#Resident Care & Activities of Daily Living

[sensualnoiree]

1st House: The Helm This is where your spiritual energy and identity take the spotlight. The 1st House governs your appearance, personality, and vitality—the essence of how you project yourself to the world. It’s your steez, your approach to life, and the first impression you make on others. The 1st House is all about beginnings, the mask you may unknowingly wear, and how you come to know yourself on a deep authentic level. The captain of this ship is the ruling planet of the zodiac sign residing there.

2nd House: Gate of Hades Your values, self-esteem, and ability to attract wealth are all tied to the 2nd House. This is where your personal resources, possessions, and financial matters come into play. The foods you eat, your saving and spending habits, and your sense of self-worth are all part of this house. It’s where your style and material wealth are rooted, reflecting how you value yourself and what you own. This house represents how you sustain for yourself, how you support all that the first house needs of you to be who you are.

3rd House: Goddess The 3rd House is the domain of communication, early education, and the mind. It governs how you gather and process information, your intellect, and your interactions within your community. This house also encompasses your relationships with siblings, short travels, and technical skills. It’s the space where your to-do list and daily mental activities take shape.

4th House: Subterranean Deeply connected to your roots, the 4th House represents your home, heritage, and ancestry. It’s where your inner life and sense of security are nurtured, influenced by your upbringing and relationship with your parents—especially the mother. This house also relates to land, generational gifts, and knowledge passed down through the family. It’s a space of femininity and the feminine energies in your life. This is the lowest point of the birth chart and can be fairly private and personal-as opposed to the 10th house. It holds up the rest of the chart and is incredibly important in terms of learning about our sense of security/stability emotionally, spiritually, and physically.

5th House: Good Fortune Joy, creativity, and self-expression flourish in the 5th House. This is where you experience the pleasures of life—love affairs, children, art, and entertainment. It’s the house of flirtation, play, and drama, where your passions come to life. The 5th House also governs leisure activities, fertility, and the pursuit of happiness through creative endeavors. A sense of nostalgia lives here too.

6th House: Bad Fortune The 6th House deals with work, health, and daily routines. It’s the space of labor, servitude, and the duties that never seem to end. This house also governs how you care for your body, deal with illness and injury, and interact with employees or pets. It’s where the unexpected challenges in life arise, requiring your attention and resilience. Look here for understanding on what great works you may find yourself committing to.

7th House: Setting Place Relationships take center stage in the 7th House. This is where you finally begin to truly engage with others, forming long-term commitments, whether in marriage, partnerships, or friendships. It’s the house of open enemies, where you face the other in life. The 7th House also governs relaxation, romance, and the deep bonds that define your connections with others.

8th House: The Idle Place Death, transformation, and shared resources are key themes in the 8th House. It’s where you confront karma, contracts, and generational lessons. This house also deals with loans, debts, and the deep psyche—the mysteries and fears that lie beneath the surface. The 8th House is a place of soul material, where you explore the unseen and the unknown. Here, you face all consequences-positive & negative- of the 7th house and the relationships, contracts, and potential enemies made there. This is the house of others esteem of you, opposite of the 2nd.

9th House: House of God The 9th House is your portal to higher knowledge, philosophy, and spiritual exploration. It governs your worldview, ethics, and the pursuit of truth through study, travel, and discovery. This house is where you connect with religion, spirituality, and the higher mind, expanding your understanding of the world and your place in it.

10th House: House of Praxis Your public life, reputation, and career are shaped by the 10th House. It’s where you strive for honor, recognition, and achievements that define your legacy. This house also relates to your relationships with authority figures, particularly the father, and how you navigate the public sphere. The 10th House is where your goals, fame, and business acumen are realized. Sitting at the very top of the chart, like the sun at noon high in the sky, all can see you here.

11th House: Good Spirits In the 11th House, your hopes, dreams, and social networks come to life. This house governs your friendships, group affiliations, and the communities you belong to. It’s where you connect with humanity, receive sudden blessings, and find support in your aspirations. The 11th House is also associated with gifts, riches, and the imagination needed to dream big.

12th House: Bad Spirits The 12th House is a place of retreat, isolation, and self-undoing. It’s where you confront your inner shadows, secrets, and hidden enemies. This house governs institutions, mental health, and the need for solitude or seclusion. It’s also a space of psychological development, where you deal with endings, sickness, and the unseen forces that shape your life journey. This house is in a blind spot to the first house of Self and that is why we can be blind to the very things that reside here. Its not so much that these things seek out to destroy you but any area of your life your are deeply unaware of can come back and disorientate you from who you believe yourself to be.

follow for more astro insights like this and head on over to @quenysefields or my etsy --> sensualnoiree to grab my new astrology guidebook on reading your own natal chart :)

[sakuravalelp]

Ellie(Dani) didn't realize how dangerous Danny's home was for him until he was more worried about her when she got her own home. - Prompt I think(?)

Ellie wasn't sure how to feel when Danny excitedly animated her to accept Arthur's invitation to live in Atlantis.

"Just if you want of course, but you'll get a stable home, and Frostbite said living underwater might be good for your water cores stability."

She had already been planning to accept the offer. Once she gave the guy an opportunity to have some sort of conversation, the guy was pretty chill, and the castle was pretty cool. So yeah, she was going to accept the offer.

But for some reason Danny's eagerness for her to go with Arthur hurt. It felt like he was trying to get rid of her.

She knew that was ridiculous, she didn't even live with Danny. He looked out for her, and was always a call away but, as much as Danny parents her, he was just a child like her. It made sense he was happy to give away the responsibility of taking care of her.

So when Ellie moved into Atlantis, she was expecting to hear less from Danny. After all, she had settle down, and he didn't need to worry about her adventures anymore. That was Arthur's and Mera's job now.

Weirdly enough, it was the complete opposite.

Now that Ellie was living with adults, Danny seemed MORE worried for her. They went from a call once a week or so, to almost daily calls in the afternoons. He would be more insistent about her telling him if anything was wrong.

He would ask specifics about the food she was eating, and her activities of the day, and her room, and the castles security...

Sam had told her that it was because he used to be able to monitor if she was eating well through the transactions of the debit card they had given her. Tuck had told her that he used to evaluate how safe she was through the phones location, and the hotels receipts.

And well, maybe she underestimated how much attention Danny put on her before, but the way the calls went made it seem like he thought she might be in more danger now that she had a stable home.

Which made no sense, because unlike him, she didn't even need to hide her ghostlines. Anything that was out of normal for Atlanteans was excused with meta-abilities, she didn't need to worry about being classified as a non-sentient species.

That was when it caught up to her. Danny was worried now that she was in a stable home because his stable home had always been dangerous for him. It isn't even a think of it being dangerous now that his a ghost, it has been dangerous ever since he was a child. She remembers all of Jazz's rants about how unreliable their parents have always been.

The food has always been contaminated. The security now attacked him directly, but there had always been a possibility of it malfunctioning and hurting the residents. Him and Jazz had always had the responsibilities of not only keeping the house clean, but the lab as well. If she tops it with the house security system attacking him, and his parents been ghost hunters...

Ellie hadn't found it too dangerous back then, Danny mocked Jazz rants with her, and Jack and Maddie were kind when they interacted with her in her human form. The Fentons neglect seemed liberating in comparison to Vlad overly controlling nature. But thinking about it now, after two months living in Atlantis, she doesn't like the picture.

She doesn't like the idea of Danny being somewhere so unsafe, but where would he go? He doesn't have a water core like her, and even if he had gotten sorta used to shapeshifting, he isn't good enough to live in a second form, which isn't recommendable either way. So he wouldn't be able to move underwater with her.

More so, she doubts that Danny would like to leave his Amity, he had taken the sole responsibilities of dealing with the whole humans - ghost conflicts. With the anti-ecto acts, there's no way he would leave the portal unsupervised.

What should she do now? Should she talk with Arthur about it? He said he was part of the heros friend group, what if they already know about the anti-ecto acts and are okay with it? What if they change hoe they act with her when she tells them she isn't actually an atlatean meta?

[starleska]

The Nightmare Picnic - Wally Darling x Reader

You're a brand new resident in the wonderful Welcome Home Neighbourhood, and it's the perfect day for the picnic! But your dear friend Wally Darling doesn't seem to be enjoying the fun. What will happen when you decide to try and cheer him up?

content warnings for: eye imagery, scopophobia, hypnosis, impossible physics, Eldritch, and unreality. go in assuming that Wally is a weird little guy, and you’re both terrified of and kind of enjoy that fact! 😉 you can also find this fic on my AO3. i hope you enjoy!! 

The day you learn how to love Wally Darling begins like any other.

It is a balmy day, the air soft and thick and dizzy with butterflies. The sun shines with relentless cheer, and nary a cloud can be seen in the sky. Such a day in the Neighbourhood cannot be spent languishing inside, and all your new neighbours think the same way. So, which lovely activity did they decide upon? Why, a picnic on the grass, of course!

The organisation of the event is efficient and cheerful. In no time, the lush meadow surrounding the outskirts of the Neighbourhood is replete with cosy blankets to lie on, fun games to play, and a plethora of delicious foods contributed by each neighbour. Luckily, you’d baked a whole tray of cupcakes the previous day, with the intent of handing them out when bumping into your neighbours going about their daily business. The cupcakes were a huge success; even the ever-curmudgeonly Frank, who always has something to complain about, graces you with a begrudging, “It’s good, I suppose,” when you hand him a vanilla cupcake topped with a green-icing butterfly.

'I needed this,’ you think as you look around at your new friends. You’ve only been a resident of the Neighbourhood for a few months, but in that time you’ve grown so close to its colourful cast of neighbours as if you’d known each other your whole lives. Right now, they’re dotted across the meadow, smiling and laughing without a care in the world: Howdy’s busy putting together an impossibly long string of daisy chains; Eddie and Sally peer into an origami fortune-teller and giggle at the results; Frank leans over a bush, studying a caterpillar, and Julie and Poppy clap and cheer whilst Barnaby entertains them with a juggling act.

It’s a gorgeous scene. Today, your heart is warm.

A small flash of yellow catches your eye. Of course, it’s an incomplete picture. You take in Wally, who sits cross-legged under the shade of a verdant apple tree. He’s holding an apple between both hands and staring at it intently, as if willing the fruit to communicate with him. It’s an odd expression - you aren’t used to seeing Wally in a state of concentration.

“Hey, Wally!” you call.

Wally looks up at you and smiles. He beckons you over.

“Hello,” says Wally, in his simple way. “I’m happy to see you.”

Oh, what a beautiful voice. Every time you hear Wally speak, it’s like the gentle lapping of his syllables sweep away your worries in a single wave.

As you get closer to Wally, you notice a few strands of his deep blue hair turning flyaway and giving in to the heat, curling away from the otherwise-immaculate pompadour and escaping the death-grip of his hairspray. He’s a little dishevelled elsewhere, too; Wally’s neckerchief is coming loose, and though he’s long since abandoned his cardigan, a stray button on his shirt remains stubbornly popped. You find yourself grinning. Wally takes such pride in his appearance that you never get to see him a little less than perfect.

“Same to you!” you say. “Aren’t you hungry? All the food’s down with the others.”

That unusually pensive look on Wally’s face deepens. He turns his eyes back to his apple. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” You rummage in your backpack and pull out a chocolate bar. “You’ve got to eat, bud. You not feeling so good?”

Wally takes the treat from you and examines it for a moment, as if the bar is a scientific curiosity. “That’s very nice of you…but this doesn’t work for me. You should keep it.”

When Wally hands the bar back, your fingers touch for the briefest moment, and a shiver works its way up your spine.

You don’t know when this… thing you have for Wally Darling began. Despite the countless nights you’ve spent desperately trying to focus on something, anything else, your thoughts inevitably return to the little yellow puppet-man and his catlike smile. There’s a strange magnetism to Wally which befits his profession as a television host; everything from the delicate way he handles his paintbrush, to his ridiculous affinity for apples, leaves you with a little more fondness than before. Wally has so much affection stored in one small body, and when you first met, you wondered how any person could love so much all at once.

But now, when you look at Wally, you understand.

