#so I'm just rambling away

[shady-tavern]

Vampire’s Lullaby

Warnings ahead for a child getting injured and threatened with more bodily harm and death, blood and gore, though not overly descriptive. Please take care of yourselves.

This is part one of a dark vampire story folks. I hope I could do it at least some justice. If you are concerned about the contents, drop me a message and I’ll answer you.

***

'Never look them in the eye, child,' the priests always cautioned. 'You'll only find the loss of your mind and virtue there, if they don't take your life immediately.'

There was no love left in the creatures of the night, in those ever hungry for blood and flesh, in the terrors of the dark. The sunlit hours were spent scurrying about, getting work done before the sun set and the monsters crawled out of wherever they hid.

Annabelle had been taught early on to ignore the luring calls and songs of some of the night creature, to keep the curtains drawn and to stay inside, no matter how frightening or pleading something sounded outside. She and all others could flinch and cry all they liked, so long as they remained in their homes.

Those who could afford it kept their homes safe, buying all that was necessary to ward off any and all night creature, while professional hunters prowled along the property. Those less rich could still often enough convince a less reputable hunter to guard their home, by offering them food and lodging and a bit of a salary.

Young, inexperienced hunters or older ones with lasting injuries usually took those less well-paid guarding jobs. Those families who could bear to have a set of working hands missing sent one of their children to get a basic education in hunting, hoping it was enough to protect their home.

Annabelle knew people less fortunate considered her one of the reasonably lucky ones. She had three older brothers and her parents had reliable merchants buying their wares. Her mother sold iron tools she made in the smithy, while her father sold his weaving. Her two oldest brothers had learned the craft of their parents, while her third brother, the youngest of the three, had gone and become a hunter. 

Dion was the one keeping their home safe and she hated it. She hated the howls and screams and snarls of the monsters that hunted. She loathed the crooning singing that wanted to lure her towards the barred windows, cruel in its sweetness. The shadows she could sometimes see creep past during a full moon frightened her, before Dion chased them off. 

She hated that he was out there, fighting, coming home injured and bleeding. She knew, deep down, there would be a day when he wouldn't return. None of them were lucky enough to avoid that misfortune forever. Not when it had killed her grandfather and later her uncle, while guarding the house.

Sometimes, when she came back from work, she saw her brother standing outside, hand shaking as he held his weapons. But every time he hesitated, he would look at the house, through the windows where she knew her parents and older brothers sat, still either at work or taking care of the house. 

Then he'd look at her, walking briskly towards him in the setting sun. He'd nod at her and remain where he was, unflinching and with a straight back. In front of the house, guarding it.

The thick wooden door would close behind her when she stepped inside, lined with iron and dusted with silver shavings, expensive protective measures that had cost her grandmother and grandfather all their savings when they settled down in the city.

Dion would lock it with a hard noise before his steps faded. Annabelle hated those noises, hated how final and grim they sounded. Hated that she didn't know if he'd come back at dawn to unlock the door again.

They weren't truly locked in, she knew where the spare key was after all, they all did, but her parents wanted him to be the one to unlock it every morning. They wanted to give him every reason to come back alive.

She wished she could tell Dion to just stay inside with them. To sit in front of the fire and cover his ears when some beast howled, like he had done as a little boy. Annabelle was barely a year younger than him and she remembered helping him, clapping her hands on top of his to muffle the sounds extra hard.

No matter how much the noise had scared her as well, she had put on a brave face. When her parents had decided he should go and apprentice with a hunter, she had fought with them, for the first time in her life actually shouting and screaming while her parents grew just as loud. 

They had been just as desperate and scared and helpless in their arguments as she had been, but that hadn't gentled her fearful fury one bit.

When she had offered to go in Dion's stead, they had waved her off with scoffs. She wasn't big and sturdy enough, they had said. She wasn't strong enough, not fast enough, no hunter would teach her. She'd be dead within her first night outside.

She couldn't bring herself to say it to Dion's face, but she thought he shouldn't have become a hunter. Then again, none of her brothers were suited for the task. Rudi, the eldest, was currently courting a young woman, hoping to marry her and have a family of his own. He always got up at dawn along with Annabelle, peering out the windows to check if Dion was alright.

Gerard, her second-oldest brother, kept on weaving late into the night, the sound of the loom by now a welcome background noise as they all settled down. She knew the reason he stayed up late was so he could listen for his little brother, to try and hear if anything happened to him. Even if he couldn't help, he still stayed up.

Since the two oldest were meant to inherit the business, continuing the craft of their parents, the horrid task of protecting the house fell on Dion's shoulders. 

Annabelle had gotten an apprenticeship with their neighbor Mr. Bell, an older scholar and bookbinder, who had taught her everything and then hired her at his printing and book selling store.

Mr. Bell had recently started talking about letting her take over when he retired, since he was most pleased with her work. He wouldn't hand the business to her entirely right away, but he spoke about working less over the next year or two and letting her handle things more in his stead.

It filled her with fierce hope, that once he let her take over, she could earn enough money to hire a hunter. So Dion could stop reaching for cold steel and second-hand armor made of leather and rusty iron. So he could allow his hands to do something soft and gentle.

She once or twice heard him have nightmares through the wall during her free day and he barely smiled anymore and his humor had grown dark. Sometimes he managed to make her laugh, startled and a little horrified all at once, when he joked about death with other hunters in the evening, while she stopped by them to wish them a good night.

Not every night was bad, thankfully, there were even a week or two where it was utterly quiet, but it always got rough around the new and full moon.

Her brother got injured at times, coming home with a limp or a bleeding arm that got tended to swiftly so he could return outside the next night. How her mother scrubbed blood from their worn floorboards with tears in her eyes.

One day, she had promised herself therefore, he could rest. Which was why she was working from sunrise til sunset and why she stayed sweet and polite, no matter how rude a client was. Why she made sure Mr. Bell wanted her to take over his business one day and not someone else.

Her family worried about her, since she often barely made it back home in time, the sun almost gone when she arrived. Dion always looked relieved whenever he saw her hurrying down the street, his hunter garb making him look dark and foreboding.

She left early every day ever since she had figured out at what minute the sun crested the city wall enough to shine a weak, pale light along the main road. The path of the sun was always unobstructed, for across from them, on the other side of the road, was nothing but a drop down to the lowest level of the city.

That part of the city was built at the bottom of the hill that bordered on being a mountain, made up of homesteads and farmland. Scholars still argued that the hill should be classified a mountain, while others said it only looked that big because of the ostentatious, large castle built at the very top.

The fancy castle was surrounded by high walls and equally fancy manors and smoothly cobbled streets that wound down steadily. Their part of the city was always lit and very, very well protected

Annabelle usually didn't pay the upper crust much mind, she was far too busy for that, but sometimes as she walked to work, she wondered what it must be like to live without fear. To know the night creatures could not touch her.

By the time she reached the big crossroads where Mr. Bell had his business, the sunlight touched the shop and she'd unlock the door. Slipping inside, she would set everything up for the day in peaceful, soft quiet. She got the books they were selling ready in the shop and got started on their orders, mixing inks and selecting the requested paper.

Mr. Bell certainly was delighted about that, arriving with a spring in his step and all he had to do was sit down and get started.

