#don't prey on kids at school fairs

[badboysteve]

Dunno what people are talking about regarding Steve wanting Nancy to birth him 6 kids. Nancy won't have to birth a single child she doesn't want to.

When/if they decided they're ready for kids, all they have to do is attend the next local science fair:

Nancy drops Steve off first. By the time she's parked the car, her husband will have already attracted every child in need of a healthy male role model at the entire fair. Just a small hord of tiny, nerdy children, all enthusiatically trying to explain their model of the solar system/ an exploding vulcano to him.

One conversation with a terribly charmed teacher later, and Nancy knows exactly which ones of them is orphaned/ in desperate need of a (hopefully permanent) foster home.

Repeat 6 times. Mini basketball team acquired.

And not a single pregnancy in sight! :D

[edgeray]

“LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME

and never never never ever let go”- Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

Mafia AU! Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've actually published anything on here. Well, my gay ass is back with another oneshot. This one has been in the works for at least a month. I'm considering making a Part 2, but that will definitely take at least a couple weeks for me to publish (if not months). I wish I was kidding. School literally hates me and my teachers are incessant on killing my GPA. This is also a gift for @megistusdiary because it'll be her birthday when I post this. Please go check out her blog for amazing genshin wlw content (especially Arlecchino content!) Would you guys like this on AO3 as well?

Content Warning/Info: This is a long af oneshot (6.3k words), long af descriptions and kinda long intro, Arlecchino is referred to with they/them pronouns, implied female but no usage of feminine pronouns for Reader, general dark-ish content, pet names, Arlecchino is a lil scary, I've never been to a club so I apologize for the very inaccurate information, nor have I ever been apart of the mafia so also inaccurate, a bit suggestive but otherwise sfw, if I'm missing anything feel free to tell me!

---

Monsters are said to have lied underneath beds–waiting to ensnare an unknowing victim–or stalk hidden among the depths of a closet–awaiting an opportune moment to strike its next prey. Monsters are fabled entities that are used to scare off children from bad behavior and are quickly eased from the mind by coddling parents. The mere notion of a monster shooed away like a pesky fly, swept underneath the subconscious like forgotten specks of dirt. 

You know otherwise. Real monsters don’t lurk on the undersides of mattresses; no, they lurk both in the skies above and the depths below. They do not stalk dark closets because they instead stalk alleys in daylit streets. Monsters are very real, that you know is true since you’ve seen your fair share of them. You’ve met monsters in person–they’ve come to you before. Terrifying is an understatement for them, and each time one has appeared as a client, you’re no less scared shitless.

You’ve learned that even inhumane demons find themselves in need of entertainment; like the sinful creatures they are, they seek self-pleasure. And that is how you found yourself in this particular circle of hell, meant to serve and please demons, devils, and monsters alike. Perhaps it was a revolting job, working at a strip club run by a criminal organization but it paid decent money for being danced on the fingertips of whoever you were unfortunate enough to be assigned to.

If it was a regular strip club, being an exotic dancer would have been fine. It wouldn't be so bad. Lustful and prying eyes can be accustomed to quickly, and so are the flattering compliments and the awkward flirting by middle-aged married men. However, there was a difference between lecherous and predatory gazes. Here, you aren’t even viewed as a person, no, the clients here, those that come in reeking of smoke or blood (though sometimes both), armed with knives and guns on their person, see you as nothing more than a toy or prey for them. Even in the eyes of your employer, you're less than human in their eyes. 

‘You harm our merchandise, you’ll pay for it,’ is the warning given to every guest when they first enter. Merchandise. That's what you are. And that single line of words is the only thing that assures you of your safety among mafia members, gangsters, crooks, and whatnot. You've heard that the organization behind this strip club does well in enforcing that rule according to other dancers, but you personally don't want to see if the statement is true. You've been here for a little over a year, and besides bruising grips and pulled hair you’ve surprisingly yet to be seriously injured in any way. So maybe monsters do have a little humanity in them. 

You're quickly growing to be a fan favorite as of recently, which means more money goes your way, but you're not sure how you feel about all the attention on you. It's most likely because of how often you offer private dances and private rooms to clients. Whatever gets you the most money; the faster you make money the faster you can pay off your debt and be out of here. 

Tonight is supposed to be no different from other nights. You perform on stage, you rile up the crowd, you get showered in tips, and if there is a customer that looks mentally sane enough not to murder you in private, you take them to the back. Except, tonight, you're approached by your boss, who informs you that the entirety of the club was reserved by the Fatui, a well-known mafia more powerful and larger than the one that backs you up, for some celebration. These kinds of occurrences in the club rarely crop up, but when they do, they're often the most opportune time to bag in an abundant amount of money. Big shots like the Fatui pay and tip well, but there's one unsaid risk that comes with this: as a mere dancer like yourself, your life quite literally dangles in the Fatuis’ hands tonight. The organization that owns this establishment can't retaliate against the Fatuis if they so choose to dismiss the warning. They can't even compare to the might of the Fatui.

Simply put, if a Fatui kills you tonight, no one could do more besides bat their eyelashes. You're not at all pleased with this predicament of practically bordering on death, especially when you know one wrong move with one too hot-tempered Fatui could land you at the pearly gates. Keep pleasing the crowd, keep entertaining them, keep racking in the money, you remind yourself as you continue your dance, twirling around the pole sensually, and the customers devour every movement with their eyes. The only comfort you're given is that you've heard the Fatui are quite reasonable and diplomatic most of the time. This is especially true for the Harbingers, you've heard, the twelve most elite members that serve under the Tsaritsa, and the ones that are the most exclusive customers this night. That doesn't mean the Harbingers are any more humane than the average crook. Having worked in a strip club run by the mafia and surrounded by criminal organizations, the more rumored something is, the more dangerous it is. They can be considered devils amongst demons even. That's simply how vile they're supposed to be. 

The most concerning problem about the Harbingers is that you don’t know what they look like, only the occasional whisper has alluded to how to distinguish between the twelve. Perhaps, you can survive through the night if you try not to draw too much attention; let the other dancers shine instead and hope you don’t get requested for a private room or dance. That way, you can ensure you don’t end up dead. 

Your time to go upstage comes sooner than you’re prepared for. Your hands are clammy, and your form trembles in a way that only happened during your first month. Both reactions don’t make for a very good combination when your survival relies on you not fucking up and disappointing criminal customers. As you approach the pole, just like every time you’ve done, you make sure that the crowd’s gazes are in the backdrop of your mind, and instead, fixate on repeating the movements you’ve been taught and have mastered with your experience. Bet your survival on the provocative sway of your hips, the practiced showcase of your legs, and the allure of your dancing form. Beguile the crowd, but not too much, just enough to wow them. From what you can tell by the volume of the crowd, you’re doing a good job pleasing the Fatui enough. Your body stops tremoring after a few minutes on stage, and with one last final push of courage, you focus your eyes on the crowd before you.

Unsurprisingly, the makeup of the Fatui are men, though there are notably quite a few women. Either way, all of their attention is on you. As your eyes scan across a crowd, for one reason or another, you stop at a particular set of eyes near the back of the crowd. Intent, pitch-black abysses stare back, like they were trying to bore into your soul and devour every single motion of yours. They don’t quite hold the same ravenous desire as many of those before you right now, you mentally note with curiosity. It feels like your form is being calculated, in the way a predator would cautiously observe their next prey, a sensation you’ve experienced a few times, but each is no less chilling. The weight of their engrossed gaze causes you to shiver momentarily, and you snap away from their disturbing gaze to prevent any fumbling or faltering while you’re on stage. 

Tonight marks the first time you actively seek out the same viewer while on stage, or even, during your entire time here. For some reason, you feel awfully bold, or curious, whichever two comforts you more, and unlike the meek little rabbit you usually are, you instead search for the viewer’s gaze. You find the pair of eyes with relative ease, as you remember that above their eyes are distinctive snow-white strands with streaks as black as their orbs. You take a moment to study them, and they remind you of a lion–or lioness–among hyenas. The aura they exude varied quite a bit compared to the other Fatui in front of you: not rambunctious, or arrogant; it's apparent they held an aura of indomitable authority just from the way they held themselves. Perfect posture with their clasped hands nested in their lap, with one leg raised over the other. They’re an embodiment of perfected elegance, however, much like a porcelain doll, they’re also expressionless, their appearance unmarred. You don’t examine the Fatui’s form for much longer because their scrutiny on you pricks at your skin irritatedly. 

You don’t look for them again throughout your performance. In fact, you hope you never meet those charcoal pits again. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll be ensnared by whatever beastly claws or fangs you know that Fatui hides underneath that impenetrable mask. The moment your time on stage ends, you rush back to the changing room to shake off your nerves. You sit down at a nearby chair, taking in deep sighs as you attempt to forget how you were stared down like a you were cornered, defenseless animal. And that is what you are, as much as you hate it. There’s nothing that can protect you from the Fatui. Maybe if you hide, never show your face for the rest of the night, they’ll forget they ever saw you and they’ll target another dancer. Surely, that will work, won’t it? 

You’re able to steady your breathing before you can delve into a panic attack. Tonight, you decide, you’re not going to take any customers to any private rooms or take any private dances. You’d be missing out on a lot of money, but your life is more of a priority as of currently; not after the ‘encounter’ with that individual, you don’t want to think about how many more are just like them, hiding in the crowd like they were awaiting an opportunity to pounce on your vulnerable form. 

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else has other plans for you because your manager storms into the room asking for your whereabouts before his eyes narrow on you. You immediately sit up, stiff as a board when he practically marches his way towards you. 

"Someone wants you." 

You sigh and shake your head. You should have known. "Not tonight." 

He clicks his tongue. "You know I can't allow that tonight." 

You bite your lip. "Just pass them to someone else." 

"They're not someone you or I can refuse." 

"Who?" You question with a shuddering breath, your nails digging into your thigh. 

"The fourth one. The Knave. Lord Arlecchino."

Fuck your life. You might as well pull the trigger now. You’ve heard faint whispers of each Harbinger from the customers audacious enough to speak of them. The youngest, the eleventh, charming and boyish. The ninth, money-obsessed but a pretty looker. The eighth, elegant and cold, yet no less alluring. The seventh, as human-like as their robotic creations, which to say isn’t very. The sixth, is hotheaded and mysterious. The fifth, unknown. And the fourth?

Insane. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. That’s how the fourth is described. You shiver at the horrors that appear on the forefront of your mind when imagining what may come for you. If you're lucky, you'll be alive at the end of the night, more than likely clinging to the edge of living. 

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get ready as soon as you can.” 

And you do. It’s not long until you stand in front of the private room’s door, your guest is already inside more than likely. The Fourth Harbinger is waiting, you remind yourself, fruitlessly trying to swallow down your stress. You can be dead the minute you step inside, this room could be marked as your grave. Whatever he tells you to do, you’ll obey wordlessly to survive. Just nod along, smile, and do whatever it is that he tells you regardless of the demand. You inhale deeply, regaining some ease of mind, before you bring your knuckles to the door, knocking. 

“Come in,” comes a deep, flat voice, slightly muffled by its distance but what surprises you is how feminine the Harbinger sounds. Maybe you got the wrong room. You glance back at the room number plate on the door, and it’s the room you remember your manager mentioning. It’s the right room. Maybe someone else? You don’t have time to wonder, however, as you enter the room, knowing that if it is the Fourth, it wouldn’t be wise to keep him (Her? Them? You’ll just stick with ‘them’ now.) waiting. 

“Lord Arlecchino?” You inquire as you enter the room, closing the door behind you. Sucking in a harsh inhale, you instantly recognize their distinct hair. It’s them. Your sight is immediately greeted by the figure sitting on the couch before you, sitting in exactly the same way you discovered them–crossed-legged and lounging back with unfaltering confidence. The Knave wears a scarlet blazer over a black compressed turtleneck, with a matching set of crimson leggings. Upon closer inspection, you’re able to make out red irises in their jet-black eyes. Despite the blatant and literal red flag, something about their appearance draws you in even when they scream danger. They’re… you’re not quite sure how to describe them. You admire the unblemished and pale skin, their elegant and rugged demeanor is like the perfect balance between femininity and masculinity. Are they beautiful, or are they handsome? You think both. 

Arlecchino stares back at you like they’re considering devouring you then and there. You can’t suppress the shudder that runs down your spine. You’re a sheep before a wolf. There’s something so chilling about them that even with your experience with other clients, none has ever made you feel this way with just their mere gaze alone. This is what separates the average crook from one of the most powerful mafia members you've ever heard of.

You wait for a response but they only continue to observe you. You take the silence as confirmation to your question and that they’re anticipating something from you. Biting back a sigh of resignation, your hands hook underneath the band of your bra top and you lift it just the slightest amount before a cutting voice makes you freeze.

“What are you doing?” the Harbinger demands, their tone chilling and apathetic, making you want to shrink in yourself immediately. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears and your hands tremble a bit. Something about how designing their gaze makes you suddenly self-aware in a way you’ve never felt before another client–you’re practically half-naked in front of them with your skimpy bra top, undergarments, and fishnets and now is the only moment that you've actually considered how little covering is on you. 

Why are they stopping you? Isn’t this what they wanted you to do? Or maybe they just want to do it themselves. Those types of customers always have the most bruising of grips and suffocating of holds. You stiffen at the notion. How are you going to survive this night with a Fatui Harbinger of all things? How many of your limbs are going to be fractured and how many of your bones are going to end up broken? 

“I…I’m undressing,” your meek voice sounds out and you hate the crack in your speech. The Harbinger continues to scrutinize you. You don’t dare continue disrobing yourself. 

There are several beats of wordless response before they then stand up from the couch. 

Oh shit. You’ve fucked up. Are they going to kill you now? Is this your end? 

Every thought is telling you to run in the opposite direction as they stalk up to you, but you're petrified as you realize with a chill that they’re taller than you. You’re not short by any means, a bit above average height, but they tower over you, looking down at you from above and casting judgment on you like a god. Once they stride toward you, you avoid eye contact by looking straight, observing their neck and clavicle that protrudes from underneath the fabric. You tense when they raise a hand, their manicured fingers placing themselves underneath your chin and long, carmine nails dig into the underside of your jaw, making you wince. They forcefully tilt your head, raising your focus onto their face. 

It’s like they plunged their hands down your throat and ripped out the oxygen from your lungs, leaving you unable to breathe. Up close, the first thing you notice is their lips, plump and red from their lipstick. Briefly, you wonder what color their lipstick would look on your skin. Then your eyes travel up, red-crossed eyes gaze back at you and you gape quietly at the distinct shape of their pupils. You swear that their pupils flash red as you finally lock eye contact with them. 

“Did I tell you to?” Their tone is cold compared to the strange softness of their handsome (beautiful?) face. 

Something in your gut coils inwardly and you want to look away, but their firm hold on your chin prevents you. You bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. You’re delicate glass in their hands, and they can break you so, so easily. 

“No, sir.” Only the numerous times you’ve said this phrase ensures you don’t stumble over your words. They don’t answer promptly, but as they observe your features, their lips quirk up the slightest amount. 

“You know how to address me. Very good,” Arlecchino purrs after several beats of silence, in a low, oh-so-sultry tone, and oh. Oh. 

You’re not sure why, but their last two words make your stomach churn, but not in a discomforting way. In the way that lights a fire underneath your skin and spreads heat to every part of your body. You’ve never quite felt this way with another customer. You couldn’t believe that your body reacts this way just from a single praise but it doesn’t stop the pooling heat in your bowels. The chill down your spine still remains in place, but there’s an off-putting equilibrium of iciness and fervor generated from the client. 

The Fatui’s eyes stay fixated on you wordlessly until the hand on your chin turns your head, finally breaking you free of their intense behold. Their grip slackens so that they can trace their nails gently down your throat, every inch of surface their fingertips brush against ignites a blaze on your skin. A shuddering exhale leaves your lips and it seems like they take notice because from the corner of your eye, the small uptick of their mouth grows. Despite how sensual and probing the Harbinger’s touch feels, there’s nothing lecherous about it–purely just intrigue and fascination. It’s a touch you both have and never experienced before. Cold nails rake against your throat, not enough to mark or scratch, but enough to invoke shivers. 

You’re aware you should be terrified, but for a reason you can’t pin down, you can’t jerk away from their touch. You try to reason with yourself it was only because you’re one upset away from getting yourself killed but that reasoning falls apart when their hand gingerly traces your jawline and you make the softest of groans, a barely audible noise of content. Unfortunately for you, the sound seems to have reached Arlecchino’s ears and their expression softens slightly: their eyes narrow less and their brows aren’t as creased. And that smirk–if you could even call it that from how faint it is–becomes a half-smirk. 

