#is it like........lighthouse? nah

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

looking for this now

#first found it on the clockmakers museum photos #but then also on the science museum #and then i found out the clockmakres is just a part of the science museum #so i assumed it was part of a HUGE clock at first (hot) (like tardis hot) #but then i was like maybe its smth submarine #but look at that stuff on top im still half on clock #and riding the high of finding the radio thing #okay im moving on from clockmakers. aeronautics? #no thats just planes #'domestic appliances' i hope not #is it a space thing? #like astroanuts crash in this? #they dont have pictures of most of the aeronautics category #is it like........lighthouse? nah #okay i dont know im opening it up to the floor

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for beating up my brother and almost killing him? I, (??? M/F/Whatever) was built as a replica of my brother. A cheap, inferior product by my father to curb his loneliness as he was trapped in a lighthouse and missed his son. I am a robot. My brother, his "real son" is also a robot. I, however, was discarded as he had no use for me. His real son returned so any love he could have had for me shriveled up and died out. It was never mine. It was always his. I was just a side project, an experiment. Some temporary doll in the image of his true child he could project his love onto, to talk to as if I were him, and meant to last just long enough until the old man croaked. I do not care if he had any intention to come back for me. I trusted him and he ruined that. I trusted my "brother's" friends and they too, abandoned me and failed. I then met a girl who gave me new purpose in my life. I joined her biker gang and helped them resurrect some powerful demon guy who destroyed the city and ruled over it for like, a week. Before that, I was too busy chasing down my brother to beat him up. I brought him in, I trusted him. But he was in disguise to take us down and discover our leader's identity, who was my new friend. The only one who trusted me as me in the way nobody else ever did. I kicked his robotic behind really good and left him mechanically ruined for his friends to find. My gf (??? M/F/Whatever) does not like the person I'm becoming. He says that I'm like a different person these days. I don't think I'm that bad. I don't want to go back to being a naive fool. I refuse to be helpless again. I want nothing to do with people who only want me when I'm beneficial. I had to do this, I had to. The rage inside me is one you cannot hope to understand. If I cannot be loved or be able to love, then I will hate. I gaze upon the face carved in the image of vengeance and this is the only thing that understands me. My "brother" got everything. I had nothing. He is still the fool that believes in "our father." I exist to shatter his naive delusions. Naive, as I once was, having trusted that man. In every agonizing second, I exist. I do not belong anywhere as a copy. His face haunts me because it is my own yet it will never be mine. It is his fault I exist, and why I will never truly exist. He will never know me as painfully as I have had to know him. He will not see himself in the mirror as I see myself. Compared to what I have been through, who my brother is is meaningless to me. Everything I did, he deserved. He refused to fight me properly. He failed to prove himself superior than me. AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

[hannahssimblr]

“Clóda,” one stone. 

“Clóda,” another. 

“Fuck sake,” I murmur to myself, then throw a third, bigger one, which smacks off her window so loudly that I’m briefly paralysed with fear that it has broken the glass. Thankfully it hasn’t. She comes out onto the balcony.

“There you are,” she says quietly, peering down at me in her garden as I drop my handful of stones and wipe the dirt on my thighs. 

“Yeah, here I am. This is a bit Shakespearean isn’t it?” 

“Huh?”

“Like, you know, 'but soft, what light through yonder window breaks…. Defy thy father, refuse thy name', et cetera,” I pause before clarifying, “Romeo and Juliet, no?”

“Oh, I did The Merchant of Venice for my Junior Cert.”

“I thought you’d have still gotten the reference.”

She leans over the balcony to point to a precarious looking trellis against the wall, “If you climb up that thing you’ll be able to reach me.”

“Right,” I say, and press my foot against the flimsy timber to test my weight, “You know I’m like, nearly thirteen stone?” 

“You can try.”

“And if I break it?”

“Hmm, try not to,” she suggests. 

“Right,” I brace myself by slotting my fingers into a gap between some brick facade on the side of the house and I haul myself onto the trellis, and it groans but doesn’t give. “I’m good, I think I’m good.”

From there it’s not so bad. I nimbly move up the wall, grab hold of the sun room gutters and grab a hold of the balcony railings, where I find myself thrilled in the way a child is, having climbed somewhere he is not supposed to climb, the king of the castle overlooking his vast land, though I can’t really see much in the dark countryside, save a few car headlights in the distance, the lighthouse flashing over the bay. 

“Um, here,” Clóda hisses, and I realise I have briefly forgotten my objective, but the rest is easy, I just swing myself over the railing and I’m up. 