Of course, leaving this early meant there were still some night creatures around at this hour. The last stragglers who wanted to pick off early risers who either thought they could slip by unnoticed or who had to risk their life for their income. 

The hunters were counting on that, however. They said the monsters still out and about when the sun rose were the really stupid or inexperienced ones and usually made for easy pickings. 

Sometimes Annabelle heard the gurgling cries as something died in an alley and she made sure not to look when she passed by. Since the night creatures avoided the sun like the plague, Annabelle was safe enough so long as she stayed on the main road. 

Besides, she wasn't the only one with early working hours, the baker down the street got to work even earlier, risking her life every day to earn just enough coin to pay an older, banged up hunter to guard her and her children.

Dion unlocked the door for her after the fifth bell of the clock tower struck and today she saw that his eyes were dark and there was tension all throughout his frame. It must've been a rough night, for he barely said anything to her. Even the other hunters she passed by were quiet and grim, curtly nodding at her in greeting.

She wrapped her shawl tighter around herself to ward off the chill of the morning hour, warily glancing around. It was quiet enough and she only realized she had walked too fast, that the sun hadn't risen far enough yet, until she turned around the corner, one street away from the crossroads and found it lying in dark shadows. 

The surrounding houses stood empty as of last month, which usually meant there were no hunters immediately nearby. Only, the street lying in shadow wasn't empty, like she had expected. 

A howling snarl was cut short into a high-pitched yowl by the echoing shot of a blunderbuss. She barely got a glimpse of something big and furred crumpling to the ground, before she was nearly bowled over by a hunter running past her.

The man dragged a screaming, crying child into the sun, where it hissed and tried to cringe back, only to get gripped tighter. The hunter held the kid by their curly hair and Annabelle was about to shout at him in alarm, when she saw movement in the lingering dark.

She saw a second hunter further down the shadowed street barely dodge a beast that leapt down from above. Leathery wings nearly knocked him over as the massively oversized bat scooped up what could only be a bleeding, panting werewolf. 

Only the bat didn't quite look like a bat either, it was far uglier for one and had arms along with wings and a body that tended a bit more towards the humanoid, leaving it looking like it had jumped straight out of a nightmare.

The werewolf reached a clawed hand for the crying child with a pained groan, while the bat skittered up the side of the building, too fast for anyone to catch up, until it was safely out of range of the blunderbuss. Then both night creatures suddenly fell still, staring past Annabelle.

Annabelle turned around, only to become still and unmoving herself. The first hunter held a silver dagger to the child's throat, a thin trickle of red blood dripping down, while black veins started to slowly appear along its skin, caused by the blade's touch. 

The child was whimpering softly, a horrible, helpless sound that cut straight through her heart. Tears fell out of big, dark eyes and the boy was breathing fast and shallow in panic and he looked frozen in place, not daring to move even the tiniest bit.

For a long, heavy second, all Annabelle saw was Dion as a little boy, curly haired and terrified as he hid beneath the table, hands clasped over his ears as he sniffled. How she had crawled under the table to join him, pressing her own hands over his and how he had curled into himself with relief.

The kid didn't look too much like him when she blinked the memory away, the hair was the wrong shade, the eyes far too dark. But it was similar enough, along with the small button nose and chubby cheeks, to remind her of her brother when he had been little. It left her reeling for a moment.

"Move on," the hunter growled at her. "This doesn't concern you."

It didn't. It really didn't concern her. Annabelle held no love for night creatures, not when Dion carried scars from their claws and teeth. Not when she had nightmares about them and her parents had cried themselves to sleep for weeks after sending her brother out to guard them. But she couldn't bring herself to move, feet feeling frozen to the floor.

The child's gaze met hers and it was painfully clear the he wasn't human. He had fangs and claws and pointy ears, but in that moment he just looked like a helpless kid. The boy, six years at most, looked terrified, trembling all over and trying his hardest to reign in his panicked little gasps to keep the blade from digging in deeper.

The werewolf keened, a desperate, pleading call and the massive bat, the vampire, hissed, low and threatening.

"What are you doing?" Annabelle's voice sounded strange to her own ears. "That's a child."

"It's a monster," the hunter snapped back, keeping his eyes on the two night creatures high up on the wall that stared back at him. His friend was pacing down below, clearly trying to figure out how to kill them while they were distracted. Considering his sharp, loud cussing, he wasn't successful.

"Stab it or something," the pacing hunter shouted. "Lure them down, I don't want them to run or the sun to take my kill!"

The hunter pulled the dagger away in a fast, smooth motion, flipping it and Annabelle was moving before she was fully aware of it – because this was a child, no matter the pointy teeth and tiny claws. This was a child looking scared for its life, crying and trembling and she felt sick down to her core.

Pain burned bright and intensely sharp as the dagger sliced past the back of her hand, stretched in front of the kid protectively. The fingers of her other hand gripped the boy's collar tight, wrenching him away from the hunter's grasp.

The hunter's eyes were wide in startled, baffled surprise as she pushed the boy behind her, her own eyes wide and her breathing harsh and fast. She had half a second to watch fury take over, before the sound of crunching, crushing stone broke through the air like a miniature thunderstorm.

The hunter whirled around and Annabelle felt a scream getting caught in her throat as a large chunk of wall came flying, too fast to dodge, slamming into him and leaving a smear of blood and broken bones behind.

Everything became a little fuzzy and blurry around the edges, as she turned to see the vampire rip out another chunk of wall, tossing it after the now fleeing hunter below it, crushing the man into a pulp of red, wet flesh, broken pieces of bone poking out.

She heaved in a breath to avoid throwing up, gaze darting back to land on the vampire and the still injured werewolf it carried beneath one arm, braced against its gray, fuzzy shoulder. 

The boy's heaving, suddenly loud wail made her flinch, jolting back into her body. She took a step back until she could see him without losing sight of the monsters up on the wall.

"You're alright," she found herself whispering with a trembling voice. Hesitantly she reached out, fingers shaking as badly as the kid did and nausea was still roiling through her gut.

The moment she lightly touched his shoulder, he tipped forward, knees buckling. Annabelle just barely managed to catch him, awkwardly holding him for a second, before she took a deep breath and picked him up. He weighed as much as a regular kid did, largely looked like one too, if one discarded the obvious signs where he was not.

And yet, as she watched, the longer the sun shone on him, the more those signs faded. His ears became round and the fingers that curled into her shawl were now normal, his nails short and blunt.

The scrape of claws on stone made her flinch and when she looked up, the vampire was right there, standing where the dark ended and light began. It clearly couldn't cross over and Annabelle felt her breath caught in her lungs as she stared up.

For the first time in her life, she felt tiny and flimsy and utterly mortal. The werewolf was reaching out towards the boy, breathing labored and it clearly couldn't stand on its own two legs. The vampire's arm still around its middle was the only thing holding it up.

The boy lifted his head and sobbed, reaching back towards the werewolf. The cut on his throat wasn't bleeding anymore, but there were still black veins, even if they were slowly growing fainter. Silver poisoning, Annabelle thought faintly, remembering the books Dion had been given while training and that she had peeked at.

