#i feel helpless and unhelpful

[the-yearning-astronaut]

.

[caffeinatedopossum]

I'm so tired of everything. I'm tired of well meaning people telling me that I just need to talk to someone, that I just need 'some support' or other similar things. I'm tired of people reminding me that my only effective coping mechanisms will kill me. I'm just tired

[alucardsinep]

the day was horrid but at least im being productive now

[pablosexc0bar]

me when i am in a bitchy snappy mood but then i remember mother mary and mother earth and i must begrudgingly accept responsibility for my own feelings and acknowledge that nobody else can fail me or make me feel anything because nobody has any duty to me and i have no duty unto anyone but myself and my happiness is mine alone to create. ugh

[pepprs]

also like to clarify.. we were not expecting her to leave. and any time she would have left would’ve been bad timing but it’s like.. this was HER program and we didn’t have enough time to really get to know it as well as she did (and still does probably). and there are so many flaws in it that we didn’t have time to address and our attention was spread so thin bc we were / still are juggling a million things and trying to compensate for the vacancy in our already extremely and egregiously small staff. so i get that the leaders may be feeling unsupported and resentful of that and that is very valid. but it’s like.. if that is in fact the case i think it’s important to know that this is not ideal for us either. we lost the person who knew this program inside and out and we still haven’t recovered and even though her position has been filled now (by my new colleague bestie who is AMAZING and has been helpful and supportive and has gone above and beyond in every way and i adore them don’t get me wrong) we may never fully recover from it or at least we won’t for a very long time. and im not even just talking about like the impact on our work. i mean on us as people who were closely psychically bound together. which sounds freakish and weird but we were. that wound is going to take a long time to fully scar and when the scar forms it will always be there. so excuse us for not putting on a perfect asb less than a year after she left us we are kind of seeing the consequences of all of the horrors right now lol.

[majoringinsarcasm]

Bleh

That sepia tone meme that’s “I don’t know what blank means and at this point I’m too scared to ask” but for me it’s “I don’t know what all the political alignments are or Truly mean and at this point I’m too tired to figure it out and also Google probably won’t give me real world examples which defeats the purpose of looking it up so I will instead continue to sit here”

Not in an uwu it’s all too much for me way but in a “I’ve only been allowed to vote for a short period of time relative to my age and growing up I only heard about democrat and republican. Liberals was the one I thought I understood best and cropped up post me turning 18 but now there’s leftist and right wing and left wing maybe and I don’t want to know the identity of these titles but more the policies surrounding them and why they exist but that’s. Again. I don’t trust google. So. Sitting here”

[hannahssimblr]

As hangovers go, it’s about a nine out of ten. I waste the morning drifting in and out of sweaty snoozes, my duvet coiled around my legs like cotton vines that want to bind me to the sheets, gritty with the sand I dragged in on my shoes. At some point I am startled briefly awake by my phone buzzing with such fury that it hops along the surface of the mattress. 

It's Michelle. I switch it off and roll over. 

Around midday when the sun is at the perfect angle to sear through the glass and scorch my sweat bathed body like a helpless insect under a magnifying glass, I finally roll out of bed and shuffle into the living room. 

The guys are playing something that’s wall to wall machine guns on the PlayStation. They invite me to join, but I tell them no. The percussive sounds of the bullets is enough to make my brain throb. I let myself outside in yesterday's clothes to escape the noise, grabbing my sunglasses on the way. 

I think a walk will be good, I think it’ll make me feel better. I avoid the beach, which is obnoxiously busy on sunny days like this one, in favour of a walk through the village in the vague direction of the boat club. I don’t intend to go that far. I spent the whole summer last year avoiding a certain waitress, and I have yet to decide if I’m going to do the same this year. Today is not a day for decisions, so I will just loop around the caravan park and come back. 

The walk is not a success. First I am confronted by the dead seagull and then it’s the bin overflowing with half eaten fish and chips in the beach car park. I make it about ten metres before my body takes over and I throw up neon green behind a family station wagon. I knew it was coming, but I would have rather it had happened in a more confidential place. 

“Oh God, foul.” A very pretty girl in a bikini says to her equally pretty friend as I wipe my chin with the back of my hand, and all I can hope is that either these sunglasses provide adequate disguise, or that I will never see them again. 

But once I’ve thrown up I feel better. Though a headache persists, I've heard the sea air holds some sort of magic. I suck it in in lungfuls hoping it can heal my stomach, my head, and whatever it is that is specifically wrong with boys like me who call their ex-girlfriends at two in the morning and say a whole host of things that are wholly unhelpful to both of you. 

After this walk I will go home and force myself to eat something. I'll just force myself around the caravan park one time. The moment I slip through the gates, I have to leap aside to allow a group of boys to pass on their bicycles. They shout something at me for being slow and in their way, and I laugh, even though it makes my skull throb. 

I’ve always quite liked this part of the village, it’s rough and ready. There is nothing fancy about the old concrete shower block, dropped smack bang in the middle of the place, the big sun bleached plastic bins and the sporadic blocks of concrete with weeds bursting from the cracks. I enjoy its chaos, the mismatched lawn furniture, thin summer clothes pegged to lines, the children running wild in unsupervised chaos. 

The management tried to ban me from this park when I was twelve over some incident with a tennis ball and an ice cream truck. They took my photo and all, and stuck it up in the office, but the next summer when I got my growth spurt they didn’t recognise me anymore. So I made my triumphant return, hung around, threw things out of trees to see what sounds they’d make, and kissed all the girls I could get my braces-filled mouth on. 

I peer over the rim of my glasses toward where three girls are hanging out on the tennis courts, two popping the ball over the net while the third lolls on the sideline. I try to figure out if I ever kissed any of them in my heyday. I don’t remember, but if they were here in 2005 then it's most likely. 

Except if that girl is Kelly Healy, which, I realise, as I get closer to the court that it is. She’s unmissable, really, red faced, her sweaty curls spring free of her ponytail as she swipes at the ball and misses. She lets out a cry of frustration, flings her racket onto the ground and whines loudly about how unfair it is that she should have to lose every single set. 

I think it’s fine to think about how much I never wanted to kiss Kelly Healy. It’s not offensive, because it’s not as though she would have wanted to either, in fact, the idea of it has to disgust her as much as it does me. I hope she doesn’t see me as I pass, but I doubt she will, she’s too busy laying into her friend, but the girl sitting on the ground does. 

She smiles at me. Does she come here every summer? Is she one of the girls I’ve kissed? I doubt it. I think I’d remember. 

I smile back tentatively and she shyly tucks a strand of silky blonde hair behind her ear. 

She’s pretty, but I look away, racked with guilt for thinking it. Amn’t I supposed to be heartbroken and devastated? Surely I owe at least three months of penance, languishing in misery, unable to even look another girl in the eye as punishment for my selfish crimes. I’ve only given it a measly six weeks. 

I think this walk was a bad idea. I wasn’t ready for it. I swerve down a path away from the court and turn back toward home.

Jen is hanging out on the outdoor furniture when I return. I don’t really want to talk. It seems somehow as though breathing the fresh air has made my headache worse, but she speaks to me anyway despite my attempts to non-verbally communicate a desire to be left alone. 

“You should delete her number,” she tells me, voice flat, and I just grunt something non committal.

“I’m serious, you really just can’t be trusted. You should just save yourself the angst and minimise the risk of any contact.”

“You spoke to her?”

“Yeah she called me,” then, incredulously, “why did you say all of that to her?”

“I don’t remember what I said.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Well, don’t then. I don’t care.”

“Okay, grumpy.”

“Don’t talk to me right now.” I stalk up the stairs and into the house, then burst into my room while ignoring the boys who are still offering me a game of whatever they are playing. I kick the door shut and snatch my phone off the tangled mess that is my bed. I switch it on. 