“If you’re sure.” You pop the bar back into your bag and sit on the ground in front of Wally, mirroring his cross-legged pose. “The offer’s still there.”

“It’s tempting,” says Wally, now turning his apple over and over in his hands. “I’d like to know what would happen, if I tried. But Barnaby told me it isn’t worth the risk. I trust him to know.”

You have no idea what he’s talking about, but the look on Wally’s face is so uncharacteristically brooding that you don’t feel it’s polite to pry. Wally’s always been the drifting sort: those large, dewy eyes of his are perpetually lidded, and always seem to be gazing at something no one else can see. But Wally’s inattentiveness is usually matched with an infectious, excited kind of energy, bursting with nonsense and love.

Today, he almost looks sad. The idea makes you feel sick.

It occurs to you that this may be a personal issue, and Wally doesn’t know you well enough to discuss it. So you ask, “Do you want me to look away?”

Wally’s fingers still. To your surprise, the apple actually drops from his hands and rolls into the grass. You’ve never seen Wally mistreat an apple before - there must be something seriously wrong.

“Actually,” says Wally, now looking at you properly, “I’d like to try something.”

He gestures for you to shuffle closer. When you do, Wally reaches forward and takes hold of your forearms. You make a surprised noise, but Wally squeezes you, and fixes you with a smile full of reassurance and warmth. A rush of heat leaps into your cheeks, and you’re suddenly reminded of an interaction you had with another neighbour not too long ago.

It was only a week after you arrived in the Neighbourhood, and you were finally moving the last of your belongings into your home. All of your new neighbours had graciously donated their time to help you in some fashion, and you were overcome with gratitude. On that final day you were more than capable of doing the rest of the moving yourself, but your closest neighbour - the excitable Julie Joyful - volunteered to help with the last handful of delicate items. At first, you were unsure - Julie is a lovely girl and incredibly fun to be around, but so spirited that you feared for the safety of your items. But a good twenty minutes of allowing her to help with the least fragile of your boxes allayed all your fears: Julie moves with the grace of a ballerina, and the two of you soon had all your boxes stacked in your living room.

Burnt orange sunlight poured through the window, streaming soon-to-be-dusk and casting the wooden floorboards with a vibrant glow. You take a moment from the heavy lifting to look out the window. Across the lawn, you can make out a couple of your neighbours engaging in some game. Upon closer inspection, you realise it’s Wally and Barnaby, the former laughing and tossing a series of colourful balls for Barnaby to catch.

You watched as Wally swung his arm and threw a few of the balls a surprising distance, letting the large, spotted dog race off to retrieve them. Wally put his hands on his hips, as if exhausted by the exertion. He turned - and locked eyes with you. Wally’s face broke out into a huge grin, and he gave you a hearty wave. Feeling horribly embarrassed, you waved back, trying to ignore the painful squeezing of your heart. You’ve only known Wally a week, and yet you’re utterly charmed by everything he does.

A tug on your arm brought you back to the present: it’s Julie. She bats her long eyelashes at you, a knowing smile on her face.

“You like hiiiiim, ” she teased, her voice all sing-song.

“What?!”

You grabbed Julie by the shoulders and yanked her away from the window, as if Wally could somehow hear you both through sight. “No! I don’t know where you got an idea like that-”

“It’s okay, sweetie. You don’t need to pretend.”

Your face felt like it was on fire. You’d always been the careful type, ensuring your innermost thoughts and feelings stayed stuffed as far down as possible to keep you safe. But the Neighbourhood bred a kind of emotional honesty with which you were totally unfamiliar. Everyone is so exuberant, always wearing their hearts on their sleeves - some of them even literally, as plenty of your new neighbours wore outfits stitched with cute little hearts! Keeping a secret in the Neighbourhood felt wrong…even a secret crush on the silly little artist whose smile lit up your insides.

So, you give in. “How did you know?”

Julie giggles. She fishes in the pocket of her dress, and pulls out a daisy.

“I know a lot about flowers,” she explained, as she twirled the stem between her fingers. “What kinds grow in different meadows. How much sun and water and love they need to grow. They show it in their petals, and how they lean. People are a lot like that too.

“When you arrived, you looked…wilted. Like you’d been kept out of the sun for too long. I could see it, but didn’t want to ask why. I think everyone else could, too…and we all wanted to help a new friend who lost their colour.”

“You’ve all been so lovely to me,” you said, by way of thanks.

Julie nodded. “Sure we have! And it worked, for a little bit. But for a flower at the end of its days, even fresh soil, plenty of sun and lots of water can only do so much. Your petals seemed faded for good. And that’s okay. I just wanted you to be happy - whatever that looks like for you.”

You swallowed. “You see a lot, for a gardener.”

Julie smiled. “When you care for flowers, you learn to listen to their needs. Sometimes, you’ll have a flower who has everything in the world…but they’re still curling up, and shying away from the light.”

She pressed the daisy into your palm.

“Wally brings the colour back to your petals,” said Julie. “Do yourself a favour. Don’t hide from your sun.”

Another squeeze from Wally brings you out of your recollection. You suck in a deep breath, facing this new reality of Wally holding you, his fingers pleasantly warm and fuzzy.

“Close your eyes,” says Wally gently.

For anyone else, you would’ve paused - but for Wally, you comply immediately.

Slowly, you feel Wally’s hands slide down your arms to your hands. He threads his fingers through yours and holds them firm, so tight that you start to feel your blood thrumming from the pressure. Your hearing, sensitive now your sight is compromised, picks up the distant chatter of your neighbours, as well as the friendly sounds of nature at play. Your skin tingles, sweat-slicked from the heat and the nerves.

“I have a question,” says Wally, his voice wonderfully calm and soft.

“Yes?”

“Why do you eat?”

“Uh…” What kind of question was that? Wally is admittedly prone to posing questions that only a truly strange mind would think up, but this one is so baffling, you’re thrown entirely for a loop. “...So I don’t die, I guess?”

“Ha ha ha ha!” Wally’s unique, halting laugh almost startles you into opening your eyes. “You’re so funny. Okay. Do you know why I eat?”

This time, it takes you a little longer to answer. A simple enough question, surely with the exact same answer? But Wally’s voice has taken on a teasing, knowing edge - a sound you recognise from when he’s setting up a punchline. The question must be a trick. So you rack your brains, trying to think of all the times you’d seen Wally eat: where he was, what he was eating.

With your eyes still closed, you reach a strange realisation.

“I…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat.”

A soft chuckle from Wally. “That’s right. You haven’t.”

Wally’s grip on your hand tightens. Strangely, a weak, static noise buzzes to life, seemingly from inside your skull. You shift, trying to locate the source, but Wally holds you in place. As the noise grows, the sounds of your friends fizzle out and die. It’s as if you’ve been placed on an invisible train and are moving steadily down the track, away from all the familiar sounds of your Neighbourhood - but you can’t feel the rumbling of the track, or hear the whistle of the wind.

“But…maybe you should.”

With Wally’s words the temperature noticeably drops, and gooseflesh breaks out on your arms. You shudder, wanting to open your eyes but finding that you can’t: your eyelids feel impossibly heavy. You’re stuck in place, pinioned to the grass (which you can no longer feel) as that buzzing sound inches up by the decibel, a nasty, steady crawl which leaves your brain awash in a sea of noise.

“Open your eyes.”

You do so.

And you can’t make sense of what you see.

The sky is gone. The tree is gone. The meadow is gone. Every detail from the Neighbourhood’s comforting landscape has evaporated, leaving nothing behind but a grayscale emptiness which fuzzes in and out like television static. Even the awful buzzing sound abruptly falls away, leaving your ears with nothing but the distant sound of an unseen tide.

Wally still sits in front of you, his hands grasping yours, but it’s like he’s sitting on nothing at all: somehow supported by a cushion of emptiness. It’s like the texture of the world has fallen out of reality.

Seized by vertigo, you tighten your grip on Wally’s hands. “What’s happening?!”

“Don’t worry,” says Wally. “You’re safe.”

“There’s nothing here,” you whisper. “Where is everyone?”

“Back Home,” says Wally. “They can’t see us right now. They’re not ready.” His smile turns coy. “But I think you are. Watch this.”

Wally reaches over and rustles in your backpack. Your heart crawls into your mouth; although you can see Wally’s hands in front of you, you can somehow still feel his hands holding both of yours, keeping you locked in place. You try to look down and make sense of this impossibility, but your eyes are stuck, glued to Wally’s face. You can only watch, terrified, as he takes out your chocolate bar and locks in his gaze.

Without warning, Wally’s eyes flare open, heavy lids drawing back and revealing the full size of his large, black pupils. Wally’s stare travels steadily down the chocolate bar, a focused intensity searing from his eyes like a laser. Somehow as he stares, bite marks are chunked out of the chocolate, as if some great invisible person is taking enormous chomps out of both the bar and wrapper. In seconds, the chocolate is gone.

Panic grips your chest, and you start to hyperventilate. The world tilts, and you’re scared you might actually puke. Wally blinks, his eyelids half-blanketing those pupils once more, and he looks at you with concern. When his eyes connect, your chest convulses with panic: a type of terror you’ve never experienced before threatening to claw its way out of your body and devour you whole.

“What happened?!”

“Oh, don’t be scared,” says Wally, his voice floating and cloudlike. “This is just how I eat.”

“How - did you - do - that?” you gasp.

“I’m not sure. I’ve always eaten this way.” Wally inclines his head in sympathy. “I am sorry if I’ve made you afraid. I usually only eat when others are blinking. That way, I don’t interrupt them. I don’t want to be rude."

You suck in a huge gulp of breath. “Wally, this is…impossible,” you manage. “I want to leave - I want to go Home-”

“You can’t.”

Wally shakes his head mildly from side to side, but his eyes seem to stay still, locked into the centre of his face. No matter how much you strain to move, those incredible eyes remain right in front of you, always at the same distance, never looking away - and never blinking. In your peripheral vision, you see Wally’s hand reach up towards your face. He cups your cheek. The sensation of feeling three arms belonging to a two-armed person on your body sends a rush of nausea through your throat. Wally strokes your skin with his thumb.

“You understand me so well,” says Wally. “You see me, don’t you?”

“I don’t understand.” Another wave of dizziness rises up, pushing behind your eyeballs. The sensation is the same as the pressure of allergies arising on a high pollen day - yet you can no longer smell the flowers of the meadow. You try again in vain to rip your gaze away from Wally’s, but you can’t - and you’re finding it harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

Wally’s thumb stops, resting in the dip of your cheek. “I love my friends, but they only see one part of me. The part they want to see. But you…”

His thumb trails to the edge of your lip.

“...you see all of me.”

You’re split in two. Your brain, the logical part of your thinking, is screaming at you to do anything - to move, to scream, to run as fast as you can into the nightmare emptiness and beg for help. But the other part of you - your traitorous, emotional heart - douses the runaway fire of your fear with the intoxication of Wally’s touch. You find yourself leaning into his hand, savouring how perfectly his cheek cups your palm, and the slight fuzz of his thumb teasing your lip.

“I do,” you whisper. Suddenly, your body relaxes, and you slump forward. You feel very tired. The panic which gripped your body only moments ago is now quashed, flattened into a fine layer of dust by the weight of Wally’s impossibly black eyes. Now your nervous system is nothing but the aftermath: the feeling of fight-or-flight chemicals settling into your bloodstream, leaving you weak and sluggish.

Now, Wally’s eyes are not a source of terror. They’re a blanket you wish to curl up beneath, and never wake up.

“I think you’re special, you know,” says Wally. “The way I feel when I’m around you is…different, than with the others. You’re the absolute most.”

Wally’s words settle over your brain like a dream. You watch, your eyes heavy and drained, as Wally brings his hands up to his chest and forms the shape of his heart with his fingers. You’re no longer scared of the physical contradictions of Wally holding your hands whilst signing his affection. It seems in this reality, Wally can have as many hands as he wants.

This is why Wally’s next question confuses you so:

“Do you think if our friends saw me like this…they’d run away?”

