#watchman-declares

[honourablejester]

Watching that North Sea/Hoist the Colours post again, a couple of the lines of that song caught me again: “The bell has been raised from its watery grave; can you hear its sepulchral tone?” And I just …

I really love bells? As an image. A symbol. Toll the Dead is my favourite 5e cantrip. In Pathfinder, my two favourite thaumaturge implements, just for theme, are lantern and bell. I have a homebrew forge god who has the bell as his main symbol. I just. I really love the imagery of bells.

Bells sound for funerals. Bells count the passing of hours. Bells warn of approaching danger. In a nautical setting, bells mean port and/or buoys declaring safe water. The ghostly bell ringing through the mist means death or home. Bells toll out your life. Bells toll out your death. Bells mark territory: the bells of the church mark the parish, the bells of the night watchman mark out the protected area. Fog buoys mark home channels. Given the history tangled up in the Catholic Church, bells also symbolised power and wealth (church/town bells and especially full carillons were not cheap, and the biggest, heaviest, most expensive bells were parish and municipal status symbols) while at the same time, because of the association with death and funerals, also symbolised ultimate equality. Bells symbolise victory and celebration, sounding for weddings as well as funerals. Bells mean a call, often a call to school or to church, or an alarm bell, but also a general summons.

The bell tolls. Sound the death knell. Ring out your great bells in victory. Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clements. One o’clock and all’s well!

Bells have such a lovely tangle of images attached. Death. The inevitable passage of time. Alarm. Warning. The delineation of safe places. Celebration. Wealth. Equality. Summons. There’s a lot to play with.

And just. At the base of it all, and calling back to Hoist the Colours above … there’s nothing quite like the ghostly, sepulchral toll of bell to mark the call, and the end. Heh.

I just. I really enjoy the symbolism of bells a lot.

#bells #imagery #symbolism #toll the dead #carillon

[sh00kspeared]

SilverV Week

Hey @silverv-week , I’ve been excited for silverv weekend for a while and have something to share! I really wanted to write something based on the prompts but didn’t get to it since I was hyper focused on a different project in which I’m translating Cyberpunk into Elizabethan/Shakespearean English (to the best of my abilities; I love Shakespeare but am not a scholar or anything).

Warning, this isn't overly polished and is still kinda only partially edited, so it's likely that not all of the phrases sound fully Elizabethan. I rewrote part of Johnny and V’s conversation in the Tower ending (with a few more outward declarations of love so that it would constitute as SilverV), so here there be spoilers!

Johnny: I am fain to see fair Night ere my skyward leave— marry, she is a fair nunnery.

V: I needs say farewell. Pray you, open the door?

Weiss: Be not afeared— eternity is a foreign word and thy leave shall be short.

V: I am not a man who casts lots. [aside to Weiss] Pray you, open the door.

(the cart door opens)

Johnny: Lo, ‘tis fair Night, slumbering at thy feet. Marry, she is smaller than she once was— or thou hast grown.

V: Thy ruse is disquieting. I am undeserving of much, but above all, I am undeserving of thy love.

Johnny: Thou knowest I’m an ever fixéd man— My ruse will thus remain so steadfast as An anchor’d barque by golden-dusted shores. As thou hast slavéd as a watchman’s dog I pray thee, wear thy pride upon thy brow A diadem of triumph o’er Thanatos.

V: Dost thou yet love me? Thy bidding is crushed by mine own hand.

Johnny: Aye– With thee I spake beside the quarry– thus Our peace was sown for evermore and naught Of all my promises hath changéd since. Once I dreamt of mirthful things which hath Been cloven since; and yet, above all else, Th’ dreams I held for those I loved Were crumbl’d more than aught else I held dear. My bidding is to lend my soul this rest, Or else to stay with thee till we needs part, For I am fill’d with mirth that thou wast this: He who remainest my life’s final friend.

V: May I still call thee friend when thou art slain by mine own hand? O, that I weren’t a murderer!

Johnny: Aye, V– in sooth, thou art my dearest friend, And such that ‘murd’rer’ is a foreign word. Our tales end ever seal’d in a stroud, With caskets graven with my name or thine. I forthwith choose the stroud which bears my name, For verily thy body is thine own.

V: I am loathe to see thee die.

Johnny: I know thy heart— ‘tis for thine own good.

V: I ponder a world where we are strangers.

Johnny: On my word, the rapier would have pierced thy brain and turned thee into a grave man. And, hadst thou survived the foil, thou would have been an even graver man sans my counseling.

V: There is yet sooth in a jest– thou art my savior.

Johnny: The Relic was thine anchor, but valor and will was thy true saviour. Our journey was most star-alignéd.

V: Thy reserve is unbefitting of our circumstance.

Johnny: Once I didst hide my weapon in th’ cheverel sheath of Hades– I am an adept of death.

V: Put aside thy jests.

Johnny: ‘twas e’ery day I felt death pressed to my back– insomuch that I spent my days entrapped in a dance with it. But, sooth– ne’er have I felt such peace than I do now.

V: I have brushed fingers with th’ broad welkin as well. ‘Tis a gast thing.

Johnny: I am afeared for thee— as I am a gravéd man, eyes palled cannot see thee, nor can they see the world. But, sooth— I would be ever more gasted wert thou to be palled in place of me.

Dr. Lorenzo: you are afeared. I will give you this elixir— you must be well-brainéd ere the Relic is removed.

Johnny: all so soon asleep, lambkin.

V: all so soon…

Johnny: give me thine oath, sweeting.

V: were mine ears with cotton stuff’d, still would I swear upon the holy writ with both hands.

Johnny: Thus, lend thyself this mercy: Find thee bliss, Water fresh, and ale gold, and vales green. Sheathe thy rapier, fill thy hands with softer things, Thy mouth with laughter and thine ears with hymns. But this above all else: be faithful to Thyself as shepherd’s dog, unto thyself So true that one may gaze upon thee and Proclaim, ‘Sure as stars doth glister, thou art V.’

V: Johnny… I…

J: Good night, sweet Vincent, and dream thou so sweetly that thou may never wish to wake. The sun falleth on a mirthful day.

#spot the sex joke challenge because I did write in a sex joke #you can probably guess who delivers it #silvervweek #cyberpunk 2077 #v cyberpunk #johnny silverhand #johnny x male v #male v #writing #shakespeare #fanfiction #cyberpunk spoilers #phantom liberty #phantom liberty spoilers

[blueikeproductions]

Based on a workplace meme I found but tweaked to align it with Heathers.

A friend declared, via the Watchman JD is holding, that “Retro times call for retro solutions” to work around the characters not having iPhones and the like.

#blueike productions #blueike #heathers au #heathers #heathers 1989 #dan braverman #jason dean #heathers musical #heathers oc #incorrect heathers quotes #heathers movie

[ninjahiccups]

The Songbird of Asgard

Chapter 10: Love

AO3 Masterlist Word count: 12.1k Warnings: none

--------------------------------------------------------------------------The songbird and the watchman have taken a big step, one that all of Asgard notices. Heimdall, who was once uncertain if this change would be positive, is quickly falling victim to the benefits of letting go.

Just wanted to ask, do y'all prefer reading this stuff on here or AO3? I'm just noticing an increase in notifs from AO3 and less from here, so if we prefer AO3 I'll just link the chapter instead of posting the entire thing XD

For the first time since all this began, Heimdall hesitated to make his morning march across the wall. 

Eivor would be there, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to see her again.

They spent hours on the wall last night, gazing out at the plains, talking about everything and nothing…kissing. They remained until Eivor was too tired to do more than lean against him and close her eyes, so exhausted from being the center of attention for an entire day. Even so, she would only leave his side after he insisted he take her back to her cabin, enjoying one last leisurely ride on Gulltoppr until she kissed him goodbye. It was a night he would never forget. 

But now he wasn't so sure. 

He wasn't naive. Not physically, of course. Back in his younger days, well before he'd acquired his distaste for humanity as a whole, he'd had encounters involving both men and women, and even after he abstained from them the thoughts he found in people's minds was more than enough to keep him "informed" on the matter. Never had any of these experiences lasted more than a few hours, nor did he find any other them enjoyable enough to even remember, but he wasn't ignorant to what came from the ones that did: expectation.

Until now his bond with Eivor had been so carefree, so limitless, having no strings attached. With this more…serious change there was always a shift in expectations. Time spent, things that were said and done, they were always held to a different set of standards, and he hated that. He hated that there was the possibility that the rules he saw everyone else adopt time and time again would destroy everything. That this would be when he finds out there's a side of her he can't stand, and his instincts were right all along. Gone would be the relaxing voice that drained away all his stress, the one literature enthusiast that was worth talking to, all the promises and declarations of loyalty she made the night before, all because they took things a step farther. Was that one night worth losing it all? 

The answer eluded him as he trudged across the wall, approaching the place they always claimed faster than he was prepared for. His jaw tightened when he heard her lyre, already furious about the inevitable fallout that was destined to happen. After all this time he would be proven right once again and it would all be over. And never would he do anything like this again.

He reached their spot, stopping in his tracks as he listened and stared. Eivor was sitting on her purple blanket, singing one of his favorite songs. As hard as he tried to remain cold, ready for the worst, the sight still warmed him.

He would miss this. So much.

"You're late."

Eivor looked over her shoulder at him, her smile exactly like every other one she had given. "Something keeping you?" Her tone was teasing, and he could tell she already had a few jabs in mind. The familiar atmosphere made him smile in spite of himself. 

Before he could reconsider he sauntered over. "Well I am a busy god. You should know this."

"Yes, but you constantly brag about how easily you can handle it." She smirked as he sat down next to her. "Losing your touch?"

Heimdall chuckled. The banter, that sharp tongue of hers…it was still there. But would she accept the same from him? "I was taking my time. After all, I had every reason not to rush over."

"Rude."

"And?"

"Ignoring you now," she replied musically.

No anger, disappointment. No expectation. No change. Heimdall felt his cheeks hurting from his wide grin. "Oh, forgive me, Songbird," he gushed sarcastically. "Could I ever be granted mercy?"

A twinkling giggle was his reward. "Maybe I can just this once…'Dall."

His joy came to a screeching halt. He scrunched up his nose while he repeated with disgust, "Dall?" 

"Yes."

"Why?"

Now she was sheepish, shrugging as she explained, "Why not? I don't have a nickname for you."

"And you still don't."

"What's wrong with it? Is it because it sounds like I'm calling you a doll?"

"It is not at all suitable for one such as myself," he persisted, though he smiled and leaned a little closer to her as he did so, failing to remain stern.

"I don't think so!" She rejected, backing away just to spite him. "In fact, I think we should expand upon it. Right, Dollface?"

Heimdall recoiled and spat, "Absolutely never call me that again!"

"Why?! It makes sense!"

"How?!"

Her grin grew, but it was full of mischief. "Because you're pretty, like a doll."

"I am NOT pretty!"

Eivor rolled her eyes, laughing far too hard for his liking. "Heimdall, there are different types of handsome, and you are certainly on the pretty side of the spectrum."

Heimdall groaned dramatically, less than pleased with her logic. "Ignoring you now," he mocked, taking his eyes away from her and looking straight at the horizon.

"And?" Eivor parroted right back. She snickered when he gave a huff in response. Without any riposte to add to their war she settled into his side, leaning up to give him a quick peck on the cheek before returning to her lyre, going back to singing the song he loved. One of his hands went around her back and pulled her closer.

Things had changed indeed.

It was better now.

He'd never been so relieved to be wrong.

Their bond felt no different, with all their jokes and teasing, driving one another insane. It was all the same, only now they didn't have to walk around every trap door that would expose any hidden feelings, instead embracing them and allowing the flirting and physical affection to flourish without any worries. One day they would debate about books, as they always did, but then they'd share a few kisses after they'd agreed to disagree. On another Eivor would sing the same songs she always had, but now she would pull Heimdall in and perform right next to his ear all while he sighed and smiled. Heimdall would still read as Eivor played her flute, forming a habit of wrapping an arm around her waist and keeping her as close as he could. It was such a different dynamic, so new yet familiar enough to be comfortable. And it only seemed to get better with time.

The changes even began to apply outside of their alone time. Heimdall, Eivor quickly noticed, did not enjoy public displays, much preferring to keep the depth of their relationship private. She expected as much, and had no quarrel with it. Flaunting something so personal wasn't something she was particularly fond of either. So he surprised her when he showed just a glimpse of the Heimdall only she knew around Asgard every now and again. Eivor was spending her morning reading in the Great Lodge, the only other people around her were a few servants cleaning up and some Einherjar finishing breakfast. She was sitting with her legs crossed over the outside of the bench, the table at her back. Heimdall snuck up on her after speaking with Odin, startling her with an arrogant smirk. Then he sat next to her, which was already more affection than she expected. After just a few moments, she felt his arm sneak by, resting on the table behind her. Not direct contact, but a display of possession no less. He only stuck around for a few minutes before he was off to work, but it was a spectacle for the few bystanders regardless. 

