#Flames Foghorn

[svtskneecaps]

also in terms of the bolas playlist it's fascinating to me that the songs added by each person have a slight tendency to represent a consistent aspect of bolas

like

the songs added by slime are their chaos

the songs added by philza are their rebellion

the songs added by cellbit are their rage

the songs added by baghera are their anguish

it's so fucking FASCINATING TO ME but i don't know enough music theory to elaborate lmfao this is Vibes Only

(mouse's songs i can't boil down to an easy noun which is why they aren't mentioned lmao anyway they go hard asf)

(also i went on the longest fucking unhinged elaboration in the tags lmfao i almost didn't have enough tags left to tag "long tags" at the end

(i could have even gone on longer in terms of where their characters were at entering purgatory [philza: cage for a cage; cellbit: fed worker murders; baghera: her past as a federation experiment; slime: turning into a code because of the code pretending to be his daughter] but i ran out of space and also time it's 4AM AAAAA)

[cassetoi-fam]

DUDE me when i go through something difficult and instead of wallowing in my guilt and sadness i surround myself with friends and fun and good distractions and laughter and it makes me feel better because i'm around people that i love and that love me too ?????? CRAZY HOW THAT WORKS

[behind-the-veil-of-sanity]

snuffing the flame

morning hour shows no mercy, foghorns speak to the deaf through last night’s lingering haze, morning hour calls to attention a sleepy wicked son swathed in the thoughts of fresh rest, morning hour ends calling forth the harbinger of the day the world would end. midday marvels at the azure above the virescent needled rising, in the mind of the ancient sage grey clouds gather. three cheers for the fallen. three cheers for the dead. three cheers — fade. echoes of evolution fade as eventide demands attention, curtains to draw, memories to — erase, the last god watches over sleepy wicked sons swathed in thoughts of fresh beginnings, before snuffing the flame.

[flingcat16]

Fic #4 BABYYYY—

This one is based on the whole 80’s slasher concept suggested by Valeria that people went crazy over. Thought it would be fun.

Word Count: 2123

TW for descriptions of blood, wounds, violence, murder, torture, and mildly sexually suggestive content.

Read at your own risk.

(Post is marked as Mature for Violence and Sexual Themes)

Your heart throbbed in your chest, your lungs heaving as panic flooded your very being. The forest ambience around you attempted to soothe you, but the adrenaline in your system kept your body ablaze.

How was it possible for one person to kill so many people in such a short amount of time?! There couldn’t have just been one person.

Your ears listened for any sort of disruptions in the forest around you as you crouched down behind a tree. Nothing. You felt you could breathe for a moment, the candle lit lantern in your hand shining faintly in the dark through the deep red fresh blood stains on the glass cage. You could feel the warmth of the small flame on the hand that held it, soothing your nerves a minuscule amount.

Where did they come from? Why did this happen?

You knew your campsite was too far to try and reach, so you took out your phone with your open hand. You desperately tapped on it, but all you got displayed on the screen was a red battery symbol. Your phone was dead in the middle of nowhere.

Panic hit you once again as you slipped your phone into your pocket. You tried to remain calm, but your gut screamed its warnings like a foghorn.

“Hey! Is anyone there?!”

That voice. It’s distant, but it’s clear in tone. They sounded worried, panicked even. You weren’t the only one who’s alive..?

It wasn’t the voice you heard from the person you saw killing your friends; it was Sloan, they’re alive?! You could’ve sworn they died, you heard them scream earlier! But how long ago was that? Thirty minutes? An hour? Maybe they managed to escape!

You were about to shift to stand up, but the yelling from your gut convinced you otherwise. You stayed down behind the tree, holding your breath.

“There’s someone going around killing people! I know a way out!”

You carefully stood up behind the tree, trying not to make a sound. You peeked around the tree, but you couldn’t see anything despite the full moon in the sky. The forest was so dark, the leaves too dry to brightly reflect any existing light; thick enough to block it. You couldn’t see Sloan. You knew they were there, but you couldn’t see anything.

Then you saw it, a flash of silver for only a fraction of a second before it disappeared. Your heart rate shot up once again, and you could feel the panicked throbbing in your head and chest. You didn’t dare move. You held your standing position against the tree, your arms shaking, and thus the lantern in your hand shook as well. The killer was right near you; near Sloan! Yelling like that will get them killed!

You held your breath still, the screams in your gut getting louder. It told you to run, but you didn’t listen, not with how close the murderer was to you. Your lungs began to heave once again, so you covered your mouth and nose with your open hand, trying to silence yourself.

“That’s a nice bloodstained lantern you have there.”

You felt hot air hit your ear, making you jolt. The voice felt familiar, but the hiss of the voice and the tone made your skin crawl. Then, the smell of iron and blood. You jumped and staggered backwards, falling down to your hands. The adrenaline rushing your body didn’t let you fully fall, and you immediately scrambled to your feet and ran. You had kept hold of your lantern, clutching it hard in your hand as a way of grounding yourself. The dirt kicked up under your feet, all the sounds around you seeming to intensify, blasting your ears alongside the pounding of your heart. You felt and heard footsteps following you, and it only made your legs seem to strengthen.

The ground under your feet didn’t treat you with kindness, and your foot caught on a tree root. Your body lurched forward and down, your face slamming into the dirt under you. Your left arm was out in front of you, your right to your side. You lost your grip on the lantern when you fell; it went flying forward, colliding with a rock, its bloodstained glass breaking with a deafening crash, the force of the air around it snuffing the candle out. You tried to pull your legs and arms in, and as you tried to pull your right arm in, a foot slammed into your right wrist, pinning your arm down as it sent a sharp shock of pain through your body. You yelled in pain from the sheer force on your wrist, your body jolting to pull your other arm in. As you got your arm up so your palm was pushing you up, a hand came down on the back of your wrist, pushing your arm down and into the ground. You felt another foot and a knee on the ground on your left side, your expanding chest pressing against their leg. Your lungs struggled to take in air as you felt them sit down on your lower back to hold you down.

“Gotcha…” They sneered, gripping your wrist.

Your eyes dripped tears from the pain in your wrists, so severe the adrenaline in your body didn’t cover it. You spat out the dirt in your mouth from the impact, trying to pull your left arm out of their grip.

“Nuh-uh,” They gripped your wrist harder, “I don’t think so.”

Through your panic, it hit you. The hand on your wrist felt rough, calloused, their skin was thick. Their voice… It was… Sloan..?

“Carrying a lantern around out here with a murderer on the loose wasn’t such a good idea… don’t you think..?”