Wally’s words are becoming harder to process. The world around him tunnels. Even though you’re sure that you’re fixed in place, sitting on some immovable, textureless cushion, Wally’s eyes grow larger, encroaching evermore on your limiting field of vision. The longer you look, the more of Wally’s scleras are swallowed by his expanding pupils. Those blown, void-black pools seem to come with their own gravity, and you’re slipping into their inconceivable pull, ready to be strewn and stretched and ripped apart by their physics.

“Oh, Wally,” you try to say, but your tongue slackens, and his name comes out as, ‘Waaalllllyyyy.’ “We love you so much. You can’t make us run away.”

Wally smiles, and you think it’s the saddest thing you’ve ever seen.

“How I wish that were true.”

Suddenly, Wally’s eyes shift just the slightest bit to the left. The effect is like unsealing a pressure chamber. For a moment you are released from his eyes, and your brain and body scramble as one, free-falling and bracing to break against the ground with a hypnic jerk. However, Wally realises his mistake and grabs you by the shoulder - another impossible arm - and forces you to look back into his eyes.

“Shh. Don’t strain yourself. The more you resist, the worse you’ll feel.”

You blink rapidly, trying to reorient yourself in space. Wally’s touch grounds you again, holding you steady in this non-existent space. You try to reply, but your mouth now hangs open, jaw useless. Saliva collects in a pool under your tongue, but Wally still keeps his thumb at the edge of your lip, now rubbing soothing circles against your flesh.

“We don’t have much time,” says Wally. “But…thank you for this. You can’t know how much I appreciate you.”

The warm flush of his approval works its way through your unresponsive body. Your muscles contract, dopamine and serotonin coating your insides and bringing your fingers - still interlocked with Wally’s - into a sudden contraction. You force your mouth into a speech-ready shape, fuelled by his words and his touch and the sheer paradox of his being, and you try so desperately to say, ‘Wally, I love you- ’

But then he looks away.

The spell is broken. Like flipping to another television channel, the world around you snaps back into place in one vivid bound. All the colour, sounds and scents of the Neighbourhood re-enter your senses in one huge burst, and the force of it almost knocks you over. Wally - who is still holding your hands, just like before - keeps you steady, crushing your hands together like he would rather die than let go.

“Hey, you two!”

Looking away from Wally feels like ripping off a plaster. Your eyes alight on Julie trotting up the meadow’s slight incline, clutching a hotdog in one hand and a cooler in the other.

“Eddie wanted me to tell you we’re packing up,” Julie chirps. “Looks like a thunderstorm is coming.” She looks down at your hands, still intertwined with Wally’s, and grins. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Just some good old-fashioned fun,” says Wally, his voice impassive and gentle.

The ability for words has deserted you. You stare back at Wally, searching desperately for something supernatural in the darks of his eyes. Wally looks normal - as normal as a small, yellow puppet can - and his eyes are back to their half-lidded, sleepy-looking state. It takes a couple of nudges with his foot for Wally to bring you back to earth.

Wally lets go of your hands, and you can feel the blood pumping in the spaces between your fingers. You try standing up, but your legs are weak and wobbly, as if you’d just run a marathon while sitting in one spot. They would’ve collapsed beneath you, but Wally catches you before you slip. He hauls you up and loops his arm around yours.

“Just hungry,” Wally says with a smile. “Let’s get you Home."

Julie leads the way down the small embankment, with Wally supporting your timid, uneasy steps. You soon reach your neighbours, now busying themselves in tidying up the remnants of your picnic. Upon seeing you, they all crowd around, asking if you’re okay. Barnaby remarks that you look terribly pale, and Sally offers to bring you a drink. However, Wally shoos them off, admonishing them in a familial sort of way. He reassures them that you’ve just had a small fainting spell, and need to get some rest.

Now free of the others, Julie, Wally and yourself make the way home - and you’re thankful it’s only a short distance. When you finally reach your porch you want to fall over onto the steps, but Wally keeps you held upright: a firm, reassuring presence at your side.

“You need to tell us if you get this again, okay?” says Julie, looking at you with worry in her eyes.

“Okay,” you say, giving a weak nod.

“Thank you. Feel better soon, okay?”

Julie gives you and Wally a final glance over. Having determined you’ll be more than fine in Wally’s care, she bids her goodbyes and skips off to help the rest of your neighbours.

“Ha ha ha,” laughs Wally. “Julie is a good friend. I’m lucky to have her in my life.”

You look sideways at Wally. He catches your eye, and dips his head in a nod. “I feel the same way about you,” he says.

The question is implied in his voice - a little waver at the edge of his words.

“Wally…I don’t really understand what happened today,” you say. “But…I know it doesn’t change how much I like you."

The beam that dawns on Wally’s face is so wide, it almost cracks in two. “Thank you,” he whispers.

You can’t help but return the grin. “Thank you for being vulnerable with me.”

Wally lets go of your arm, and turns to face you properly. He reaches up one hand, and then hesitates, his eyes flickering back and forth between yours as if pondering a question.

Finally, Wally leans in and gives you a small, gentle kiss on the cheek. You inhale sharply, your arms hanging limply by your side and your fingers curling into questioning shapes. His mouth is plush and downy, and the impression of his lips sends a toasty-sweet feeling rocketing through your body.

When Wally pulls back, his yellow skin is dusted pink about his cheeks.

“Always know,” he says softly, “that I love you very much.”

Then, he’s leaving. You watch in stunned silence as Wally’s back retreats into the distance, making his way to join the throng of your neighbours. A slight rumble in the distance makes you look up: a cluster of thunderclouds gather at the edge of the Neighbourhood, fat with the promise of rain.

You touch your lips gently, and smile. Then, you retreat inside the safety of your home…with the warm memory of Wally’s kiss playing in your mind, and static still buzzing in your fingers.

[hyperlexichypatia]

can you elaborate on why you don't think nursing homes should exist? I'm genuinely curious, not trying to engage in bad faith, but i do feel like many elders do need a level of medical care that can't be provided well in a home environment, and benefit socially from being surrounded by their peers. is it more a matter of eliminating the huge staff-"client"(-billpayer, generally a younger relative) power differentials and potential for abuse that exists there, the way nursing homes tend to be relatively isolated from the surrounding community & many restrict certain freedoms, or is there something else more inherent to the structure (i.e., incapable of being reformed or mitigated) that I'm missing? i guess i'm wondering how different a more just model for elder care would look from nursing homes

Yeah, it's everything you said -- nursing homes inherently restrict their residents' freedoms (how many would pass the burrito test?), don't see the residents as the decision-making clients, infantilize and segregate their residents, etc.

As for socializing with their peers, if older disabled people lived among the general population, they could still socialize with other older disabled people if they wanted to, and also with younger people, abled people, and others. "This population that has been systemically excluded from society should live among themselves in a congregate setting so they can socialize" isn't a particularly good argument for nursing homes; it's an argument against the ageist/ableist segregation that exists in the rest of society.

Could nursing homes be reformed/mitigated? I mean, I'm a strong harm reductionist; I believe every harmful institution should be reformed and mitigated as much as possible. That might mean more freedom for residents, more privacy for residents, more transportation to and from other places in the community. But if a nursing home were "reformed" to the point that it was no longer harmful -- if it no longer exerted coercive control over its residents, if its residents had the same freedom and privacy and autonomy and freedom of movement as anyone in the outside world -- it would functionally cease to be a "nursing home" and would just be... well, an apartment building. Or, if it's an apartment building specifically for older disabled people, without the coercive control, a "retirement community" (although sometimes coercive-control nursing homes are also called "retirement communities" so who knows?).

Home and community based services for disabled people, if properly funded, can replicate most of the assistance a nursing home provides -- now, I do say most, but people who need multiple-times-a-day medical care from a medical provider might choose a living situation that involves specific proximity to medical care. That doesn't mean a nursing home; it might mean, for example, an apartment building near a hospital that caters to people undergoing regular treatment. But it's important that many nursing home residents don't need daily medical care from medical providers. They they need accessible assistance with activities of daily living, which can easily be made accessible outside a medicalized setting, and, in particular, without the coercive control of a nursing home.

Or, short version (sorry, I have a fever) -- the problem with nursing homes is the coercive control. Fund home and community based services. Hire CNAs and install accessible features in the homes of disabled people who need them with the money governments and families can save by abolishing nursing homes. Not everyone in a nursing home is there because they need medical treatment, but even for those who do, there are ways to situate housing and medical needs in proximity to each other that don't involve residents being forcibly drugged or given a bedtime or needing permission to have sex. Let Grandpa fuck (if he wants to).

[featherwurm]

At some point between Moonrise and Baulder's Gate - the crew stops to clean up a bit, and I have an excessive amount of thoughts about social bathing as it applies to the tadfools:

Baulder’s Gate features several bathhouses (including the landmark location Hissing Stones) and they seem geared to a wide variety of clientele; pragmatic (bathing), personal (social and solicitous), and political (a place of meeting) – it can be assumed that group bathing is a norm in the city at all social strata, although wealthier private residences also undoubtedly feature private bathing arrangements. Gender divides do not seem common in Baulder’s Gate on a whole*, and co-ed bathing could likely be a norm as well.

Individual headcanons below the cut - your mileage may vary, this is pulled roughly out of D&D lore, a few character interactions, thoughts about Roman baths, and my ass;

Tav – From the lower middle class of Baulder’s Gate, she grew up with normal family outings to the bathhouse to clean and socialize. In the monastery, cohabiting with a variety of people, group bathing was also a norm (also just… hanging out on a hot day with your buddies or whatever.) Her order views the body kindly, though not worshipfully, and does not view it as a vehicle of shame. It should be cared for with attention and thought to best use it, and while pleasure is inherent (and unshameful) to human nature it is not fundamentally a part of just being naked. She finds nothing out of the ordinary to toss off your clothes and jump in the river with your buddies.

Karlach – Also from Baulder’s Gate’s lower social strata, she too grew up using bathhouses as a place to get clean, have some fun, and be extremely bored while your parents caught up on the gossip. Similarly, working for Gortash meant the occasional political meeting at the Hissing Stones or other locations (a place you CERTAINLY want to take your bodyguard – although she wouldn’t get to enjoy the bathhouse while working). Living in Avernus for a decade in a militaristic setting has also thrown off her sense of normalcy – if you ever get a chance to clean up there (extremely rarely) you take it whatever the circumstance may be. She’s happy to get naked, get in the water, and get clean whoever the company is. (As little children, both Tav and Karlach had to be actively removed from fountains, the river, and suitably large puddles when they presented the opportunity to be in the water – which both of them love.)

Shadowheart – Sharans and the enclave she is from seem to have some issues with pleasures of the flesh and see them as negative and to be shunned. Life is misery and pain and you better get used to it through daily practice. Given her lack of memory of any childhood normalcy, any time spent around other people in a casual way is long gone. She does not seem to have come out of it with bodily shame herself, but undoubtedly finds the idea of just being comfortable with nudity in a platonic way to be alien. Given that she can’t swim, it adds another layer of discomfort being in the water. It takes her some time to warm up to jumping in the river with the others, but she does come round, although she sticks to the shallows until she learns to swim.

Lae’zel – Githyanki don’t seem to have any shame about bodies, at least given their various styling of armor and clothing. Given their almost eusocial social structure and militaristic culture, it’s unlikely there’s much stigma over the body or that of others. She’s certainly with a peculiar group here, but whatever, you need to get the blood out of your hair eventually – the others are sort of strange-looking to her eye for a while though (Shadowheart, Gale, and Astarion seeming like the frail offspring of some small animal with their soft pinkness, Karlach, Tav, and Wyll resembling more of carapaced insects with their ridges and horns.)

Gale – While Waterdeep has it’s spas, these seem more places of relaxation and retreat rather than practical bathing establishments (he does like a nice relaxing treatment – in a robe of course.) Gale has spent so long cooped up in his tower having a weird relationship with the goddess of magic that the idea of just… casually being naked with other mortal people is probably completely off his radar. It is not culturally or personally familiar to him, and feels a little uncouth. He’s going to find a reason to go cook and then clean up by himself later.

