#Lake(58)

[lpn3rd]

[thorsenmark]

The Bailly Homestead in Indiana Dunes National Park by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: While walking around the historic Bailly Homestead and taking in view of these buildings and living quarters. The view is looking to the northeast while walking the Bailly Homestead - Chellberg Farm Trail in Indiana Dunes National Park.

[vestaignis]

Белоснежный мраморный карьер в Бугульдейке.

Один из самых масштабных в России и в мире Мраморный карьер в поселке Бугульдейка располагается в Ольхонском районе Иркутской области у берегов озера Байкал и является частью природоохранной зоны. Специалисты утверждают, что на территории Бугульдейского месторождения хранится более 10 млн. кубических метров мрамора, возраст которого составляет более двух миллиардов лет. Так что месторождение значительно старше самого озера Байкал. Из-за природоохранного статуса местности, добыча горной породы здесь приостановлена.

Карьер не эксплуатируется с прошлого тысячелетия, однако несмотря на это стал центром притяжения туристов, которые с удовольствием приезжают посмотреть на огромные глыбы мрамора — рядом с ними человек кажется крошечным.  В теплое время года на огромных глыбах позируют любители оригинальных фото, часто приезжают скалолазы. За 2022-23 годы карьер превратился в полноценный туробъект. В целях безопасности его огородили, а на мраморных блоках на поверхности земли установили "кривые зеркала", напоминающие чем-то робота Т-1000 из Терминатора - 2. Попасть на него можно в любое время бесплатно.

Snow-white marble quarry in Buguldeika.

One of the largest in Russia and in the world, the marble quarry in the village of Buguldeika is located in the Olkhonsky district of the Irkutsk region on the shores of Lake Baikal and is part of a nature conservation area. Experts say that the territory of the Buguldeika deposit contains more than 10 million cubic meters of marble, which is more than two billion years old. So the deposit is much older than Lake Baikal itself. Due to the nature conservation status of the area, mining here has been suspended.

The quarry has not been in operation since the last millennium, but despite this, it has become a center of attraction for tourists who are happy to come to see the huge blocks of marble - next to them, a person seems tiny. In the warm season, lovers of original photos pose on the huge blocks, and rock climbers often come. In 2022-23, the quarry turned into a full-fledged tourist site. For security purposes, it was fenced off, and "crooked mirrors" were installed on marble blocks on the ground surface, somewhat reminiscent of the T-1000 robot from Terminator 2. You can get there at any time for free.

Источник://www.tourister.ru/world/europe/russia/city/buguldeyka/placeofinterest/41720, /irkutskmedia.ru/news/1832639/, /crontravel.ru / excursions/puteshestvie-na-mramornyi-karer-v-buguldeiku/, /www. drive2.ru/l/599483427351183191/, //dzen.ru/a/Y_evFkK94z7rhCmO, voyage-baikal.ru/location/58-mramornyy-karyer/, /pikabu.ru/ story/ buguldeyka__mramornyiy_karer_v_5_km_ot_baykala_6854758.

[ohdorothea]

Taylor Swift and her forever muse, Taylor Swift: a web weave

This web weave was originally called ‘the selves are fighting’ and was inspired by the amazing @doppelgangerism and then further inspired by so so many of my smart creative mutuals including @justanapparatus @milfygerard @tayloralisonswift @lesbiansusanpevensie !!! I love you all!!!

1. I Can See You Music Video

2. cardigan

3. I Knew You Were Trouble Music Video

4. Peter

5. Style Music Video

6. Lover Music Video

7. the lakes

8. Willow Music Video

9. cowboy like me

10. …Ready For It? Music Video

11. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

12. Dear Reader

13. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

14. ME! Music Video

15. I Hate It Here

16. Style Music Video

17. The Archer

18. 1989 Polaroids

19. Style Music Video

20. this is me trying

21. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

22. Everything Has Changed Music Video

23. Peter

24. SNL Promotional Photo

25. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

26. The Tortured Poets Department

27. Photo of The Eras Tour

28. ME! Music Video

29. Stay Stay Stay

30. Delicate Music Video

31. Bejewelled Music Video

32. champagne problems

33. Willow Music Video

34. Willow Music Video

35. Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

36. Bad Blood Music Video

37. the last great american dynasty

38. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

39. Wildest Dreams Music Video

40. right where you left me

41. …Ready For It? Music Video

42. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

43. …Ready For It? Music Video

44. Style Music Video

45. The Albatross

46. …Ready For It? Music Video

47. Lavender Haze Music Video

48. I Hate It Here

49. Fortnight Music Video

50. 1989 Polaroids

51. hoax

52. Out of The Woods Music Video

53. All Too Well Short Film

54. Robin

55. Photo of The Eras Tour

56. …Ready For It? Music Video

57. I Can Do It With A Broken Heart

58. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

59. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

60. The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

61. Anti-Hero Music Video

62. …Ready For It? Music Video

63. Anti-Hero

64. Wildest Dreams Music Video

65. The Prophecy

66. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

67. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

68. Guilty As Sin?

69. Anti-Hero Music Video

70. Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

71. I Can See You Music Video

72. The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

73. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

74. Fortnight Music Video

75. Fortnight

76. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

77. Dear Reader

78. Anti-Hero Music Video

79. Wildest Dreams Music Video

80. So Long London

81. Anti-Hero Music Video

82. Down Bad

83. 1989 Polaroids

84. ME! Music Video

85. Dear Reader

86. Delicate Music Video

87. loml

88. Willow Music Video

89. Fortnight Music Video

90. loml

91. Style Music Video

92. The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

93. Photo of The Eras Tour

94. Photo of The Eras Tour

95. The Albatross

96. Out of the Woods Music Video

97. Midnight Rain

98. Willow Music Video

99. The Bolter

100. Photo of The Eras Tour

101. Willow Music Video

102. Robin

103. Style Music Video

104. Midnights Prologue

105. Style Music Video

106. Lavender Haze Music Video

107. Clara Bow

108. Bejewelled Music Video

109. Dear Reader

110. Out of the Music Video

111. …Ready For It Music Video

112. You’re On Your Own, Kid

113. …Ready For It Music Video

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 16

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 16/? 9k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Frustrated by inconclusive endings, Eddie takes a seat behind the wheel. 

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

✏︎ Chapter CW: general angst, paternal angst, drug mention

Thursday, December 12th 1985

Before the first morning bell, Eddie gave Judy at reception his best impression of Wayne over the phone. He wasn’t totally lying, he was in fact, quite sick. Sick of all the taunting looks from meathead jocks. Sick of the way Ms. O’Donnell cleared her throat every five minutes. Sick of waking up so goddamn early. Sick of wasting his time. So after hanging up the phone, he stuffed a few essentials in his backpack and made for the door. 

Like clockwork, Wayne always came home at around 8:10 AM, and though it would be far from the first time he’d skipped school, Eddie would rather not have to explain himself. Besides, he could use a change of scenery. There was no denying winter anymore, the ice he scraped off his windshield made sure to remind him. On a typical hooky day he would drive down to Lover’s Lake and toss open the rear doors, catch a breeze, light a joint, sit back and take in the ripples on the water and the rustling leaves. But that had all frozen over, so unless he intended to burn through his whole tank of gas, he would need to get creative. 

That was how he found himself at Benny’s at 7:58 on a Thursday morning, setting up camp in a booth at the back of the restaurant. He ordered his usual — bacon, scrambled eggs, and a stack of pancakes in addition to white toast. Tossing his fourth emptied sugar packet beside the leaning tower of creamers, he sat back in the sticky, padded seat and took his first deep breath all morning. 

The diner was bustling lowly, a handful of regulars perched on silver, spinning stools at the bar. From the frosted window leeching cool air beside him, he watched the funeral procession of headlights down Washington under a mournful sky. Just another day for the upright citizens of Hawkins, Indiana. From his cozy booth, Eddie sipped the top off his very full mug and smiled to himself. 

Sprawling his belongings around the piping hot plates, he popped on his headphones, cracked open his monster manual, and got to work. The first hour flew by like his pencil across the graph paper. Between the bacon bits that had leapt from hand to page, a formidable lineup of foes was taking shape. Bottom line; the boys were in for a world of hurt tomorrow. He did his best to resign the grease to the flimsy napkins, but by the time he was finished, syrup tacked the gargoyle and gorgon pages together. 

“Anything else I can grab for ya besides the check?” Sheri—according to her name tag—asked with a tired lean as she reached to clear his plates. 

Eddie glanced down sheepishly at his freshly topped off mug. “I uh, think I might be staying for lunch.”

Sheri forced a hot pink smile, catching the fork with her decorated finger when it threatened to slide off the plate. “Y’ want me to get a room set up for you too?” she joked with a wink of her spidery lashes. “Just teasin’ sweetie. You just flag me down when you’re ready.”

Switching out his tapes, Eddie shut the cassette player and stared out the window as the men at the bar tossed their napkins and fished out their wallets. Snow was falling in lazy clumps, clinging to his windshield. Somewhere behind the overcast clouds, the sun was rising steadily. It was dismal, a fitting backdrop for the opening track of Black Sabbath’s Heaven and Hell. Of all the seasons, winter belonged to metal. Like it was made for cruising down a quiet, snow-covered street in the middle of nowhere. Made for drowning out Bing Crosby crooning from the speaker in the corner above him. Tinsel glittered on the small tree perched on a cloud of fake snow beside the cash register. Ornaments on swags swayed to the thump of footsteps passing. Eddie sighed and stared into the changing street lights.

Glancing at his watch he figured you were probably wrapping up the film with second period, knitting your brow and drawing your pen across the papers you were grading. He wondered what you’d think when the bell rang for fourth and you found his seat empty. Would you think he was upset with you? There was a small part of him that hoped so, and another part that hoped you would understand. After all, he was giving you the space you asked for, was he not?

Like a siren, your story—tucked between his notebook and the magazines he’d exhausted twice cover to cover—called to him. Cracking open the plastic spine, he dove headfirst into the typewritten pages.

For the whole narrow path into Rower’s End, Cybelle had sat in the front of the caravan, breathing the briny air unhindered by a barrier. Lazarus admired the brilliant fullness of her smile as she watched the seagulls soar overhead, under the clouds she had only ever seen from above. The sunlight had graced them then, beaming down in golden rays, glinting on the distant waves as they approached the sleepy seaside town. 

