#dwelling portably

[wildsummerrose]

When I lived in Europe, I had a washer in every apartment I lived in. They're considered standard.

In the US, this would be amazing!

Let me tell you about my panda mini-washer

As an apartment dweller, this is a game changer. My current apartment doesn’t have a laundry facility and the closest Laundromat about a 30 min bus ride which is just not practical. The mini-washer is a life saver

The panda mini washer hooks up to the sink, is incredibly lightweight (about 28 pounds, so light even I can lift it) and easy to use. 

It has a surprisingly large capacity. The basket from the first picture represents about one and a half loads. The jeans took up a whole load while the rest filled the bin only half way. 

Here’s the inside. The left is the washer the right is the spin dryer. Yes, it even drys.

Basically you shove your cloths into the washer, fill it up with water and let it go. I use my shower head to fill it up so it goes faster, the sink hook up took about five minutes to fill the whole tub, with the shower head is is down to a minute an a half. I do it in three wash cycles, a five minute rinse with baking soda, a five minute wash with soap and a three minute rinse with water. You have to drain and refill between each cycle so it’s a little more labor intensive than a traditional washer. 

That’s the spin dryer. It’s about half the capacity of the washer so one wash takes about two loads to dry. The spinner is much more effective than I was expecting. A three minute spin gets my cloths about 90% dry. I hang them up to air dry for that last 10%. 

The machine cost me about 150$. When you factor in two dollars for the bus, five for the machines (per week), the mini-washer pays for its self after only about six months worth of laundry. 

I’m not great at expressing emotion, but I’m hoping you can tell how excited I am.  Let me just say that the panda mini-washer is great and I highly recommend it to anyone currently using a Laundromat.  

[wendyyyyyyyy]

"The Princess and her Eight Knights"

Pairing : skz x fem reader (9th member, maknae)

Synopsis : Skz members taking care of you during that time of your month, while you were on tour.

Warning : No warning at all. Just pure fluff and wholesomeness all the way.

Enjoy!

----------

The day of the concert was already shaping up to be chaotic, and you weren’t exactly in the best mood. During soundcheck the day before, you had been snappy and bratty with everyone, but the boys knew better than to take it personally. Felix, being your self-proclaimed “bestie,” had pulled Hyunjin aside with a knowing smirk, whispering, “It’s time.”

“Again?” Hyunjin muttered with a sigh, rolling his eyes. But there was no annoyance behind it—only quiet understanding.

Felix, ever prepared, pulled out his phone and checked the tracker he’d set up for you months ago. You were too lazy to bother with one yourself, so he had taken it upon himself to track it for you, much to your embarrassment. “Yep. She probably doesn't even realize it yet.”

Later that evening, Hyunjin and Lee Know made a quick convenience store stop. While it was still to grab their own essentials, they secretly loaded their basket with your favorite ice cream and a stash of chocolates.

“She’ll be insufferable if we don’t have these,” Lee Know muttered with a smirk.

“She’s already insufferable,” Hyunjin shot back, chuckling as he placed the items on the counter.

. . .

Fast forward to the day of the concert.

You were doing your best to push through. The lights were blinding, the screams of STAY filling the massive venue as adrenaline coursed through your veins. But halfway through one of the songs, you began to feel an all-too-familiar discomfort—a dull ache in your abdomen, along with that unsettling dampness.

You froze, panic rising in your chest as you realized what had happened. You tried to continue performing, but the next time you turned, Seungmin’s sharp eyes caught the faint but noticeable red stain forming on your white pants, just below your hip.

Without a word, Seungmin took off his jacket mid-performance and draped it around your waist, securing it tightly. The move was subtle, but STAY noticed, gasps and murmurs rippling through the crowd. You wanted to cry from embarrassment, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it.

Han, quick on his feet, immediately moved toward you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder as he led you off stage. “Come on, let’s get you changed,” he whispered, his tone gentle.

The fans watched as the boys seamlessly adjusted their positions on stage, filling in for you without skipping a beat. Their professionalism was flawless, but their care for you was even more apparent, and the entire venue seemed to soften at the sight.

. . .

Backstage, you were still mortified. By the time you changed and cleaned up, the concert was wrapping up, and you felt the weight of the day crashing down on you.

Back at the hotel, you curled up in bed, ready to hide from the world. But that peace didn’t last long. A knock on your door made you groan, and when you opened it, Changbin stood there with the biggest grin on his face, holding out a hot pack.

“Special delivery!” he announced, wiggling the hot pack in his hand. “Look, it has my face on it. You’re welcome.”

You let out a laugh despite yourself, grabbing it from him. “Seriously? Only you would do this.”

But before you could shut the door, Hyunjin and Felix appeared, carrying bags of goodies. “Don’t think you’re getting rid of us,” Felix teased.

Hyunjin smirked as he plopped down on your bed, holding up a tub of your favorite ice cream. “We come bearing gifts.”

Soon, the rest of the boys filed in—Lee Know with a bag of chocolates, I.N clutching a stack of your favorite DVDs, and Han holding a fluffy blanket he had swiped from his own room.

“Group movie night!” I.N declared, setting up the portable DVD player on the desk.

“Guys, I’m fine. Really,” you tried to protest, but they weren’t having it.

“You say that, but you were crying over a jacket an hour ago,” Seungmin quipped, earning a chorus of laughs.

Changbin handed you the hot pack, his tone suddenly soft. “Seriously, though. You don’t have to be embarrassed. We’ve got you, okay?”

“Always,” Chan added from his spot on the couch, busy working on his laptop, but with a warm smile on his face.

And just like that, the room filled with laughter and teasing as you all settled in for the night. You felt a little embarrassed still, but more than that, you felt loved.

. . .

The next morning, “The Princess and Her Eight Knights” was trending on X. Clips of Seungmin wrapping his jacket around you, Han leading you backstage, and the way all of them subtly taking care of you had gone viral, with fans swooning over how considerate they were.

Chan showed you the hashtag over breakfast, a small smile on his face. “Looks like STAY thinks you’re royalty now.”

You rolled your eyes, but deep down, you couldn’t help but feel a little like a princess—because you had eight knights who always had your back.

[asimplearchivist]

𝓡𝓲𝓽𝓾𝓪𝓵

𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐗𝐗𝐕

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ khonshu was unfamiliar with the concept of self-care, but it would seem that he's unexpectedly well-versed in others. pairing(s) ☽ khonshu/reader | promises kept!verse word count ☾ 2.9k a/n ☽ ⤏ my fourth entry for the moon knight bingo hosted by @juneknight and @spacecowboyhotch over at @moonknight-events. I will eventually crosspost this to the main fic for promises kept on ao3 when it will best fit the chronological progression of the chapters. ⤏ this took a turn I didn't anticipate. khonshu kind of got away from me, tbh. have a flirty old bird I guess? (@angel-of-the-moons I feel like you might enjoy this one.🤭) ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS ENTRY ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT ENTRY ☽

What are you doing?

The rumbled words emerged from the shadows hemmed up in the corners of the bathroom more like a disinterested observation than a question.

“Would you care to take a guess?” you offered, opening your eyes and glancing towards the dimly lit silhouette having knelt in front of the door.

The warm, humid room was cramped and ill-suited for more than one person to occupy it at one time, but that fact didn’t seem to have stopped Khonshu from materializing at your side—likely in pursuit of tracking down your exact location since you weren’t in the living room or your bedroom like you usually were at this hour. It was a slow night in London, for once—the police channels had been quiet all evening, so you hadn’t felt the need to be prepared for the moon god’s urgent beck and call. Ru was winding down from school and homework with Lizzie watching her favorite baking show, and your portable speaker played music at the necessary volume to disguise your murmured responses to the lunar deity’s incredulity.

Bathing. In the dark. He tilted his skull. The electricity is not malfunctioning.

“It’s meant to be relaxing.” You raised a hand out of the steaming water to indicate the row of flickering candles lining the broad posterior lip of the tub flush against the wall. “And I can see perfectly well.”

He leaned forward, hands planted on his thighs not unlike a child, and you noticed that his staff was propped against the door frame. You are…self-soothing?

He must have picked up that term recently, as you’d definitely never heard him use it before. “Sort of. More like self-care. Liz offered to keep Ru entertained so I could get a breather until supper’s ready.”

Hmm. Khonshu sank back into his haunches. So you simmer yourself…and to what end?

You chuckled, pulling your legs up and folding your arms across the tops of your knees—modesty was a foreign concept to the ancient being, having associated with a culture that dwelled in the desert and thus rarely utilized complete coverings save to block the harshest of sunlight—and while you’d mostly grown accustomed to his penchant for invading your privacy at inopportune times, you didn’t particularly want to explain the entire premise to him with your chest on full display. “Hot water benefits the human body in many ways—relaxed muscles, improved moods, and the like—not to mention the positive effects of aromatherapy and inhalation of steam.”

Is that why you’re steeping a tea bag?

“It was a bathbomb wrapped in cloth with flowers and stuff in it—that’s why the water’s purple. It’s scented with lavender and chamomile. Smell it?”

How could I not? It has fumigated the entire room.

You shrugged. “At least it’s nice—better than BO, anyway.”

His shoulders scrunched in the only approximation of a frown you’d been able to determine. I see little point in any of this frivolity.

“Have you ever had a spa day, Khonshu?”

The inexpressive dimensions of his skull could not morph to adapt to his dripping dubiety, but it didn’t have to—his once uncanny stillness spoke enough to it.

“It’s nice,” you continued, ignoring his skeptical grunt. “With all those priests and priestesses fawning over you in your temples, I figured you’d have been pampered a time or two over the course of several thousand years.”