Astarion – Speaking of any sense of normalcy having been long gone, his only real use of Baulder’s Gate’s bathhouses has been picking up victims for the last couple centuries (almost always in a sexual context.) Approaching casual bathing with others as any kind of normal is something that will take a reserved approach and a lot of patience as with most things with him. He’s snarky and weird about the whole thing, but it’s to be expected. He later more politely refuses as he works on boundaries and sorts himself out – there’s not enough time in game to sort this shit out. Plus he smells a bit of death no matter what he does – apart from physically getting stuff off his body he’s more reliant on perfume than bathing to feel clean.

Wyll – From Baulder’s Gate and used to playing around wherever he feels like it, it’s not foreign to him to enjoy a bathhouse or river romp (especially in light of various political bargaining happening in the baths) but being from the upper class of Baulder’s Gate he’s not the most casual about it. In his time away from Baulder’s Gate, and being as young as he was, he’s become a little sensitive about it, given his gentlemanly approach developed through his time in the wilds. Still though, it wouldn’t put him off, prior to Mizora’s transformation of him, at which point he’s got body image issues to work through before he’s comfortable again. The tieflings (Karlach and Tav) try to be re-assuring but they come on a little strong about it (hard not to – what he’s viewing as demonic punishment they view as normal for their own bodies – horns and ridges and all.)

Halsin – Look we all know the man likes to be naked and “one with nature”. Bodies are normal and being naked is natural. He’s not caught up on anything, although he might be literally a bear about it if he’s comfortable.

Jahira – Another Baulder’s Gate native who’s used to the city’s amenities. She is much too old and much too traveled to be fussed about who’s around at the evening wash up. She might pretend to be offended or ruffled (or too casual) if she thinks it’s funny – otherwise she’s too busy soaking her joints to care.

Minsc – Minsc is just happy to be here. Are we bonding by bathing together? Ok! But be careful of Boo – he is a delicate creature and gets very angry if he gets soap in his eyes.

Minthara… wasn’t in my playthough, sorry. But I’m certain she’d have the opinion that it’s normal for the ladies to socialize and such while washing but involving the men is bizarre and tasteless.

*Given the normalcy of non-binary, trans, and intersex bodies and identities in BG3, which I personally love.

[astrogurujimayanksblog]

Understanding the Depth of Venus in the Houses: A Comprehensive Guide

Venus, the planet of love, beauty, harmony, and attraction, exerts a powerful influence across each of the 12 astrological houses. In astrology, each placement of Venus reflects unique qualities in love, relationships, and attraction styles. Analyzing Venus’s house position can help uncover the essential traits of an individual’s romantic and social expressions. Below is a detailed analysis of Venus’s impact when positioned in each of the 12 houses. This guide will help you understand how Venus shapes beauty ideals, financial outlooks, and relationship dynamics based on its astrological placement.

Venus in the 1st House: A Natural Charmer

Individuals with Venus in the 1st House often radiate an irresistible charm that draws people in. They may be told they should be models and frequently receive compliments on their appearance. Their direct approach in romance and noticeable enthusiasm for love makes them captivating to others. Those with Venus in the 1st House usually develop a strong independent streak and may prefer solo activities, though their desire for love and beauty remains strong.

Venus in the 2nd House: Valuing Security and Luxury

When Venus resides in the 2nd House, it emphasizes financial security, material desires, and high self-worth. These individuals may feel a strong pull toward partners who can provide financial stability or share their luxurious tastes. They also value art, beauty, and are often musically inclined. A strong sense of determination accompanies their goals, especially in romantic matters, making them formidable and persistent in love.

Venus in the 3rd House: The Communicator

People with Venus in the 3rd House excel in charming communication. They are often described as flirtatious and have a gift for engaging with others on social media or through writing. Many find beauty in intellectual pursuits, poetry, and literature. For these individuals, their relationships might often start online or through casual acquaintances, reflecting Venus’s influence in their sphere of daily interactions and local community.

Venus in the 4th House: Deeply Attached to Family

With Venus in the 4th House, an individual’s emotional and romantic needs are deeply tied to their home life. Family and home are of utmost importance, and their mood may hinge on their environment's harmony. They tend to establish long-lasting, emotionally connected relationships. They may also experience situations where people admire their family or envy their home’s warmth and beauty.

Venus in the 5th House: Romantic and Adventurous

Venus in the 5th House is an incredibly creative placement, drawing individuals toward artistic expressions, hobbies, and romance. Known for having beautiful children, they may also enjoy thrilling experiences and engaging in flings that can lead to long-term relationships. People often perceive them as life’s celebrators, bringing a vibrant energy wherever they go. Romance and creativity are inseparable parts of their lives, making them charismatic partners.

Venus in the 6th House: Discerning and Health-Conscious

Individuals with Venus in the 6th House are notably selective in their love life, often because they seek perfection in both themselves and others. Acts of service tend to be their love language, and they care deeply for animals, even more so than for people at times. A stable daily routine and good hygiene are often non-negotiable for these individuals. Relationships often blossom in professional settings, reflecting Venus’s influence on their work environment.

Venus in the 7th House: The Diplomat

Venus in the 7th House embodies partnership-focused traits, often attracting conventionally attractive individuals and charming people. They place a high value on fairness and are known for having beautiful hair and an engaging aura. These individuals might attract partners with a hint of jealousy, and they are likely to experience complex relationships, often involving their closest friends or romantic partners.

Venus in the 8th House: The Enigmatic Lover

Those with Venus in the 8th House are drawn to mystery and depth in relationships. They often prefer partners who are intense or carry a magnetic aura. This placement can lead to life experiences involving stalkers or deeply passionate encounters. Money is an underlying theme, as they might find themselves in relationships with wealthier individuals. They are often misunderstood, with others misinterpreting their reserved nature as shyness.

Venus in the 9th House: The Adventurer in Love

In the 9th House, Venus expresses itself through an attraction to foreign cultures, new ideas, and spirituality. Long-distance relationships are common, and these individuals often find themselves admiring people with different cultural backgrounds. They enjoy exploring new philosophies and may find that their beliefs are influenced by the people they love, drawing them toward learning, travel, and spiritual exploration.

Venus in the 10th House: The Public Icon

Individuals with Venus in the 10th House are known for their attractiveness and public appeal. Their romantic interests often intersect with their professional ambitions, as they may fall for successful individuals. This placement often implies a need for status, and many with Venus here might be drawn to fame or wish to leave a lasting legacy. The public perceives them as beautiful, which enhances their ability to attract influential people.

Venus in the 11th House: The Friend to All

With Venus in the 11th House, there’s a clear inclination toward friendships and social connections. These individuals often find themselves attracted to friends or acquaintances, forming romantic bonds through mutual interests or social circles. Many are adept at networking and may have friendships with people who are admired for their looks. They are drawn to diverse perspectives and might marry someone who comes from a unique or non-traditional background.

Venus in the 12th House: The Mysterious Romantic

For those with Venus in the 12th House, love is often cloaked in secrecy or involves hidden feelings. They are adept at hiding crushes or romantic interests and may experience unrequited love. This placement can also draw them toward spirituality and finding beauty in mysticism. Relationships for them may have a karmic quality, and they may be drawn to individuals who appreciate solitude and introspection.

Understanding Venus’s placement within each house offers a fascinating look into how love and relationships unfold based on astrological influence. Whether it’s the charm of Venus in the 1st House or the mystique of Venus in the 12th, each position highlights unique qualities that shape a person’s approach to love, beauty, and harmony. The position of Venus in one’s chart can offer insights into not only romantic tendencies but also aspects of beauty, social connections, and material desires.

[threestarsaboveclouds]

Say, do you happen to have records of products and other objects your residents used to manufacture or make? Something such as this brand of drinks perhaps?

I don’t have any records of this beverage in my archives, this one in particular might be from a faraway region. The distances between iterator cities often led to them developing very unique cultures, and food and drink such as this were based primarily on what food sources were native to the surrounding area, as well as what could be cultivated in the cities’ automated farm arrays.

My city, Zenith, was primarily a destination for scholars seeking to advance their knowledge, but over time it also began to attract a modest amount of tourists. People often traveled to the city because of its unparalleled views of the night sky. Many of the items offered by local merchants took on a celestial motif in an attempt to appeal to these visitors.

One item that I recall being popular was a form of candied Lilypuck. When shucked and cut into slices, the plants appear vaguely star-shaped. Lilypucks also have a form of bioluminescence, which fades after the fruit is picked. They were prepared fresh and offered to stargazers, who enjoyed the novelty of the way Lilypucks glow in the darkness.

Despite the appeal to tourists, the extreme climate of my location deterred many visitors. The cold could be dealt with by dressing appropriately, but a larger shock to newcomers was the thin air. Those traveling from lower altitudes often had trouble acclimating to the air's depleted oxygen content, resulting in sluggishness and exhaustion, and even injury. Eventually the High Council began to mass-produce masks to provide the wearers with supplemental oxygen in order to mitigate the effects of altitude sickness.

The masks used Bubble Weed as an oxygen source. The plants were suspended in water tanks and attached to the wearer's air intake. Some of the masks manufactured by the High Council were very ornate, made in an effort to appeal to the upper class. These more elaborate masks were often only accessible to wealthy individuals who visited; usually these were foreign politicians or famous visiting scholars.

More lightweight and affordable masks were also available. These were less elaborate and more utilitarian, and were often used by members of the working class, as well as children. They were considered more comfortable and offered a higher range of motion because they didn't cover the entire face. However they were also frequently considered uncouth by members of the upper classes for this reason.

A popular activity among younger tourists was a challenge to see who could climb up the city’s central Vertex Spires the fastest, often using supplemental oxygen as an aid. Many individuals ended up injuring themselves in the process, and the High Council eventually banned the practice out of caution. However, it is to my understanding that this only made the game more enticing to the youth, and it persisted despite the Council’s efforts to lock down the Spires to prevent trespassers. I assume it was seen by many as a rite of passage or a dare. I... can't say I approve of this activity, but I was unaware of its practice until I read about it in my copy of the High Council's archives.

When my citizens were still here, I paid little attention to their daily activities. Their lives were recorded by citizen ID drones and my Overseers, and I only received reports of notable events that required my attention. The rest of the information was processed by background subroutines in my low-level processing strata, and was heavily moderated by the High Council of the House of Spheres. Recordings I lacked the time to examine were stored in the Council's archives for later perusal.

I appreciated the lack of distractions. Now that Zenith’s residents are gone, however, I have access to everything, and more than enough time to examine it all. I used to care very little about the culture of my citizens, but the more qualia I analyze, the more I am realizing what a rich tapestry of life had been woven through my city streets.

….

I am beginning to regret allowing the House of Spheres to moderate access to my own citizens so heavily. Their lives seemed so trivial and insignificant back then, but the city seems barren and lifeless in their absence.

[gloomy0x0phantom]

Dracule Mihawk - Five Headcanons

『 01 』 S C A R

Mihawk's back is marked by a unique deep scar. In his youth, before becoming the strongest swordsman, Mihawk made a fatal mistake that brought him his biggest shame. He underestimated an enemy, miscalculated a move and ended up with a scar. It starts on his left shoulder blade and ends at the top of his right thigh. Fortunately for him, the blow wasn't fatal, but his ego was gravely affected.

Like all swordsmen, Mihawk considers an unmarked back to be a sign of strength. He intended to protect this part of his body until his death, but ultimately failed. When he felt the blade slice through his skin, but his heart continued to beat, a feeling of failure stronger than death set in. He didn't cry, he didn't scream, he just let the blood fall.

This scar is his biggest secret and, to this day, no one has discovered it. Cautious and calculating by nature, Mihawk is even more so towards his back. When he leaves his home, he always wears his usual coat and never takes it off. When he stays at his castle, Mihawk opts for light sweaters, but never see-through. He takes great care with the fabric of his tops, testing them in the sun and water before considering adding them to his wardrobe. Before the arrival of Perona and Zoro, Mihawk used to allow himself to sleep shirtless, but when the ghost princess came into his life, he had to change this habit.

Mihawk is the best swordsman in the world, and tons of people want to challenge him and take his title, but not a single one is aware that the man lives with a swordsman's greatest shame on himself. Sometimes nightmares invade his sleep to show him what his life would be like if the whole planet learned his secret. The nights he wakes up in a sweat are the worst, and he feels even more pathetic for dreaming such a reality.