Sloan’s voice sounded manic. Panicked but well aware of themself. Their voice felt like nails on a chalkboard with how gut wrenching it was to hear. What is going on?!

“Sloan..?” Your voice was dull and weak, almost completely silent, “Are you..?”

You couldn't even finish your sentence before you felt the cold backside of a blade press against your back, thick blood trailing down onto your skin from the blade’s surface. You shuddered, the blood rushing through your veins boiling from the sheer panic you felt. The blade pulled up on your shirt, creating tension under your arms from the cloth. You felt the tension release as your shirt ripped from the blade.

“Hmm?” Sloan purred, pulling the blade away from your back.

You wanted to move your legs, but the ground and Sloan’s weight didn’t let you. Your breathing has become heavier than before as you grit your teeth, the air hissing between your teeth. Your muscles started to give out on you as you realized you were trapped.

Sloan poked the center of your upper back with the tip of the blade, poking a small hole in your skin.

You jolted a bit as you gasped, your eyes squeezing shut.

Sloan slowly pulled the blade a short distance down your back, cutting through your skin.

The cut wasn’t deep, but it was horribly painful. Your voice cracked into a sharp groan of pain, your fingers digging into the dirt around you. You could feel your blood flood out of the thin cut, flowing down your back along your spine.

Sloan lifted the blade, taking it away from its place in your skin, their breathing nearly in line with yours.

Your hands didn’t relent in the dirt, gripping hard from the searing pain. You felt warm air on your back above the wound, but then, even worse, a soft, warm pressure over the bottom of the wound.

Sloan pressed their tongue against the cut in your back, slowly sliding their tongue up the wound.

Your whole body shuddered as you felt their tongue piercing pushing into the wound, opening it as they licked up your back, their hot breath flowing over your sliced skin.

You couldn’t tell what was worse, knowing they were licking the wound on your back, or feeling their tongue piercing slide between the sides of your flesh. The cold metal of the piercing makes your body shudder, but the warmth of their saliva, tongue, and your blood makes your skin burn. Being hot and cold at the same time; it made your head throb even harder than before.

Sloan pressed their lips against your skin at the top of the wound, sucking your blood into their mouth. The taste of your blood made them moan as they let go of your skin, sighing with satisfaction.

The moan Sloan let out vibrated against your back, sending a shiver down your spine. The thought of your own death scared you, but Sloan’s behavior in this moment scared you more.

“You’ve always been gorgeous since the day I saw you… but this..?” Sloan’s voice was higher pitched and breathy, making your body tense up in protest, “Ugh… It’s so intoxicating.”

The tears in your eyes got heavier, you couldn’t believe what they were saying, what they were doing to you. You sobbed under them in pain and disbelief, your lungs pulsing with each sob.

“Oh, mi querido… Don’t cry.” Sloan cooed, “It’s only me and you now.”

You could barely speak through your sobs and through the pain, but you did anyway. Your voice came out pained and strained.

“You… You killed everyone, didn’t you Sloan?!”

Your throat throbbed in pain after you spoke, your breathing turning into pained wheezing.

“What..?”

They sounded… hurt?

“No cariño… No, I would never!” Sloan’s voice sounded heartbroken, “It started with that disgrace of a human! I’d never let them get to you, never!”

Despite all the pain, fear, and confusion you felt, things started to click for you. Someone else was here killing people, Sloan’s scream before… It made sense.

The incident broke them.

“I didn’t let them get to you!” Sloan was practically yelling, “I killed them..! I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing them hurt you!”

You continued to cry under them despite their words, your eyes starting to burn from crying so much.

“I-I saw them kill people… I saw people get stabbed through the heart… Through the throat… All I could think of was the possibility of that happening to you!”

Their voice broke your heart into thousands of pieces. You decided to try and speak again, even though your throat and lungs protested.

“You’re… You know you’re hurting me… right..?” You wheezed, your chin falling onto the dirt, “Right..?”

You could feel Sloan pause, their grip on your left wrist loosening. You were too weak to move however, you didn’t even try.

“I-I…” Sloan stammered, their voice cracking as they stared down at you underneath them. They eyed the wound in your back, their gaze widening, “N-No I—“

You laid your head down on the dirt with your cheek against the ground, your whole body was weak and tired, the pain continuing to throb in your body.

Sloan dropped the knife in their hand, its bloodstained silver surface colliding with the dirt next to you. They lifted their open hand to their mouth, wiping their lips off on the back of their hand. They stared at the crimson red on their hand in horror before looking back down at you. Their heart lurched in their chest as they moved their foot off your right wrist and let go of your left.

You could hear their heavy breathing over you. You soon felt small warm drips on your lower back through the uncut area of your shirt.

Sloan quickly and frantically got off of you, moving to kneel in front of you, “Buen Dios… ¡Lo siento mucho!” They quickly leaned down and brought their arms under your shoulders, lifting you up to them. They hugged your limp body tightly, their face on your shoulder, “I can’t believe I just did that to you!”

Your heart finally began to slow down as Sloan hugged you, your lungs able to recover some air. You silently cried into their shoulder as ugly sobs erupted from them, their body shaking with yours.

You know you’re lucky you were so close to Sloan before this incident; lucky that you didn’t die before they snapped. You were scared out of your mind still, but now that they held you so strongly, sobbing as hard as a rainstorm, you knew it was over. You could finally breathe, you were finally safe.

Sirens could be heard in the distance, and you knew the two of you would be found soon, but you didn’t care.

You both survived a mass homicide, lucky enough to remain together in the end. Alive, not without a horrible scare.

[jaynovz]

writing pattern game

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns! (from most recent to least recent, starting from the top)

tagged by @lichfucker, thank you <33

c'mon baby, let's fall in love in october:

“I cannot believe you have gotten me lost in this goddamn corn maze,” Flint grumbles.

2. the only way out is way down:

Silver's own words come back to him, resounding in his skull like a tolled bell, far louder than when he delivered them the day before.

3. sipping on your lips, hanging on by a thread:

Flint awakens in his cabin the day after setting sail for the Urca with a chest somehow as miraculously full as a nursing mother, and wonders if he’s actually fucking cursed.

4. imagine being loved by me:

Endless black stone, craggy and eroding, with indecipherable symbols crawling up the sides.

5. I'll loosen my strings to feel more like you:

I’d come back to the surgery a mess, as rattled as ice in a glass and ranting up a storm.

6. my greedy little heart won't do without you:

Silver drifts back to consciousness in long moments, time stretching out sticky as molasses as he takes stock of himself.

7. you spoke my language and touched my limbs:

Schick, schick.