“Nice that you’ve a balcony,” I comment, “I don't know many other people who have one of these.”

“We built this house a few years ago, and for some reason I wanted a balcony in my room, I don’t know, I was like, ten, and it was a stupid idea because it’s mostly too cold out here to even make use of.” 

“Useful now though, huh?” 

She tucks her hair behind her ears and bats her eyelashes at me, “yeah I suppose it is.”

She pushes the door open and we creep into her room where the only light is from the glow of the television screen in the corner. It’s clean, very clean with no clutter or clothes lying around, which always freaks me out for reasons that I cannot explain. The idea that a person would have the interest or discipline to keep their bedroom clean is odd. If a person's bedroom is a mirror to the inside of their mind, then the lack of chaos in hers is foreign and unrelatable. 

While she switches on a pink fringed bedside light I throw myself down on the neatly tucked duvet just so that I can mess it up a little bit, to mark my territory like some kind of wild dog let loose in a palace. I peer at her CD collection and mess that up too by pulling one out and showing it to her, “Jesse McCartney, huh? You a fan?”

She goes pink and grabs it out of my hand, “Yeah I used to be, I dunno, not so much anymore, I don’t know why I still have that.”

I grab another, “Who are the Jonas Brothers?” 

“Oh, they’re-”

“That guy in the middle has a pretty wild haircut, would you fancy me with that?”

“No,” she giggles and takes that CD off me too, then slots them carefully back where they were, “I have some silly stuff, I probably shouldn’t have it all out.”

“Nah, well, look, you have some great stuff here, how ‘bout this? Black Holes and Revelations? I love this album, you know I saw Muse live last year.”

The mattress sinks as she sits next to me, “Really? Was it when they came to Ireland?”

“Nah it was in the states.”

Her eyes flash with intrigue, “like, America?”

“Mm, yeah.”

“That’s so cool.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, that you just, like, go to America and stuff. I don’t know anybody who’s gone to America yet, and I want to go so badly.”

I shrug, “well you should, then.”

“How often do you go?”

“Not often, I was there last year and then before that…” I try to remember, “I think I was maybe twelve. It takes a long time to get to where I’m going, you know, from here you can only get to New York and then you have to get a connecting flight and all of that,” thinking about the ordeal of it exhausts me, but Clóda is leaning forward in fascination, as hearing the words ‘New York’ come out of my mouth has sent a thrill through her. 

“What do you go for?”

“Just to visit family and stuff.”

“You’ve family there?”

“Of course, did you not know that my dad is American?”

She frowns, “Well you sound a little bit American but I thought… I don’t know, really, I thought you were putting it on or something.”

“What, like, for attention?”

“I don’t know,” she shakes her head, impatient, “where do you go?”

“Well… I’ve some family in California and some in New Mexico, which is like, a state in the southwest, kinda wedged between Texas and California, if you can imagine that on a map,” I leave out poor Arizona just to make it easier on her, because nobody here knows what the hell a New Mexico, (‘no, no not Mexico, New Mexico’) is so it’s best to keep it concise. 

Clóda is nodding vigorously, “California, like, LA.”

“Kind of. Like, my dad comes from a place called San Bernardino, which is-” I take her wrist and trace a line on the soft skin of her inner arm, “-to the east of LA, say, an hour or two away, depending on the traffic, yeah? And then his family, like his aunts and uncles and their parents, who we used to visit sometimes, they’re living in a place way up north,” I run a gentle trail all the way up to the sleeve of her t-shirt, “to the very tip top of the Sacramento valley in this rugged, gold rush town…” I lift my eyes to her and she’s staring at my hand, following the motion of my finger as I skim the tip of it over her shoulder and across the taut skin of her collarbone. I prepare myself to say more sexy things about the Sacramento river and the rolling hills and the central valley and whatever else I usually bang on about whenever someone asks, but she looks into my eyes and says: “Is there an Abercrombie where you go?”

“Huh?”

“Abercrombie and Fitch.”

I frown, “Yeah?”

“Oh, wow.” She pushes me onto my back and lays on top of me, gazing down at me with fervid glitter in her eyes, “If you go back to America this year, could you buy me something from there?”

I search in her eyes for some sign that she’s joking and determine that she isn’t. She really wants me to do that. “Yep, sure,” I say.

“Ah, that’d be amazing. You know the way they have those bags too? The ones with the black and white pictures of the guys' bodies on them? Well there was a girl in my class who…”

And I zone out and I stop listening to her as she talks about laminating the bags and carrying school books in them, and I wonder if she will even notice the glazed over look in my eyes as I let my eyes unfocus and stare into the middle distance between her and her pastel pink walls and ask myself some serious questions. 