Eddie could feel the corners of his mouth tug as Lazarus regaled Cybelle with a story of a time when he’d accidentally taken a crab home with him after spending a day at the beach, followed by an explanation of what a crab was. Cybelle seemed delighted with the prospect of seeing one, even more-so when he told her how he’d discovered the little hitchhiker when it pinched his rear in bed that night. Eddie noticed the way Cybelle leaned closer whenever Lazarus told stories, the way her hand came to shield her bare face with a giggle when he mentioned his rear. The way her delicate, copper fingers lingered over the soft skin of his forearm when she checked beneath his bandage. The wound was healing nicely — no sign of infection and not a thorn in sight. She warned that it might scar, but Lazarus did not appear concerned—rather the opposite actually—as if a strange part of him was pleased with the idea of having something to remember her by. 

As they dipped over the final hill toward Rower’s End, Lazarus told her another story. A dream, rather, of a little cottage in Shantiglade with a full sized bed, and a garden, and a goose egg omelette big enough for two. A dream that would likely never come to pass. Cybelle seemed equally enchanted by it. Sitting back against the boxy, wooden seat of the caravan, she breathed in the salty air and imagined how good it would feel to do so every day. To experience the feeling of sand between her toes, of the ocean at her ankles, of propping her elbow against their shared kitchen table and gracing Lazarus with a naked smile before trying whatever an omelette was. It was good like this too — bumping along under a clear blue sky as Turnip plodded down the scarcely trodded path, watching the wind caress the wild grass and Lazarus’ even wilder curls, hearing his tales and his laughter.

Around the time he would be slumping into his desk in the back of your classroom, the bell dinged over the door of the restaurant. Eddie cranked the volume on his headset to drown out the chatter of a family of four clambering into the booth in front of him. The little boy had brought a pair of plastic drumsticks with him, beating a rhythm on the steel-rimmed table much to the annoyance of his little sister, who was clutching her book the way Eddie was yours. Dipping his few remaining fries into the smear of ketchup, he wondered why they weren’t in school on a Thursday afternoon. As he focused back on the type-written letters, he figured he should be the last to judge. 

Eddie felt for Lazarus, he really did. The way he looked at Cybelle as she emerged from the cave, cradling the ghostfern like a pale, translucent child. The scene was as beautiful as it was somber — waves lapping at the rocky shoreline as the setting sun cast its deep orange hues on both of them. The rocks—slick with algae—had Cybelle stumbling, but Lazarus was quick to offer his arm. She accepted without hesitance, clutching the plant like a bouquet as her deep earthen fingers braced the pale angles of his. He lead her down the cascading stone as if it were a chapel aisle, slow and steady until they reached the flat edge of the water. There—in the golden remains of the day—seagulls dipped and soared over the glittering ocean, clasped hands swayed in the lapping wind, and for a moment, they had everything they came for.  

After what seemed like both a small eternity and an aching second, it was Cybelle who broke away, tracing the ridges of his fingers as hers fell, stating out loud what both of them knew — that night was coming soon. 

The journey back to Torgaard proved easier than the journey out, at least in terms of natural foes. No fenfinks or villainous vines, but the sky seemed to hang much lower. Dark, stormy clouds loomed overhead, casting its pale grey light over the moss curtains outside of Fenwood, over the verdant  forests that shuddered in the gusting wind. There was a tension, a dread looming on the horizon that grew with each passing day. Even Eddie could sense it — the way Cybelle stared out into the swath of shifting green like she was attempting to soak up enough for the rest of her life. The way that Lazarus’ jokes were swallowed the creaking of the caravan. How nights that were once spent laughing over a roaring fire were now spent silently watching its crackling embers.

One day—just a few outside of Torgaard—the sky came crashing down. It sobbed in sheets, heavy enough to soak through Cybelle’s coat, to find the tear in her tent and make a lake of it. Lazarus ushered her inside the wagon, offered her a shirt that fit like a dress, offered to sleep on the floor. Assessing the size of the bed, and then the hard, narrow walking path, it was Cybelle who insisted they share it. She was small enough, or at least that was what she rationalized out loud. Lazarus did not argue. Her logic—unlike her tent—was water-tight. And so she climbed in between the soft linen sheets, tucked herself under the weight of the down blanket, and rested her damp, weary head on a pillow that smelled just like him.

Eddie glanced sheepishly around the restaurant, shielding the binder with his arm as Lazarus climbed in beside her. He hinged on each type-written word, lingering over the ones that stirred a fuzzy feeling. Written with careful attention to the way Lazarus’ chest rose and fell, how stiff their bodies were in hyper-awareness of the nearness to each other. How solid his shoulder felt under Cybelle’s cheek when the corner of pillow no longer sufficed. Slowly, they relaxed into the feeling. Not enough to sleep, but enough for Lazarus to free the arm that she was crushing. Enough to wrap it around her shoulder, to relish in the feeling of her cold nose in the warm crook of his neck.

It was good like this. Better when her fingers draped across the landscape of his pecks, felt his chest rise and fall like waves. Best when they awoke in the morning to the sun steaming in through the small, stained glass window above them. When their giggles shook the wagon. When their eyes met, closer than they’d ever been before. There, in the dim cocoon far outside the turning world, the smile that she had hidden for so long finally grew brave enough to capture his. And by the time they reached the towering stone walls of Torgaard, there was nothing more to hide from one another. 

Eddie flipped the page to find only a black, plastic pocket. He rubbed it with his fingers to make sure it wasn’t sticking to another. When it failed to separate, he sat back and fumed. That was it. There was no more. No ending, no closure.

Sheri leaned against the top of the booth seat opposite him, hand on her hip, shifting between her dirty white sneakers with a tired sigh. “Listen sweetie, I’ve got ten minutes left of my shift. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, but I’ve gotta cash you out before I leave.”

Eddie glanced at his watch, almost 2:00. “Yeah—yeah, no problem. Sorry for the trouble.”

“’S no trouble, just the way it goes around here. Hope you enjoyed your stay,” she said with a wink as she dropped the check. 

After six hours and two meals, Eddie had gotten his fill of watching the world turn through an old, frosted window. His head was spinning enough on its own. With a frustrated huff he peeled his graph paper and manual away from the sticky table before shoving them into his backpack. Slugging it over his shoulder, he grabbed the grease-stained check and made his way to the register. That was when he noticed it — the lonely, half-eaten omelette on the bar.

“Alright that’ll be ten seventy-five,” chimed Sheri. 

Tinsel glittered on the tree. Red, metallic bulbs swayed in the echo of his footsteps. Judy Garland caroled on about a merry little Christmas and he wondered if your characters would ever enjoy anything over their shared kitchen table or if that dream would be abandoned for their duties as well.

“Sir?”

Snapping out of his trance, he fished for his wallet and palmed her a twenty. “Keep the change,” he muttered before turning toward the door with a hoist of his backpack.

Her jaw hung open. “Oh my word, are you serious?” she called to his back, but the bell above the door was the only answer she received.

______

Main Street Vinyls was a ghost town on a Thursday afternoon, and Eddie preferred it that way. Aside from Jerry at the counter, it was just him and his noisy thoughts, accompanied by the slow plod of his own heavy boots as they weeped against the carpet. At least in this store he could escape the onslaught of Christmas tunes. Jerry—old hippie that he was—at least had some sense. Sometimes even sense enough to play some halfway decent rock music, but today Eddie would settle for Neil Young over the jingle bell garbage blasting through every speaker in Hawkins.

Glancing down the rows of plastic cassette spines, Eddie perused the M section as he kicked himself for giving away almost ten dollars. There was an album by a new band he’d only read about in magazines called Megadeth. Turning the tape over in his hands, he examined the cover. Everything about it spoke to him — the skull with its mouth chained shut surrounded by knives and candles, the title — Killing Is My Business. Flipping it over to the back, the phrase continued in haunted red letters …and Business Is Good! 

The change he gave away in a fit of blind stupidity would have easily afforded it and left him with some to spare. With a bitter sigh, he shoved the tape back in its slot, knowing for a fact that the cash register at Benny’s had eaten the last bill he had in his wallet. Padding slowly down the aisle, he began his calculations. 

He had a few regular deals lined up this weekend but would need to dig into his “savings” in the bottom of an old tobacco tin and pay Rick a visit before any of that happened. He might make eighty bucks if he was lucky. Maybe eighty more over the course of the week between the deals at school. Nobody wanted to spend too much time outside this time of year, so the park bench location was always iffy depending on how bad it was. He would resort to other classic meetup spots, like under the bleachers or the back of his van. 

If he networked enough he might have some left over after helping Wayne with the bills. Scanning past the Tina Turner and T-Rex tapes, he wondered how much Wayne suspected about his little business. Surely he had to have some suspicion. Gig money, odd jobs, and oil changes for neighbors couldn’t possibly afford the kind of gear he had, or the ink in his skin, or the cash he contributed monthly. Wayne was sharp, and though he was no saint himself, he shuddered to think what he would say if he discovered his nephew was straying down the same path his brother took.

Peering back over his shoulder, he eyed the Megadeth tapes again—only three in stock—lined up like gifts wrapped in cellophane. They were such tiny things. Small enough to hide beneath his palm, to slide into the pocket of his coat with room to spare. Glancing up at the angled surveillance mirror in the corner of the store, he saw Jerry at the counter, humming obliviously as he stuck price tags on a fresh shipment of tapes. Over the tall shelf that separated them, he expected to meet his own eyes, but instead saw another man. A man he hadn’t seen in quite a while.

Eddie remembered finding a G chord for the first time; how big the fretboard felt in his small hand, how awkwardly his fingers had to stretch, how a larger set of hands had helped him find it. He earned a broad smile when the chord rang out, one he would search for again and again with every strum. 

Sometimes in the late evenings as he crept past Wayne with a lunchbox full of drugs while he was watching reruns of Bonanza on the couch, Eddie would tell himself that at least he wasn’t stealing cars, or drinking himself half to death, or rotting behind county bars. At least he was still in school, something Warren Munson couldn’t say even at sixteen. At least Eddie could say he was trying.

With a bitter shake of his head, he continued down the aisle, leaving the tapes behind for the record bins that lined the walls. Mindlessly he walked his fingers over the cardboard spines, glazing past titles he’d seen a dozen times. Nothing new. Nothing different. Few things ever were in Hawkins. Every day he’d wake up and slog himself to a different type of prison, sit in a classroom for eight hours and actively feel his brain rotting. He would crumple up his failed tests and shove them in his backpack, endure the stares from kids whose parents cared enough to give them a ride to school, day after day. And every day he would come home and see the twinge of pride on Wayne’s face for the fact that he’d gone at all.  

There were a few perks to sticking around, like running his club, and saving lost sheep, and seeing his friends everyday. Like having a swath of potential customers all in one place. It was safe and familiar, like a cage. His little business might be dangerous and criminal but at least it could afford him one thing he valued even more than ink or gear — freedom. Time, for another thing. Flexibility. It sure as hell beat making three dollars an hour flipping burgers or having to answer to some corporate boot-licker telling him what to do. Eddie huffed sharply, wondering what you would think if you knew. You, with your tightly buttoned blouses and endless patience. You, the very last person he wanted to disappoint. 