These public displays were small, subtle. But to anyone who had known Heimdall for more than a few seconds they may as well have been a parade gallivanting across Gladsheim.

And that was the unfortunate side of this shift between them. It was something everyone noticed and could no longer deny. Of course, they all had opinions.

Some assumed it was solely superficial. They thought he had seduced her to get something he wanted, an assumption so sickening that Heimdall had to stop whoever he caught thinking it and inflict some sort of punishment for it. Others believed she seduced him, but couldn't nail down exactly why she would or how she would manage to pull one over on him. That…wasn't entirely untrue, Heimdall had to admit. If he thought his self control was running wild before then it was completely out of his grasp now, his mind almost constantly caught between his duties or Eivor.

Eivor would never say it, but that was more obvious than he realized. In fact she noticed a lot of little things about him as time went on.

The most touching was that he seemed to take her advice about his foresight much more seriously than she thought. More and more often she would sing to him, leaning into the watchman's side while he held her. He would drift off, totally lost in the sound. Her mind was open and he could sense when she did or felt something, yet when she reached up to touch his face he would tense, then relax once he realized what she did. He hadn't foreseen her approach, deciding to ignore his foresight in favor of enjoying the moment. As the days passed he did it more and more often when they were alone. Sometimes she could lean up for a spontaneous kiss and he was so preoccupied with looking at her that she caught him off guard. Other times he would be making direct eye contact, able to open her mind and dig into any thought she had, and she would think something that should have gotten a reaction. Like the time she wondered what he looked like with his hair down. Yet when she did, and flinched when she realized he could have heard her, he didn't comment, or seem to notice at all. They kept going on as if he had never read minds in his life. That level of trust, one he had never extended to any other, was so moving that she had to hold back tears. She chose not to waste it, proposing new ways to test him and increase his control over the sensations he picked up. Proposals that he, thankfully, felt no need to reject. 

Aside from the increase in trust, Eivor gradually found out what things Heimdall did in a romantic setting, some of them expected while others were completely new.

For one, he was rather possessive. When he was nearby he had no issue scaring off anyone who dared to butt in, especially if it was a man. Late one morning she had bumped into one of the apprentice blacksmiths while heading to the library. She apologized, then curiously inquired about the intricate designs on the metal clips holding up his apron. The boy was visibly nervous, stuttering while trying to explain that they were his own design. Eivor assumed he was afraid of casually conversing with a goddess and intended to comfort him. That was when Heimdall, seemingly out of nowhere, stepped in, looming over the blacksmith with a menacing grin. The mortal fled as soon as Heimdall shooed him away.

Confused, Eivor asked, "What was that for?"

Heimdall smiled at her like she was a gullible child, replying, "You didn't see the things he was thinking"

"Such as?"

"Let's just say I don't ever plan on sharing."

Oh. So it wasn't the fact that she was a goddess that made the young man nervous.

That specific situation she could excuse, but it had begun to extend to just about anyone after a while. If Heimdall was around, he wanted her attention and would make sure he had it. After a short time it started to be annoying, watching everyone constantly keep an eye out for Heimdall whenever they spoke to her. The only person who wasn't affected by it was Sif, who had no tolerance for Heimdall's antics. On multiple occasions Heimdall would try to steal Eivoe away while she was having lunch with Sif only for a verbal battleground to spawn between her loved ones. Calming them both down enough to end it was not a task for the faint of heart.

To counteract it, Eivor simply had to ignore him. When he still refused to stop, she told anyone she was conversing with that they had her "special permission" to ignore him. Which offended Heimdall greatly, especially when her companions heeded her instructions and really did pretend he wasn't there. He was too prideful to fight back and had no intention of showing how much it annoyed him, so it finally got him to either back off until she was done or take his leave. He would complain about it next time he saw her, obviously, but she always made it up to him somehow. Just about always with singing.

With that, however, Eivor realized that Heimdall unwittingly allowed her to have some semblance of control over his actions. If she asked him to get something for her, he got it. If she asked him to do something, he listened acutely and never ignored genuine requests. That, combined with how irritable he could be, gave her an idea. She couldn't get him to be a more understanding god overnight, but she could mitigate the damage until she somehow managed to do that.

Once she caught him scolding Gulltoppr’s stable boy for… something ridiculous, probably. Nonchalantly, like she hadn't been waiting for an opportunity like this, she made her move. "Heimdall?"

He shot her a tiny glare, but answered. "I'm in the middle of something, if you couldn't tell."

Oh so innocently, Eivor asked, "I think Gulltoppr deserves a treat after a long day. Do you mind grabbing them for me?" The beast's ears twitched and his head raised higher at the word.

Heimdall sighed. He'd started putting the jar of Gulltoppr’s favorite berries on the top shelf of the storage closet in his pen solely because of Eivor’s penchant for spoiling the gradungr. "I'm a bit busy. And you give him too many anyway," he grumbled, not hiding his disdain for her new habit. 

"Just one wouldn't hurt, would it?"

Heimdall held firm at first, but eventually he sighed at the pleading look she gave him and reluctantly agreed. While he was busy Eivor waved the stable boy away, signaling him to leave before Heimdall was finished. The child whispered his thanks and fled. When Heimdall inquired where the "twerp" went, she simply shrugged, claiming she hadn't been paying any attention to the boy. He wasn't pleased, but let it go, making her experiment a success. And she got to give Gulltoppr treats, so it was a productive night.

Another method she developed was cutting in and asking the servant he was lecturing to do something for her. A really useful trick, Eivor thought. 

"Is it really so difficult? These bracers are custom made, finest in the realm, and you can't even get a few grains of dust off of them? You must be the most —"

"As interesting as that is, Heimdall, I need something." Eivor would turn to the servant and say, "I'm feeling a bit thirsty. Could I bother you for some water?" The look on her face told them everything they needed to know.

The servant looked between her and Heimdall until the god finally said with a sneer, "You heard her. Maybe you can do this right."

Eivor never saw that glass of water but she made sure Heimdall didn't even notice.

However, if he was being excessively cruel she would take a much more direct approach. When a maid wrung out a wet rag as he passed her in the lodge a few drops of dirty water splashed onto his tunic. His proclivity for cleanliness sent him into a fury, immediately chewing out the maid. His insults were far too much for Eivor to ignore.

"Heimdall, honestly, are you really that upset over it? You could just as easily shut up and move on, you know."

Now that was something he never appreciated. Undermining his status in any way, but especially in front of an audience, was far from acceptable. Yet even with the undeniable anger breaking free he somehow always found a reason to comply. "I didn't have time to argue," or "this isn't worth the effort," or something along those lines. Even if it upset him he tended to get over it quickly, and he wouldn't hold it against her. Well, not for too long. She would just have to find other ways to keep him occupied until he forgot. Baldur had caught one of these moments, howling with laughter as he told her she was the only person who could boss Heimdall around and get away with it. 

Distracting Heimdall when he was being exceptionally stiff became commonplace. Suddenly there were many who were glad she was the one who won over Odin's right hand.

Some of those developments were more irritating than she could have imagined, leaving her on the brink of lashing out at him at times. In private, however, there were some changes that easily made up for them. 

The most prominent was how needy he could be. One evening she was waiting for him on the wall, engrossed in the new song she was writing. Her eyes were closed, focusing on the feeling and the rhythm from her lyre, not noticing Heimdall walk right up to her. Apparently that was enough to vex him. He reached down and plucked the lyre from her hands, setting it down and out of her reach as he teased, "I'm so glad I could get your attention, Songbird." Then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her as close as he could, nuzzling into her neck and making her giggle. He'd even go as far as to complain when she had other plans. Ever since her trips outside of Asgard ended Eivor had started accompanying Sif to check on the Midgadians behind the wall, healing anyone who was hurt and making staves to ward off wildlife. As a result she had to cut her time with Heimdall short on occasion. Without fail, as soon as she tried to excuse herself he, as she puts it, whines incessantly and constantly urges her to stay just a bit longer. She just about always ended up meeting Sif late thanks to him. It may have annoyed Sif to no end, but Eivor enjoyed knowing how much their time together meant to him.

In line with being needy, he also had a tendency to be handsy. Heimdall loved to nip at her lips and neck, his fingers wandering over her hips, maybe one of her thighs. It was simultaneously flattering and nerve-wracking. She didn't necessarily dislike the contact, but it was still something so novel that she wasn't sure how to perceive it. He never pushed her when he sensed her fear, but he never really ceased these actions completely either. Eivor couldn't say she minded too much. Physical touch did seem to be the way he preferred to express himself, and the closeness was heavenly on most days.

Given his inability to voice his feelings, his tendency to touch wasn't that surprising. With every passing day she saw how difficult it was for him to put his feelings into words, lack of practice being the culprit, she presumed. There were a number of situations that he could never handle with words. A prime example was when he asked about the new song she was playing. When Eivor explained she had thought of him while writing it he froze. The thoughts raced behind his eyes but none of them came forward, a smile and a sweet kiss arriving in their stead. He usually at least tried to find something to say, though rarely was he successful. It was cute, actually, that he was so well spoken and articulate at any other time but fumbled when his emotions pried their way out. The only times he could say something was when he did so on impulse, not a single thought preceding it.

Eivor couldn't even remember the words that lead up to it. She had made fun of him for something, as they always did to each other. As she giggled, next to him, feeling his arm tighten around her, he simply stared down at her. She asked what he was thinking, and he gave no response at first. After a moment of silence, he spits out, "Just…" A pause, his gaze softening. Then, "Admiring a wonderful sight." It was so out of nowhere, so abrupt and sincere. He even surprised himself judging by the slight widening of his eyes. How Eivor wished he would say these things freely, to see his watchman persona fail to hinder such divine moments. But he needed time, and she would wait as long as he needed if it meant she could give him intense kisses after his outbursts.

All of it was so strange, how different he was with her. There was some evidence of his fondness for her out in the open, but as far as everyone else could see Eivor had chosen the most horrific jerk in all the realms. He insulted everyone, dramatically showed off his physical and hierarchical power constantly, proving to be as pompous as he had always been. But not to Eivor. He never did any of that to her.

Well, except the pompous part. That was normal.

Despite how brutal and contemptuous he was, their private time was an outlier. "The dichotomy of Heimdall," she called it. He was so coarse, unforgiving, insensitive, condescending, and unbearable, even for her at times, yet so gentle and sweet when there were no eyes on them. He would trash talk Baldur for his insane tactics, lecture Magni and Modi for embarrassing all of Asgard just by being themselves. Then he would turn around and find her at their spot on the wall, curl up next to her as she sang. A few minutes later he took the clip out of her hair and let her locks fall freely so he could bury his nose in it, planting little kisses on each strand. So tender, passionate. He cared deeply for only a few things that he found worthy of his admiration, and knowing she was one of those rare things made Eivor overheat from the warmth it brought into her heart and soul.

"You really like my hair, don't you, Dall?" She joked, still trying to get him to embrace her alternative nickname.

"You're lovely," was all he said. One of those beautiful thoughts that just slipped out on their own.

Eivor bit her lip, powerless to contain the smile from blooming on her features. She slowly turned to look at him, gazing into his glowing violet eyes as she complimented, "And you're not too bad yourself."

Heimdall chuckles, "Oh? That's not what you've thought in the past?"

"Maybe I've changed my mind."

He rolls his eyes, scoffing at her jokes. Though he doesn't fight back, instead choosing to lean in and kiss her. He really did love it when she proved how well she could counter him, never losing that fire he found buried deep within so long ago. 

No one would ever believe it, but to Eivor it made perfect sense. He was a vehement and devoted man, giving all of himself or nothing, and that made for a very caring and attentive partner when they had time to themselves. She didn't mind that he would censor himself in public if it meant she could look forward to the side that he saved just for her.

The days stretched on like this for almost two months, each one brighter than the last.

A decline. Very subtle, but Heimdall could see it.

Not in the romance that was still in its infancy, but with Eivor. She seemed much more…withdrawn. He discreetly investigated the cause, which turned out to be far from anything he expected. Within days he realized it had nothing to do with emotions or second thoughts about him.

It started with fewer conversations. Eivor would simply listen to him speak, letting him go on and on about his responsibilities, whatever complaints he had. Instead of responding with her own thoughts or playful insults she gave only a few words, just to signal that she was present. If he ran out of things to say the air would still, neither of them offering any further topics.