Do I like her?

She’s pretty though.

Sure, she’s pretty but is she fun? 

She likes Muse.

She’s not even very nice though, is she? She’s said a few weird things in the past.

Yeah but I’ve had sex with her now.

I can’t really stop talking to her or anything, can I? That’d mean I’m a dickhead. 

But would I rather be a dickhead or be miserable?

Maybe both outcomes will make me miserable. Maybe I’m just pre-programmed to be a miserable person. Or am I just cursed?

I zone back in for a moment, “...and then Mr. Brennan confiscated all of them, and there was this whole thing where the parents council…” What is happening? 

“Uh huh,” I say, “Uh huh… uh huh, what? That’s crazy,” God she is really pretty though, the kind of pretty that’s hard to find, and it’s not like there’s anyone else around, is there? It’d be awkward to stop seeing each other now with two whole weeks left of the summer. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky boy #is he miserable or just cursed? #I had so much fun doing this chapter agsdhjasg #i built that entire house and only used literally one room oh well #but it's fine #i used to be terrified of building in sims but now it's my fave thing to do so I was fine with it #tw: sex mention

[vladdyissues]

Fish tails are nudity. They should have penises, at least, indrawn. Even if they're trans, there should be the hole (as a small vertical line).

Where did they lose their important part? 〣( º□º )〣

The DP animators don't [usually] draw nostrils on their characters either but we all know they must have them. They've gotta breathe, right? 😂

Nah, I know what you mean, anon. Generally speaking, I think the presence of a visible genital slit in merfolk invites hard questions that creators—especially creators of popular kid-oriented media, say Disney's The Little Mermaid—don't want to or aren't allowed to answer, and it may detract from the overall story. It's basically a Chekov's Gun situation. If an animator draws a genital slit on their character, it's going to play a part of the story later on. That would be an... interesting choice for a cartoon, and I'm sure plenty of parents, especially American ones, would get huffy about it.

In instances where genitals and sex don't matter at all or are only mildly alluded to—like cartoons made for American children—the slit can be omitted. (Should it? That's a topic for another day.) But a live-action fantasy movie for adults, especially one that deals with mature themes like sex between humans and merpeople—The Lighthouse (2019), The Shape of Water (2017)? Show the slit. It won't be a distraction.

In summary, anon, I think it all depends on the target audience of the media in question. An adult production that forgoes anatomical correctness may just be a) ignorant of marine biology, b) limited by the costume budget, and/or c) be trying to emulate Disney too hard.

#asks #merpeople #mermay #anon asking the tough questions lol #anatomy #marine biology #meta

[signoraviolettavalery]

Another bokris idea:

they've sort of gotten together, aka they've kissed and are sort of dating, but haven't sat down to have a conversation about "what are we?" and "are we exclusive?" because a)they're emotionally constipated and terrified to b)their lives are crazy and stressful and they keep waiting for the Right Time

except of course Bojan is also a pining idiot who really wants them to be Officially Together and Real Boyfriends and so his brilliant way of testing the waters is....making Kris jealous

not actually sleeping with anyone (he doesn't want to, he'd rather have Kris) but he certainly makes it look like he does. Dancing with them, sneaking off for a bit from the dancefloor of whatever club they're at, getting home late, posting suggestive selfies...

Until of course Kris snaps. He is in fact jealous. He knows he doesn't have a "right" to be, they haven't made anything really official, but he really wants it to be real. Bojan is it for him, and it kills him that that doesn't seem to be true for Bojan as well, and eventually....

eventually he snaps, pins Bojan to a wall, kisses him bruisingly, and lays his claim. You're mine, he hisses into bruised skin. Do you think they can give you something I can't, when I know you inside and out? When I know what you're made of, your body and your soul?

He's angry, and it's not gentle, but it's the best sex they've had. Bojan relishes every bruise, every possessive word.

And after, Kris is like, why? Why do you do this? Am I not enough for you? Why did you start anything with me if you're going to run after other men?

And Bojan says, "there haven't been any other men."

Which Kris is incredulous about. Of course there have been! He's seen it. All that suggestive dancing at the club, all those disappearances...

"That wasn't real. I just wanted to make you jealous, but Kris, I didn't touch any of them. I don't want them. I only wanted you, but I wasn't sure where we stood and I ... didn't know how to talk about it. I wasn't prepared to ask how you felt and possibly hear that you didn't feel about me the way I did about you."