They pull their hand away and your trance is broken, reality returning back to you as you remember that the person before you is still a Fatui Harbinger, no matter how bizarrely melting their touch was. They turn on their heel and walk towards the couch in front of you; the slightest bit of heaviness is placed on your heart. You remain stationary where you are, observing them as they seat themselves gracefully on the couch, and their attention encounters yours again. Their black pits hold expectancy in them. At first, you’re clueless as to what the criminal desires from you, but then their legs spread apart, an inviting gesture that beckons you and every rational thought leaves your easily swayed mind. Your heart skips a beat, and you're sure this time it's not out of trepidation. 

Even if you didn’t command them to, your legs would take you to their seating figure. You stand before them, feeling blatantly disrespectful to look down at Arlecchino, but you await their order. They lean back, lounging laxly against the couch, their posture never lacking their usual self-assurance. It only ties the knot in your gut tighter. You’re aware of what they’re instructing you to do, but the absent confirmation makes you hesitant. It seems like the Knave picks up on this because the room echoes with one definitive spouted word from their lips, authority and dominance ringing through their husky voice. 

“Sit.” 

Your legs buckle underneath you from the one-worded response, the demand only stoking the consuming fire inside you. Eager to please, you perch yourself on their lap, straddling them, your knees pressed into the furniture below you and encasing both of their thighs between your own. 

Oh, you think to yourself as your legs make contact with their thighs. They're firm. And for some reason, that provokes your stomach to churn in itself even more. You're so close to them, enough to feel their breath cascade against your skin. 

As you seat yourself, you nearly clumsily topple over, instinctively grasping onto their shoulders for support. Their shoulders are remarkably broad, you regard, well-muscled as well. Their hands creep up on your hips, steady but gentle hands grasping on each bare side of yours to stabilize you. The heat that radiates from their hands is infectious, regardless of the nails that burrow into your plush waist. For the first time, you flush considerably, a sweltering inferno forming in your cheeks and your head fills with dizziness. Their touch is gentle–something you rarely experience with customers–so, so gentle that you would describe it as heavenly. How can someone so inexplicably vile have heaven on their fingertips?

It's not a position you never found yourself in. In fact, it's far from the first time you've been like this with another client. But here, as you're sat on top of the Fatui Harbinger, and red x-pupils search yours, a foreign feeling passes through you. Placing your finger on it, you dubiously think it's bashfulness, but the heartbeat that sings in your ears and pulses underneath your fingertips tells you otherwise, tells you it's something more. Against that, you remove your grasp on their shoulders and place your palm flat against the couch’s surface behind the Knave. 

You squirm a bit, nervousness in your form as you remain as still as you possibly can, waiting for any more instructions. All you need to do is act like an obedient doll for them in order to survive; compliance is the best way of ensuring survival with people like these. You feel like you're merely eye candy from the way that their attention flits across your body, but you're immobile throughout the entirety of their observance. Being looked at is much better than any physical interaction. Their hands still cup your hips, but slowly, they descend to the side of your thighs, making your skin feel tingly. 

Impulsively, you mumble out a quiet "Sir…" as strange sensations brush against your skin. 

The sound surprises you and you feel on edge as their eyes travel from your lower half to your face. You gulp considerably. From their stare, they expect more of a response, a reason for their addressment, but even you don’t know yourself; it seems like an unconscious calling that just rolled off your tongue. You cow underneath their gaze, even when the two of you are at eye level. When you linger in quietude, their hand releases one of your thighs and lifts to your face, supporting your chin while their thumb rests on your bottom lip, unfurling it just the slightest amount to implore an answer from your now parted lips. Gleaming scarlet pupils grip your regard sternly, piercing into you and instilling you to spew something out. Except, you still can’t, now too entranced and lost in the crimson. 

“Doll.” 

Despite the pet name, it's devoid of any affection or warmth. It's a word that drips of command, a reminder of your place: simply a toy that they can play with however they want, a manipulated and decorated plaything for their amusement. That means you answer to them, and so when they request a response, you're under the obligation to please them. Your survival is in their palms anyway, if they wanted you to dance, you would just so they wouldn’t strangle the life out of you. 

However, its implication doesn’t prevent the tingling shudders that wrack your body nor the involuntary clenching of your thighs around theirs. Was it the gravelly voice that aroused your behavior? Your cheeks flare at the knowledge that Harbinger sensed the physical reaction. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible, your thoughts repeat, but then they're interrupted by: 

"Oh?" Arlecchino inquires to themselves, a stark amusement in their speech. Their red glare illuminates slightly, replacing the lost darkening with a faint glow in their pupils, and the corner of their mouth curls up. It is only then that you discover something entirely new: that monsters can be sinfully, cataclysmically, terrifyingly beautiful and the sight before you is the most exquisite example. A devil has you wrapped in its claws and its fangs readied for devouring but it’s disguised as an ethereal angel; blinded by their perilous allure, you mistake their snow-white hair, their lustrous piercing rubies, their flawless porcelain skin, and their burning, fleeting touches as traits of a seraph. From a measly smirk, you forget the atrocities lying underneath their fingertips and dismiss the hazard their presence holds. 

The hand on your thigh rakes its fingers up, red nails trailing across the surface of your fishnet, wrenching out a breathy gasp from you as they travel inwards. Tingling pleasure injects into your veins as you subconsciously lean in, imploring for further sensual contact. A plea sits on your tongue and nests in your eyes as you beg them through your pitiful expression. They drink in your desperation with a slow swipe of their tongue over their lips, and that single action is debauched enough to elicit a soft groan from your throat.

“Well, aren’t you an amusing toy?” They drawl out with a preposing rasp and dark abysses glint with an insatiable hunger. 

They smirk enticingly, their thumb running across your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick on their thumb pad. Their grip on your chin tightens a bit, pulling you even closer to them before a shadow casts over you when their face nears. Before you can even fathom their intentions, they descend upon you, closing the distance between the two of you. Your lips are greeted with something pillowy soft and fervently warm, and you sharply inhale from the sensation. Every one of your nerves sings frenziedly, your muscles tense all over, and your heartbeat drums deafeningly in your ears–all of this as your body is engulfed in a fervid tornado of heat that makes you lightheaded with pleasure. It takes you several beats to realize the reason for this is that Lord Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave is kissing–no, kissing is far too intimate, devouring–you voraciously like they're trying to rob you of any air, trying to imprint themselves on your mouth. Their mouth dominates yours, pushing against them with a deep fervor and famished urgency, eager to swallow every bit of shocked noise you make. 

You close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge. 

You first taste lipstick with a waxy flavor hitting your tastebuds. It’s cold against your lips, yet warm at the same time. But the physical texture and flavor of their lips are irrelevant; there’s only one true manner you would distinguish their taste: 

They taste like sin. 

The type of sin that’s chocolate coated and sprinkled with colorful toppings; depravity so sweet and charming it makes you reconsider the bounds of right and wrong. Degeneracy is far, far tastier than anything you’ve indulged in before. How can something so evil be so heavenly? Cushiony soft, placidly warm, flatteringly zealous, it’s like having a dance with a devil; so unequivocally immoral but no less gratifying. You question if they really belong to the Fatui because how can something like this come from such? You want to engrave the texture of their mouth onto your memory, feel this faux intimacy even when you’ve long parted. The Fourth Harbinger, you surmise as you surrend your will to them, is decadent–the only word that can be defined as both wicked and delectable at once–the perfect word to describe them. 

The last remaining bit of reasoning comes to the backdrop of your thoughts and begs you to not be swept away in the heavenly embrace. You discount it in favor of accepting this godsent gift by leaning further with a weak imitation of their ravishing lips and pressing back. It’s a feeble attempt to match their insatiate nature, far too domineering and forceful than you can manage but they display a token of appreciation when they squeeze your thigh, indenting your skin shallowly with the burrowing of their nails. The action exposes just how sensitive you’ve gone underneath their touch and you reward them with the sweetest of sounds. 

“Arlecchino,” you mumble with half-lidded dazed eyes in between ravenous exchanges and it evokes a depraved throaty growl from the Fatui, like provoking a call from a starving beast. They lean deeper to indulge in your taste. The gruff sound reaches your ears and it’s like a psalm–you shudder from its musical melody. 

Their clutch on your jaw releases and their fingers outline your jawline before snaking to the back of your head. Well-manicured digits entangle themselves in your hair, and there’s a gentle shove against your skull that forces you deeper into the kiss. Your hands clutch onto the couch underneath you as tight as you physically can for any sense of grounding and your knees attempt to close in even more to feel more of their body against yours. The hand on your leg, in turn, caresses the length of your thigh. 

Every graceful touch, stroke, and brush exudes an unyielding and infectious warmth that only adds to the stoking fire in your gut, and you’re bathed in so much swelter from the ecstasy that you feel dizzy. Yet, you never want it to end, you grow more addicted and drunk with each encounter of their lips. That, paired with your strained breathing, prompts your stamina to falter much sooner than the Harbinger’s. You let out a soft whine to signal your depleting oxygen, and their mouth unlatch with yours, pulling away despite your ache for more. With the separation comes a small string of saliva attached between the two of you, evidence of the shared intimacy that’s snapped when they lick their lips. The hand behind your head detangles from your hair and you silently mourn over the loss of contact. 

You heave for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re a little perturbed when you notice that they’re not even out of breath, a small but firm reminder that they’re as inhuman as humans can be. That knocks a sense of reality back into you. Customer, mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, it comes back to you like a train. Here you are swapping spit with them while in the lap of potentially the most dangerous criminal you could ever meet, but fuck were they a good kisser–you’ve never experienced anything that came close to this in your lifetime.

Any foolish doubtful contemplation of the morality of this interaction is swept away just like that when you hear:

“Greedy little thing that you are,” they regard with the most cunning and handsome of smiles, discrete amusement dripping from their words. Their dark pits behold you entirely, the same way they have always done when it seems like they were contemplating what part of you to savor the most. Only this time, you’re not so disturbed by the notion. If anything, the swirling heat in between your legs suggests the opposite.  

Greedy wasn't a word often associated with you, yet you couldn't more correctly describe yourself in that moment. Greedy. Greedy for a Fatui Harbinger no less. As ashamed as you should be, there's no use denying that you crave for their touch, for their gaze, for anything and everything they're willing to give you. You want everything and more. The more you contemplate, the more it seems obvious why you wouldn’t. Are they a devil disguised as an angel, or are they an angel that fell from grace? Regardless, they bring nirvana to you. An incessant desire bubbles inside you, your throat swelling up with an urgent request on the tip of your tongue. Would they allow such a thing if you plead? Would they be offended by your impudence? Would they punish you for such? But the necessity outweighs any reconsideration of your insolence and the supplicant beg tumbles out of your loose lips. 

“Can I… touch you please, my Lord?” You croak out, wincing at just how wretched it comes out. The response from them is not immediate as the two of you stew in silence, a building sense of dejection inside of you. The expression on their face noticeably contorts, smile lessening, their brows furrowing, and their red x’s glinting dimly. Their free hand raises to near your neck and you suck in a harsh breath as their fingers enclose around your throat. The mere action sends a stinging reminder to your lust-dazed thoughts about their position, and a chill pierces you. 

Mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave–the labels cycle through your thoughts. Though their grip is lax, not exactly suffocating and giving ample space to breathe, their fingertips does acutely jab into your skin, a display of their impressive grip strength. You have no doubt that they can suffocate you with one hand alone, snap your neck, or, as your mind ventures into more harrowing territories, crush your skull. Those thoughts alone has you breathless with anticipation. A heavy weight suddenly appears in your gut, so heavy that you feel like you can’t move so much as a muscle. 

Did you just go too far? Was that too much to ask? Was this how you were going to die?

The reflex to gag and inhale combat each other in your throat, a discomforting sensation that crawls up your spine while you tremble. You’re almost certain that the nails have penetrated the layer of skin, drawing beads of blood that’ll trail down your mark. You whimper at the prickly pain. Yet, in all your unease, the most masochistic thought arrives briefly at the forefront, and you can’t help but consider: this position is just as intimate as all the other interactions. You’re already so vulnerable in their lap, does the hand around your neck change your peril in any way? No, you’ve been a defenseless lamb to a slaughter the moment you’ve stepped into the domain of a menacing wolf. 

Ah. Even now, you can’t dismiss the warmth of their fingertips. 

“Do you still want to touch me when I do this?” They demand callously, their voice harsh and reverberating through the room. Their grasp closes more around, and you feel your supply of oxygen inhibited. Tears begin to brim your eyes, but you’re undeterred. Unlike Arlecchino’s, your answer is instant and breathless. Your eyes intently lock on theirs, the hardened expression enough to satisfy their question. There’s no need for contemplation. Danger, you determine, is addicting. 

“Yes.”

The previously small smile stretches across their lips considerably. Content, or dare you say it, thrill writes itself over their face and the boulder previously pressed against your shoulders is lifted. Your throat is freed from their hold, but their touch doesn’t halt there. Instead, they rotate your head for you to face to the left, exposing your side profile to them. From the corner of your eyes, you watch as their face draws closer to your skin, hot breath cascading across the small dents her nails created. The one on your thigh finally leaves, moving to one of your hips, tender strokes across your flushed surface. They lean forward, and moist, plush skin meets yours. Lips traverse over the length of your neck, teeth scraping against, making you weakly groan. It takes all of your will to still your body, only allowing for the Harbinger to do whatever they desire to your form. Their touches are burning, burning, burning–so hot that you wonder if you’re experiencing a heat wave. Peppered kisses follow the edge of your jawbone, all the way up to your earlobe. A wet kiss graces your ear and then the most sinful of statements dignifies your eardrums, like a devil whispering hymns directly into your ear. 

“I think I’ll keep you to myself after this.”

A short hum follows afterward. 

“If you want to touch me, you’ll have to work for it. You’re only mine for tonight, aren't you? Entertain me. Give me a private dance, doll. After all, you have me for all night.” 

---

Link to M-Alexa's amazing art and how I imagine Arlecchino to look like in this oneshot.

[soupedepates]

Antonina belongs to @noa-de-cajou

People tend to remember me, for I am the goth mommy working in retail in two different locations. I need the two incomes to have a good life for my son. Even if Idalia is paying child support, life is still pretty expensive, and young kids grow up really fast. And I grew up on hand-me-downs from my mother, from the Lupsowiec, from the neighbours... which is mad cheap and convenient, but clearly, it did impact me in the wrong way. I just want the best for Dmitry.

My superiors know I am a single mother. Well, everyone knows that. My manager at one store is...

Yeah.

I know why I called a Uber just to make sure he won't follow me. He's been getting handsy these days. And I can't disappear because, you see, I am the goth mommy working in retail. I can't lie low and I catch the eye.

And people don't care about me because I am the goth single mommy working in retail. Colleagues and clients alike. I might be "asking for it", who knows. I...

I do look like I am an easy prey.

Perhaps because I am.

No, no, Tekla, don't think like that.

You don't deserve that.

"You're a wonder and a queen, and I will destroy anyone who dares to look at you. You're mine, and I will protect you." Fuck, get out of my head. It's been 4 years and you're with another, and this woman is a fucking patron saint to put up with your bullshit.

Still, it was easier to hide behind you.

Thanks heaven here's my Uber.

I send Zuza a text to tell her I will be late picking up Dima at her place. I prefer dealing with her, bless her heart, than with my ex. Then, I get into the car.

"Can you please drive around for a bit?" I ask, looking anxiously at my manager staring at me through the window.

"......Tekla? Tekla, from middle school, 6e A, 5e D, 4e C, 3e A?"

I look at my driver in disbelief. These green eyes and this fair hair. This tired face.

"Tonia? My God, it's you???"

"It is!" she smiles before she turns the engine on. "Oh my, it's been a while... Since the end of middle school, right?"

"Yeah!" I take a moment to observe her driving. "You seem to have a lot figured out, Tonia, woah."

"Eh, I'm not sure."

"You look way less gloomy."

"Still, I feel like my life is upside down", she chuckles. "How's life?"

"My manager is a creep and I'm a mother. You?"

"I'm a mother too, and a bad one at that."

"Why do you say that?"

"It's..." She hesitates, then sighs. "Nothing. I just feel like a bad mother."

"You're the sweetest girl I've ever met, you can't be a bad mother."

"...Yeah. Are you still with Efrém?"

Who? Oh. Yeah. Hm. I don't know how familiar Antonina is with the concept of transidentity. Well, not the first time I have to educate people on that.

"It's Idalia now."

"Always knew that kid was fruity", she smiles, giving me a giggle.

"We broke up four years ago. I'm going to her girlfriend's place to pick up my kid."

She looks at the address for a bit.

"That's funny because my midwife has been in this block since four years."

...Wait a damn minute.

"Is she, like, with a thick accent?"