After a few more days of that she failed to respond at all. A mere nod was all she could offer. Heimdall had adopted a habit of filtering his foresight when they were alone, choosing to focus on her now that he had no real reason to pry at her mind, but he'd begun taking peeks to get a better look at her again. As he expected, she struggled to pay attention to what he said, losing focus and having to remind herself to listen. 

It escalated — or should he say, deescalated — to no real conversation at all. Eivor was content to just cuddle into his side and rest her head on his shoulder, sometimes humming to him if she remembered. With each passing day she forgot more and more often.

He wasn't worried at first, thinking not much of it. But then he noticed something strange. She would sit next to him, drifting off but never falling asleep. Why, exactly, was something he couldn't figure out. On a night that he had a book to read he paused to ask, "Tired, are we?"

Eivor only hummed at first. "A bit." A smile came and she opened her eyes just a bit to shyly request, "Would you read to me?"

Heimdall blinked at her. "Read?"

"Yeah."

"I'm in the middle of this one."

"That's fine. I just want to hear your voice."

It took him a second to swallow the knot that rose in his throat, but he obliged. It was far more enjoyable and less boring than he expected, which was a pleasant outcome. That was when he noticed it. His reading seemed to lull her to sleep, but just before she would fall into slumber she would jolt, wide awake in an instant.

His guess was that she was trying to stay awake to listen to him. Which was amusing. Until he noticed it happening the next day, when he didn't have anything to read to her. Even with peaceful silence around them, her blanket softening the hard stone of the wall, something kept stirring her, and rather harshly if the alarm in her mind was anything to go by.

So that settled it. He knew exactly what was wrong.

She was exhausted. Sleep deprived. What he didn't understand was why. Eivor hadn't been busier than usual, nor had there been anything new that could be disturbing her. As a result…he was growing concerned.

When he felt her suddenly leap back into consciousness again he finally said it. "Songbird?" Again, no verbal answer. "Care to explain why you've been so sluggish as of late?" His tone was light and humorous, hoping that would get her attention.

Eivor shrugged, playing down just how right he was. "Just haven't been getting as much sleep lately."

"Obviously." He was a touch annoyed that she dodged the question. "I was expecting a more in depth explanation, if you would be so kind."

To his surprise Eivor seemed to grow solemn, pulling away from him and sitting up straight. He had to confess that a part of him was afraid he had been too callous. "There's just…something that's been keeping me up."

Heimdall's eyes went down to her hands, rising up to grip the collar of her dress, brows raised at the movement. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but a tattoo wasn't it. A deep blue symbol in the center of her chest, no larger than her fist and shaped like a withering tree with a tapering stem, located just below her collar bone and low enough that it barely dipped between her breasts. It wasn't a figure he recognized, seeming almost arbitrary in design as opposed to a standard stave or spell. "And that is?"

Eivor released her collar. "I don't really know." Her gaze went out to the night sky, distant, like she was hoping the stars held answers. "I've always had it, so I can only assume it's something my parents gave me. There's some kind of magic, a…tracking spell maybe? For a long time I felt it pulling me towards something, but after many years it gradually faded. Now it just flares up every one in a while, and it gets so persistent that it becomes invasive. So much that I can't sleep."

Heimdall hummed, not pleased in the slightest. If it were anything else there could be a solution, but this? He hated to say that it was out of his hands, and he abhorred that he was powerless. "Surely All-Father would have some way of dispelling it?"

"I'm sure he does but…I'm just afraid."

"Of?"

Her doubt and fear were clear, even without foresight to aid him. "That I might need it. That it's trying to tell me something. And if it's from my parents then…"

He had half a mind to tell her whatever it was didn't matter, his bias against one of her parents being an Asgardian traitor kicking in. That, however, was not an anger he wanted to spark, especially if she was in a state that contained less patience than usual. Without that recommendation he had nothing to give. "You said it only occurs sporadically. What makes it stop?"

A bitter chuckle. "A good night's sleep, something I only get after it's bothered me for so long that I practically pass out." She leaned back into him, adjusting her position to lay her head on his chest with her arms around his torso. "I just wait until that happens."

Still an unsatisfactory answer. He accepted her cuddling but his mind wandered. She wasn't the same when she wasn't in good health, and unlike any other he had met he would rather fix that issue than blame them for it. He knew she was worthy of that privilege, and he did miss her usual self more than he wanted to describe. "Asgard has medicine from every realm. There's surely some kind of herb or other remedy—"

"I've already tried."

Now he gave a frustrated growl. Unconsciously gripping her harder.

She laughed at him. "It's okay, Dall, really. It'll pass."

"Not fast enough," he blurted out, biting his tongue right away.

Eivor backed up, giving him a honeyed smile before taking his face into one of her hands and kissing him deeply. He let her rest against him, still unhappy. After some time he ushered Eivor to stand, claiming he "didn't enjoy being a makeshift bed." She heard "I want you to try to sleep," but of course he wouldn't come out and say that.

He always escorted her home atop Gulltoppr when they were out past nightfall, and this night was no different. She usually sat behind him, Heimdall preferring to take a less intimate arrangement when onlookers were about. Her fatigue must have inspired him, placing her on Gulltoppr in sidesaddle and mounting behind her, letting her rest against him. She thanked him with a brief kiss on the jaw before resting her eyes.

Just like that, everything began to fade, feeling nothing but Heimdall's warmth and the comfort of his embrace. Life was replaced by darkness. 

Then the heat was gone, Heimdall's presence retreating as Gulltoppr stopped. It felt like they reached her cabin in an instant. As if she had fallen asleep…

That gave her an idea. One most would consider scandalous, maybe, but she had a feeling Heimdall wouldn't object.

He gingerly helped Eivor to the ground, lingering on her doorstep. She could see he was still perturbed that he couldn't control the problem. Not yet at least.

"There has to be some way to silence this magic without losing it. I'll speak with All-Father in the morning," he declared.

Eivor hummed, the exaggerated tone giving away that she had something in mind. His eyes narrowed at her as he waited for her to reveal whatever scheme she had.

"You could…" Eivor's gaze faltered, suddenly incredibly timid. "But there is something you could do yourself."

He was bracing himself, waiting for whatever teasing she had prepared.

She couldn't keep consistent eye contact. "Maybe if I had someone to keep me comfortable…I'd be able to fall asleep." There. She said it. Her cheeks were definitely too red to ignore, even in the faint moonlight.

That deep shade of red intensified at the prideful smirk he gave her. "I'm sorry, what was that? Are you implying something here?" 

"Heimdall…"

"I'm merely trying to understand what it is you need, Songbird," he antagonized with thick sarcasm.

Eivor mustered up the energy to match his tone. "Well, I guess I'll spell it out for you since you clearly don't get it. Heimdall…" she paused again, still so embarrassed to voice it. But he wanted her to, it was written all over his face. He wanted her to say it out loud just for the satisfaction.

Damn his pride.

Heimdall only grinned harder, showing he had been reading her closely as he waited. With a defeated sigh she forced out, "Would you stay with me tonight?"

With his annoying expectations met, he took a step closer and placed his hands on her waist. "What an…unseemly request," he whispered.

Eivor rolled her eyes but still leaned in closer. "I mean to actually sleep, Heimdall. Don't get any ideas."

"Frankly I'm offended that you think so little of my intentions."

After a giggle her small voice asked once more, "So will you stay?"

Heimdall was quiet for a moment, just watching her, like he was pondering something. "I have no complaints."

Of course he wouldn't just say yes.

She let it go, suddenly too excited to wait. "Well then," she said as her hands took hold of his hands and pulled him to the door. "Come on in."

Heimdall nodded at Gulltoppr to dismiss the beast, then followed Eivor inside. Once the door was closed behind him he took a look around, noting how small her abode was. A single room, the bed pushed against the back wall, just a few feet away from the left corner, and a table in front of the window near its foot. To the right was a wardrobe against the same wall as the door, and on the one perpendicular to it were two bookshelves, shelves lined with trinkets, plants, and stories. There was a wooden trunk in the other back corner, where she kept her instruments. Or so he assumed when she gathered her flute and placed it inside. It wasn't much more than most other dwellings, barely any different than Magni and Modi's rooms. Which was something he disagreed with. She deserved much better, in his very important opinion.

"Soooo, what do you think? Too simple for you?" Eivor pressed, walking up to him and putting her hands on his chest. 

"It'll do."

A roll of her eyes, having expected an answer like that. Then they grew wide, the idea hitting her. "Oh, you should call back Gulltoppr and stop by your cabin."

"What for?"

"You can't sleep in your armor."

True. And it would be easy to call back Gulltoppr and get whatever he needed. Despite that, it was the last thing Heimdall wanted. Leaving now, even if it was just for a few minutes felt…wasteful? It was hard to describe. All he knew was he had no desire to spend a single moment elsewhere. "I'm sure I can survive for one night," he joked.

"Are you sure?" Her eyes went down, trying to remember what she could have lying around. "Maybe I have something you could wear…"

An admittedly embarrassing snort came out of Heimdall. "Oh, I doubt that."

Eivor took half a step back, putting her hands on her hips and eyeing him like she was daring him to challenge her. "And why is that?" His response was to pretend he was considering it, his eyes going to the roof while he took a deep breath. A hand rose, stopping at the top of his head with his palm parallel to the floor. Then it slowly lowered, stopping at the top of Eivor’s, his gaze going between the starting point and its current one to emphasize the drastic distance. Eivor glared up at him and slapped his hand away. "Shut up!" Heimdall laughed loudly as she stormed over to the wardrobe, opening its doors while mumbling, "I must have an oversized cloak or something…" She took a second to yawn before beginning her search, her own limbs making her feel encumbered.

Heimdall shook his head, wandering over to the table by the bed and unclipping Hofud from his belt. "A wasted effort really." His sword went down on the table, followed by Gjallarhorn. He wouldn't leave it there for long, never allowing it out of his sight even in sleep. It was always within reach, and given how lightly he slept he would always be able to keep it safe. As was his sworn duty. 

From across the room Eivor called, "I'm still going to try, because I care." 

Heimdall raised a doubtful brow. "How thoughtful."

Silence for a moment.

"After I change." She added, still staring at him.

He watched her, waiting for her to do anything. When she merely displayed annoyance he took a peek into her mind and realized what she was asking. With an exaggerated sigh he turned around, facing the closed window with his back to her.

"Thank you, Dollface." Said with a painfully fake sweetness. Combined with the accursed nickname he couldn't hold back a grumble.

She remained behind the wardrobe door as she changed, more out of bashfulness than mistrust. Once Eivor wore sleeveless nightdress, plain white and long enough to reach her ankles, she rummaged around for what few candidates she could find. As much as she didn't want to give him reason to gloat, he was definitely right. With resignation she closed the doors to the wardrobe. "Alright, maybe I don't have something for you."

"Shocking," Heimdall drawled while the sound of metal meeting wood rang. Eivor turned her head to punish his attitude, the words crashing in her throat and clogging up her lungs. The leather waist guard was removed and on the table, long white tunic next to it, boots neatly tucked underneath. Just as she turned to snap at him he slung his leather under shirt over his head, leaving him wearing nothing but his pants and revealing his bare back. Every part of her body froze at the sight, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip to prevent her jaw from dropping. Her gaze scanned every inch of his exposed skin, appreciating the subtlety of his sculpted muscles. Defined, but not bulky, built lean and strong. Up and down she looked, raking over every little form flexing as he rolled his shoulders and stretched. Memorizing every bit of him, having no idea when she would be graced with the sight again. The trance was so powerful that she failed to notice that he wasn't doing anything, just standing there. Then he looked over his shoulder, the all-knowing gleam in his eyes perfectly matching his smug grin. Eivor couldn't help but rip her eyes away and slap a hand over her mouth, letting her freshly freed hair drape over her face to hide her. The bastard felt her awe and basked in it to satisfy his insatiable ego.

Heimdall chuckled roguishly, taking his sweet time strolling over to her. Arms reached out to turn her to face him, the impish smirk ever present. "I really don't mind," he purred, voice low and tantalizing. "You are allowed to look."