We were only allowed to interact directly with our avatars—we oftentimes utilized them as oracles, or spoke to the priesthood through statues, visions, dreams, or signs. Khonshu pushed his shoulders back. They would tend to our sculptures and reliefs as if they were our bodies, make offerings to them, enact rituals in our names, but…nothing quite like this.

“That’s a shame. I think a deep-tissue massage would do you a lot of good.” You reached for the exfoliator and the bar of soap and lathered up the perforated weave in order to scrub yourself so you’d at least look semi-productive. “Maybe some moisturization wouldn’t hurt…last time I saw your elbows, they looked crusty as hell.”

At first you thought you might actually have rendered him speechless, but you should have known better—another cursory peek in his direction revealed that he was merely observing.

I do recall a similar practice, he responded, tapering his beak down towards you, although it was generally utilized in preserving the khat of the mortals that journeyed west.

You rolled your eyes. “Of course. It wouldn’t offer you much of a vast improvement, then, huh? There’s not a whole lot I could do for a mummified bird.”

Khonshu scoffed, but said no more.

You began to wash your body in earnest, starting with your face, then moved down your neck, shoulders, arms, torso, pelvis, legs, and feet. You tried to reach around to tend to your back in the same way, but you winced as the action tugged at sore muscles beneath your shoulder blade—a scuffle with a carjacker the night before had resulted in him collapsed unconscious in the street, and you hadn’t trusted the police not to run him over in their haste to capture him (as well as a glimpse of you in their ever-persistent effort in pinning down the identity of their local do-gooder vigilante), so you’d had to drag him onto the sidewalk with…mixed results. The man had been big enough that he could have carried the car away with him, if the whim had so struck him, instead of hot-wiring it.

Allow me.

You startled as Khonshu’s hand curled over your arm to grasp the porous swatch of sudsy material. You watched, enraptured, as the gauze binding his flesh receded like sand slipping through an hourglass to reveal the pockmarked, ashen skin underneath—but you had only a glimpse before he withdrew with the stretched loofa.

Give me your back.

You twisted adjacent to the length of the tub and leaned forward obediently, deigning not to comment upon it. You supposed that wet wrappings wouldn’t be a pleasant sensation for anybody.

Khonshu imitated your earlier actions, although he was unexpectedly gentler. He dragged the loofa in rhythmic circles from the nape of your neck steadily down, from side to side, to the small of your back—then, to your continued surprise, he placed the fabric on your thigh before cupping his hands in the water and pouring it over your skin to wash away the suds. He then wiped away the rest, the roughened texture of his fingers softened by the soap and water, the pliability of your skin, although you noticed this touch lingered far longer.

You said nothing as he began to explore the typography of your spine and ribcage, seemingly subconsciously. To be such a hardass about almost everything, as well as an unforgiving sparring partner, you had almost forgotten how careful he could be. A foolish notion, really, as you were fully aware of how he treated Ru like porcelain on the verge of shattering—he always had. The methodicality of it lulled you into a trance-like state, your eyelids drooping as you leaned into both of his hands, now working in tandem to press and stroke the tension out of your muscles.

…When was the last time someone had touched you like this? You couldn’t recall. Your ex-husband hadn’t usually utilized this intimate a method of aftercare, even while you’d been trying for a baby. You’d been too busy with Ru and chores during the day to schedule an appointment, although you suspected that a deep-tissue would do you a world of good—Khonshu’s armor always healed your wounds if you wore it long enough, but it still often left you stiff if you’d hyperextended yourself during combat.

Khonshu dug the heel of his palm into that one incredibly tender catch under your shoulder blade. You sucked in a breath and winced, your entire back going rigid against the pain that lanced up into your neck. His displeased grunt was much closer to your ear than you’d anticipated, and you opened your eyes to glance up at him out of your periphery to see that he’d hunched over you.

You did not tell me that you were still in pain, he finally rumbled sternly. Why did you release the armor before you were healed?

“I am healed,” you told him, “just a little sore. It’s normal. I guess it doesn’t stitch everything back together exactly where it was before.”

He grumbled in refutation, but tapped his fingertips against the arch of your spine. Relax. It will only grow worse if you are tense.

“It’s not exactly—comfortable!” you squeaked, jerked forward to avoid the insistent digging of his fingers.

Of all the methods he could have used to steady you, reaching up and curling the length of his hand around the column of your throat was decidedly not what you would ever have expected. Your pulse leapt against the perfectly measured, unoppressive pressure he applied, and—in spite of the copious amount of heat flooding your face—you had to admit that it worked to keep you as still as a statue.

An inexplicable warmth—tingly like the slow creep of magic his armor provided to alleviate your wounds, but far more concentrated (and if you didn’t know any better, you’d have remarked that it almost felt like lidocaine)—wreathed his free hand as he began to knead the tightness out of the problem spot. You groaned softly as he did so, the vibration of the sound resonating through his hand and tickling your throat in turn, squeezing your eyes shut as you twitched on reflex to avoid the pain. Even with his magic’s numbing ability, the injury must have been worse than you’d initially anticipated because it swept right around the curve of your ribs and under—

“Hey!” you gasped, lurching away from those long, beguiling fingers as he followed the muscle to your torso and almost brushed the underside of your breast. This caused the blade of his palm to dig into your jugular, pitching your voice into a broken, if muffled, squeal. “Whoa, watch it—that’s off-limits!”

You’ve a rib out of place, he deadpanned.

“I could have my sacrum detached from my pelvic girdle, but that doesn’t mean I’d let you fondle my ass to fix it, either,” you hissed, trying to pull away, in vain.

Why must you be so stubborn? he groused, pressing his palm into your side directly over the rib in question. His soothing power sank into your body, and you had a hard time resisting the relief it brought. I had no intention of groping you.

You’d thought your face couldn’t grow any hotter, but you were promptly proven wrong. You told yourself that it was strictly the proximity of another person that was causing your uncontrollable reaction, that it had been years since the last time you’d been in such a compromising and vulnerable situation, not that it was Khonshu specifically. (You had always been shit at lying, even to yourself, admittedly.) “I, uh…sorry. Just…wasn’t expecting that.”

I did not mean to startle you. The curve of his beak descended over the slope of your opposite shoulder and the golden, emblematic crescent moon bound over his chest brushed against your back. …Just know that if I ever touched you in such a manner, there is no question that you would be anticipating it, Srit mwt.

You mouthed a curse and dropped your head as much as you could manage with him still holding you in place in hopes to hide your utter mortification. He should not have been having this effect on you. Khonshu was many things, but sexual was not a word you had mentally associated with him at any point.

You remembered, idly, that your research into his mythos had revealed that he was regarded as a god of fertility.

“Uh-huh,” you responded lamely, swallowing and surrendering to him just so that it would be over sooner. You’d planned on soaking for a while after washing up to enjoy the hot water, but now all you wanted to do was curl up in bed and scream into your pillow until your heart stopped drumming itself into a tattoo against the inside of your thoracic cavity.

Then the god of the moon had the the nerve—the fucking gall—to chuckle; a low, raspy noise that carried into your ribcage like a subwoofer ricocheted sound through a vehicle. You needn’t worry. I do not extend such invitations lightly…and I am not particularly inclined to commence anything that could not be completed.

Fuck. Honestly.

You were familiar with the banter the pair of you had shared over the years of serving as his avatar, but you’d never known him to…was he flirting with you, or were you imagining things? Surely not. He despised humans, humanity in general, thought himself above mere mortals to the point that he only associated with whomever he’d selected to be his Fist at any given time (as far as you were aware, anyway).

This was new. It was foreign and unexpected and completely out of character for him. Just when you’d thought you had pinned down his personality, he’d gone and revealed another aspect of himself—like a phase of the celestial body he represented. It didn’t make you uncomfortable, per se (quite the opposite, in fact, if you were to be totally honest with yourself; you’d made somewhat suggestive remarks to him in passing before, mostly for humor’s sake, but he’d never before responded in kind), but it was disarming you in a way for which you never could have prepared yourself.

He had seen you naked before—numerous times, in fact, much to your chagrin, since he couldn’t be bothered to at least knock on something before he appeared out of thin air—but he’d never acted like he’d even noticed your body, nor had he ever cared about the modern concept of modesty. You’d learned to live with it, had grown accustomed to him appearing at the most inopportune of moments. You’d just assumed that he might not even feel any attraction whatsoever, or at least not towards you.

Was that assumption incorrect? Had you misread his body language all this time? Was he just worryingly skilled at hiding any reactions he could have had? You hadn’t a clue—you didn’t know what to think, especially since you swore you could feel each individual crease on his cool, coarse palms against your heated flesh. He was a dominant entity, controlling out of necessity given the nature of his creed, but you’d never thought that it could carry over into a context quite like this.

…Of course, you’d never thought he’d offer to help you bathe, either, but here you were: naked, wet, and as vulnerable as one could be, trying very hard to hide exactly what he was doing to you simply by touching you comparatively chastely in sharp contrast to what the tone of his voice might have indicated.

You cleared your throat, realizing that you’d been quite a little too long. You could almost hear his smug grin—if he were even capable of displaying it in his primary, decayed shape. “...Thanks. For the…for the help. I feel a lot better now.”

Impatient, as always, he tutted. Just a moment.

“No, really, I’m good, you’ve worked your ma—gic!”

The sharp, high noise that escaped you as his hand compressed your rib and set it back in place with a dull click was worse than you could’ve imagined. Khonshu, mercifully, withdrew as quickly as he’d approached, leaving you reeling and dazed. You sucked in a breath, gritting your teeth against the urge to cringe, and probed your side experimentally.