"Yes she is."

"Is this Mrs Majak?"

"You know her?" She exclaims. "The Polish diaspora is quite tight-knit in this city. That's crazy when you think of it."

"You want tea? I have some to spill."

"Always," she twitters.

"Idalia cheated on me with your midwife and that's why we broke up."

"Noooooo."

"Yes," I assure. "And she now lives with her. It's been four years. My kid is at theirs. I am picking him up at theirs and your midwife is actually helping him doing his homework and brewing coffee for me."

She bursts out laughing at a stop sign before resuming her path. She seems like she needed that right now. Girlie is stressed out. Antonina has always been secretive, and I respect that. Least I can do is making her feel better for a while.

"Damn, and I'd rather sit and discuss with this woman than with my ex. You remember how she was in middle school? She didn't calm down at all! It got worse! Well, you know that the Lupsowiec have always been a handful but clearly, she is the worst of them..."

I chat and babble and talk and talk and talk to fill up the silence. When I stop, like on cue, she snorts or says "oh, really? That's crazy! Oh wow!". I think it temporarily alleviates her burden. Perhaps she needs to hear stupid ramblings. Just to feel less alone. I need that sometimes. She said she was a mother. It's kind of lonely to be a mother, and a single one at that. You need company. She can use some of that.

"Annnnd we're at destination", Antonina announces as she parks her vehicle.

"Thanks a lot, Tonia, that's an immediate 5-star," I smile. "Oh, and before I forget, please note my number. You should drop by sometimes, I'm a great cook and we have to catch up."

Her eyes sparkle.

"We sure have. See you soon, I guess?"

[bunbeeplays]

The Lemon Legacy: Generation 1, Chapter 93 - Bumps and Biscuits

Ophelia's well into her second trimester, and she's feeling a bit drained.

Ophelia: You are wearing me out, baby girl… But hey, I think I rock this baby bump, don't you?

Xander and Ophelia cuddle before bed when something dawns on them.

Ophelia: We haven't even talked about a name.

Xander: Oh yeah. I keep calling her Muffin in my head, but I don't think she'd love putting that as her legal name on job applications.

Ophelia: We could name her after your mom.

Xander: That's really sweet, babe, but there's a good chance this kid is going to come out with your complexion and I think naming a little white blonde girl Lakshmi is going to look more insulting than honoring.

Ophelia: Fair.

Ophelia: I did have another name in mind, in the back of my head…

Ophelia tells Xander the name and explains the reasoning behind it. Xander seems on board.

Xander: That's a beautiful name.

Ophelia: We can think up a few more options.

Xander: No no, I love that one.

Well, that's one less thing to cross off their list. Tomorrow is the start of Ophelia's third trimester, so they're going to add the finishing touches to the nursery. Pretty soon, their lives will change forever, but right now, they're enjoying this experience together.

The nursery is finished. They maybe went a little overboard with toys for someone that won't be able to play with them for a while, but you only have your first baby once.

Ophelia can't help but sit in the rocking chair and wonder what their little one is going to be like when she gets here. Is she going to be cautious, wiggly, sunny, calm? And what's she going to be like when she's not an infant? Guess that's the fun part, isn't it?

One thing Ophelia does know about her daughter is that she's got one hell of a leg. Pregnancy isn't all lollipops and rainbows.

Ophelia: I love you so much already, kid, but I'm not going to be sad to not have you treating my organs like a soccer ball anymore.

Travis and Becca gifted the future parents a few baby books, so Ophelia decides to read to the baby.

Ophelia: The boy wanted to play with the horsies, but the mean business man wouldn't let him if the boy didn't pay $40. "That's a bit steep for just horses," said the boy.

Ophelia: Do you think our baby will be smart?

Xander: Sure. I did okay in school. And weren't you valedictorian?

Ophelia: I didn't go to graduation after getting kicked out, I think the salutatorian took my place. To be honest, this is the first book I've read since then.

Xander: If our girl grows up anything like her mommy, then she's going to be great all around.

Ophelia: Let's hope the klepto trait isn't genetic.

Xander: If it is, we know how to help her.

Xander kisses the side of his wife's head as she continues to read. Not much longer!

During lunch, Ophelia hits her third trimester. The baby kicks her once again, but this time it just feels kind of funny.

Ophelia: Hey, settle down in there! Do you want Mommy to have a bladder failure?

Marshmallow needs some attention. Not that she'd ever admit it or anything.

Ophelia: Poor baby, Mommy and Daddy have been so busy, haven't they? Maybe you need a little kitty playmate to keep you company.

Marshmallow: an underling? excellent idea, mother.

Ophelia: Sheesh, look at how big I am, Marshie. I'm about to pop!

Marshmallow: are you making yourself appear larger to scare off prey, mother?

Ophelia uses her time before the baby arrives to work on completing her first original song. When she can't sleep because of how much she's aching, she uses the time to slam out some more lyrics. Ophelia's never been one to just sit around and wait for something to happen.

Ophelia didn't get the best sleep last night, but it was enough. She has a craving for sausage gravy and biscuits, so she gets out all the ingredients, only for something to interrupt her.

Ophelia: Uh, Xander? I think my water just broke.

Xander instantly goes into pre-parental panic mode.

Xander: Oh Watcher, okay, we've got this. I'll go get changed, grab the bag-

Ophelia: Aww man, I really wanted biscuits.

Xander: You're in labor and you're thinking about biscuits?!

Ophelia: I can multitask!

As Xander runs upstairs to grab some stuff to take to the hospital, Ophelia pulls some leftover fruit out of the fridge so she doesn't starve to death. It's no biscuit, but it'll do.

Eat up, Feefs! It's go time!

[anuka98]

Prison House

The neighbors wave, they know my dad, A man who helps out when he can. They call him generous, brave, and kind, The finest sort of gentleman.

My mom is at the church each week, She prays and serves, her faith is strong. They say our family is so blessed, A house where everyone belongs.

But when the front door closes tight, The smiles and laughter fade away. I have to watch each word I say, Or face the price I have to pay.

My father’s word is always law, No matter if it's wrong or right. He says the blackest thing is white, And I can’t dare to put up a fight.

At school, the other kids take things— My pens, my books, my lunch, my space. I want to tell them, "That’s not right," But I just smile and keep my place.

If I stand up, if I fight, If I insist on what is fair, I know the cost when I get home— A voice that chills me like cold air.

The teachers think I'm just polite, A quiet kid who follows rules. But my silence is my armor Against the harshest of the fools.

Some classmates think I'm easy prey, They push, they trip, they call me names. I hold my tongue, I stay unseen, I know that here I have no claims.

I'd love to play with other kids, To join the team, to score some goals. But changing clothes, it makes me cringe— A fear that wraps around my soul.

It’s something that I can’t explain, A shadow from a past event. I'm just a kid, I don't know why It makes me feel so hesitant.

I watch the boys at school get dressed, So casual as they laugh and joke. But me, I keep my shirt on tight, Their ease feels like a cruel hoax.

What happened at home still haunts me, Though I don't have the words to say. I wish I could be brave like them, And shrug my heavy fear away.

Mom says I should be grateful, That Dad is not like other men. He's sober, steady, not a drunk, And that's why we depend on him.

She says we need to understand, That he provides, that he works hard. He's not like others who waste cash, On drinks and games or fancy cars.

But I don’t see how that explains Why Dad gets angry when he’s calm. Why sober hands can leave such marks, Why sober words can do such harm.

At least the other fathers fight When they are lost in hazy booze. But mine doesn’t need a drink To make me feel that I can’t choose.

He hits and shouts with clear, cold eyes, And doesn’t care how much it hurts. He acts like he’s the perfect man, But inside, he’s a cruel curse.

The relatives come by sometimes, They bring their gifts, they laugh and eat. They talk about how Dad is right, That discipline is no small feat.

They say, "Spare the rod, spoil the child," Like it excuses every hit. But what discipline comes from screams, From tearing charts, destroying it?

Dad doesn't like my history books, Says I should focus on the math. But school requires all these things, And shouting is the aftermath.

What good is discipline like this, Where learning feels like battle ground? When every step I try to take Is met with harshness, sharp and loud?

The relatives say I need rules, They justify Dad's angry ways. But all I see are broken dreams, A path that’s filled with endless haze.

At night, I lie awake in bed, The house is quiet, dark, and still. I think about the day that passed— The empty words, the hurt, the chill.

I try to find a place to hide, A corner where I won't be seen. But every sound, each footstep heard, Reminds me just how small I've been.

I wonder if I'll ever find A place where I can truly be. A home that's filled with warmth and love, A home that's free from cruelty.

But here I am, in walls that press, A world that doesn’t let me grow. No matter how I try to laugh, I feel this emptiness below.

[sixty-silver-wishes]

It's 2023 and I live in Florida.

I've lived my whole life in central Florida (with the nearest city being Orlando), and the general political climate I grew up in was pretty moderate. The far-right shift things have been taking honestly came as a shock (although to be fair, confronting the rise of fascism in your backyard is a tough pill to swallow no matter where you live), considering the atmosphere I was raised in; I remember going on vacation to places like Georgia and Tennessee when I was a kid and being shocked to see people flying Confederate battle flags and selling them as souvenirs in gift shops. Florida always felt like more of a mixed bag, albeit a whiplash-inducing one; you can go down to Mims and see Trump signs tacked up everywhere, or you can go to Lake Eola and see pride flags in all the windows.

Both the Pulse and Parkland shootings happened when I was in high school, and I distinctly remember how both of them rocked my community. We staged walkouts at school, had conversations with our families and friends about topics like gun control and the LGBT+ community that lasted for weeks, and it felt like a sense of mourning and desire for progress could be felt within everyone I knew.

Which is one of the many reasons why whatever the fuck Desantis is doing infuriates me so much. I hate to see the place I grew up in turned into what it's becoming, and frankly, it's painful not just to see outsiders see it first and foremost in this way, but for them to be right about it. When Kathy Hochul told conservative New Yorkers to "move to Florida," to me, that felt like a stab in the gut, that the place I lived and grew up in should be recognized nationally like this. For me, that just wasn't Florida. Did we have conservative crazies? Sure, but overall, I always saw Florida as a much more diverse and multifaceted place than people give it credit for. But unfortunately, with the insane laws being passed here and Desantis receiving a level of support that to me seems unthinkable (I swear, he could write "I am a fascist" on his forehead and people still wouldn't give a shit), and the fear I feel every day that things are getting worse and worse, the apathy that follows as a survival mechanism that I keep reminding myself that I can't give into, it feels unrecognizable. And yet, this didn't come out of nowhere.

My advice to those who are still reading? Don't be apathetic. Oppression is happening here, and will continue to worsen, and by writing off entire populations as people unworthy of compassion, you are writing off the people who are oppressed and may not be able to "just leave," who are suffering the most under such legislation and sociopolitical climates. Fascism thrives off of fear and dividing people into "us" and "them," so I'm begging you, remember the humanity of those who are suffering under it- and yes, that includes the people who have been indoctrinated into it. Do you have to like them, excuse them, or forgive them? Absolutely not. But their fears and ignorance are being preyed upon, and that will end up hurting more people in the long run.

Secondly, don't think it can never happen to you. I've seen people in blue states constantly dismiss whatever Desantis and co. are doing because it doesn't affect them, but if he runs for president and wins, he becomes the entire country's problem. And it doesn't have to be him; we've seen far-right ideology spreading across the country, perpetrated by multiple people. I've seen Europeans and Canadians blaming the rise of far-right movements in their countries on Trump and America, and while Trump and far-right American movements may have encouraged them, fascism can show up anywhere; the first step to fighting it acknowledges that there's never just one person to blame; it works systemically and thrives off of apathy. Think critically, stay educated, and most importantly, stay compassionate.

[meatriarchived]

how do you analyse a character to know their mannerisms and how to write as them?

ooooo okay so, to be fair, i dont exactly have a set method to how i do it ts definitely just. i toss shit into a cauldron and see what sticks, what makes them tick what feels right and what doesnt gets yanked out so to speak.

if the character has source material its definitely alot easier to do because of the visuals they have! i like to re-watch scenes alot with characters to try and pick up little things on them.

for example with thomas - his actor had a habit of making small, jaw / teeth movements like grinding teeth / rolling jaw joints, and i translate those to mean either mimicking him hungering after victims, or with his agitation getting to him and him struggling to soothe it and keep himself in check. he also has moments of hesitation when charlie's barking orders - because i don't think inherently thomas wants to kill; but charlie stabs and twists his traumas back into him, repeatedly, and it sets him off. thomas is also just BRUTAL in his hits (perfect example when he kills the slaughterhouse boss at the start of '06) and not even simply taking his size into account for it, brutality is alot of what he knows from childhood - growing up with a father and brother who relentlessly antagonized him. so with that in mind, when he attacks, when he hunts down, when he kills, its him reflecting what he saw in his father and in charlie.

maria on the other hand, if we note how apparently the flores father has either passed or walked out on them some years ago (i follow moreso that he just. left.) maria had to grow up immediately, to be there for her mother, to be there for ana. i see her in her youth having had her head in the clouds, dreamily spending her younger years simply being a kid, being a teen, and truly saw no ill will in the world at large. and then their father left them, and she realized oh okay life isnt always kind but thats fine we've got this, i've got this. she stepped up following him leaving and did her best to do great in school, to help around the house, to help their mom. because of this though she hides alot of stress and anxiety, and while they dont always show outwardly to others, it IS made clear by her sleep paralysis / night terrors, its clear in her habits of biting on lip and insides of cheeks. of her wringing hands and fingers together, rubbing her wrist or arm or shoulders. its evident when she smiles so brightly but that light isnt reflecting in her eyes. maria i write to try and be truly as friendly and sweet and as sunshine incarnate as possible - however even the sun has its dark spots and hers is evident by her melancholy, her fears, hatred and anger. when she feels her highs she is truly warm and bright yet when shes at her lows she burrows into ground to go deeper - to hide.

nancy, as shes fresh on the mind still hers are more visuals than anything. she is reptilian and a.rachnid in movement. she is elongated limb coiling itself around prey, inching toward throat. she is eyes that see more than believed, eyes that are everywhere - in the walls, the ceiling, the furniture, the flames of candle. she is the lapse in time remembered, where one comes back to reality to find themselves not where they once where, with no recollection of how they got there. she is chameleon in the way she changes herself, altering her appearance, altering how she is viewed to the naked eye. she is face obscured by shadow, with unseen eyes glowering from darkness. she is the brush of web against skin that makes you flail arms in a panic.

otherwise though before i let this ramble a lil too long dbskd

i tend to focus and re-watch alot of scenes for those who have actual source material to go on. i look at faces and how expressions are made on them, how lips turn and twist, or how eyes widen or corners of lips twitch. how hands and arms express, how to describe tthe way they walk.

for those without real source material (like maria esp, like my trials muses) i look at gifs of scenes from other shows, see what mannerisms and little things that i attribute to the personality im gearing them for. maria's tend to show apples of cheeks, excited jumping in place, or the quivering of lip and chin when upset, the recoiling into herself in either attempt to hide or in disgust. for simmi its the rolling of shoulders and back muscle, the lucifer stare. its little things like that.

ill also say, ALOT of it has to do with the fact that ive written so many different characters over the years - from absolute saints to some vile motherfuckers. i have alot of... i guess i can call it "profiles" so to speak of behaviors that i tend to attribute to certain characters, mix and match with any canon personality traits,a nd then run with whatever i feel sticks. last time we counted, my offsite co-writer and i had about 530+ characters in a story we've had fun with for the last nearing fifteen years, so, safe to say i have alot of memorized mannerisms that i dont really need to go out looking for anymore c;

but truly, the majority of it is simply just hyper-focusing on available scenes and finding animals / symbols / etc that i can draw influence from for their behavior and voices.

[acourtofsnakes]

Darkness At The Heart Of My Love, Chapter 1 | Kas!Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Chapter 1 - Bad Liar

Summary: The world still turned, people still laughed, and the sun still set. Everything carried on without Eddie's presence. Everything accept you. How could you? He was your best friend and your soulmate, and you refused to accept he was gone. But what if you were right? What if he wasn't?

Warnings: 18+ for heavy mention of depression, anxiety, slight suicidal thoughts, grief, feelings of isolation.

A/N: The future chapters will not be as heavy as this, but please read with caution. Remember, you are not alone, and my inbox is always open 💙

Tags: @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal @mypedrom @undiscovered-misunderstood @kaylee-krystal @theshireisburning-so-mordoritis @queenofthefaceless @gallowsjoker @kirsteng42 @rosiefridayrogersunday @salome-c @amywritesthings @meganlpie @sgt-morgan @starryeyedstories @pumpkin-stars

Series Masterlist | Playlist | Masterlist

*~ Oh, hush, my dear, it's been a difficult year

And terrors don't prey on

Innocent victims ~*

It was strange, how the world went back to normal after something devastating had happened.