Shivers dashed down her spine at the throaty note. Now that he'd had his fun his smirk died down into a sultry smile. Eivor nervously lowered her eyes from his face and down to his chest, marveling at the toned pectorals and abs, the slight bulge of his deltoids, biceps, and triceps. He looked so much thinner with all of his armor, but clearly his hard work to protect the realm paid off immensely.  She almost jumped when he lowered his head down to kiss her cheek and rumble, "And touch." With his permission her shaky hands rose, hovering over his torso briefly before softly brushing her fingertips over his skin. She could have sworn he twitched at her touch but his insistent kissing along her cheek and jawline left her too distracted to care. Daintily, carefully, her fingers explored him while he peppered open mouthed kisses across her jaw, her hands circling around to feel his obliques and back. He apparently liked it, his kisses growing into tiny bites while he sighed. The feeling was overwhelming, her hands caressing his skin as he held her waist, his heated breath blowing over her neck. It was so much, but in the best possible way, and she had no idea how to handle any of it. Does she embrace it? Slow down? Speed up? Invite him to touch her too? That one made her anxious, so much energy generated by the thought coursing through her veins that—

A yawn. One of her hands left Heimdall to cover her mouth, the excitement too much for her tired mind, it seemed. The watchman chuckled once more, pulling back and giving her a surprisingly gentle kiss on the lips. "If you're that bored then I'm not going to indulge you any further," he whispered, far too proud of himself. He sensed her sheepish defense, the need to assure him that he was completely wrong. He knew, and he didn't bother to tease her further despite the golden opportunity. "Maybe after a rest you'll be more appreciative."

Eivor rolled her eyes. What a ridiculous way to say he wanted her to get some sleep more than he wanted this moment to last. Very sweet, but always disguised. She didn't argue, letting him take her by the hand and lead her towards her bed. They only parted when they were at its side and Eivor peeled the sheets back as Heimdall went around to the other side. His iconic confidence shined through when he climbed right in, not a hint of hesitation, initially lying on his back. The few candles on her bedside table were extinguished before joining him. "You sure you're comfortable?"

Heimdall shook his head, turning onto his left side to face her. "You keep asking and maybe I'll decide I'm not."

Eivor only laughed. Then she shocked him by curling up into his chest, her hands tucked between them. He tensed, processing his extreme reaction. When he walked in he thought they would remain apart, maybe barely touching, once they had gotten acclimated. Yet she cozied up to him right away. Without any doubts. With complete trust and nothing but a desire to be next to him.

She always threw him off balance, always made him feel like there was more joy than he could ever imagine. 

One of his arms was tucked under his head, the other finding her back and pulling her closer, burrowing into her hair.

"Goodnight Dall," she mumbled, already feeling the lack of sleep catching up with her.

Heimdall smiled so wide that it hurt. "And goodnight to you, Songbird."

It took minutes for her to fall asleep, the sigil on her chest silenced. Heimdall fell asleep faster than usual as well, Gjallarhorn forgotten on the nearby table. 

He had it once. Now that he experienced it, he realized he had a problem.

The morning after he spent the night with her he was redressed and prepared for his patrol before Eivor awoke, bothering her to say goodbye before he left, and to order her to sleep as long as she needed. That should have been it. It should have been the end of that night.

But it wasn't. That night was haunting him. 

He couldn't be rid of it because now he craved it every night.

His foresight always made it more difficult for Heimdall to fall asleep, and ignoring everything it picked up as he tried to doze off was a skill all on its own. Since that night it had been even harder. Not even the filtering techniques Eivor had taught him were enough to give him the peace he needed. It only took a few days for him to nail down that it wasn't a disturbance that was keeping him up. No, this time it was an absence of disturbance. A pleasant kind. A calming presence in his arms, the distinct scent lulling him into security, the feeling of her affection and desire to have him nearby…it had been more intoxicating than he realized. For days he fought against it, but it took a mere week for him to cave.

Night had fallen when he and Eivor were riding the lift down from the top of the wall, meeting the criteria for Heimdall to escort her home. That was their routine, one he broke when they stopped next to Gulltoppr when Heimdall refrained from helping her mount the beast. He looked to be lost in thought. "Are you not ready to go?" Eivor inquired.

That pensive expression morphed into his unmistakable confident smirk, much more casual that he was moments ago. "I was thinking…" he drifted off, suddenly hesitant.

"We both know that's not what you were doing."

Heimdall sneered, "And we both know you aren't capable of listening."

"I would if you'd say something for me to listen to."

Her sass made him roll his eyes, but he resisted no further. She did have a point, after all. He clearly was beating around the bush instead of just coming out and saying it. Unfortunately he would continue to do so, just in a fashion that was subtle enough for him to accept it. "It occurred to me that it's awfully discourteous of me to make you travel all the way back to your cabin. There are other locations that would be much more convenient."

Sand colored brows raised, curious. "Oh really? Like where?"

"I can think of a few. My home, for example, is…arguably closer."

Arguably. Meaning that was not necessarily true, but that was beside the point. Eivor tilted her head with narrowed eyes, knowing exactly what he was implying. "Are you asking me to stay with you tonight?" 

Feigning surprise, Heimdal gasped and exclaimed, "What a splendid idea, Songbird! I never would have thought of it myself." The thick sarcasm was unnecessary, Eivor thought as Heimdall commanded Gulltoppr to lie down for them to mount. "Let's not waste time then, we—" his hands were at her sides, ready to hoist her up into the saddle when she cut him off.

"No, no, wait," Eivor tutted, tone playfully wicked. Heimdall did as she asked, waiting for her to explain. Her hands went to rest on his chest, making him match her smile. "You're not going to get away with doing it like that."

The god cursed to himself. He should have known. "Doing what, exactly?"

Eivor shook her head. No, he couldn't ask for something so intimate in that roundabout way. Their first night had been different, there was a reason for her to ask him to stay. This time there was no reason other than desire, and if they were going to take that kind of step in their relationship he had to be open about his feelings. He couldn't pretend he was aloof and too mighty for these things forever, and he needed to learn as much. What better way to get him to grow out of that habit than to offer a reward she knew he wanted? "You are going to ask me properly."

Heimdall blanched, jaw clenching from both his own cowardice and how easily she had seen through him. She held no judgment for anything he would say to her, he knew that and had no doubt asking for something he wanted would cause her to start. Yet no matter how many words had worked their way from his mind to his tongue his mouth refused to move. He hated all of them, how unbecoming they were, how weak they sounded. Even while looking down into Eivor's shimmering green eyes, ever patient and comforting, he couldn't bear the idea of openly admitting that he just needed her to stay with him, that he would be deeply upset if she didn't. The debate raged within his skull, weighing his options. Was it worth it? To be frank about his not-so-guilty pleasure? 

Thinking back on all the times it had been…when he brought her to the wall for the first time, their first kiss, letting her caress him and cuddle with him just a week prior…

Yes, his entire being screeched. Yes, it was worth it, his pride be damned. 

Never did he think he would say that.

Though his mind was made, he still failed to grasp the words floating around him, fluttering away and out of his grasp when he reached for them, but his recounting of their first time at the wall gave him an idea of how to approach it. He doubted she would be totally satisfied with it, but it was worth a shot. Heimdall released her, holding his hands out in feigned surrender and taking a step back. "Oh, I see. How could I forget?"

"Forget?"

"That you prefer formal invitations for these things." 

Eivor's hand went to her face as Heimdall cleared his throat, straightened his back, and lifted his chin higher, looking like the stiff he was. "Not this again…"

Sounding like he was announcing the entry of a legendary king, Heimdall proudly called out, "I, Heimdall, Watchman of the Gods—"

"Heimdall, please—"

"Hereby formally invite Lady Eivor, Asgard's one and only Songbird—"

"Just stop."

"To grace my humble home—

"Humble?!"

"With her presence on this wondrous night!" The Aesir god bowed dramatically, like an actor wrapping up a scene. Once he lifted his head he found her cringing and shaking her head, though she betrayed her disgust with her laughter. Gulltoppr, however, wasn't pleased in the slightest, if his impatient grunt was anything to go by. As he stood he couldn't help but chuckle when she groaned, "Gods, I hate you."

"We both know that's not what you're feeling," he taunted, making her laugh harder. Though he may not have done exactly what she asked, he still felt so much better for doing it, powerless against his body as it moved closer to her, his hands reclaiming their place on Eivor's waist, gaze soft and smiling sweetly. 

He silently wondered when he would learn to listen to her right away, knowing he would never regret doing so. At this rate he would want to heed her requests as much as Odin's in no time.

"Was that what you wanted?" He teased when she managed to look up at him.

"No!" She whined. With one last shake of her head, her giggles died down, voice lowering into a coo. "But I'll take it." Reaching up, she stroked his jawline with her thumb. "I'll stay with you."

Heimdall was wracked with shivers, the declaration feeling so much more significant than the context would suggest. Before he could catch himself his head turned towards her hand, planting a gentle kiss on her palm. An action that made her blush and look away from his intense glowing eyes. Without a word Heimdall took both of her hands, grinning as he helped her into the gradungr's saddle.

"Are we going to stop by my place first?" She asked as he climbed in front of her, wrapping her arms around his torso.

He glanced over his shoulder and joked, "No need. Unlike you, I do have something you can wear for the night." 

Just as his initial approach suggested, Heimdall's cabin wasn't much closer than Eivor's. She was actually surprised she had no idea he lived so close, or where he lived at all, until now. What was even more unexpected was the size of his cabin, something she noted as Heimdall shooed his mount away. Some quarters around Asgard housed several apartments within, and this must have been one of those. It didn't seem like something he would agree to, though…

When Heimdall let her inside she realized this entire cabin really was all his. Easily twice the size of her cabin, maybe even three. It was split into a few rooms, an open arch allowing passage between them. The front door was tucked into a corner, looking straight into the archways, the view of the next room cut off by the wooden wall it was carved out of. In this first room was a desk to her right, placed in front of a window with papers and books neatly organized on it. Beyond that was a wide bookshelf housing at least a hundred books, next to a comfortable looking chair and a little round table with a lantern on it. The full shelves were decorated with precious gems and stone carvings that referenced Asgardian history, book ends of weaving patterns and golden accents, antique metal insignias on wooden display stands. Paintings depicting Asgard's wetland landscapes hung from the wall bordering the next room, the hues and subtle gold tint of their wooden frames complimenting the decorations on the bookshelf next to them. Her eyes followed Heimdall as he took a few steps in and removed Hofud from his belt, directing her attention to the wooden stand that he strung the blade over. There were a few weapons already there, a small ax and another sword, but neither appeared to have been used recently. Next to that stand were a few pairs of shoes. He gestured for her to follow suit as he removed his boots and nagged, "No tracking dirt in, if you don't mind." She obliged — not before rolling her eyes — and watched him wander through the archway and into the next room. Eivor did the same, marveling at a grand bedroom. Her bed was barely wide enough for both of them to occupy, but his would have no problem accommodating another person. There was enough space for maybe three people, the ornate wooden headboard giving it a regal look that perfectly matched the soft sheets and fine furs. It was placed in the middle of the wall to her right, a bedside table on each side. There was another door in the adjacent corner leading into yet another room. From what she could see it appeared to be a washroom, which was incredibly uncommon to her knowledge. Most Asgardians used public baths, though now that she thought about it, she couldn't even imagine Heimdall would ever willingly bathe in public with anyone. The wall to her left stretched onward, a set of shelves mounted on the walls containing gauntlets, knives, straps for bow quivers and belts. All of them for show, being far too flashy to be useful and materials too expensive to be worth soiling with dirt and blood. Beyond that was a vanity against the wall with a large mirror mounted to the tabletop. Because of course he needed a huge mirror. The most impressive portion of the room was the back wall, three arching windows stretched to the roof, sitting above an alcove adorned by furs. On each side of it were shelves built into the walls, lined with even more books, these feeling more important than the others. It looked like such a cozy place to read and she was immediately jealous that she didn't have one of her own.

Heimdall went to the alcove and pulled out a hidden drawer that was built into it. It was huge, more like a built-in trunk. That made it all the more odd when Heimdall opened it, revealing that it was empty. At least it seemed so until he lifted a wooden panel to reveal another, this one with a rectangular indentation carved into it. Gjallarhorn was removed from his belt and placed into that nook, perfectly sized to fit the horn. It was actually a genius hiding spot now that she thought about it. One would think such an important object would have a case or a smaller ceremonial box, but a trunk that looked far too big and drab would be the last place anyone would look. Tucking the drawer back in, Heimdall then closed the wooden shutters over the windows while Eivor turned her back on him, admiring the wall that held the archway between the two main rooms. The antlers, shields, and unconventional weapons were so well placed, balanced and leading the eye from one beautiful piece to another. Part of her wondered if Heimdall had organized the room himself, but that part was quickly silenced, concluding that he probably wouldn't like any of it if he didn't make it himself. Which meant he had excellent taste. It was almost embarrassing how much nicer his abode was, hers looking like an abandoned cave by comparison.

Eivor's smile grew when she felt his hands on her shoulders, clearly pleased that she was so impressed. "Thoughts?" He asked, as if he didn't know already.

"With how much you have in here I would have thought you were one of Odin's sons," she chuckled, leaning into his touch a little bit.