There. That wasn’t so bad, now was it, hmm?

“If you weren’t a literal deity that could smite me from this plane of existence, I would offer you some very choice words on the quality of your bedside manner.”

That has never restricted you before. Khonshu’s spindly form creaked as he stood and straightened to his full height (or as close to it as was possible, given the bathroom’s low ceiling), leaving you shivering in the humid air he stirred in his wake. Although I doubt you will complain that I finished the job that you failed to allow the armor to finish.

“Well,” you started indignantly, “I guess I can count on you to finish everything I don’t, then, huh?”

A beat of silence passed, and that was arguably worse than anything he could’ve said in reply.

You dropped your head into your hands and groaned. “Forget I said that.”

He had the audacity to laugh at you. Should you ever require assistance, he crooned, all you need do is to call my name. I will hear you at any time or place.

You reached a hand back to deliver him a solitary finger, refraining from the urge to crawl into the drain and drown yourself. “I think I’ve had about enough of you tonight, thanks.”

If that’s all you can take, then I worry that you couldn’t—

“Shut,” you ground out, “the fuck up.”

Khonshu laughed as he slipped back into whatever the hell sort of fifth dimension he lived in when he wasn’t plaguing you with his insufferability.

[eretzyisrael]

WORDS OF THE PROPHET

In parsha Balak, the Moabite King Balak becomes concerned that the Israelites are too numerous and will defeat Moab like they defeated the Amorites. (Num. 22:3) Balak hires Balaam, a non-Jewish prophet, to curse the Jewish people. God speaks to Balaam and says, “You must not curse that people, for they are blessed.” (Num. 22:12) Balaam explains to Balak that despite the massive reward offered for proclaiming curses on the king’s perceived enemies, the prophet can only say what God wants him to say. 

Used to getting his way, Balak insists that Balaam curse the Jews and takes the prophet to the top of a mountain overlooking the Israelite settlement. Balaam tries three times, from three different vantage points, to pronounce curses on the Jews, but each time he showers them with blessings instead! Although Balaam himself despises the Jews, his blessings, channeled directly from God, have become some of the most treasured lines in Jewish liturgy. One of Balaam’s most famous blessings is said when a Jew enters synagogue: "How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, Your dwellings, O Israel!” 

Medieval commentator Rashi explains that Balaam, looking down from the mountaintop, is amazed by the unique way the Israelites set up their tents. Although arranged in an orderly format, no tent faces any other tent, giving each Jewish family privacy. Rashi posits another possible explanation for Balaam’s poetic reference to the Israelites’ goodly tents. He may be describing the Mishkan - the portable Temple where God’s presence dwells in the wilderness. In fact, both explanations are intertwined because a Jewish home is considered a mini-Temple. When we fill our living places with Torah and mitzvahs, with family harmony and holiday celebration, we bring God’s presence inside to create a home of holiness. 

Image: Balak’s Sacrifice and Balaam’s Prophecy by August Hirschvogel, 1548

[girlactionfigure]

SHABBAT ✡️ ALERT ✡️ INSTRUCTIONS for those in ISRAEL

via ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting the World to Israel in Realtime

(( Note Israel Realtime does not post updates on Shabbat (Israel time) unless life threatening / saving. ))

Chief Rabbinute instructions with details

🔅Erev Shabbat Parshat Parshat Pekudei -  Exodus 38:21 - 40:38, the portable temple is completed and all its components are brought to Moses, who erects it and anoints it. A cloud appears over the temple, signifying the Divine Presence that has come to dwell within it.

Shabbat Times here -> https://www.myzmanim.com/search.aspx

🔸NORTH - Risk MEDIUM-HIGH, particularly in Safed, Meron, Acre, Nahariya, Teveria, Afula, Golan.  Precautions required, know your shelter options at synagogue, school, work and home - even shopping.

🔸SOUTH - Risk LOW, occasion rockets from GAZA, almost exclusively near-Gaza villages, Sderot and Ashkelon. Know your shelter options in those areas.

🔸EILAT and NEGEV - Risk LOW, occasional attacks from Yemen. Keep an eye open on shelter options.

❗️This is a LIFE and DEATH WAR - due to Pikuach Nefesh you MUST have a way to receive alerts on Shabbat!  Here’s how…

SILENT CHANNELS - Radio & TV stations go “silent broadcast” for Shabbat, ONLY alerts.

No TV or Radio?  STREAM IT on phone or computer.

➡️ SILENT TV -  Channel 14 - stream https://www.now14.co.il/live/ (doesn’t work with adblocker)

➡️ SILENT RADIO - 

• Kol Chai radio - on radio 92.8, 93 and 102.5. - stream https://www.93fm.co.il/radio/players/%d7%a9%d7%99%d7%93%d7%95%d7%a8-%d7%97%d7%99/

• Kol Barama Radio - on radio 92.1, 104.3, 105.7 and 107.6. - stream https://kol-barama.co.il/live/

• Galei Israel - on radio 89.3, 94 and 106.5. - https://www.rlive.co.il/station/galey-israel

➡️ ON COMPUTER - leave a computer open to https://www.oref.org.il/en (only in Israel) - alerts will display and sound on the screen. Turn OFF screen saver, sleep and hibernate so the computer doesn’t turn off.

➡️ VIA APP - leave on phone with red alert app.  Set app to YOUR area so it only alerts for your area.  We suggest Tzofar Red Alert or Homefront Command - available in Play Store and App Store.  IF an alert goes off for your area CLICK THE PHONE TO VERIFY ALERT TYPE - to see if infiltration!   Yes, on Shabbat - this is Pikuach Nefesh!

⁉️ ENGLISH SILENT CHANNEL - is there a silent channel in English?  NO.  But you can use Pikud HaOref ON SCREEN in English, see “ON COMPUTER” option above.

It is a mitzvah to take actions to protect and save and preserve life on Shabbat, not a violation.  But ONLY actions which do so.

[mingtinys]

Eyes on Me

pairing : park seonghwa x gn!reader

fluff , slice of life

warnings : none

word count : 3.3 k

requested ? no

a/n : park seonghwa is an absolute sweetheart but also a complete tease and i stand by that  — also believe it or not, but this was supposed to be short,,, uhhhhhhh

The weather channel, per usual, had grossly underestimated just how volatile the storm would turn. What was originally just supposed to be a light flurry with the slight chance of icy roads quickly spiraled into nearly a foot of snow knocking down power lines and trees at subzero temperatures. Your small, one-bedroom apartment became a pitch-black icebox within the hour. No amount of scented candles and fluffy blankets made it even remotely bearable.

Maybe, had the forecast been even a little more accurate, you would've taken the day to prepare better. Charge your phone, have a portable charger at the ready, gather non-perishable food and drinks. If you'd known the storm would be this brutal you might have even splurged on a generator. But no sense dwelling over it now.

The frigid air burns your lungs as you take in a deep breath, releasing it in a white puff. Your phone rests next to you, untouched and on airplane mode for the past hour in hopes to spare what little battery you had left. But boredom is starting to gnaw at your insides and making your fingers itch for something to do. It couldn't hurt to at least check the weather app for an update, you justify.

You let your impulses win, clicking off airplane mode and swiping over to your weather app. Your phone buzzes continuously, flooding with dozens of missed notifications, though one name, in particular, catches your attention.

Missed call from "hwa <3" — 9:23 pm

Missed call from "hwa <3" — 9:34 pm

New text from "hwa <3" — 9:36 pm

New text from "hwa <3" — 9:51 pm

Missed facetime from "hwa <3" — 10:02 pm

You can't even finish scrolling through the sheer amount of missed alerts when Seonghwa's name pops up with yet another call illuminating your screen. You debate it for a moment, but ultimately decide you can spare a few bars to answer him instead of texting.

"Hello?"

"Oh thank God," he sighs, voice raspy and deep. "I've been trying to call you for the past forty minutes."

"Sorry," you switch the call to speaker and tuck your arm back into your cocoon of blankets, already starting to shiver from the cold hair hitting it. "I had my phone on airplane mode to save battery and just now got your notifs. Is everything all right?"

"That's what I was gonna ask you. Do you have power?"

"Mm-mm, I don't think anyone in Seoul does right now. Do you guys?"

"No, we lost ours a while ago." He thinks for a beat. "Are you warm enough?"

"I'm managing. Got a few candles burning and some blankets."

"And your phone? What's it on?"

"Like thirty percent, should last me till tomorrow as long as I don't use it too much." You know what he's doing. And as endearing as it is, you wish he wouldn't worry over you so much and get himself some much-needed rest instead. A city-wide snowstorm seemed like the perfect opportunity to finally take a break from his responsibilities and busy schedule. But here he was instead, fussing over your well-being. You try to give vague yet satisfactory answers so he won't stress as much, yet he keeps going.

"And your door is locked, right?"

"Yep."

"What about food? The pipes might freeze, do you have water?"

"Went grocery shopping a few days ago, should be enough to last me until the streets clear up."

"Do you—"

"Seonghwa, my love." You cut his rambling short. "I'm fine, please don't worry about me so much."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. I just don't like the idea of you alone with the power out, not to mention the temperature is supposed to drop even more." You can clearly envision Seonghwa chewing at his bottom lip, a nervous habit he could never seem to shake.

"I'll try to check in every few hours or so, but I really do need to save my battery."

"You know what? Why don't you just come to the dorms and wait out the storm with us?"

With the cold air seeping past your blanket fortress and into your bones mixed with the eerie silence of your apartment, his offer sounds tempting. But the anxiety of feeling like a burden stops you from immediately jumping at it. "Are you sure that'd be okay? I thought you guys weren't allowed to have anyone over."