Annabelle carefully set the boy on his feet without looking away from the big vampire, its large ears flicking as it listened. The boy stumbled forward the moment she let him go and the second he crossed into the dark, the vampire swept him up too and after a last glance at her, took flight.

It clearly wasn't dumb enough to wing up into the sky, not with the rising sun, but it was still startling to see something so big move so swiftly and quietly down the street, maneuvering smoothly around the corner and then it was gone.

Annabelle stared after them, unmoving. She didn't dare look towards the crushed hunters, her heart racing painfully fast in her chest and her stomach still roiling. Her hand was bleeding, pulsing with pain and she reached up to numbly wrap the end of her shawl around it.

Two minutes later, the sun had risen far enough for her to walk on, stumbling away from the bodies. No one had been around to see her or what had happened, not that she had noticed at least. No one had come to check either, not when the houses along this part of the street were empty.

By the time she stood in front of the shop, she was still shaking and it took her two tries to get the door open. As soon as the door fell closed behind her with a click and the familiar scent of her workplace surrounded her, she broke down into tears.

Mr. Bell, when he arrived, made her sit down, cleaned and bandaged her hand properly and handed her a sip of brandy that burned going down.

"You will take it easy," he said in a voice that allowed no arguments and he muttered under his breath, "I should've known leaving home that early was too dangerous."

She didn't correct him, because then she didn't have to explain how she had gotten injured. Instead, she was quiet and worked as much as he let her, while trying to ignore any remarks their clients made regarding her subdued spirits. 

She was sorely tempted to throw something, however, when a particularly arrogant man told her to smile, for it made her look prettier than her current, glum expression.

When the evening bell rang, the one warning everyone to get home now or it would be too late, she felt a fierce jolt of fear race down her spine.

She was suddenly terrified to go out there, to see the night creatures again or to run into someone who had known the dead hunters. Who asked around if anyone had seen anything. Or even someone who might have seen her after all, but had been too far away and preoccupied to do anything.

But she couldn't hide here, the crossroads were filled sorely with businesses and hunters didn't protect areas where people didn't live, at least they didn't if the owners weren't rich enough. 

The rich and powerful were about the only ones who had stopped fearing the night. They had the coin to pay for all the protection they could ask for and sometimes, during particularly quiet, calm nights, Annabelle could faintly hear the music of their parties.

She knew she couldn't stay here unless she wanted to die. So she grabbed her things, wound the shawl around her neck and locked up the shop. Mr. Bell had left an hour ago after making sure she would be alright, making her promise that she would go straight home. 

The spreading shadows looked darker and more frightening than ever before and her steps grew faster and faster until she was nearly running.

No one stopped her, no one even looked at her more than usual and no monsters appeared. Not yet. 

Dion was chatting with another hunter, the woman's gear looking as banged up as his did, when Annabelle arrived at home. He glanced at her, only to pause and frown.

"Did something happen?" he asked and Annabelle plastered a smile on her face, hoping it looked convincing.

"Just a little accident at work," she answered, waving her bandaged hand around and tucking it against her side before he could get a proper look at it. "Nothing serious, but I'm tired."

His frown smoothed over a bit, even if he still looked worried. "I'll unlock the door."

He accompanied her to the front step and as she stepped inside, she couldn't help but turn around. "Please be careful."

"I always am," he answered, but she must've looked scared, as scared as she felt, because his face softened a bit. "I promise."

He never promised to come back in the morning, because they both knew there was a chance that he wouldn't. Annabelle suddenly felt fiercely angry and tired and there was a sting of self-loathing.

She had gotten two hunters killed and monsters had gotten away alive. What if those night creatures were the ones to murder her brother? What if that little boy grew up to become someone else's nightmare? 

She couldn't bring herself to regret saving him, not when she remembered that gut-wrenching fear on his face. But she couldn't help wishing the hunters had remained unharmed, no matter how nonsensical it was. Someone had to die when night creatures and hunters clashed.

She never again wanted a hand in deciding whose fate it was to be killed.

Dion locked the door and Annabelle managed to wave off the concern of her parents and older brothers and retreated to her room. She wasn't hungry and when she sat down on her bed, she could see the sinking sun.

Her room felt stuffy, so she opened the window, knowing she still had a few minutes to air out the room. Iron bars protected her window and she could still see Dion from here, waving at a hunter further down the street.

The memories of this morning resurfaced once again and would not let go. Annabelle started to tug at the bandage on her hand until a sharp pain made her wince. Glancing down she saw a bit of blood bleeding through and she took a couple of deep breaths.

What was done, was done, she reminded herself. Short of walking to the city guard and getting arrested and executed for mingling with the night creatures, there was nothing she could do.

Glancing up, she noticed that the sun had disappeared behind the city walls and while the sky wasn't entirely dark yet, she saw something big fly past. Flinching back, her heart suddenly hammering, she fumbled to slam the window closed.

She yanked the curtains shut as well, almost ripping them off, her fingers trembling as she clung to the thick fabric. It wasn't the same massive vampire bat, she told herself, there were many night creatures after all. Surely it was something else.

But Dion was out there and if he died because she hadn't been able to harden her stupid, soft heart against the face of a crying, terrified child, she'd never forgive herself.

It took a few deep breaths for her to calm herself and after long minutes of standing there while nothing happened, she got ready for bed. Tonight seemed to be a quiet night tonight and she laid in bed, listening carefully for anything horrible. When she heard Dion's rough, muffled laughter drifting up, she finally let herself relax.

Her eyes started to slip closed when a scratching sound on stone made her jolt upright so fast she briefly got dizzy. Heart racing once again she felt froze in place as a large shadow covered her window. She couldn't see anything through the curtains, but this size let her know what exactly was outside.

She didn't dare make a noise. She heard a muffled clack a moment later and then the shadow vanished with another quiet scratch of claws.

Annabelle sat in the silent darkness of her room, her breathing a little funny and when, at last, she managed to make herself move, her heart finally calmed down a little.

Pulling the curtains apart just enough to peek through, she blinked in surprise when she saw a folded page of thick paper on her windowsill, weighed down with a rock. She stared at it for a moment, then let go of the curtains again.

Annabelle wasn't dumb enough to go and open the window right now. So she backed up and sat down and stared. She didn't think herself capable of falling asleep again that night, but between one blink and the next, the sun was rising and she was lying crookedly on her bed.

Getting up and groaning at the crick in her neck, she approached the window once again. The sun was just peeking over the wall when she opened it and plucked the paper from beneath the rock. It was slightly damp from being outside and the move sent the rock tumbling down to the ground.

Unfolding the page, she blinked in surprise when the clumsy handwriting of a child greeted her first. The letters were clearly written with great care and as she read, it felt like a big hand was squeezing her heart. 

The kid was thanking her for saving his life and that of his mother and auntie. He said that he had been so scared, that he thought all humans were cruel and evil, but she clearly wasn't. He had added a sketch of her, childish and simple and cheerful.

Below that, in a neat and elegant hand, one of the night creatures had written that they owed her and she could ask for one favor. All she had to do was leave a note outside her window and if possible, it would be fulfilled.

Sitting down on the chair in front of her desk, Annabelle found herself reading the letter again. Then she slowly folded it and didn't know what to think or feel or do. In the end she hid the letter and got ready for work, mind still spinning in circles.