It comes to life in my hand like a sentient being, buzzing and chiming with all of the messages and calls I missed, but I delete every single one of them without looking. Then I go straight to my phonebook.

SHELL <3 

Her name is stark, black text against white. She changed her own name on my phone a long time ago, adding that little heart onto the end of it as though I would ever forget exactly which Michelle this was, as though we didn’t text each other every second we spent apart. I swear, through the aura of my headache, now throbbing furiously behind one eye, it seems like those two little symbols are mocking me. 

DELETE?

My thumb twitches. 

YES SHELL<3 HAS BEEN DELETED

Beginning // Prev // Next

[utilitycaster]

I really can't wait to see another of the BH to confront Ashton on his recent attitude*, it's been extremely fun to see Taliesin play Ash these past few episodes, i read it as him falling into old habits (pre shard) and it's like seeing boiling pot about to explode in everyone's faces

*idk how to describe it other than this, language barrier and all

Hey anon,

I answered something similar a few days ago but I don't think a confrontation or calling them out is actually the best move. That doesn't mean it won't happen, and that it won't be interesting if they do, but sometimes the best response you can have is letting someone's ranting go unanswered. Don't give them anything to push back on and be patient and pleasant, and they'll either calm down or else prove themselves to be absolutely not acting in genuine good faith anger, but rather a desire to provoke.

I think attention-seeking is a quality Ashton has. It makes sense, after a life of frequently being neglected! As others have astutely noted, the problem is he's still at times acting as though he is still a nobody (or a Nobody) and not a high-level adventurer invited to speak at a global war conference. They haven't really processed that from those squalid beginnings, they've become someone who commands a small but certainly well-above-average measure of power. They assume that no one in that chamber has done the same, even though we know that's not true (Vex and the Bright Queen both have certainly known helplessness, though perhaps not for a long time). I don't think that the Dynasty is certain to treat Ashton poorly given his abilities, but he did very much ignore a warning from Essek just to get some additional attention that hasn't even garnered any new information.

It is old habits, and Ashton is raging mostly against the gods instead of the mortal hubris of their parents and the excessive force of Jiana Hexum, but I just don't think calling them out will achieve anything. I think if they want to talk to the Arch Heart, that could be very interesting, but ultimately while their behavior is infuriating and unwise I feel a lot of people have taken a very punitive stance towards it that I think would be unhelpful. Like, the party has made their feelings clear through polite disagreement - I don't think we're in a shard situation where anyone feels pressured or like they can't tell the truth - and so if Ashton gets themselves blown up again, well, that's a consequence of behavior. But yelling at them probably will make them blow themselves up faster.

[bookwyrminspiration]

Hi there!

I had some questions (or statements I wanted to discuss I’m not sure what to call them) because I genuinely don’t know much about the subject. I’m on anon right now but I may comment on my own account later. Also don’t feel obligated to answer if this makes you uncomfortable.

So I was wondering if you could articulate any thoughts on proshipping in the kotlc fandom? I wanted to know your thoughts as from my understanding (and please correct me if I’m wrong) you see it pretty positively, and I wanted to better understand the ‘issue’ (idk what to call it)

Anyways I thought I should include what I already know.

So I understand that when people participate in proshipping it does not reflect their actual worldview.

I understand that it is fictional and really doesn’t affect real life.

I think my issue with proshipping has to do specifically with it happening in the kotlc fandom, and this has to do with Keeper of the Lost Cities being a kids series. My problem isn’t specifically with that, but mostly with the amount of “kids” participating in our fandom space (not actual kids like ten year olds but from my understanding we have an array of people from ages 13-16 who I would consider pretty young)

I just worry about when people make posts about, for example, one of the main cast and an adult in the series, because the Keeper casts ages may closely reflect the actual ages of people in the fandom, we’re creating an unsafe environment and these posts may affect what these ‘kids’ think is okay in real life or for themselves.

Anyways, I wanted to share my thoughts but I really mean it when I say I want to hear your thoughts, I don’t think I know enough about the ‘issue’, especially from the other perspective.

(Also, this isn’t really about your call out post about call out posts, I’ve just seen you liking some pro shipper stuff so I thought you might be interested in that sort of thing)

Hi! Thank you for being respectful about this. First, I avoid labels like "anti" or "proship," as they tend to create an unhelpful us vs. them dichotomy. Especially when, like these terms, they have strong associations and generate strong reactions upfront. It's not, in my opinion, conducive to productive conversation

I believe that all fiction, including disgusting, depraved, uncomfortable fiction, should be allowed to exist without restriction. Whether that's incestuous, predatory, or otherwise.

We don't have to read/watch it. We don't have to like it. Or be comfortable with it. But it needs to be allowed to exist.

It's existence does not harm us (the most that happens is we realize, we are uncomfortable, and then we stop watching/reading/etc. and move on), and there is no way to reliably moderate fiction. It will always be arbitrary, and those arbitrary distinctions will always be enforced by the privileged with power, who will use it to create their narrative and silence others.

The issue many people get stuck on, like you, is about children. Now I'm not saying this is what you're doing, but I'd like to bring up the Think Of The Children logical fallacy. It's a more recent one, so it's less known, and I'm just linking the wikipedia.

What it does is switch to emotional thinking, creating this idea of these helpless little things in danger we need to protect. It creates moral panic, because what are you gonna do? Argue against the children? You monster! It can shut things down.

And while children are young and still learning and need guidance, they're also people. They have their own thoughts, reactions, and choices. They use their childhood to practice that, which is aided by fiction. Fiction is a practice run for the real thing; it can be that learning and guidance

Children take what they see in fiction, where no real people are hurt or in these scary situations, and react. They form opinions, determine what they think is right or wrong, and they have more room for error. For example, it is safer for them to misjudge an actually malicious adult in a story, learn what the warning signs were, and be more cautious going forward with no real life consequence than to make that mistake for the first time with a real person.

This is just a general overview. To specifically address this fandom and its ships, I'm going to start with this: when you were 14, did you think it was okay to date an adult? Did you ever see incestuous art/fic and start wondering if it was okay to date your sister?

Yes, consistent, repeated exposure of concepts from influential places can normalize them. Is that a genuine risk here, or what is happening? Have you seen it happen before on a wide enough scale to be generally applicable? I, of course, cannot speak for everyone, but I already knew those weren't okay by the time I joined the fandom at 13. Yes, 13 is young, but 13 year olds are capable of complex thought and reasoning. Their minds aren't going to be changed that easily, and a lot of them would probably resent the implication (even if unintentional, this is nothing against you) they couldn't figure it out for themselves. At least I would've

And more specific to keeper again: we have maybe a handful of these "weird" and "gross" ships/aus/etc. Posted by a number of people I could likely count on one hand, incredibly infrequently. This is a genuine invitation to think it through: what is that going to do?

Is that from enough places with enough power to normalize these ideas? Who is seeing it? How impressionable are they? Have they already formed ideas of right and wrong? Will this change that?

The conclusion I've come to is: 13 years old is young in the grand scheme of things, but at 13 years old you are capable of complex thought. I don't think the limited number of these "objectionable" topics and posters, which/who can be easily avoided, is going to normalize or make people think it's okay irl. It didn't happen with us, did it?

And I think, to some extent, limiting exposure or controlling media access takes away agency and choice, and that young people being able to experience difficult concepts in fiction before seeing them in real life is beneficial. This often then leads to "but what if they read something really icky they hate!" to which I say, kids aren't going to do things they don't want to. They won't watch movies, shows, or read books about things they're uncomfortable with or disinterested in. I simply put the book down and read something else.

And if they're being forced to, that's a different problem, and the solution is not to make sure the media doesn't exist or they can't access it.