8. did the twin flame bruise paint you blue:

Silver cups his hand around the flare of a cigarette, tucked into the alcove beside a building.

9. some ancient call:

The droning of the foghorn is driving Stede absolutely batty.

10. for that devious dance between you and me:

After the utter nightmare that was battling the Andromache, Flint is weary beyond belief.

--

So what I find hilarious is that because I spent so long on Break Up AU, we've managed to hit four different fandoms here, and circled all the way back around to ANOTHER Silverflint mod au with the Halloween fic, lmao.

2. is weird bc the first line is a Silver quote directly from the show. But the real first line that *I* wrote is what I put down.

My pattern is I have the range darling? Idk, uh, I think I start out very clearly, establishing the thesis/concept as soon as possible, sometimes that is done with setting but sometimes it's just, as with milkingfic, yknow, there it is. But coming away with that I do just have the range and I largely just adapt the intro to what the story needs. I've gotten a lot better at them :)))

[jellybeanium124]

rewatching the p&f episode with the doof plot about his building being so cheap because the danville lighthouse is right there and it's "attracting all the ships like moths to a flame" and they're sounding their foghorns all night after watching ofmd is like "hm. seems like those ships are in an unhealthy relationship."

[h0n3yk1tt3n]

L2C, 3 + 5

3. What's your favorite line of narration?

This is probably one of the first stretches of narration I wrote and god it's long but god it's good (I think at least, maybe im just overly attached to it)

[...] It really did seem like there was no upside to going on. Like they'd be left alone in a medical trailer until the military - or the Infected - wiped them out. ... You know what? No. Fuck that. He got a lucky roll of the genetic dice to not succumb to the fate of the Infected. He watched helicopters fly away without him. He ran through the flaming dormitories that he always secretly wished would burn down. He watched someone get torn to shreds by their best friend. He watched his girlfriend of about two minutes turn at his own hands. He watched his best friend get dragged into an inescapable pit of Infection. He ransacked an abandoned mall that was supposed to be an evacuation center. He sloshed through the sewer so that Rich could ride in his idol's car until the highway was blocked by twenty miles of parked vehicles. He ran away from zombie clowns along the track of a rickety roller coaster that almost killed one of his teammates. He trudged through miles of swamp water and mud that guaranteed that his shoes would never smell normal again. He walked through a Witch-infested sugar mill and back during the early stages of a hurricane and still had to hold down the fort in the pouring rain for an hour before rescue came. He cleared land, air, and sea from New Jersey to Louisiana only for the military to start dropping bombs on what may very well be the only city in the United States still standing? No. Fuck that. Fuck CEDA. Fuck the military. Fuck this Green Flu bullshit. He did not travel over a thousand miles just for the world to tell him that he wasted his time and energy to go somewhere that promised safety and security and showed up with piles of dead people and bombs instead. Fuck. That. White. Noise. He was sick and tired of being sick and tired.

—Chapter 25 (The Parish Part 2)

5. What part was hardest to write?

It's funny bc when I was in the middle of posting I'd be like "gods I'm beating my head against this chapter" for like.. Many of the chapters lol. But as kind of a blanket rule, uneventful transitions (ie traveling wherein I didn't have a conversation planned) and horde scenes were pretty hard for me. I think I coasted through the Hard Rain finale horde as vaguely as I could. Like I needed an interruption as a cop-out so I could get on with it

It took a lot to take the Tank down. Fire really was half of what killed them. They couldn’t tell you if it was a few more minutes or half an hour before the beast finally came to the ground. Everything about waiting for rescue seemed to be dragging on. This sentiment was confirmed to be shared throughout the team when everyone that had been on the roof came down to regroup. “Crap, where are they?” Alana worried. “I’m sure the storm is slowing them down, but I hope-” The foghorn was the only cue she needed to pick up the gas can Jeremy had set down and make her way to the back door. Sure enough, the Lagniappe was slowly pulling up to the dock. Thank the fucking gods.

—Chapter 23 (Hard Rain Part 5)

[canadachronicles]

"I

The rutted roads are all like iron; skies

Are keen and brilliant; only the oak-leaves cling

In the bare woods, or the hardy bitter-sweet;

Drivers have put their sheepskin jackets on;

And all the ponds are sealed with sheeted ice

That rings with stroke of skate and hockey-stick,

Or in the twilight cracks with running whoop.

Bring in the logs of oak and hickory,

And make an ample blaze on the wide hearth.

Now is the time, with winter o'er the world,

For books and friends and yellow candle-light,

And timeless lingering by the settling fire.

While all the shuddering stars are keen with cold.

II

Out from the silent portal of the hours,

When frosts are come and all the hosts put on.

Their burnished gear to march across the night

And o'er a darkened earth in splendor shine,

Slowly above the world Orion wheels

His glittering square, while on the shadowy hill

And throbbing like a sea-light through the dusk,

Great Sirius rises in his flashing blue.

Lord of the winter night, august and pure,

Returning year on year untouched by time,

To hearten faith with thine unfaltering fire,

There are no hurts that beauty cannot ease,

No ills that love cannot at last repair,

In the victorious progress of the soul.

III

Russet and white and gray is the oak wood

In the great snow. Still from the North it comes,

Whispering, settling, sifting through the trees,

O'erloading branch and twig. The road is lost.

Clearing and meadow, stream and ice-bound pond

Are made once more a trackless wilderness

In the white hush where not a creature stirs;

And the pale sun is blotted from the sky.

In that strange twilight the lone traveller halts

To listen to the stealthy snowflakes fall.

And then far off toward the Stamford shore,

Where through the storm the coastwise liners go,

Faint and recurrent on the muffled air,

A foghorn booming through the Smother--hark!

IV

When the day changed and the mad wind died down,

The powdery drifts that all day long had blown

Across the meadows and the open fields,

Or whirled like diamond dust in the bright sun,

Settled to rest, and for a tranquil hour

The lengthening bluish shadows on the snow

Stole down the orchard slope, and a rose light

Flooded the earth with beauty and with peace.

Then in the west behind the cedars black

The sinking sun stained red the winter dusk

With sullen flare upon the snowy ridge,--

As in a masterpiece by Hokusai,

Where on a background gray, with flaming breath

A scarlet dragon dies in dusky gold."

--The Winter Scene, Bliss Carman (1929)

I did have my Winter Scene after all, I woke to a thick duvet of powdery snow the other day, and walked to the park to watch the sun rise and birds fly over the gorgeous landscape!