Dion looked tired but unharmed and he even smiled at her when he let her out of the house, going so far as to twirl the key around his finger. "Have fun," he called after her when she left with a little wave.

Nothing happened on her way to work and Mr. Bell looked happy to see that she was doing better today. He left halfway through the day, citing that he needed to take care of something, though Annabelle got the sneaking suspicion that he was looking for excuses to leave the shop in her hands for a while. To get her used to running it in his absence.

It was all going well and fine, until she heard the tinkle of the front door and when she stepped out of the backroom, she stilled mid-step. A curly haired kid with dark eyes was peeking over the counter, clearly on his very tip-toes.

A smile broke out over his face. "Hello," he said with a small lisp, as if it was entirely normal that a night creature was out and about in the middle of the day. Looking utterly human.

Oh. A cold realization washed over her. Of course night creatures looked human during the day. The hunters would have found a way to eradicate them all otherwise. There were only so many places they could hide before being found.

Then she frowned. Did that mean they could walk out into the sun too? Or only some of them?

"Did you get my letter?" the boy asked. "Mama said I shouldn't come here, but I wanted to make sure."

"Yes," she managed to answer. "I got it."

His face lit up. "Good." Then his face fell and he sank down a bit, eyes barely peeking over the counter. "Thank you. That was...that was really scary."

"I bet it was." In all honesty, his situation had probably been far scarier than having a large monster show up in front of her window for a second. She couldn't stop herself from adding, "You need to be more careful."

The kid shuffled a bit in place, looking chastised. "I wasn't supposed to go outside," he told her, fingertips tapping against the edge of the counter he clung to. "But Mama was gone longer than usual and I got worried."

"I bet she's worried now," Annabelle said and suddenly she couldn't get rid of the thought that another night creature was going to show up. A grown, dangerous one. "Unless you told her where you are?"

The kid looked caught. "Um..."

She couldn't help but huff and made a shooing motion. "Go home before she worries."

The kid was about to push away, when he suddenly looked worried. "You won't tell anyone, right?"

Annabelle knew the moment she gave a description of the kid to the hunters, they'd comb the surrounding area for him and his mother. It was forbidden to get tangled with the night creatures, always had been.

Though, now that she looked at the kid, she couldn't help but think that the hunters were just as ruthless. And they could be just as cruel as the monsters.

"I won't," she said at last. "Now off you go."

The kid stepped away with a relieved smile and hurried towards the door, only to pause. "If we can help you, we will," he said. "Mama says we owe you one."

With those words he slipped out, the bell tinkling merrily. Annabelle exhaled in a rush and leaned against the counter, watching the kid through the shop window as he left with quick steps. Rubbing a hand over her face, she shook her head and returned to work.

She didn't have time to think about the difference between monsters and hunters, not when it left her mind in a messy state. There was too much work to do.

Mr. Bell came back later than he had said, whistling when he saw how much she had gotten done. It helped keep her distracted and by the time she wrapped up the last order of the day and got a head start on the next one, the final bell was ringing.

To her misfortune, she found her usual way back home blocked by a tipped over carriage. Horses were panicking and people were shouting and crowding around, trying to fix the situation as quickly as possible. 

There was no way to get past and a nervous glance at the sky told her she couldn't wait until the situation got resolved, even if taking any other path meant a detour. Already the frazzled travelers were shouting how late it was and that they needed to get going now.

Tugging her shawl more firmly around herself, she turned to eye the nearby alley. It laid in shadow, but there was nothing else she could do. Even if she now knew that night creatures could look like ordinary humans, she was willing to risk the alley rather than stay on the main road until the sun had disappeared entirely.

Still, her heart was racing a bit and she was nervously glancing around. It got quiet as she left the hectic road behind and soon the only sounds were her shoes on rough cobblestone and occasionally voices drifting out of still open windows.

Some of the houses back here stood empty, broken windows and destroyed doors showing where night creatures had gotten through. Claw marks were visible where the monsters had crawled in and she saw bloody drag marks in front of one door, where someone or something had been hauled away.

It was dark by the time she emerged from the alley and the sight of the sun beyond the city wall made her breath catch. Home wasn't too far, however, surely she'd be fine.

She was about to rush ahead, when she heard the sound of claws on stone. For a moment she was about to just blindly start running, heart pounding, before she made herself look up. There it was, the nightmarish bat, crouched at the corner of the roof, wings folded primly.

They stared at each other for a long moment, until one of the vampire's ears flicked and it slowly moved one arm to point down the street. Towards her home. When she didn't move right away, it made a shooing motion, wings twitching.

Slowly taking a step and then another while not looking away, Annabelle started walking. The vampire followed her slowly, not even needing to leap across the alley onto the next roof. It just needed to stretch in order to reach.

Forcing herself to look away when she stumbled and nearly fell, Annabelle found herself walking faster and faster. When Dion came into view, waiting outside, visibly tense and worried, she looked up again.

The vampire was nowhere to be seen, but she heard the faint scratch of claws and realized that the night creature wanted her to hear it. She hadn't heard a damn thing until it had crouched above her, after all. It allowed her to track it.

"You're late," Dion said in greeting, checking her over for injuries while ushering her towards the house. "Get in, now."

She was pushed through the door before she could say anything and the lock clicked into place. Annabelle found herself swarmed by her family, all worried and scolding.

She ate dinner while barely tasting anything and retreated to her room as quickly as possible. The curtains were still open and when she reached for them, she saw the vampire, a few roofs away, out of view of the hunters down below.

She saw its dark eyes glint in the moonlight when it turned its head towards her, large ears perked. She found herself staring for a long moment, before she startled, remembering the warnings about getting thralled and lured outside.

But she felt fine, she realized as she was about to yank the curtains closed. Her mind was still her own. Surely she'd notice if it wasn't? She didn't feel compelled to go towards it – quite the opposite in fact. If anything, she wanted to stay right where she was, thank you very much.

Then the vampire's ears flicked and it was gone between one moment and the next, moving far, far too fast for a creature that size. Annabelle closed the curtains and took a deep breath.

She really needed to get some rest and hope that tomorrow made more sense again.

.*.*.*.

Over the next couple of days things made no more sense than previously and Annabelle resolved to just not think about it anymore. She had ended up saving a night creature child, they were grateful, no one had killed her in the process and now she'd continue living as she always did.

Sometimes she spotted the vampire, flying by or peering across the roofs towards her window. At first it frightened her worse, until she realized that it must be checking for any notes she might leave. In case she wanted to cash in that favor she was now apparently owed.

This, too, she resolved to not think about. There was nothing a night creature could give her, after all.

Right up until she waited at the door in the morning and Dion didn't open it. Her worry grew and she fidgeted, exchanging a glance with Rudi, who was peering outside the windows anxiously.

"I don't see him," her oldest brother murmured, shifting restlessly in place. After another moment he decided, "I'll go get the key."

He left and returned just as swiftly and the moment she had the door unlocked, Annabelle rushed outside. "Dion?" she called out.

"Over here," the voice of one of the other hunters answered and she ran, Rudi right behind her. Skidding to a stop at the small alley three houses down, she sucked in a sharp gasp.