This has been long, broad, sometimes specific, and more all in the attempt to be thorough. What it boils down to is: I don't think what you're worried about is going to happen, or is even slightly likely enough to genuinely plan for or worry about (not that you're unreasonable for worrying, though), and I don't think there's any trustworthy course of action that would separate the "good" from the "bad" and reliably, fairly decide who can see it and when.

I hope this helps answer your questions :). I'm happy to talk about it more, though I don't want to devolve into arguing, so if that starts to happen (with you or anyone else), I will likely end the conversation.

[butchpeace]

Some mantras that have been helpful to me lately:

I was hurt, and I love myself.

I was hurt, and I deserve better.

I was hurt, and I deserve love.

I was hurt, and it doesn’t make me broken or helpless.

I was hurt, and it doesn’t change my worth.

I was hurt, and I will build a happy life.

I’ve always been a very self-critical person. I’ve never been someone who could cut myself slack. My default mode whenever I felt like I made a mistake was to completely beat myself up, so much that it was unproductive. So instead of saying to myself “I’m so stupid”, “Why didn’t I know better?”, “Why can’t I get my shit together?”, I’ve been starting to use these reminders in place of those unhelpful ruminating thoughts.

Starting with the fact that transition isn’t something that should ever have happened to me. It doesn’t matter how much I wanted it - this is bad for people across the board. The huge weight of the decision to transition should never have been put on a struggling young person who didn’t have any support system or any understanding of herself. I was hurt.

Then using and instead of but - It feels more positive to me. Life doesn’t end when you get hurt, even if what you went through changes you. Bad things can happen. And then you find a way to keep going and make a good life for yourself anyway.

Hope this helps some people 💛

[whentherewerebicycles]

ugh I am feeling a little bit stressed about having surgery on both wrists at the same time I just think I’m gonna be pretty helpless and unable to hold the baby for a while. but on a funnier note I asked my bro-y ortho surgeon about the recovery time and he was like “oh I’ve had guys go deep sea fishing a couple days after” which is such an oddly specific and unhelpful example 😂

[ilions-end]

finished euripides' iphigenia among the taurians (david kovacs translation)! thoughts that might be even more disconnected than usual because insomnia's a bitch:

the parallels to euripides' helen are everywhere, but the biggest similarity for me is that both are variants of their respective myths that i'm personally NOT that into narratively because it feels like they soften or remove the more uncomfortable elements of central mythological conflicts (what if helen never went to troy/what if agamemnon didn't actually kill iphigenia) .... which is why it's aggravating that THE PLAYS THEMSELVES ARE SO ENJOYABLE. euripides you SNEAK why did you make them engaging!!

like how it forces me to recontextualize iphigenia -- no longer a noble but helpless child, but a woman with guile and initiative. how euripides places her in a story where she can and must use what agency she has! it's so interesting

the age thing is actually really wild to contemplate because in most scenes, iphigenia is demonstrably the eldest. she last saw orestes when he was a baby and they make a point of how pylades wasn't even born yet at the time of iphigenia's sacrifice

the dynamics have all shifted, she's enslaved, she's a victim, but also the one with enough knowledge and initiative to find a solution and save everyone when the men's violence has failed!

i kept thinking about how the play handles blame. like how iphigenia pretends to hold ALL greeks accountable for her fate and deserving of punishment, and you'd ASSUME she hates her father, but in her heart she only blames helen, menelaus and odysseus. she can't bring herself to hate her mother even after learning about the events of the oresteia. likewise, she seems to be unsure WHO she is really sacrificing humans for, if it's artemis or the taurians, and if she can be deemed culpable when she's forced to perform them.

orestes slaughtering the cows thinking they're furies, ahh!! extremely ajax-coded. and it seems he has recurring episodes but always comes to his senses again, painfully self-aware that he's had a recent lapse of cognition. not just ajax-coded but a surprisingly realistic and empathetic observation of psychosis. i keep thinking about that.

"But the other foreigner wiped the foam from [Oreste's] face, protected his body, and shielded blows [...] as they fell, and helped his friend with loving attentions." PYLADES PYLADES PYLADES THE MAN THAT YOU ARE <3<3<3

i kept assuming this play was set sorta mid-oresteia seeing as orestes is still pursued by furies, but they made it clear this is AFTER his trial and apparently some furies just didn't accept the verdict and was like "you can do what you want, i'm gonna keep torturing him" to athena?? that's hilarious

i LOVE how snippy and dismissive orestes is when iphigenia first questions him. usually a scene like that would be (intentionally) frustrating because you WANT THEM to realize who they're talking to SO BAD, but orestes being understandably grumpy and unhelpful talking to the priestess who means to kill him is so enjoyable on its own.

AND THEN THE REVEAL WAS SO SATISFYING!!! pylades just turning around and giving orestes the letter immediately. PYLADES YOU'RE SO FUNNY I LOVE YOU

it's so heartbreaking to compare orestes and electra's reunion in the libation bearers -- how instinctual their recognition of each other is -- with how challenging it is for iphigenia and orestes to believe that they have that bond and are who they say they are. and i know those are different authors and different sibling dynamics but i love how the more plays i read, the more emotionally involved i become in these characters!!

i fucking lost my mind at how the minute orestes and pylades were alone together, orestes asks "Pylades, in heaven's name do you feel the same as I do?" because my immediate read was that he was asking WHAT ARE WE and that they were gonna kiss about it. (they do in the production i have playing in my mind)

"O daughter of Leto, bring me, your priestess, safely back to Hellas from this barbarian land! Forgive my theft! You too, goddess, love your brother; you must expect that I love mine." OMGGGG i got goosebumps that's so GOOD!!

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

Weird. The only way I am coping this morning is by willfully not thinking.

Early on I realized it was going to be rough. I stopped looking at websites and threads and such about the election early last evening, but I still knew how it was going because it was inescapable.

I only slept three hours.

Now I can’t even stand to look at NPR this morning or turn on the radio. That’s a first for me. No news at all.

I have to go take the sign off the porch and I feel an awful knot in my stomach. There is the terrible, deep dread that one of my neighbors will see me and start to gloat. I just don’t think I can take it this morning.

I don’t trust my neighbors. I don’t trust my country.

I know I’m one small person that could’t have done more, yet when I let myself feel I feel I, personally, have failed. Failed in the sense I somehow failed to explain or educate or defend well enough, that past me failed the future by not somehow, someway, talking people out of the stupidity, cruelty, and selfishness that stays curled up in their hearts. It’s a seed I should have helped weed before the monster plant was watered by this storm of toxic rain.

Blaming myself if foolish, and unhelpful. I did what I could.

Did I though? In this election, yet, but in all the years before?

But then I think about Pop, stressing himself until it was breaking his body to try to make this world better. School board, and mayor, yeah, but I’m thinking mostly all that fighting for the environment.

Climate change, or whatever it was called in that time (global warming, greenhouse effect, etc) had been a passion of his all his life. He talked and talked and talked. Speeches, letters….but also one on one, people he knew. He new so many facts and figures, and was up for debating anyone.

He worked and worked at it, convincing a few, but mostly being ignored. he spent so long trying to warn the world of what was coming while being devoured by frustration that he had drifted into a strange amused detachment. He would laugh darkly as something anticipated for ages happened because the world couldn’t be bothered to change it’s ways, and say he wanted to live to see it all.

He died ten years ago this year, and every time a chunk of arctic ice goes plop or another places gets it’s third “once in a life time” flood this decade I think “Pop would have liked to have seen this”

“Like”. It is weird thing to hate and dread something so much, to see it coming, and to find yourself helpless to stop it despite knowing it could be stopped. All that fear and frustration and rage can end up becoming a defensive sort of “like”.

It can seem a bit like toasting marshmallows on your burning house. But then if your house is going to be burned down either way, well pass the s'mores.