The last look he’d seen on you destroyed him when he thought about it; the pain in your eyes and bitter line your pretty lips became. You were just about the only reason he had left to show up to class anymore, and now that was getting in the way of the one thing that actually had potential in his eyes. Way more potential than a stupid piece of paper that says, congratulations, you’re a real member of society and not a complete disappointment. 

You had asked him a question back when you’d first made the arrangement to help him, one that rattled around in his brain ever since. Why did he want to graduate? If his memory served him, he’d given a relatively bullshit answer: to prove all the assholes in this god-forsaken purgatory wrong. It still held a fair amount of truth, but when he glanced up at the surveillance mirror again and saw himself this time, the real answer was abundantly clear. But was proving a point worth the risk of losing you?  

The smell of cardboard and cellophane kissed his face as air puffed between each record falling forward. Each a different picture, some repeats of the same. Rock gods wielding wicked weapons, bathed in holy stage lights somewhere in New York or Los Angeles probably. Somewhere important. Sometimes at the Hideout he would close his eyes and imagine he was on one of those stages, but when he would open them as the last note rung out, it was always the same — just Bill and Drunk Sam, maybe a couple of bikers perched at the bar with their backs to him. Empty stools and sticky tables. A weak applause.

Eddie stepped back from the record bin with a heavy sigh and glanced at his watch. He’d killed about thirty minutes in this store, which meant he had at least twenty more before he could return home without triggering Wayne’s suspicious questions. The walls were starting to close in around him — posters like windows into a world far out of reach. Every million dollar strum reverberating through the speakers like a mocking reminder. With a half-hearted wave to Jerry stocking shelves, he left the store. Empty handed. 

The drive down Randolph was always dismal, especially in the bleak winter light. Storefronts with yellowing signs that hadn’t changed in twenty years selling mattresses and televisions. A gas station with a rusted awning, dusted with snow. Architecturally speaking, the church was about the most interesting building, but only because it was brick and made up of more than just four flimsy walls. Even that was being generous though. The most exciting thing to happen to Hawkins since the housing development over by Factory Lane thirty years ago was the shopping mall that opened this past summer. Thrilling. 

No matter where he drove within a fifty mile radius, it was all the same — a tomb where dreams went to die. 

Gripping the steering wheel, he watched the car in front of him make grooves in the dirty slush, hypnotized by the spray off the sides of the tires. It wasn’t until he saw the high school approaching in his peripherals that he even looked up. It always felt good to be on the other side, especially when he wasn’t supposed to be. He could almost see you in there; brushing the chalk off your hands, shifting between your tired feet as you glanced at the clock, gazing out the window with a longing he’d seen in his own reflection — caught sometimes at night in his drivers seat window as he cruised the highway, dreaming of where it could take him. 

As the squat fortress faded in his rearview mirror, he pictured you five years from now. Ten. Twenty. Wasting away in front of that chalkboard. Rattling on about stories written by dead people while your own collected dust inside a closet. While your talent withered like the dead, crumpled leaves under the snow; buried and forgotten. 

With a hard right onto Prospect, he set out on the final stretch towards home. Sometimes he liked to imagine what might happen if he just kept going, just drove into the sunset and only stopped for gas. He had a vague idea from the movies and the maps that swayed in the wake of Ms. O’Donnell’s lumbering footsteps. Sometimes in the height of his boredom he would lose himself in them, imagine he was at a diner in the desert on his way to a gig with an actual sound system. Because somewhere out there—beyond the flat horizon—there were mountains, and canyons, and cities where names couldn’t follow. 

______

“How does it end?” Eddie asked you on Friday between the fourth and fifth period bells. You glanced up from the stack of papers on your desk, cocking your head with narrowing eyes. “Your story,” he clarified.

“Oh.” Blinking, you sat back to ponder. “You know, I don’t think I ever fully decided. Cybelle is in a difficult position. The whole reason she set out on this adventure was to save her brother. I imagine she would want to fulfill her quest, but if she returned to Myrne, it may be difficult to leave again. Plus, she may receive some sort of punishment for leaving in the first place. I had written the laws to be quite strict, if I recall. And then if she chose not to return, her mother would lose two children. No matter what, she loses.” 

Eddie furrowed his brow, shifting between his boots with a pained sigh. “I would hardly call a life with Lazarus losing. She seems happy with him.”

“Right, well, of course that would be ideal, but…” you tsked, “it’s complicated, and honestly that’s partially why I abandoned it. I really wrote myself into a corner. Well, that and student teaching started to eat up my time. Then it was finals, and moving, and then after that I met…” you trailed off with a bitter shake of your head. “Anyway, I guess life got in the way. It has a way of doing that, I’ve noticed.” 

Eddie looked at you, really looked. You, in your cable knit sweater with pen on your hand and sandbags under your eyes, casting them down over your work with the same amount of hope he’d seen from players rolling threes with even fewer hit points to spare. He racked his brain for something he could offer—a dramatic death speech or a new character sheet—but you weren’t playing and he wasn’t prepared. Any words of comfort forming on the tip of his tongue were swallowed by the ringing bell, and he exited your classroom feeling the same as when he entered; unsatisfied. 

______

It was starting to close in around you — the colored lights and ornaments, the mall Santas and fake green swags draping from shop windows. It was the first Christmas you’d truly spent in Hawkins since you graduated college, outside of day trips for visits. Surprisingly little had changed, the main thing being the fact that there even was a mall for Santa to post up in. Duplication must have been one of his many powers because he was still at Sears too, at least he was on Saturday when you dragged yourself out of the oppressive quiet of your apartment and into the bustling chaos. 

You had no idea what to get your relatives for Christmas. You never really did, but this year it seemed insurmountable. This year you had no one to bounce ideas off of, and the constant mental chatter left little to no room for inspiration. As you scanned the shelves of cookware and appliquéd dish towels with snow men and reindeers, nothing really seemed to jump out at you.

What did jump out at you—or rather, jumped out at his sister—was a little boy across the aisle hiding in a circular rack of women’s bath robes. Pressing apart the terrycloth like curtains, he would retreat into his makeshift cave to the complete oblivion of his mother, who seemed more preoccupied with the price tags on a set of lingerie than with the whereabouts of her children.

A fantasy tugged at the corners of your mind, more sinfully indulgent than the one you had in class last week involving your desk and Eddie’s tongue. This time the set was the same as the scene before you, only the little boy had a mess of dark curls and Eddie was diving in after him. Not to scold him, but to play. You could almost see those fraying knee holes widening from contact with the carpet. Almost hear the giggles and the shushes and the click of his rings against the metal pole in the center of the rack for balance. You could almost turn around and see them popping out at you, feel the laughter ripple up through your very full belly and into the corners of your eyes as you feigned surprise to both of their delight. You could almost feel the glares from the other shoppers, the regular people eager to get on with their Saturday in peace, same as any other. It wouldn’t matter though, not in your little world.

The real mother in the real world did eventually turn around, grabbing the boy by the wrist and demanding he stay by the cart. Turning a dish towel over in your palms, you lowered your eyes to the machine-embroidered stitching of a corn cob pipe and a button nose as the fantasy disintegrated. You left the store shortly after, your cart just as empty as when you’d arrived. 

On Monday it was hard to look him in the eyes. It was easier to meet Diane’s. At least this week you could hold a conversation without crumbling like Ms. Click’s half-eaten fruitcake up for grabs in the teachers lounge. But the coffee was bitter on your tongue, like a lie you were telling yourself. 

In accordance with your wishes, there had been no rap of knuckles on your door frame after school, no screeching of chair legs dragged across the tile, only the dull thud of folders sliding into your bag, the surprising click of a magnet under the flap. 

On Wednesday you left behind footprints in the parking lot before it had even half cleared, only to be swallowed by the emptiness of your apartment. You filled the space with what you could manage — an early dinner, and an early bedtime. Sleep seemed to be the only thing that quelled the battering ram thoughts, the scales tipping back and forth so much it made you queasy. You would lie there and dream of swirling smoke and plush lips, of arthritic fingers punching numbers on an office phone as you sat and accepted your fate. You would toss and turn, back and forth until your sheets became a tangle, and when you faced the mirror Thursday morning you barely recognized the person staring back. 

When the final bell rang on Friday, the hallways cleared out like someone had yelled fire. A mass exodus of students and staff, flowing into the parking lot like a tidal wave outside your classroom window. You watched them as snow fell in clumps, as bright colored backpacks disappeared into the back of sedans, as cars peeled out like a parade into the street. 

Assessing the paper mountain range framing your desk, you made an educated guess at how you would be spending your two week break. In hindsight, it might have helped to make the due date for the senior creative writing project last Friday instead, but deep down you knew you would have hardly made a dent by now. 

When Ms. Click popped her head in to wish you a merry Christmas on her way down the hall, she seemed surprised to find your hand still moving across paper, not swaddled in mittens like hers. You brushed it off with something casual, the type of thing any regular person would say before the holidays. That it was too much to take home. That getting work finished now would leave more time with your family. You omitted the more personal details like how empty your apartment felt and the small, naked tree your mother brought over last weekend. This seemed to placate her, and with a cheery wave she left you in the silence of your classroom with only the ruffling of paper for company.

It was eery how quiet it was, but it afforded you a small hill of graded papers in the last hour, double what you would typically accomplish in front of the television. Thumbing through what remained of that stack, you counted each staple. Five, six, seven… you stopped when a certain name jumped out in MLA format. 

Eddie Munson American Literature — 4th Period 20 December 1985

No title. 

Papers fluttered to the desk as they fell from your hands, leaving only his. You held it gingerly between your fingers, as if it was alive. As if it could feel you, or rather, you could feel him through every type-written letter, through the thumb-sized grease stain in the top righthand corner. You could almost hear him too, shifting into a deep, dramatic narration.

Mount Myrne loomed on the horizon like a dark omen. Towering over the bustling docks of Torgaard, it disappeared beneath the ominous clouds with a formidable presence. Merchants scattered about, hauling their wares in heavy crates and barrels onto the many zeppelins. 

This was where Lazarus first met Cybelle. In his mind’s eye he could almost see her stumbling about in her clean silk boots and glimmering gold coat. But her appearance today told a different tale. Her boots were caked with mud, her coat was splattered with muck and tattered by claws, her mask hung crooked on her face. Those large eyes that once glimmered with hope and wonder now stared off into the distance with oppressive sadness at the looming mountain. 

