from the crowd. His face was deceptively blank, but his eyes spoke for him—they shifted and blazed with anger, contempt, disgust. At everyone around him and at you, especially, for to him you were the cause of all of this. You closed your mouth with an audible clack of teeth.

Sif was quick to let go of you, melting seamlessly into the crowd to reemerge at Thor’s side to Odin’s general left. Heimdall took her place, one hand tight around your bicep and squeezing so hard that you thought you heard the bones groan in protest. Or perhaps that the sound of your mind trying to process anything at all was what you were hearing instead.

“How dare you humiliate me like this.” His gaze was focused entirely on Odin as he gestured for the crowd to gather tight around the both of you, his attention diverted for the moment. You tried to rip your arm from his grip, but he was holding on too tightly and he was, unfortunately, the only thing keeping you upright. “The marriage I would be forced to tolerate. But this? I should punish you for this.”

The buzzing in your blood was not so pleasant as anger replaced the thoughtless stupor you were in. You forced him to look at you, yanking stubbornly on his arm, and you leaned close. He scowled at the smell of wine and ale on your breath. “Anything you could think of doing to me, Odin has already done, you fucking sack of shit.”

He was trembling with rage as you turned your head to face Odin, who was looking down at the both of you from his elevated stance with a look of disapproval. You couldn’t bring yourself to care as your husband-to-be dug his fingers into your arm and resisted strangling you again, this time in front of a crowd of onlookers.

Odin, with a sigh, snapped his fingers and it had the delayed reaction of silencing the crowd and ridding you of your alcohol induced high. It drained from you as quickly as the blood did from your face, the spells rising to the forefront of your mind and removing any trace of the alcohol from your system, leaving you painfully, strikingly sober.

This was not how you intended to listen to your vows.

“Welcome, everyone!” The All-Father lifted both his arm in a fascimile of a hug, as if he was embracing all who stood there. “Today we will witness the union of the Lady Var, goddess of oaths and agreements, and Heimdall, watchman of the gods!” He paused to lift a tankard of ale, produced from only the fates knew where. He raised it high. “Let us drink to their future as a newly wed pair!”

You felt strangely sick as you watched countless people, strangers you didn’t even know, drink to dooming you to a future you didn’t want. Heimdall was still so, so angry beside you, but he was doing a better job of hiding it than you were, using your arm as an outlet and the hand on his sword tight around the hilt. Neither of you wanted this, for vastly different reasons, but you could not even have solidarity in that; this was your fault, and he would continue to blame you for it even if he was wrong.

Odin continued to speak, but his voice had long silenced into a dull roar. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. All you could imagine was waking up, one day, not in your own bed, but to Heimdall. To him strangling you as you slept. To him being near you, touching you, sliding between your legs and forcing you to endure him because that was to be your duty as his wife. Your grip on the flowers faltered. The crowd jeered at something he said, something foul and illicit and heavily suggestive, but you were not listening. You were lost to the images of a future you did not want, to the idea of raising a child with the man who despised you more than anything else in the Nine Realms, and unbidden, tears rose to your eyes. You did not want a child who sought its fathers approval like Heimdall, like Baldur and Thor. You did not want to be the mother that tried, and failed, to protect them, like Freya. You would not be able to. It would break you more than the collar, would ruin you.

“I do,” Heimdall’s voice echoed. You snapped out of your reverie, the spell forcing your tears back and out of sight, when Odin’s attention turned to you. Heimdall squeezed your arm threateningly.

You cleared your throat. “I do.”

The vows had already been said, and you did not even know the contents of them because you had been stuck in your own head. Cold snuck down the back of your dress and into your spine. Odin had decided your future and you were unaware of what he had stipulated into your marriage. You could only watch, your heart swooping into your stomach, as nearly a dozen vows and oaths sprung into place between yourself and Heimdall, not a gentle and soothing gold, but a violent, bloody red, as red as the flowers in your hair. Magic poured into those bonds, and for a moment, all was silent in your head. And then… faint, at first, you heard something else.

‘Fidelity? I would rather rot in the mud than be faithful to her.’

Slowly, your gaze turned to Heimdall. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes narrowed in anger, his foot tapping out a rhythm on the floor. The crowd roared, cheered, raised their cups and toasted you both, but you ignored it all.

What was this you were hearing? The vows shone. Odin allowed the crowd to push you along, Heimdall’s grip on you unceasing as you were pushed and pulled towards the dining table where a formidable feast had been laid out for your perusal. Meats, stews, jerky, honeyed bread, you would have once been eyeing it all, but your focus was reserved for the man tugging you along like you were a doll, pushing past the throng of people towards the table kept for the All-Father’s family.