I’m afraid I don’t have that skill, or really most of his skills. Mom might always say I’m like my father, but he was so much better than me. I haven’t had the energy for the endless, near futile battles with those that won't listen. I haven’t got I haven’t got the brain that can remember all the data and then spin it into the right words. I haven’t got the patient calm to debate with someone whose views are utterly vile and stupid without my brain short circuiting to inarticulate rage. And, maybe worst of all, I can’t just laugh as the unheeded warnings of doom come to pass.

Pop could save his feelings for property damaging, adorably hulk smash rages, and vent them privately in nice, healthy, jumping up and down on a flashlight until it was powder or turning a door into matchsticks. Then he could go back into the field of battle able to avoid even shouting.

My emotions are too raw. They always are. And right now they are a gaping wound.

Pop wasn’t indestructible. He exhausted himself and wore down his health. I, to my shame, actually encouraged him. I’d say that every individual he helped, every kid he got the school board to help, every citizen of the town he got a problem fixed for as mayor, and every person he persuaded climate change was real, and that these little good things made it all worth it.

But did it? I mean, he was sacrificing himself. I mean, he helped so many people, but his own body was gnawing at itself. He spent more time on projects for others than himself. Would he have lived longer if he’d been able to set aside the battle to save everyone else? I dunno. But he certainly would have had time to enjoy what life he had more and gotten more of his projects done.

I’m not him. The stress doesn’t just gnaw at me, it tears me apart.

But then, I’m also not in his situation. No family or friends for support. No money or job. I am living a life that has been crumbling for a while, but has reached the scrabbling at sand to keep from falling down a hole stage. I have nowhere to plant my feet and no one to watch my back while I battle.

And maybe that’s why I can’t face the news today. Or tomorrow probably. It has been a very bad year for me, in just about every way. Over and over hopes have been snatched away. Hopes about family and friendships. Hopes about money. Hopes about repairs. Hopes about my health. Hopes….

Like yesterday.

It’s just one more thing. But it also isn’t.

My life may be falling apart, but I had a secret belief in the inherent goodness and sensibility of most people. I believed that my country, no matter how battered, wouldn’t completely sink into the mire of hate and authoritarianism. There was something solid to cling to as I fall.

Not anymore. Most people, contrary to what I have repeatedly told myself all my life, actually are stupid and heartless. I also may actually have lived through the peak of the US being a democracy with the supposed goal of equality and freedom for all, and now am going to get to see what happens when it starts to slide into darkness.

Pop would find a way to laugh. I can’t even seem to cry.

I dunno how long it will be before I can read or listen to the news again.

So if I disappear please understand. I dunno how far I will retreat from the world, or for how long. I have never felt so crushed and alone.

Today I plan to go out to the woods and lie the swamp. I will have to come back for the animals, but trust me, I will have to remind myself.

[shady-tavern]

Vampire’s Lullaby Part Three

The last and final part of Vampire’s Lullaby, part one and two can be found here. I hope it turned out alright! This is another long one.

Warnings ahead for mentioned child murder, please take care of yourselves.

***

Annabelle had worried the letter thin at the edges, folding and unfolding the piece of paper so often it started to fray a little. She was no fool, she knew exactly what Charlette was promising her. What she was trying to do.

Annabelle had often felt helpless and small in her life. She had felt it every time she had raced away from the shadows at dusk and every time she had chased after the sun at dawn. She had felt it every time she had to watch Dion step outside with no way of helping him.

She felt deeply touched that Charlette wanted to do something. That she cared enough about Annabelle, cared for her enough to want to change things for the better. Annabelle just wished she could help as well. She had never been an overly protective person of her loved ones, but she absolutely wanted them safe.

She just had no means to make that happen.

"You don't have to worry," Ophelia said, sitting on her windowsill tonight after Annabelle had invited her up. 

She had her son with her, who was climbing all around the roof, playing lookout with excited determination. The little werewolf looked very cute, much like an overly enthusiastic boy rather than a monster of fur and claws and teeth.

"Charlette is very tough," Ophelia added. "She had claimed a pretty big territory both in her old home and here as well. And you did notice how no one's coming to this part of town anymore, right?"

"I know, it's not that I don't think she can do it, I just wish I could support her," Annabelle answered. Of course Charlette was capable, but that shouldn't mean she had to do everything on her own.

Ophelia tipped her head in thought, one ear swiveling constantly to keep track of her boy and the hunters down on the streets. "You can't fight night folk," Ophelia pointed out, rather unhelpful in Annabelle's personal opinion.

"I know." Annabelle forced herself to set the letter aside. "If you see her, make sure she's taking care of herself, would you?"

Ophelia nodded. "Of course, she's family after all." Then her head snapped around and she made a quick growly noise in warning when her son tried to creep towards the edge of the roof where the hunters would see him.

"I should get to bed," Annabelle said quietly after a moment. "Thank you, for keeping watch."

Ophelia offered a gentler, less toothy smile. "You're my friend too, you know? Of course I'll be here if you need me." With those words she clambered off the windowsill and easily jumped onto the neighboring roof to join her now more cautious son.

Annabelle got ready for bed and struggled to fall sleep for long minutes, staring up at the dark ceiling. There had to be something she could do to help.

The thought occupied her mind throughout the following day, right up until they got another order from an impatient noble who wanted to have a notebook done by tomorrow to gift to a friend whose birthday he had forgotten. He was willing to pay triple the regular price for the rush order that would force them to stop working on all other orders.

Annabelle offered to work late again to finish up the notebook and Mr. Bell left with a reminder to be home before the sun was gone entirely.

"I'll be careful," Annabelle promised and focused back on her work. The trick was to not get sloppy despite feeling the urgency to head home, the fading light making her restless after a lifetime of fearful hurrying. 

Even though she was very sure nothing would happen to her, considering the protection she was under and the friend and lover she had now, that needling along her nerves remained.

She was nearly finished when the front door of the shop opened with a jingle. It made her startle, heart leaping into her throat, right up until she heard Ophelia's voice.

"Annabelle? Why aren't you home yet?" the werewolf called out and a glance towards the window showed it was pitch-dark outside. She had entirely lost track of time despite her best efforts.

"I'm back here," Annabelle called out. "I was finishing up an order."

The door creaked open and Ophelia poked her head in, ears swiveling as she listened and nose twitching at all the scents inside.

"I've never been inside a printing shop," the werewolf murmured as she ducked through the door, hunching down and shuffling to make her large frame fit. "It kind of reeks, though."

Annabelle couldn't help but chuckle. "I can imagine, my nose is nowhere near that sensitive, but even I don't like some of the smells around here." Especially some of the glues Mr. Bell sometimes bought. If he went for the cheaper stuff, their books always needed some time to air out to stop smelling.

"I was just wrapping things up," Annabelle said. "Thank you, for checking in on me."

Ophelia offered a wolfish grin, revealing fangs and teeth strong enough to bite straight through bone and metal. "Of course. Could I watch? I've always been curious."

Annabelle gestured her closer and showed how she put on the finishing touches.

"You know, if you ever want to stay late, you could," Ophelia offered. "I don't care if we sit around here or if I'm keeping watch outside your window."

That was a very nice offer and one Annabelle seriously considered taking. She could get so much more work done that way. But for now, she needed to go home or her family was going to lose it.

"You'd have to sneak me out my window if we want to return here," she said. "I have to be home or my parents and brothers are going to think I died."

Ophelia winced a little. "Yeah, that's fair, we don't want that. Let me know when you want to come back to the shop." She grinned again. "I could offer you a ride. I'll bet you I'm faster than you."

Annabelle snorted. "I'm not even going to take that bet, I know you are faster than me." There was a reason why hunters didn't run from the night folk unless panic took over. Why they chose to attack and lay traps instead.

She wrapped the book up in a soft cloth and left it to be picked up the next day. When she locked the store, Ophelia keeping watch, she jumped in surprise when the large werewolf suddenly started to growl, fur bristling.

"Peace," a calm voice spoke from the shadows. "I have not come here for blood."