"Eh, I'll just tell them it was an emergency. Besides, the guys would love to see you—"

Just then, a voice cuts in causing Seonghwa to chuckle. "Is that Y/N!?"

"Yeah, it is— I think they miss you more than I do. Hongjoong even said he might try and start up a fire in the fireplace."

"I didn't think that thing was even functional."

"I guess we'll find out," Seonghwa's gentle laugh warms your heart in such a way you forget for a split second about your icy surroundings. It would be nice to see him.

You consider the offer again and mull over the consequences, but still feel a bit apprehensive about invading their space. "I don't know, I'd hate to cause trouble."

"Darling, your safety is way more important than some stupid rule. I'll take the blame if it comes to it."

The raspy undertone of his voice has faded throughout the duration of your call, leaving behind a much silkier, honey-like tone in its place. It's something you've never been able to resist. You're ninety percent sure Seonghwa figured this out long and uses it from time to time to get his way.

"If you come over, I'll let you pick any sweater you want to keep warm. And after everyone goes to sleep maybe we can finally have some alone time~" He drawls in a sing-song.

You cave. "You drive a tough bargain, Park Seonghwa. Fine, give me a bit to gather my things and then I'll head over. Are you guys hungry at all? I have a bunch of stuff that'll go bad if it isn't eaten soon."

"Very."

"Okay." Unraveling yourself from the warm cocoon of blankets you'd cultivated is pure agony. The cold pricks your skin and causes your joints to stiffen up and ache. You stretch, a warm sensation flowing through your muscles as they flex. You grab a backpack and begin to gather containers of food and other necessities, "I'll try to be over in thirty, but it may take longer with the snow."

"Wait— You're not walking here are you?"

You shrug on the first winter coat you can find, it's not the best, but it'll do for the time being. You’re determined to leave before the snow picks back up again. "Well, I doubt there are any taxis running or Ubers available with the roads how they are."

"You're not walking all the way here in the cold, alone. Just wait there and I'll come get you."

"Seonghwa, I'm grown enough to walk thirty minutes by myself, there's no sense in both of us freezing our asses off. I'm heading out now, I'll be there shortly." You hang up before he has the chance to protest any further.

With one last round around your apartment to make sure you don't leave anything behind you sling the bag over your shoulder, slip your phone into your coat pocket, and step out onto the snow-covered streets.

You instantly regret not appreciating just how cozy your apartment really was. It could be considered a sauna when compared to the outside. Maybe you should have spent more time looking for a heavier coat or layered on some extra socks; because it only takes a few seconds for the wintery weather to infiltrate your wardrobe and sink into your skin. It probably wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the wind being so aggressive.

It's fine, you just have to make it thirty minutes, maybe a little less, you tell yourself. Though with the way you're shivering, even ten minutes might be a bit too ambitious. Regardless, it's too late to turn back now. So you trudge on, starting your treacherous journey with careful steps through the deep snow and ice. A good bit of it has already been packed down by others, unfortunate souls who likely got stuck outside on their way home from work when it first hit.

However, apart from the various boot marks in the snow, the street is desolate. Your only company being the occasional solar-powered streetlamp lighting your way. You're thankful they'd retained enough of their charge from the day so as to not leave you in complete darkness. True to your earlier predictions, the better part of Seoul seems to be out of power as well. The monstrous skyscrapers which would usually stand tall and illuminate the city with their LED advertisements are pitch black. They blend into the endless night sky, disappearing into the abyss.

White specks of celestial lights you normally wouldn't have the pleasure of seeing peak through the darkness and watch over your journey. You could really get used to this type of view. The sound of crunching snow beneath your boots turns rhythmic, and you find yourself at peace with the icy atmosphere. You decide to make a game out of sorting the bright stars from their slow-drifting snowflake counterparts dancing amongst their light.

It works like a charm. Because by the time you finally notice the tall figure swiftly approaching, you have no sense of how much time has passed. Their jet black hair is sprinkled with delicate white flakes and you internally groan at the familiar overcoat.

"I thought I told you to wait," you deadpan, arms crossed over your chest at the man before you.

"And I thought you knew me better than that," he leans down so that his face is level with your own and taps your nose with his finger.

"You're so annoying." You swat at his hand. "It's not even that bad out."

He quirks an eyebrow at your obvious bluff. "Not even that bad out— look at you, you're shaking! You know, I knew you wouldn't dress warm enough. Come here." Seonghwa motions with his hand for you to step forward, and begrudgingly you do. He unfolds the spare coat he has draped over his arm and wraps it around your shivering form. It's large and puffy, providing instant protection from the elements. Next, he pulls off his scarf and wraps it a few times around your neck, fluffing it up so the fabric covers your nose. It smells like him, and you tuck your chin down into it to relish in more of the sweet scent.

"Here, let me take your bag." You shrug off your bag and hand it to him without question. There's really no sense voicing any sort of protest when he gets like this, might as well just cooperate and enjoy the extra attention.

"How are your hands?"

You hold them up and wriggle out your fingers, a dull and numb ache setting in from the cold. "Mm, they'll be fine—" Seonghwa tsks disapprovingly.

Wordlessly, he takes your hands into his own and cups them up to his lips. He exhales out long, warm breaths that bring feeling back to your fingers almost instantly. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you watch Seonghwa tend to your hands with the utmost care. "You're so cute when you're all fussy about my well-being."

Seonghwa shoots you a look, but it melts away with your subsequent giggles. "I think you worry me on purpose."

"Gotta keep you on your toes somehow," you shrug with a wink, to which Seonghwa rolls his eyes in feigned annoyance. After a few more puffs, Seonghwa guides one of your hands to the pocket of your, really his, puffy jacket. He then laces his fingers with your own of your free hand and gently tugs you along. "Come on, let's get you out of the cold."

You gladly step in stride with him, walking side by side for the rest of the journey. Neither of you speak much, if at all for the remaining fifteen-minute walk. So you tune back into the crunching of snow below your boots and busy yourself with your surroundings.

Though this time, you find yourself stealing glances at the man beside you in leu of the night sky. He's somehow even more memorizing. From the point of his nose to the curve of his lips, Park Seonghwa is truly a sight to behold. You can't tell if the slight rosy tint on his cheeks is due to him noticing your lingering gaze or the cold. You'd like to think it's the former. You smile to yourself, content with the cold so long as Seonghwa is there.

The two of you round a corner and the KQ dorms finally come into view, grand in its size. You've seen the outside of the building plenty of times, yet only had the pleasure of seeing the inside once. And as Seonghwa leads you up a flight of stairs and to the front door, you feel more and more relieved to finally escape the elements. It grows as he takes out a set of keys and slips his hand from yours to unlock the door. Though, midway he pauses.

You tilt your head to the side, brows furrowing at the set of keys left in the deadbolt mechanism and Seonghwa's hand ghosting the handle. "Hwa~" you whine, tucking your hands back into your coat pockets. "Why'd you stop? C'mon it's cold."

His shoulders shake with a deep chuckle at your complaints and he turns on his heels to face you, a certain glint in his eyes. You blink back at the tall man, slightly annoyed. Before you’re able to voice your displeasure with his actions once again, Seonghwa steps in closer, pressing you back against the metal railing of the porch-like structure. 

Using two fingers, he tugs at the scarf he lent you, peeling it away from the lower half of your face. Your nose crinkles at the sharp contact the chilled air makes with your skin, though it doesn't stay for long. Seonghwa's palms, somehow still warm, find their place cupping your jawline.

You pull in a slow breath and hold it in your lungs as his thumb grazes over your bottom lip. His gaze stays locked with your own, only to stray downwards moments later. They flick back and forth a few times, only ever settling on your lips for no more than half a second before trailing back up. The tip of his tongue pokes out ever so slightly between his lips, a ghost of a smile pulling at his cheeks. Pretty, you think.

Your fingers twitch restlessly in your pockets as you wait for him to do something. However, his gaze grows heavier the longer the two of you stand there. A few more seconds pass and you finally duck your head and break eye contact, his stare too intense for your heart to handle much longer. But your attempt proves unsuccessful.

Seonghwa catches the underside of your chin with his pointer finger and tilts your head back. "Eyes on me, Darling."

Your mind goes fuzzy with his honey-like voice, and it's very possible Park Seonghwa will be the death of you long before the frostbite ever could. He leans down, cupping your face once more to guide your lips to his. The sly smile gracing his features only grows as you lift yourself onto your toes to meet him halfway.

There's a rush of warmth and adrenaline the moment your lips finally meet, he tastes of pure ecstasy. His lips mold to yours perfectly, moving delicately and without haste. Seonghwa kisses you just as he always does; like time as stopped and there's all the time in the world. It makes your brain feel like mush and your legs turn to jelly. So much so that you pull your hands from your pockets and grip the freezing railing behind to brace yourself. The action places the slightest of gaps between your bodies, one that Seonghwa remedies by slipping his arm down around your waist and drawing you back in.

Your hands leave the railing with the sudden action and you lose your balance once more. With a soft gasp, you break the kiss to steady yourself with Seonghwa's shoulders.

"It's okay, I've got you." He whispers, not even giving you half a second to recover before he dips back down to capture your lips once more. All the while his hold on your waist stays unwaveringly strong, pressing your bodies as close as your puffy coats will allow. You let your hands glide from the top of his shoulders to link behind his neck. Your fingers thread into and toy with the longer stands of his hair that lay in wisps at his nape.