This was where he was supposed to leave her. This was what they had agreed upon many moons ago. Cybelle just stood there, shifting back and forth between her tired feet as she dug her thumbs under the straps of her heavy knapsack that now held the rare and precious ghostfern. She finally had what she came for. Any moment now she would be moving those muddy boots toward the docks and use what little coin she had to barter a one-way trip back home.

That was the plan anyway..

Cybelle was frozen though. Fearfully, woefully, bitterly, she gazed upon her gold gleaming home in the sky with a sadness that was only dwarfed by Lazarus looking down at her. He looked at her beautiful face like it was the last time he was ever going to get the chance to. He memorized it in his mind as he shuffled his own dirty boots against the cobblestone. He didn’t have eyes for anything else. Not the zeppelins, nor the merchants, nor the mountain. Only her. After a moment that felt like an eon, Cybelle took a step forward.

“Wait.” said Lazarus. Cybelle turned around with surprise but also a hint of relief. “You don’t have to do this.”

Cybelle looked up at him with a mournful frown. “Of course I do, my brother will die if I stay here.”

Lazarus shook his head bitterly. “No, he will die if the ghostfern stays here.” he said.

Cybelle sighed as she looked out across the docks, “But how is it going to get there if I do not deliver it? No one is allowed within the city walls if they are not from Myrne.”

Lazarus furrowed his brow as he watched the merchants at work, hauling their wares aboard the large, formidable aircrafts. Suddenly he had an idea. “There are docks in Myrne, correct? And Myrnish merchants who take goods into the city?”

The gears were starting to turn in Cybelle’s head. “Yes, there are.”

“Well then, can we send the plant with like, a note or something? Some instructions and directions for the merchant to take where it needs to go?”

Cybelle thought for a moment. “I do know a few of the merchants by name. Arturo and I grew up together. He was my neighbor for a long time. He would know where it needs to go, and my mother would know what to do with it.” The brightness in Cybelle’s eyes dimmed suddenly as she had another thought. “But… I would never seen them again. My family.”

“Never say never, Cybelle.” Lazarus said. “Do you know that for a fact?”

Cybelle frowned heavily, “The laws in Myrne are very strict.”

“What if in the letter you told your family to meet you on the docks some other time? Perhaps in another moon or two once your brother has recovered?” Lazarus offered.

Cybelle sighed bitterly, “Only merchants are allowed on the docks. It is strictly prohibited. I was only able to come here because I snuck inside a crate. It was a miracle that they didn’t notice me.”

Lazarus kicked a stray pebble and huffed. There was a long pause before he spoke again. “I cannot tell you what to do, Cybelle. Only you can make that choice. But what I can do, really the only thing I can do, is tell you how I feel.” 

All of a sudden there was a knot in his stomach. Because if he was going to say anything he knew that this would be his last chance.. 

“All my life I’ve dreamed about that cottage by the sea with the garden, and the bed, and the omlet. When I saw that pendant you were wearing I knew that it would be my only shot at ever getting what I wanted. Magic tricks are….. not exactly lucrative. And actually, if I’m going to be totally honest here, I figure you should know the truth about me. The whole truth.” Lazarus sighed, swallowing the bile creeping up his throat at the mention of the truth. He was going to be honest though. Maybe for once in his whole life. “This is difficult for me to say, but I owe it to you if nothing else. I’m a thief, Cybelle.” 

Lazarus winced at his own words and Cybelle’s fallen expression, but he bravely continued..

“I confess that for a moment when I first saw you I thought about stealing that pendant, but once I heard your story and saw so much of my own I simply couldn’t. There is a goodness in you that I admire, how selfless and pure your cause is. Over the course of the last few moons I have had the privilege of spending with you, I have come to discover how beautiful the woman beneath the mask truly is. How kind, and curious, and patient you are. I have been all over this land. Traveled far and wide, through forests and over mountains. I have swam in lakes and oceans and gazed out over countless valleys. But never has the world looked quite so hopeful than when I saw it through your eyes. It made me believe that if you could see the beauty there, if you could see the goodness in me, then perhaps I can as well.”

It was startling — the tear that leapt over your lash line. Violently enough to hit the page, to blur the Os in goodness. 

“If you choose to stay I promise you that I will never steal another coin or pocket watch. It may leave me poor for the rest of my days but if they’re spent with you, then I would be the richest man of all. It is all that I can offer you. My honesty, and a promise that I will show you more beaches, more mountains, more of the world than you could ever imagine. And since I intend to keep my promise, here is my honesty: I love you. Regardless of what you decide.” 

With a trembling hand, you turned the page only to discover there was nothing on the back. Sitting back in your seat with a ragged sigh, you stared out into your empty classroom. Your nose stung, fluorescents flaring in your tear-blurred vision. Separating the pages with your thumb, you flipped back and read it again. The last paragraph. The last two sentences. Those three type-written words. Over and over, wedging in the cracks of your armor as your sniffles echoed off the tile. 

The sun was dipping below the treeline, flooding the near-empty parking lot with a wash of somber pink. The snowfall had ceased, settled into the footprints and tire tracks. Glancing up at the clock and back down at the papers, you tried to imagine lifting another, scanning over sentences and writing in the margins like you hadn’t been completely upended by the one that trembled in your grasp. You couldn’t. 

Tears dripped down your cheeks as you donned your coat, as you shuffled overstuffed folders into your satchel and slung its weight over your shoulder. You swiped at them with your scratchy wool sleeve, flicking off the lights and shutting the door.

The soft pink had cooled to twilight blue when your boots met the blanket of snow, leaving tracks in the clean, fresh powder. Your breath trailed behind you in heavy clouds. It was quiet here too, barely a scattering of cars in the parking lot. Not even the wind disturbed the limbs of the orderly saplings between the curb and sidewalk, dusted with a glittering powder. 

Your hands found your keys, and the key found the hole, and soon you were sliding into your frigid leather seat, tossing the weight of your satchel on the passenger’s side with a dejected thump. You sat there a moment with only your breath for company before flicking your wrist at the ignition. 

Nothing.

Stomping on the break, you lurched forward with conviction this time, as if you could convince it you were serious. All it awarded you was a weak, persistent click. It’s fine, you told yourself through gritted teeth as you lunged again, snapping your wrist with a startling anger, like the seal had been cracked on a two liter pop bottle that had rolled around in the trunk for a week and a half. Still, nothing but a pathetic click. A split second thought crossed your mind—that the ferocity of your stomp might actually damage the car—but the logic was quickly snuffed out by your rage. The hard plastic key bit into your numb fingers. Over and over — stomping, twisting, cursing. Cursing yourself most of all for being stupid enough to let this continue for months. You were paying for it now. 

The tears were already waiting, primed behind your eyeballs, hardly dried on your cheeks when you left out the back door. They spilled over again, cooling as they dripped past your lashes, down the slope of your nose. One more time, you begged. Just one more time and I’ll be good, I swear. But the white Chevy Nova sat unmoved, offering only a vacant whine where there should have been a roar. You tossed back in your seat and huffed, chest heaving, filling the cramped space with the furious steam of your breath. 

Snowflakes glittered in the floodlights, shining like flares through the blur of your tears. It might have been beautiful on any other evening — one where the engine was warm, and your mind was clear, and your heart didn’t sink like a pit in your chest. It was hard to notice anything outside your bitter sobs, most especially the shadow that appeared in the window beside you. The rap of rings on the glass had you jumping, whipping your head to face the set of eyes you’d been avoiding most of all. 

“Need some help?” Eddie offered, bracing his knees in a crouch, eyes brimming with concern. 

Your stomach twisted with relief, then embarrassment, then a million other things rolled into one, sick knot. Wiping the evidence from your cheeks with a futile swipe of your sleeve, you cranked down the window with your left hand. You must have looked like an absolute basket case, jerking your arm in tight circles as the barrier lowered with the urgency of a tortoise. When where was enough space for him, Eddie braced against the top of your door and ducked his head inside. 

“Hey.” The warm sigh of his greeting kissed your cheek, thawing the sting of the cold. 

“Hey,” you mimicked, sounding just about as stable as you felt when it came out. “W-what are you doing here so late?” 

“Hellfire,” he stated simply. “You know, I could ask you the same question.”

Despite how true it was, it still felt pathetic when the answer left your lips. “Just… trying not to take so much work home with me.” You said it as casually as you could muster, but your voice betrayed you. Your cheeks were still cooling from the remnants of your tears, framing the heat from your dripping nose. 

Eddie suddenly looked very serious, splintering your armor with his softness. “You ok?” 

You gestured dejectedly at nothing, offering a hollow laugh. “No.”

Eddie filled the cabin with his sigh, eyes narrowing like he wanted to lunge through the window. Instead he just thumbed at the rubber and tipped his head closer, creaking your chest plate with the weight of his gaze. “You know, I could hear you clear across the parking lot,” he joked softly. “The car—I mean. Mostly. You leave your lights on or something?”

You shook your head. “It’s been doing this for months, ever since it started getting cold. I should have taken it to get checked out, but it usually starts after a couple tries.” 

“Sounds like it might be the battery, or maybe the starter. I won’t know unless I try and jump it. I’ll swing around—if—if that’s ok.” 

The wind ushered a curl toward his lips, and you clenched your hand to subdue it. “Yeah, it’s ok,” you sighed. “Thank you.”

With a nod, Eddie ducked out of the window and pivoted swiftly on his heels. From your side view mirror, you watched him make tracks in the blue snow with his heavy boots, hands shoved in his pockets as he glanced left and right, the ghost of his breath trailing closely behind. The seat creaked as you sat back and blinked like the cursor on a computer monitor; processing. One glance in your rearview mirror told you how disheveled you looked. Even in the twilight there was no masking the puffiness around your eyes, the mascara bleeding toward your cheeks. You swiped at them again, this time with a napkin from your glove box.

With a yank of the frigid handle, Eddie slid across the plaid and pleather padding into the drivers seat of his van. He froze for a second, glancing in his rearview mirror toward your small white sedan. Butterflies tore through his stomach, churning like a tornado as he flicked the ignition. Out of all his ridiculous fantasies, he hadn’t entertained this one. Not exactly anyway. One where you were the damsel in distress. One where he got to be the hero. 

The parking lot was vacant enough to drive across the lines. Ploughing through the naked patches where cars had spent the afternoon, he rumbled up beside you. Your stomach did a summersault when he stepped out, plodding around to the front of your car with jumper cables slung under his arm. 

“Can you pop the hood for me?” he asked.

The summersault rippled south through your abdomen. Reaching down under the console, your fingers found the leaver and obeyed. You felt kind of useless, just sitting there while he propped the hood onto the stand, shielding him from vision. Before you could form another thought, your hand was moving on its own, finding the plastic leaver of your door and opening it to the cold evening air. 

Eddie gave a shy look from behind his curtain of curls before stepping back with a nod. “Well, good news, there’s no monsters,” he joked. 