Dion was lying in a pool of blood, breathing shallowly and two hunters were kneeling grimly at his side, doing their best to staunch the bleeding. 

"Get a doctor, now," one of the hunters snapped out and Annabelle was moving again, running past a worried Mr. Bell, who poked his head out of the window, looking sleep-ruffled.

Everyone knew where the nearest doctor was and how long it took to get to their clinic. Thankfully, the doctors all got up early, knowing the first thing they usually did was stitch up an injured hunter.

Dr. Under was a seasoned, experienced woman with incredibly steady hands and a cool composure and she was the doctor everyone on the street and the next ones went to. With her guidance they got Dion into her clinic and then all they could do was wait. Annabelle stared down at the blood on her hands and sleeves from where she had held Dion's legs beneath the knees.

Rudi had left reluctantly, promising to tell Mr. Bell that she wouldn't be in and to inform the rest of their family. Soon they all sat in the waiting room, silent and scared. Annabelle had to bite down on the accusations that crawled over her tongue like brambles. Her parents looked horrified and guilty enough as it was.

"He'll make it," Dr. Under said the moment she stepped out of the treatment room. "He's going to be out of commission for a couple of weeks, however. I'd recommend letting him rest and recover for a couple of months even, but he could work again sooner."

Meaning she knew their family didn't have the money to pay a hunter to replace him. Before Dion had protected them, her uncle had, who had died a few weeks before her brother had taken over.

They wouldn't be entirely unprotected, the other hunters looked out for the surrounding buildings since not everyone had a protector. Five hunters, Dion included, regularly protected the entirety of their street.

But if they had to choose between protecting their own home or Annabelle's, the hunters would choose their own families or employees. It was risky, not paying for or having someone guard the house. 

Her parents did not have the funds to pay for help, they all knew it. They would have to risk having no one and then Dion would have to go out the moment he was well enough, instead of healing up fully.

As she found herself ushered outside, Dr. Under promising that Dion would remain safe here until he could go home, she stared at her cold hands, finger knotted into her bunched up shawl.

She returned home with her family, swallowing down anger and fear with nearly every step. She hated all of this. Hated that night creatures wanted them dead, hated that her brother had to suffer, hated that they were never, ever safe when it was dark.

She had heard that the countryside was less dangerous, that night creatures preferred to flock to cities. They liked the amount of humans that lived there. She had heard rumors that someone had angered night creatures so much once upon a time, that they still sought retribution to this day. 

She just wanted it all to be over.

As soon as she was back in her room, blood cleaned off, she pulled out the letter the little boy had sent her. She hesitated for a long moment, then she pulled out a piece of paper and dipped her quill into her inkpot.

It took her a few tries to get it right, crossing out words and staring out the window to the spot where the vampire usually sat shortly before it left again. She wrangled with her thoughts, her distrust and fear.

Night creatures were dangerous, everyone knew that. They held no love for humans and most of the time not even for each other. It was foolish to trust one, to put her hopes in one.

And yet, as the sun set, she left a folded piece of paper on her windowsill, weighed down with the same rock the night creature had used previously. It had still lain where it had gotten dropped a couple of days ago.

She stared at it for a long while, then she took a deep breath and kept the window open, the curtains pulled back. If she was going to do this, she had to look the vampire in the eye. If she gave a night creature the information that their house would be unguarded, ready for reaping, she had to try to spot any possible deception before it got them all killed.

She saw the vampire appear a few minutes after sundown and how it paused, obviously spotting her and her note. It tipped its head a bit to the side and it remained still for a long moment. Then it moved. 

It arrived far too fast, nearly making her flinch back, hanging upside down from her roof. Hands the size of her head braced themselves left and right of her window and Annabelle had to force herself to not look away.

She had made precautions of course in case the vampire tried to thrall her. Her room was locked and the key dropped behind her big, heavy dresser, which would make a racket if she tried to move it. The bars in front of the window held shavings of silver and even if the vampire hypnotized her, it wouldn't get to kill anyone but her.

If that was the grim price for foolishly hoping she could trust a night creature, she'd pay it. But the vampire didn't do anything. At last it shifted its weight and pulled the note free with its clawed fingertips, thumbing it open to read it.

"Can you do it?" Annabelle found herself whispering, voice cracking and throat dry.

The vampire pulled itself up out of view and she saw its shadow on the roof across from her window, the house not built as high. She saw it change, turning from hulking and winged to something that looked human, crouching above her. She saw long hair move in the strong night breeze.

"I accept," the voice of a woman answered. "Consider it done."

Her breath escaped her in a big exhale and she had to grip the windowsill, knees suddenly trembling. "Thank you." Her voice shook a little.

The vampire hummed, then it asked, "Why did you not tell your city guards about my godson when he visited you?"

Annabelle knew what her family would have done, what Mr. Bell would have done. What the entire city would have done. But she hadn't been able to and she didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing.

"He's just a kid," she found herself answering honestly, watching the vampire's shadow. "It didn't seem...fair. To hurt him just because he's not human. Or to rob him of his family."

Nothing about this was fair. Not little boys nearly getting their throats slit open or her brother, brave and bloody, lying on dirty cobblestone. After what she had seen the hunters do to the boy, she couldn't even say anymore that only the night creatures were cruel.

"I see. You're a brave one, you know," the vampire said. "I've yet to meet a human who dared to look me in the eye when they knew what I was, not even your hunters do it."

Annabelle pressed her lips together, then she lifted her chin. She was sick and tired of being scared. She was sick and tired of fearing for her life and begging a god who might or might not be listening for her brother's safety. If a monster could do the job instead, she'd gratefully accept the help.

"You're not all that scary," she made herself say with more confidence than she felt. "You actually look kind of fluffy as a bat." And very frightening.

The vampire laughed, sounding surprised and darkly amused. "I think I like you," she said, a grin audible in her voice. "Brave, smart and sweet, you are quite something, I believe." 

The shadow shifted and it looked as though the vampire had sat down on the roof and Annabelle had no idea what to say.

"Sleep," the vampire told her, voice gentler than before. "I will not let anything happen to you and yours."

Annabelle walked away from the window on slightly unsteady legs, leaving it open. She wanted to hear it, if something happened. Even if she knew, rationally, that she couldn't do anything, she still wanted to know if the vampire would abuse her trust.

She dropped onto her bed, watching the bit of the vampire's shadow she could still see. Slowly, her pounding heart calmed down and she slipped beneath the covers, watching her curtains shift gently in the breeze.

That breeze actually felt pretty nice, even if every stray sound made her jerk upright. She only realized the vampire had started to sing softly when her eyes fell closed, lulled to sleep by a monster's soft voice.

.*.*.*.

Part Two and Three are up.