‘Filthy Midgardians, can’t you see you’re in my way?! Move! Why the All-Father allowed you vermin into the walls, I do not know—“

Like the high tide, the realization crept upon you slowly. You ate, drank, put questionable pieces of organs into your mouth that you were not sure were anything but delicacies, but your attention was unmovable, your mind and gaze seated on the side of Heimdall’s face.

‘Why in the Hel is she staring at me like that?’

The collar did not feel so heavy as you passed the lengths through your fingertips, your other hand tight around the width of your cup. Sif and Thor were well into their paces before you had even considered eating, Odin was absent at the table, and anyone important was either too drunk to notice your lack of attention or had left as the night progressed.

‘I swear to the Norns, she is just asking to be hurt—‘

You were hearing Heimdall’s thoughts. But he, just like before, could not hear yours.

A wicked little smile crept across your lips. Oh, Odin, you have no idea what a mistake you have made, indeed.

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taglist: @versiesleeps

#heimdall x reader #gow heimdall x reader #god of war x reader #god of war heimdall #god of war ragnarok #gow ragnarok #god of war #gow heimdall x female reader #.perennial

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christiansorrell · 6 months

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Play-By-Blog #11: The Isle by Luke Gearing

Welcome to my ongoing play-by-blog of The Isle by Luke Gearing! We are playing this adventure with its original system, The Vanilla Game (adjusted somewhat to fit the format). You can check out the Play-By-Blog Repository to get all caught up if you wish.

How Play-By-Blog works:

I write up the situation, NPCs, and more, just like a DM.

You vote in the poll to help decide the character's course of action.

I roll the dice, resolve actions, and write them up next week.

So on and so forth for the rest of the adventure!

Notation:

[Text in brackets is out-of-character/GM text!] "Non-italicized quotes denote text from the original adventure!" "Italicized quotations denotes NPC dialogue."

Our character: Medon Girou - Magic Cutpurse

Our maps: The Isle, The Dungeon (so far)

[You can use the links above to find Medon's Character Sheet and map of the Isle and the so far uncovered portions below the surface. On the Dungeon map, you are currently in Floor 2, Room 20.]

Now, back to the adventure!

You look back at Fionn, this strange skeleton writhing with leeches and crowned with long, white hair. For the first time on this isle, you find yourself thinking that you can be honest with this man, if you can call him that. Surely, he has far bigger things to worry about than a petty thief like you. Surely, he's done worse to become whatever he is now. Perhaps, there's some shred of a kindred spirit in those old, cracked bones.

You tell him the truth. You have come here for riches. You know and care little for the cares and customs of the monks and their monastery. You have heard there is old hacksilver here to be had, be it in coin or in trinkets of one kind of another. In fact, you've already found some. Fionn lets out a raspy laugh, heading tilting side to side. You are sure he would be smiling if he had flesh. "It is rare to come upon such an honest soul in a place like this. It gives me hope for what you and I may achieve. I too care little for the damned monks on the surface. They, like so many others, were collaborators in my demise. They will find their time in the dirt soon enough. "You see, I do not care for any of the many treasures you may find within these halls. My treasure is my kingdom, back upon the mainland. To reclaim it, my brother Dainéal must die a true death. He is here somewhere, lingering in undeath. Kill him for me and you will forever have a place at my court. In the meantime, you may rest here, make use of my chimney, and loot anything else you wish from this place (outside of this room, mind you).

"Dainéal is my equal heir, you see. We were tricked long ago and exiled. While he lives, I am unable to reclaim my proper glory. You'll find him far from here, but he is here - in these halls. He has Bonded Dead, much as I do." Fionn gestures to the other skeletons shifting in place around him. "They wear furs, much in Dainéal's antiquated style, not that he can wear much these days." He laughs again, shattered teeth and old bones clattering.

"So what say you? Join me in this quest and take your pick of all the treasures of this place, uninhibited by me. A place at my court, if you wish it, for all eternity."

Fionn and all of his Bonded Dead look to you, empty eyes wriggling with leeches.

Beyond them, you here a quiet shuffling sound through the dark doorway to the east and a grinding sound through the doorway to the south.

[I was pleasantly surprised to see y'all take the honest approach! Especially for a cutpurse like Medon, this feels like a big character moment. I'm interested to see how it continues to play out! See you next week.]

[Also, it's worth mentioning that Medon's spell Wizard Eye does summon a magical, floating eye with darkvision (or at least I'm ruling that is does for our purposes), but casting spells are potentially dangerous and can't be relied on as readily as equipment. Still, it's worth noting for the future in a place as dark as this. - Christian]

PBB #12 is live now!