[snailsdraw]

[Start ID:

7 HLVRAI drawings of Joshua and his AAC tablet (and the Science Team)

"let me play the Playstation" Joshua announces with his AAC tablet. He is wearing a cowboy hat and cowboy boots. Benrey, currently playing the Playstation, says: "gotta wait bro, levels not done." Joshua blows a defiant foghorn.mp3 with his tablet at Benrey. "…you're actually so mean, man" Benrey complains. "Cowboys," the kid's tablet replies. "so mean to benny bro, what da hell," Benrey continues. "Cowboys for the Playstation," the tablet says again.

Joshua is having fun riding around on Gordon's shoulders. Benrey yells: "yooo hell yea bro. giddy up" He laughs maniacally. Gordon replies: "You are so fucking lucky that I have a kid on my back."

Benrey and Joshua pester Gordon while grocery shopping. Benrey goes: "yo. hey. hey. yo. hey…dude. hey" and blows a rasberry at him. Joining in, Joshua supplies: "dad. dad. dad…" The tablet ends it off with a loud foghorn noise. Gordon just looks annoyed.

Bubby, wearing a kippah, lifts Joshua up in one arm and sparks a flame in his other hand with his pyrokinesis. Joshua is starry-eyed with awe.

Joshua is tranfixed by Dr Coomer's robotic arms. "robot grandpa…" his tablet says in wonder. Gordon looks down at his son: "You uh, you good?" "Gordon, your boy is menacing," Dr Coomer says, voice dropping to something ominous at the word "menacing". Dr Coomer then concludes: "I like him!"

Joshua looks up expectantly at Tommy: "teach me a life lesson. Please." Tommy looks down at him: "wha?"

Tommy hugs Sunkist, the huge golden retriever a head taller than him, and smiles: "hiii sun- sunkist!" Joshua looks up at the towering dog, mouth gaping. "what the FUCK," his tablet exclaims, "dogy"

End ID.]

MORE JOSHUAS

[hoffmans-hoffman]

Master list

Master list part 2/Bits, bobs and gods

Master list part 3/MONSTER MASH

Master list part four

-----------------------------------------

Road 96

Oc: Jason Kidd/Wild Fire:

Ocs: Tex and Hex:

Oc: Father Tommy Green/Unknown:

Jarod:

Papa Bear/John:

Fanny:

Stan:

Mitch:

Adam:

-----------------------------------------

Poirot(movie series)

Oc: Sämael Hastings: 1, 2

Oc: Doctor Herbert Graves:

Poirot:

Bouc:

-----------------------------------------

Top Gun(Both)

Oc: Richard "Dove" Bradshaw:

Oc: Wayne "Flames" Foghorn:

Oc: Raymond "R.C" Dennis:

Oc: "Wiggle" Hacksaw:

Oc: Damian "Lucifer/Omen" Truck:

Goose:

Chipper:

Iceman:

Hangman:

Rooster:

-----------------------------------------

Rdr-rdr2

Oc: Carter Thomas: 1, 2, 3

OC: L. Thomas:

OC: Robert Greetree:

OC: Nathaniel Greentree:

OC: Silent Sam:

Dutch Van der Linder:

Sean:

Javier:

Swanson:

Hosea:

Trelawny:

-----------------------------------------

The Godfather (All movies)

Oc: Luce "Fell off a truck" Del Sole: 1

Oc: "Incubo" Creatore:

Oc: "Snap" Molinari:

Oc: Mateo Cato: 1

Oc: Deek Samuels

Oc: Valentino Corleone:

Oc: Benni Del Sole

Oc: Sean "Giovanni" Grace

Oc: Cameron Del Sole: 1 ,

Oc: Dean "Dino" Corleone: 1

Oc: Vito "Viggo" Corleone:

Oc: Tito Fontane:

Sonny Corleone:

Vincent Corleone:

Tom Hagen:

Michael Corleone:

Enzo the Baker:

Mo Green:

-----------------------------------------

Downtown abby

Oc: Theodore "Theo" Mason:

Oc: Roger Graves:

-----------------------------------------

Mafia 2

Oc: "Lucy": 1 , 2

Oc: Salvador "Sally" Falcone:

Oc: Dez O'Neill:

Oc: Levon Greystone:

Oc: Amore Moulin:

Oc: "Liv" :

Oc: Jose Garcia:

Oc: Marigold Tomasino:

Vito:

Joe:

Henry:

-----------------------------------------

Barney Miller

Oc: Jake Shean:

Oc: Arty Greenstone:

Dietrich:

Barney:

Wojo:

Harris:

[ltwilliammowett]

The life of a lighthouse keeper

For thousands of years there have been lighthouses to show ships their way and dangers. Nowadays, lighthouses are controlled electronically and often by computer, but this was not the case in the past and they had to be operated manually. Lighthouse keeper may sound very romantic to many, but it was one of the hardest jobs you could do and so the first keepers in the 17th century were only there because of honourary awards. In the 18th century the guards were selected and appointed. It was not until 1800 that many of the keepers were old sailors who could no longer continue their lives at sea and went to the towers voluntarily.  

Shore and off shore lighthouses

The lighthouses from the 17th century onwards were, in contrast to the previous ones, no longer positioned only on the coasts but now also on very remote rocks in the middle of the sea. This led to two types of lighthouses and the habitats of the lighthouse keepers. Those positioned along the coast were often lucky enough to have one or more outbuildings in addition to the tower. This is why the keepers and their families lived in these stations. They were more part of society and had better access to materials and food. It was different with the towers situated in the sea. There one could only find towers, and the keepers lived in them. This meant not only very little space, but also great isolation and loneliness, because only the keepers lived in these places.

Engraving of Smeaton's version of the Eddy Stone Lighthouse, by unknown (x) 

The duties

The guards were on duty 24/7, even though there was always more than one guard, they had their hands full. They had to ensure that there was enough fuel, that all glass and lenses were carefully cleaned, and that any repairs were done immediately to avoid accidents. The tower had to be painted regularly and the light signals had to be practised constantly. And in fog, the foghorn had to be operated. Then there were the everyday tasks of life. That meant keeping the tower clean, keeping the logbook, cooking, and keeping the equipment clean and intact. Typical times were as follows: 22.00 - 02.00 Light watch 02.00 - 09.00 Sleep (but on call) 09.00 - 10.00 Free time (breakfast) 10.00 - 14.00 Cleaning and maintenance (minimum 2 hours) and relief of man on duty for short periods 14.00 - 18.00 Free time 18.00 - 22.00 Light watch.