An answer he enjoyed, granting her a kiss on her cheek as he walked into the washroom next to them. "Well, I would say that I've earned such an honor." He returned just a moment later, carrying folded linen clothing under his arm. "Now, go on and pick something to wear," he invited while sweeping an arm to the washroom, as flamboyant as ever. After she crossed the doorway he called back, "Only pick something from the left half of the wardrobe." She nodded, stopping when he continued, "But nothing that is hanging from the top, those are difficult to clean." Once more, she tried to proceed before he cut her off with, "Nothing from the third drawer, or the bottom one either. And if you open the second only choose something from the right side. Oh, and keep away from any of the long tunics, I need all of those."

Eivor's face fell into one of confusion and disbelief as he rattled on. Really, she should have been prepared for him to be overly finicky about something as small as the layout of his wardrobe. She offered a slow nod and a strained, "...okay."

His response was to raise a disapproving brow. "Did you get all of that?"

A shrug. "Probably," she muttered while stepping away, not wanting to listen to all of that again. She heard him sigh in annoyance but ignored it. 

The washroom was the simplest part of his home. It was a small space, only four paces wide and five long. Closest to the doorway was his wardrobe, large enough to cultivate the complex system he described. Across from that was a window, closed for obvious reasons. Beyond that was another mirror (of course) mounted on the wall, a cabinet positioned underneath it that carried candles to light the room. At the far end was a grey stone basin, round and tall enough to come up to her waist. It was large enough to fit two people, even though she doubted he ever needed that much space. Then again, no one needed this much space and luxury for bathing, but this was Heimdall. In the back corner was a door, one that she guessed was there for servants to prepare his bath when he requested one. She couldn't picture him letting anyone waddle through his home with a bucket full of water.

A small snicker sounded through her nose, rolling her eyes again at just how much Heimdall had for himself. It was ridiculous, but in character if she was honest. Upon opening the wardrobe she found it just as systematic as Heimdall described, deciding to take one of his tunics that was folded on a shelf in plain view, since he didn't provide any instructions for it. If that bothered him then he would have to get over it eventually. 

Heimdall had changed into a plain white tunic and tan linen pants, busy with setting his armor aside while he called out, "You aren't overwhelmed in there, are you?" He smirked when he heard her scoff at him.

"Hard not to be with how picky you are." Heimdall rolled his eyes, hearing her voice grow clearer as she stepped back into the bedroom. "It's a little big, but I guess it works." When his head turned to make sure she hadn't taken something she shouldn't have, he paused, not at all ready for what he saw. Yes, he was expecting her to come out wearing something of his. What he hadn't planned on was…how much he liked it.

Eivor had chosen a tunic he hadn't worn in ages. A light blue one, so light that it was almost white, with short sleeves and a simple gold line across the bottom and end of the sleeves. On him it reached his hips, but in her it went half way down her thighs, the sleeves going just a little past her elbows, shoulders so much wider that their seams draped over her upper arms. The V shaped neckline was too big as well, dipping down just far enough for the sigil on her chest to poke out. He watched her pull on all the loose fabric, examining all the folds while her hair freely flowed about. A smile crawled across his face, eyes lingering on her hair. They did drop to her bare legs for a moment, this being the first time he'd ever seen them, though he felt every inch of her could he covered and he'd be just as enticed. Wearing something of his, making it abundantly clear where her affections lie…he loved it. Like he had conquered the deadliest battle and won the ultimate prize. 

Aside from that, she looked, as much as he detested the word, incredibly adorable, wearing something so oversized.

She released the fabric and smiled at him. "It is pretty comfortable, though. I might just steal it." When Heimdall only gave her a chuckle in return, still grinning ear to ear, she smirked, growing mischievous. "You like it?"

Violet eyes finally pulled away as she slowly approached him. "It's flattering," he replied nonchalantly, pretending that he hadn't been staring.

Eivor stopped right in front of him, hands resting on his shoulders, standing on her toes to keep her face inches from his. "Do you like it because it's flattering," she whispered, making his heart skip, "or because it's yours?"

Heimdall put on an exaggerated expression, like he was considering it before suggesting, "Why not both?"

A shake of her head was what he got. He closed his eyes and leaned down to capture her lips, eager to taste them, but she slipped away.

"Before any of that, I really want to see your 'library' over here," she explained over her shoulder, approaching the shelves. Heimdall let out a huff for being denied but allowed it, taking a seat on the bed, watching her peruse his vast collection. "Oh yes, browse at your leisure, darling," he drawled, the pet name coming out before he even noticed it. He couldn't say he cared after he saw her smile. 

It was strangely fulfilling, watching her wander around his home, wearing his clothes, knowing she would stay beside him in his bed. He began to wonder how long he could go without witnessing it again given he only lasted a week since the first time they cohabited. He smirked at her craning her neck and standing taller to see the shelves that were above her head and likely out of her reach, secretly hoping she would ask him to help her get something down. His foresight seemed to just shut up completely so he could see her excitement with his own eyes. All of it was just so…

Nice. 

That was it. Nice. It wasn't a word he used often, but now it felt fitting. 

"Compared to the rest of your cabin these books are really unorganized."

The comment snapped him out of his reverie, taking offense at the accusation. "They are organized."

"How? It's not alphabetical, or by author, or genre." 

Heimdall tsked and shook his head. "Why would I when no one else will be looking through them. They're positioned based on how much I like them, the top left being my favorites."

Eivor snorted, somehow unsurprised. "That's not organized, Dall."

"By your subpar standards."

She didn't respond, eyeing the top shelf, where his favorites were supposed to be. "So you really liked all of them, then?"

"What?"

"All five books I gave you for the bet you lost." She looked at him, seeing that he might be a little embarrassed. "They're all at the top." Heimdall shrugged, saying nothing. Eivor made his way to his spot on the edge of his bed, almost gloating with her tone. "There it is." She caught him sighing. He knew what she meant. "That language of yours. You don't want to admit it…" A pause, prompted by Heimdall giving her a rather dashing smile and gripping her waist to pull her between his spread knees. "So you don't say anything," she finished, quieter.

Brows raised, he countered, "Something you should try. You talk too much." Without warning he yanked her forward as he laid back, pulling her down to lay on his chest. He couldn't help but laugh at the cute squeal that came out of her. He kept her there, feeling her nestle into him in a way that left him breathless while her sniggers died down to content sighs. 

It was so wonderful, just sitting there, doing absolutely nothing. As long as she was there, everything was fine. So much better. So much happier. So euphoric that he wondered how it was even possible to feel this at peace when he knew there were so many vile things in the world. But now all he felt was her. Her breath on his neck, her fingers grasping his shirt. Upon taking a brief dip into her mind he could sense how at ease and delighted she was, both of their emotions mixing in his being to make him feel twice as dreamy as he already did.

All he wanted was this. Was that alright? To momentarily toss aside all his responsibilities and sworn oaths and wish that this could last forever? To feel like he would have no problem leaving everything behind if he could have her like this until the end of time? As much as his brain screamed that yes, it was incredibly irresponsible of him, his heart tore him in the opposite direction, begging him to just feel this for as long as he possibly could.

It was almost ironic. He could read minds at will and understand the intentions and emotions of others in a snap. His own, however, were becoming more and more unfamiliar. He understood them less and less ever since she agreed to be his.

"Heimdall?"

A hum, still too caught up in his thoughts to properly verbalize his acknowledgement. 

"Can we move over now? This is getting uncomfortable."

Just to spite her he held her tighter, acting like he had no intention of moving. "Really? But I'm quite comfortable."

"Heimdall."

Ah yes, the agitated tone that warned him about her impending counterattack. Sighing loudly, as if she had asked him to uproot a mountain with his bare hands, he complied, releasing her and letting her climb next to him. He was on his feet, heading to the few candles around the room. "Go on then," he groaned, still putting on a show. Eivor ignored him, far too accustomed to his antics to pay any attention to them. The candles were snuffed out, save for the one on one of the bedside tables. A fortunate circumstance for him. He had the chance to get a decent look of her cozied up in his bed, committing that to memory along with the other lovely things he'd seen that night. She chose to stay on the half of the bed closest to the washroom, preferring to sleep on her right side. Heimdall walked around to the other, lifting the sheets and climbing in. He laid on his back, readying to blow out the final candle when he caught a glimpse of her expression. She was disappointed, it seemed. He stilled, eyes asking for an explanation.

Eivor bit her lip, suddenly incapable of looking him in the eye. "You…don't always sleep shirtless?"

Another hearty chuckle from him, finding her shyness unbelievably entertaining. He leaned over and blew out the last candle. "No, I don't." Heimdall returned to his back, turning his head to look at her in the darkness, smirk ever present. "But I could make a habit of it…if it pleases you." 

Eivor squeezed her eyes shut and sighed. "You're the worst." She failed to support those words, scooting over to cuddle into his side and rest her head on his shoulder, a movement he happily agreed to. His hand rested in her waist, the other falling onto his stomach. Staring up at the ceiling, he didn't try to sleep yet. He just relaxed, taking in the feeling of Eivor at his side, her breath evening out as she drifted off. 

All he did was stare. And think. This, everything they had started doing, it was practically a different world compared to how he used to live. Alone, hating everyone, having no reason to do anything but fulfill his duties and keep to himself. Now? Now he wished he had more free time. He was in a better mood more often, letting go of the numerous annoyances he had to deal with every day. He had something to look forward to that wasn't silence. He had company that he never got tired of, that didn't ask anything of him. It was all so much. Yet he had no complaints whatsoever, save for one thing.

Was this normal?

He'd read too many minds to believe this…this ecstasy was something everyone felt all the time, with everyone they knew. It was so different, far beyond affection or admiration or attraction. But in a good way. Was this "normal" something he'd never seen before? Or was it something he just didn't understand?

His eyes closed, brow furrowing. He'd always prided himself on being intelligent and well-informed, but now there were too many things he couldn't describe, so many foreign sensations that he couldn't name. As wonderful as it was, there was a touch of frustration building up. What was he missing?

Eivor sighed in her sleep, burying her nose deeper into his neck. Heimdall's tension melted right away. She somehow managed to do wonderful things for him even in her sleep, without even trying. For a moment he threw out whatever reservations he had about his own emotions, how they compared to what he knew. Did it matter if he understood? Did he have to? The answer seemed obvious as he pulled Eivor a little closer, too fed up with his own questions to care. 

There was no reason to. He loved this. He loved her.

Violet eyes shot open. Every muscle taut. 

Was…that what this was? So soon? Didn't these things take months? Years?

His head tilted to look at her again, watching her face and reaching over to play with loose strands of hair. When he felt himself smiling he knew. He knew he had answered all his questions without even realizing it.

Yes. He did. He did love her. Much sooner than he ever thought possible — never even thinking it could come to this — but this had to be it. 

He stared up at the roof once more, taking it all in before closing his eyes.

Soon. He would tell her soon.

Even if he had no idea how.

I am severely disappointed that I have seen no one call Heimdall dollface smh

#songbird of asgard #heimdall #god of war #heimdall x reader #heimdall x oc #heimdall gow #god of war heimdall #gow heimdall #the songbird of asgard

[zelda-cooper]

Could you please tell us some heartfelt details about the Drake-Gosalyn-Launchpad family unit?

After the last episode of DT17, Launchpad started living with Drake and Gosalyn to help the masked duck on his missions. He still works for Scrooge, so it's common for him to sometimes travel back to Duckburg for a few days on work.

Drake formally adopted Gosalyn via adoption papers and enrolled her in a private school in St. Canarian, Gosalyn is officially his adopted daughter now. He is still acting as a city watchman, so this also makes it difficult for his daughter's child, in addition to certain other problems he has, but I will not dwell on that last issue in particular.

Gosalyn is both on the school's football and hockey team, he also met his neighbor Honker Muddlefoot like in the original series and they are good friends. Besides, of course, making friends with my OC, Isabela Urutau. These two are extremely friendly and share similar tastes, along with beliefs and stuff. As for Gos' super heroic alter ego... I'm not going to spoil it right now. >;3

Speaking of the three of them in general... They're one big, happy family, even with Drake being kind of... A complicated person to live with, the trio gets along well. And for those who ship Drakepad... Sorry, it doesn't work! Drake here is just straight and Launchpad even had a crush on Drake, but when trying to declare himself, he didn't give it to the pilot. Gosalyn, however, has a niece and uncle relationship with him.

The interaction of the classic trio, in Comic, will be beautiful, by the way.

Art for @anniesilveratl2 of the trio watching a horror movie.