[lazylittledragon]

i'm in one of those phases where i really wish i believed in manifesting and spellcasting and things like that bc you know when you want something so bad you're literally praying for the universe to let it happen

[aingeal98]

Ultimately the resolution of Jason and Cass fights comes down to the fact that while he has his own ideals that don't mesh with the bats, Jason can be flexible. DC skipped the whole reconciliation with the family but while he's willing to kill it's generally a means to an end to him, not the whole entire point unless you're talking about Joker. Meanwhile for Cass the question of killing vs not killing is dead serious to her which means any time they're working together and things start going off track it's like:

Jason: Look if we kill this guy we send a message to his boss which makes it easier for us to negotiate with him from a position of power and I just think that-

Cass, snatching one of his guns and pointing it at her own head: Go on, pull the trigger. Kill him. Kill me. Go tell Batman that you let his daughter die to make a negotiation easier. He already let you die so no problem right? You think we should die? You think our life only worthwhile as part of a plan, just because we're killers? Are we doomed? Are we rotten to the core with no hope of redemption? Go on then, kill us and kill part of your soul alongside it. You clearly don't care for it so why are you even trying? Kill yourself along with us, come on Jason let's all just die right?

Jason, slowly backing away: I think you may be projecting a tiny bit so just. Calm down before I call the suicide hotline please.

Cass, slowly lowering the gun and knocking the random henchman unconscious: Yeah that's what I thought, fucking pussy.

Jason: Mm yeah you know what I hate you actually. Fuck this mission I'll just shoot you right now if you're going to be this annoying about it.

Jason, explaining things later to Dick: So I just kept shooting at her until I ran out of bullets and we both calmed down enough to call a truce. We tracked the guy down and didn't kill anyone but I did blow up the batplane just as a last minute screw you. Is she always this uh... intense?

Dick: Yeah, one time I broke up with Barbara and she threw me out a window. She's just like that.

[technically-human]

Can you draw something with Doom Patrol!Edwin and Netflix!Edwin?

Maybe something about Dp!Edwin talking about his feelings for Charles with N!Edwin?

It's just something I've been thinking of, make it a little angsty?<3

Glad you asked

ko-fi

[chalkrub]

thank you for a great art fight! here's some of my final attacks. had a blast, already missing it - see you next year!

[dootznbootz]

Odysseus always trusted Penelope. He was ordered to lie to her and it hurt him to do so. Penelope was distrustful of this stranger until she had absolute solid proof.

There are way too many people talking about how "Odysseus lies to Penelope. What a prick!" and it makes me sad/mad as that's not the case at all

The whole "Odysseus usually always has a reason to lie" maybe upcoming essay aside, He was literally commanded by Athena to not tell anyone. And it was with Penelope that he had the hardest time keeping up the act with. Not only because she's smart af and figured him out almost immediately (that essay coming soon too) but because he was trying to keep himself from crying with her.

I think people forget that he is disguised to look like someone else completely. If a random man claimed to be your missing husband, wouldn't you be scared/freaked out?

Anyways, the 3 most important people in his life are Penelope, Telemachus, and Laertes. He lies to all three.

Telemachus: Lied by letting Eumaeus answer him and still under the orders from Athena, did not cry or reveal himself until Athena allowed him to. (I read it as him being in shock. Last time he saw him, Telemachus' hand could only wrap around one finger and now he's as big as him. a bit shocking to say the least)

Laertes: He teared up seeing him but still decided to question and test his father, not by the order from Athena.

Penelope: He was trying so hard to keep from crying, tried to noodle his way out of lying to her, Under Athena's orders. still couldn't help but basically flirt with her.

Also to get this outta the way: No, it wasn't a matter of trust. He is shown to trust her right away. As this happens even before he gets the chance to speak with Penelope.

Staunch Odysseus glowed with joy to hear all this— his wife's trickery luring gifts from her suitors now, enchanting their hearts with suave seductive words but all the while with something else in mind.

(Book 18, Fagles)

If Odysseus does not trust her, why is he so happy to see her "flirt" with the suitors? It's because he KNOWS what she's doing and knows she doesn't actually want them. If he didn't trust her, he would be upset by this.

Now for the "it hurt to lie to her" bit.

Athena's command:

"Tell not a single person in the palace, man or woman, that you are back from your wanderings; but endure all vexations in silence and submit yourself to the indignities that will be put upon you.'

(Book 13, Rieu)

If you are my son—truly of our blood—                                            let no one hear Odysseus is back home. Don’t let Laertes know or the swineherd, or the slaves, or Penelope herself.

(Book 16, Johnston)

And the people he did reveal himself to, he only did so after being given permission by Athena.

Athene spoke to him. 'The time has come,' she said, 'royal son of Laertes, Odysseus of the nimble wits, to let Telemachus into your secret, so that the pair of you may plot the downfall and death of the Suitors and then make your way to the famous city. [...]

(Book 15, Rieu)

He talks to Telemachus before talking to Penelope.

I’ll stay here, so I can stir the servants even more— and your mother. As she laments, she’ll ask for each and every detail.”

(Book 19, Johnston)

Odysseus is already sweating about having to lie to her

The next part would honestly be me just inserting almost ALL the text for this so I'll go into a summary. It's all in Book 19.

Penelope asks him where he's from. And instead of answering, it's a tsunami of compliments. Calling her flawless. Comparing her to a king. etc, etc,

Probably because he couldn't help himself and had to babble about how wonderful she is Who wouldn't? before finally ending with "Please don't ask me where I'm from. It makes me sad."

Penelope, probably overwhelmed by his praise, immediately goes into how "her beauty left with her husband. It did not. And where did you say you were from again?"

"Fine! I'm from Crete..."

And we all know that as soon as she starts crying, after a lovely description of how her tears "melted", he talks about how hard it was for Odysseus to hold in his OWN tears. Lying to her and being unable to comfort her was painful for him!!!

But though Odysseus' heart was wrung by his wife's distress, his eyes, hard as horn or iron, never wavered between their lids, so craftily did he repress his tears.

(Book 19, Rieu)

Even with him revealing himself to Euryclea, when she cried out to Penelope, Athena made sure she didn't hear! It's most likely that he wouldn't be able to tell her even if he wanted.

She spoke, and her eyes glanced over at Penelope, anxious to tell her that her husband had come home. But Penelope could not see her face or notice, for Athena had diverted her attention.

(Book 19, Johnston)

He desperately wanted to be with her again. Literally daydreaming about it!

At those words Dawn rose on her golden throne in a sudden gleam of light. And great Odysseus caught the sound of his wife’s cry and began to daydream—deep in his heart it seemed she stood beside him, knew him, now, at last …

(book 20, Fagles)

Clearly doesn't trust her. /sarcasm

It's PENELOPE that has trouble trusting him. And rightfully so! While she was very certain that was her husband, there was so much going on and of course, she's cautious! He looked like an elderly stranger at first, why is he hiding from her? He somehow took out all those men with only a little help, Athena isn't telling her anything, Helen was kidnapped and she did not want that to possibly happen to her too, etc.

He even understands her cautiousness to be reasonable.

As she spoke, lord Odysseus, who had borne so much, smiled and immediately spoke to Telemachus— his words had wings:   “Telemachus, let your mother test me in these halls. She will soon possess more certain knowledge. Right now I’m filthy, with disgusting clothing on my body. That’s why she rejects me and will not say I am Odysseus. [...]

(Book 23, Johnston)

He even trusted her completely to take care of everything while he was gone before. And he does again when he wakes up and goes to see his father. Telling her about how she too wise to need instruction

Odysseus (and Penelope as well) is well-known for his cunning tricks and how his loyalties are often blurred but one thing that is for sure about him is that he trusts and is loyal to Penelope full-heartedly. He spent every day missing her and their son and wanting to go home to her. The only moment we see his trust in her waver is during the Treebed scene, (which is what she wanted to test).