The very foundation of your life could be ripped away, taking joy and light and your heart with it and yet… Everything moved as normal. People went back to work, kids went back to school, shops carried on selling and the clock still ticked by, reminding you that each second was another without the person you loved most in the world.

And it pissed you off.

It hurt.

Because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that everyone else acted as though nothing had happened, that they planned their graduation parties and outfits. It wasn’t fair that people laughed and had fun, it wasn’t fair that they shouted across the halls to their friends and asked what they were doing that night.

It wasn’t fair that it carried on. That they got those plans, that laughter.

It wasn’t fair… Because Eddie wasn’t here.

He was dead.

And you weren’t.

Your best friend, your partner in crime, your Dungeon Master, your soulmate, your Eddie. 

Dead.

Torn to shreds by those damn bats in the Upside Down.

And no one cared.

People were fucking relieved that they didn’t have to worry about the possibility of a cultist murderer in their cosy little town. The ‘freak of Hawkins High’ was finally gone, and they didn’t have to worry anymore. They could let their kids out at night without fear, as if Eddie was the worst possible thing crawling through this town, when he was far from it.

They forgot that Eddie was one of the kindest, sweetest guys in the whole place, the one who knew what people thought of him and tried his hardest to not make them afraid, to make them feel at ease. The one who took in the kids who would otherwise be mercilessly bullied and gave them a home in the walls of the school.

Jason’s demise put to rest the whole thing eventually, and now, months later, they didn’t talk about it anymore. They didn’t talk about any of them, really.

Chrissy, Fred, and Patrick had their pictures in the main hallway off the entrance of the school, with memorial plaques and messages from other students beneath.

The others who died in the earthquake were spread along the wall too, and yet… not one of those pictures were Eddie. Not a single one.

You and Dustin had put one up when school eventually resumed, and three days later, it had been defiled by devil horns and pentagrams.

As soon as you saw it, you flipped out, stalking into the cafeteria with the ruined memorial in hand, demanding to know which one of the student body had done it.

There were raised eyebrows and snickering, not so quite whispers about how ‘Munson’s little girlfriend” was losing her mind, maybe he’d finally broken her after all.

It wasn’t until you were standing on top of the basketball teams table, spitting vicious, pained words at them that Ms Kelly was summoned, and you were coaxed into her office for the rest of the afternoon.

She tried to get you to talk about your feelings, to open up about the chasm of guilt and agony that was slowly devouring you whole, but you merely pasted on a smile and reassured her you were okay.

It was just a slip of anger, of pain at how Eddie was treated but you felt better now, and you’d apologise first thing tomorrow.

That moment became the starting point of telling the world you were fine. Of putting on that mask and pretending you were trying to move on.  

That you were grieving, yes, but you were getting through. You couldn’t stop what other people said, only remember Eddie as you knew him. As he truly was.

That’s what you told people.

You continued the Hellfire meetings, the group naming you Dungeon Master in tribute, and you acted as though that notion didn’t tear another hole in your heart. Because a new DM meant he wasn’t coming back. And you pretended that sitting on his empty throne didn’t make you feel sick, like a betrayal to the idea of him still being out there, alive somewhere in the ruins of the Upside Down. It only made the guilt worse, a snide whisper that you’d left him there, that this was all your fault because you distracted him and broke your promise.

The outside world believed that you were getting along just fine, slowly but surely. They didn’t know.

They didn’t know that every single night, you were terrified to sleep. Terrified to give yourself over to your subconscious, which gifted you the memories of Eddie being torn to shreds, of his screams of agony, the tears on his face. The scent of his blood over your hands and soaking into your jeans, and the feel of his hand curling around your own, pressing his guitar pick into your palm, and croaking, “Take care of my sweetheart, sweetheart. She’s yours now. I love you, more than anything. Thank you for making me feel like a hero. Your hero.” Before his own slackened and slipped to the ground, gifting you the last piece of him he could because he knew he wasn’t coming back. Eddie ‘the banished’ wasn’t coming home.

They didn’t know that the voice in your head, the voice everyone had, that now and then told them negative things was… actually a real voice. His voice. The puppet master in control of all of this, of every act of horror and destruction, of every monster, of every death.

Vecna was the voice in your head, and he certainly had a lot to say.

They didn’t know that your dreams gave you the victorious screech of the bats and Dustin’s choked sobs as he witnessed yet another sight that a child shouldn’t.

It gave you the memory of Steve screaming at you, begging you to come back now, that there was no time to bring Eddie’s body back through the gate before the whole place collapsed. Then your fists pounding into Steve’s chest as he dragged you through to the trailer, his arms wrapped round you as you shouted and screamed insults at him that dissolved into the same hysterical sobs that broke from Dustin’s own throat where he was wrapped in Nancy’s arms, the pair of them restraining you both but also stopping you from shattering into a million pieces.

Every night, a new snippet.

Every night, you tasted blood and ash, heard the noises as the monsters tore into Eddie’s flesh.

Every night you fought sleep, and every night, when you inevitably lost, you clawed yourself awake, covered in sweat, heart beating so fast you were convinced you were going to die. You couldn’t place your room, couldn’t work out that you were safe in bed, not trapped in a decaying rendition of your home.

It took you hours to crawl out of your head, to realise where you were. Safe, yes but by no means okay.

And the following morning, you’d have to paint on your mask and act like it was all okay, until you could fall into bed and tear apart, breaking into more and more pieces each night.

Because the world was carrying on without Eddie and without you.

And it wasn’t fair.

*~ So look me in the eyes

Tell me what you see

Perfect paradise

Tearing at the seams ~*

The rain pelted your window, feeling as though it was responding to your emotion, your frantic anxiety.

You’d just shaken yourself awake from yet another nightmare and had spent the last fifteen minutes trying to do the breathing exercises Ms Kelly had taught you about, as well as finding the five senses within things in your room.

The rain has been the thing you could hear, so you focused on the heavy beat of water droplets on your window as you reached for your phone.

The soft light flared across your face as you unlocked the screen, ignoring any other notifications as you opened up the text app.

The little blue circles on various conversations reminded you again how many people you needed to respond to, but you merely scrolled to the thread pinned at the top and opened it.

“Master Of Your Heart❤️‍🔥🎸🦇”

An endless screen, a month and a half worth of unread text messages, all in green and red greeted you like a damn Christmas tree.

Hundreds of messages sent to the best friend and soulmate who’d never come home, marked with the red explanation points to signify they hadn’t delivered - would never deliver.

This thread had become a diary of sorts, the back and forth of conversations between you both petering off into your one-sided messages where you allowed yourself to reveal just how much you were drowning.

You and Eddie had never once hidden anything from each other. No thought, emotion or worry was too much, and this was your safe space to break and fall back into the shattered pieces you were trying so hard to keep together.

“Hey, you.” - undelivered

“I know it’s late… or I guess it’s early? Anyway, I can’t sleep… again. Ms Kelly keeps asking if I got those tablets yet and if they’re working.” - undelivered

“I told her they were, and I was sleeping without nightmares, and I think she finally believes me. Even though I didn’t even bother going to collect them. There’s no way I’m taking pills to help me sleep.” - undelivered

“And before you say it, yes, I know what we used to smoke, but that’s different. We knew what that would do.” - undelivered

You rubbed your eyes, gaze drifting to the side of your room for a moment and landing on Eddie’s guitar.

It hung next to your mirror, exactly as it had in his trailer, and you meticulously polished it so there was never a speck of dust or fingerprint on the smooth surface.

When you could drag yourself out of bed and face the outside world, you made it to the bookshop, where you’d purchased five different books on guitars, care and on a whim, how to play.

You knew you’d never dream of touching his guitar like that, but it just… made you feel closer. A physical aid to the memory of his arms wrapped around you, chin resting on your shoulder and his hair tickling your cheek.

The scent of smoke had lingered in the air from the cigarette on the side, his body warm behind you, legs either side of your own as he guided your fingers to play the chords. His voice had been a gentle murmur in your ear, such a contrast to the bright, animated voice of the Dungeon Master earlier that afternoon.

This softness, this liquid tone with that slight rasp was all yours.

“Here, like this. Then just strum with your other hand… Gently, baby… There you go! You’re a natural, sweetheart. Gonna be coming for my place in the band soon.”

The barest ghost of smile touched your lips, and you looked back at your phone.

“You remember all those guitar lessons you used to give me? I remember being stunned the first time you let me touch your guitar. I thought you must have been higher than we realised.” - undelivered.

“But then you sat behind me and spent the next two hours teaching me to play a Corroded Coffin song… and the whole time I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted you to kiss me, and I could have asked, and you would… But you looked so happy to be teaching me that I couldn’t bear to stop you. So I just sat there, thinking about that smile on your lips and how I wanted to taste it.” - undelivered.

“Or how warm your hands were on mine.” - undelivered.

“I thought about your hands a lot, actually.” - undelivered.

Eddie knew your fixations, made it his personal mission to learn you, what made you tick and breathe a little harder and when he found out your little thing for his hands?

Damn.

He made a point of it.

Tapping his rings on the table at lunch, moving them up and down his fingers when he spoke to you.

Rolling a d20 between his fingers at Hellfire meetings, knowing your eyes were fixed on the red die slipping between his knuckles, clicking against his rings because he knew how much you loved them too.

His hands would card through his hair, rub along his jaw knowing your eyes were trailing the action with that burning gaze searing your irises.

Of course, he didn’t let on how thrilled that made him at first. Or surprised.

In all honesty, he still didn’t understand what you saw in him, how something so normal, his hands of all things, could make your breathing quicken and make your teeth sink into your lower lip.

He never quite understood how you loved all of him so much.

You’d planned to spend every single day showing him.

“I still do.” - undelivered

“The thing is, Eddie… I can’t stop fucking thinking about you.” - undelivered

“I miss you so much, so much that it hurts, and I want to scream and set the world on fire because I don’t understand why they’re all carrying on when you weren’t allowed to.” – undelivered.

The wind howled fiercely outside, battering your window like it was angry too, like it felt your fury and pain and was manifesting it into something physical.

Either that or it wanted to barge in and drag you away too.

You were so tempted to let it.

‘Do it. If you let me, I could take away your pain, little dove. I could take you away from all of this, all of this agony and horror that you put yourself through. I promise you it would only hurt for a moment, but that’s nothing compared to what you feel every day, is it?’

That damn voice.

“Please come back to me, Eddie. I… I don’t know how long I can keep this up.” – undelivered.  

Nothing. And there would always be nothing.

You swallowed the glass in your throat, sinking deeper into the covers that provided little warmth and you pulled them over your head.

‘He isn’t coming, little dove. It’s just you and me.’

The light from your phone snuffed out, plunging you into darkness that always lingered at the edges of your vision, and you whispered into that abyss, “I love you, Eddie.”

*~ I wish I could escape

I don't wanna fake it

Wish I could erase it

Make your heart believe ~*

“Dustin was asking about you today.” Steve’s voice was soft, casual, a familiar tone that you could always rely on and always count on to be right there whenever he was needed.

You were seated in the front of his car, the dashboard spread with steaming, fresh food that filled the car with a delicious array of smells. You’d been hungry for once, actually.

Steve had treated you to dinner, taking you to the local diner he know you always loved when you were feeling down, and he’d gotten every one of your favourite things.

He hadn’t made a big deal about it, just reeled the list off to the waitress behind the counter and came back into the car with the giant bag of food.

You looked over at him, sipping your milkshake through the straw, “Really? How come?” You were safe in here, in the familiarity of Steve’s car, curled up in the passenger seat in a hoodie of his, one he’d promptly pulled over your head when you dropped into the vehicle without a coat.

Steve dunked some fries in his own shake, chasing them into his mouth before they dripped all over his lap, “They’re having a big party this weekend, with food and drinks and games and stuff. All the kids are going, and we all have an invite too. Apparently, Robin is going to make her famous coleslaw.” He rolled his eyes affectionately, “I have never heard of her having a famous recipe, but the thought of her being around knives fills me with horror, honestly.”

You couldn’t help the affectionate laugh at his words, a soft snort as you pulled open one of the boxes on the dashboard, “Let’s hope she doesn’t cut off any of her fingers, I’m not sure she could do with losing any limbs with her already upset balance.”

Steve smiled as you laughed, even though it was tiny, it was still something. It was something other than the broken, absent shadow you had been turning into the last few months. He could work with this.

Damn, it was an opportunity, slim, but one all the same and he grasped it with both hands, another rope to keep you afloat a little bit longer, “Absolutely. Oh my god, I need to put you all on reins. The kids seem to run off everywhere, El blows stuff up, then I have to watch you and Robin falling over every ten minutes.” He laughed himself, knocking his head back against the headrest, pointing a fry at you, “I should wrap you both in bubble wrap, otherwise you’ll trip over one day and break yourselves beyond repair.”

A mirthless laugh slipped from your lips before you could stop it, “It wouldn’t take much. I’m barely hanging on as it is, all it would take is someone sneezing, and I’d go tumbling off the deep end.” You blinked when you realised, you’d just sucked the life out of the gently growing bubble of humour in the car, and you shook your head at yourself.

Steve blinked, the laughter and hope sliping from his face, and he looked at you, almost too long and you felt your skin begin to prickle, like the concern and loving care in his eyes had begun to peel away the layers of your barely put together shell. “Hey…”

The softness in his voice, the gentle quality like he didn’t want to spook you… You knew where this conversation was about to go, your palms starting to grow clammy.

You shook your head, fixing your eyes firmly on the colourful sign of the diner in front of you, “I’m fine, Steve, really. I was joking. It was a stupid thing to joke about, I know.” Even you could hear the forced casualness in your voice, and you knew you were doing little to convince your friend.

“Don’t. Don’t do that…” He frowned, reaching across to rest his hand on your own, “Don’t shut me out, you know you can talk to me.” His hand squeezed yours gently, fingertips close enough to your wrist that you knew he could feel the rapid thrum of your panicked heart.

The breath began to come shorter in your lungs, catching on the way in and you didn’t look away from the lights of the diner, “I know, Steve. I know, and you know how grateful I am for that, but I’m okay. I promise.”

Steve’s frown deepened, worry flaring in his dark eyes and then the fingers of other hand gently rested over yours, “We both know you’re not… You don’t need to pretend, sweetheart, you can let the mas-”

“Don’t call me that.”

The words died on Steve’s lips as you cut him off, a pained hiss of a whisper, your body rigid under his touch, “What?” Then it dawned on him, the colour draining from his skin and he wanted to punch himself, hard. “Shit.”

He scrambled to put the food on your laps somewhere else, reaching over again and he pulled you into his arms, “I’m sorry, I am so, so sorry. I didn’t think, it just slipped out.”

You couldn’t answer him, couldn’t talk as your throat closed up, the food having turned to ash in your mouth and tears suddenly spilled down your cheeks unbidden, a symphony of Eddie’s voice echoing in your mind, speaking that sweet nickname over and over.

Steve slid a hand up your back, bringing it to cup your head to his chest, trying to protect you, to hold you together as your shoulders shook and you grasped weakly at his t-shirt. He didn’t make any moves to shush you or placate you. He just kept whispering, over and over, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you and I’m here. I won’t let it take you, I’ll keep you safe.”

His fingers rubbed against your scalp as he repeated it like a mantra, giving you something to cling to, just to take the weight off for what could have been seconds or minutes.

Eventually, you shuddered, fighting back a sob to croak, “I’ll come. Tell Dustin I’ll be there, I can’t wait.” Steve’s shirt soaked up your tears as you buried your face deeper into it again, the thought of leaving the house and pretending in front of more people filling you wish sick dread.

But it was better than being looked at like you were going to break apart at any moment, even if that was true.

~

You really shouldn’t have come.

No. No.

It was good that you were here.

The sun was shining, the air was warm and clear, and this was good.

You were good.

Right?

You had to be. You were going to be fine; this was what you needed.

The cool liquid of the homemade lemonade tickled your throat, its sourness doing a good job at wiping away the taste of metal form your tongue as you forced yourself to come back to the conversation, even as your other fingers moved restlessly, twirling the ring around your thumb, an anxious habit.

It was his ring, put there himself a couple months prior to the Upside Down. You’d both been laying in his bed, maybe not quite sober but still more than coherent.

Eddie had slipped his hand under yours, lifting it so you could both see, before sliding his ring onto your thumb, where it sat perfectly.

You’d questioned it, because his rings were as sacred to him as his jacket and his guitar, and the boy had merely given you that molten-eyed puppy dog smile, “Well, you’re sacred to me too. And we’ve always said we’d never rush anything; we’d do it at whatever pace we wanted but…” Then he’d blushed. Blushed, as he stroked over the ring. “I know I want to make this a real one, one day. So it’s a promise… If you’ll still have me.”