Dangers

There were many, and it was not only the sea. The towers from the 18th century onwards had a lead roof and this could be affected by the flame of the lantern. So it was that Henry Hall, the 94-year-old lighthouse keeper, discovered that a spark, presumably from a flame from the lantern, had flown upwards and ignited the top of the tower. When Hall looked up to throw a bucket of water on the fire, a stream of molten lead poured from the roof over his face and throat. Incredibly, Hall survived for 12 days. When he died, the autopsy revealed that his stomach contained 200 grams of solid lead.

Built by Henry Winstanley in the 1690s, the first Eddystone Lighthouse was a simple, wooden tower which was destroyed in a storm in 1703, by Jaaziell Johnston, John Smeaton (x)

Rescue attempts were also a dangerous activity, even if they were less frequent. But when the keeper heard that a disaster had happened in front of his tower, he rowed out to save what he could. Unfortunately, many died in these attempts. But others, like Grace Darling and her father, 1838 were very successful and she even became a local celebrity.

Storms and high waves could also be dangerous and cost some keepers their lives. Occasionally, a storm would become so strong that the waves would become so high and powerful that they threatened to seriously damage the tower. The lighthouse of Eilean Mor off the north coast of Scotland faced such a danger in 1900. The equipment and boats were in danger of being swept away, so one man remained in the tower while his three companions tried to save what they could. However, the sea took not only the equipment but also the men. Only the one in the tower survived.

Mercury was also a thing that could become very dangerous very quickly. Before widespread electrification and automation in the 1960s, it was the lighthouse keeper's job to ensure that the enormous lens, which could weigh up to two and a half tonnes, rotated throughout the day. The versatile lens rotated at a certain speed and flashed the light. In the 18th and 19th centuries, the lens was usually mounted on wheels or bearings and attached to a clockwork mechanism that the keeper wound up at regular intervals. In the 1890s, some keepers began to float their lenses in liquid mercury. The metal base of the lens rotated more easily in the mercury, so the light spun faster and needed to be wound up less frequently. The resulting faster flash of light was safer for the sailors, but not for the guards, who inhaled and touched the mercury during their daily cleaning rounds, inevitably poisoning their organs and mental performance.

While the shore towers ensured that the keeper could be with his family and part of the local community, the men offshore were not. They only had their comrades and that was it. So Isolation was a great danger for them. This could lead to them becoming insane and/or violent. Some also became victims or perpetrators of sexual assault.

Malnutrition was also a big problem for the isolated men. Some tried to keep their heads above water with mini gardens, but everyone was spoilt for choice and the men had to rely on food supplies from the coast. But it did not always arrive on time, or could not be delivered because of bad weather, or was already spoiled before it arrived. This led often to scurvy and malnutrition.

As you can see, life was not easy and some chose this voluntarily to protect others at sea. Over time, conditions improved and the towers themselves were adapted to the new technology, making it possible to do without a keeper in many places.

[noirandchocolate]

Errol passed silently over the city walls, nose up, wings folded down to tiny flaps, his body honed to a mere cone with a flame at one end.  His opponent blew out a tongue of fire; Vimes watched Errol, with a barely noticeable flip of a wing stub, roll easily out of its path.  And then he was gone, speeding out towards the sea in the same eerie silence.

‘He miss--’ Nobby began.

The air ruptured.  An endless thunderclap of noise dragged across the city, smashing tiles, toppling chimneys.  In mid-air, the king was picked up, flattened out and spun like a top in the sonic wash.  Vimes, his hands over his own ears, saw the creature flame desperately as it turned and became the center of a spiral of crazy fire.  Magic crackled along its wings.  It screamed like a distressed foghorn.  Then, shaking its head dazedly, it began to glide in a wide circle.

--Terry Pratchett, “Guards! Guards!” (illustration by Paul Kidby taken from the 2021 Dunmanifestin edition)

(Errol’s an impressive little fellow.  Very smart thinking there.)

[whockeywhore]

Skip Over It 12

A cool breeze rolled in through the open window and the shades rattled a bit as if to announce the arrival of winter in Raleigh. I stared at the ceiling and shifted under the covers. Sleep eluded me yet again and a dull headache was building behind my eyes as I rolled over, hoping that I'd at least gotten a few hours of rest. The clock read 2:54 AM and I was hours from my alarm going off.

My pillows smelled like him. His cologne, his conditioner... his sweat. I hadn't made an effort to reach out since our argument last week and neither had I. I don't owe him a thing, he's the one that should apologize. No matter how much I'd reminded myself, it didn't quite stick and I decided that now was a good a time as any to hammer that final nail in the coffin.

I flipped on the overhead light and stripped my sheets off of the bed, grabbing the pillowcases and rolling all of it into a big ball before starting towards the washer. The clock in the kitchen ticked loudly as I waited for the thrum of the machine to start. Once it began to rumble, I returned to my room and flung open the closet. His sweatshirt hung front and center and the hanger rocked a few times as I pulled it off. His number was embroidered on the sleeve and I ran my finger over it twice before tossing it behind me and onto the bare mattress and continuing.

The pile grew and I began to wonder how much I'd left at his place as I shoved it into an empty bag. Fatigue began to take me down and I grabbed a set of sheets and a blanket from the linen cabinet in the bathroom. My reflection caught my eye and I studied the Flames logo on my stolen sleep shirt before slipping it off. I dropped it onto the stuffed bag and made the bed as quickly as I could, slipping under the cover and drifting off to a fitful sleep.

The alarm sounded like a foghorn and I fumbled to turn it off as quickly as I could. The room seemed different in the morning, significantly colder and empty. My headache had grown during the few hours of rest that I'd gotten and it was accompanied by a stiff back and a chill I couldn't shake off. I pulled on a sweatshirt over my suit jacket and popped two ibuprofen before driving to the office. I'd barely settled behind my desk with a hot cup of tea when someone knocked on my door.

"Good morn-" Rod stopped in his tracks and frowned as he gave me a once over. "You look like hell."

"I love it when you sweet-talk, Coach." I glared at him over the top of my laptop and he shot me a sympathetic smile. "Did you need something?"

"Just wanted to check-in, see how my boys are doing."

"No major issues that I know of. I'd leave Brock out of a game or two if possible. I know he's just coming back but his shoulder may not be at a hundred yet."

"That's fair. I saw him favoring it at practice yesterday. What about Hamilton?"

"Hmm?"

"Hamilton. Dougie. You pulled him in for an x-ray a few days ago-"

"A week ago."

"A week ago." He eyed me warily before continuing, leaning back in his chair. "What for?"

"He took a puck to the side, wanted to check for a broken rib."

"And?"

"Nothing special. He flinched on contact, deep bruising but nothing broken. Scans came back clean."