They are "like-minded". 😭

[iamespecter]

HOLY SHIT I FOUND YOU!! I SAW YOUR FNAF ART LIKE A YEAR AGO ON PINTREST AND I WAS LIKE DAMN THATS PRETTY FUCKING AWSOME BUT FOR THE LIFE OF ME I COULDN'T FIND THE ARTIST BUT I JUST DID, ITS YOU!!

I have no idea which art of mine you found from pinterest but based on what you're implying I lowkey think it's this screenshot redraw I made for the FNAF movie lmao (which I hope I'm right)

Unfortunately you won't get much FNAF art from me nowadays anon, ever since Ruin disappointed me immensely I've just lost most of the hope I've been clinging onto for the franchise, now I'm just here... reminiscing, watching from the sidelines, and making a once-in-a-blue-moon art for it if I'm feeling extra

[gingermintpepper]

In my Zeus bag today so I'm just gonna put it out there that exactly none of the great Ancient Greek warrior-heroes stayed loyal and faithful and completely monogamous and yet none of them have their greatness questioned nor do we question why they had the cultural prominence that they did and still do.

Jason, the brilliant leader of the Argo, got cold feet when it came to Medea - already put off by some of her magic and then exiled from his birthland because of her political ploys, he took Creusa to bed and fully intended on marrying her despite not properly dissolving things with Medea.

Theseus was a fierce warrior and an incredibly talented king but he had a horrible temper and was almost fatally weak to women. This is the man who got imprisoned in the Underworld for trying to get a friend laid, the man who started the whole Attic War because he couldn't keep his legs closed.

And we cannot at all forget Heracles for whom a not inconsiderable amount of his joy in life was loving people then losing the people around him that he loved. Wives, children, serving boys, mentors, Heracles had a list of lovers - male and female - long enough to rival some gods and even after completing his labours and coming down to the end of his life, he did not have one wife but three.

And y'know what, just because he's a cultural darling, I'll put Achilles up here too because that man was a Theseus type where he was fantastic at the thing he was born to do (that is, fight whereas Theseus' was to rule) but that was not enough to eclipse his horrid temper and his weakness to young pretty things. This is the man that killed two of Apollo's sons because they wouldn't let him hit - Tenes because he refused to let Achilles have his sister and Troilus who refused Achilles so vehemently that he ran into Apollo's temple to avoid him and still couldn't escape.

All four of these men are still celebrated as great heroes and men. All four of these men are given the dignity of nuance, of having their flaws treated as just that, flaws which enrich their character and can be used to discuss the wider cultural point of what truly makes a hero heroic. All four of these men still have their legacies respected.

Why can that same mindset not be applied to Zeus? Zeus, who was a warrior-king raised in seclusion apart from his family. Zeus who must have learned to embrace the violence of thunder for every time he cried as a babe, the Corybantes would bang their shields to hide the sound. Zeus learned to be great because being good would not see the universe's affairs in its order.

The wonderful thing about sympathy is that we never run out of it. There's no rule stopping us from being sympathetic to multiple plights at once, there's no law that necessitate things always exist on the good-evil binary. Yes, Zeus sentenced Prometheus to sufferation in Tartarus for what (to us) seems like a cruel reason. Prometheus only wanted to help humans! But when you think about Prometheus' actions from a king's perspective, the narrative is completely different: Prometheus stole divine knowledge and gifted it to humans after Zeus explicitly told him not to. And this was after Prometheus cheated all the gods out of a huge portion of wealth by having humans keep the best part of a sacrifice's meat while the gods must delight themselves with bones, fat and skin. Yes, Zeus gave Persephone away to Hades without consulting Demeter but what king consults a woman who is not his wife about the arrangement of his daughter's marriage to another king? Yes, Zeus breaks the marriage vows he set with Hera despite his love of her but what is the Master of Fate if not its staunchest slave?

The nuance is there. Even in his most bizarre actions, the nuance and logic and reason is there. The Ancient Greeks weren't a daft people, they worshipped Zeus as their primary god for a reason and they did not associate him with half the vices modern audiences take issue with. Zeus was a father, a visitor, a protector, a fair judge of character, a guide for the lost, the arbiter of revenge for those that had been wronged, a pillar of strength for those who needed it and a shield to protect those who made their home among the biting snakes. His children were reflections of him, extensions of his will who acted both as his mercy and as his retribution, his brothers and sisters deferred to him because he was wise as well as powerful. Zeus didn't become king by accident and it is a damn shame he does not get more respect.

[makiswirl]

can i just say. and this is probably a niche hill to die on. that i am so gobsmacked every time someone vaguely hints at the idea that jotaro doesn't care meaningfully for the other crusaders, usually particularly kakyoin and joseph, when those two actually tend to be the ones he reacts to being hurt the hardest

like he cares for his loved ones!!!! that literally plays into his character motives in every single part he shows up in!!! stop lying to me!!!!!!!

[turquoisemagpie]

Appreciate the little things.

Not to ignorantly deny all of the big bad things in the world, but to survive them.

[kashmimo]

[lazylittledragon]

i keep trying to think of funny/poetic ways to talk about all the things i'm feeling right now but i honestly can't so. i'm really sad about what happened with my partner. i know he was an inconsiderate prick about it and that i didn't do anything wrong and i couldn't have prevented it but i'm just really fucking sad.

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

♡ handwriting analysis: alex turner and miles kane ♡

as promised, here is the analysis my wonderful friend (who used to work as a professional handwriting analyst) did of miles and alex's handwriting! a couple of important points to read before you dive in:

my friend analysed these blind - to avoid bias, she always makes a point of never knowing whose handwriting it is she's looking at, so she had no idea that these samples were from alex and miles while analysing them (not that it'd have made much difference if she had, she can't even name one am song lol)

she stressed that her analysis should NOT be taken as fact - it's just one person's interpretation of the material, and handwriting analysis is ultimately always subjective

the two analyses below are based on notes i took while she was talking and is pretty much verbatim - none of the wording is my own and i have changed as little as possible in typing it up

she noted that it was harder to provide a full and accurate analysis just working with photos of handwriting, as you can't see things like pressure on the page etc. she also stressed that context is significant when it comes to interpreting someone's writing, and it's important to bear in mind that how someone writes in one context, e.g. signing autographs or writing something for the general public could show quite different characteristics to how someone writes in another context, e.g. personal letters to someone they're close to. in an ideal world she'd have access to samples from a different range of contexts to provide the most detailed and accurate analysis. in other words, this analysis is quite rough

alex's handwriting:

(samples taken from roughly 2011 - 2018)

block capitals suggest this is someone who don't want to show themselves, makes it hard for people to reach them

someone interested in thoughts and ideas, would engage with these in a way that's intelligent and very original

a lot of emotional and social inconsistency, suggests someone pulled in different directions. they might show very different sides of themselves with different people and probably have complex and/or conflicted feelings about identity

very creative, someone who'd make interesting and unusual connections about the world around them

highly intuitive but also lacking harmony from an emotional perspective. lots of internal emotional conflict and changeability

someone who fluctuates a lot socially as well as emotionally - might go from being quite sociable to withdrawing completely. ultimately struggles to reach out socially and holds back a lot, but there might be certain situations or people they feel particularly at ease with where this is different

really hard to read, don't give much of themselves away

thoughtful and enquiring, interested in ideas

someone who feels things very strongly

signature:

implies someone hiding themselves or presenting as someone they're not. they want to look confident and exciting, but they're actually much less confident that they'd like to appear. lets their creative and artistic tendencies hide them and take centre stage.

miles's handwriting:

(samples taken from roughly 2022 - 2023)

a little sharp, could suggest humorous wit and/or being critical (either of self or of others)

ambitious and incisive, intelligent and enquiring mind

fearful or wary about opening up and reaching out to people, emotional inconsistency. potentially quite restrained - looks like someone used to hiding a lot of hiding of emotions

has an enquiring mind but isn't particularly interested in abstract thought, more grounded in reality and social/emotional things

someone with strong feelings, they get held in and confused. could be warm and open on a surface level, but looks like they'd be reserved about their innermost feelings

could be sharp tongued to avoid dealing with their own feelings

lower zone suggests someone who might not be completely comfortable in their own body and/or sexuality, or have a complex relationship with these things

someone with a tendency towards strong feelings and devotion/worship (could be religious, or could just be to do with the way they relate to people or ideas)

signature:

someone who wants to look more confident they feel. sense of changeability and flashes of insecurity, but ultimately suggests strength of character, not someone who's a pushover. they know what they want and what matters to them.

interesting extra notes:

the wonderful @ballad-of-what-could-have-been managed to find this sample of alex's handwriting not in capitals from when he was much younger (from what i can see, it looks like it was early fwn era):

so i showed this to my friend too (after her analysis of alex's usual writing) and noted that it was probably done when he was a lot younger. she said that all her points from the original analysis still stood, and that despite the fact this writing isn't capitalised it was actually still very hard to read and definitely someone not comfortable with showing themselves. she also said that it was more emotionally conflicted and uncertain than the later sample of their handwriting. the phrase "emotionally all over the place" was used, and she noted a greater sense of inconsistency with identity. overall though she said the earlier sample confirms that this is someone with a high level of intuition and originality, and she said they're someone she'd be fascinated to have a conversation with!

thank you for reading! if you have any questions, please feel free to comment/drop me an ask and i can always pick my friend's brain again the next time i see her!

[beatcroc]

pest control TWO!!!!! heres the first one

adn heres the obligatory bonus bc i can't help myself :')

[saltpepperbeard]

THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS AND THEORIES™ ABOUT THE NEW OFMD PICS:

So first of all, absolutely crying and throwing up over seeing Stede in more "stereotypical" sailor clothes as opposed to his usual attire. Secondly though, he looks to be surrounded by fine things, and it makes me wonder if he's attempting to barter for something? Maybe get a little SPECIAL SOMETHING FOR HIS SPECIAL SOMEONE???

And then this one kills me so hard because it looks like a message in a bottle. Is this an attempt at reaching out to Ed? Have they been trailing and failing to catch up with the Revenge, and this is Stede's attempt at trying to make contact? Or is this a message from Ed to Stede, a heartbroken warning to stay away? Regardless, SCREAMING.

AND THEN THIS ONE. SMILEY FACES. MATCHING OUTFITS!!! Maybe they've paired up with another crew and are temporary members? Like, in order to try and catch up with the Revenge, they had to team up with another ship/crew?

........if i speak

y'all already know that season 2 ed has led to MANY a breakdown already hsdjks. and i will be visiting this picture a little too much. but if i can CATCH MY BREATH A SECOND-

The pearls. And the fact that his hair is back. And the fact that his face is clear. AND HIS EARRING IS STILL THEERRREEEHSDJKLS.

He still looks hardened/heartbroken, but this look makes me think that conversations have happened, and maybe the first "healing seeds" have been planted.

And this maybe has me going the MOST bonker bananas because omfg.

Ed and Jackie. And Ed looking so much softer in comparison to the previous picture. Ed out of his leathers. Ed just VIBING. ED AND JACKIE JUST CHILLING.

I cannot express how many times I've pictured them talking, and pictured Jackie being like "You have the hots for WHO?????" Like if this is a moment where Jackie is having to be That Friend, aka the disapproving one of your friend's partner type deal HSKDJS LIKE,,, I HAVE ENVISIONED THE CONVERSATIONS SO SO MUCH.

And if they're watching Stede in that moment, if Stede is doing something silly stupid which is making Ed pull fond eyes and making Jackie pull a "wtf" expression like that,,, please. PLEASE.

I'm just.

My heart is so full. My crops are watered. My skin is clear. My depression is lifted.

And I cannot WAIT to see what all is in store for us. I cannot WAIT to see what all comes to light.

[mad-c1oud]

thinking about the Charlie's birthday stream. not the ending, no, we think about that too much. no I think about everything else:

the happiness, the joy, the warmth of it all for nearly two full hours

the lack of mob spawns that night because it’s Charlie's birthday and he has eggs with him. how intentional it is. how funny it is and how sad it makes me because its so considerate

thinking about Tallulah by Charlie's side the whole time, diligently leading him from item to item as his little "guardian angel". Charlie trying to be a good tio and falling a little short sometimes, accidentally leaving Tallulah behind when she crashes but still trying cause that’s his sobrina. how she has to actually hit him to get his attention and how bad she must feel but it's so fucking funny each time

(how can anyone blame him when he never gets to hang out with the eggs enough to know he should wait for her? Charlie had Juanaflippa for what- 10 days? and was practically shunned by several others and himself from interacting with other eggs after his action, which is understandable, but only for so long. can they not see how he plays with the eggs? hear how soft his voice gets around them? don't the other islanders understand?)

this is maybe the longest he's gotten to hang out with tallulah since he got his backpack. Wilbur is his best friend and this was the egg he left behind. He's still learning and Tallulah still loves him despite it. Two people missing someone dearly, yet they have each other even if it's hard to realize

thinking about "Maybe Tallulah, you were the gift. I think you're the gift, Tallulah."

thinking about Richas, his nephew because Charlie has Mike, an actual brother that is equally excited to see him time and time again. A nephew coming around with the slime head and slime balls, like a mini Charlie, who is decked out in a full ghillie suit. Charlie who plays with the egg, pretending to be a spooky monster and richas playing along and getting scared

thinking about Charlie not knowing how to use the ghillie suit properly so he's still clearly visible to the eggs, yet they act like he isn't for his sake. shepherding him around from place to place because charlie is a little clueless yeah (he's in exile, go easy on him), but they are patient and happy to "tag along" and let him lead

thinking about them all taking a picture with him in the school, charlie wanting one with both of them, something to remember the day by.

thinking about how charlie is clearly loved by the eggs, his huevos, and how he clearly loves them back and is trying to be better for them even if he struggles so much

thinking about Charlie Slimecicle on his birthday, for once happy after everything he's been through, Tallulah and Richarlyson by his side

just him, his sobrina, and his nephew on a little scavenger hunt under the stars while the rest of the server remains quiet and calm. asleep while they remain lively

just them

happy