#darkwing duck #darkwing duck au #ducktales #launchpad mcquack #drake mallard #gosalyn mallard #tapas comic

[pollylynn]

Title: Watchman WC: 800

“I don't want to pretend.” —Kate Beckett, A Chill Goes Through Her Veins (1 x 05)

She regrets the Bat Cave metaphor. She regrets raising the specter of Alfred, and she especially regrets referring to him as a multi-millionaire crime fighter. Some of that is predictably instantaneous: she chides herself for somehow forgetting that his ego never needs feeding. And there's a part of her that hasn’t gotten one bit less raw over the last decade that wants to  knock the wind out of him for reducing her pain to a comic book plot line. 

It doesn’t make a tremendous amount of sense. Not that anything at all makes sense when someone hits that particular nerve, but that’s kind of the point. Frustratingly, enough, he’d tapped it none-too-gently less than twenty-four hours after they’d met. Yes, he’d noticed her dad’s watch, and yes, he had of course felt compelled to play smartest kid in the room about it. 

But now, he is being—for him—kind of sweet. And though it pains her to admit it, he’s also being helpful. Which is why she’s there, late in the evening, intruding on his strange family circle in the first place, right? She needs someone’s help, and none of the usual someones will do. 

Ryan and Esposito hardly even bother to hide their smirks about the Castle-induced overtime she's been putting in on cases lately. And they certainly aren’t hiding their exasperation when they get roped in because she’s now in the business of cutting lose perfectly good obsessives, greasy nightclub owners, and violent drug dealers because their unfortunately resident Batman knockoff can’t leave well-enough alone. 

She can’t go the boys or to the Captain or even to Lanie without a lecture about getting a life, letting it go, switching it off. So she goes to him, and doesn't that make her Commissioner Gordon—or worse, bumbling Officer O’Hara? So, yes, she has reason to regret the Bat Cave metaphor pretty much right away. 

And then the case takes its turn and her regret turns with it. He can’t leave well enough alone. He can’t reconcile the characters of Former Detective Sloan the put-upon Deloris Marsh, and  she finds herself forced to scour the very darkest recesses of a Bat Cave that could have been. She finds herself forced to confront Ben Davidson.

In some ways, that’s simple. She is not lying when she lays out the difference between a cop and a writer for Castle. There is a fierce, bitter kind of pride in knowing that she is no Sloan. She does not engage in shoddy, I figured it was gonna end bad. . . or I saw no reason to doubt . . . police work. She has never decided how any victim's story ends through lack of effort or failure to see a case through. 

So she follows procedure, as she has in every case for her entire career. She ushers the man into the back of her car and drives in total—miraculous, considering who is riding shotgun—silence from White Plains back to the city. She sits across the table from Ben Davidson and puts out of her mind the image of his granddaughters shrieking with laughter as he comes crashing out of the bushes, playing monster. She fixes in it, instead, the image of their tears at the death of their father, the nights they must have awakened wailing and crying out for him. She looks him in the eye and declares that killing Sam Cavanaugh was not the answer. 

But she doesn't know that for a fact. She doesn’t know what an answer looks like for her, for the Ben Davidsons of the world. For Bela and Simone Cavanaugh when they're old enough to understand the enormity of their father’s actions, their grandfather’s . . . 

And that, Detective Beckett, is why you are here. 

She became a cop to solve her mother’s murder. His glib, nutshell version of the defining event of her life isn’t substantially different from the one she’s told a handful of times to less than a handful of people over the last ten years. That’s the story. Except Ben Davidson makes her wonder if that's the story at all. 

She has never been to war, but lord knows guns are easy to come by. She has never had the opportunity to demand the truth from her mother’s killer and offer forgiveness in return. She has never had the raw rush of satisfaction at reneging on such an offer and letting her rage speak—letting it roar at last. She will never have that opportunity. 

She is a cop. Her city-issued piece sits quietly, heavily in a box with the objects that connect her to life she saved, the life she lost. She doesn’t get to decide how the story ends. 

In the wake of Ben Davidson, she doesn’t know if that’s nobility or cowardice. 

A/N: Although the late-night editor has not spared you this story, it has spared you considerable material on all the (non-Burton) times Batman has caught and confronted his parents' killer. You're welcome-ish?

image via homeofthenutty

#Castle #CastleABC #Castle: Season 1 #Castle: A Chill Goes Through Her Veins #Kate Beckett #Richard Castle #Martha Rodgers #Alexis Castle #Lanie Parish #Johanna Beckett #Javier Esposito #Kevin Ryan #Roy Montgomery #Jim Beckett #Fic #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Fan Fic #Fan Fiction #Writing #Fabrications

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

Babylon Is Fallen

1 THE VISION OF THE DESERT. As though a whirlwind should pass through the desert, coming from a desert, even from such a land,

2 so a fearful and a grievous vision was declared to me: he that is treacherous deals treacherously, the transgressor transgresses. The Elamites are upon me, and the ambassadors of the Persians come against me: now will I groan and comfort myself.

3 Therefore are my loins filled with feebleness, and pangs have seized me as a travailing woman: I dealt wrongfully that I might not hear; I hasted that I might not see.

4 My heart wanders, and transgression overwhelms me; my soul is occupied with fear.

5 Prepare the table, eat, drink: arise, ye princes, and prepare your shields.

6 For thus said the Lord to me, Go and station a watchman for thyself, and declare whatever thou shalt see.

7 And I saw two mounted horsemen, and a rider on an ass, and a rider on a camel.

8 Hearken with great attention, and call thou Urias to the watch-tower: the Lord has spoken. I stood continually during the day, and I stood in the camp all night:

9 and, behold, he comes riding in a chariot and pair: and he answered and said, Babylon is fallen, is fallen; and all her images and her idols have been crushed to the ground.

10 Hear, ye that are left, and ye that are in pain, hear what things I have heard of the Lord of hosts which the God of Israel has declared to us.

The Burden against Edom

11 THE VISION OF IDUMEA. Call to me out of Seir; guard ye the bulwarks.

12 I watch in the morning and the night: if thou wouldest enquire, enquire, and dwell by me.

The Burden against Arabia

13 Thou mayest lodge in the forest in the evening, or in the way of Daedan.

14 Ye that dwell in the country of Thaeman, bring water to meet him that is thirsty;

15 meet the fugitives with bread, because of the multitude of the slain, and because of the multitude of them that lose their way, and because of the multitude of swords, and because of the multitude of bent bows, and because of the multitude of them that have fallen in war.

16 For thus said the Lord to me, Yet a year, as the year of an hireling, and the glory of the sons of Kedar shall fail: 17 and the remnant of the strong bows of the sons of Kedar shall be small: for the Lord God of Israel has spoken it. — Isaiah 21 | Brenton's Septuagint Translation (BST) The English translation of The Septuagint by Sir Lancelot Charles Lee Brenton (1851) Cross References: Genesis 10:7; Genesis 25:14-15; Genesis 32:3; Numbers 23:19; Deuteronomy 28:67; Deuteronomy 32:11; 2 Samuel 1:21; 2 Kings 9:17; 2 Kings 17:6; 2 Chronicles 20:24; Job 6:19; Psalm 25:3; Psalm 120:5; Song of Solomon 1:5; Song of Solomon 3:3; Isaiah 5:28; Isaiah 10:19; Isaiah 13:1; Isaiah 13:14-15; Isaiah 16:14; Jeremiah 17:24; Jeremiah 46:3; Jeremiah 51:33; Ezekiel 40:4; Habakkuk 2:1; John 16:21; 1 Thessalonians 5:3; Revelation 14:8; Revelation 18:2

#the burden against Babylon #Persian invasion #the fall of Babylon #burdens against Edom and Arabia #Isaiah 21 #Book of Isaiah #Old Testament #BST #Brenton's Septuagint Translation #Holy Bible

[pocket-ozwynn]

ISFJ

[Borrower!AU]

Word count: 526

Rowan's head snapped up--his dagger was mid-draw across the whetstone. "What did they say?"

Zelly looked up from her dinner with a frown--her ponytails bobbed a bit as she tried to process what he was asking. She had stopped paying attention to any of the donations that were coming in, honestly. She wasn’t in a stellar mood and +Caff- and Gimothy were both running late...again.

"Huh? Oh I dunno, I wasn't paying attention." She looked over and furrowed her brow as she checked the last text-to-speech donations that just came in. Had someone said something rude to her? 

Rowan, on the other hand, wasn't as experienced enough with trolls to know when to just tune some of them out. He growled as he rose from his water bottle cap/impromptu chair.

And in a blur of movement that Zelly couldn’t quite comprehend, she felt a tug on the sleeve of her shirt as Rowan managed to leap up, grab it, and then with a flex and twist of his mighty body, he spun through the air and deftly landed on her shoulder. And like a watchman upon his tower, he pointed a defiant thumb-tack dagger towards the camera to declare his warning.

"I do not know who you are...” Rowan admitted as he stared directly into the camera. Zelly’s eyes widened as she looked down at him--what was he doing? 

“But you utter one more ill word towards my beloved, and I PROMISE you-” Rowan’s lip curled with rage. “-that you will swiftly learn why I am called the Terror of the Towering Steps. You will learn to sleep with one eye open--you will learn to fear me as so many would-be tyrants do...”

He jabbed his dagger towards the camera to accentuate his point. “Zelly is brilliant, radiant, talented, and absolutely DIVINE. And if you, in all your finite, base idiocy cannot see that, then you ought not to waste your insignificant breathe upon the ears of my beloved. Do you not understand that she-”

Zelly jumped slightly when she heard a notification from Discord. Rowan felt the disturbance and readjusted his footing so he didn’t fall off her shoulder as he continued his rant. Zelly stole a glance over to her left monitor to see who the message was from. It was from one of her Mods, lazor_bread.

lazor_bread: dw we already banned them

Zelly couldn’t help but smile. Good. She didn’t want those kind of chatters in her community--especially not if whatever they said was enough to set Rowan off.

She turned her attention back down to Rowan the Last, and watched him press on with his threats to whatever poor troll that Rowan assumed was listening to his wrath. To her, it wasn’t a big deal--Zelly got plenty of hate messages and trolls trying to rile her up. But there was something so safe and reassuring to see how quickly Rowan would jump to her aid.

Her knight in shining armor.

Sure, she’d tell him once he calmed down that everything was okay...but for now, Zelly just bit her lip softly, rested her cheek against a propped fist, and quietly and lovingly watched him defend her honor.

#ogtoc Rowan #ogtoc Zelly #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #Offline Valor #Borrower!AU #Borrowers

[gatekeeper-watchman]

Daily Devotionals for April 28, 2023 Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living Devotional Scripture:

Proverbs 15:8-9(KJV): 8 The sacrifice of the wicked is an abomination to the LORD: but the prayer of the upright is his delight. 9 The way of the wicked is an abomination unto the LORD: but he loveth him that followeth after righteousness.

Thought for the Day

Verse 8 - Without the proper heart attitude, even the "good things" we do will not count before God. It is the condition of the heart that impresses God. "As for you, my son Solomon, know the God of your father, and serve Him with a whole heart and a willing mind; for the LORD searches all hearts, and understands every intent of the thoughts. If you seek Him, He will let you find Him; but if you forsake Him, He will reject you forever" (1 Chronicles 28:9, NASB).

Many voice a love for God, but deny Him by their compromised lifestyles. A man cannot live in two worlds, nor can he serve two masters. Ultimately, he will choose one over the other, even as Jesus declared in Matthew 6:24. If we are not on fire with a love for God that causes us to live in close relationship and obedience with Him, we are lukewarm and need to repent. Many people are spiritually blind because they are rich in the world's goods and do not line their perspectives up with God's truth. They are "naked" because they do not have His eyesight nor cover themselves with His righteousness (Revelation 19:8).

The Lord will not accept the sacrifices of the wicked, nor will He hear their music. Their worship songs are just noise to Him because their hearts are not right before Him: "I hate, I reject your festivals, nor do I delight in your solemn assemblies. Even though you offer up to Me burnt offerings and your grain offerings, I will not accept them; And I will not even look at the peace offerings of your fatlings. Take away from Me the noise of your songs; I will not even listen to the sound of your harps. But let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream" (Amos 5:21-24, NASB).

Verse 9 - While the way of the wicked is an abomination to the Lord, He loves those who follow after righteousness. We must be committed to God's will if we are to be overcomers. A compromised lifestyle brings judgment upon us and it will ultimately destroy our relationship with the Lord. However, if we remain steadfast, and follow the Lord daily, we will bring joy to His heart and be blessed.