Ophelia slowly settled down, tail lashing a bit and she kept standing half in front of Annabelle. 

"If I may have a word with the human?" the voice asked and Ophelia snorted.

"How about you show your face first," the werewolf rumbled. "Then she can decide."

After a moment's pause, a tall, willowy man stepped into the light of one of the sparsely placed street lamps. His dark eyes held a red shine and he was dressed neatly and cleanly and offered a polite bow of his head.

"You are Annabelle, correct?" he asked and Annabelle stepped away from the door, resisting the urge to fiddle with her keys. "The one who convinced Charlette to pick a fight with our kind?"

That did not sound like it would be a pleasant conversation. Ophelia's ears pinned back a little and Annabelle answered, "I am." While Annabelle hadn't asked Charlette to fight other night folk, she knew her words had had an impact on her vampire.

"Do you think it possible for us to get along? Humans and night folk, I mean," the man asked, watching her closely.

"I think it's going to take a lot of work," Annabelle answered after a moment. "But if I can befriend night folk, why can't anyone else? If the killing stops, we could start building something better."

He was silent for the longest moment. "I think you are very naive. It is not that simple. We night folk have tried, you know? To be part of your world." 

He stared off into the distance, something dark and grim crossing his face. "There are children no humans want, even though they are of their people. So I took them in. I loved them and cared for them, clothed and fed them and paid for their education. Do you know what happened to them?"

Annabelle found her mouth growing too dry to speak at the tone of his voice, her throat closing up when their eyes met. Fury and grief made his eyes glow a deep, dark red. Like blood. He was a vampire, she realized.

"I woke with the sinking sun to find them all hanged in secret," he said, low and with an underlying snarl that sent a stab of instinctive fear down her spine. "Children who had done no wrong. Children who died for consorting with monsters, as your lot call us. You humans didn't want them, but you didn't want anyone else to have them either."

He took a step forward, eyes blazing, only for Ophelia to step a little more firmly in front of Annabelle. He stopped and took a deep breath to reign himself in.

"I hold no insignificant sway in my part of this city," he said, voice calm again, but the darkness kept lurking in his gaze. "I will not support Charlette when we gain nothing. When the humans we dare to care about get slaughtered by their own kind. I will not fight for that kind of world, nor will all the others who agree with me."

He straightened, looking tall and imposing despite his willowy frame. "We are not the only ones who will have to change our ways." He then briefly bowed his head, polite enough but a little stiff now. "I said my piece. Do with it as you will."

Annabelle's mind was reeling too much to speak as he disappeared in the shadows. Ophelia glanced over her shoulder at her, a questioning look in her eyes.

Annabelle swallowed, wetting her lips, before she managed to speak, "Has this happened to many monsters?"

Ophelia looked away, her ears drooping a little. "To enough. It keeps us from trying to get closer to humans and it makes the other night folk more angry as well. It feels like we can do nothing right in the eyes of humanity. As though, after humans took our king, they now want to blame us for everything wrong in their lives."

"I'm sorry." Annabelle had no idea what else to say. Ophelia sent her a reassuring look.

"That's hardly your fault. Come on, let's get you home before your family worries too much."

They walked in silence and Annabelle's family was indeed very upset at her late return. The hunters outside who had escorted her home the rest of the way had scolded her as well, looking worried.

As she sat in her room, belly filled with a cold but delicious dinner, she found she was too restless to even consider sleep. The vampire's words kept circling in her mind, followed by what Ophelia had said. It wasn't until she restlessly fiddled with the papers on her desk that an idea hit her.

She couldn't grab a weapon and fight, at least not without dying needlessly in the process. She had no idea how to wield weapons after all and she especially couldn't help Charlette win against other night folk. 

But there was more than one way of fighting and more than one battle that needed to be won. She grabbed a piece of paper and her quill and began to scribble furiously, writing and rewriting parts until she thought she had gotten it right.

She shoved to her feet and hurried to the window, paper in hand. "Ophelia?" she called out in a whisper and the werewolf looked up form her perch on the neighboring roof. "Can you look at this real quick?"

The werewolf jumped across the distance easily enough, accepting the paper Annabelle held out. She was silent for a long moment after she read it and Annabelle fidgeted nervously.

"What do you think?" she asked and Ophelia looked up, astonished surprise on her face, then she grinned.

"I say you are amazing. What will you do with this?"

Annabelle smiled in relief. "Can you take me back to the shop?"

"Sure," her friend answered, puzzled and curious. "But why?"

"I've got an idea." Annabelle was already climbing out the window and was easily picked up by a big, strong arm covered in warm, soft fur.

Ophelia hauled her onto her back as though she weighed nothing and went bounding across the rooftops far faster than Annabelle would have traveled on the streets. They arrived at the shop in record time and Ophelia watched curiously as Annabelle got to work.

Annabelle printed two big stacks of flyers and by then exhaustion started to catch up to her. She had worried at first to blatantly use so much paper and ink, but should Mr. Bell ask, she'd come up with a fabricated story about tripping when she hurried to leave and spilling ink everywhere and that she had to regretfully toss things out.

"Can you help me spread these?" she asked the werewolf, who grinned, wide and a little wild.

"I can do better than that. Wait here." Ophelia ducked out of the shop and a moment later, Annabelle heard a loud, howling call. It was answered by others, near and far and as she peeked out the window, she saw shapes move and gather along the edges of artificial light.

"Annabelle, come meet our friends and bring some of the flyers," Ophelia called out and Annabelle took a deep breath and lifted her chin. She would not be afraid, she told herself. If night folk were meant to share a world peacefully with humans, fear had no place in it.

She walked out with a stack of paper in her arms and made sure to smile at the gathered night folk. All kinds of creatures had gathered and they all stared at her with varying levels of curiosity. She spread the flyers among them and within seconds she heard low chatter and murmur, the click of claws and clatter of hooves and the ruffle of wings.

"We will help," a raspy voice of a spindly, pale creature said and it smiled with a mouth full of sharp needle teeth. "We are tired of a never-changing world that does nothing but hate."

Ophelia ducked into the shop to retrieve the stacks and Annabelle decided that she would not worry about being this close to other night folk while her friend was gone. No one made a move to attack, on the contrary, the nearest night folk offered a bit of polite small talk. They were nothing like the stories of feral beasts she had heard all her life.

Soon every one carried a stack of flyer as tall as Annabelle's hand was wide and they left with excited murmurs and chatter, dispersing to spread the paper all across the city.

"That's just the first step," Annabelle said as she locked up the shop and Ophelia carried her back home. "Are you and they willing to help more often?"

"Of course," Ophelia said with a smile. "We've all wanted and waited for a real chance to change things. While some night folk have fallen too deep into the dark to return, many others who will take this chance with both hands and not let go."

*.*.*

The entire city was in uproar the next day. The flyers hadn't simply been dropped in the streets, the night folk had put them up on shop windows and street lamps and along all the intersections. They had even shoved any leftovers into mail boxes. It was impossible to go anywhere and not see at least one flyer.

Annabelle heard people curse and tear the flyers down, not wanting to hear what she had to say. But that was alright, minds didn't just change overnight. The few glimpses she got of people silently pocketing flyers, looking contemplative, was worth it.

She printed flyer after flyer as the days passed, sacrificing sleep gladly. And the more she did it, the more she told the truth, the more she spoke of injustices and wrongs committed that had to be made right and the possibility for actual peace, the more people stopped to think.

They started to look at the traveling groups of clerics and town guards differently, who tore down the flyers and demanded the heads of those who had done this. They all remembered the humans killed for being seen with monsters.

They hadn't known about the dead children, but someone had broken into the cleric offices and had returned with proof that such things had indeed happened. They had spread the information all over the city and people had been furious ever since.