Then you’d cried. Realised how fucking lucky you were to be able to cherish and to be cherished by him, this soul who saw the world differently, who looked for magic and escape in every corner. Who’d never shied away from anything and worshipped the ground you walked on.

So you’d taken up his hand, brushing your thumbs over his knuckles before slotting one of your own rings onto his little finger. Then you’d kissed him, long and sweet before murmuring, “Of course I’ll have you, Eddie Munson.”

The call of your name snapped you back from that little memory, and you realised that everyone was looking at you, as if waiting for an answer.

You blinked, looking to all their expectant faces and you forced a bashful smile onto your lips, “Uh, sorry, I was completely out of it then, what did you say, Robin?”

Robin shared a look with Nancy, brief but you caught it, a twisting in your belly, “I only asked how the Hellfire meetings are going, Dustin was just telling us that uh, that everyone really likes you as… Dungeon Master?” She smiled, but there was a faint edge of tentativeness, the same almost false calm you adopted when approaching a wounded animal… that might lash out any moment.

The lemonade you’d just swallowed began to fizz in your gut, hot and uncomfortable but you ignored it, determined to have at least one normal conversation this afternoon that didn’t involve your friends looking at you like that. “Oh! Yeah, it’s going great, actually. Um… I’ve been trying to think of a new campaign for when this one runs out.” When Eddie’s campaign ran out. This whole sentence was a lie. You weren’t thinking of a new one. How could you not only replicate his flair for storytelling, but replace him? It was bad enough you had to sit on that throne and pretend it didn’t make you feel sick.

Robin’s face eased when you answered, even if her eyes did still hold the same worry and pity, the ever-present observation and waiting for an inevitable breakdown, “Oh that sounds pretty cool! Maybe we should come and see one day, the kids are always going on about it and we never did get a chance to come when Edd-” She choked off, flinching as Nancy’s foot found a home in her ankle. She grimaced, opening her mouth to… to what? Apologise for mentioning your boyfriend that everyone believed to be dead?

And there it was, the group holding their breath, the side-eye flickers to each other and the general air of, ‘Are we going to have to do damage control?’

It made your skin crawl as if it were peeling back from your bones, made you feel like you were way too exposed. And it made you feel… isolated. Alone, like there was a bubble surrounding you and keeping everyone else at bay.

They thought that their glances and whispers weren’t noticeable, but they were. They were glaring neon signs that your mask was slipping, and you weren’t convincing others as well as you used to. Maybe you never did, and they were just offering you a courtesy in turning a blind eye.

You knew they cared, you knew this came from a place of love, but you didn’t know how to explain the way it made you feel without acknowledging how close you were to slipping off that precipice.

Fortunately, you were spared the embarrassment of answering by Mrs Wheeler suddenly coming over, Sofia in toe with a jug of her lemonade, “Max!! I’ve been meaning to ask you, how is everything going?”

Max startled slightly at the question, blinking a second before she smiled a little, “It’s going great, thank you, Mrs Wheeler.” She’d been more like her old self lately, like she was determined to catch up on all the time she missed after Billy’s death, and during her recovery. She still had days where it was a struggle to move or get out of bed, her newly healed bones too stiff or her head aching, but she was doing so incredibly well. She was strong, and a fighter and it was beautiful to see.

Karen nodded quickly, sipping from her drink and she touched Max’s shoulder, “Well, if you need any help with the move, if you want any casseroles or anything brought over, just let me know. It really would be no trouble at all, hun.”

Sofia filled up her glass, smiling kindly as well, in that general openness and affection of all the mothers, “Anything you need, sweetie, I can send Dusty over with some things too. We all know how stressful moving can be, even if it is just across town.” She laughed softly, stepping back to Karen.

Why was Max moving?

You cut Mrs Wheeler off before she could speak, a frown on your face, “Moving? Where are you moving to? I thought they were rebuilding the trailer park?” You looked from Mrs Wheeler to Max, realising how out of it you must really be if you didn’t even know this.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Dustin share a nervous look with Steve, who very faintly shook his head, arms tightening as he forced himself to keep a casual posture, all the way watching you like… you were about to explode?

That grating laugh echoed softly in your head, the gentle whisper of, ‘This is going to be good.’

Karen cocked her head at you, a smile on her lips but a slight frown between her brows, trying to work out why this simple piece of information was getting you so worked up, “Oh you didn’t hear, sweetie? They’re actually going to be taking away the ruins of the trailer park and turn it into a smaller shopping complex, something between the roads and the edges of the city to bring in more tourists after the quakes.”

There was a ringing in your ears, a low resonating hum that could almost come from the mouth of the very creature that started this all. You blinked once, twice, the words getting stuck in your head and pinging uselessly off of each other, “But… Where will he go to find his things?”

Karen shared a look with Claudia, looking even more bewildered by the second, “Honey, what are you talking about? Where will who go to collect his things?”

“Oh, shit.” You barely heard Dustin’s whispered curse, the surrounding partygoers halting their conversations as more gazes focused on you.

You ignored them, even as your skin prickled and felt too exposed, stomach starting to churn, “Eddie. If they’re tearing down the remains of his home, how will he go and look to see what survived? Wayne can’t go back there, he’s too traumatised. They can’t just get rid of it all without letting him look!” Why could no one see the injustice of this?

Karen’s face betrayed how unsettled she was, the way she didn’t know how to respond to that, your conviction in Eddie and what you just insinuated.

It was Claudia who turned to face you more, setting down her jug of lemonade and she looked at the kids, before back at you, obviously not reading the clear warnings in their faces not to broach this subject, “Edward Munson died, remember? He was responsible for those awful murders, for that poor Chrissy Cun-”

“No.” You near snarled the word, strangling her words in their tracks before you had to hear the same sick accusations against him, the words that his forced him from his home, and the things he loved, and roped him into this whole Upside Down business.

You’d done so well, so so well in keeping him away from those dangers the whole time you’d been friends with him, even when that unique friendship turned into something more, best friends, before blossoming and blooming into the burning, beautiful relationship you had.

Have.

You felt rather than saw Steve move to your side, his hand touch your shoulder gently and he whispered you name, just softly, so much so that only you would be able to hear it.

But you knew that tone. That soft, pacifying tone that again reminded you of the wounded animal, the people trying to help it without making it hurt itself.  “Come one, let’s go…”

You looked up at him over your shoulder, shaking your head fiercely, “No! I’m not going to leave just because I’m saying something you all don’t believe in. He’s my best friend and my boyfriend, Steve, I’m not going to shut myself away just because I believe in him.” You frowned at him then, “Besides, you all wanted me here.”

Steve flinched a little, grimacing because this situation as rapidly falling out of hand, and he didn’t know how to stop it, how to make you feel better, “I know, I know. I’m not asking you to shut yourself away, I’m just saying that…” His eyes drifted to the side, to everyone watching, “Maybe now isn’t the best time for it.”

What was happening? Why was he… Didn’t he believe you? Had he been lying this whole time?

Oh little dove, of course he didn’t believe you. You really thought your friends listened to these tales of your beloved boyfriend still surviving out there? I told you this would happen; you didn’t believe me. I know these things, and I know you better than you know yourself. I see it all.

That damn voice laughed in your head again, deep and rasping, like you were being dragged over a bed of nails.

“Isn’t the best time for it?!” You stared at him incredulously, sure you must be imagining, “Steve, when the fuck is the best time for it, then? It’s already been months. So next year then? When we’re the last people left in this fucking town that still remember him? That still believe in him?” With every question, your voice rose, drawing more and more attention.

They’re all looking at you, little dove. Your mask is slipping.

Steve let out a ragged breath, raking a hand through his hair, “We do still believe in him!! And we still believe in you, but… There has to a point where you…” He trailed off, brows lowering over his eyes and his mouth parted on empty words that he couldn’t say.

The beat of your heart tore through your chest, uneven and painful, spears of ice shooting through your chest with every pulse, “Say it.” Your voice was no more than a whisper, daring him to do this, to do something he promised he would never do.

That he promised Eddie he would never do.

But if it was watch you crumble and fade away, or hurt you now but save your life…

He closed his eyes, jaws clenched, and he spoke the damn words, “There has to be a point where you accept that he’s not coming back.” Those words came out far too easily in your opinion, like they didn’t taste as bitter as they should.

He’s been thinking them, little dove. They all have, knowing how badly you’re clinging to this hope when they all know the truth.

A mirthless laugh left your lips, and you shook your head at him, “I thought you believed me, Steve. You sat there and listened every time I spoke about it, about him and you told me everything would work out okay. And now you’re telling me I need to let it go?”

Karen looked back at the other mums, then at the pair of you, “Kids, maybe this, whatever it is, is better off somewhere else?” She faked a laugh, trying to bring that energy back to life.

Neither of you listened.

Steve turned away, running his hands through his already messy hair again before he turned back to you, “I do still believe you!! You’re not listening to me, okay?” He seemed to want to say something, but he couldn’t get the words out, “I’m terrified, okay? I’m terrified I’ll lose you, that you’ll fall into this dark cloud that’s following you around and I won’t be able to pull you out.” He held his hands out to you, pleading, begging, because you didn’t know.

You didn’t know what he’d been doing… And you didn’t know the promise he’d made to Eddie.

The promise Eddie made him adhere too, when they were lagging behind in the forest, “You gotta take care of her, Harrington. If anything happens to me, you have to promise me you won’t let her suffer. That you won’t let her hurt. I want her to have a life… To be happy. You need to promise me.”

And he’d tried. He’d tried so fucking hard.

You made a noise, splintering deeper and deeper with every single word, “You don’t know that he’s dead!! You didn’t even let me take his body back!!” Tears were glistening in your eyes, threatening to spill over… and then they did. “I was sitting there, holding him, with his – with his blood on my hands and you told me there was no time.” You sobbed, lifting a hand to your mouth, shaking as you swore you could still see the blood staining them, “So how can you stand there and tell me he’s dead? He could be down there, searching for a way out, hoping that one of us -”

“HIS BODY ISN’T THERE, OKAY?! I LOOKED!! THERE’S NOTHING FUCKING THERE!!” Steve’s eyes were wide, chest rising and falling rapidly, as those words hung there in the air. Words he could never ever take back, words he’d been holding in for nearly two months now, wanting to help you but knowing it would hurt.

And he’d just broken his promise.

Silence.

Pure silence.

Every single pair of eyes on you both, every breath bated.

You stared at him, a knife jammed in your belly, twisting, and turning, “What?” It was barely a breath again, because any more than that and you’d choke. You were choking, you were going to be sick, or scream, or… Anything.

“Steve…?” Dustin was staring at Steve with equal shock, the revelation that one of his beloved big-brother figures had been hiding the fact he’d searched for the other? Dustin’s two favourite people in the world?

Steve turned to Dustin, then to you, panic on his face as it drained of colour, but the words were out there now, and there was no way he could drag them back, “I’ve been looking, okay? I went back to... Watergate.” He sighed, “When I saw you slipping, falling apart… I couldn’t stand it. So I went to look out of curiosity, and it was like I could have strolled right in. The gates are open more than they ever have been, so I went and…” He looked over your face, sadness growing in his own and he reached for your shoulders. “There was nothing there. I checked every inch of where we were and it’s not there.”

You were going to be sick.

There was a ringing in your ears, growing louder and louder and you could hear the echo of Eddie’s screams, the screech of the bats… The scent of blood.

You shouldn’t have come here. It was too loud, too much, too many eyes witnessing the devastation of your very soul and your last dreg of hope. “What are you saying, Steve?” You couldn’t bear to hear the words, to hear what he was telling you.

What that voice , what he had been whispering.

Steve’s hands suddenly tightened on your shoulders, his head shaking fiercely, and he shook you gently, like he could make you see, “He’s gone. His body is gone, there’s no trace of it. He’s gone…” He sighed, “I’m sorry, okay? I really am. But I couldn’t let you go back in there; I couldn’t let you see nothing and lose you. None of us want to lose you.” His deep brown eyes shone with tears, pleading and sorrowful.

You stared at the faces of your friends, the ones who’d been the only reason you’d been gripping that edge by your fingertips, the only reason you hadn’t descended into that yawning abyss of darkness.

They meant well, you loved them for that but this admission… the looks, the whispers…You couldn’t take it anymore.

Not to mention Steve’s words hanging in the air like a fucking lead balloon.

He’s gone. His body is gone, there’s no trace of it. He’s gone.

Then you felt it, that tether snap, the wall slipping past your fingertips.

You were done.

All emotion dropped from your face, the blood draining from it and you pulled out of Steve’s hands, watching the heartbreak on his face as he realised what he’d done… But you felt nothing. “It’s too late for that.”

Without another word, you turned and walked away from the Henderson’s garden, from your friends.

From hope.

*~ I can't breathe, I can't be

I can't be what you want me to be

Believe me, this one time

Believe me

I'm a bad liar, bad liar ~*

You had broken your promise to Eddie.

Two promises, actually.

Before you’d gone back into the Upside Down, when you were standing in that field, Eddie had taken you away from the others, across the grass until it felt like it was just the two of you.

“Sweetheart, I… I want you to promise me something.” He lifted his hands to your jaw, tenderly cupping your face and stroking his thumbs along your cheekbones.

You frowned a little, wondering why he looked so serious and so solemn, when just moments ago he’d been play fighting with Dustin, “Of course, Eddie… What is it? What’s wrong?” You knew him, inside and out, could read the darkness lingering in his chocolate eyes.

He took a breath, as if the words were going to be difficult, “When we’re in there, when we’re doing what we need to… If something happens to me, I need you to run, okay?”

You blinked a few times, stared at him a bit. Then a laugh broke free of your lips, but it was a little off-kilter, worried, “You’re kidding me, right? Why would I leave you? You know we don’t do that.”

Eddie didn’t laugh, his eyes firm and as serious as you’d ever seen them. He shook his head, curls bouncing under the sunlight, “I’m not joking, sweetheart. I want you to run. To leave me there and get out, be safe. I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you, because of me.”

You cut him off before he’d finished speaking, lifting your hands to his wrists, and curling your fingers around them, “And I can’t bear the thought of leaving you! Of something happening to you, and you asking me to just leave you there? Eddie, how could you – how could you ask me that?” Part of you wanted to pull away, like you could pull back from his words and the insulation he was making.

But the other half… He looked so deadly serious, like he needed to hear you say this, that it would tear him up if you didn’t.

You swallowed, gazing over his features, a face you cherished so deeply, a soul you held so close even more than that. You had to. You had to grant him this… Even if deep down, you both knew you would never leave his side. A sigh left your lips, raking claws across your chest on its way out, like Vecna himself, “Okay. Okay, Eddie. I promise.”

You’d broken that promise when you scrambled back through the gate and ran for his body, ignoring his previous pleas that you leave him there to die. He should have known you’d never do that.

That you’d take the talons and bites of those bats in your own flesh before letting them touch him anymore.

The second promise, you’d been breaking from the moment Steve pulled you out.

When Eddie had been lying in your arms, far too still, far too cold, tears streaking the blood on his skin, he’d made you promise him that you’d be okay. “Don’t lose yourself for me, sweetheart. Don’t throw your life away for me. Remember that I love you, fuck, I love you so much and I won’t ever forget any of this, from the moment I met you and you made me realise the real world wasn’t so shitty. Remember that, and promise me that you’ll try and be happy, that you’ll live all those dreams we talked about.”

“Eddie…”

“Promise me, sweetheart. Please.”

“Okay… I promise.”

You couldn’t do it. Not anymore.

That conversation with Steve the other day and what happened at Dustin’s, combined with the news of the trailer park being torn down and the group missing todays DnD meeting had finally finished you.

You’d sat in that throne, his, throne for two hours, eyes fixed on the folder of notes, pages and pages of Eddie’s slightly messy but beautiful handwriting. Waiting. And waiting.

And waiting.

They wouldn’t have missed this meeting.

They had to convince you to come back to this in the first place, that Eddie would want you to sit in his throne, to use his dice set and his notes.

They wouldn’t have forgotten this.

So, you text Gareth, asking where they were and if they were going to be much longer.

And then… Then you’d gotten that text in response.

“Hey, sorry, we forgot to tell you. We can’t make Hellfire tonight; we’re holding try-outs for the band.”

Try-outs.

They were replacing him.

And that was it.

You were so tired. So fucking tired of pretending, of trying to make good on your promise and you were done. You had nothing left to give.

The tears ran salty in your mouth, an endless stain on your skin as you curled up tighter at the foot of your bed, like you could dissolve into the space beneath and escape this, once and for all. To find Eddie, to live those dreams with him.