『 02 』 S E W I N G

It's a hidden talent that's not really a secret: Mihawk can sew. It's something he learned as a child and came in very handy when he started training with real swords. Little Mihawk mended his own clothes and never asked anyone for help. Unfortunately, the older he got, the more skilled he became with his sword, so there was no longer any reason to patch up damaged garments. So he learned to embroider. Mihawk has always had a keen eye for fashion, especially elegant, high-quality clothing. He didn't always have the money to afford beautiful embroidered capes and shirts, so he learned to make them himself.

Sewing is an activity that allows him to relax after a long day's work. He sits in his living room by the fire, a glass of wine at hand and a sewing project on his lap. This knowledge has allowed him to develop a special bond with Perona, who loves designing her own clothes but isn't particularly handy with needles. He spent many hours training Zoro in sword fighting and Perona in sewing. Mihawk even bought a sewing machine for the Ghost Princess's birthday.

Mihawk will never say it out loud, but he loves the evenings when the trio are together in the living room. Only the crackling of the fire and Zoro's snoring are heard, Perona is concentrating on reading or pursuing a project, while Mihawk sips wine and mends his apprentice's clothes.

『 03 』 M I R R O R S

Imagine living alone in a huge castle on an abandoned island. There are strange noises, huge monkeys fighting in the forest and the days feel like nights. You're so used to being alone, you can't help but jump when you pass a mirror. And that's exactly Mihawk's daily routine. He's lost count of the number of times his reflection has caused him a minor panic attack.

Mihawk is used to being the only resident of Kuraigana Island, so when he walks and suddenly sees a silhouette in his line of vision, his body reacts as if an enemy is approaching. He's broken so many mirrors since arriving on the island that he's convinced he's surpassed 100 years of misfortune. It's a trivial anecdote for most, but for the swordsman, it's no laughing matter.

Following the arrival of Perona and Zoro, Mihawk has calmed down a little, but the ghost princess manages to cause him a few scares, especially when she decides to go through a mirror. Zoro is constantly getting lost, so Mihawk often finds him in particular places, purely by surprise. The two helped him get rid of his silly fear of mirrors.

『 04 』 R O M A N I A N

Mihawk have no patience for stubborn individuals with sensitive egos, and unfortunately, this world is full of them. In his younger days, the swordsman didn't hesitate to throw insults and respond to pointless fights, but the older he got, the more he found a much more effective method of winning those battles: speaking in his native tongue.

As soon as someone bothers him, Mihawk will start speaking in Romanian to piss them off in return. This method is very effective with Shanks and Buggy. He takes great pleasure in answering them in a language they don't understand. Insults, criticism, mockery... the swordsman has no trouble finding words to torment them. Sometimes, he chooses to say sentences that have nothing to do with the conversation, such as: "The sky is beautiful today", "I ate an apple this morning", "That sweater looks great on you, but since you don't understand me, you'll never know". It's very amusing and works every time. Buggy loses his head completely when Mihawk speaks in Romanian, because one, it's very charming, and two, it royally pisses him off! Shanks is much more used to it and has taken the time to learn a few phrases to better understand his arch-enemy.

Mihawk tried once to answer Perona in Romanian when she was annoying him, and it ended very badly when Perona also answered in Romanian and very angrily.

『 05 』 F A C I A L H A I R

When Mihawk decided to grow a beard and mustache, he strategically disappeared for several months, simply because he refused to be seen during the awkward phase. Being seen with a beard full of patches and a mustache reminiscent of a teenager was out of the question. Shanks would never forget that. He'd rather die than be seen in an unattractive state.

His absence gave rise to several rumors, with the most widespread being: Mihawk is dead. The swordsman surprised many when he returned even stronger and looked more elegant and mature. When Shanks encountered him again, he was flabbergasted by the change. He immediately pointed a finger at his rival's face and shouted, "Since when do you have a beard and a mustache!?" To mess with the redhead, Mihawk replied that he didn't know what he was talking about. He was secretly pleased when the Red Hair Pirates started gaslighting their captain, telling him that Mihawk always looked like that. Shanks dropped the subject because every time he talks about it, he sounds like a madman. “I SWEAR HE DIDN'T HAVE A BEARD!”

[agirlwithbigdreamsforher]

FOUND YOU IN A WORLD OF CHAOS: EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

Pairing: Eric (AQPDO) x Mary (OFC)

Summary: Eric met Mary on the ferry that was taking them away from New York. What would the future holds when you are living the end of the world?

Warnings: None, this will have a happy ending.

A/N: English is not my first language so any mistakes are my own.

Disclaimer: I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied, used, translated nor reposted anywhere else but here on this blog. Do not steal what you didn’t work for. Minors and ageless blank blogs don’t interact with me or my works. Reblogs and likes are always welcome. Remember reblogs do more than likes. Thank you for reading this work of fiction.

Word count: 423                              

GIF'S NOT MINE, YOU CAN FIND THE CREDITS UNDER IT.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

It’s been months since the attacks in New York happened. Lucy had moved out of their cabin with a woman she had met in the island. Mary was so happy Lucy had found someone to spend the rest of her life with. Both of them worked as nurses in the island and took care of the health of all the residents.

Eric had become the official main cook of the island. Everyone praised and loved his food.

All the people in the island continued with their lives. They had celebrated Christmas, New Year’s Eve, and birthdays. A month ago Eric and Mary had a small ceremony where Henri married them. All the residents were creating new memories and routines.

Mary and Eric sat under a tree after a long day on the fields, watching other people passing by. They were sat one in front of the other.

“What do you miss from the city?” Eric asked as he played with Mary’s fingers.

“Ammm movies, and popcorn… ice cream.” Eric hummed. “Oh! My mom’s cooking.”

“That’s fair.”

“What do you miss?”

“The snow.” Eric said looking at the clear sky.

“I miss my period too, but I guess it’s alright. It’ll go back in 6 months.”

“Of course.” Eric said nonchalantly until the words sunk in. He opened his big brown eyes. “You’re kidding?”

“Lucy said I might be 12 weeks along.”

“We’re having a baby?”

“Yes, we are!”

Eric pounced towards her making fall on her back.

“Eric!” She giggled when she felt his stubble against her skin while he place kisses all over her face. “Stop!”

“No, I won’t stop” He kissed her even more, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For making me happy.” He placed his large hand on her tummy, “Does anyone else knows?”

Mary shook her head, “Just Lucy.”

Eric laid next to her, “That explains why you are always tired.” She nodded, putting her head on his chest. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They shared a sweet kiss and continued watching the residents making their daily activities.

Perhaps having a baby in this new world was reckless and irresponsible. But since the first attacked happened so many days ago now, Mary and Eric knew that the future didn’t matter because it can change in a second. What was important was here and now, this was their life now, and they planned to enjoy it to their fullest.

“You want a boy or a girl?” Mary asked.

“I’ll be happy with either.”

“So a girl?”

“Yes, a girl.”

[witchie-writings]

Alright bestie last one I SWEAR THIS TIME. I’m curious, what is Megatron’s human pet’s day to day life like? How do they get their food, water, do they bathe, do they have other clothes or do they just stay in the same ones? Where do they sleep, etc?

Took me a little bit to think about this one, but please, keep sending in more asks if you have any ideas for them! I enjoy writing about Transformers, even if I’m not too terribly active in the fandom at this moment (plus, Bayverse!Megatron deserves more attention, imo). Not proof-read.

When I think about the daily life of Bayverse!Megatron’s human pet, it isn't… awful, merely tolerable. When it comes to their living quarters, they take residency in Megatron's habsuite; perched upon a narrow bar of oxidized steel is their "room", haphazardly cobbled together using the remains of destroyed weaponry or deceased corpses of fallen cybertronian warriors; for comparison's sake, their resting chambers bare resemblance to a bird cage. Bed wise, it's likely whoever designed the prison didn't have a care for whatever stuffing the human!reader laid upon, so it's a combination of all sorts of shredded fabric or discarded wool. It isn't pristine either, it would have a noticeable odor that is quite putrid, but its softness was preferable over the unsanitary jagged edges of the floor. For where their "humble" abode is, the human!reader would reside in Megatron's habsuite. Far enough away to where the warlord has his own space, but close enough to his berth to where he could crush their feeble body should they attempt an escape.

The human!reader's food and water is, thankfully, covered, though I can't speak for the edibility of such nutrition. The food that would be fed to them would likely be whatever Megatron or the other Decepticons would deem "consumable without risk of immediate death", probably food scraps from the store that's about to turn rotten or maybe some other unorthodox stuff… I can't think of much here, so use your imagination. If the human!reader was particularly good, they'll maybe be rewarded with some "treats", think of fresh fruit or possibly even ice cream, but it isn't something they should grow accustomed to. For now, they'll be scraping off the bottom of the barrel. Water is okay, I guess. They'll just get a scrap bucket, fill it with whatever water is nearby, boil it to get rid of the nauseating parasites, then give it to the human. Easy!

This leads into the bathing situation. The human!reader gets a bath through one of two ways: their wounds are pretty severe and need to be cleaned or Megatron wants them to be presentable for their circus act. It's essentially the same way to get the water, as stated in the last bullet point, just the human would be picked up by their frail body and dunked into the bowl without a second thought. Better hope they can swim! Sadly, the human won't get any sense of privacy, as there will always be a Decepticon to monitor them to make sure they don't try to perform an escape attempt or to take their own life via drowning. 

Now, Megatron isn't one for dress up or looking "nice". Being a tyrannical dictator that's locked into a cataclysmic war doesn't allow such novelties, nor does having a barbaric mindset help either. But that doesn't mean he wants his pet to look absolutely appalling during their shows and acts - it takes the fun out of their humiliation. Likely he'll have a more fashionista Decepticon (cough) go out to hunt for a suitable attire for the human!reader's showing; pick a few that have hints of spice yet undeniable lure, bring them back to slap them onto the pet and bam. Perfect for the occasion! I can't say the outfit will come out unscathed however. More than likely it'll be another pile of scrap for the bed pile. Ah well. Besides that event, there is a high chance the human will be stuck in their same clothes, even if they're in dire need of cleaning. Maybe they could convince a Decepticon to go shopping for them… after all, there are a few who pity the poor doll.

And since you asked about the daily life of Megatron's pet… well, I imagine that there are a special few amongst the Decepticon cause that would be open, or at least semi-open, to having a discussion with the human. Megatron isn't always present, obviously, so despite having assigned a "pet sitter" to the human!reader, other Cons might have their curiosity peaked and take the opportunity to interact with the fleshling (much to the guardian's dismay… it's probably Barricade and he's sick of the sudden attention Megatron's pet is accumulating). Some aren't as cruel as others, offering some form of conversation, for their own benefit or out of good faith, who knows. Sometimes conversations could develop into hour-long talks about whatever bubbles within the mind, and it can be quite enjoyable for both the Con and the human - quite possibly a friendship blossoms. Which would always be cut short due to Megatron's arrival. Such a shame.

Being brought into this chaotic hellscape with nothing more than the clothes upon their skin, the human!reader, outside of their entertainment value and talks with a few of the Decepticons, would have to find a way to develop their own entertainment in order to not go insane. Sure, if Megatron was particularly generous one day, he'd throw the human!reader a bone and get them something as "idiotic and pointless" as a card or board game, but usually it's a mangled mess to where it was barely visible as a game anymore, so the human would have to put their noggin to work. Doesn't always want to function, but something is better than going out with a small whisper because of boredom.

[littjara-mirrorlake]

Daily Life in the Phyrexian Spheres (Facade to Furnace)

Because we've heard about praetor politics and planeswalker battles, but tragically little about life for the average Phyrexian. What does that look like? Fantasy worldbuilding thrives on the mundane, and this series hopes to expand on that starting from the outermost three layers.

The Facade is largely uninhabited by humanoid Phyrexians, though creatures like Zenith Chroniclers benefit from consistent exposure to the suns and thrive plentifully. Phyrexian civilians or even praetors' agents may use it as a neutral ground for traveling, though Mirrans tend to avoid it for the unpredictable landscape and hidden pitfalls with deep oil pools. Occasionally, religiously inclined Phyrexians will embark on pilgrimages to monuments of spiritual significance before they crumble again, and researchers may chart the movements of the suns.