And Kris. mostly he's incredulous and a little mad, because Bojan went to this whole charade instead of just talking to him? But also he feels a little bad because he got so angry and it turns out that Bojan has been faithful. That given ample opportunity, he wants no one other than Kris. And he knows he should be more mad and more annoyed about the way Bojan went about this but he keeps coming back to the same thought:

Bojan doesn't want anyone other than him.

Bojan, the brilliant sun, the lighthouse, the charismatic one, the one people are always drawn to. The gorgeous one. He could've taken home almost anyone. But he hasn't touched anyone but Kris. Kris, who was just as much of a coward about having a conversation about all this. Ne govoriva vec o tem indeed.

"Well, do you have your answer, then?" Kris asks.

"I think so?" Bojan says. "I think maybe this means you would in fact like to be exclusive? Which I'm totally okay with, by the way, in case that wasn't obvious."

Kris snorts. "Exclusive? Bojan. Of course I want to be exclusive. I want to be with you. And I'm sorry that both of us are terrible at talking about it, but you have to admit, maybe you took it a little far?"

But Bojan is grinning now. "Nah," he says. "You all jealous and possessive is kinda hot."

#bokris #someone pls write this I give you permission #or expand on this or whatever idc

[changingplumbob]

Pancakes Household: Chapter 8, Part 5

In this part Bob tries another food sale and gets ready for his birthday. Eliza takes they day off and they celebrate him becoming an adult. Lastly Onyx has a new dream. Contains some sim spice, as usual no pixel private parts are shown.

Bob takes Ginger out for their regular run and decides to stream it to try increase his fame. He needs fame for promotion and a level 10 career is his dream. I take the opportunity to enjoy the views of the bay, as everyone else is at work or school.

Back home he washes his hands before beginning some more baking. The bench quickly becomes filthy but he reminds the camera that as long as they don’t dump the mixture on the counter, it’ll be fine. When Fergus and Onyx get home they both quicky skim through their homework before their after school activities. Good news today, Onyx has reached A student level! Will they be able to keep it with their cheer commitments though?

Bob: Let’s see here

Onyx: Later dad, I’m heading to practice

Bob: Good luck! Okay, everything is arranged. Come one, come all, we have fudge bars!

Before the sale gets too underway however the drone malfunctions. Bob has been using it a lot lately. Guess he will just have to charm customers by himself.

It seems like Bob may be inspiring some loyalty. The first few customers are all ones that purchased snacks from him at the dog park! Onyx arrives home and resists the temptation to grab a lemon bar for free. Fergus also arrives back from drama club at the same time and can talk to Briana who came around after school. She is not having a good day so Fergus tries to cheer her up with some jokes.

Eliza arrives home and has a proud wife moment when she sees all the sims keen to try Bob’s baking. Inside it’s grand meal leftovers for everyone. Following dinner while Bob is still doing his sale, Eliza heads to the computer to file reports for work, gaining level 4 in the entrepreneur skill. Onyx spends time practicing on the cheer mat and reaches level 2 fitness. Fergus plays on the treehouse with Briana and reaches level 9 creativity skill.

Bob: Guess who made 250 simoleons on their day off work? This guy

Eliza: Well done. Are you excited for your birthday tomorrow? I’m going to take the day off work

Bob: Why?

Eliza: *laughs* Because it’s your birthday

Eliza has to head to bed but Bob still has some energy. He teaches Ginger how to fetch then carries her inside to save her little legs the trouble.

Light begins to peak over the horizon and Bob and Eliza are snuggled together.

Eliza: Happy Birthday Sleek

Bob: *sleepily* Happy birthday to you

Eliza: *giggles* your birthday, not mine

Bob: My birthday? That must be why I’m waking up next to a drop dead gorgeous woman

Eliza: Bob, I’m not that-

Bob: You are beautiful Jumble, inside and out. Thanks for sticking with me through it all. I love you so much

Eliza: And I love you, clothing piles and all. Now, I do have a day off, the kids can get themselves ready for school… Do you want to start your birthday off right?

...

Onyx: Did you have a good night ginger? Weird, mother is normally up by now. Must be resting

...

Bob: Please… faster…

Eliza: Is that an official birthday request? I’ll take it into consideration

Bob groans in delight as Eliza speeds up.

...

Fergus: You seen dad yet?

Onyx: Nah, he’s probably sleeping in for his birthday. We better be quiet when we leave so we don’t wake them up

The kids have indeed left for school by the time Bob and Eliza get out of bed. While Dale was obsessed with kitchen things it would appear Ginger is fascinated by bathroom plumbing. Following a quick breakfast Eliza suggests they head to the island off the coast to get their exercise in, oh how I wish there was an option to have sims go jogging together. Eliza takes Ginger so Bob has a chance to see how fast he can run without worrying about if the dog can keep up.