The light from your phone was the only brightness in the room, a shitty symbol of hope in the drowning dark you were only too happy to lose yourself to.

“I can’t do this anymore, Eddie.” – undelivered.

“I can’t keep pretending I’m okay when I’m not. I haven’t been okay since the moment you cut that fucking rope and I had to claw my way back into that hellhole.” – undelivered.

A yawn tore its way free through your tears, merely hurting your already parched throat even more and you curled up tighter, despite the protests of your body. You’d been refusing to sleep these past few days, refusing to succumb to the worsening nightmares, to that snide voice that was getting louder and louder, telling you Eddie was dead and you needed to grow up.

He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t.

“I’m done with this. I’m done with walking around with a smile pasted on my face, when I really want to crawl back into that place and find you and stay with you.”

“You’re my best friend, Eddie. You’re the only one who ever truly saw me, who made me feel whole. I love you more than anything I’ve ever loved in this whole shitty world. I know it’s a cliché, I know I always said I hated that, but you are my soulmate.” - undelivered

“And you’re gone.” – undelivered.

“Come home.” – undelivered.

“Please come home. Come back to me.” – undelivered.

“I love you, Eddie.” – undelivered.

Streams and streams of messages that would never be delivered, never be answered.

Ringed fingers that would never again tumble over the screen in haste to reply back to you.

A soft smile on plush lips as he stared down at your words.

Gone. It was all gone.

You let the phone slip from your shaking fingers, dropping your forehead down to your knees because it was too heavy to hold up anymore.

Everything was too heavy.

That’s it, little dove. Give into it. Let it take you down, stop fighting.

It was so quiet, so subtle, you almost would have missed it over the sounds of your ragged breathing.

Such a tiny noise.

The soft whoosh alert noise that you didn’t even pay attention to any other time, so why would you now?

Because it was continuous. Each beat, one after the other, again and again and again.

And you knew that noise. You knew what it meant.

But that was impossible, there was no way that could be happening.

You slowly lifted your head, your heart suddenly pounding a staccato beat as you stared at your phone, face down on the floor. The noise was still there, rhythmic, and systematic, telling you that…

No.

This was someone playing a cruel trick.

You snatched your phone up off the floor, knowing this wasn’t real, this was just your desperate, exhausted brain taunting you one final time.

Four soft taps as you unlocked your phone, revealing the message thread it had still been on when you dropped it, the same stream of pleas, the same infinite loop of red exclamation marks to say –

They were gone.

The marks were gone.

And your messages…

Delivered.

Delivered.

Delivered.

No way. No fucking way. There was no way this was real.

Not just because of Eddie being…

Not just because of that.

But because, well… How?

Tremors started to run through your body, blood flushing hot and cold as adrenaline wove through your system, your consciousness jumping between viewing this realistically and screaming at you that it was happening. You’d got your wish.

“Eddie…” You breathed the word, afraid anything louder would startle that bubble and chase it away, taking the last dregs of your hope and sanity with you.

If this was someone playing a cruel joke… You wouldn’t survive this.

Someone with a twisted sense of humour, wanting to see you finally crumble and follow Eddie into nothingness.

Well, they would finally get their wish, wouldn’t they?

You were done if this was a prank.

Broken promises, a crumbled mask of happiness, your last fingertip desperately scrabbling on the precipice that had been calling to you since you felt Eddie’s final breath leave his lips.

You were kidding yourself to even entertain the idea that you could fake it for the rest of your life, how could you?

Eddie was your other half, the pair of you in each-others orbit, each-others weakness but also each-others strength.

The uneven pound of your heart was verging on painful, ribs aching like knife points as you held your breath, watching the three little dots fade in and out.

Please, Eddie. Please.

The seconds stretched on for minutes, hours, thoughts whirring out of control as you spiralled deeper and deeper on a path so cataclysmic, it was going to tear you and everything else apart.

Tears started to fill your eyes again the longer that bubble sat there, taunting you and the sickening feeling that was a trick merely increased tenfold.

And then the bubble disappeared.

Just fell from existence and dragged everything down with it.

You slumped, breath leaving you in a strangled exhale and that pain in your ribs cracked through your entire body, sucking away the final dregs of determination you were holding on with.

Finished.

The noise that left your throat next was simple.

Small. A tiny, wounded noise of agony… Of defeat.

Except, there was always one person who would make sure you never gave up, wasn’t there?

Ping.

A notification.

You stopped breathing.

You stopped thinking.

The whole word stopped.

Master Of Your Heart‍🔥🎸🦇:

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

[enid-sinclair-is-dreamy]

Entry 3: Well This is Awkward But Fair

Renifie Kilwith, new Nevermore student who is dreamy-eyes about Enid Sinclair, reporting in again.

To recap so far: I got moved in with my roomie Tub, caught sight of the dreamiest girl at Nevermore named Enid Sinclair, and after she read my first entry she apparently knew about me well enough that she gave me this eager and excited wave and smile in passing like maybe she was interested in meeting me.

Well, instead of meeting with her to get my story, Enid reported on her gossip blog (which I must say is very well written despite my obvs conflict of opinion) about me and rumors of what my ability is. I admit I did possibly prompt some of the rumors by being vague about it and being possibly a curse.

I want to be clear I think it's totally fair that Enid wrote about me in her blog before meeting me, because, I totally did the same thing. This makes the third entry where I've talked about Enid, but mostly about how dreamy and pretty and probably perfect she is, and that's what I want to write about her. It's perfectly fine for her to write what she wants about me, back. We're both writing what we want to write about, and that to me seems equal in fairness.

I guess the reason I haven't approached her myself directly, is that keeping my distance from people has worked so well in my past. Never approaching someone lets me feel like whenever they feel sad, it wasn't because of me. I worry that people discovering my ability will mess any shred of friendship I hope to have with someone, and I really want to have a friendship with Enid. I want to have a friendship with lots of people, but Enid especially because, if it weren't unclear enough, I feel she is just so super dreamy.

I'm just going to confess what my ability is straight out, so that rumors don't swirl around about what it is.

I get visions like Wednesday does, except mine are specifically about what your greatest worry is, that other people will find out about you. If I don't have a vision for a few days, I get to where I can't stand it and it feels like I am dying, and it will just randomly happen with whoever I am nearest by (in distance) at the time.

I can have one every day and not feel like I'm dying, so that they don't randomly happen. Weems has told me that I can visit her every day and have the vision about her greatest fear about others discovering, so that no one needs worry about me having one about them. I have visited her already, had one, and we've talked about what happened and what she is most afraid about everyone finding out about her.

Weems thinks this could actually a really powerful counseling tool, to help someone work through what they're are most scared about people finding out, but could also be super evil to know it and prey upon their fears or hold it over their heads like a threat, but I hope everyone can understand that I am not the evil kind.

All of the kids from every school I've been to, find out about it and just avoid me, so I won't know about their fears. I can see Weems every day and get it over with, so there is nothing to worry about me doing it to you.

Enid, I understand if you want to avoid me forever now. I understand that if you were seen with me, people could think that I told you a secret about somebody, and maybe want to avoid you too for associating with me. I've seen it all before. I understand. On the other hand, maybe I could help you and Wednesday understand more about visions, if that's something you want to know. I will only view your (or anyone else reading this) deepest social fear with your permission and share it only with you or only with someone else with your permission.

There. My secret ability (or curse) out.

-Renifie

[hushedhands]

Hi! Um it's my birthday tomorrow so um could I please get a sneak peek for the next chapter? It's totally cool if you don't want to either

Anyways love your writing! Thanks :)

I hope you had a great birthday last weekend! I hope you had delicious cake and a mountain of presents! I'm sorry this sneak peek wasn't ready in time; I was out of town so I couldn't work on it.

The Thing with Feathers, Chapter 35, Sneak Peek #3

Because it was her last return to school, Addy had to pose for photographs and answer interview questions on the steps of the Palace. When the sun was high enough in the sky that Gavril was satisfied with the quality of the lighting, he escorted her down the steps.

“These journalists are personal friends of mine.” Gavril quietly reassured her. “There’s no need to be nervous.”

“Do I look nervous?” Addy asked, surprised. “I think this is just my before coffee face.”

“It might be helpful if you perked up a little.” Gavril admitted. He always stopped short of telling Addy to smile if she didn’t feel like smiling, but Addy got the message anyway.

“It’s hard to be excited when I know I won’t see you again for so long, Dabby.” Addy joked with a wink toward her grandfather-figure.

Gavril chuckled and shook his head at her. “Cheer up, Princess. It won’t be for long, and then we’ll be reunited again.”

Addy heaved a steadying breath at his words. He couldn’t know how badly she wished she could stretch out her time at university, to make it last as long as possible. There were going to be good parts of being queen and bad parts of being queen, but no parts of being queen were going to involve sharing quiet breakfasts in a little house with Luke, or meeting Meri at a cafe for croissants and gossip, or annoying Lenore into agreeing to study in the park instead of the library on a beautiful fall morning.

The journalists who gathered at the base of the steps asked her questions that they’d pre-approved with Gavril, all respectful and on the topic of school. They weren’t allowed to ask her questions about politics yet, but that would change as soon as Addy graduated, and she knew she, Gavril, and Silvia would have long training sessions this summer to prepare her for that transition. But for now, the reporters only wanted to ask about her classes for the semester, what she had missed the most about campus while she’d been gone that winter, and whether she was excited for her school’s sports teams’ prospects for the season.

One journalist asked if she was excited to see Prince Lucas again, and Addy wondered for a moment if the question wasn’t a clumsy trap, laid because newspaper editors expected their reporters to be hunters, but laid half heartedly because this reporter did not want Addy to become prey.

It was a perfectly fair question, of course, because Lucas was Addy’s roommate and he’d been very much in the news since his brother’s coronation. But there had also been rumors swirling about the nature of her relationship with the English Prince since they’d been little kids, rumors that had picked up steam since they’d started attending school together (especially now that everyone in the world knew Addy had already had and lost her first boyfriend), rumors that had never really been true before…

Addy didn’t bat an eye. She put on the most cheerful smile she could at that hour of morning and told the world how eager she was to see her dear childhood friend and hear about how the rest of his winter break had been. She did not tell them that she’d been dying to speak to him alone ever since they’d reluctantly left that marble fountain where they’d secretly kissed. She did not tell them that they hadn’t spoken about the kiss because they were in practically opposite time zones, and they were both next in line for their respective thrones, and they both had families begging for all of their time while they were home from university. She did not tell them that she’d barely slept last night because she’d been so excited to see him again… excited, and nervous, because now what they were doing wasn’t recklessness brought on by a spur-of-the-moment fit of desperate passion. Now it was just plain recklessness.

Gavril thanked the photographers and reporters for their time on such a chilly, early morning, wrapped an arm around Addy’s shoulder, and led her to the car that Uncle Ryland would use to drive her back to school. Addy climbed into the back seat, where a travel mug of coffee and several to-go containers of mouthwatering breakfast foods were waiting for her.

Through the darkly tinted window of the armored car, Addy allowed herself to openly stare at the gaggle of reporters now milling together; some trickling off toward the Palace to write up their blurbs with Addy’s quotes, some waiting around to chat with Gavril. They weren’t paying any attention to her car. This had been her first time talking about Lucas to the public since everything had changed, but for now at least, it seemed like no one had noticed. She hoped they never, ever would.

[ask-an-aussie]

Aussie Wildlife FAQ

So here's questions I'm frequently asked as both a wildlife rescuer and carer and keeper at a wildlife sanctuary. Heads up, this is a long post, I've made the questions stick out so you can easily skip through. I've tried to make it as easy to read as possible, and to find what you're after, whilst also providing lots of info.

Poison Vs Venom, what's the difference?

Well, mostly, poison just never stops killing. Like if you poison an insect, then a bird or small mammal eats that insect and they slowly get poisoned by all the poisoned insects they eat, then something eats them, like an owl, and that gets poisoned, then as it rots the poison goes into the environment, etc. Poison never dies. Venom has to be injected, so yes you can be envenomated by a dead animal, if you are stupid. Poison can be inhaled, eaten/drunk or even through touch. So if a cow is poisoned you have to dispose of the body safely, if a cow is bitten by a venomous snake, technically you can still have steak for dinner.

Are all Australian animals out to kill you?

Maybe.

They could want to kill us, I mean as a species we aren't that great. Their ability to kill us however is limited. So are all Aussie animals able to kill you? No. So we have lots of cute small mammals, like antechinus, dunnarts, pygmy possums and the like, that can bite and scratch but are very tiny bois. We even have lots of non-venomous snakes, pythons and blind snakes. Most lizards outside of Goannas can't cause too much damage. Echidna's are completely defensive, have no attack whatsoever. Lots of birds have no interest in you, unless you get near their nest. Freshwater Turtles, Little Penguins and Tawny Frogmouths all main defense is shitting really stinky shit at you. Even our venomous snakes, as long as you seek medical attention you should be fine. Considering we have the top 10 most venomous snakes in the world but average only 1 death a year that's pretty good.

But you still have lots of dangerous animals right?

Yes.

Maybe I should elaborate. Any animal is dangerous, including you, if given the right circumstances. I'm a lovely person but hurt my dog and you better run. Most animals don't want a bar of you. However, if you are a threat to them, or their babies, they will defend themselves. A lot of animals get tagged with the word 'aggressive' which I don't like, aggression is a human emotion that I've never seen in wild animals, or even pets and things. Mostly it's defensive behaviours that people read wrong. For example, the most venomous snake in the world is the Inland Taipan (found in Aust.), however the most dangerous snake in Australia is the Eastern Brown snake, less venomous but also less shy and lives in suburbia. Still, it only ever strikes at people when it feels cornered and needs to get you to back the hell off. And lets be real here, what else can they do? They can't yell and scream, they can't punch or kick. Legit their only option is to bite, and even then mostly it's a closed mouth strike to freak you out into stepping back, and most people bitten by snakes are given a 'dry bite' where no venom is injected, as they want to use it on their food not waste it on us. And 90% of snake bites that happen in Australia are people either trying to catch or kill a snake.

It's fairly simple. Don't threaten animals, don't give them a reason to be dangerous and you are fine. Crocodiles in the water? Don't swim there. Sharks around? Avoid swimming at twilight. Snake? Leave it alone. Nest with baby birds? walk away. You don't randomly show up in some strangers home and expect them not to react, so why do we expect different from animals?

What animals are on the most 'dangerous list' then? Which animals should I really avoid pissing off?

Start with the obvious. Crocodiles, venomous snakes, sharks, some jellyfish, venomous spiders, stone fish, blue ringed octopus, birds of prey (our Wedge Tailed Eagle WILL attack drones, hang-gliders and helicopters if they come into their territory) Then you've got the less obvious. Ants - like meat ants, they will swarm over you then all bite down at once. 1 bite isn't so bad, a whole colony biting you, deadly. Then there's other ants in the Myrmecia family (bull ants and the like) that are just HUGE, and have massive mandables for biting and also can sting you, and are one of the most toxic insects in the world.

Wombats - Can run at 40km/hr, skull so hard it's the only thing a Tassie Devil can't eat, able to bite your calf muscle clean off your leg, oh and they have killer booty. A hard cartilage plate in their lower back that they use to block their burrows, and if threatened can lay down and as the animal tries to get past jam their legs straight and crush the skull of a fox against the roof of their burrow, easily break a dingoes jaw or even destroy your hand.

Kangaroos - yes they box, hahaha wouldn't it be funny to box with a kangaroo. NO. Kangroos box for fun but also to defend themselves and their mob. The Alpha male is the big buff one that looks like he's on steroids. He looks like that for a reason, to defend and protect his mob. DO NOT MESS WITH ANY KANGAROOs, but really don't mess with Big Daddy (for being the alpha he gets all the ladies) Kangaroos are made for this. A punch from a Kangaroo can easily break you ribs. They can lean back on their tail and bring both legs up to kick you, easily tearing you open, which they can do with the claws on their toes, and so basically dissecting you from sternum down. Oh and if they gran you round the neck for a 'Cuddle' DUCK AND RUN. They will hold you in a kind of choke hold and then bring their legs up to kick you and basically snap you in half. Don't even mess with Wallabies man, they may be smaller but can still do damage.