It's a moment you wish to last forever and Seonghwa tries his absolute hardest to do just that. Wrapped up in each other, basking in the scenery and slightly dizzy from the lack of oxygen — in a good way. But unfortunately, even with his trained lungs that could hold the longest of notes on stage you'd ever heard, Seonghwa pulls away breathlessly. His eyes have a slight haze to them as he smiles down at you, letting his thumb graze over the skin of your cheek.

"What was that about?" You ask, voice breathy.

He hums. "Just wanted a moment to have you to myself before we go in." Seonghwa leans in one last time and places a chaste kiss in the space just between your eyes. "I'm sorry for keeping you out here for so long."

"S'okay," you beam at him, the corners of your mouth pulling up into a subtle smirk. "I didn't really mind the cold. However, I was promised one of your sweaters, so~"

He narrows his eyes at you, "Is that really what you've been thinking about this whole time?"

You look up and to the side, feigning deep thought, then shrug. "Eh, more or less."

His eyebrows shoot up and his eyes go wide. "More or less— wah! You're unbelievable!" He takes his hand from your cheek to poke the center of your forehead, sending you into a fit of giggles.

"Walk thirty minutes in the harsh Winter to make sure you're safe and this is what I get. The world really is cruel." He's all pouty and monologuing the way a betrayed Shakesperian character would as he moves to finish unlocking the door. Though the playfully dramatic tone in his voice and the minute curve of his lips dampen the impact of his whines.

"In all fairness, you did that of your own accord."

He stops struggling with the lock for a moment to shoot you a side-eye. You suppress another laugh in favor of not damaging his pride too much. Then you slip in front of Seonghwa and take over working the key inside the lock.

"And for the record—" A click resonates from the deadbolt as you successfully twist the silver key. You crane your neck and lift yourself up onto your toes so that your lips ghost the shell of Seonghwa's ear and purposely drop your voice to a purring whisper. "—I'll be taking your black and white striped sweater."

"Hey—!"

Seonghwa is cut clean off when you push the door open and a chorus of loud, excited voices shout your name. And sure enough, in the corner, is a small and flickering fire. Pitiful yet welcoming in all its glory.

[sixpossumsinatrenchcoat]

a glittering house of cards [ch 3/3]

A retrospective on everyone's favorite Fortune Arcana (and only 15 years too late!!) [PERSONA 3 SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE GAME]

It’s nice to think that some things are universal. Meeting estranged family is always a little awkward, even when your mom is the moon. At the shuddering heights of Tartarus, Thanatos gives Nyx a wan smile. “Hello, mother,” he says dutifully. “You look well.” The moon glares down at him, one enormous pea-green eye. Even without what might be called a face, Nyx still manages to convey a faint air of surprise. It figures. Kids never turn out how you expect. “It's the scarf, isn’t it,” he says, looking down at it. “You think it makes me look frivolous.”

I suspect that this goes without saying, but just to be safe: spoiler warning for the end of Persona 3 Portable and, by extension, ancillary spoilers for P3/P3R/etc. You can start from part one here.

It’s nice to think that some things are universal. Meeting estranged family is always a little awkward, even when your mom is the moon.

At the shuddering heights of Tartarus, Thanatos gives Nyx a wan smile.

“Hello, mother,” he says dutifully. “You look well.”

The moon glares down at him, one enormous pea-green eye. Even without what might be called a face, Nyx still manages to convey a faint air of surprise. It figures. Kids never turn out how you expect.

“It's the scarf, isn’t it,” he says, looking down at it. “You think it makes me look frivolous.”

Nyx gives up on understanding. She does not know the steps to this dance. Sorry I’m late, traffic was hell. You wouldn’t believe the congestion in the mesosphere. You look wonderful, you’ve grown so much, but you’re too skinny! A growing boy needs to eat! Words that mean nothing and words that mean everything. Muscle memories and rituals and expectations to subvert. Chaos into order, dust into meat. Comedy. Drama. Heartache and heartbreak and limited-time-only seasonal crepes. The whole bloody theater of life. It isn’t for her.

(It wasn’t supposed to be for Thanatos, either. It’s just that he got to borrow a little, for a while.)

Thanatos watches himself disappear.

It doesn’t hurt. Dying never does. People just get the wrong idea because they’ve got so used to living, which hurts immensely.

The last indignity is this: no matter how much you didn't want to, if you live long enough, eventually, you will have to see yourself become your mother.

###

Ryoji dreams.

Which is weird because, as a rule, the dead generally don’t. Death isn’t a long sleep. It’s just what happens when everything else stops. No more sleep. No more dreams. No more anything, ever. Pretty much by definition. But that doesn’t read as well on the bereavement card.

Nevertheless, Ryoji dreams. Maybe it’s another of his little perks. More special treatment to reward him for being a monster who shattered into twelve nightmares and a leech.

(It couldn’t be mercy. Nyx doesn’t know the meaning of the word.)

Ryoji dreams of a sky stained red and a sea painted black. Asphalt studded with steel coffins, hiding meat that’s only just begun to bloat. Ribbons of yellow and green pulse from the moon. Putrescent, like a wound.

One car remains on the crumbling bridge, crunched and upended but intact. Something inside it calls to him.

Death draws near.

There are four bodies in the car. Three of them are empty, but there is light still stirring in the fourth. She wriggles against the belt that binds her to her seat, one tiny hand clutching at the hand of something dead. Its hand looks just like hers. A perfect mirror.

Thanatos cannot understand. What is it that makes life so alluring? Why do the living cling so hard to something they were never going to keep?

It matters little. The girl is an opportunity. A shelter from which to gather strength. Hiding inside her will be easy. Death dwells in everything that breathes.

The girl hardens as she ages, like a scab. Scar tissue seals over her wounds. Slowly she learns how to pretend. How to hold out her hands and put on a smile.

She chases sensation. Blood on her knuckles, ash in her mouth. The sting of the safety pin through the lobe of her ear, her yelp muffled by fabric clenched between her teeth. Grit and gravel ground into her knees. Warm palms clenched tight against hers. She feels something, for a moment, and then nothing. None of it is anything. No feeling ever lasts.

She goes to sleep in the dark, alone.

But she isn’t alone.

(She’s never alone.)

The girl transfers schools, again. She’s made too many enemies, and still more false friends. She has donned a thousand masks. She knows, now, how to pretend.

Soon it will be over. The watcher takes comfort in that. Perhaps the girl would, too, if only he could tell her.

All at once, he finds that he can. Not only can—he must. There’s a contract that she must sign. An agreement that every living thing has already made; that they’ll make again and again and again. Someday, the pain will end. Memento Mori: Remember That You Will Die.

And when she opens the dormitory door, for the first time, she can see him.

The camera tilts. The witnessed, bearing witness. The watcher, suddenly seen.

“Hello,” Pharos tells her, and smiles. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

The End

It's the end of the world.

Trees shudder and creak. Leaves pucker and drop. Steam curls off the surface of a sea already beginning to boil. And at the top of a very tall tower, nine specks of dust prepare for their final fight.

(There will be no more fighting, after this. There will be no ‘after.’ Only peace.)

Nyx will not mourn this world. Death is not the cost of life—it is its maker. Not an end, but an absence. What is light without shadow? What is shadow without something to cast it?

Death bounds life and life breeds death. Death defines life defines death, defines life, and around and around they go. Ring around the ro~sie, a pocket full of po~sies. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down. Such a merry game! Such a merry chase! And then we all fall down.

There is no absolute truth, except for this: all living things are born to die. It is the ouroboros of existence. A snake can only swallow its own tail for so long before it runs out of tail.

You can finish part three here. Or start from the beginning here.

[une-sanz-pluis]

This information indicates that in the aristocratic circles within which the duchess of Clarence lived her life there was a strong commitment to devotional piety and a tradition of patronage to artists whose works served pious ends and especially to monastic institutions which encouraged such piety. Regarding the latter, it is particularly important to note the duchess's close relation to the founders of Mount Grace and Sheen, two of the seven charterhouses founded in England between 1345 and 1415,and Syon — all three houses especially distinguished for the production and transmission of vernacular devotional writings. Against this background we may consider the evidence in the public record concerning the piety of the duchess. First, in the papal register for 1422, the year following the unhappy events at Beaugé, we find that Margaret was granted a plenary indulgence and given permission to have a portable altar, "to celebrate or cause to be celebrated, privately, Mass and other divine offices in places under interdict," to have Mass celebrated before daybreak, and to choose her own confessor. A series of entries in the papal register for 1428-29 define and legitimize a relationship between Margaret and the Bridgettine house at Syon. Margaret, now leading a celibate life, would have permission to dwell near Syon and to be visited at her invitation by the enclosed brethren who would hear her confession, grant her absolution and enjoin penance; administer sacraments and sacramentals; preach to her; and assist her in the making of her will. Moreover, she received permission to enter, with assent of the superiors, monasteries of enclosed nuns on six occasions during the years, though not to remain for a meal or to pass the night.

George R. Keiser, "Patronage and Piety in Fifteenth-Century England: Margaret, Duchess of Clarence, Symon Wynter and Beinecke MS 317", The Yale University Library Gazette, Vol. 60, No. 1/2 (1985)

[ohmysheetmetal]

A pin is most known for the point on its head. It's horn is very sturdy with cushioning around the base internally. If you encounter a Pin turn sideways while maintaining eye contact. Back away. Try not to face them as they may lunge and spear you. Despite this tendency they are mostly woods dwelling herbivores. A pin has a large territory that it usually shares with only one other Pin. Pins mate for life( barring a point break) and joust regularly to display dominance and bond. A den of a pin is usually filled with items the Pin couple find interesting. A pin may attempt to raid a campsite if a sufficiently shiny or portable thing is left in the open. Take note that you cannot overpower the pin. another note is that if a Pin's horn breaks they become distressed and become too depressed to live. Prosthetic points have been successfully installed in the past leading to an otherwise healthy life. Provided they do not break their horn again.