Mirrex, too, is sparsely populated save for wanderers, outcasts, and the occasional Mirran Resistance holdout. Phyrexians seeking to escape their roles without open rebellion often flee here. Some secondary bases of the Phyrexian rebellion are located here for their proximity to the Furnace. Occasionally praetors will send their enforcers here to sniff out rebel strongholds, but efficacy is generally low and it's rarely considered worth it. Mirrex, after all, is viewed by most Phyrexian authorities as an inconsequential wasteland, all but drained dry of its resources. The few who hide in Mirrex are more than happy to encourage that assumption.

The Autonomous Furnace is the outermost population center and the main home of the Phyrexian rebellion. Misfit Phyrexians from all spheres are drawn here as a result. Mirran refugees also cluster here, taking advantage of red Phyrexians' avoidance of or even sympathy to their cause. The rampant policing and surveillance of the other spheres only rarely reaches here, and when it does, it is swiftly thwarted.

The culture and attitude of the Furnace varies wildly by sector, as furnace bosses control large areas and go largely unchecked by Urabrask or other superiors. Working conditions range from surprisingly decent with a good amount of self-directed time to back-breakingly brutal with constant oversight. Commoners live in rickety habitations at or near their work areas.

Many sectors are openly rebellious, and a few remain vehemently loyalist, but the vast majority of Phyrexians here aim only to do their own work and stay out of any and all drama. (The work done, and who receives its final products, depends on the local boss's allegiances.) "None of my business" is the presiding mantra here, and residents are reluctant to either snitch on passing Mirrans or aid them too directly. Some, though, are driven by forbidden curiosity about humanoid ways of life and may furtively peek at Mirrans while working.

Generally, a red Phyrexian civilian's circle of concern is small; they care primarily about the quality of their own work, their creative pursuits, and their immediate social relations. Politics is often shunned, save for that which immediately threatens their livelihoods and homes--which increasingly translates to anti-praetor, anti-authoritarian, or even anti-Phyrexia stances (though the latter is rarely voiced even among dissidents).

As the Furnace steps further and further out of line with Phyrexian dogma, underground, creative subcultures have begun to form amongst artisans and rebels. Primarily working with metal and sculpture, such artists create statements about Phyrexian life, political commentaries, and calls to revolution. The population as a whole often appears too busy or apathetic to pay these artisans much regard, but their influence runs deeper than it seems at first glance, with increasing numbers of people choosing to redefine what being Phyrexian means to them. Self-modification serves as a tantalizing promise of a future Phyrexia without enforced hierarchies or roles. Urabrask actively encourages and supplies the artists of the Furnace, particularly appreciating displays of destruction that spawn new beginnings.

[alliechip]

I WAS GONNA WAIT UNTIL AFTER WORK TODAY TO POST MY CHIPPED OFF ANALYSIS BUT i changed my mind…i kind of figured out how i want to word it

(apologies if there’s any typos 🙏)

first off all, i just wanted to say chipped off was SO good. I hyped it up so much i was so scared i would be disappointed but the team did not fail. definitely one of my favorite big city greens episodes ever (and not just because chip is there but its a big part :])

what i find so interesting in this episode is the main point itself: chip’s idea of becoming “normal.” it’s an interesting route to take, not just because he’s a villain but because of his character itself.

we learn chip’s ideal “normal” life consists of a regular, working-class joe, which is quite ironic considering what we’ve known of him thus far. It seems quite odd that the nepotism baby, never-worked-a-day-in-his-life, spoiled son of a business owner would want to live a regular working class life…but of course we learn that this life is not his own, merely an attempt to once again assimilate to a society that has ostricized him.

everything we see of chip’s daily life conflicts with the core values he’s held at heart. in the case of the coffee worker, he becomes increasingly suspicious the man is mocking him…chip’s entire image as a businessman relies on people liking him, and one of his main gripes with the residents of big city is feeling they betrayed him by turning against him. chip still yearns to be liked, loved even.

his office job is tedious, monotonous, and hes constantly being bombarded with extra work…to be completely transparent, we’ve only seen chip openly criticize physical labor (farmwork), but one could assume he finds any strenuous activity to be incredibly inconvenient…he lived a comfy, pampered life.

even his girlfriend who, going back to the point of chip wanting to be loved, he finds seems to like him at a service-level, not being genuine enough to tell him when a joke isn’t that funny or talk about his true feelings (although, the point of the “norm” persona is to blend in, so it makes sense he would be embarrassed over having a chip-esc freakout. also, of course, if your boyfriend randomly started rambling about attacking a kid, you would probably be freaked out too). he notes that everyone loves norm…but they don’t really. they love that norm is the ideal, the perfect average man…he feels lonely despite being so respected.

kind of office topic but my personal favorite detail (credits due to my sister for pointing it out to me) is how when he tinkers in the basement building furniture, we see he now knows how to use a hammer…sort of. he’s holding it the correct way this time, at least, something chip would never know how to do.

essentially, chip’s idea of normality is very–as his relationships with others in his “norm” persona are–surface level. he conforms because he believes it will bring him happiness, that not being someone who is dubbed a “social pariah,” who an entire city celebrated the supposed death of, who nobody cared about…even being a blank slate is better than that, or so he thought. but chip cannot reject himself, his egotistical vengeful self. by rejecting himself, he’s rejecting all that he is, and he finds he cannot truly be happy by attempting to assimilate.

thus, he lives a double life…wearing a mask on the open surface, and roaming freely in the darkened sewers…for no one can see his true nature within its darkness, but it still exists.

[eleonore-songeve]

Fleeting Embraces ( Part 1 )

Summary : In medieval London, Aveline regularly encounters Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams, in her dreams. Despite her initial skepticism, she is intrigued by Morpheus' revelations about the power of dreams. Their relationship develops, combining fascination and mutual respect, as Aveline begins to view dreams as having an influence on her waking reality.

--------------------------------------------------------

In 1287, London was a thriving medieval city, but it was still far from becoming the global metropolis we know today. The city was centered around the Tower of London, which was both a fortress and a royal residence. The streets were narrow and winding, with half-timbered wooden houses and thatched roofs.

Daily life in London centered around trade and crafts. Merchants sold their wares in bustling markets, and artisan guilds regulated the production of goods such as textiles, metals, and foodstuffs. The Thames played a central role in the transport of goods and people.

England was ruled by King Edward I at this time. He was known for his expansion of royal power and for his rigorous management of finances. Tensions with Wales and Scotland were also present at this time, and Edward I was involved in conflicts to extend his authority over these areas.

However, Aveline was not at all concerned about the political, social and economic upheavals of her country, living in a small village, far from the capital.

Each dawn saw Aveline emerge from her small home in the village, ready to embrace the challenges and simple moments that dotted her day. His days were punctuated by the tasks of daily life, but also by warm exchanges with the villagers who formed a close-knit community, where everyone knew each other.

The morning often began with a visit to the local market, where she exchanged a few words with the merchants who greeted her with a knowing smile. The stalls were full of local produce, and she lingered to discuss the latest news while shopping. Once her basket was full, she left, happy.

The rest of the morning was spent doing the agricultural tasks that defined his life. Aveline, having always been an orphan, having been educated by the elderly residents, actively participated in the planting and maintenance of crops, working alongside the other villagers. It was a moment when the solidarity of the community was manifested, everyone making their contribution to ensure the success of the harvests.

At lunchtime, she met with the grandmothers to share a simple but nourishing meal. Lively discussions echoed, evoking joys and gossip.

In the afternoon, she devoted time to more personal activities. She indulged in contemplation from the nearby hill, letting her gaze wander over the green fields. Or she made crafts, sharing her skills with those who wanted to learn in the rainy weather.

The evenings were punctuated by gatherings at the community home, where stories, songs and sometimes even a few dances were shared. Aveline, with her mischievous liveliness, brought a refreshing energy to these moments of conviviality.

Then, she returned to her modest home, with a light heart and a spirit nourished by the day's interactions.

Each day was woven with work, human connections and moments that recalled the simple beauty of existence, appreciating it greatly, not wishing to change its place for anything in the world.

As Aveline reached the age of twenty, the caring seniors of the village, guardians of centuries-old traditions, began to weave threads of anticipation around the young woman. A subtle murmur spread, carried by the wind of gossip, announcing that the time had come for Aveline to dive into the mysterious waters of love.

It was during the meal, during a lively conversation, that they spoke of the undeniable charm of Hugo, the village cutie. They tried, with a very maternal delicacy, to suggest that perhaps, between the furrows of the fields and the bursts of shared laughter, a romantic awakening could see the light of day.

But Aveline, a young woman with a mischievous look and a carefree soul, had taken this advice lightly. She responded with bursts of joyful laughter : “Maybe, maybe.”

The grandmothers persisted, persevering in their quest for love for she. They weaved romantic stories, insinuating chance meetings between her and Hugo during village gatherings. They already imagined the soft murmur of conversations shared by candlelight, walks hand in hand through the green hills.

However, Aveline, with her sparkling gaze, continued to joke and push back these romantic aspirations.

“Oh, you are so hasty ! So let the roses bloom at their own pace.”, she exclaimed, laughing.

Aveline, determined to live at her own pace, continued to cultivate the simplicity of her daily life. The elders, although persistent, learned to accept resilience in the face of the fact that she wanted to chart her own path, brushing aside pressures with a mischievous gesture.

Nevertheless, one night, destiny got in her way, putting her on the path to love, with an individual she would never have thought of, or even imagined, not knowing at that moment, his existence and all that would bring.

Morpheus, the ruler of the Dream Domain, moved through the dreamscapes, observing the dreams of mortals, to keep busy and check that everything was going smoothly. It was during one of these nocturnal wanderings that he crossed paths with the young woman.

She stood in the middle of an incredibly realistic dream, on top of a hill, looking up at the moon high in the sky, larger than in reality, surrounded by a singular aura that caught Morpheus' attention.

Her jet black hair delicately framed her oval face, like an ebony waterfall. His eyes, lit by a mischievous glow, reflected curiosity. They were the windows of his soul, wells of wonder, looking at his surroundings, with an intensity like he had never seen, interested in everything that constituted his dream which reflected a part of his sweet life.

Her skin, soft and pale, bore the subtle marks of the simple treatments of the time. It was a blank canvas, a testimony to the simplicity of medieval beauty rituals, where nature and gentleness were the allies of grace.

Dressed in a modest dress of earthy hues, she exuded a natural elegance that contrasted with the fantastical glow of her surroundings.

The content of the dream was imbued with a captivating novelty, distinguishing itself from the usual dreams of sleepers. He perceived in the imagination of this young woman an apparent simplicity which in reality revealed grandeur, each detail displaying exquisite beauty and depth of spirit.

Immaterial, he observed the scene with unusual fascination. The singular soul of this young woman captivated his attention. Gliding silently through the twists and turns of the dream like a night breeze, the Lord of Dreams approached.

He stopped beside her, remaining standing with indefinable subtlety and elegance. Their eyes met, and in that moment, time seemed to stand still.

- By my faith, who are you, good lord ? She asked, her eyes expressing a combination of surprise and intrigue.

He hesitated, then announced in a captivating voice, without even being aware of it :

- I am Dream, the Ruler of Dreams and the Guardian of Endless Nights.

With a smile, she put her hands behind her, looking at him with a slight tilt, as if she thought it was all just a figment of her imagination, aware that she was dreaming.

- Dream ? Really, is that your name, sweet lord ?

- I am known by many names.

- What are you talking about, please ?

- Names woven into the fabric of times. They call me Morpheus, the Weaver of Dreams, or the Guardian of the Gates of Night.

- Understood... She said skeptically, before saying in her soft voice, deciding to play along. Morpheus ? I take a lot ! And what does the honor of your coming bring me, Lord Morpheus ?

He remained silent, thinking about his own motivations and why he was engaging in conversation with a simple human, a race he had hardly liked since Nada's affair. Understanding his silence, Aveline, innocently, patted him lightly on the ground and said to him in her soft and cheerful voice :

- Don't stand, take a seat and come and contemplate the moon at my side. It is so vast that it would be a shame to miss this spectacle, wouldn't it ?