A smile cracked across your face, so genuine it almost felt foreign. You tucked your hands into your pockets, stepping closer to assess the engine like you knew what you were looking at. Your aura prickled with proximity, like his heat could thaw you even from where you stood. Eddie’s glance was soft and quick before procuring a small flashlight from his inner coat pocket. He held it in his teeth, flipping up the red and black plastic covers on the battery terminals. 

“I have hands too, you know,” you said with a smirk.

With a playful side-eye, he clamped the appropriate cables onto the terminals. Removing the silver torch from his mouth, he made room for his retort. “Mmhm, best keep ‘em warm. It’s uh, kinda chilly out.”

You shook your head as a laugh escaped your nostrils in a plume. Sauntering over to his van like a dark knight, Eddie leaned in the door to pop his own hood. Your boots made tentative tracks in the snow, drawn like a magnet as he hoisted the metal. From the light pinched in his teeth you could see the expanse of the massive engine, the shadow of his furrowed brow as he unscrewed plastic knobs. What you saw more than anything though—like a filter laid over the scene—were three type-written letters. The hands that typed them fumbled with the cables, squeezed around the thick, jaw-like clamps. When they bit right where he wanted, they released; tendons flexing, knuckles pinking from the freezing air. Reflexively, he wiped them on the chest of his black hoodie peeking out from his open coat. 

It might have just been the cold, but even in the twilight—in the absence of the flashlight he was tucking into his pocket—you could have sworn his cheeks flushed when he caught you staring. “Alright, um, go ahead and start your car. I’ll do the same.”

Following the tether that joined the two vehicles, you did as he told you. Nothing came of it though, just more incessant clicking. Exasperated, you tossed back in your seat before slumping out of the car once more. 

“Shit, it must be the starter. Probably cracked, that’s my guess anyway by the sound of it,” Eddie explained as he stepped around to face your engine again. Clicking his flashlight, he peered into the compartment. “See, if you follow the positive terminal line all the way down, that’s where the starter will be. Only problem is it’s tricky to get to without a lift.” 

You followed his grease-stained finger down the dirt-dusted tangle of tubes, drawing nearer under the subtle guise of interest in your engine. You stopped just inches from his solid leather frame, close enough to brush him with your elbow. “You seem to know your way around a car.”

He huffed, shaking his head as he muttered. “Wish I didn’t.” But before you could comment, he was shutting the hood. “I’m sorry, but I think we’re gonna have to call a tow truck.” 

Your defeated sigh rose toward the clouds as you glanced at the squat school building. The lights were off. Judy’s car was absent from the lot, as were all but a handful, including the two of yours. Glancing at your watch under the floodlights, the big hand tipped past the golden dot where a five should be.

Eddie stepped closer, filling the gap with a heavy exhale before meeting your eyes. “You know I could, um—” he scratched the back of his neck, words evaporating quicker than his breath. What could he do? What could he really do about any of this? For most of his life he’d been a leaf on the wind, scuttling across the pavement toward the gutter, struggling to steer himself away. But you were stranded, and if there was anything he was good for, it was a ride. “I could—I could take you back to your place. If you’re ok with that, I mean. We could—fuck—I mean you could call from there a-and I could—”

There were chinks in your armor, cracking with each bumbling word. You looked at him, really looked. Eddie Munson, with grease-stained hands and eyes that pierced like arrows in their pleading. Straight through to the softest part of you, the place between your ribs that cries I want. And oh, how desperately you wanted. Wanted to soothe his worried lips in yours again, to feel his pounding chest again, to be thawed by his heat again. But you just stood there, frozen.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his open coat, he shifted on the balls of his feet as he searched for more words in the snow. “Look, I know you said you wanted space, a-and it probably seems like—shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing with a sharp sigh. “I just want to help you. Will you just let me help you? Please?”

Your chest plate clattered to the concrete, gauntlets falling in a heap beside your greaves. There was no white flag to wave. No sword to relinquish, or shield to discard. Your surrender was nothing but a soft “okay,” barely heard above the howling wind. 

______

A/N: After over a year and 100k words, the smut chapter is finally upon us! Thank you for coming with me on this very long journey and sticking it out. I have no idea how long this next one is going to take me to write, but I can promise you that when it’s finished you will experience every moment in exquisite, delicious, poetic detail. 

You might have noticed that I’ve pulled a few small details like character names and places from Flight of Icarus, but I will not be retconning any of Eddie’s backstory. 

Also random, tumblr decided to make that one paragraph bold once I changed it to chat font with no ability to unbold it, but that wasn't intended. It kind of worked though so I'm not mad.

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @raccoonboywrites @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @keeponquinning @munson-blurbs @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @barbiedragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins

[numbingbone]

1. Would you be insulted getting invited to a 'Girls night's?

2. Have you ever been catfished?

3. What would happen if you found out I was a catfish?

4. Would you ever name your child the same name as a friend or family member?

5. Favorite Fish?

6. Which is better someone getting you a snack unasked or getting your favorite snack, but you had to ask for it?

7. Least favorite color? (And no generic (Yellow, blue, etc give exact name)

8. Do you run or walk in the rain (to get in shelter)?

9. Would you rather walk in wet socks or wet shoes?

10. Any odd Food combos you enjoy?

11. Thoughts on Pineapple on pizza?

12. Current favorite song?

13. Would you ever go camping alone 2 miles deep into a forest? (phone works, but no one else around, and active wildlife)

14. Which is scarier space, or the ocean?

15. Favorite horror villain?

16. Favorite craft?

17. Biggest turn off, when trying to make friends?

18. Planes, Traines, or Automobiles?

19. Would you ever bleach your eyebrows?

20. Would you ever foster an exotic animal?

21. Favorite color to wear?

22. Have you ever found a kitten in the wild?

23. Favorite Frog?

24. Favorite Chip flavor?

25. Would you rather have your nose or eyebrow licked?

26. Post hand pic

27. Favorite Urban Legend?

28. Have you ever been thrown a surprise party?

29. Draw a fox <3

30. What's your favorite shark?

31. Are socks a good gift?

32. Do you do something special for holiday? (Like cookies for Santa, or Carving Pumpkins)

33. Worst Movie, Highly Suggested. (Bring the whole friend group down.

34. Biggest Turn off?

35. A trait you look for in a partner?

36. Best Vampire Teeth?

34. Do vanquilatism dummies scare you?

35. How tall do you wish you were?

36. If you had a Genie, would you wish their freedom?

37. A movie that scared you?

38. Favorite Dinosaur?

39. If you had to plan an expensive dinner, what are you making? (Your date is with Gorden Ramsey) (Good Luck)

40. If you have to remove either your big toe or your right ear, which one you losing?

41. Which is more relaxing, a hot bath, you laying in bed with a thunderstorm outside?

42. Would you rather swim in a lake with Candirú (Fish that swim up your urethra) or in the ocean with a Goblin Shark within view?

43. Do you believe in life after love?

44. If you have 30 seconds to talk to your pet and they understood you, what would you tell/ask them?

45. What's you're favorite salad dressing?

46. Worst pick up line you can think of?

47. You have 2 days before a zombie outbreak (and your the only person who knows) what do you do / how do you prepare?

48. One older movie (20+ old) do you still want a sequel to?

49. Best movie / game soundtrack?

50. If you had one wish, but could only use it on a stranger who you will never meet, what do you wish for? (Might be a baby, might be someone who puts Jason Voorhees to shame)

51. What's something someone said that has impacted your life for the worst?

52. What's something on you Bucket List?

53. If you had to either jump from a plane with a parachute or go deep diving in a submarine, which you choosing?

54. What's a gift you really want for Christmas/ birthday?

55. Do you pick up pennies from the ground?

56. Do you still have your wisdom teeth?

57. Did you ever believe in something stupid? (like eating a watermelon seed, will make a watermelon grow in your stomach)

58. Do you still celebrate your birthday?

59. What's a good life hack you know?

60. You have 3 edible toppings to make the worst pizza imaginable, what are they?

61. A show that was cancelled that you want back?

62. What's a movie where you liked the sequel better?

63. Favorite pokemon?

64. How do you like your eggs cooked?

65. Every single person you know has been poisoned and the only cure was implanted in your eye, the only way to get the cure is to remove your eye within the next 5 mins, your the only one who knows, what do you do?

66. Have you ever seen the end of a rainbow?

67. Favorite Disney princess and why?

68. What's your favorite meatloaf recipe?

69. What's a quirk you have?

70. Between, century egg, balut or pickled eggs, which are you trying?

71. Would you swim in the ocean at night, with the moon being the only light?

72. Do you pick the same toothbrush color Everytime you need a new one?

73. Have you ever met a predator in the wild? (Bob cat, shark, wolf etc)

74. Have you ever played true or dare irl?

75. Were you ever pressured into trying cigarettes/ alcohol/ drugs?

76. Current favorite candy?

77. Thoughts on canned spam?

78. Your a super hero and your abilities are flying, telekinesis, and sometimes your opponents just set on fire, but your not sure that's a you thing. The problem is your weakness is, you were born with glass bones and paper skin. How do you hide this / fight?

79. Are you scared of any animals?

80. Between only able to jumping instead of walking or having to walk like you can't bend your knees, what are you choosing? (Knees works, and you can use cars)

81. Which is scarier, waking up from a coma and 10 years passed or, every 24 hours your memory resets (and one day your old but don't remember your youth or recognizing your family)

82. You have $5,000 to plan the perfect date, what are you doing?

83. What deodorant do you use?

84. Describe a movie only using emojis.

85. Make up a lie about your pet.

86. Do you have a celebrity look like?

87. Worst cheese you've tried?

88. Have you ever ridden a horse?

89. Post a cool Sword pic

90. Do you have any hobbies?

91. What's a skill you wish you had (but couldn't learn (like being a contortionist)

92. Whose your favorite character from -insert movie/ show/ game/ book- ?

93. Post a random picture from your gallery

94. I dare you to eat an entire spoon full of your favorite condiment. With proof

95. Are you an organ donor, if not, why?

96. What's the hardest food you know how to cook?

97. You get one ocean creature as a pet, which one you choosing?

98. AHHH it's the zombie apocalypse! They can't run, but you only need to touch someone infected to become infected yourself. Before you is an ocean full of limbs, and the ground covered in an ooz, how do you survive?

99. Is there any common food that you won't eat?

100. What's your favorite urban legend?

101. You've been hired as one of Cruellas henchmen, how are you seducing her?

102. Have you ever had a near death experience?

103. You have to wear a hat for a full year, you have to sleep in it you're only able to take it off when bathing. Which hat you choosing?