"And on follow-up?" I looked up from my computer and stared for a moment before asking him to repeat himself. "On follow-up. When you met with him again, how was he feeling?"

"We haven't spoken- I haven't spoken to him. About this, I mean. I haven't followed up."

"Could you?"

"Could I what?"

"Check in with him. Before we leave today, if possible." He leaned in and rested his elbows on his knees, studying me for a long minute. "Are you alright? You seem off."

"Yeah, of course. It's just been a long week."

"Chloe, it's Monday."

"Yes, of course. It's Monday. I knew that. I just um, I haven't been sleeping well."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Are you gonna be alright for the trip?"

"Oh, definitely!"

"Glad to hear it!" He stood up with a wide smile and started towards the door. "I'll send him in. Let me know how he's looking and I'll see you on the tarmac."

"Sounds great!" I dialed Lauren's number as the door closed and sank low in my chair while it rang. She answered with a tired hello and I crossed my fingers that she'd been in office sleeping at her desk. "Please tell me you're at the arena."

"I'm not. I was going to meet you at the airport."

"Dammit."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine."

"What's going on?" I filled her in and listened to the sound of her sheets rustling on the other end of the phone. She apologized and offered to come in. "I can be there in a half an hour."

I checked my watch and declined her offer. "I appreciate it but you'd just have to turn around and drive to the airport as soon as you got here."

I hung up and started towards the medic room, blinking a few times under the bright fluorescent lights. The dull ache I'd woken up with had evolved into a strong migraine and I pressed the pads of my palms into my eyes for relief.

"Chloe?"

"Hmm?" I looked up and saw him in the doorway, wrapped in a dark blue suit and a crisp white button down. He stared for a moment before shoving his hands deep in his pockets and stepping into the room.

"Someone said you needed to see me."

"Um, yeah. Brind'Amour wanted me to check on that bruise before the road trip today." I grabbed a pair of gloves and moved to shut the door as he took off his jacket. "I can uh- do you want me to leave this open?"

"You can close it."

He made quick work of the buttons on his shirt and was bare from the waist up when I turned back towards him. I could smell him as I stepped closer, close enough to feel the warmth of his body, and I kept my eyes low. His bruise had faded into a faint yellow spot on his side and he sat stoic as I prodded around it.

"Any trouble breathing? Any residual tenderness around the site?"

"No and no."

"How about nausea? Vomiting? Headaches? Dizziness?"

"Nope."

"Good. You feel like you're good to go?"

"Yep."

"Great. I'll let everyone know." I turned my back to him and pulled out my phone to email the coaching staff, waiting for him to leave. He didn't move and I putzed around for a few minutes before turning to look at him. "You're good to go."

He stared at me for a long moment and raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"You don't have anything to add? Maybe an apology?"

"I'm not- I can't do this with you today." Exhaustion came through my voice and I steeled myself against the counter, squeezing my eyes shut for a second. "I don't have anything to apologize for Dougie. I was doing my job-"

"It's not about your job, Chloe. It's not about your career, or my career." He raised his voice and I sat back against the edge of the table. "It's about the fact that I told my girlfriend something in confidence and she turned around a fucked me over."

"Did you just-"

"You know what I meant." He pinched the bridge of his nose and took in a deep breath before looking down at me. "If this relationship - or whatever we have- is going to work, I need to know that I can trust you."

"Then this isn't going to work."

"What?"

"It isn't. I... I can't do this with you. If trust means conceding in this fight then I just- I guess we're done." My chest tightened and my throat itched as the tears came on but I fought through it, pushing past him to open the door. He stayed where he was for a moment and I nodded towards the hallway. "Can you go?"

"I'm not finished."

"I am." We sat in a stalemate of uncomfortable silence and I held his gaze, mental and physical exhaustion getting the best of me. I'd gone through the motions of packing up his stuff, of getting every trace of him out of my house, and it took the wind out of me. He was putting me in an awful position, one that I'd found myself in with my ex time and time again, and I didn't want to leave that crack in the door. I checked my watch and held my arm out towards him but he didn't break his eyes away from me. "We've gotta be at the airport soon."

"Chloe, I want to talk about this."

"I don't think there's anything else to talk about."

"But-"

"I'll see you on the plane."

[joideka]

For many years he had been at the edge of the sea.

For many years he lived in his little island, in his lighthouse, defending sailors from the rocks of the shallow waters of the coast.

When storms arose he remained.

When waves as large as tankers roared and crashed around his island, he remained.

When the winds shrieked and wailed in the depths of the night, he would stand, clutching binoculars to his eye sockets, staring down the ocean as rain whipped his face.

In those nights, he fought to make sure the lighthouse stayed lit, keeping the oil lantern well-trimmed and fed. He must have looked ridiculous in his rubbers and yellow poncho, water seeping into his eye sockets until they overflowed.

He couldn’t afford to let the light die, and his magic helped a bit in maintaining the tiny flame.

If there was fog, he stayed near the great foghorn, blaring it every few minutes to make sure ships could hear the warning of shallow waters. The old radio could communicate to ships, as could his small flick light.

One had to be proficient in many skills, out on the open water.

He would often visit the village on the mainland to get supplies, send a letter to his brother, maybe pat the children on their heads as they gathered to goggle at the giant skeleton.

The village knew and respected him, for few dared to remain long in those conditions.

Conditions like that, they whispered, would drive a normal being mad with loneliness and fear.

It reminded Sans of his old home, a place of constant turmoil.

But even there he has a place for quiet moments, to cease inner turmoil.

Here, it seemed every moment was a fight to protect someone else, never to think once of his own safety.

That’s when he met you.

The middle of the night was no time to be awakened, even if the sound was faint. Low but sonorous, a calling to his own soul.

He remembered stumbling to the railing of the top balcony, the great light illuminating his figure every time it passed by. He had lazily thrown on some overalls and long johns, rubbing his face as he stumbled into a glorious sight.

An Aurora Borealis lit up the sky in oranges, yellows, and greens, dancing in the dark night.

Entranced, he leaned on the railing.

His eye followed the lights, admiring the picture against cold white stars and blue night, before it fell on a piece of rock, far out at sea, a formation affectionately called Weeping Giant.

A small faint glow illuminated the rocks- and he had to reach for his binoculars, frowning as he peered through the lenses. Only for his jaw to drop.

A figure stood on the rocks, faint, faraway even for his helped eyesight.

Streams of gold and white seemed to flow around the rock, weaving in tantalizing patterns, a dark figure standing in the midst.