Intrigued by Aveline's invitation, Morpheus silently consented. He sat beside her, his eyes fixed on the moon which bathed the dreamscape in a silvery glow.

After a moment, he broke the silence :

-Your world is enchanting, dear mortal. Your dreams are woven from the unique web of your creativity, a beauty that is often hidden from the other dreams I experience. Every night in your dream kingdom offers a splendid picture, a living painting that stands out among the countless visions of the ephemeral.

- It's nice to think that the Master of Dreams would deign to linger in this simple reverie, and what's more, who would tell me who appreciates it, right ?

- Simplicity sometimes conceals an unsuspected depth. I am intrigued by the soul that shapes these night visions, by this ability to discover greatness in modest details.

Aveline stared at the moon, letting her thoughts sink into the soft clarity.

- Lord of Dreams, can you explain to me what dreams really are ? Why do we have them ? Why are they sometimes beautiful and sometimes scary ?

Morpheus nodded, saying :

- Dear mortal, he began in a voice full of wisdom, dreams are the invisible threads that weave the fabric of your lives. In the soft glow of the lunar glow, you discover worlds that go beyond the limits of your daily reality. These night visions are the keys to your imagination, the back doors to realms where the rules of the material world fade away.

He paused, watching the reflection of the moon's glow in the villager's astonished eyes.

-And nightmares, he continued, are the shadows that dance in the darkest corners of your mind. They are the mirrors of your fears, the echoes of the torments that you carry in silence. But remember, even in the darkness, there are lessons to learn, challenges to overcome. Nightmares, although feared, are the forgers of your resilience, the craftsmen who sculpt the strength that lies dormant within you.

Aveline listened to Morpheus' words with a gentle smile, as if she were hearing a fantastic story. His voice, warm and full of candor, broke the silence of the night.

- Oh, kind stranger, your words are woven with the magic of fairy tales. Dreams and nightmares, threads that dance in the mist of the invisible, is this not the work of our fertile imagination, a theater where our minds play out their hidden plays ?

Aveline looked down at the ground and picked up a handful of flower petals, letting them flow through her fingers.

- Maybe we are all like actors in a mysterious show written by the subtle spirit of the night. And you, dear dreamer, would be one of his fleeting creations. The stories you tell me are perhaps the fantasies of my own mind, echoes of my inner world that come to life in this starry night.

She looked up at Morpheus with a spark of curiosity.

- Yet, what would life be without a hint of mystery ? So, so be it, I'll take part in this enchanted game. Tell me more about these dreams woven by the threads of a reality that could only be an ephemeral dream.

A gentle smile floated on Aveline's lips, an invitation to share the wonders of her own world.

- But first, Monsignor, please stop labeling me “mortal”.

Morpheus, perplexed, tilted his head slightly.

- But you are mortal, like all beings who come to my kingdom. Why does this bother you ?

She smiled, expressing gentle patience.

- My lord, the term "mortal" seems to evoke a fragility, an impermanence which, although true, carries with it a connotation of degradation. Each of us is ephemeral, but we preferred to be defined by our essence, our dreams and our actions rather than by our finitude

She paused, letting her words float in the soft night air.

- I am Aveline, a soul who dances in the glow of existence, and although my life is a flame that burns one day, I prefer to be defined by the glow of my dreams rather than by the duration of 'my breath.

She added, with quiet conviction :

- So, if you wish, just name me Aveline.

Seeing Morpheus' eyebrows furrow slightly, she continued :

- My lord, imagine if I named you "Ephemeral of the Dream Kingdom". Although this is technically accurate, wouldn't you think it does justice to the grandeur of your existence ?

She continued with a kind smile.

- When you said your name, Morpheus, you made a fair exchange. So, I simply ask you to call me by my name, a name that, although doomed to fleetingness, aspires to be more than that in the dreams I weave.

Aveline expressed these thoughts with a delicacy that she hoped would allow Morpheus to see the mutual respect behind her request.

Morpheus, still imbued with his ethereal and reserved character, absorbed Aveline's words with an inscrutable expression.

He didn't like the fact that she was asking for fairness between them. However, seeing the glimmer of hope in the young woman's green eyes, he didn't know why, but it calmed his feeling of offense.

After a moment of silence, he responded in a calm and measured voice.

- Well, if the name 'mortelle' displeases you, I will respect your preference, Aveline.

- I thank you from the bottom of my heart, my lord.

A slight smile appeared on Morpheus' immortal lips, showing a subtle recognition of the dialogue that had just taken place between them.

Then, she suddenly left him, waking up in his world.

The following evening, Aveline fell back into sweet sleep, finding herself once again on the ethereal hill. The stars sparkled above her, and the silver light of the moon created a magical atmosphere.

In the dreamscape, she made out a familiar silhouette emerging from the mists of the dream. Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams, reappeared, as enigmatic as the first time. His eyes reflected the silver glow of the moon, and he approached Aveline with unparalleled grace.

- Good evening, Aveline. He whispered in a haunting voice.

She greeted him with a smile.

- I didn't expect to see you again anytime soon. What brings you here, Lord Morpheus, on this occasion ?

The Lord of Dreams, his gaze lost in the stars, confessed :

- I have returned to explore more of this world that your mind created.

Aveline nodded, letting herself be carried away by what she believed to be her imagination, a complicity that she cherished.

- In that case, let's explore it together. She offered, holding out her hand, a warm glow emanating from her.

Morpheus, after silent deliberation, finally accepted, arousing the obvious joy of the young woman. Thus, through fantastic lands, they shared moments of contemplation and discovery. Morpheus revealed new aspects of his kingdom, to the limits of what a human mind could conceive.

During this new adventure, they exchanged words, he confiding fragments of stories about dreamers of the past, souls whose dreams had left an imprint on the very fabric of the dream universe. Aveline, although admiring, could not help thinking that all this could only be the fruit of her imagination.

Finally, as the moon's glow reached its peak, Morpheus announced :

- The time has come for me to take my leave. Aveline, until our next meeting.

Aveline smiles, grateful for these unique moments.

- If it's as you say. In any case, I will await our next meeting with great fervor, Lord Morpheus.

And like the first time, the Lord of Dreams vanishes into the darkness of the dream, leaving Aveline to wake up in her bed.

The nights followed one another, and each evening, Aveline found Morpheus in the kingdom of his dreams. The landscapes changed, the adventures were renewed, but the presence of the Lord of Dreams remained constant.

Aveline, although captivated by these nocturnal encounters, persisted in believing that Morpheus was only a creation of her mind. Morpheus, for his part, continued to reveal fragments of wisdom and enigmas that intrigued Aveline. He spoke of the power of dreams, how they could influence reality, and how each dream contributed to the fabric of the universe.

One evening, as they stood on the shore of a sparkling ocean, Aveline questioned him curiously.

- Lord Morpheus, why do you take your place in my dreams every night ? What force brings you to be present in these places ?

- As I told you before, dreams are portals to the soul, Aveline. Your mind creates worlds of unique beauty that I appreciate, just as I have come to appreciate your presence.

Aveline shook her head with a gentle smile.

- It's fascinating and pleasant to share these moments with you. However, I can't help but believe that this is all just a figment of my imagination.

He approached her, at a distance where she could have felt his breath if he had any, causing the young woman to blush due to the sudden proximity to a man.

- Mortals, in their misunderstanding, think that dreams are only illusions, without influence on the waking world. But that is their mistake. Dreams are fragments of reality woven into the fabric of night, and their power extends far beyond the realm of sleep.

Aveline stared at Morpheus, absorbing his words with some thought. The waves murmured softly around them as they stood on the ethereal shore.

- Do you really believe that our dreams can have any influence on the world with our eyes open, noble lord ? She asked, her eyes showing a mixture of fascination and doubt.

Morpheus inclined his head gravely.

- Each dream is an echo, a subtle melody that resonates in the waking hours, influencing the course of your lives.

Aveline, stepping back, lost herself in the contemplation of the dreamlike stars.

- It is a very strange thought, Sir Morpheus, I say. She said, before she felt herself leaving, a sign that she was waking up.

Two months had passed since the first meeting between the woman and Morpheus. Dreams had become a sanctuary where their connection had deepened night after night.

At that dusk, as Aveline strolled through the cobbled streets of her village on her way home, with a full stomach, she could hear the bursts of laughter from the children in the houses lit by candlelight, making her smile. Sometimes, Aveline wondered what her life could have been like if her parents had not died, but the memories of her childhood would arise and these questions would just as quickly disappear, driven from her head. She did not consider herself unlucky or to be pitied.

Her heart was imbued with a special serenity when she reached the threshold of her little house. However, when she arrived at the door, she jumped, surprised to see a man she did not recognize from the village.

The man's silhouette stood out in the darkness. The pale light of the moon cast dancing shadows across his features, masking his face in an aura of mystery.

-Who are you, noble lord ? She asked, her voice trembling, as she searched the darkness for clues.

The man remained silent, taking a few steps forward, slowly emerging from the shadows. The glow of the moon revealed her features, and Aveline shivered, recognizing the blue eyes that had become so familiar to her in her dreams.

- Please excuse me, but I'm afraid you misunderstand who I am, you know. She stated, trying to appear comfortable and hide her anxiety, knowing she was helpless.

After a moment, the silence becoming heavy, Aveline narrowed her eyes, trying to pierce the veil of the unknown.

- Why are you here ? What is your intention towards me ?

The individual moved a little closer, now visible in his full appearance, and smiled.

- I came to visit you in your world.

Stepping back a little, she looked him up and down, observing his clothes waving silently in the light wind. A long, deep black coat fell gracefully to her feet, creating a stark contrast to the earthy palette of the surrounding landscape. Her dress, a dark yet richly textured hue, revealed a timeless elegance, evoking a mystical aura.

A finely crafted belt adorned her waist, accentuating her slender figure. High boots, made of polished leather, framed his feet. A necklace with a red ruby as a pendant adorned her neck.

Ebony locks spread in a flowing, rippling cascade around her pale face. Deeply black, they seemed to catch the ambient light and reflect a subtle glow, creating a striking contrast with the paleness of his skin. The hair, neither too short nor too long, accentuated her delicate features and piercing eyes.

Although the hair was of equal length, it appeared untouched by the wind, maintaining a carefully maintained appearance.

Aveline felt a shiver run down her spine.

- You... You look like someone I know... But... But that can't be, it can't be.

- It is, Aveline.

The man stepped forward slowly, each step marked with confidence. The proximity became tangible, to the point that Aveline's breath almost caressed the face of the one who didn't have one. She could have felt the quickening rhythm of her own heart, an irregular beat that echoed in the silence of the moment.

Aveline, in a state of fascination and confusion, could not look away from this being who seemed to possess a deep and intimate understanding. Anxiety should have overwhelmed her, pushing her to flee or call for help, but strangely, she remained motionless, captivated.

As the space between them shrank to nothing, Aveline almost whispered to herself :

- Lord Morpheus...?

A glimmer of recognition lit his eyes. The name echoed in his consciousness, conjuring up images of dreams and deep thoughts. Morpheus gave a slight smile.

- Yes, Aveline. Our paths have crossed many times during your dreams.

She felt overwhelmed by a strange warmth, a connection that transcended the rational. His mind, enveloped in this enigmatic presence, tried to untangle the intertwined threads of reality and dreams.

- I... I'm not daydreaming, am I...? She stammered, her eyes searching for answers in the deep gaze of the man before her.

- No, we are not in my kingdom. We are in your world. He replied, an assured calm in his voice.

The words struck Aveline's mind like shards of truth, provoking a confused reflection on the blurred boundary between tangible reality and intangible dreams.

However, before she could unravel this mystery further, the cheerful voices of villagers approaching their position pulled her from her thoughts. Panic gripped her at the idea of being caught alone in the middle of the night with a stranger. Her eyes widened, and she hurriedly opened the wooden door, inviting the man inside.

The Lord of Dreams crosses the threshold with infinite grace. Aveline, still in shock from the situation, closed the door behind them, trying to hide this unusual encounter from the curious eyes of the outside world.