Annabelle saw the expressions in the eyes of the citizens change as more and more things came to light. Most of all, people wanted safety and peace. The idea of no longer fearing the night, of not sacrificing their children or spouses just to try and keep the rest of the family safe was a very luring call.

Of course, the nobles weren't going to take this sitting down. Fear was one of the things that kept them in power, after all. Fear was what the clergy was built upon and how they got their money, by making people think they could buy safety off of them, as well as blessings for their homes.

Considering how swiftly the nobility retaliated, Annabelle knew that she was on the right track. Houses of rebellious fractions got raided and one day, the guards stood in front of Mr. Bell's shop as well.

"Feel free to look around," Mr. Bell said, making a sweeping gesture. "You won't find what you're looking for."

As the guards stomped past him, Mr.Bell met Annabelle's eyes, his expression telling her that they were going to have a long talk. It made her swallow nervously.

"You're very low on ink and paper," the head guard rumbled and Mr. Bell nodded.

"Yes, our resupply shipment will arrive tomorrow. It always looks like that at the end of the month. Especially with the rush-orders from various nobles we've been getting."

Annabelle involuntarily held her breath. This was not what their shop looked like at the end of the month. So Mr. Bell had noticed, of course he must have, that their supplies had dwindled down fast. Why hadn't he said anything?

"Show me the receipts," the head guard demanded and Mr. Bell dug out more bills than there should be. 

Annabelle didn't let her confused and worried tension show and soon enough the guards left, having found nothing suspicious. Not even a stray flyer anywhere. Annabelle made sure to remove any and all hints of her activities and any messed up prints she took home to burn in the fireplace while her family slept.

"So," Mr. Bell said as he watched the guards march down the street towards their next destination. "Explain to me why you've been making those flyers."

At her surprised, startled look, he huffed. "I'm no fool, girl. I know how much stock we have and how much we use. You're lucky I forged some receipts in advance when I realized what you've been doing. So, why have you decided to become a rebel?"

The entire story tumbled out after a moment of hemming and hawing and Mr. Bell listened carefully and intently, asking questions when he needed her to clarify things. At last he leaned against the counter in thoughtful silence.

"I know some supplies who sell under the hand," he said at last. "They'll bring us more ink and paper than we officially need."

Annabelle stood up a little straighter. "You'll help me?"

Mr. Bell chuckled. "Oh, my dear, you're looking at a rebel yourself. I might be getting old, but I've caused quite some mischief and trouble in my younger days." His eyes were bright and he grinned, excitement starting to shine through. "And here I thought I was going to have a quiet, boring life until I died. So, what's next on the agenda?"

Annabelle managed to collect herself, drawing away from the reeling surprise to lay out her plans. Mr. Bell had some great ideas himself and together they started to build a more solid plan of attack.

"I can't let you work on the flyers during the day, in case they come back for another surprise search," he said regretfully. "You'll be safe coming in after dark?"

"I am," she promised and he nodded.

"Then do that. In the meantime, you'll go and get some sleep, I'm sure we can throw something together." When she tried to protest, he waved her off. "I can handle the work by myself for a few hours. If necessary we'll refuse some orders in the future. We have enough money to give us that leeway for a couple of weeks." 

He gestured at the book she had finished for the noble. "And if we get more orders like these, we don't have to worry about money for even longer."

Annabelle couldn't help but hug her old mentor, who chuckled and gave her back a pat. "

Now, none of that," he said when she tried to thank him or to reimburse him by cutting short her earnings. "If anything, you are doing me a favor. I was wondering what to do considering that everyone keeps urging me to retire. Having a purpose is very fun, isn't it?"

She couldn't help but smile and he ushered her away to get some rest on their coats on the floor, while he got started on their remaining orders. Annabelle managed to doze off for a bit, waking up again when the noble dropped by to pick up the book. A well filled coin purse was left behind and Mr. Bell grinned at her when he saw her sit up.

"Ready for work?" he asked and she hurriedly got to her feet to join him.

Mr. Bell left in the afternoon and returned cheerfully. He kept what he had been up to a secret, right up until the evening bell rang and someone knocked on the backdoor. The one they only used to bring out trash to the small alley.

To her surprise, three young men were there, delivering crates of parchment and ink. Mr. Bell paid them and sent them on their way with a cheerful wave. The boys briefly peered at Annabelle with silent curiosity, though they said nothing.

"I'll keep the backdoor unlocked," Mr. Bell said as he ushered her out the front door. "Please use it just in case some guards show up to patrol at night in order to try and catch the flyer-rebel." 

The thought made her nervous, but Annabelle took a deep breath and steeled her resolve. If this was how she could help, she would do it, no matter the danger it brought. Things had to change.

She returned home, ate with her family and was glad to hear that Dion would return home at the end of the week. He'd stay in his bed for another week and then he'd have to return to guarding the house. 

The only reason Annabelle wasn't deeply scared for her brother was the knowledge that their part of town had become very, very safe. Not a single monster showed its face, at least not to attack anyone.

Ophelia waited by the window the moment her parents and brothers had fallen asleep and Annabelle climbed out and onto her back. They traveled along the rooftops once again and Ophelia dropped into the small alley to let Annabelle use the backdoor.

They printed another round of flyers, more monsters showing up to disperse them. Some smiled at her, others looked curious. Some seemed hesitant to be hopeful, but they had come to help all the same.

Annabelle didn't print flyers every night. Neither Mr. Bell nor she had the funds for such a thing, but she made as many as she could. Aside from flyers, she printed posters to leave on market squares and when one of the monsters handed over a well-worded letter their daughter had written, she published that one too.

Dion was home at last and she made sure her brother was comfortable. He looked tense and unhappy, though his worry eased whenever his hunter friends visited. They had told him they had guarded his family in his absence and how quiet things had been recently.

"It's weird, in all honesty," one of his best friends muttered, the woman who always waited and made sure Annabelle came home safely. It was the day before he had to resume his duty and he'd been high-strung since this morning. "Sure, there are times when things are calm, but never to that extent and never for that long."

Her brother was quiet that evening as they ate and he only grimaced a little in pain when he sat up for too long. Everyone knew he shouldn't return to duty tomorrow, but no one spoke up either. Annabelle kept her head down, her determination to change things stronger than ever before.

If the fighting and bloodshed ended her brother could finish healing in peace. Everyone could heal.

A knock at the door made her family and she startle. It was too late for visitors, there was only a faint glow of light remaining in the sky, the sun itself gone. 

"Open, in the name of the Inquisition," an authoritative voice shouted and Annabelle jolted in her seat, heart leaping into her throat.

Everyone knew the Inquisition. They were the ones who dealt with those who loved monsters, with humans who had gotten 'corrupted', as they called it. They also took care of rebels and 'threats to the city', which usually meant threats to the nobles. 

Nerves made her stomach clench and her appetite vanished in an instant. Her parents exchanged a nervous, confused look, before they got up to hesitantly open the door.

One of the head priests was waiting on the other side, flanked by two of his subordinates and behind them were three guards.

"How can we help you?" Annabelle's mother asked, shifting a bit to stand more firmly in front of her children. "I fear we do not have enough food to feed you all, but if you seek a safe place for the night, we offer our humble home."

"We are not here for peasant gruel or to beg a spot in front of your little fire," the head priest said with disdain. "We are here to question you on the integrity of your family."

"There is nothing to question," her father said sharply. "We are good, upstanding citizens."

"That remains to be seen," the head cleric sniffed, pushing forward until her father yielded and stepped back.

Annabelle watched warily as the priests and guards walked through the open door and when they didn't bother with closing it, a bad feeling began to churn in her gut.

"Leave the door open, woman," the head priest demanded when her mother rushed to close it. Her parents and siblings stilled, nervous and tense. Dion glanced to where his weapons sat by the door, gaze calculating.

Annabelle saw his hunter friends milling outside, watching warily and inching a bit closer, half of them staring at the open door, the other half watching the surroundings keenly. 