As if entranced, Sans stumbled down the staircase, a sliver of concern in his bones as he grabbed a thermos and blankets, life jacket thrown hurriedly into his transport.

Anyone who could get that far out without a detected boat surely needed help.

So in his trusty rowboat, he started out, rowing across a strangely calm sea to the great rock jutting out of the waters. The noise wove and darted into the formations of a song, foreign language to this region, even in the moss-covered hills of the deep country, where the ferns and briars grew wild.

The rowboat scraped softly against the wet rock, a firm hook tucked into a crevice as he secured his only transport. About to climb up the dark kelp-covered stone, he looked up;

His jaw dropped.

She stood there, arms outstretched, head tilted back as a heavenly song left her mouth, illuminated as spirals of gold around her, strange sun-like spots floating around her, glowing like the stars above. A robe of pure white fur was draped across her figure, brown hair gently caressed by the ocean breeze.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“Whoa,” he whispered. The woman twitched, her eyes flew open, darting down to meet his face. Her face drained of color, and she took a step back-

To slip on the algae at her bare feet, sliding with a small exclamation of surprise, as Sans lunged forward, a single hand cupping her waist, leaning over the woman as his other hand held her head.

The two of them stayed for a moment, before the woman flung his hands away, standing nervously to the side as she laughed nervously.

“I, I, um, you, you shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t have heard my song, I,” her hands flew to each other, wringing them as she turned away for a moment, muttering, "Stupid, stupid Y/N, of course, you had to bungle the one thing you're supposed to do;"

“Hey, hey bu'ercup, no need to get all riled.” He grinned to try and put her at ease. “Are ya alright? That must have been quite de current dat tossed ya to this 'ere rock.” He gestured the coast, unconsciously hunching over, trying to make himself look smaller.

Her eyes (a strange amber color, he noted) darted to the shore.

“Oh, I, kind of meant to get out here?”

“Ya swam??” Sans raised an eyebrow, fighting a snicker as the woman fidgeted for a moment, a red tint staining her cheeks.

“I, um, how did you get out here?" Sans pretended not to notice the dodge, only shrugging.

“Well w'en dere a damsel in distress-“

“I am not in distress!” The girl interjected, hand clutching her cloak as she stomped forwards, a pout puckering her lips.

Sans laughed. “Well I see dat now bu'ercup~” with a grunt he sat on the rock, grinning as she scrambled back. “What, scared?”

“Not every day a giant skeleton appears out of the blue and interrupts my song.”

“Oh yeah, why were ya singing??”

There was a pause.

“So you’re not a fey?”

“'ell is dat sweethart?”

She looked up sharply, a foot behind her, poised to flee.

“Easy thar, we don't want ya to fall again, don't we?“ The woman paused, then returned to a normal standing position, staring at him with curiosity and wariness.

There was a silent pause as the two looked at each other. The monster and the lady on the rock, sea silently humming and murmuring as eddies carried away uncertainties and fears.

“I’m sorry for startling ya,” Sans offered, a small smile on his skull as he looked off into the distance, where the Aurora was slowly fading. He fiddled with his overall straps as he gazed up at the stars.

“But- yer not human, are ya?”

“... No, I am not.” There was a shuffle as the girl sat beside him, bare legs poking out beneath her cloak. The two of them didn't look at each other, choosing to remain in companionable silence as a dim glow lightened the horizon, signaling the incoming dawn.

“My name is Y/N.” Sans snuck a look at her, a small smile tilted the corners of his mouth as he turned back to the sea.

“Sans, bu'ercup.” His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the rising sun, leaning forward. "Ya see that, Y/N, isn't that just;" he froze, eye sockets widening at a pure white seal, amber eyes glinting.

“Y/N?” The seal barked, then flopped to the edge of the rock, head craning one last time to give him a whiskered smile. A small plop drew him to peer over the edge of the rock, worry causing his soul to panic.

Its head peeked above the surface, a kind sparkle in its eyes as it again seemingly grinned at him.

Then a ripple, and she was gone.

Many nights after he spent looking out over the sea, trying to catch a glimpse of the white seal that swam gracefully through the waters.

It was almost a month before he saw her again, diving playfully with fellow harbor seals along the kelp of the shallows.

His boat nearly tipped as he leaned over to grin at Y/N, her hair billowing in the water.

He learned many things that day, including a fact that was most interesting to him.

She was a selkie- an Irish fairy, who dressed in the fur of a seal and sang to take fairies back to their home in another world, it seemed. The strange circles followed her in water and on the land, dancing around her coat of fur hiding the rest of her figure as she floated serenely beside his boat.

Her eyes shone as she described her world and her role in it, the magic lying behind her song and her cloak, not hiding a detail or piece of her story as she laughed at his questions. He had to hide a goofy grin, staring down at her, admiring the way the sunlight played on her hair, how the sea carried her aimlessly alongside his boat.

Sans adored her.

Her visits became his anchor, his calm in the raging storms, the reason he would open his doors in the wildest of storms to let in a laughing Y/N, covered in foam and seaweed.

Those nights he loved best, sharing a mug of tea over a blazing fire, the selkie wearing some of his clothes as her cloak dried.

He asked if he would turn into a selkie if he put it on, Y/N laughing and jokingly describing him as a giant walrus, to his chagrin.

She also joked that one of his tusks would be made of solid gold, and he'd be the grandest trophy to ever take in the wild Celt seas.

His grumpy reply sent both of them laughing long into the dark night, the fire crackling as she watched him trudge up and down staircases to check on the light and the barometer.

It was one of those nights that she told him something he would never forget.

“People are fhrgetting the fey?”

“That is what we fear. If I do not sing my final song soon, then the fey will be trapped her and lost in stone.”

“Ya won’t be able to come back den, if I understood yer tale."

“No…” A small hand touched his own scarred hand, stroking it affectionately. “But I’m sure that will not be for a very long time.”

And it wasn’t.

He remembered as clear as the sun in the sky his first kiss with you, holding your body close on the rock he met you.

He remembered gently stroking your hair as you basked on the warmed rocks of his island, head resting in his lap.

He remembered introducing you to the villagers, you dressed in a light-colored dress he had managed to smuggle secretively to his home.

And a year later, he was blessed with a child of his own, his son.

His wife still swam in the seas, but now never left his home for long, and her journeys became rarer and rarer. And as their second child was born, she gave up the sea, to live with Sans completely. Her songs now were sung for her sons, showing them how to follow and sing along.

But she was always worried, waking up with dreams about the fey dying because of her, Sans having to comfort her deep into the night, holding her close as sobs wracked her body.