As the voices of the villagers faded away completely, Aveline breathed a sigh of relief. She turned, feeling a wave of calm after the storm of her own dismay. However, the darkness of the room, plunged into the silence of the night, made her realize that she had just brought a man into her home.

The room, devoid of light, because Aveline had not yet lit the candles, accentuated the enigmatic nature of the situation. Despite the darkness, Aveline could feel Morpheus' penetrating gaze on her.

She blushed, embarrassed, already imagining the village grandmothers' gossip about this nocturnal encounter if they knew it.

- I... I apologize, very humbly. She stammered, trying to hide her embarrassment behind a shy smile. It's just... I wasn't expecting a visit, especially at this time.

Morpheus, always calm and reserved, inclined his head slightly in assurance. He seemed to understand the complexity of the situation and the unexpected nature of their meeting in the waking world, nevertheless thinking that she would be happier to see him under these conditions.

Aveline, looking for a pretext to hide the uneasiness in the air, decided to light candles.

- I'm going to light some candles to light up the room a little. It will help us see things more clearly, I think. She announced, trying to maintain some normalcy in what had become a picture of the strange.

Under Morpheus's scrutinizing gaze, she looked around the room looking for candles. His gestures, although deliberate, revealed a certain excitement. She still didn't fully understand what was happening, but she wanted to hide her own insecurities behind a facade of activity.

One by one, the flames danced with the matches, illuminating the room with a flickering glow. Morpheus, once the room was bathed in this warm and soft light, observed the nooks and crannies with particular attention.

Aveline, a little more reassured by the light of the candles, looked away from Morpheus' shadow which seemed to blend into the darkness. She hoped that this subdued atmosphere would help ease the tense atmosphere.

Morpheus' gaze rested on the shelves, decorated with pottery with simple and authentic shapes. The fumes of the dried herbs, carefully arranged in a basket, floated in the air, creating a subtle ambiance that tickled Morpheus's senses. The atmosphere of the room revealed a humble life, but full of nuances, like a living painting that Morpheus was invited to contemplate.

Aveline, watching him do this, felt her head turn, and declared in a calm but perplexing voice :

- I feel the need to take a seat.

She sat, her eyes fixed on Morpheus, waiting for explanations.

Morpheus, while maintaining his aura of mystery, took a seat in the chair that she offered him with almost supernatural grace. His eyes, of infinite depth, met those of the woman. A breath of silence hung over the room before he began to speak, choosing each word carefully.

- I introduce myself again. I am Morpheus, Dream of the Infinites, Lord of Dreams and King of Nightmares, watching over the dreams that populate the night of humanity.

Morpheus' words echoed through the room, tinged with a revelation that transcended human understanding. The woman, although surprised, received these explanations with an astonishing openness of mind. Her eyes held a mixture of fascination and acceptance, as if a part of her had always known that their connection went beyond the limits of her consciousness.

- Morpheus... You are Morpheus, Dream of the Endless... She repeated slowly, letting the weight of this revelation settle. The dreams... Was all this really real ?

- Dreams are as real as life itself, sometimes even deeper in their meanings and truths. He explained, his voice carrying ancient wisdom.

The woman, trying to assimilate this extraordinary revelation, confided to him that she needed time to understand. She held her head in her fingers, closing her eyes, thinking about everything that was happening right now. If she wasn't dreaming or if it was reality. However, when she looked at him, she felt deep inside that she was not sleeping, but that it was indeed happening.

- Why did you come here ? She asked with perceptible excitement, her eyes searching for answers in the enigmatic ocean of Morpheus's pupils.

He responded with a simplicity that contrasted with the complexity of their connection.

- I just wanted to see you, in this waking world.

- Understood... She said, her face betraying her nervousness. Noble lord... Uh... How should I act ? Should I get you something ? A humble offering perhaps ? Or would it be rude of me to let you sit in such a modest chair ? I... I apologize, I...

She stood up, panicking. Morpheus, with the wisdom characteristic of his timeless being, reassured her in a softer voice than usual :

- No need for change or offerings. You can act as you normally would in my presence.

The woman, seeking to follow this advice, replied in a slightly trembling voice, sitting down again and tightening the fabric of her dress around her legs :

- Understood... As usual... Hm...

Her look betrays a mixture of astonishment and respect towards this being who, despite his grandeur, treats her with disconcerting simplicity. However, still in shock from this extraordinary encounter with Morpheus, she took a deep breath and gathered the courage to ask a question that weighed on her tormented mind :

- That would mean that all deities exist ?

Morpheus, with infinite tranquility, replied in the affirmative :

- Yes indeed. Each pantheon, each belief, finds its reality somewhere in the cosmic fabric of the worlds. Gods and goddesses, myths and legends, are all facets of the human imagination made reality.

This response shocked the woman in a way she had never anticipated. Having never been a fervent believer, she found herself confronted with the idea that the deities, which she had always perceived as tales, were in reality existing entities. The tangible presence of Morpheus in front of her forced her into an acceptance that she struggled to integrate.

His gaze betrays deep confusion, a tumult of emotions mingling in the crucible of his consciousness. She could not deny the evidence before her, the existence of gods and goddesses, embodied in the person of Morpheus. It was a revelation that shook the very foundations of his understanding of the world.

Morpheus, sensing his confusion, chose not to add pressure to this already trying revelation by revealing to him that as far as he was concerned, he was above the gods, he was more. He let the woman take time to digest.

Aveline, looking for answers in Morpheus' deep gaze, persisted in her questions.

- So what do you want from me ? Why did you show up at me, who's nothing special, just a humble village girl with no big story ?

Morpheus, inclined to his imperturbable calm, let a hint of a smile appear delicately on his lips.

- Earthly merits cannot have any value in my eyes. He replied softly. What you are, Aveline, transcends simple appearances. I did not come with pre-established expectations. Your essence intrigues me, and the simplicity of your daily life represents a unique reflection in the kaleidoscope of human existence. You are much more than you imagine yourself to be, and it is this essence that guided me to you.

Morpheus' response brought a shy blush to Aveline's cheeks, a complex mosaic of embarrassment and surprise. The idea of being perceived as "interesting" by the Dream Lord aroused conflicting emotions in her. She had never imagined that her simple and unpretentious life could captivate the attention of a being such as him.

A silence fills the room, broken only by the muffled crackling of the candle and the frantic pulsations of Aveline's heart. He observed the young woman with calm intensity, capturing every nuance of her emotion.

After a moment of embarrassment, she timidly raised her eyes to meet those of Morpheus.

- I'm nothing other than... Me... She whispered, uncertain about the interpretation of this new perspective on her existence.

Morpheus, with a deep look in his eyes, replied :

- This is precisely what charms me, Aveline. The purity of the soul, the sincerity of an existence without artifice. Everyone carries a unique story, and yours, although seemingly simple, resonates with a beauty that transcends the limits of the trivial.

Aveline, still blushing but also touched by Morpheus' words, discovered a certain warmth in this unexpected recognition. Concerns about his own importance faded slightly, giving way to a burgeoning curiosity about the deeper significance of this encounter.

The seconds dragged on, and Morpheus, although resolute in his unchanging nature, could not ignore the emotional transformation he had caused in Aveline. As he watched the embarrassment and confusion flash across the young woman's face, a fleeting emotion flashed through her infinite eyes, a wound in her eternal ego, a crack in her imperturbability.

Morpheus, sitting in the tranquility of the dim light, reflects on the nature of this encounter. An unexpected sadness, an echo of regret, manifests in his being. The question lingers in her mind : "Was it a good idea to venture into the life of a simple human like this ?"

A glimmer of hesitation crossed Morpheus's eyes, a rare flash of vulnerability. Despite his infinite wisdom, he also found himself subject to the torments of human emotions, which he explored in a unique way through the twists and turns of dreams.

Rising with thoughtful grace, he advanced towards the door, ready to slip away.

Aveline, coming out of her trance, noticed his intention to leave and stood up with new determination.

- Wait a minute.

The Dream Lord stopped, turning back to her.

Aveline's gaze, tinged with shyness, but carrying a glimmer of audacity, met that of Morpheus.

- Can I... Can I find you in my dreams ? And... Even here, in... In the Waking World ? That's how we say it, right ? She asked, her voice barely audible, mixing embarrassment with vibrant curiosity.

Morpheus, impassive as usual, nodded slightly.

- If this is your wish, Aveline, our paths will cross again in the kingdom of dreams and in the waking world.

The door closed softly behind Morpheus, leaving Aveline alone with her thoughts and the anticipation of the nights to come. The idea of finding the Lord of Dreams in the dream world awakened in her a new emotion, a bridge between reality and imagination that took shape with each beat of her eyelashes.

When she went to bed, Aveline surrendered to the palpable expectation that filled her. In sleep, she delved into the realm of dreams, searching for the familiar figure, which she quickly found, creating an eternal bond between Aveline, the simple villager, and Morpheus, the Dream Lord and the King of Nightmares.

For better and for worse.

----------------------------------------------------------

Author's word : 

I hope you enjoyed this first part of the story as much as I enjoyed creating it.

In any case, I'll see you soon for the rest of the events !

[fatehbaz]

When Sarah Norris joined a “community art build,” a protest that invited community members to work on art projects in a public park in December 2021, she had no idea she would soon face felony charges stemming from her action. Norris was part of a mutual aid group called the Asheville Survival Program, which supported a houseless community that regularly converged in Aston Park, a centerpiece of downtown Asheville, North Carolina. Like many American cities, Asheville faces skyrocketing housing costs, which is why local activists began supporting the encampments of those pushed out of indoor housing by rising rents. [...]

“Mutual aid is showing up for each other from a stance that we all deserve care, that we all have the same inherent dignity, that there is space for all of us,” says Norris, who explains that her collective provides weekly deliveries of food and camping gear to the people in the park. The encampments faced daily sweeps, where police clear the people out of the park [...].

In December 2021, activists from Asheville Survival Program and others in the city organized a multiday protest in the park demanding the city provide a sanctioned location for unhoused folks to camp, and include sanitation services. Then, police descended, arresting activists and journalists alike. From December through April 2022, a total of 16 people were arrested on warrants for their work in the park, facing charges like “felony littering” and “conspiracy to commit felony littering,” and local politicians, as text messages obtained by The Asheville Free Press showed, cheered on the arrests.

While the Asheville defendants may face uniquely severe consequences for their efforts, their experience is not uncommon, as police increase attention on groups supporting communities that lack resources. [...]

---

As cities experience a deepening housing crisis, mutual aid projects have become essential for supporting houseless encampments, refugee communities, and others who are met not only with neglect from government and social service organizations, but also harassment from and criminalization of their activities by law enforcement. “The state recognizes the power of people who are networked, capable, and ready to take action,” says Kelly Hayes, a Chicago-based mutual aid organizer and co-author of an upcoming book on the subject [...]. “When such people are more invested in each other’s well-being than the edicts of the ruling class, they can quickly become a threat to the order of things.”

---

The repression these groups report is often tied directly to the communities they support. This is how the police zeroed in on South Bay Mutual Aid and Care Club in Los Angeles, which has been supporting a houseless encampment for the past two years by coordinating various resources, such as food distribution; providing harm-reduction tools, such as clean injection kits; and providing intermediaries to support those seeking public assistance. Los Angeles’ unhoused population is only growing as the city becomes unrealistically expensive, and with the 2028 Olympics looming, the city has been cracking down on encampments, sweeping the encampment dozens of times and as often as once a week. South Bay Mutual Aid’s goal is to support one particular encampment of about 70 residents near the Port of Los Angeles, coordinating with a network of similar groups across the city and country to share resources. This has, subsequently, allowed the community in this encampment to stabilize, rather than to dissipate whenever a police sweep disrupted their living arrangements. This allows those living there to stay connected to each other [...].

This gets to the heart of what mutual aid organizer and scholar Sean Parson says is the driving force in the repression [...]. He added that escalation in the targeting of mutual aid groups almost always comes alongside efforts to “sanitize” a city for commercial interests. [...]

The answer to repression, Parson says, is more mutual aid, not less [...]. “Build alliances with other homeless support groups if you can,” says Parson.

---

Text by: Shane Burley. “Where Mutual Aid Comes to Its Own Assistance.” Yes! Magazine. 20 March 2023. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]