"We wish to question your daughter," the head priest demanded, those pale eyes boring into Annabelle, who scarcely dared to breathe. She sat ramrod straight, hands a gnarled knot in her lap as she gripped her skirts tightly, her heart pounding. 

The way he looked at her said it all. They suspected her. They didn't know for sure yet, which was the only reason she wasn't getting arrested, but they heavily considered her the culprit.

"Our daughter has done nothing wrong," her mother said, shifting to stand more firmly in front of her. "Anything you have to say to her, you will say with all of us present."

The head priest looked faintly annoyed, but continued on without pause, "Seeing as lately someone has been stirring up the masses, we've conducted a thorough investigation as to the people capable of such foolishness. And we've now come to you, Miss Annabelle. Care to tell us if these are yours?"

He reached into his pocket to pull out some of her flyers, unfolding them and tossing them onto the dining table.

"They aren't," Annabelle answered after staring at them for a second, heart pounding so hard she felt as though her very bones were rattling in time with the beat. "I've seen them stuck on walls before though, why do you think that I made them?"

"Because she works at a print shop?" her oldest brother asked sharply, smiling in a thin and very much unamused way. "Our little sister has worked her ass off to support this family and you come in here, accusing her?"

"I do not like the tone you take with me, boy," the head priest said sharply and at a look from her mother, Rudi settled down with a fierce glower. 

"Do you have any idea who could have made them?" the man asked Annabelle, who shook her head. "Or anything else you can tell us?"

Annabelle reached out to the closest flyer, coincidentally the newest one, pretending as though she was inspecting it. "The paper is thicker than the one we use in our shop," she said and the head priest's eyes narrowed. "And we don't own that shade of midnight blue either, it doesn't work as well when you want to print books."

She had never been been more relieved that Mr. Bell had gotten things for her under the hand, otherwise she could not have made those claims.

The head priest appeared faintly miffed, but turned to her parents next.

"Has she come home on time every night and not left again?" the head priest asked.

"She's shown up at dusk every day and she doesn't leave before dawn," her father said firmly. "We never heard strange noises or saw any wounds on her. Neither has she brought home gifts we couldn't explain. Go ask the hunters if you don't believe us." He gestured at the lurking neighbors outside.

"I shall," the head priest said, sounding colder and more displeased now. "You better hope your stories line up."

"They will," her mother said firmly. "Please leave now, we don't wish to invite monsters in and we still have to finish dinner."

The head priest stared Annabelle down a moment longer and she knew he didn't quite believe her, but he must have other suspects with how easily he accepted her answers. For now, at least.

"Have you considered that a monster printed these?" she found herself asking just as the man turned around to leave. "I heard some are smart."

"They're all mongrel beasts, mindless and driven by bloodlust," the head priest said sharply, looking at her over his shoulder, his eyes burning cold. "Don't be mistaken, girl, they can fake intelligence long enough to ensnare you. There is nothing more to them than instinct."

It was a fight to look appropriately chastised and agreeable and Annabelle made herself dip her head in embarrassed supplication. The head priest looked a bit mollified at that and stepped outside with his companions and guards, striding towards the waiting hunters.

Her mother closed the door, not quite slamming it but it made a clear, decisive sound. The entire living room was utterly silent, then her mother exhaled heavily.

"We will finish eating and then we'll wait for Dion's friends to knock." She turned around to look at Annabelle. "And you will tell us what exactly is going on here."

Startled, Annabelle glanced at her family and found all of them watching her with troubled frowns. She swallowed, nodding, and found herself too nervous to take another bite. No one ate in fact and Gerard soon got up to clear the table. It was almost unbearably quiet.

It didn't take long for someone to knock at the door and the hunter woman poked her head in. "They're gone. What happened?"

"Please come in and close the door," her mother said after a moment. "I think no monsters will attack, will they?" She looked at Annabelle, who ducked her head a little.

"No," she answered quietly. "They won't."

The hunters filled in and Annabelle found herself in the uncomfortable position of explaining what had happened weeks ago. Haltingly at first and then with more and more passion the story tumbled out of her.

She did not tell anyone about the kiss she had shared with Charlette, worried that it would be a step too far for them. Not because she had kissed a woman, they weren't like that, but because she had kissed one of the night folk.

Heavy silence rang after she finished, everyone staring at her with varying expressions. Dion looked guilty, Gerard and Rudi baffled, her parents incredulous and confused and the hunters were thoughtful.

"Is it possible to speak to one of these, erm, night folk?" the hunter woman asked.

"I think so," Annabelle said, thinking of Ophelia who was most likely waiting on the roof. "I can ask."

"Outside, not in here," her father said. "I just..." He sighed heavily, briefly rubbing his hand over his head. "What were you thinking?"

"She wanted us safe," Dion answered in her stead to her surprise. He sounded tired but understanding. "I can't say I blame her, father." He took a deep, steadying breath. "I'm tired of fighting for my life. Of worrying what will happen to you all when I fall. If there can be peace, I want it more than anything."

"As do I," the hunter woman asked and the other hunters of their street hummed and nodded in agreement, though they looked like they didn't really believe it possible either..

"I can go ask right now," Annabelle offered. "I could meet you outside?"

"Alright, we'll wait in the alley where no one will see us," the hunter woman said. "We just...we've got to see you're right, girl."

She got to her feet with a nod and hurried up the stairs. She heard voices rise behind her, but they were too quiet to understand individual words. It sounded like a hissed discussion, though.

"Is everything alright?" Ophelia asked the moment Annabelle opened the window. "I saw those fuck-awful priests prowling around."

"I have a request," Annabelle asked. "Would you be willing to meet my family and, um, our hunter friends?" When Ophelia reared back in surprise, she hurriedly tacked on, "It's safe, I promise. They just found out about everything and they want to talk to you. To see if peace is actually an option."

Ophelia was silent for a long minute, then she exhaled heavily. "I trust you, so, yes. Alright."

Annabelle smiled in relief, then visibly surprised her friend by climbing out the window. Ophelia easily hauled her onto her back and hopped down to the alley. Considering how everyone startled in surprise at her appearance but eased up immediately upon seeing Annabelle unharmed on the werewolf's back, Annabelle had chosen wisely to go with her friend.

"Everyone, this is Ophelia," Annabelle introduced her, clambering off her back and easily accepting the big, clawed hand that her friend held out for easy support. "Ophelia, meet my family and our friends."

"A pleasure," Ophelia said, sketching a bow, though she never took her eyes off of the hunters, who stared at her with the same intensity. "Annabelle said you have questions?"

The hunters hesitated, before Dion took a step forward, face tense but hope lurking in his eyes.

Slowly, with every question, Annabelle watched as the suspicion, the battle-ready worry, began to easy and fade. She watched as  hope began to glow brighter and brighter instead. As if a gentle hand had found an ember that had been about to go out and brought it back to life with steady care in order to create a fire.

"Alright," the hunter woman said at last, turning to Annabelle. "How can we help?"

At Annabelle's surprised look, she grinned fiercely and added, "We want peace and we want things to be fair. For everyone, nobles and commoners. And those night folk too, if they help us. So, I think it's high time we join your little rebellion."

Ophelia looked positively surprised and approving, grinning back just as fiercely. "Oh, I like you."

The hunter chuckled in her low, raspy voice. "The feeling is starting to be mutual." She turned to the others behind her. "What do you say, are you lot ready to go and fulfill our dreams of cozy fires and full bellies and night skies we do not have to fear?"

The hunters rumbled strongly in agreement, faces determined and even her parents and brothers looked convinced. They met her eyes with care and a supportive, if worried gleam.

Annabelle felt relieved down to her bones and she realized she was grinning just as fiercely as the hunters and the werewolf at her side.