He knew she didn't regret her decision, but his soul ached for her and her struggle with her lineage.

Then, their third child.

Sans remembered the night well; it was the last time he saw you.

You, as round as a full moon, were telling the boys a story when you flinched, gripping your stomach as a strand of hair turned pure white.

“Mammy?”

“It’s alright boys, Mammy is getting white hairs from your father~” Sans cast a worried look at her, but relaxed when she continued her story, softly singing the sentences as their two boys slowly fell asleep. Sans came over then, smiling as he tucked them in.

“Dere, now you should get some rest, Lord knows how our little wan is faring right now, with you at this stage, eh Y/N?” He turned to see an empty room.

"... Bu'ercup?" His eye flared as he teleported to the main floor, gasping as he fell to a knee, sweating from the exertion of using his magic after so long.

He chased your footsteps down the stairs, but when he saw you, you were already making your way into a stormy sea, a familiar white robe wrapped around you. The waves roared high with foamy crests, barreling towards you.

“Y/N!!” He cried, forcing his way through the rough waves towards you.

The selkie turned, hair white, eyes fatigued.

"I'm sorry, dear one, I have to save our baby," the wind whispered, as you sank below the waves.

He remembered diving under the waves- and floating back to the pebbly shore, a tiny baby in his arms.

It was late at night when he heard the creak of the old stair door. A white tousled head poked itself in, amber eyes peering at his father.

“Daddy?” His oldest son, Roman, peered into the kitchen, where Sans sat in a chair, wrapped in a blanket.

“Where’s Mammy?”

Sans didn't answer, his thumb stroking the tiny swath of brown hair of the tiny one in his arms.

“This is your little sister, Saoirse. You and Lato are her big brothers now.”

Roman was quiet for a moment, before turning to look at his father.

“Mammy’s gone, isn’t she?” Sans eye sockets filled with tears.

“Aye, she-“ he fought a sob “she is…” Roman was quiet again.

"Where did she go?"

"... S'e went home, I think..." Roman looked at the, his baby sister.

“What does Saoirse mean?” Sans stated for a moment, recollecting a long ago conversation.

“Is dere a name dat means little seal at all?” He teased, skull resting on your stomach as you laughed, then grimaced as a small thump reverberated against his skull.

“We should call her feisty, that's what. And no, Sans, that’s a pun, and your brother is already disappointed we don’t have a Papyrus Jr.”

“'e can name his own kid dat, not after you declined me Sans Jr.”

“Roman Sans Gaster, blubber-head.”

“Tough whrds comeng from blubber belly.” You laughed again, then cradled his skull as you leaned forward. Y/N eye's twinkled fondly as she placed a small kiss on his forehead.

“There is a name that means that though. Saoirse, pronounced seer-sha… a very old name.”

“Saoirse… I like tha.”

Sans smiled. “'er name means little seal.”

“Like what mammy was!” Sans smiled, watching his son hold his daughter.

“Aye, just like your mum.” And as his tears finally fell, Sans felt the last kiss of the selkie on his forehead, before the wind carried her song into the sea.

----------------------------

I love the idea of old fairy tales and Undertale coming together in ways like these. Would the fey of English and Celt mythology even have souls? IDK but it's fun to write.

Also inspired by the movie Song of the Sea!

[jaynovz]

First Ten Lines meme

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway!

Mass tagged by @r0b0tb0y

--

I used to think that I was really fucking bad at intros because my brain never starts at the beginning and I always have to go back and engineer one later. But despite this I’ve honed the skill in the last two-ish years, it just takes a little work. and honestly I’m kinda proud of them now. :))))) 

(These ten are excluding co-authored stories, cuz that seems disingenuous) 

1. my greedy little heart won’t do without you: “Silver drifts back to consciousness in long moments, time stretching out sticky as molasses as he takes stock of himself.”

2. you spoke my language and touched my limbs: “Schick, schick.”

3. did the twin flame bruise paint you blue: “Silver cups his hand around the flare of a cigarette, tucked into the alcove beside a building.”

4. some ancient call: “The droning of the foghorn is driving Stede absolutely batty.”

5. for that devious dance between you and me: “After the utter nightmare that was battling the Andromache, Flint is weary beyond belief.”

6. your touch brought forth an incandescent glow: “After the massacre of Charles Town, Silver had been nervous every time Flint left at the forefront of another raid, snarling and raging, raring to wet his muzzle with the fresh blood of those who would cage him.”

7. let it rain, cuz you and I remain the same: “Madi peers out over the sea from her place lounging in the window seat next to James’ desk.”

8. darkness in his fingertips, eyes just the same: “Silver is sore all over, thoroughly exhausted from the ordeal of the last few days, of swimming and crawling and struggling for his life.”

9. flame you came from me, fire meet gasoline: “The body of the Spanish sailor has barely begun cooling on the deck between them when Silver immediately starts rummaging through the man’s clothes.”

10. I wish for once we could stay gold: “Madi looks John Silver over, taking stock of him, newly returned to them from the sea’s clutches.”

tagging any writers who follow me and feel like Doing This~~

[astrolovecosmos]

𝕎𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣 ℂ𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕊𝕥𝕖𝕒𝕞 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝔽𝕚𝕣𝕖 // 𝔽𝕚𝕣𝕖 𝔹𝕠𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕎𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣

Scorpio is Icarus flying too close to Leo, Leo is the captain falling for the siren Scorpio, fatal attraction, lusty, passionate, going all in love or friendship.

Cancer is the lady in the lake sword in hand for Leo, Leo is the Sun chasing the Moon for Cancer, a creative union, a beautiful contrast and complement. 

Pisces is a gentle rain upon Leo’s flames, Leo is the winged lion Pisces dreamed about, an indulgent, imaginative exchange of fire and water spirit.

Cancer is choppy waters Aries can't resist sailing upon, Aries is a flaming sword Cancer wants to hold, the power of fire and water combined in a fury.

Scorpio is high waves, a tsunami Aries awaits, Aries is the fire on top of the waves Scorpio embraces, together a fierce pair rolling into town. 

Pisces is a sparkling fountain Aries admires and finds respite in, Aries is a heatwave Pisces didn’t plan for, a relationship filled with surprise and soothing. 

Cancer is the seashell Sagittarius finds along the shore, Sagittarius are the sparklers making Cancer's night better, water and fire accepting each other.

Scorpio is an iced over lake Sagittarius is determined to break through, Sagittarius an ember in Scorpio's eye, they stir each other.

Pisces is the foghorn alerting Sagittarius, Sagittarius is the nightlight for Pisces, both have a lot to show the other.