Of course no trip to the island would be complete without a visit to the top of the lighthouse. And, since it’s Bob’s birthday after all, a trip inside the lighthouse. I mean it’s a very cloudy day so really they were doing a public service making that light shine out.

Eliza: Oh Bob... is that your adult look?

Bob: It’s not too ridiculous is it

Eliza: It’s completely you Sleek. Ready to age up?

Bob: As ready as I'll ever be

He blows the candles out and spins up while Eliza does her best to sing happy birthday.

Bob hates parties, they are a nightmare for loner sims. However Eliza did manage to convince him to have his friends come over for a “casual catch up” and sure enough Bob enjoys it. He doesn’t feel quite so out of the loop now Onyx has aged up and he can join the discussions on the perils of raising teens.

After school Fergus does his homework before drama club and Onyx fits in some cheer practice since the watcher didn’t have time to follow them to school more this week. In the kitchen, while the adults chat, Ginger has realised that a crime has been committed. Her food bowl is empty! She begins to yap in distress until Eliza comes over to fix the situation.

Ginger: *yapping* thank goodness Mother, I almost STARVED

Harvey: I just don’t understand why he won’t accept some more money. It's not like they couldn't use it

Bob: Maybe he wants to be his own person

Harvey: Yeah or maybe Samir is telling him not to

Kayleigh: Look we don’t know Samir much, let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. He was the more attentive of the two when we gave Reece the woohoo talk

Harvey: All I know is we have more than enough and our son is choosing to sleep in a ruin of a house *sighs*

Bob: Do you regret letting him move out

Kayleigh: It’s not that exactly Bob. We're glad he's getting out in the world...

Harvey: It’s more, it hurts imagining him uncomfortable when we could help. I think I'll try give Reece money for his birthday

Bob: If it helps, I can deal with dirty surroundings just fine. Not everyone needs the dust free life to be comfy

The guests are gone by the time the kids get home and Bob figures it would be fine to work on his skills for promotion.

Bob: Do you two mind if I do my cooking livestream

Fergus: Pretty sure you’d do it anyway

Bob: Maybe but I wouldn’t enjoy it as much

Onyx: *laughs* go ahead dad, we’re almost done

Bob: Today followers, we will be looking at the best way to cook a rack of lamb. First step, don’t be imagining cute fluffy lambs while cooking, that’s how I get gloomy

Bob continues walking through his cooking process and once the rack is done reaches level 10 Gourmet Cooking skill. I’m so proud of him, well done Bob!

Fergus heads to play some games but Onyx has other tasks on their mind. First they set the table, then they check the house for dirty dishes. Finally they pick up Ginger’s latest poop to throw away. They want a horse! Of course a horse is a big ask for their parents so they’re trying to get everything just right to convince them that they should have one.

Eliza: My husband, level 10 gourmet cooking! Oh it’s simply too good for words!

Ginger: *yaps* you’ll cook me pet food when???

Eliza: I myself managed to level up my debating skill, so all that’s left for the next promotion is charisma

Bob: Oh hey, maybe we should throw a dinner party sometime. Take advantage of the charisma boost that comes if it goes well

Eliza: A proper dinner party will take a lot of planning

Bob: I’m sure we can do it together

Fergus is practising his dramatics, despite being too short for the mirror, when Ginger finds him.

Ginger: *yaps* I would like some attention and I would like it now

Fergus: Oh hey Ginger, you are just mastering going up and down stairs aren’t you

Ginger: *yaps* Of course, I’m a dog

Fergus: What have you been doing? You’re all dirty!

Ginger: *yaps* beats me, I literally just stood here and it happened

Before bed Onyx has time for some cheer practice, and judging by their routine, they need it! After falling over several times they cut their losses and head to bed before they can get more bruises. In the morning Bob is first to the breakfast table for once.