104. Pick a hat for the person who sent this to you, same rules, 1 full year, only able to take off to bath

105. Do you play any games? Computer/ console/ board games?

106. Go outside a find a rock and take a picture and post it.

107. Summarize a movie in 10 words of less.

108. How do you eat Oreos?

109. Did your parents keep your baby teeth?

110. Have you ever seen a Seahorse IRL?

111. Have you ever been to an adults Halloween party? Did you dress up?

112, if you have an hour to make a cosplay, which character are you choosing?

113. Do you believe in karma?

114. Favorite frog?

115. Do you like roller coasters?

116. have you ever slipped on a banana peel before? As a kid I thought it was a common occurrence.

117. Do you have a name already picked for your next pet?

118. Did you have a magic (magician) phase as a kid?

119. What type of hobbies did you have as a kid?

120. Have you ever worn too different shoes before?

121. What's a scary movie that still scares you?

122. Do you kill any bugs, or release them outside?

123. Describe your personality in 5 words.

124. Are you bad at math?

125. If you could bring any mythical creature alive, which one and why?

126. So you prefer phone calls or texting?

127. Describe how hitting your funny bone feels.

128. Your work is throwing a potluck and your invited! What food are you bringing?

129. Would you ever dyed your eggs green, so you could have green eggs and ham?

130. Write anon/ sender a handwritten note 💚

131. Have you ever tried a jack fruit?

132. What's something you want for your birthday/ Christmas?

133. Have you ever foraged your own food?

134. Have you ever dyed your hair and unnatural color? Which color?

135. You've been invited to a Halloween party and the theme is to dress up as your first fictional character, who you going as?

136. Do you know how to dance?

137. Drop a food receipt that your most proud of/ enjoy.

138. Ahhhh! You've been tricked and we're given a cursed object. What is it, and what's it curse?

139. Do you know how to change your vehicles oil?

140. What's a phrase you quote often, and what's it from?

141. Have you ever had a bowl hair cut?

142. Current favorite dessert?

143. What's your favorite spice?

144. Tag 3 people you want to reblog so you can ask them some of these questions.

145. Have you ever been thrown a surprise party?

146. Go to urban dictionary.com and click random, what did you get and what's it meaning?

147. The person who sent you this wants you to pick them a new icon that will have to keep for 24 hours. Do your worst 😈

148. Post a video / audio of you saying a tongue twister 🥺

149. As a kid did you ever get ice cream from a ice cream truck?

150. Any new movies coming out that you want to watch?

151. Would you ever take a glass blowing class?

152. Do you have any IRL stories that sound fake / made up?

153. Do you allow your pets on your beds/ couches?

154. What's something you want people to know about you?

155. How often do you have nightmares?

156. Would you ever try a bug lollipop?

157. Is there a movie you watch every Christmas / Halloween?

158. What's a movie/ show / game you would change the ending of?

159. Is there a chore you like doing? (Cooking/ cleaning/ walking the dog etc)

160. You've been invited to a white elephant party, you have to get anon/ sender a present, what you getting them?

161. Have you ever been stung by a bee/ wasp?

162. Was there any tv shows / movies you weren't allowed to watch as a kid?

163. Have you ever had you picture professionally taken?

164. Do you dress your pets up for Halloween?

165. Pick a nickname for sender 😁

166. A movie / show you think is too hyped up?

167. If you see someone with car trouble, do you stop and help?

168. Describe your shower curtain 🚿

169. Sweet.

[h0llyw0lly]

As a Cinderella Boy reader and fast-passer Idk where else to put this but I have THOUGHTS okay. Fast-pass episode 58 spoilers below the cut (obviously)

OKAY SO, “STILL WATERS PT.2” WAS PAINFUL, but I have thoughts. Not great thoughts cuz season finale be upon thee, but thoughts that need out! Chase has mentioned several times in previous chapters that he dislikes boats. Deacon laughs it off and says it’s just cuz he gets seasick, but he didn’t seem so seasick on the little ferry that rode calmly on a quaint lake.

Chase ALSO didn’t want to do the book where their ship wrecks and he and Deacon would get stranded on an island until Deacon said they’d use the bookmark trick and just chill on the beach.

He claims he doesn’t like water when Buddy tossed him in the ocean as revenge for a beach ball to the face (LOL) but he didn’t mind it all that much because it was shallow water. He DID NOT want to go in Deacon’s Ship books because storms are in the name and the water would likely be rough and deep and dangerous.

Now water is seeping in from everywhere and filling up the book and Chase is panicking about being stuck in a book with sudden rising water.

Do you see where I’m going here???

Guys. GUYS. I don’t think our boy can swim.

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: channel catfish

I like cats and I like fish, so it's a bit silly that I haven't done a WBW on catfish yet. Time to fix that. The channel catfish may not be the most spectacular of all catfish, but it's a skilled survivor and a tenacious little fish worthy of respect.

(Image: a channel catfish swimming in clear water. It is a long fish woth a round body and a broad, flat head. The fins are rounded and the anal fin is long and runs under the back half of the body. A fleshy adipose fin is on the top of the tail. The eyes are round and protrude from the head. Four pairs of barbels grow from around the mouth, the the largest extending from the upper lip. The body is a murky brown, with a white underbelly. End ID)

The majority of channel catfish (Ictalurus punctatus) reach 30 to 60 cm (1-2 ft) in length and weigh between 1 and 2 kg (2-4 lbs), but they grow throughout their lives and can occasionally get much larger. The world record channel catfish weighed 58 lbs (26 kg). Channel cats possess traits typical of catfish. The bodies are cylindrical and scaleless and four pairs of long, sensory barbels grow from around the mouth. The pectoral and dorsal fins have spines that are filled with venom which can cause stinging and numbness in humans. I know this from personal experience.

(Image: a channel catfish swimming over rocky substrate in murky water. End ID)

Channel catfish are heavily adapted to live in low-visibility environments by heavily focusing on senses other than sight. They have a powerful sense of smell thanks to heavily packed olfactory receptors in their nostrils. A channel cat can smell amino acids at concentrations of 1 part per 100 million. In addition to their mouths, channel catfish also have taste buds covering their skin, essentially turning their bodies into one big tongue. The taste buds are most concentrated on the barbels, which the catfish uses to help detect sources of food. Catfish hearing is enhanced by the presence of a Weberian apparatus, a complex system of bone and ossicles that connects the auditory system to the swim bladder. This allows the swim bladder to amplify vibrations, allowing sounds too quiet for the inner ear to normally detect to become audible.

Pogfish (Image: a channel catfish with mouth open, about to bite onto a baited hook. End ID)

Channel catfish are found in the eastern half of North America from Canada to northeastern Mexico. They can tolerate salt and brackish water, but are mostly found in freshwater, where they can inhabit everything from crystal-clear streams to murky lakes. While channel cats are omnivorous, they are specialized to act as predators in murky water. They are nocturnal ambush predators who retreat to deep water in the day and move to shallower water to hunt at night. They will either sit still and wait for prey to pass or slowly search through rugged areas, using their barbels to investigate crevices where prey could hide. Their nostrils and taste buds help finding prey, specifically by detecting the amino acids L-alanine and L-arganine, which are shed by animals. When catfish detect amino acids, they have been observed getting excited: turning, biting, and maneuvering themselves toward prey. As with other catfish, they rapidly open their mouths to create suction and force prey inside, where it is swallowed whole. Catfish will eat just about anything they can find, including small fish, various invertebrates, snakes, amphibians, insects, small mammals and birds, algae, seeds, nuts, and other plant material. Their diet becomes more carnivorous as they get older. Channel catfish are not social outside of mating and establish territories. They appear to follow a dominance hierarchy with larger animals claiming better territories and fighting to maintain them.

(Image: a channel catfish swimming amongst rocks. End ID)

Channel catfish have a complex system of communication using both chemical and auditory cues. Catfish in general can produce pheromones that can be used to recognize other specific individuals. They use these to advertise their presence to each other and mark their territory. Channel catfish can use pheromones to determine the sex, age, and size of another member of their species without ever actually encountering them and can differentiate between other species of catfish that share their habitat. When a channel cat detects another in its territory, it can mark its territory by altering its scent through a chemical change in the composition of the amino acids in its mucus. This scent does not linger long and is used as a challenge to the intruder, telling it to either leave or be prepared to fight. The change in scent may be regulated by club cells, specialized pheromone-producing cells found in the skin. The cells don't directly open to the water. It is hypothesized that injury may expose the club cells and cause them to release their contents. This would inform other catfish in the area of the injury, which could lead to a change in the local dominance hierarchy. Sound is produced through stridulation: clicking and grinding the bones of the pectoral girdle and the spine that leads the pectoral fins. By moving the base of the spine over the pectoral girdle, the fish can make a variety of noises. These noises vary in based on the movement of the fin and based on size and possibly sex, allowing channel catfish to learn about others that they hear. Channel cats will use noises to communicate dominance with each other and to startle predators, allowing for an escape while alerting any other catfish in the area of the predator's presence. If you've every caught a catfish and heard it make a croaking noise, now you know what's happening. Curiously, individual channel catfish will have a preference for which fin they use to make noise, with the majority favoring their right fin. This could be analogous to right and left handedness in humans.

(Video: a catfish that has been caught by an angler. It is being held by a tool and is making croaking noises. End ID)

Channel catfish spawn in spring and summer, when the water is consistently warm. Males will look for a cavity of some kind, which could be a crevice in rocks, a bank underhand, a spot beneath a log or other structure, or artificial objects like the inside of litter. He will clean the area of silt and mud to expose a hard bottom and then release pheromones to attract a female. Other males may attempt to drive him from his nest to claim it for themselves, leading to fights. When a female is interested, the two will enter the nest and remain there for up to 6 hours as eggs are laid. Females can release 2,000 to 4,000 eggs per pound of her weight and will do so in batches, with the male fertilizing them as they are laid. The eggs are yellowish and stick to hard surfaces. Once the eggs are laid, the male will chase the female from the nest and guard the eggs until they hatch. Until then, he will fan the eggs with his tail to keep oxygenated flowing over them and aggressively attack any perceived threat. Channel catfish in the wild only mate once per year, though males raised in captivity may attempt multiple matings. Larvae are hatched with the egg sac still attacked and survive on yolk for a few days until it falls off. After that, they have an algae-based diet that will gradually shift to carnivory as they age. Young channel catfish are a yellowish-brown with dark spots along the body while adults are a muddy brown all over.