Tassie Devils - are extremely shy and slower than you, like you can actually run away from them. BUT. They have the strongest bite strength compared to size of any animal. The have a PSI of 1200 and males weigh around 8 kg. For perspective, Hyenas have a PSI of 1100 and males weigh around 50kg

Brushtail Possums - They may be cuter than the American Opossums but trust me, they don't want you around. They are solitary so most people have heard them fighting of a night, screeching, shrieking, hissing, growling and making darth vadar noises. Heads up from someone who has had to rescue them from awkward places (fire-places, BBQs, closets) They are stronger than you and they will f*** you up. Even without them meaning to I've gotten injuries from my joey Brushies, they get so keen on their milk when you put it in that they climb your arm and their claws are sharper than cats. Also the sheer strength of them. I'm stronger than I look but if they are clinging on to a tree you are gonna need all your strength to get them off. The can also bite your finger clean off. And I've seen injuries from people who feed wild ones and for some reason have been late to put out the food or something and they've climbed their leg or even jumped on them - stitches were required in a few of those cases (human skin is not thick like tree bark)

What's with Magpies and swooping?

Simple, they have nests/babies and are protecting them. Australia Magpies are very smart and can recognise faces. If they think you are a threat they will try and scare you off. Just like if you're walking along with your toddler and there's a weirdo doing something strange you hold the kid tighter and closer to you and move through faster. But these guys can't just move their nests or their babies. The spot is chosen based on food availability and shelter from sun and rain, but also not being too cold. It's their spot. I've never been swooped by Magpies, other birds yes, but not Magpies. My local birds know me as the lady that cleans and fills the bird bath. Legit the Magpies sing a specific song when it needs filling to call me out to do it. So don't be a threat. If they are swooping in that area, try to avoid it or go through quickly. We used to have Plovers at my school, in the bush at the end of the oval. Never a problem. One day some kids go into the bush and stomp on their nest and eggs. After that they would swoop anyone who came close to there. So the school blocked off that end of the oval. Fair call. Wasn't the birds fault.

Why is everything named so basic?

Oh you mean the snake that's black with a red belly being balled a Red Belly Black Snake, and the tree with all the doodles on it being called a Scribbly Gum? 80% of plants and animals found in Australia are found NO WHERE ELSE. So the early Europeans had a lot of things to name and when they tried naming it themselves they would get it wrong. 2 good examples are: The Death Adder (only considered highly venomous, not deadly, and not an Adder). Also you're only likely to get bitten if you stand on it or try to pick it up. The Australian Magpie, they saw a black and white bird so it must be a magpie. Nope. Actually not in the corvidae family but in the butcherbird family - Artamidae. So their solution was to either take the Aboriginal word, for example, Quoll, Kookaburra, Koala, Quokka, Taipan. Or name it after what it looks like/sounds like/ is found Boobook Owl - makes a sound like booooo-book Squirrel Glider Eastern Water Dragon Grey Headed Flying Fox Flaky Bark Tea Tree Old man Banksia This can cause confusion though as not every brown coloured snake is a brown snake, and not all Eastern brown snakes are brown. Squirrel Gliders aren't related to squirrels. Flying foxes are bats not actual foxes that fly.

What do I do if I find injured wildlife?

Well, depends on the wildlife and where it is. If it's in a dangerous position, like the middle of a highway, don't try anything. First thing, call a wildlife rescue group, there are plenty around and they have trained people who know what to do. A quick google search should show you all you need to know, also the IFAW's Wildlife Rescue App will identify the closest group to you.

If it's a snake, adult wombat or kangaroo, or any other animal that can cause you serious injury, leave it be. The wildlife rescuers you call can give you basic info on how to help but mostly calling them is the main thing.

If it's something smaller, like a young animal or glider or baby bird and you are able to put it into a cardboard box that will be perfect. The 3 main things injured/ill wildlife need are warmth, dark and quiet. You don't need to worry about food or water. The rescuers will organise that. If you give food or water to an animal in shock you can cause more damage.

THE BEST THING IS TO DO NOTHING. I know this sounds stupid. But so many problems can occur from people who don't know what they are doing helping out. You know what they say about good intentions. For example, picking up a Koala like you would pick up a human child (under the armpits, around the chest) you could actually break their ribs. Also so many Koalas end up needing vet care during heat waves because people pour water into their mouths - they can get pneumonia as the water goes in too fast, it is not a natural way for them to drink. You can also get yourself injured or make the animals injuries worse. I have seen Kangaroos with broken legs get up and try to hop away from people. I have seen severe scratches on other people because they tried to pick up an animal.

What diseases can wildlife give me?

Well. I only know about Australian wildlife, and it's very different to other parts of the world. If you get a bad bite or scratch from wildlife you should see your doctor ASAP, get the wound cleaned properly and make sure your tetanus is up to date (same as if a pet gives you a bad bite or scratch).

There aren't that many Zoonosis that are around in Australia that are easy to catch. Mostly you have to be dealing directly with sick wildlife to get them.

The main thing is Australian Bat Lyssavirus. ABL for short. Now our bats can carry it. About 1 in 1000 bats may have it and you HAVE to be bitten or scratched for it to be transmitted to you. If you are bitten or scratched by a bat your chance is 0.1% of getting ABL but it is related to Rabies, so head straight to hospital for treatment. If you don't touch a bat you won't get bitten or scratched and so your chance of getting it is 0. Hendra is the other virus our bats carry, however it has to go through a horse before it mutates enough for humans to get it.

Basically it's only when you get involved with wildlife that your risk of getting a disease from them is higher than VERY unlikely. If you happen to help some wildlife, and you maybe wrap them in a towel or jumper, even if they urinate on it. You can just chuck it in the wash (I usually add a little extra disinfectant) and it will be fine. Treat it the same as if a pet had used it or urinated on it.

What's some Good Wildlife Apps to have?

Well, there's so many out there now hey? Here's some that I've found handy or know people that use. WomSAT EchidnaCSI PlatypusSPOT are all for recording sightings of these animals (wombats/echidnas/platypus) this helps researches track where they are and how they are going which means we can help them more as well. OzAtlas - record a sighting of anything Australian, animal, plant, fungus, insect. FrogID - need to identify a frog? This is the app for you. Use photos or sound recordings, Field Guide to *insert state/territory* Fauna - Have a field guide on you wherever you are without having to carry a book. Seek by inaturalist - Helps you identify any animals, plants, insect, fungus. IFAW Wildlife Rescue - wildlife rescue app (currently for NSW only but soon expanding) will give you advice on what to do and put you into contact with the local wildlife rescue groups.

Besides Cats and Foxes, what other invasive species have you got that cause problems?

First up, any invasive species causes a problem. In Tasmania they have issues with Sugar Gliders, because they are not naturally found there and use up tree hollows that other animals need. Invasive species cause competition for food, water and shelter. They can also bring in diseases that didn't exist in Australia before and that our natives have no defence against (like cats and Toxoplasmosis) Here's a quick list of invasive animal species in Australia. Cats, dogs, foxes, pigs, water buffalo, ferrets rabbits, horses/brumbies, goats, camels, Cane Toad, European Honey Bee, Common Myna bird, deer, donkey, common starling, common pigeon, black rat, brown rat.

There's more, there's reptiles, and weeds and fish but those guys ^ are the main ones that cause problems.

I am an animal lover but unless we get rid of these animals you loose more in the long run. I'm 100% against use of poisons, I prefer having people hunt them to be honest. If you know what you are doing and have the right equipment you can give them a quick, painless death. To give you an idea how bad invasives are:

The introduction of the rabbit is the main cause the Lesser Bilby became extinct.

The introduction of cats and toxoplasmosis is believed to be the main reason Eastern Quolls became extinct on mainland Australia

Rats led directly to the extinction of 5 of Lord Howe Island's bird species

30% of our land snakes and Goannas are at risk as Cane Toads are rapidly spreading and eat their eggs.

The Common Myna Bird is the 2nd greatest threat to Australian native birds (habitat loss being the 1st)

The fox population has been estimated at 72 million and consume around 190 million birds a year

There's an estimated 23 million wild pigs/boars and an estimated 2.6 million goats - all eating whatever they come across.

How can I help Australian Wildlife?

There's the stuff we already know, like reduce/reuse/recycle and don't litter. But there's other things you may not know about.

Turn off lights at night - any lights that you don't need, don't have them on, especially if they are outside. Lots of animals require insects in their diets, particularly moths, which can be distracted by lights. Zoos Victoria have launched educational stuff for this https://youtu.be/ZAcL4FKPtHw

Learn about them - It's not hard, there's multiple ways you can do it. There's books, tv shows, pod casts, you can follow sanctuaries and other people who work with wildlife on social media. Planting flora that's native to your area is great as different plants can attract different animals and it's much lower maintenance, being made for that environment. You can even find cool life-hacks like Lemon Scented Tea-Tree doesn't just smell amazing and feed lots of wildlife, it keeps the mozzies away! There's different kinds of nesting boxes out there specific to different species that you can put up to help 'foster' that species. You can even become friends with your local Magpies! Mine know me as the lady who cleans and fills the bird bath and all I had to do was whistle to them when I was done and now they are really chill around me and I get to watch their antics. Debunk Myths! - In learning about wildlife you can debunk lots of myths like: a mother bird won't take it's chick back if you've touched it (fake news!) or that snakes dislocate their jaw to swallow their prey (that would be soooo painful!)

Put out water - have a bird bath and keep it clean and full. Or if you don't have one or want to get one just put water out on hot days. Summer's getting hotter and hotter and our animals really suffer. So put out a nice pot or container of water. Don't forget to put a rock or a stick in it if it's a slippery surface (like plastic or metal) so that little animals and bugs don't fall in and drown, and keep it out of the sun if it's likely to heat up.

Check roadkill - it's not pleasant but needs to be done. Don't do it if it's a motorway or somewhere dangerous, but if you can PLEASE do. Roadkill sometimes looks dead but isn't and you don't want them laying there suffering. They may have pouch young if they are a marsupial or young nearby that will need care without their parent. And where possible get it off the road. Species like Tasmanian Devils, Goannas and Wedge Tailed Eagles feed on roadkill and can then end up as roadkill themselves. Even if you have to drag it, it's dead and not gonna feel any more pain. 100% of people I have attended a rescue for who have called because they stopped and found a joey or young in a pouch or hiding nearby have not regretted their decision at all. Even if they were late for work, they saved a life and it was worth it.

Avoid using poisons - insecticides, pesticides, snail bait and straight up rat poison. Like mentioned in POISON VS VENOM, it just keeps killing. There are so many other options out there and they aren't hard to find. There's stuff on the internet but also at Bunnings I've found more environmentally sound options that use Tea Tree oils and Eucalyptus instead and work just as well.

Don't feed them! - Most Aussie animals are gluten and lactose intolerant. BREAD IS REALLY BAD! and if not eaten it gets mouldy and causes disease. Putting out bird seed is the number 1 problem when we talk 'feeding wildlife'. WHY?

The 'wild birdseed' that you buy in shops isn't actually for wild birds. JUST LOOK AT IT, you don't see those seeds growing out in the wild. The main seed wild birds eat are Bottle-brush, She-oaks, Banksias, Wattle and Eucalypts. None of those are found in these bags of seed.

Even for seed eaters that seed you buy is too fatty and unbalanced

For those that don't usually eat seed, like Lorikeets, eating the seed destroys the specialised bristles on their tongues that they need to eat their natural food - nectar and pollen.

If you don't keep it clean you will spread diseases, especially psittacosis (beak and feather) for which there is no cure just a slow, drawn out death. You can also catch it and end up in hospital.

You cause an imbalance. Animals breed based on food availability, if you make food available they will breed but there might not be enough space or trees available and you create more competition and also they end up relying on you and if you go on holiday or anything they can die without that food.

You can cause health issues in other animals. Possums love bird seed but it makes them fat, making it harder for them to escape predators.

You will be feeding non-natives. For example, the Common Myna bird cannot survive on wild plants, but if there is a food source around they can. Got rid of Common Mynas in my neighbourhood by convincing my neighbours to stop putting out bird seed.

RATS LOVE BIRD SEED. Specially feral rats. Mice also love bird seed.

You make a predator hot-spot. It won't take long for predators to realised animals they prey on visit your feeding station and they will come. The most common predator I find around bird seed? Snakes. Snakes love rats and mice, rats and mice love bird seed. You do the maths.

If you want to feed them just do some research and plant trees that are food for them.

How many species are endangered?

Sadly, it's almost quicker to list what's NOT endangered in Australia.

That's hard to say as there is different ways they can be endangered. In one area they may be common, but in another they could be disappearing. You can have Endangered lists at different levels; local, state, national and international.

But the most used list is the International Union for Conservation of Nature’s Red List of Threatened Species has evolved to become the world’s most comprehensive information source on the global extinction risk status of animal, fungus and plant species. AKA the IUNC Red List

Here's a bit of a breakdown: EXTINCT 26 mammals 7 birds 4 amphibians CRITICALLY ENDANGERED 7 mammals 8 birds 15 amphibians 13 reptiles ENDANGERED 18 mammals 29 birds 18 amphibians 21 Reptiles VULNERABLE 51 mammals 40 birds 23 amphibians 35 reptiles NEAR THREATENED 43 mammals 37 birds 9 amphibians 21 reptiles

Then there's the "data deficient" category where they really just don't have the info. 10 mammals 11 amphibians 42 reptiles

I will continue to update this post as I think of other things. Feel free to send me any questions you have

[alternamarian]

6 — Changing, And Other Difficulties

retrace

Hanging beneath the sloping roof was a string of blue banners, a vestige of some past event. Tattered and worn away, they fluttered slightly in the breeze. The voices from inside the room were muted somewhat. Through the banners, I could see the sky. I could not see the maiden herself, but her mirrors cast a faint reflection of her hand, stretched out towards a flare in the heavens. 

I sat down on a bench that, though old, was tolerably clean. This sort of backyard of the school was where old tools and furniture were relegated to, before they were eventually taken away. That seldom ever happened, though, so there were several heaps of boxes and boards, some of which stacked quite high. But aside from the purple overgrowth, and the occasional trash someone or other threw away carelessly, the place was as refreshing as a garbage dump could be. 

Or, perhaps, I was simply comfortable there.

“Oh, maiden,” I said to the sky, “could I just spend the rest of the day here, with you?” 

But of course I couldn’t. I stood up, draped my blouse on the swaying line, and dejectedly stepped into the longer blue skirt. 

As I was fastening the hook, I sensed a rustling nearby. I didn’t recognize what it was, but I could tell it was not the wind swaying the banners and rustling the grass. I looked up, just before a dark figure slithered behind a pile of crates. 

“Who is there?” I asked, following up immediately with, “what is there?”

But another gust of wind was all the answer I got.

Then I heard a step behind me. I whirled around, and found myself facing the girl.

“What was that all about?” she demanded.

I took a moment to catch my breath. Then I turned aside, and began to fasten my blouse on top of the shirt. 

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You didn’t need that lecture. The instructors only call you names when you make them mad. We both know you’re almost as smart as me.” And she actually smiled, faintly. 

“I’m not the primary student in our class,” I said as I pulled my arms out of the sleeves, “or even the first girl.” I drew the shirt over my head, and tossed it onto the bench. “You’re both.”

The first girl snorted. “And you don't care about that,” she said, as I gathered the shirt and shorter skirt to fold them up. “Will you stop and look at me? I’m trying to talk some sense into you. The rest of the kids don’t want to, or can’t. And you need to listen. Because what the teacher said, it’s all happening, and —” she held my arm, forcing me to stand still. 

“It’s not fun, and it’s not fair. But everyone really is relying on us. Don’t you see? That’s why they get upset at you. You keep acting so childishly, it’s frightening them. And you can’t blame them at all.”

I lowered my eyes, but said nothing. 

“You know what your problem is, don’t you? You keep thinking that you can still act like a little girl. You keep trying to be sweet and kind, because you think that's what you need to do. But this world doesn’t need you to be kind. You need to be relevant. Look at me: they call me a young lady, and I like it. I am pleased — more than that, I am proud — that I am no longer a child.” 

And she half-turned to show off her figure; which, again, was unnecessary. Her uniform was tailored to fit closely around her bosom and waist while fanning out at her hips. Anyone can see that her slender, supple form was acquiring those particular curves that were so desired. 

But she was not at all a young lady; not yet.

[Insolence is not fitting for a prey.]

She was speaking again. “You, me, all of us kids in the school — none of us can be kids for long. The sooner we realize that, the better. Because if not …”

I looked away. I’ve had to listen to that discourse more than once, and I did not want to hear it now. “What do you do,” I deflected, “when they ask you to provide assistance?”

Our primary student opened her finely-shaped mouth. Then she shook her head. “You won’t understand.”

This also was not the first time I’ve been reprimanded thusly, and, alas, my patience was unraveling. “Did you go out here just to imply I can’t fathom anything you say? Why? Because — because I’m young?” I countered. “We both sit for the same lessons, and you’re older than me.”

I don’t know which of my words had stung her; nevertheless they did, and she did not hide it. “Yes, you’re young, and for such a smart girl you’re unbelievably stupid,” she returned angrily. “And if you could somehow be made to understand, it still wouldn’t make a difference. Because you can never do what they tell me to do. You can never appease them the way I can. Never. Never!”