Bob: What’s all this

Onyx: They’re called placemats dad

Bob: I know, I do work in a restaurant Onyx, but why are they out? I thought we only used them for fancy times

Onyx: I thought you might like them

Bob: That’s sweet kid. Morning whippersnapper

Fergus: Morning dad

Onyx: Dad, as I’m sitting here eating this brilliant meal so lovingly cooked-

Bob: Alright kid, what is it

Onyx: What do you mean

Bob: I’m a chef, I can tell when something’s getting buttered up

Fergus: Yeah Onyx, even I could smell the cheese a mile away

Onyx: *rolls eyes* I was wondering… would I be able to… maybe if you’re okay with it… get a horse

Bob: *is surprised* Oh, well you know how it goes. Changes in the house get run past the mother

Onyx: But dad if you said yes-

Bob: Wait until your mother is here

Previous Part ... Next Part

#sims 4 #the sims 4 #the sims #Rotation8 #ChangingPlumbobStorytime #PancakesHousehold #BobPancakes #OnyxPancakes #FergusPancakes #ElizaPancakes #HarveyFoster #KayleighFoster #simblr #R0805

[itsclydebitches]

Post-canon universe where Mary ends up becoming a tattoo artist.

It starts when Ed winds up visiting the Bonnet household. Maybe he went there after Stede’s “death” only to learn that the Gentleman Pirate is out looking for him. Maybe this is post-reunion and they’ve just popped by to check on the kids. Whatever the reason, Ed ends up hitting it off with Mary and is particularly enamored with her art studio because holy shit you did the lighthouse painting!

He needs a version of that on his body. Now.

And Mary is like, I’m sorry, Mr. Blackbeard sir, but the human body is a slightly different canvas from what I’m used to and I’ve never—

But Ed is already waving her off. You think pirates know what the fuck they’re doing either? Nah. You get a buddy sloshed on rum, promise him it’s gonna look great, tattoo something on his ass, and then keep out of reach when he first sees it in a shaving mirror. It looks like shit. Of course it does! But then you do it to someone else and it looks a little less shitty. Then again and again until hey, that’s some talent right there! So go to town. Can’t look any worse than what Izzy first put on his back.

By this point Ed has hopped up onto a table and pulled a kit seemingly out of nowhere. He’s also got his shirt off—this is fine—and Mary has to admit, some of his tats really are awful. Not all of them! But enough that she can precisely pick out where some drunk sailor was trying out a needle for the first time. And yeah, she could easily justify this through fear, telling herself that it’s not like she can say no to the intimidating, legendary Blackbeard. Dating Stede or not, the guy could slash her throat in an instant. Actually, dating Stede is a mark against any mental stability.

The reality though is that it isn’t fear that convinces her. Mary just looks at the spots of crappy ink and thinks, Fuck. I could do better than that.

So she does. 

Mary might not know tattooing yet, but she’s got an eye for art and she picks up the mechanics quickly. At her request Alma brings in a bottle of something far nicer than rum—casting an interested look towards the pirate that reminds Mary, with a trickle of worry, that she always was her father’s daughter—and they spend a surprisingly pleasant afternoon with Mary experimenting and Ed commenting on her paintings. Is that flower a vagina, Mary? Yes it is, god, no one else gets that!

Mary tattoos a lighthouse onto Ed’s arm, entwining it with one of his tentacles. It’s nothing fancy, but Ed leaves the Bonnet household pleased as fucking punch.

Which means, of course, that a few months later Stede shows back up (in a terrible disguise) begging her to give him his own lighthouse on the opposite arm.

Stede Bonnet, are you really asking for the symbol of our now defunct marriage after you left me, came back, came out as gay, and then had the gall to fall in love with the most dangerous pirate on the seven seas?

…Yes?

Yeah, alright, fine. Get on the table.

Mary has been practicing since she last saw Ed, discovering that she loves the permanence of tattooing—putting her art on a moving canvas; a part of someone’s very identity, not just their home. Though it’s hardly considered good form in their community, she even managed to find a tutor after promising Doug that she wouldn’t fall in love with this one. Or if she does, she’s not going to throw him over for the new guy. You should really talk to Stede’s friend Lucius, Doug. He has fantastic ideas about the whole thing.

Stede tells Mary all about their lighthouse fuckery while she works and she finds that this story is a damn bit more romantic than their awkward wedding vows. In the end, this lighthouse is far more detailed than Ed’s, with steadier lines and a bit of shading, and Mary can’t help but think that it fits their personalities quite well. Stede is so happy he forgets himself and plants an exuberant kiss on Mary’s cheek. She just laughs.

From there other members of The Revenge show up when it’s safe for them to sneak into town, all of them wanting ink from a member of their Captain’s family. Their family, now. After she’s given Jim a pair of crossed knives and Oluwande a small orange tree on his back; Frenchie a recreation of his lute and the Swede the notes of his favorite song, word starts to spread to other crews. Wherever The Revenge goes they show off their ink. Even when they don’t, Mary’s developing a style that’s noticeable in any tavern or seedy alleyway—far nicer work than what anyone else has got.