#meatcastle pbb #ttrpg #indie ttrpg #ttrpgs #rpg #luke gearing #play by blog #play by post #the isle #fantasy #polls #choose your own adventure

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whencyclopedia · 1 year

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Silver in Antiquity

Silver had great value and aesthetic appeal in many ancient cultures where it was used to make jewellery, tableware, figurines, ritual objects and rough-cut pieces known as hacksilver which could be used in trade or to store wealth. The metal of choice to mint coinage for long periods, acquisition of silver mines in such places as Greece, Spain, Italy, and Anatolia was an important factor in many an ancient conflict. The metal was also found, amongst other places, in mines in ancient China, Korea, Japan, and South America where it was transformed into beautifully-crafted objects for elite use and to give as tribute and prestige gifts between states. Easily mined, worked, reusable, and brilliantly shiny, silver was one of the few truly international commodities which both connected and divided the ancient world.

Learn more about Silver in Antiquity

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fridge-reviews · 2 months

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God of War

Developer: Santa Monica Studio Publisher: PlayStation PC LLC Steam Deck Compatibility?: Verified Rrp: £39.99 (Gog.com, Humble, Steam and Epic) Released: 14th January 2022 Available on: Gog.com, Humble, Steam and Epic Played Using: An Xbox One Control Pad and a Steam Deck Approximate game length: 40 hours +

I’m just going to say this now, until this one I’ve never played any of the God of War games. From what I’m given to understand this game is different from its predecessors in a number of ways, not least of which being the setting. For starters, Kratos (one of two main characters) is older than in the previous games, though it’s never specified how much older, another difference is the inclusion of his son Atreus (the second of the two main characters).

God of War originally released in 2018 on the Playstation 4 but has thankfully joined the slowly growing number of games that Playstation are allowing onto the PC (albeit five years later). The game is what I would call semi open world, where you can’t go just anywhere but the space in which you do have to play is quite extensive and densely packed.

Graphically this game is absolutely gorgeous and runs smoothly (even on my rig that's starting to show its age). On the Steam Deck it generally runs wonderfully though it does drain the battery incredibly quickly while not docked. I did have one instance of the game crashing while docked though it seems to have been a one off as I've not been able to replicate it.

As I mentioned this game is a densely packed semi open world so there is plenty to do. What I find quite impressive is that as you play through the game Kratos tries to use the various side missions as a way to teach Atreus lessons. I think that's a very smart way to show how Kratos has grown as a character from the previous games (from what I can tell) without making it explicit.

The combat is engaging and fast paced with multiple opponents trying to attack you at the same time forcing you to dodge and parry blows from different directions. If you do successfully parry an attack you’re rewarded with a brief window of time where the combat slows and you can take your opportunity to strike. Unlike many other games that saddle you with an NPC Atreus is actually useful, especially in combat, as he will attack enemies of his own accord or by your command. He even will sometimes restrain enemies allowing you to get free hits in or a moment's respite.

As you fight you'll build up ‘Spartan Rage’ (as depicted in a metre below your health bar). This metre increases from both dealing and taking damage. Once you activate this ‘Rage Mode’ you cause much more damage and are totally immune to all damage for the short time it lasts.

Defeated enemies sometimes drop healthstones that restore a portion of your health, resources for upgrading your equipment or hacksilver that can be used in stores. These can also be found within breakable pottery that's scattered around the world (except the resources, those are typically found in chests). Defeating enemies also grants experience (XP) but only once you’ve completed a combat encounter.

Experience (or XP) is spent on upgrading your skills, however you can also use it to upgrade the various runes you will find in the world that can be applied to your weapons and armour. In Atreus’s case not only can it be spent on making him a much more efficient fighter but also allow him some magical affinity.

Your ‘Goals’ (read objective) screen is separated into five parts; Journey, favours, labours, treasure maps and artefacts. Journey is the main storyline, favours are side quests, labour's are optional tasks such as ‘kill X creatures’, treasure maps I feel are self explanatory and artefacts are items found in the world. All of the goals and codex screens are written by Atreus which I think is a clever idea as Kratos doesn't seem to be the type to write things down. A great example of this is when you defeat an enemy type a few times more information in the form of hints will appear in that enemies bestiary entry.

If I had to level one complaint against this game it would be that it’s slightly guilty of over using and recycling enemy types. A great example of this are the trolls, through this game you’ll face a number of trolls (about six if memory serves) however they all have the same move set, and look the same apart from maybe being bigger or a different colour.

I did wonder if this game deserved all the hype it was given back when it first released and now having played it I get it. It’s a lot of fun with an interesting plot and charming characters. If you’ve not played this game don’t worry about not having played the previous titles, it really does stand up on its own so I heartily recommend it.

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#game review #game reviews #games review #games reviews #video games #video game #video gaming #Santa Monica Studio #Playstation PC LLC #God of War #kratos #atreus

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