-🌿

I approve of all of this

[mentally-joyful-demobot]

[ Otto idly tapped his fingers together while he made his way over to Esmé’s garden. The soft grass beneath his wheel, the fluffy air whirring past him and the cooing of mourning doves were all a reminder of the springtime, but he couldn’t dwell on that for too long. They were here for a reason, after all. ]

YOU SAID YOU NEEDED HELP WITH SOMETHING COMPUTER RELATED, RIGHT?

@physically-robotic-medic

AYE, THAT WOULD BE RIGHT.

[ Esmé realized as if recent that without much access to technology, the prospect of software maintenance was very slim. Being someone who prided herself on self-sufficiency, she wanted to make sure she and Penny had a means to keep themselves safe from viruses and the like. ]

[ Despite this self-sufficiency, she wasn't great with computers. Not wanting to bug her other tech-savvy friends for various reasons, she trusted that Otto could help. ]

I FOUND THIS OLD THING, FIGURED IT WOULD BE OF USE HERE IN CASE THINGS WENT WRONG.

[ She went over to the reading area and picked up a clunky portable computer she found; it read similarly to a laptop, or at least as close to one as you could get in the 1970s. She'd found it tossed away somewhere and done what she could to get it to function. ]

I TRUST YOUR KNOWLEDGE OF THIS MORE THAN MY OWN. IT CAN AT LEAST SHUT ON, I KNOW THAT MUCH.

[tetralea]

“Please, I want you to fuck a baby into me.” 😏 for the lestappen breeding kink

Ok, so everyone thank this for today’s Ferrari thirst trap and quali 🤷‍♀️, because I don’t know about Max but I went feral over them.

Max walked around the paddock, it was somewhat of his workplace after all. And you clearly not expecting to be attacked like that at your work place. Yet here he was, frozen in place, eyes glued to the pale, freckled, muscular torso, the strong arms decorated with long veins and pretty jewellery.

Charles was having an ice bath. Again.

He thought they were over this last year. He thought their complaints about the alpha making half the paddock go feral each race made it stop. Wistful thinking.

“Hey, Max.” The brunette called out for him, waving a little, placing his phone at a dangerous angle on the edge of that little portable bath. He was casually like he wasn’t practically almost naked out in the open, for anyone to see.

Slowly turning towards him, Max took a few tentative steps. He didn’t mean to get too close. He learned his lesson last year.

“How is it going?” Charles asked with a small smile, head bobbing to the musing coming from his phone.

Max needed a second, or two, because Charles looked absolutely divine, and it didn’t really matter how he has seen the alpha million times like this before. He swallowed, trying to keep his gaze on the pretty face. “All good, preparing for quali, last meetings, the usual. “He lifted his arms a little, like someone who didn’t know what to do with them.

Charles laughed, nodding, he knew the drill. “Yeah, same here.” Long fingers run trough the unruly brown hair, and Max wanted to strangle whoever gave Charles back that stupid hair gel. He didn’t have much time to dwell on it, because the pheromones were flying with high speed after that small motion, making the alpha’s lovely scent travel to Max’s sensitive nose way too quickly. Fuck.

Charles smelled good, smelled like Charles, mostly, something Max had time to get used to, to familiarise himself with and to feel it on his own skin, mixing with his own scent more than he could have counted. Pursing his lips, he took a small step backwards, like that could have made it better. He tried to hide his shaky exhale, but Charles’ eyes were trained on him, knowing all too well all of his secrets, being able to tell when Max got turned on. This was that moment. Charles eyes darkened, a low growl leaving his throat, satisfied.

Max curled his fists in a ball, pulling them behind his back, forcefully strengthening his back, puffing his chest. It was no time to play these games.

In silence, with the tension growing, only exchanging charged looks, Charles picked this moment to sink into the ice cold water, breaking the eye contact, beating Max to it. One could have thought Max won the intestine staring contest, but the omega knew better. Charles sunk into the cold water, groaning and moaning, brows knitting together, lips opening, painting a very familiar picture.

The omega tipped his head down, biting his lips, closing his eyes for a second. Fuck this shameless alpha. Max was getting slick from the little games Charles played. He pushed his thighs together hoping the brunette won’t notice, but when he looked up, he knew it was too late. Charles sat neck deep in the water, head tooted to the side, a smug smile playing on those delicious lips.

“Yes, omega?” His tone was low and Max felt more slick soaking him, face burning. He will kill Charles for this. Later, when he will be able to think of anything than getting him alone and naked and between his legs. Oh, for crying out loud, get yourself together Max.

“You are impossible.” He hissed before turning around and out of sight as fast as he could. Damn, Charles, like his impending het wasn’t enough.

His day wasn’t practically uphill from there. His car had some problems and he had to retire too early, resulting in only watching Charles on screen finishing his final lap. It was absolutely fantastic. He had to take a deep breath, before getting carried away. It was perfect, like always. He would have lied he never got slick simply by watching Charles putting together those pole worthy laps gain and again. It wasn’t too different this day either. He exhaled slowly, watching the footage and he would have never said this out loud but Charles was made for these quali laps, he was a god when it came down to that one perfect lap, and now his head was spinning. He closed his legs, hoping his blockers would work because he was slicking up for the alpha for the second time that day.

Maybe there was salvation for his day after all. The end of his night still had some chances to turn out to be good. Mostly when he saw Charles walk up to him in the hotel bar, mostly when the alpha took his hand and pulled him from his seat wordlessly, mostly when he pushed Max’s back against the elevarte walls kissing him with fever.

“God, I thought this day never ends.” Charles moaned between his kisses, crashing his lips back against Max’s. They weren’t even in a room and those long fingers were already scenting him, making him smell like sunny, warm morning in Monaco, sun kissed, and salty from the sea. Entirely like Charles. He was weak for it, he never wanted it to end. Whimpering between the delicious lips his hands run trough the wavy brown hair pulling Charles closer, impossibly close.

They run till his room and the noise of a closing door never felt so satisfying. He was against it in a second, one thigh held tightly around Charles’ hips, pulling him against his soaking, clothed hole, grinding against the alpha. He felt drunk, intoxicated, pliant against the strong body. Charles got more broad, even stronger and Max had to whine to the thought, his hips routing forward, begging for more. Slowly he felt like he was losing it, all inhibition, all control, any filer. The warm hands were travelling on his body, the wet mouth kissing along his throat and he felt like the need was consuming him entirely. He felt it in his stomach, at his entrance, in his ver core. Charles inside of him, right now.

Luckily his desires were reciprocated and his clothes were flying off of them, the satisfying sensation of Charles pushing into him and filling him arriving soon. “Holly shit.” He murmured, eye shut, holding onto the wide shoulders, nice buried into Charles’ neck the rest of his mind gone. “God, alpha.” He was driving him crazy the whole day and Max couldn’t hold it together anymore. He needed Charles, closer, deeper, simply more. It was a gut feeling, primal and instinctive, he didn’t even think about it. “More.” It was a cry and it was immediately catered to. Max mewled, almost reaching his first orgasm. “Please, alpha, I want you to fuck a baby into me.” It didn’t sink in, not even second after he said it, but it didn’t mean he didn’t mean or want it by all his heart, by all his being.

“Chéri,” Charles slowed down with a low growl, his teeth grazing above their mating mark. “You can’t just say things like this and expect me not to do it.” Panting, he kissed Max, sloppy and with a newly found hunger. “After this season you leave the suppressants and I’ll fill you up so much, pump you full with my cum over and over until there is not at least one pup in you.” Charles growled, biting their mark sealing his promise, feeling the sharp nails on his back as Max came whimpering to his words. He quickly followed spilling into the waiting, tight heat, his knot keeping it all inside. “I’m gonna give you all the pups, pretty, pretty omega.”

[haveihitanerve]

Well I asked and you all answered so here is your Sam and Bucky fic, as requested

Sam didn’t hate Bucky. Anymore. But the man certainly pushed his buttons, especially when he chose to rush in without backup or warning. “James I swear to God-“ Sam hissed as he caught up with the super soldier. “Shut up.” Bucky snapped back, quietly, quickly, his arm pressing Sam backwards into the wall behind him. Sam stayed silent, allowing Bucky's arm to keep him in place. “Safe?” He dared ask after a second. Bucky huffed a laugh, dropping his arm. “We’re infiltrating a Hydra base. Nothing about this is ‘safe’.” Sam sent him a look, well accustomed to Bucky's strange traumatic humor. “Hardy har har.” He muttered, peeking around the man, resting his chin on Bucky's shoulder. “Using me as a human shield are you?” Bucky drawled. “I’m not the one with a bullet proof arm.” Sam muttered. “No, you only have a whole suit.” Bucky countered, but there was rough amusement in his voice. “Let’s just get to the electrical room.” Sam muttered, slithering around Bucky to take the lead. The first few times he had let the Hydra trained soldier lead, but by this point Sam knew the layout of the hydra bases well enough that he could find the electrical room alone. Bucky trailed after him, almost relaxed, but not quite, a testament to how far he had come. Sam checked the hallway before crossing over to the room, popping open the door and letting Bucky in. They weren’t going to take down all the workers, that would take too much time and more people than just him and Bucky, though they made an impressive team. No, instead they were just gonna fuck with hydras electricity and files, and then blow up as much of the facility as they could. It was a simple plan, easy, one they could accomplish without too much hassle, time or resources. At least that’s how all other twenty of their missions had gone. “You’d think they’d learn.” Sam muttered to Bucky in quiet amusement as he stuck a S.H.I.E.L.D. Drive into the side of the nearest computer. “You would think.” Bucky agreed, taking his place at the large, old timey computers that they would use to aid the explosion. The door slammed shut. “Oh but, we did.” Purred a voice from above, then the lights shut off, the floor dropping out from under them.  