(Image: a juvenile channel catfish held by me. It is a miniature version of an adult, with proportionately longer barbels and eyes. The body is a yellowish color. It is smaller than the thumb in the image. End ID

Channel catfish are classified as least concern by the IUCN, meaning they are not in danger of extinction. Channel catfish are the most widely distributed and populous catfish in North America. In the USA, channel catfish are a major food source and the channel catfish aquaculture industry is the largest aquaculture in the country. Channel catfish are raised in artificial ponds or other structures and are usually harvested for their meat at two years old. That's a lot for an animal that tastes like congealed air. Channel catfish are also a popular sport fish for their edibility and the fight they put up when hooked. Their use as food and for sport is a major reason for their introduction outside of their range. This has led to them becoming an invasive species in multiple countries, where they outcompete native species.

(Image: a POV shot of someone wearing rubber waders holding a channel catfish just above the water. End ID)

[alley-roses]

voted most likely to run away with you

rook hunt x reader.

rumours of you two being in a relationship are spreading like wildfire around NRC, how will rook respond?

p.s the reader’s gender is intended to be nondescript, however there is the use of “mon cherie” in this fic because french. sorry.

—————————————

the world was ending.

you were avoiding Rook. How could this ever happen? Well, he had an idea or two. After all, putting in some distance after almost the entire school had started not-so-subtly whispering about you together, wasn’t that unreasonable.

But it was absolutely unfair! And he’d have to put a stop to it, one way or another.

Perhaps he’d just show up to your dorm room at about two in the morning - it’s not like you could avoid him then.

The loud knock on your door scared the life out of you, considering the uncharacteristically early hours. You just had to check the time, and questioned if you should even answer the door, considering it was 1:58. AM. But after a short pause, the knocks continued, so you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and got out of bed.

Oh. Shit.

Rook was there, standing at your door way. And you had a feeling it was going to be awkward, since you hadn’t seen him in a week. Purposefully.

“Hi… what’s up?”

“Just my spirits, mon cherie, seeing your face again has lifted them greatly!”

he was eccentric as ever, but you were pretty used to that. “Oh… thank you. So, did you need anything? You know, it’s kind of late. Or, early, I guess.”

“Ah, yes. I need you.”

“What?”

“I need you to come with me.”

…

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you, it’ll spoil the surprise.”

well, you were already awake. “Okay, I guess I can go with you.”

“Wonderful! You might need this, it’s quite cold at this hour.” He handed you a black jacket, that had your name embroidered in gold on one cuff… and his on the other.

Your cheeks certainly warmed up fast, before you continued on your mystery adventure with Rook.

You had been walking for awhile, in comfortable silence, but when you could no longer keep track of the sheer number of tress you’d counted on the way, you had to ask where you were going. Or if you’d be there in a reasonable amount of time.

But Rook didn’t really give you answer, which made sense within the next few minutes as your walk came to a halt.

You were at a beautiful lake, with water so clear it seemed to glow even in the dark hours.

“Wow, it’s beautiful, how’d you find it?”

“I’m glad you like it. And a hunter must know his hunting grounds.”

“hm, I have to ask through, why’d you take me here at two in the morning?”

“I thought it was the right amount of romance for our first date as a couple. Just us, here, late in the night.”

date? couple?? “Wait, what are you talking about?”

“We’re dating, haven’t you heard, mon cherie?”

“But those are just rumors!”

“They don’t have to be.”

“…are you asking me out?”

“I’d love nothing more than to be yours, if you’ll have me.”

Once again, you started to flush. This was something you’d dreamed of, and now that it was happening you could barely get the words out of your mouth.

“Then I’m yours.”

Rook smiled, and he stared at you for a moment like he was just happy to be there, and then he spoke again. “Perfect. You might want to check your pocket then.”

confused as you were, you put your hands in both pockets of your jacket to check them, and from the left, you pulled out a small promise ring.

He was in it for the long haul.

[bright-eyes-strawberry-lies]

Top 100 PJO Characters List

I'm totally not procrastinating anything but here's a list of the top 100 most tagged PJO characters on AO3. As usual this doesn't include Magnus Chase or Kane Chronicles. I'm sorry. Today is 5/27/24.

1. Percy Jackson - 30,957

2. Nico di Angelo - 23,414

3. Annabeth Chase - 21,924

4. Will Solace - 14,767

5. Jason Grace - 14,228

6. Piper McLean - 10,759

7. Leo Valdez - 10,122

8. Hazel Levesque - 8,306

9. Frank Zhang - 6,577

10. Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano - 5,728

11. Thalia Grace - 5,676

12. Apollo - 4,840

13. Sally Jackson - 4,783

14. Luke Castellan - 4,484

15. Grover Underwood - 4,330

16. Chiron - 4,102

17. Poseidon - 3,800

18. Hades - 3,341

19. Clarisse la Rue - 2,845

20. Rachel Elizabeth Dare - 2,790

21. Zeus - 2,367

22. Bianca di Angelo - 2,324

23. Dionysus - 2,078

24. Artemis - 2,050

25. Connor Stoll - 2,022

26. Calypso - 1,796

27. Travis Stoll - 1,775

28. Paul Blofis - 1,751

29. Kayla Knowles - 1,729

30. Silena Beauregard - 1,578

31. Hermes - 1,530

32. Aphrodite - 1,502

33. Athena - 1,483

34. Lou Ellen Blackstone - 1,352

35. Hera - 1,195

36. Austin Lake - 1,154

37. Drew Tanaka - 1,152

38. Ares - 1,150

39. Charles Beckendorf - 1,026

40. Octavian - 996

41. Persephone - 987

42. Hestia - 920

43. Katie Gardner - 864

44. Estelle Blofis - 860

45. Tyson - 856

46. Cecil Markowitz - 837

74. Zoe Nightshade - 837

48. Chris Rodriguez - 762

49. Ethan Nakamura - 761

50. Kronos - 755

51. Triton - 750

52. Meg McCaffrey - 685

53. Michael Yew - 627

54. Hephaestus - 625

55. Demeter - 597

56. Malcolm Pace - 586

57. Lee Fletcher - 575

58. Amphitrite - 536

59. Gabe Ugliano - 480

60. Gleeson Hedge - 454

61. Naomi Solace - 418

62. Maria di Angelo - 410

63. Frederick Chase - 409

64. Hecate - 401

65. Mitchell - 363

66. Juniper - 342

67. Pollux - 317

68. Jake Mason - 300

69. Thanatos - 293

70. Nyssa Barrera - 287

71. Lacy - 255

72. Hylla Ramirez-Arellano - 247

73. Dakota - 245

74. Gaea - 239

75. Mrs. O’Leary - 230

76. Blackjack - 212

77. Miranda Gardiner - 212

78. Sherman Yang - 203

79. Bob/Iapetus - 202

80. Tartarus - 199

81. The Fates - 196

82. Castor - 191

83. Eros - 187

84. Nyx - 177

85. Chaos - 176

86. Shel - 174

87. Harley - 171

88. Clovis - 165

89. Tristan McLean - 164

90. Kymopoleia - 160

91. Festus - 159

92. Annabeth Chase’s Stepmother - 153

93. Gwendolyn - 153

94. Beryl Grace - 152

95. Lupa - 152

96. May Castellan - 149 

97. Ella - 129

98. Medusa - 129

99. Lityerses - 123

100. Esperanza Valdez - 120

[peachy-tokki]

I don't really give a shit which side of the Nosferatu discourse you're on, but if you didn't listen to Daybreak from the soundtrack and almost drove your car into a lake (like I did) when the track got to 3:58 then wtf are you doing?!

[goldenpinof]

a list of Terrible Influence Tour shows (24.06.2024)

Europe (September 2024):

Antwerp, Belgium

Copenhagen, Denmark

Berlin, Germany

Warsaw, Poland

Frankfurt, Germany

Stockholm, Sweden

Oslo, Norway

Helsinki, Finland

USA/Canada (October-November 2024):

Seattle, Washington

Portland, Oregon

Vancouver, Canada

Oakland, California

Phoenix, Arizona

San Diego, California

Los Angeles, California

Salt Lake City, Utah

Denver, Colorado

Kansas City, Missouri

Grand Prairie, Texas*

Austin, Texas

St. Louis, Missouri

Detroit, Michigan

Akron, Ohio

Indianapolis, Indiana

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

Minneapolis, Minnesota

Chicago, Illinois

Toronto, Canada

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

New York City, New York

Tysons, Virginia*

Atlanta, Georgia

Tampa, Florida

Orlando, Florida

Fort Lauderdale, Florida

Durham, North Carolina

Nashville, Tennessee

Boston, Massachusetts

Reading, Pennsylvania

Red Bank, New Jersey

*Grand Prairie - near Dallas, Tysons - near Washington DC

Australia/New Zealand (December 2024):

Brisbane, Australia

Sydney, Australia

Sydney, Australia

Perth, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Adelaide, Australia

Auckland, New Zealand

UK + Europe (January-February 2025):

Cardiff, UK

Plymouth, UK

Brighton, UK

Birmingham, UK

London, UK

London, UK

Manchester, UK

Newcastle, UK

Dublin, Ireland

Belfast, UK

Glasgow, UK

Amsterdam, Netherlands

Reykjavík, Iceland

60 shows, 58 cities

[girlactionfigure]

List of 101 :

1. Naama Levy.

2. Lyri Albag.

3. Berger Lake.

4. Daniella Gilboa.

5. Karina Arive.

6. Galley Barman.

7. Ziv Berman.

8. Ethan Horan.

9. Yair Horan.

10. Arbel the Jew.

11. David Kuneo.

12. Ariel Cuneo.

13. Jordan Bibbs.

14. Solomon Mansur.

15. Oded Lipshitz.

16. Doron Steinbercher.

17. Emily Glory Damari.

18. Ofer Calderon.

19. Amri Miran.

20. The freshness of an era.

21. A fan of my people.

22. Diamond fan.

23. Nimrod Cohen.

24. Tamir Nimrodi.

25. Rum Breslowski.

26. Omer Venkrat.

27. Keith Seagal.

28. Roman for a protective name.

29. Yusef Hamis Al-Ziadana.

30. Hamza Al-Ziadna.

31. Dew they are.

32. Matan Zhengauker.

33. Providing an Angrest.

34. Moses Capricorn.

35. Sasha Tropanov.

36. Isham a-side.

37. Avra Mangisto.

38. Eli when I was hungry.

39. Sagi Dekel-hen.

40. Alon Ahle.

41. Guy Gilboa-Delal.

42. Elia Cohen.

43. Bipin Joshi.

44. The Age of Alexander.

45. Omer Nautra.

46. Alcana in Buchbot.

47. Evyatar David.

48. Omer shem-good.

49. Lovely Harkin.

50. Sagev Kalfon.

51. Or Levi.

52. Joseph Ohana.

53. סטיאן סוואנקאם.

54. Watchera saryon.

55. Pinta netpong.

56. באנאווט סהטאן.