*.*.*

A knock at the door drew Annabelle out of her concentration. "I'm almost done, Ophelia," she called out without looking up. "Just a minute."

"I'll wait," a familiar and sorely missed voice made her startle and she looked up to find Charlette stepping through the backdoor. 

Annabelle grinned wide in happy relief. Her vampire looked a little worse for wear, but proud in a way that told her of won battles. Her gait had changed as well. Where Charlette had been confident before, now she moved with the prowling knowledge of power, of tested strength and defeated opponents. 

To her surprise, Charlette wasn't alone. The willowy vampire she had spoken with what seemed ages ago accompanied her, tipping his head respectfully.

His eyes were considering as he watched her, then he looked at the flyers and posters she had printed. It was getting easier and easier to find just the right words to convince the people, to sway their minds and draw them to the side of change.

"I didn't believe it, at first," the vampire said as he slowly stepped forward to get a closer look. "When I heard of humans rallying behind the cause of this one." 

He nodded at Charlette, who curled her lips enough to reveal one impressive fang. He rolled his eyes at her, but looked fond rather than annoyed. 

He continued, "I didn't believe it either when I heard of hunters willing to lay down their weapons and hearing us out. Of other night folk protecting them from their mad cousins."

Annabelle had been surprised most of all when she had heard of the change that had traveled through the city ever since her conversation with the hunters. Of the impact the people who joined her had. 

Whoever had broken into the office of the high priests had done so again, publishing more and more damning material. They had brought proof as well for their claims, spreading committed misdeeds and crimes all over the city. More murdered children, stolen money, people forced and blackmailed into admitting night folk had threatened and thralled them when that had not been so.

The opinion of the night folk continued to shift slowly but steadily. Annabelle was helping where she could, doing her best to be a voice for the unheard. A voice for the people.

"None of that would have been possible without Charlette," she said, smiling at the vampire who smiled back with a warmth so sweet it made all the accumulated aches and stress and tension melt away. 

Annabelle yearned to be held by her love, but held back for now. She wouldn't want to be rude in the middle of a conversation by getting distracted.

The willowy vampire raised a brow. "And none of it would have worked without you." He glanced between them. "Somehow, the two of you have done what I thought impossible. You're bringing our two separate worlds back together, piece by piece."

"People don't want to fight anymore," Annabelle said. "They want warm fires and full bellies and peaceful nights." 

Or rather, most of them did. And those who wanted to continue fighting, well, there were always horrible night folk that still needed slaying. Just like there were horrible humans that the guards arrested to stop their evil deeds.

At this point, all that was left was getting their hands on the aristocrats, on the high priests, to force them to bow so they could cement the changes the people were demanding with increasingly louder voices. So they could have the peace back that greed and hunger for power had stolen from them.

"I will fight for that soft world," Charlette said firmly.

"Yes, you have proven as much," the willowy vampire tipped his head in respect and acceptance. "I only doubted if the humans would as well, but that doubt...it has waned with every sunlit voice that joined your cause."

He stared at the flyers for a moment longer, then looked up. "You will have my support. Every night folk from the warehouse district to the Emerald Park will immediately cease any hostilities towards humans and instead work with them when safely possible."

Annabelle's breath caught in her throat. That was...that was easily a third of the city. She stared at the vampire in surprise, who smiled thinly.

"Your Charlette isn't the only powerful one and I have many, many night folk to protect. I would not offer my support easily or foolishly. But you have convinced me, mortal maiden." He swept into a low bow. "I look forward to working together."

Annabelle hurried to curtsey back. "As do I. Thank you, really. This might...this is just the help we need to for a last push."

"I do my part as long as you do yours," he said and stepped back, gesturing at a finished and twine wrapped parcel of flyers. "I take it those are ready for distribution? May I take them?"

At Annabelle's nod he picked the thick parcel up. "I will spread these and I will get into contact with other night folk willing to help. We shall speak more on this matter tomorrow night. I believe it is high time both humans and night folk plan together." 

With those words he excused himself and Annabelle stared at Charlette in baffled surprise. The vampire smiled at her.

"I've been kicking a lot of teeth in lately," Charlette said with a casual shrug. "He's had to bend the knee to me, but that doesn't mean he had to help."

"I missed you," the words were out before Annabelle could stop them, though she didn't want to either.

She got a glimpse of Charlette's face softening, then the vampire stood in front of her between one second and the next, opening her arms. Annabelle threw herself forward to hug her tightly, strong, cool arms wrapping around her firmly, holding her securely.

"I'm so glad to see you again, well and happy," Charlette murmured against her hair. "It was hard, not coming back sooner. But I had to make sure I could return with good news. And I'm so proud of you, for all you've done for me and mine."

"This is our world," Annabelle said and pulled back enough to look up. Charlette gently touched their foreheads together. "Let's fight for it together."

"We already are," Charlette answered in a whisper and when she grinned, it was fanged and fierce and not at all human and Annabelle loved her so much in this moment. "And we will win."

[grumpycakes]

I haven't seen new art from you in a while, are you alright? <3

so Yes, no, yes, no, yes??

It's complicated

Yes. I am gainfully employed as a graphic designer. This is good for living, but bad in that I use up all my FOCUS ON ART energy doing that and come home fried and don't do art.

No, I'm not doing.... great. Never at a threat of not being here anymore or completely stopping but just sad and feeling stupid self worth bs. Additionally since all the apps have changed and I was never... big to begin with, I feel like I'm screaming into the void and getting this chasm of silence. My favorite sites have always been the ones where people get to yell with me about their favs or interact w me. The lack of interaction is... stifling. I feel unwanted and it demotivates me to even think of working on my own projects

Yes, I've been kinda consistently commissioned and commissioned to do BIG art pieces, so all my time I set aside for art go into those things. Meaning I don't make little arts

No, I've been busy as hell. Partly w the other commissions, making it so even if a doodle i feel guilty for posting it when i SHOULD have been working on commissions. Partly cause it's the GD holidays and I have to logistically figure out sending presents to my sisters ACROSS THE COUNTRY and getting gifts for loved ones, and making food, and keeping up with life. and I don't do that... well... without neglecting a lot of other things.

Yes, I'm okay. I've been making up stories for my OC Blorbos, and doodling them. But I forget to post them. (also unsure if anyone would want to hear about them)

I have a set schedule of streaming Mondays and Fridays to kinda force myself to work on art. Cause I know I WANT to and I know I will enjoy it once I do, but convincing gremlin ADHD executive dysfunction brain to believe that is hard.

I feel like a failure of an artist, and I know this .... lean art period will give way. But it might take changing a lot of ... mentally unhelpful situations in my life. More than ever I'm feeling disorganized and helpless.

I want to be like the bigger artists with consistent art and merch and content. But like all things in my life, I'm heartbreakingly feeling like I'm so behind and don't even understand how to do it to catch up.

I'm hoping that once I clear the Marvel Trumps Hate Auction Fills I'm working on I'll have a little space to work on things.

Thanks for checking in. It's... reassuringly unexpected to be noticed.

[jackshields]

maintenance

sometimes, things need maintenance.

when they're not working well, most of the time.

and i feel like i need maintenance as well.

if all i do feels wrong,

how can i know if i'm doing alright?

well, there is therapy,

but what if i'm traveling

or can't afford it?

then i'm stuck again in my own thoughts

horrified at my very own existance.

i didn't ask to be brought to this world,

so why do i need to do this on my own?

helpless, afraid,

that's all i am now.

for i can't stick to what i was supposed to do,

and am supposed to figure it out somehow.

i hate this,

despise it,

and all i wish for myself

is nothing but the bittersweet hug of death.

i write these verses locked on my bathroom,

alone and unhelpful,

writing what comes to my mind in an instant

mindlessly worrying about things that are so distant,

yet so close to me like a whisper.

and that's all i'll remain to do,

for i have nothing but my own thoughts i'll drown so unsure.