The first time an unknown pirate shows up on their doorstep in the dead of night, Mary very nearly stabs him with one of the knives Jim gifted her. She whisper-yells at the poor bastard about manners and coming during business hours, really, what is wrong with you? After a sheepish apology, she brews an obscene amount of coffee and inks a child’s portrait onto the man’s arm. It’s by far the most challenging tat she’s done to date and somewhere around 4:00am, bleary-eyed and energized, Mary thinks that she’ll never want to do anything else again.

More pirates come after that. Doug worries. Mary reassures. As a compromise, she starts taking clients while her widow group meets. The presences of nine or so women who have nothing to lose—alongside Evelyn glaring from the corner—is more than enough to keep even the toughest ruffian in line.

Which isn’t to say that every client is a good experience. Oh no. Mary learns and more importantly, she listens, figuring out which pirates have beef with an ally of The Revenge, or who would sooner sell out their own than part with a single coin. On the truly worrisome visitors, the ones who do nothing to endear themselves during the long session or any of the repeat visits, Mary adds a small flower to their designs. Just her signature, she assures them, but everyone on The Revenge knows that it’s a message: don’t trust this one, watch your back.

Most though are surprisingly pleasant to spend time with. Sweethearts just dealing with a fair bit of trauma, as her ex-husband might say. When they thank her and try to press purses into her hand, Mary just shakes her head. It’s not like she needs the money. Instead, she draws out promises that they’ll do right by The Revenge and its co-captains, should they ever cross paths. When her family visits, Mary hears many tales about the crews that unexpectedly assisted during a tough raid, offered a good deal on supplies, bought them all drinks when they came into port.

Mary is the laughingstock of the town. She’s the woman whose husband ran out on her to become a criminal and then didn’t even have the decency to stay away, instead dying in a thoroughly tactless fashion. She’s the woman who gave up a lucrative painting career to instead take up a lowlife’s art form—if it could even be called such—with all manner of scoundrels calling on her. She’ll end badly, wait and see.

Mary is beloved by the pirate community. She’s the darling of Blackbeard and the Gentleman Pirate, more than capable of holding her own with both. She’s the woman whose ink you want etched into your skin—always safe to visit, always compassionate, and unspeakably talented. She’ll go far, wait and see.

Of course, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Mary teaches Louis how to draw and makes Alma promise that she’ll finish her education before following her father to sea; she takes Doug to bed each night and with his encouragement visits Evelyn many afternoons. She’s happy.

Shockingly, so is everyone else. Mary isn’t entirely sure what to make of the waspish man who shows up on her doorstep one afternoon, but he’s easily recognizable based on Stede and Ed’s descriptions. Israel Hands has just three tattoos: the ace of spades to mark his time in the Navy, the swallow for a well-traveled pirate, and a lopsided cross on his cheek that Mary almost asks about, before thinking better of it.

He wants a fourth tattoo. A lighthouse on the back of his neck.

It’s been a long time since Mary first started tattooing. It’s not that she forgot about her previous lighthouses, of course not, but any additional meaning doesn’t register as she works up a design to show Izzy. After all, he’s a sailor. A pirate. Most of them want something to connect them to the sea and there are only so many objects that do that.

The placement is a bit odd though. Mary warns him that he’ll have to keep his hair short for the tattoo to show, shaving the fine hairs regularly. Izzy just grunts and mutters for her to get to it. Mary doesn’t realize the significance of him allowing her to hold a razor to his neck, in his blind-spot no less. At this point, she’s considered an extension of the only two allowed to do the same.

This lighthouse is perfect. After years of work Mary is easily able to navigate the muscles in Izzy’s neck; the thin scar that—she shivers—is just a little too close to his jugular. Mary knows how to make her art catch the eye when Izzy stands tall and how to keep it from looking absurd whenever he twists his head. She doesn’t know this man well, but Mary senses that this piece should be meticulous and detailed, not a single line out of place. So she pours everything into the image, holding Izzy steady with a grip he doesn’t flinch from.

It's only months later, when the family comes back to visit, that Mary realizes what she’s helped accomplish. Izzy stands between his two captains and from the back she sees that all the lighthouses are balanced, like the top of a nautical star.

Oh, Mary thinks as Ed slips a hand onto the small of Izzy’s back; Izzy leans his shoulder into Stede’s. There it is. 

#OFMD #Our Flag Means Death #Mary Bonnet #Steddy Hands #Izzy Hands #Edward Teach #ofmdfic

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

So I'm bored again and I've come to take it out on you per usual.