Prayer Devotional for the Day

Father God, I am thankful that You give me spiritual eyes to see so that I do not go astray on the wrong path. I do ask You to forgive me for my sins and shortcomings. Change those things in my life that are not like You. Help me to be obedient to Your will for my life. Give me the strength to obey all that You require of me. Lord, I pray for my friends and family, that they too, would follow You and obey Your will. Keep Your hand of protection over us all, and give us light on our path, that we may follow in the way of righteousness. I ask this in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. From: Steven P. Miller @ParkermillerQ, Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups Friday, April 28, 2023 Jacksonville, Florida., Duval County, USA. Instagram: steven_parker_miller_1956, Twitter: @GatekeeperWatchman1, @ParkermillerQ, https://twitter.com/StevenPMiller6 Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gatekeeperwatchman, https://www.tumblr.com/gatekeeper-watchman Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/StevenParkerMillerQ #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller,#Eldermiller1981

[1ore]

sorry. im going ballistic about this now. hope you understand

i was talking about this after therapy with the people at work but the ways in which abuse leads people to declare 'everyone should suffer as i did' or 'nobody should suffer as i did' . The

morgan and his mom living adjacent to the incalculable grief of the wall watch, and having their relationship forever transfigured by the loss of his father, a watchman. morgan becoming an outsider in his own home. morgan, in his despair, risking it all to leave basedt. morgan escaping into the arms of a loving world, but struggling to integrate into Normal Society because nobody has any idea how to handle the scope of the violence and human suffering that is the ash tundra, so it becomes his and his alone. morgan becoming an outsider in his second home. morgan returning to the first wound i.e. basedt because the survivor's guilt is too much, and because the wound is, at least, familiar. morgan realizing his time with the outside world has transformed him, made him unrecognizable. morgan as permanent outsider, one foot in the sea and one on shore, completely alone.

ashe having wonderful parents, but he still ended up Like That because he experienced something they could not comprehend and the alienation drove him into the arms of a cult, who took a very funny middleground between 'everyone should suffer' and 'nobody should suffer' by declaring 'the world needs to end so we can all stop suffering and it is our moral imperative to personally euthanize it.' ashe getting out, but perpetuating the cycle-- despite his best efforts-- in the most grave and unthinkable way possible.

ashe killing rayet's dad in self-defense. ashe assuming guardianship bc holy shit the ash tundra is no place for an orphan, knowing full well this will cause incalculable damage to both of them, but also that the only alternative is Death. rayet inheriting such a fierce desire to insulate others from the pain of her upbringing that she creates the free companies of the ash tundra and drags everyone around her kicking and screaming into camaraderie and brotherhood. rayet essentially creating the found family that she never had, with no map, no knowledge of what a healthy family looks like. rayet gravitating towards morgan bc he contains Forbidden Knowledge (lived in a normal, loving world for 20 yrs) but also recoiling in disgust because he willingly associates with That Guy (terrible. turns out the people Out There believe that no person, however monstrous, is beyond recovery, whether or not reconciliation is possible)

cinte being groomed to assume the mantle of cruelty and power. cinte as the city of basedt's reductive metaphor for the root of all pain, but also ultimate driver of 'i suffered, so you All have to suffer' . the self-cannibalizing ouroboros of being just like his shitty, shitty mom, and not believing he can be better or deserves to be better. doing Exactly what was expected of him by self-destructing and plunging basedt into the eternal storm. ashe projecting onto the impulse to self-destruct that exists in cinte, because he sees himself in him, and they suffered together under the manazthati. ashe performing the "mercy-killing" of cinte i.e. cutting him up and scattering his bones to the four winds as a natural continuation of the things that Basedt has always done, and will continue to do. until morgan stops his hand and says 'maybe there's another way'

makame as basedt's ultimate social pariah, willingly self-isolating and also unwillingly isolated. makame having 0.4 oz of kinship with morgan and ashe and cinte for being outsiders, experiencing vague belonging for the first time in a long time, torn between craving connection and the urgent self-preservation instinct because ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm there is something deeply wrong with those guys (there is something deeply wrong with Me)

and somehow, because of or despite their efforts, and without their permission, the suffering does go away . and

#losing my entire mind in the ash tundra #basedt tag #morgan tag #ashe tag #rayet tag #makame asanttu tag #cinte tag

[clarklovescarole]

February 1936: The Town's Newest Combination

February 2, 1936: The Hostess Goes Home

(The Los Angeles Times)

Mystery still surrounds the early departure of Carole Lombard, official hostess of the evening, from the famous White Mayfair party. Did she leave on account of the “altercation” between Clark Gable and Lyle Talbot, which was reported to have occurred when she went out in the lobby of the Victor Hugo with Gable, or just because (the official reason) she was wearied by all the work connected with the ball?

Anyway, Carole declared it a day (or a night) at about 12:30, whereas some of the guests lingered on until even 4 o’clock. Possibly the absence of Robert Riskin was the real reason. He was ill. Cesar Romero squired the hostess, but only during the time she was at the party.

February 15, 1936 

Valentine’s Day in the movie colony brought out practically everything but Valentines. The few orthodox valentines, with lace-paper and the bleeding heart, came from Shirley Temple. She made them. Clark Gable’s souvenir – he found out later it was from Carole Lombard – reached him on the stroke of midnight after he had driven his automobile into a hotel garage. “Sorry, Mr. Gable, but your stall’s taken,” the attendant told him. 

Puzzled, the actor followed the man across the room and found the usual spot for his car already occupied by an aged machine. It was painted white with large, arrow-pierced hearts all over it.

Around the tonneau was a tremendous red ribbon tied in a large, flowering bow on the radiator cap. 

February 18, 1936 

Chatter in Hollywood: Carole Lombard’s divine sense of humor never deserts her. Reams were written that she had left the Mayfair party with Clark Gable before the dance had even started. So Carole thought she might as well make the story a good one. She bought an old dilapidated, fenderless automobile, had it painted white with huge hearts and monogrammed with Clark’s initials, and delivered to the fashionable hotel where he lives bright and early Valentine’s morning. Yes, and her card was on the steering wheel! 

February 19, 1936 

Carole Lombard and Clark Gable, the town’s newest combination…

February 21, 1936 

Speaking of Valentines, did you hear about the one Carole Lombard sent Clark Gable. She had an old Ford painted white and decorated with huge red hearts and ribbon, and had it delivered to Mr. Gable’s hotel with her compliments. All this because of the false reports that have been going around town regarding the fact that she was romantically interested in Clark. Carole says she thought she would give gossips something real to talk about for a change.

February 24, 1936 

CLARK GABLE, from the set of “San Francisco,” telephoned Carole Lombard on the set of “A Princess Comes Across” … 

February 25, 1936 

The boulevard is burning with the story of Clark Gable’s valentine. Returning from a party on the night of the 13th, the star sought to drive into his usual stall in the garage of a Beverly Hills hotel. “I’m afraid it is already occupied sir,” said the watchman.

Thereupon, Gable got out and, to his amazement, discovered an ancient and dilapidated Ford painted white with decorations of large red hearts. Around the body was tied a huge red ribbon. Gable grabbed the card. It read: “To My Valentine, from – Carole Lombard.”

February 25, 1936 – The San Francisco Examiner

After a week of unprecedented gaiety you might think the Schenck party would suffer, but with a good orchestra, grand food and conversation, most of the guests stayed on and on; Carole Lombard and Clark Gable left early because they are working and had to be on the set early.

February 26, 1936 – The Evening News

For days to come, Hollywood will be rehashing the “convalescent” party that Donald Ogden Stewart gave for his wife, Beatrice. He borrowed Jock Whitney’s house, summoned 150 of the movie elite to come at high noon, but dressed in full evening regalia – white ties and tails for the men, evening gowns of full court costumes for the women.

Mrs. Stewart, who has been getting home at 6 p.m. on account of doctor’s orders, thought it was to be a tennis party and arrived in slacks but later changed to evening clothes while riding around the yard in an ambulance with Hollywood’s famous ones doing a snake dance behind the vehicle.

But as Al Jolson would say, you haven’t heard nothing yet. Later on, when Jock Whitney and Gilbert Roland tried to have a serious game of tennis, Clark Gable (armed with a broom), Carole Lombard and a half dozen others batted balls at random at them and all over the court.

#1936 #old hollywood #carole lombard #clark gable

[gatekeeperwatchman]

Sunday, January 01, 2023 Philippians 4:13 tells us, “I can do everything through Him who gives me strength.” John 15:5 declares, “I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” If God is the center of your New Year’s resolution, it has chance for success, depending on your commitment to it. If it is God’s will for something to be fulfilled, He will enable you to fulfill it. If a resolution is not God-honoring and/or is not in agreement with God’s Word, we will not receive God’s help in fulfilling the resolution.

Prayer Devotional for the Day Dear Father, I come to You in Jesus' name at the beginning of this new day, and New Year asking for Your wisdom that I may order my life, family, ministry, new employment, business, and all of my affairs as you please according to Your Word. Please impart to me an understanding of Your Word so that I will know how to do that which pleases You and produces blessing in my life and in the lives of all who know me. Thank You, Lord, for all the beautiful music and inspirational books, that You have blessed me to be able to hear and read. Bless those who have been obedient over the years to share Your life through these avenues. They have made my life fuller and caused me to know You better. I ask this in the Name of Jesus. Amen.

From: Steven P. Miller Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups Jacksonville, Florida., Duval County, USA. Instagram: steven_parker_miller_1956, Twitter: @GatekeeperWatchman1, @ParkermillerQ, @StevenPMiller6 Parker Miller Stevens (Gatekeeper1) Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gatekeeperwatchman URL: linkedin.com/in/steven-miller-b1ab21259 Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ElderStevenMiller GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller, #Eldermiller1981

[akanennie]

A new chance

Paring: Future!Bucky Barnes x Fem!40th!Reader

Words: 2,019

A/N: I really don’t understand how watching Shang-Chi made me have inspiration for this imagine, but it happened. I hope you enjoy it. ❤️

Part 1

Y/N had led a bitter life since the arrival of the army telegram saying that Bucky had died in combat. Years have passed since the end of the war, and she hadn’t yet overcome losing those two.

Y/N would get up early in the morning, have her breakfast and go to the winery where she worked all day. She had lunch at Gli Amanti just to see those young couples together and imagine herself there with Bucky, or maybe on a double date, since Peggy also suffered from Steve’s disappearance.

At the end of the day, after closing the winery, Y/N went to the pier from where the warships left and stood there, sitting in a crate, just watching the sea. The pier’s watchman already become a friend of Y/N’s, since he couldn’t stand to contain the curiosity and went to her to question why she came daily at that time just to look at the sea.

“I’m waiting for him to come back.” That’s the answer he had.

The watchman didn’t believe that Bucky would return after being declared dead in combat. No one came back. At first, he thought Y/N was crazy, but then he understood her. It was hope, the purest hope that it was all a mistake. She knew Bucky wouldn’t die easily.

However, one day, something different happened in her routine. Y/N spent the whole day doing the same things, but when she arrived at the pier, which would usually only have her and the watchman, she found a third person sitting on her crate.

Y/N approached curiously, the man was tall, blond and all thick. There was something familiar on him, but She still couldn’t identify it. It was only when he turned to look at her when he heard her footsteps that Y/N felt her body lock in a deep shock.

It was Steve Rogers. Her clumsy friend who turned into a national hero. He had returned from somewhere she doesn’t know. A little older, of course, but it was Steve, Y/N would recognize those blue eyes and kind smile anywhere.

“Hi!” greeted Steve.

Y/N started crying, compulsively. Steve hugged her to comfort her and alleviate the nostalgia he also felt for his friend. It took a while for Y/N to calm down, but when she did, she filled Steve with questions that he patiently answered without hiding anything.

“So… Do aliens really exist?!” asked Y/N, surprised by the reports about the future she received from her friend. Everything seemed very fanciful, but she couldn’t discredit it.

“Yes, some good, others don’t.” Steve replied, shaking his legs and looking at the water below the pier. “It was all very confusing for me, too. It was already strange to have slept for almost seventy years, so having to fight aliens, it seemed even more like a very weird dream.”

“It’s so hard to believe all this.” commented Y/N, stunned. “If it weren’t for you telling me, I wouldn’t believe it.”

“And would you believe me if I said that Bucky didn’t die in the war?” asked the blonde, looking at his friend.

Y/N looked at him in shock, tears flowed again down his face simultaneously with the laughter that escaped through his throat.

“I knew it! I knew he didn’t die!” exclaimed Y/N, getting up from her crate bouncing and vibrating in joy.

“He had a fate a bit different from mine, which led him to face the decades with much more violence than just sleeping on the Arctic ice, but he’s going back to what he was before the war.” Steve said, after laughing at his friend’s energetic reaction. “Of course Bucky has some sequels, but it’s nothing he can’t deal with.”