57. Pongask grind.

58. Surask to Amanao.

59. Itzik Allegrant.

60. You have understood light.

61. Ethan Moore.

62. Songs of Bibs.

63. Ariel Bibs.

64. Kfir Bibs.

65. Bar Cooperstein.

66. Judy Weinstein-Hagi RIP.

67. RIP Amber Heyman.

68. Ofra Kidder RIP.

69. The late noble Aviv.

70. Rest in peace Sahar.

71. The late Colonel Assaf Hammi.

72. Sergeant Oron Shaul RIP.

73. RIP Guy Illuz.

74. RIP Tal Chaimi.

75. RIP Tamir Adar.

76. RIP Arya Zelmanovich.

77. RIP drinking era.

78. RIP Itai Svirsky.

79. Yossi Sharavi RIP.

80. Lieutenant Hadar Goldin RIP.

81. Gadi Hagai RIP.

82. Sergeant Itai Chen RIP.

83. Major Daniel Peretz RIP.

84. R.I.P. Manny Goddard.

85. Sergeant Oz Daniel RIP.

86. Lior Rudaif RIP.

87. RIP Uriel.

88. PM Mohammed Al-Atrash RIP.

89. RIP Dror Or.

90. RIP Yair Yaakov.

91. RIP Amiram Cooper.

92. Jonathan Samrano RIP.

93. RIP Ronen Engel.

94. RIP Eliyahu Margalit.

95. R.I.P. Ran Guilli RIP.

96. RIP Joshua Molito Molele.

97. Sgt. Shay Levinson RIP.

98. RIP Ethan Levy.

99. RIP Ilan Weiss.

100. R.I.P. Sonthia Akersari.

101. RIP Soutisak Rintlak.

Bat-sheva Mizan

[arkanis-englishupdates]

SUMMARY OF ALL ARKANIS POVS

DAY 58 & DAY 59 — 31/10/2024 & 01/11/2024

DAY 58 — 31/10/2024

The day in Valigma begins with a spooky look in preparation for Halloween!

Pac starts cleaning up his house for Fit (and Badboyhalo)'s visit. He is very anxious.

All the specialists and ghosts dressed up for the occasion, with unique or nostalgic costumes (Choke even dressed up as Huggy Wuggy in real life).

The list of all costumes:

Guaxinim — "Fuga Impossível" uniform but he changed to Arthur Cervero;

Bagi — Detective/"Oppenheimer";

Malena — Shrek in a bikini;

Moonkase — Jack Skellington;

Himaru — Spider-Man;

Mike — "Herobrine A Lenda" costume;

Gabepeixe — Atomic fish skeleton;

JVNQ — Maid costume;

Beatriz — Bonnie animatronic;

Quel — Freddy Fazbear animatronic;

Denix — Devil/Demon;

Pactw — Finn Martens;

Gris — Witch;

Milo — Vampire;

Tucupi — Joker;

Amora — Angel;

[I will update the list as soon as I know all the costumes]

The costume parade begins, with bombastic performances (some of them literally). After the parade, the rules of the event were handed out in books.

All specialists are taken to a large village, and there, a huge castle can be seen filled with countless monsters. They manage to enter the castle and inside a black dog resembling AuAu appears, informing everyone about his master and the castle owner, Mr. X (Badboyhalo), who was waiting for them.

Unfortunately, Mr. X deceives them and they all fall into the trap he prepared. It is revealed by him that there was someone — a bald man — that they needed to save if they wanted to leave the place alive.

DAY 59 — 01/11/2024

All the specialists wake up in the basement they fell into because of Mr. X's trap. In the immense place, they find the bald man who was kidnapped by him, called Fit.

After a fun encounter with the then rescued prisoner, all the specialists have to solve puzzles to get out of the place alive. The ghost children, instead of helping the large group, were supposedly bewitched to help Mr. X distract everyone from completing the puzzles (My theory is that they just wanted to play and annoy their parents and uncles).

The first puzzle was easily solved despite the large number of monsters attacking everyone. The second puzzle was so complicated that even Denix helped with tips (Bala Likah showed up on the place to play with the specialists while everything was going on). The third was much easier, leading to doors for each of the participants, behind the doors a warp plate was inside the compartment. The warp plate took the specialists to an immense three-story maze, where everyone was in different places.

When everyone managed to find the exit (a warpstone), everyone was teleported to a huge Halloween cemetery, where Mr. X appeared again to explain that everything is not over yet, the last challenge being an immense battle against countless monsters commanded by him.

After the fierce battle, everyone (including the ghosts and Mr. X/Badboyhalo) was teleported to the lake pier of Valigma's City.

Now everyone could talk properly with the two foreign visitors.

Pac and Fit soon became close again and Pac gave Fit a tour of his house (HIDEDUO AHH).

Meanwhile, some specialists dispersed to talk to the ghosts or Badboyhalo. Gabepeixe and Bagi soon show the new visitor their atomic bombs (They end up killing Badboyhalo and some players nearby, in addition to making a crater near the city hall).

After the house tour, Pac and Fit meet up with the rest of the specialists. Mayor Jota appears and asks everyone who created a crater near the city hall (he says he passed by the place and fell into the large and sudden crater), Fit takes the blame for the crater and Jota readily forgives him, giving him a hug before leaving.

Badboyhalo is taken on a tour of the city by Coreano and some other specialists, taking him to their homes (Badboyhalo takes advantage of his hobby of stealing other people's furniture).

Then Fit is taken by Pac and some specialists for a tour of the city, going to the Entertainment District for a drink (being served by JVNQ in his maid costume).

Suddenly, Samir appears to chat in a relaxed way, laughing and telling some of Pac's embarrassing secrets to Fit and everyone there.

Soon Badboyhalo appears with some specialists, and everyone starts talking. Beatriz then has the idea of ​​taking them to her house so everyone can celebrate and get to know the place.

The party is interrupted when Badboyhalo is teleported by Araldo to his office. He tells the demon that he loved watching the tricks and traps he did against the specialists. They talk a little before saying goodbye and Araldo sending him back to Beatriz's house.

Now, when it's Fit's turn, he is teleported by Bia Raux who thanks him for his efforts in protecting the specialists. They talk for a bit before Fit is sent back.

After a big bug in the voice chat and Nicklink killing others with his power for fun, everyone gathers in the secret basement of Beatriz's house to dance to Brazilian songs.

Fit says goodbye to Pac and everyone, ending up dying from another Nicklink power along with other people after saying goodbye.

Badboyhalo is taken on another tour, this time to Choke's house with Moonkase, Gabepeixe, Denix, Amora and Malena. Choke shows him the place and, after they kill the frogs (first accidentally and then on purpose) in her house, Gabepeixe, Denix and Amora take Badboyhalo to the half-fish laboratory.

There they show Badboyhalo a rocket prepared especially for him and the three take the demon for a tour of the moon. They loot a dungeon, try to summon the Wither and Badboyhalo puts a flag on the moon.

Returning to Valigma, Gabepeixe shows the leaderboard, the cinema and tells more about what he went through with the other specialists. In the end, Gabepeixe takes Badboyhalo to his dinosaur cave and, After Badboyhalo meets Raccoon again, he says goodbye while everyone dances with the dinosaurs (As a souvenir, Badboyhalo asks Denix to kill him [one more time] and the group makes a tomb for the demon).

[Sorry for the general summary, I'm dead sleepy lmao

If there is any wrong or missing information, let us know!]

[new-dinosaurs]

Melanitta kirbori Zelenkov, 2024 (new species)

(Type coracoid [shoulder bone] of Melanitta kirbori, from Zelenkov, 2024)

Meaning of name: kirbori = for Kirill Borisovich Gerasimov [Russian zoologist who passed away in 2023]

Age: Pleistocene (Calabrian), about 1.8 million years ago

Where found: Taurida Cave, Crimea, Ukraine

How much is known: A nearly complete right coracoid (shoulder bone).

Notes: Melanitta is the genus of scoters, a group of stocky ducks in which the males are mostly colored black and have distinctive, "lumpy" bills. Although scoters tend to breed on freshwater ponds and lakes, they often spend the winter on coastal marine waters. They feed mainly by diving for clams and crustaceans.

M. kirbori is the oldest known scoter in the fossil record. It was similar in size and morphology to the extant surf scoter (M. perspicillata) of North America. It also resembles three larger extant species, the white-winged (M. deglandi), velvet (M. fusca), and Stejneger's (M. stejnegeri) scoters, which may suggest that these species evolved from smaller ancestors that were closer in size to M. kirbori.

Reference: Zelenkov, N.V. 2024. The oldest finds of the genera Melanitta, Marmaronetta, and other ducks (Aves: Anatidae) from the Lower Pleistocene of the Crimea. Paleontological Journal 58: 593–603. doi: 10.1134/S0031030124600653

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Submerged by flooding, Porto Alegre realizes it was unprepared: 'Everything has to be rebuilt'

Three weeks after being hit by one of the worst climate disasters in its history, which left at least 157 people dead, 88 missing and forced the evacuation of 540,000, the Brazilian state of Rio Grande do Sul is still partly submerged.

After slipping on her rubber boots, Darcilla Melo Da Silva, 58, took a deep breath before she stepped through the metal gates of her house, guided by her husband, Admar, 68. The scene she had so feared to see for the past 12 days appeared before her eyes. The vegetable garden where she had planted cabbage and herbs to alleviate her severe health problems was buried under a layer of mud. The remains of a white hen lay among the tangled planks, next to her new washing machine, which had been swept into the garden by the current and had ended up crushed under a tree trunk.

The interior of her house, which took her 40 years to furnish, was even more desolate. A smell of rot was pervasive. Without any electricity, Da Silva had to discover the extent of the damage by the light from her husband's smartphone: holes in the roof, raised floor, overturned armchairs... "Everything has to be rebuilt," said the grandmother barely able to breathe.

The retired couple, who lived in the Cidade Baixa district in the west of Porto Alegre, were among the 540,188 people who were forced to evacuate their homes in early May when floodwaters engulfed two-thirds of the towns in the state of Rio Grande do Sul, a hilly area on the border with Argentina and Uruguay with a population of some 11 million.

Since April 27, torrential rains have battered the region, raising the level of the Guaiba, a body of water – considered as much a river, lake or estuary – that borders the Porto Alegre metropolitan area, by several meters. On May 6, the day Darcilla Melo Da Silva and Admar evacuated their home, the water level reached 5.3 meters: the most severe flooding since 1941, when the Guaiba had risen to a height of 4.76 meters.

"This extreme event is the result of global warming" aggravated by the El Niño phenomenon, said Francisco Aquino, climatologist and head of the geography department at the Federal University of Rio Grande do Sul. As temperatures rise, "we expect them to become more frequent and intense."

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