“Bucky?” Sam called into the darkness, fumbling around in his suit pockets to find the mini flashlight Tony had made for him. It was small and portable, but had the light of the sun. Sam switched it on, pointing the beam upwards to not blind his companion. The first thing Sam noticed was that the room was small, even tighter than the tony electrical room, with only barely enough space for him to stretch out his whole body if he needed, and not tall enough to stand up straight. “James! You good?” Bucky was curled against the wall, his back to Sam. “Buck?” A slight tremor was his only indication the man had heard him. Sam crawled closer, sitting next to him. “Buck!” Slowly, ever so slowly, Bucky pulled himself into a sitting position. His face was gaunt and haunted. “It’s a cell.” He managed hoarsely. “A cell? Oh shit Jay I’m sorry.” Sam scooted closer, pressing his thigh against the super soldiers. “Is it-?” Sam didn’t want to ask but he couldn’t not. Bucky shook his head. “No.” He rasped. “This is a cell for death row prisoners. I was never- they never locked me in here.” The words unspoken hung between them. The death row prisoners. How he was never locked in here but that he had come here. “I’m sorry.” Sam said quietly. Bucky shrugged. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. Nothing was fine. “How do they-?” He couldn't bring himself to finish. Bucky shifted, but his leg stayed glued to Sam’s. “They knew we were coming. They’ve probably evacuated. It was a trap. Most likely poisonous gas or they’ll just leave us here until we die. Probably the second one.” He admitted grimly. Sam did not dwell on why. On how they both knew Sam would die first. And that Bucky would live at least a week longer. Having to deal with Sam’s dead body in the tight space, having to deal with not being dead himself, having to deal with what he would be willing to do to survive a little longer. Sam tugged out his phone. “We’ll, there’s no point in waiting.” He sighed, but frowned when his phone wouldn’t turn on. “Everything is blocked.” Bucky explained, explaining why he hadn’t even bothered to go for his. Sam muttered some not very nice words under his breath and pressed both volume buttons and counted to ten, before pressing it again and counting to five, and once more ten. “What are you doing?” Bucky asked in interest. “It’s a distress signal.” Sam explained. “This’ll send our location and SOS to tony.” Bucky snorted. “He won’t come.” Sam gave him a hard look. “Yes he will.” “I’m his parents' murderer, remember?” Bucky waved a hand at himself, as though Sam could forget. “I know. But Tony will come. He’s not willing to let us die over the past. Well, me at least.” Bucky snorted. “Well, I don’t believe it, but I hope he gets a chance to prove me wrong.” He leaned his head back against the stone, closing his eyes. “Me too.” Sam muttered. “Me too.” 

Tony took his time. Seven hours later, they were still in the cell, growing increasingly more bored, running out of topics of conversation that didn't cover their current predicament. Somehow, they had moved to where they were sitting with their backs to each other, staring at their respective walls, the flashlight illuminating the ceiling. Bucky’s shoulderblades were sharp, digging into his back aggressively but Sam wasn't going to be the one to move, to put some distance between them, he couldn't. He needed this contact, as uncomfortable as it was. “I hate this fucking place.” Bucky muttered, his voice cutting through the silence. Sam remained quiet, letting him speak. “Its not just because of what happened here. To me. To all th- to everyone who was here. The walls just… they just ooze control and claustrophobia and.. I hate it.” “if its any consolation I agree.” Sam leaned back a little harder, knocking his head against Bucky’s. He rasped a laugh, fingers finding Sams on the floor next to him, curling around them. “I’m glad..” Bucky cut off, then started again. “Out of everyone in the world who I could have been stuck down here with,” He took a deep breath. “I’m glad its you.” Sam felt something hard lodge itself in his throat. “Jeez buck. You’re really making this feel hopeless.” The joke won another laugh, but Sam turned his hand, linking their fingers together. “Thank you. That- it means a lot. I know this place brings back bad memories for you. And I’m sorry. But thanks.” Bucky squeezed his hand. “Its just the truth.” He whispered. Sam squeezed his hand back. “Well aren't you two cute.” intoned a voice and suddenly there was light above them and Tony fucking Starks smug ass face was smirking down at them. 

“Too soon.” Sam groaned, raising a hand to ward off the light. “Too fucking soon to almost have died to see your face Stark.” Tony laughed, offering him a hand out. Sam released Buckys and let himself be hoisted out of the hole. “Sorry.” He forced out quietly when he had Sam beside him. “I- it took longer than I liked to come.” Sam gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Its alright. You came. Thats all that matters.” Shadows were in the billionaires eyes, but he nodded. Sam let go of his hand and stepped away. Tony was leaning back down, offering his hand to Bucky. The super soldier was looking at him in surprise, but Tony’s hand didn't falter, an offer. Sam took a tiny step closer, cocking his head at Bucky to see if he needed a different hand. But Bucky reached forward and grasped Tony's hand, allowing himself to be pulled out. “Damn Manchurian Candidate, you could throw Wilson.” Tony grunted, straining a bit more as he lifted Bucky out than he had with Sam. Sam could see the tenseness of the mans neck, waiting to see if the tease would end with him being thrown, but Bucky gave a roughish little grin, glancing at Sam. “We should test that sometime.” He mused. Sam took a step back, giving him a warning look. Tony chuckled. Bucky frowned, turning in a slow circle. “Um, wasn't there a building here when we went in?” He looked to Sam for confirmation. Sam looked around as well, taking in his surroundings for the first time. Bucky was right. Where there had previously been the electrical room and the entire base of Hydra was now just…rubble. Tony smiled sheepishly, but Sam could see the darkness in his eyes. “There might have been.” He shrugged. “Now, its been seven hours. The helicarrier is stocked with food and liquids of all flavors.” Sam and Bucky allowed the change in conversation, following the genius to said stocked helicarrier. “I love having a billionaire friend.” Bucky mumbled. Tony's lips curved. “Glad to be coined that Barnes.” He drawled sarcastically. “Alright alright, enough. Lets eat something, drink something, and Tony fly this ridiculously expensive thing the fuck out of here.” Sam interrupted before they could swap any more sardonic quips. Bucky grinned, throwing an arm around Sams shoulders. “I agree.” Tony glanced at them, Sam leaning against Bucky, Bucky tucking Sam closer, and smiled faintly. “Alright boys. But you’ve got one helluva story to tell.” Sam laughed, resting his head against Buckys. “Food first Tony. Food first.”

[summoner-of-arkas]

Gungeon Ask Meme: Object edition

Half Heart - Do you need a full reset or just some time resting when exhausted?

Heart - Any interesting medical stories, yours or someone else's?

Armor - Light and nimble or heavy and protected?

Old Crest - What moment in your life do you constantly come back to?

Key - What do you have on your keychain?

Blank - How often do you need time alone?

Ammo - What do you do when you're running low on energy?

Spread Ammo - Do you have a lot of responsibilities on your plate?

Hegemony Credit - If money was no object, what's the first thing you do?

Bronze Casing - Opinion on coins?

Silver Casing - Is it worth it to splurge every now and again?

Gold Casing - Anything you're saving up for?

Cell Key - Ever had lock related troubles?

Gnawed Key - Would you like a hidden room and where would it be?

Rat Key - Fight fairly or win no matter what?

Barrel - Do you have a temper?

Explosive Drum - What are your pet peeves?

Toxic Barrel - How bad does mess need to get before cleaning up?

Oil Barrel - Opinion on fire?

Water Barrel - Bath or Shower?

Wooden Table - Where do you commonly eat?

Stone Table - Where do you keep constantly used belongings?

Portable Table - Ever had the thought to flip a table?

Coffin - Top of your head, what's the difference between coffins and caskets?

Clutter - Do you have any decorations in your room?

Brazier - Weirdest way you ever cooked something?

Cursed Pot - Are you superstitious?

Oil Lamp - What's your plan in a blackout?

Minecart - Do you use brute force or find leverage to decrease exertion needed?

Green Gun Muncher - Know any strange food combos and do you like it?

Red Gun Muncher - A buffet or one well cooked meal?

Mirror - What do you do in front of the mirror?

Demon Face - Has something seemed scary at first glance but turned out not to be?

Chandelier - When is it better to get a professional instead of a Do-It-Yourself solution?

Sawblade - Do you actually measure twice before cutting?

Spikes - Did you ever choose to do something you knew would upset someone else?

Rolling Spikes - How easy is it to throw you off your groove?

Flame Vent - Favorite way to start a fire?

Flame Pipe - Do you feel safe when someone else said they used a DIY solution?

Rotating Fire - How inconvenient does something need to be to turn you away?

Trap Door - Have any stories about falling?

Boulders - Opinion on survival-crafting games like minecraft, terraria, don't starve, ect?

Turret - How good is your internal clock?

Minecart Turret - How long should you rest before moving on?

Crush - Is it satisfying to destroy things?

Fire Ring - Do you fall into patterns easily?

Brown Chest - Do you judge things at a glance?

Blue Cheat - When does uncommon become rare?

Green Chest - How much is a life changing amount of money?

Red Chest - What was your luckiest moment?

Black Chest - What's the rarest thing you own?

Fuse - Are you indecisive?

Synergy Chest - Do you dwell on what could've been?

Rainbow Chest - Has something seemed too good to be true but was true?

Glitched Chest - How much of a shake up breaks monotony?