The silence that fell between us was louder than the girl’s shouting, louder even than the noise inside the classroom. Even I could not be insensible to her outburst, however incredible my idiocy might be. And I do acknowledge my ignorance of what, exactly, she was implying: I remember being very uneasy, and unable to articulate why. 

But was this my fault, too? She was chiding me for my ineptitude. Must I also be blamed if I couldn’t decipher what she refused to say plainly?

[A prey is not meant to discern anything. A prey is made for the hunt, and for whatever else the mistress wants.]

I began again. “That instructor — is she so very demanding?”

The girl took a deep breath, then sighed. “Our teacher …” She glanced towards the windows along the wall. “Yes, she can be rough on us. She’s rough with me.” And she brushed her glistening green hair. “But she’s had so many disappointments. Sometimes, when she gets more intoxicated than usual, she tells me all that she’s gone through. I don’t blame her.”

Once again I didn’t quite comprehend what the girl was saying. What I did realize, though, was that she would not hear anything contradictory.

“Do I need to tell you to keep this a secret?”

“What must I keep secret?” I replied. “You’re the primary student. Someone always wants something from you.”

“Yes, but you shouldn’t speak of this anyway. — Especially to anyone outside of this school. What happens here should stay here, you know?”

I did not know, and I puzzled about it quietly.

“Speaking of which,” she went on, “have you found it yet?”

I glanced at the piles of debris and overgrowth. “Found what?”

I suppose she saw me, because the first girl strode purposely towards the stacks. “Is anything there?” she called out, and I shushed her loudly.

“I guess not then.”

“Don’t — don’t do that!” I said, entwining my arm around hers and walking us back towards the building.

“Why not? You were the one poking around here when —”

“I wasn’t poking around!”

“Sure you weren’t.”

I didn’t answer, and the first girl in our class looked down on me.

“Why did you stop chasing after it?” she asked. “I was not afraid, you know.”

I looked up at her. “I never said you were.”

She leaned against the wall. Her mouth twitched, in annoyance as well as amusement. “Not with words, maybe,” she conceded, albeit with some defensiveness.

“— With what, then, if not with words?”

“Oh, you’re a provoking child,” she exclaimed. “Sometimes I have no idea what you're thinking. And that's not fair, because no one understands me the way that you do.”

I don't know if I could have answered her if I had the opportunity. But just then someone from inside the room peered through the slats of the windows. “Hey. You two better get back in here. The teacher will arrive soon.”

“Alright. Thank you,” said the girl. “We should go.” By then she had put on her sardonic expression. Without moving, she said, “Your blouse isn’t fully fastened.”

Quickly I attended to this oversight. “About what you said,” I began, not meeting her gaze, “I have been thinking ...”

The first girl raised a finely-arched eyebrow, watching me fumble on the buttons.

“I was wondering about what can be done to ... to find it. I mean ... to lure it out.”

She snorted. “Ah, you’ll cast a spell, finally.”

Now I smiled up at her. “We are not taught enchantments in this school.”

“Yes, that’s why you’ll craft your own.”

I shook my head resolutely. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Hey. Did either of you hear what I said? The teacher will be here at any moment,” said our classmate.

“We’re going, we’re going,” I said, in a low voice. And I made to walk back to the classroom, clutching my uniform, but the girl detained me again.

“Wait,” she said. “I want to show you something.”

She held her hand just beneath my face. A moment later, livid streaks of pale green energy glinted through her wrist and curled out of her fingertips.

“What’s this?” I cried in dismay, clasping her hand in some childish attempt to stop her. “What have you been doing?” 

Before she could reply, our classmate was at the window again. “Get in the room, now! The teacher’s here!” 

We hurried around the wall. But just before she crossed the threshold, the first girl halted fleetingly, turning halfway towards me. “You see — I, too, read more than just our textbooks.” She cast one look at her hand, which I was still holding. She wrenched it away, and then she went in. 

I stood for a moment, dumbfounded, before following her.

realize

[eyesaremosaics]

Apologies for anon, I don't have a tumblr right now! I love the creativity of your zodiac posts and am curious to know your opinion of Librans. I always see them described as kind of vapid types who are only interested in appearances, and it puzzles and amuses me since it doesn't match me or any other Librans I know...

Ahoy fellow Libran! I completely agree with your opinion about vapid descriptions of Libra’s. We get rather glossed over as opposed to more… Say volatile signs. It honestly depends on what is in their chart.

A libra with heavy water influence will appear fragile, delicate, as though she were going to crack like very fine porcelain. This appearance is deceptive, because a Libra’s bones are comprised of nine parts steel. Libra has strength in their convictions, they have strong moral opinions of right and wrong. Even though they entertain both sides of the argument for the sake of fairness, they have little tolerance for injustice.

Libra’s often get anxiety about making the wrong decision. They loathe to be perceived as naive or gullible (which people often mistake them for). The issue is that they can empathize and understand where each individual is coming from, this makes them marginalize their own feelings as lacking in importance.

One of my favorite examples is my beloved Jim Henson (his birthday is the day after mine! Heehee) he was so creative, so kind hearted, fair minded and all inclusive. He brought people together to create, not only for arts sake, but with the intention to educate, amuse and inspire others. He was very concerned about the welfare of underprivileged youth, which is what motivated him to create Sesame Street. He wanted children who couldn’t afford to go to pre-school, learn the basics of writing, math, interpersonal communication, self awareness, problem solving etc. all free via basic cable.

That is a very altruistic, ambitious and forward thinking project. Yet he made it a reality, a reality which is still popular today. Even though he was the head of his company, he leveled the playing feel with each puppeteer, artist, etc. He treated everyone as equals, he valued everyone’s opinions, and though they were technically his projects, he saw them as collaborations.

Libra’s are so involved with relating to others, attending to their needs, that they often forget themselves. The saddest story I ever heard about Jim Henson, was that he was very sick for a long time, he kept it hidden from everyone–even his own wife and children. On the set of his later films, he would retire to the bathroom to cough up blood in his hands. Wash up, put on a brave face, and go back to work like nothing was wrong.

Finally, it became so severe he could no longer hide it. They took him to the doctor, but it was too late. At that point the disease had progressed so far that there was nothing they could do. When asked why he didn’t tell anyone what was going on… He paused, before gently and politely saying: “ I just didn’t want to be a bother to anyone.”

This is a tragic, but prime example of how Libra’s rate themselves lowest on the totem pole of priorities. This sweet and gentle man who brought so much joy and magic into the world, neglected his own well being because he didn’t want to trouble anyone else. Libra’s can be self sacrificing or martyrs if you will.

Because they are highly moral creatures who like to believe the good in everyone, they are often manipulated or badly used. They get taken advantage of by people who prey on their good nature. On the darker side however, Libra’s can be master manipulators. They differ from a Scorpio in the sense that Scorpio needs to be in control to feel safe, libra is self righteous, they feel privately that their way is the right way. So they will charm you, using the power of suggestion, somehow convincing you that it was your own idea–to get their way. The iron fist in the velvet glove so to speak.

Libra children are very good at using their natural attractiveness to get what they want out of adults. They pull the “cute kid” card most effectively. This can translate into adulthood, though it depends on the chart. If a libra has a lot of air in Thor chart… They will tend to be more flighty and superficial as you described. For they have more water, they will be dreamy, sad and mysterious looking, with a melancholic disposition. If they have a lot of fire, they will be more outgoing and overtly charismatic. Libra’s are naturally charming, it is a big characteristic of the sign, yet it manifests differently depending on the rest of the chart.

Libra can be a bit of a hipster, they are very cultured, have great raft in art, music, food/wine. As cultured creatures and natural host’s, they live to entertain. They can be a bit of an “art snob” (as my mother once called me). They can be counted on to decorate, curate, style etc. They have great fashion sense, and are often noticed for their sense of style. Dita Von Teese is a prime example.

Libra’s are intelligent and amusing companions, they are good listeners, have a great sense of humor, and the natural ability to put others at ease in social situations. They are classy, and like to travel in style. Ruled by Venus (the same as Taurus) they can be prone to excess. Libra’s can be counted on to gracefully keep the conversation going amidst many different personality types. They are natural equalizers. Their presence is calming. Since they are so conscious of others, they will notice if you are struggling socially, and will kindly sit by you and invite you over to join the conversation. They hate odd numbers, and can’t bear to see people left out.

They are very sympathetic to the suffering of others, and will work tirelessly to bring balance to any atmosphere of discord.

Now, if a libra is unevolved, they can be “mean girls”, certainly, but this is not often the case. Libra is generally very self conscious, because their scales tip back and fourth so frequently. More than any other sign, libra relies heavily on the opinions of others. They will deny it until there is no tomorrow, but they deeply need people. Libra is the sign of relationship, without a community, without a partnership… Libra wilts, and becomes very sad and despondent. Libra thrives off connection.

This is not to say they are incapable of being alone, Libra’s are very independent. They are ambitious and hardworking when it is for a good cause or something hey believe in. They get lazy when their scales tip into depression. Libra is always looking for balance, but can rarely maintain it. Often their experience is vacillation and confusion. In truth, libra can sometimes spend so much time going back and fourth between options that they end up not making a decision. So fearful of making the “wrong” decision, they end up standing still, watching life go by without them.

Libra’s can’t fake enthusiasm, they would rather do nothing than produce shoddy work. They can tend to be a bit defeatist if they can’t get something “just right”. Anxiety and tension arises for them if they feel rushed. They need time to perfect what ever it is they are doing. To Libra, life is a living, breathing work of art.

Love is kryptonite for a libra. They are in love with love, hopeless romantics, either openly and passionately pursuing their love interest, or desperately longing in angst for the object of their affections. Libra’s are really good at the whole star crossed/dying of love thing. They are good with words, and can sweep you off your feel with their poetry. They have a way of making you feel cherished. Like you are the only person who exists to them, and you are. Libra’s are generally very loyal creatures. They are so devoted to relationships in general, that cheating is dishonorable to them.

However, an unevolved libra (or a young soul libra) can be a bit more vapid. In love with the chase, or the thrill of the pursuit. I have known a male libra like this. He was a total piece of manipulative shit, yet his kind is not the norm. So I will just say there are exceptions to every rule, but Libra’s generally work very hard at making all their relationships a success.

They are devoted partners, who love the idea of being a “team” or a “power couple”. That is the ultimate fantasy for a libra. To have a Brangelina type romance, to be the envy of others in their unity with their partner. They are co-conspirators, confidantes. An example of this would be F. Scott Fitzgerald, who fell madly in love with Zelda Sayre. They were the power couple of the 1920’s, invited to lavish parties, traveling to bohemian Paris post WWI.

Yet their relationship was troubled first with class inadequacies, followed by career jealousies, and ultimately madness and addiction. Still Scott held on to this romantic narrative of he and Zelda. How they crossed oceans of time to be together, and admitting her to a mental hospital is what led him over the edge with his alcoholism to the point of his early death. Though he romanced other women in Hollywood in the 1940’s, he consistently chose women who reminded him of Zelda. He never got over her.

Libra’s are remarkably intelligent, adept at literature (reading/writing/poetry/comprehension) and the arts in general (painting,drawing,drama, music etc). The arts and literature come naturally to them, and other people often envy the effortlessness of these capabilities. They make good business partners, as well as politicians. Libra is reluctant to take a position of authority, but will do it on behalf of a good cause.

A libra woman, will fill your home with beautiful decor, and creature comforts. She may love extravagance, or she may prefer minimalism, regardless she loves to entertain friends and family. Hosting parties is what she does best. She will throw a fabulous event full of fun and interesting people from all walks of life.

Libra’s are painted as unemotional, this could not be any further than the truth. The problem is libra tries to over intellectualize as a coping mechanism, and often gets lost in their own thoughts. They are prisoners of their fear of inadequacy. Their sense of self is not stable at all. Without someone else to bounce their ideas off of, they shrivel up inside. Internally… The crumble to dust. Do not leave a libra alone for too long.

If you do, they are prone to indulging in drink, food, and if they have heavy water influence (especially Pisces) drugs. Libra has a hard time facing themselves. Deep down they feel they have little value without being in connection with another person as a symbiotic creature. The older they get, the more they feel like time is ticking out. Deep down they feel that honest love will never come to them.

Libra begins with the end of summer. The fall equinox takes place around my birthday every year. A time when the warm climate beings to temper with a cool breeze, and the leaves go gold and dry, falling away from the trees as gentle feathers. Libra is a time of harvest, or change. They are the beginning of winters preparation.

A sultry time leading into October. Full of bright orange, golds, browns. They are he scent of pumpkin spice. Clean fresh linen hung out to dry. They are dusk, a romantic walk with hands intertwined. They are rose petal trails, French perfume, oddities, antiques, collectibles. Fine china in glass cases. Glinting in the dimly lit room. They are the opalescent sheen in carnival glass. Fresh pressed clothing. The evidence of a party from the night before.

The end of the champagne, with coupe glasses. Art Deco, opulent ceilings, peacock feathers arranged delicately in a jar. They are shoegaze music, the lonely reverb of the guitar. Empty echoes of loneliness, intricate lace coming apart with age. They are moth eaten fabric, the light pouring in through the blinds, warming your skin in slivers. They are false lashes, skin care products, satin heels strewn across hardwood floors. Persian rugs, Tiffany lamps, Christmas lights, the faint trace of glitter left on your clothes.

They are 90s club kids, wind instruments, art gallery openings, a museum. They are guided tours, elegant ballrooms, a tailor shop full of bridal gowns. They are Lucy from Dracula, the sound of a typewriter, a gentle breeze guiding a curtain as a wildly disembodied spirit, the scent of an old leather bound book, a sea of potpourri. The feeling of being full after a fine meal. The effervescence of a good champagne. How crisp be satisfying the taste. Making you sleepy in the late afternoons.

Idealized love. Companionship. Bridge to Teribithia, “somewhere there is a place for us”. Eloping in beautiful seclusion. Promise rings. Friendship bracelets. A silver locket with your picture in it.

Feeling sad about being constantly overlooked or devalued. Being seen as that which the sign denotes–an inanimate object. The heaviness of drink having gone over the limit. The feeling of failure when a relationship ends. Panic attacks, love letters, abandoned places, overgrown with ivy. The secret garden, fairy tales, disco lights, velvet drapes. Falling into a trance. Hypnotism. The dream of love, as a two way mirror.

Rita Hayworth in “Gilda”, seen as a sexual object, but never for their brains. Having people fall in love with your image, but never your entirety.

[sunshine-tattoo]

I don't think that this is fair.

Plenty of "gifted" children don't fit this image at all.

I say this as a former gifted child and as a teacher of many gifted children.

I'll start with me. I had the weirdest school file. Because half of the remarks by previous teachers were glowingly positive and the other half wanted me sent to that island in Lord of the Flies.

Why might this be?

Because I had a personal policy as a little girl: if an adult was intelligent and logical, I would listen. If they weren't, it was like they didn't exist to me.

So teachers who were excited about knowledge and had rules that made sense to keep us out of harm were my best friends. I did as I was told and was an excellent student.

But teachers who were mean for no reason or clearly didn't know what they were doing, I hunted like prey.

I simply refused to follow rules I found to be unnecessary.

And lord help any teacher who did anything bigoted. At 6 years old I challenged the old sexist music teacher to a bet when he said that girls couldn't carry the heavy textbooks. And I won.

Yet throughout all of this, I made excellent grades no matter what.

Because I was interested in the material and wanted to learn it.

Jump to the modern day. I'm a grown person who teaches a wide range of students, but grade 5 is my favorite.

I had a kid in my class. Let's call her Sam.

Sam is definitely brilliant. But she's also not shy or well behaved in any way.

Sam loves to learn and she loves to debate. Sometimes with other children, sometimes with me.

As a good teacher, I fucking love this kid. But some of my colleagues just want quiet and conformity. They hate Sam.

Sam's grades are also dependant upon the quality of the work she is assigned.

In my class where we do projects, she makes phenomenal grades. Because she can go as hog wild as she wants.

In other classes where they do nothing but worksheets and take tests, her grades are abysmal. Because she sees it as a waste of time and either doesn't do it or writes in nonsense answers so she can turn it in and read.

I think we need to work on the narrative of the gifted kid experience. Expand it past kids who were anxious and eager to please.

“gifted child” i think you mean child in primary school who was shy and so they listened more in class rather than talking and so the teacher liked them more and focused on them and so got better results and then young teenager who had a half decent memory which carried them through the easy stuff and now finally resulting in 18 year old in their final year of school not having any proper study techniques, gets stressed way too easily and is an underachieving perfectionist. oh shit that’s m-