“But… Steve…” Y/N looked at Steve when she was hit by a question. “If he is now overcoming the traumas, will you leave him there alone, with strangers?”

“Well, I thought about it too.” commented Steve, getting up from the edge and approaching Y/N while removing something out of his coat pocket.

He reached out to her, showing a kind of bracelet and a bottle with a red liquid. Y/N looked at that strangely, and then looked confused at him.

“I lived at that time wishing to come back every second.” commented Steve, putting the bracelet and bottle in Y/N’s hand. “The great love of my life stayed at that time and there I buried her without having lived by her side.”

Y/N gave Steve a compassionate smile, she knew he was referring to Peggy. She could even imagine how he felt when he buried the one she fell in love with.

“That’s why I thought I’d send you there to stay with Bucky.” commented Y/N, faced him as if he had said the worst of absurdities. “It’s simpler than it seems, and they’ll have each other.”

“I don’t know, Steve…” said Y/N, a bit scared. It was too much news for her. “Y/N, you’ve always been very evolved! Always very independent, strong and even fought with Bucky when he enlisted.” said Steve, concentrated and serious. “What I mean is that you have always been ahead of your time. Your place is there with him. Mine is here with Peggy.”

Y/N pondered in silence, looking at that vibrant red liquid. All those years she waited for an opportunity to meet Bucky again, to live the romance they planned to live, but that the war took away from them. It seemed wrong to abandon everything for a fanciful idea, but just imagining finding Bucky made her smile without even realizing it.

“Can I give you an extra incentive?” asked Steve, attracting Y/N’s eye again. “When Bucky heard about my plans, he asked me to tell you that time and circumstances mistreated him, but he never stopped loving you.”

It was really the last incentive Y/N needed to accept that crazy idea from Steve. She loved her family, she liked her job, but knowing that even with everything he went through he still loved her, she couldn’t stay there anymore.

“How do I go?” asked Y/N, Steve smiled in an immediate response.

After a brief explanation of what Y/N would feel on her first time trip, Steve explained what he knew about the device and how it worked just to make her feel safer. Upon activating the bracelet, a white outfit with red details covered Y/N’s body and automatically adjusted to her body, alone.

“Don’t worry about the adaptation when you arrive there.” Steve advised as he put the bottle in a compartment in his uniform, at Y/N’s waist height. “Bucky and I made some friends who will be happy to help you.”

“Okay.” Y/N replied, watching Steve straighten up and bring her right arm close to him.

He slid his fingers on a screen, touching letters and numbers, surprising his friend with such technology used in such a weird costume.

“When you’re ready, just press this button.” Steve said, pointing to a red button in the space between her friend’s right thumb and forefinger.

Y/N looked at the button and then at Steve, then pulling him for another hug. He corresponded to her with affection, sighing when she let him go.

“Don’t do anything stupid there?!” he asked, and Y/N smiled mockingly.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” replied Y/N, laughing with Steve, and then she pressed the button, disappearing from her friend’s front.

“Be happy…” Steve said, in a whisper to himself, because he knew she wouldn’t listen to him.

(...)

The delay in Steve’s return bothered Sam and worried Professor Hulk. He was expected to come back 5 seconds ago, which obviously didn’t happen. Bucky was the only one calm, because he knew his friend’s intention to come back once and for all in time. Sam began to put pressure on Professor Hulk to bring Captain America back and the giant scientist began to despair that something could have happened that would possibly prevent Rogers’ return.

However, the platform began to show signs of movement, surprising Bucky and relieving the other two. The soldier wondered if life didn’t work with Peggy, so Steve decided to come back, but this idea ran away from his mind when a completely different person appeared on the platform. Obviously she was a woman by her size and that worried them. After being deceived by the Nebula of the past, they had to be attentive.

Worried that it would be some problem after everything they have gone through so far, the men kept their guard closed and ready to counterattack if necessary.

But the woman’s lack of action intrigued them. She first looked everywhere, then started trying to take off her helmet, but she didn’t even know how to do it. Barnes was the first to take action, since he was the closest to the platform, and Sam and Professor Hulk stood in case he needed help.

“Trouble taking it off?” Bucky asked, already on top of the platform and going to it.

The woman didn’t seem to have listened to him, because she continued to grunt nervously because she didn’t know how to take off her helmet. Bucky looked at the green giant that pointed near the nape of the neck, on the right side, that would be where he would find a button. That’s if that uniform was really similar to the one designed by him and Stark.

Bucky stopped the woman with his metal hand, she breathed in surprise as he leaned over to find the button on the back of her neck. He let her go with his metal hand and pressed the button, but he wasn’t prepared to see Y/N there.

His expression of shock was Similar to Y/N’s, she analyzed him with her eyes filled with tears. Bucky was extremely different from how she saw him before leaving for England. Long hair, beard needing to be trimmed, some expression lines in the eyes and a little dark circles, probably for sleepless nights. But those eyes… she would never forget them.

Bucky also analyzed her and smiled when he saw that she hadn’t changed anything, Y/N remained the same wonderful woman as always.

“Bucky?” asked Y/N, and he confirmed it with his head.

Y/N began to laugh and cry with happiness before jumping on him and squeezing him in a strong hug. Bucky reciprocated her, without using so much strength not to hurt her, but with the same happiness of having her in his arms again.

She filled him with kisses all over his face before finally gluing her lips to his in a kiss full of love. But the euphoria led them to have less breath, and the contact they wanted so much ended earlier than they wanted. And as much as they didn’t want to separate, now they would have their whole lives together to exchange all the kisses they couldn’t exchange.

However, a throat clearing took them out of the bubble they were in and made them look in the direction of the spectators. Wilson and Professor Hulk had a naughty smile on their faces, and Bucky learned at that moment that Sam would not leave him alone until he was satisfied with the provocations.

“I don’t know who you are, but something tells me that he knows you very well.” Sam joked, Hulk laughed and Barnes rolled his eyes.

“Don’t start…” Bucky grumbled, holding Y/N’s hand before helping her get off the platform.

Everything Y/N found at that time was different from what she knew in the 1940s: mutations, heroes, villains, countries she didn’t know existed, technology, magic, and aliens… If it weren’t for having Barnes, giving her a bit of familiarity, she would’ve freaked out.

However, Steve was right. Y/N was a woman ahead of her time, and she adapted very quickly to the news. In a short time, she didn’t even look like a woman of almost 100 years old. And she was very happy, she had her concerns about the man of her life being a hero, but she was still the happiest woman in the world.

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #imagines marvel #marvel imagines #marvel

[shammah8]

Son of man, I have made you a watchman for the people of Israel; so hear the word I speak and give them warning from me.” (Ezekiel 33:7).

God has established the believers as watchmen, because we can clearly see the coming danger in the spiritual realm.

However, we must not be silent prophets. We must warn the people about the difficult times that we are living in and inspire them to abandon sin and turn their hearts towards God.

Many natural disasters have caught different nations by surprise in the last few years, including tsunamis, hurricanes and frequent earthquakes, which have flattened entire cities.

These are all signs that God’s judgment, which will take place before Jesus returns to this earth, is approaching. Only those who are prepared will be saved.

What would you do if you saw two small children playing a little distance from their parents who, without realizing, start to walk towards a deep hole? How would you react? Would you say, “That doesn’ t matter to me, they are not my children?” Or, would you warn them about the danger? Would you speak in a gentle tone of voice? In that very moment, the only thing I would think about would be trying to avoid an awful accident. I would shout loudly to warn them or try and run to them to pull them away from danger. We must do something similar withthose who do not know the Lord. We must preach the Gospel to them in different ways. We need to strive by faith until they receive salvation. Y ou must not fall into indifference, or settle for giving a timid message of salvation. Don’t tell yourself, “I did my part. I gave a word of faith. I already talked to them. I warned them, and if they refuse to believe, that is not my concern.” Y ou must not behave this way. Y ou must fight with all of your strength and appeal with different kinds of strategies to reach them for Christ. Y ou must keep trying, in one way or another, until they are persuaded that Christ is the only choice for them.

One time when I was preaching to the youth in our Church, at the moment of the altar call, more than 800 young people came forward to give their lives to Jesus Christ. What a great blessing it was to be there! My heart was full of joy and I was so grateful to God.

When a sinner repents, there is joy in the Kingdom of Heaven (Luke 15:7). Although I often see many conversions in the ministry, I always feel the same joy and the same compassion. I often warn my disciples not to ever lose their passion for the lost. Even when they see many people being saved in their ministries, they should not be indifferent and despise the opportunity of preaching to just a few people.

Jesus preached to the multitudes, but on many occasions He stopped to talk with just one person. He taught us by example that for God, one person is just as important as the thousands.

Our Father is not so impressed with what we do, rather, He looks at the attitude of our heart. Therefore, we must alwayshave a compassionate heart.

SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT The warning given by a nine year old girl was sufficient for hundreds of people to flee into the mountains and be saved when a tsunami hit a coastal town in Chile. May God give us the grace to be able to warn others of the danger that is coming to this world and be able to show them the way of salvation.

May we be found faithful to carry the message of redemption to thousands of people.

PRAYER Father, thank Y ou for making me a watchman. Give me Y our grace so that I will be able to diligently preach Y our Gospel with love and compassion. Help me to win many souls for Y our kingdom. I pray this in the name of Jesus, Amen.

DECLARATION “I will rise up and preach about redemption and grace to my generation.👏CESAR

[stories-from-peter]

Artistic License

My sister Shirley has a friend named Ed who used to work as a cartoonist for a major daily newspaper in Toronto. Ed was quite eccentric and didn't like to work in an office. He preferred to drive around the city late at night until he had an idea for a cartoon. Once he had a firm concept of what he wanted to do he would drive to the newspaper office. The night watchman knew Ed from his regular visits and paid little attention to his late night visitor.

Ed would draw his cartoon and leave it on the editor's desk before heading out again. In the lobby of the newspaper there are several paintings of the founders of the newspaper hanging on the walls. Ed would make some small change to one or more of the paintings before leaving. It was never enough of a change that anyone would notice. He would add a hair or a mole or slightly darken some small part of a face that would never be noticed.

After a few years of Ed making tiny changes the small differences began to evolve into much larger ones. A moustache might slowly grow from two or three hairs into a full handlebar under the nose. A previously young face might acquire a few dozen wrinkles after a year or so. A head of gray hair could slowly darken over the months. People walking through the lobby every day or even once every few weeks had no clue that anything was different from their last visit.

There was one visitor who did not fit into the category of disinterested. The widow of one of the founders stopped by the paper for a visit. She could not neglect to gaze at the portrait of her beloved husband as she walked through the lobby. She looked up at the group of portraits and her husband's picture was not among them, nor did she recognize any of the other faces in the portraits.

Somewhat confused and a little angry, the widow confronted the management of the paper and demanded to know why her husband's portrait was no longer in the lobby. It didn't take long to figure out who the perpetrator was and Ed was soon looking for work.

I thought Ed's idea was brilliant and one day I had the opportunity to do a little subtle redecorating myself. I worked for a printing company that employed a particularly annoying woman named Susan. One of our suppliers gave us a calendar with reproductions of classic paintings as the monthly pictures. Susan grabbed the calendar and declared it to belonged to her. She announced that she was taking it home at the end of the year and getting the prints framed.

An opportunity like that can't be ignored. Every day after Susan left the building I would take a pen or pencil and make a small change to the painting of the month. January had a classic madonna and child from centuries ago. By the time February came around the madonna had quite a mustache that nobody seemed to notice.

February had a bit of modern art with some large red squares. By March several rows of silver bells had appeared in the squares.

I left a couple of the prints alone when I couldn't think of what to add that would not be noticed. By September I was no longer able to keep making changes because I left the company for a better job. I wish I could have been at Susan's house the day she opened the calendar to start framing the prints.

#art #calendar #changes

[pad-wubbo]

"Mushhoot mk. II"

Infinite Painter.

The previous "mushhoot", from October, was simply an owl with a mushroom texture to its body. This time, there's actually a mushroom cap growing in the owl, and I've illustrated it in a Pokémon-ish style. You know what, I'll declare it a Pokémon.

MUSHHOOT

Nightcap Pokémon

Poison/Ghost

80/70/100/90/150/50 base stats (540 total)

Ability: Watchman (The user is immune to Dark-type attacks. The user of a Dark-type attack against this Pokémon becomes poisoned.)

"This Pokémon makes its nest atop the highest trees of taiga forests. It gazes down at the forest floor as if searching for something, never moving from its position."

CC-BY-SA 4.0, since no part of any existing Pokémon character is in the design.

#creative commons #digital art #painting #mushroom #mush #owl #pokemon #fakemon