Rat Chest - Has ironic karma ever happened to you or someone else?

Truth Chest - Do you need the answers to the big questions?

Revival Chest - What's your approach to trying something again?

Ammo Shrine - What's the worst way you've been ripped off?

Angel Shrine - Has your pride blinded you before?

Beholster Shrine - Do you prepare for niche situations?

Blank Shrine - Do you fall for the Sunk Cost Fallacy?

Blood Shrine - Have you hurt people for your own benefit?

Challenge Shrine - Do you look back on past events and feel accomplished?

Cleanse Shrine - How do you process your stress?

Companion Shrine - Do you have a best friend?

Dice Shrine - Any Question Goes. Roll the bones.

Glass Shrine - What's the weirdest spot you found something religious?

Hero Shrine - Can cycles truely be broken?

Junk Shrine - Is there a character you hold close to your heart? Why?

Peace Shrine - Do your emotions control you in the heat of the moment?

Y.V. Shrine - Do you miss the old days of internet culture?

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

A tipi (tee-pee), is a tent, traditionally made of animal skins upon wooden poles. Modern tipis usually have a canvas covering. A tipi is distinguished from other conical tents by the smoke flaps at the top of the structure. Historically, the tipi has been used by Indigenous peoples of the Plains in the Great Plains and Canadian Prairies of North America, notably the seven sub-tribes of the Dakota, among the Iowa people, the Otoe and Pawnee, and among the Blackfeet, Crow, Assiniboines, and Plains Cree. They are also traditional on the other side of the Rocky Mountains by tribes such as the Yakama and the Cayuse. They are still in use in many of these communities, though now primarily for ceremonial purposes rather than daily living. While Native American tribes and First Nation band governments from other regions have used other types of dwellings (pueblos, wigwams, and longhouses), tipis are often stereotypically and incorrectly associated with ALL Native Americans in the United States and Aboriginal Canadians. The tipi is durable, provides warmth and comfort in winter, is cool in the heat of summer, and is dry during heavy rains. Tipis can be disassembled and packed away quickly when people need to relocate and can be reconstructed quickly upon settling in a new area. Historically, this portability was important to Plains Indians with their at-times nomadic lifestyle. Oglala Lakota tipi, 1891 

[Native Americans]

[eretzyisrael]

EIGHT DAYS A WEEK

The name of this week’s parsha is Shemini, meaning “the 8th.” Following seven days of inauguration, Aaron and his sons begin their work of officiating as Kohanim (priests) on the 8th day. Fire issues forth from God to consume the offerings on the altar, and the Divine Presence comes to dwell in the mishkan, the portable sanctuary in the desert. What is the significance of the number 8 in Judaism? The Maharal of Prague (d. 1609) teaches that the number 7 represents the natural world. There are seven colors in the rainbow and seven days of the week. But the number 8 represents that which is above nature, such as fire from God appearing in the sanctuary. A baby boy enters the eternal covenant of Abraham on the 8th day of his life, forging a supernatural bond with his Creator. Chanukah is an 8 day holiday because only a Higher Power could inspire the Maccabees to battle a much larger army, and make one day’s worth of oil last 8 days.  Eight represents miracles because only God can subvert the order of the natural world - but we have a role to play too. When we follow God’s laws all week - like Aaron and the Kohanim do - we partner with our Creator and that’s when miracles can happen!

[lanaevyssmoved]

The dwelling described below belongs to Geddeil, a standard illithid claiming membership in the Abysmal Creed. Geddeil is only 10 years past its ceremorphosis but already has good standing among other members of its Creed. Thus, its dwelling is only two levels above the axial plaza, and its balcony is quite wide.

Balcony Hanging 20 feet above the plaza is a large stone balcony jutting out from the spherical side wall. A narrow stair connects the balcony to one below it, and then to the plaza's floor. Above, below, and to either side of the balcony, windows, stairs, and ladders protrude from the stone wall, forming a two-dimensional community wrapped around the spherical plaza. Geddeil has placed a portable stone pool at the lip of the balcony, allowing the mind flayer to relax comfortably in its own domicile. For convenience, the balcony possesses a feeding-stock, but it is currently pushed against the far railing away from the steps.

Sitting Room This large chamber serves as the living, dining, and recreation rooms for Geddeil. It contains various throw pillows (filled with spongy, dry moss), artistic sculptures (best appreciated by tentacle touch), resonance stones (small crystals embedded with pleasant emotions; see Chapter 7: Illithid Technology for more information), several feeding-stocks (in case guests show up for dinner), and a large musical instrument, called a bonethriven. While in its dwelling, Geddeil works on a couple of different pet projects. Happily, its hobbies coincide with the stated aim of the Abysmal Creed. Geddeil also spends many hours a day composing discordant music on its instrument; this music unsettles and horrifies any humanoid creatures that listen to it. When not composing, Geddeil gives in to gluttony, eating far more than a single brain per month. Geddeil justifies this resource drain by claiming that it aids the mind flayer's own exploration of the effects of horror on thralls. Its obesity, combined with its sickening pallor and the accumulated debris of past meals caught in its clothing and upon its tentacles, has a certain demoralizing effect on nonillithids. So far, the Abysmal Creed con tinues to pay the extra expense associated with Geddeil's "experiments."

Bonethriven: A massive assembly of tubes carved of discarded thrall bones surrounding a resonating chamber. Illithids proficient in this instrument can produce a wide range of sounds by blowing through the mouthpiece while opening and closing the 12 different stops with both fingers and tentacles. A master thrivenist (a player of the bonethriven) can elicit sounds of such horrible intensity that humans and demihumans must check morale each round they hear the instrument played. Victims failing a single check suffer a -1 to ail die rolls while the "music" continues.

Thrall Quarters Every illithid has at least one personal thrall that rarely leaves its side. Personal thralls open doors, pick up items of interest to its master, clear paths along busy throughways, compliment their illithid owners on a regular basis, and generally accomplish menial tasks. In many cases, once an illithid finds a personal thrall that agrees with it, the mind flayer goes out of its way to avoid eating the thrall's brain in a bout of hunger or anger. Some thralls have lived out their entire lives as the personal servants of a single mind flayer. Personal thralls live in their masters' dwellings; their quarters provide for their basic needs and wants, containing moss mattresses, bundles of dried rations hanging low from the ceiling, and basins of drinking water. Geddeil's personal thrall, a grimlock male named Ogham, is also allowed to store a few changes of clothes in this chamber, as well as a few small trinkets (shiny rocks) and toys (very crude dolls) to keep him happy during his "off" hours.

Study This chamber resembles the office of an eccentric surface-dwelling sage. A clutter of cultural artifacts from various thrall races cover shelves, a desk, and even the floor. For example, an elven wall sconce hangs over a dwarven battlemask, bracketed on one side by a human-crafted decorative clay pot and on the other by a gnomish toolsuit. Geddeil has collected these items in order to make an honest attempt to understand their cultural significance. The creature feels that if it can truly understand the mindset of the various thrall races, it will be that much more successful in devising means of promoting cultural terror and fear. It's all in a day's work for Geddeil. Geddeil´s desk is a simple stone platform. Below it sit several sheaves of stiff blank parchment. A striator (a psionic pen used to imprint parchment with qualith; see Chapter 7: Illithid Technology) lies on the desk along with several sheets of qualith-imprinted parchment. The parchment pieces rest beneath a black, egg-shaped paperweight; the paperweight is actually a resonance stone imprinted with pure horror. Any creature touching the stone must make a saving throw vs. spell or suffer effects similar to a fear spell for 3d6 rounds. The written records beneath the "paperweight" have Geddeil's notes recorded upon them. These notes include such observations as "humans fear the dark," "dwarves fear deep water," "elves fear moral compromise,' and "halflings fear starvation."

Storage This locked chamber holds the fruit of some of Geddeil's past projects—not all of which were completely successful. Piled against the walls and upon a central stone table lie jumbles of odds and ends. These piles include stuffed grouse, dried limes, metal shavings in a steel chest, a bone horn that sounds with a weak and plaintive blast, a water pipe half filled with formic acid (4d10 points of damage if spilled or swallowed), candlelamps carved to resemble illithid heads (the light shines from the illithids' eyes and mouths), a dish of hard candy shaped like miniature human hands, a petrified human foot, and dozens of other items.

Sleep Chamber The fact that illithids require sleep is the best argument that currently exists for the supposition that illithids originated from a planet with periodic sunshine. Why else would illithids develop sleep patterns that so closely resemble the sleeping habits of surface-dwelling creatures? Geddeil's sleep chamber is a 10-foot-diameter mass of thick, damp, cushioning moss bounded by a small stonestep in the center of the room. Various small stands and shelves in the room contain odd knickknacks that appeal to Geddeil's sense of decor: ghastly shells collected from a nameless subterranean sea, humanoid tooth sculptures, a collection of silver bells, and an infra-painting. The painting shows (to those able to distinguish wave-lengths in the infrared) a landscape of foaming chaos through which a shard of floating earth is visible. At the base of the painting, a line of qualith reads, "Beyond the Pale: A Resonance Island." The painting is a memento of Geddeil's travels. An open archway in the chamber leads to Geddeil's walk-in closet. The closet contains several dozen robes, boots, gloves, and other illithid clothing accessories. Most of the clothing is imprinted with the raised sigil of Geddeil's Creed association. Hidden in the inner lining of a robe at the very back of the closet is a contraband wand of magic missiles (56 charges remaining) that Geddeil secretly keeps in disobedience of Abstemious' ordinance. Geddeil keeps the wand out of a secret fascination with magic, a fascination that the mind flayer has only just begun to explore.