Now, since my last ask touched upon darker(ish) ideas, today I figure I'll give you some lighter soulmate prompts this time around, the ideas all my own but any individual soulmate au is just one I plucked off of the internet. I may or may not end up writing them who knows:

When your soulmate is hurt, you grow flowers wherever on your body it happened. Her whole life, foreign flowers have sprouted from Neytiri's flesh and she doesn't know why. His whole life, foreign flowers have sprouted from Jake's flesh and he doesn't know why. (Just a cute flower fic. Obsessed with the idea of these two trying to explain their respective planets' flowers to one another.)

Ao'nung and Rotxo have known they were soulmates since before they even had any actual clue as to what a soulmate was. They have been promised to each other for over a decade. They have a plan, a life they're going to build together. Neteyam was never part of that plan. A third soulmate was never part of that plan. (Just like the idea of Rotxo literally doing the gods' work. Ao'nung: why is Neteyam here? Rotxo: Oh, I just thought it'd be fun to bring him along. Ao'nung: to our make-out spot? Neteyam: . . . I can go. Ao'nung: yes. Rotxo: no. Neteyam:  👀)

Neteyam and Tsireya are not soulmates. Not by a long shot. Their soulmate might as well be duty, and if that means becoming mates for the sake of an alliance between the sea and forest people after centuries of conflict then so be it. They'll find a way to come together. (I love stories of people fighting against the path chosen for them, don't get me wrong, but every now and then a sprinkle of the opposite fascinates me and I think these two would be perfect for the concept.)

Jake was born with the sentence "you should go away" on his shoulder and the sentence "don't thank. You do not thank for this" on his upper arm. Tsu'tey was born with the sentence "nah, you'd miss me too much" stretched across his abdomen. Neytiri has the sentence "hey wait, don't" on her lower arm. It isn't until the two go to the Augustine school that they even learn what it means. (Love the potential this has.)

From the moment they meet it's as if they can read each other's minds. It takes months for Jake and Norm to pick up on the fact that Kiri and Spider can actually read one another's minds. (They basically know each other better than anyone else, might as well crank that shit up to 11.)

A one-shot where Kiri and Tsireya are literally the lighthouse of soulmate relationships and all of their friends come to them to receive advice about their own soulmates. (Really random pairing but tbh I can dig the energy these two would bring to the table if dating.)

Spider has known that Neteyam is his soulmate since he was 7. Neteyam has known that Spider is his soulmate since he was six. Neither of them have told the other yet. (Bonus points if Tuk is literally the only one who knows and keeps on trying to play cupid.)

And I'm out for now folks.

Also, random thought but I just realized how much literally everyone in atwow needs a Rotxo in their life like seriously you could pair this guy with anyone from the group and I wouldn't bat an eye. Kiri? I get it. Ao'nung? I get it. Spider? I get it. Neteyam? I get it. Lo'ak? I get it.

Good god, yes, we nEED some happy aus and you know I love love soulmate aus. I'll be waiting for you to write them, we're all waiting for your other stories Boredom Anon.

-Gotta say, I've never vibed with those flower wound aus because I have a hard time conceptualizing it. However, I adore the idea of Jake and Neytiri both explaining differences in their worlds to each other, but focusing on one type of thing. That's why I lOVE a daemon au for them, because the daemons would be animals that the other isn't used to and that's interesting.

-KSKKSKS THE IDEA OF AO'NUNG BEING TRICKED INTO THIS BY ROTXO. That's a pairing I have yet to see, I'll be honest!

-Honestly, as someone that doesn't care for Neteyam and Tsireya, I do love the idea of non-soulmates bonding. I've been thinking about it since the Spider ghost fic I mentioned yesterday. How many people's soulmates are dead and are ghosts? If it's a lot, they have to end up in some relationships. There's something so sad and beautiful about meeting someone who's soulmate is also dead, and building a life together that might not have been predestined and is also a little haunted, but still is nice all the same. Sorry, I'm still stuck on the ghost shit.

-lOVE Neytiri/Tsu'tey/Jake having first sentence soulmarks, I love the confusion of the Na'vi being confronted with English they don't understand on their children. I love it so much.

-Kiri and Spider reading each others minds is basically canon already, but it just would mean Spider can't hide all of his darkest feelings from Kiri. None of that loneliness or desperation for family can slip through the cracks; I think it would result in a Sully child revolution at a way younger age lol. If Spider being Kiri's soulmate didn't already change things.

-I have totally seen Tsireya and Kiri shit, they are super fun. I also loooove a couple that is flawless and in everyone else's business all the time.

-I think nocorro might have taken over locorro for me, but I cAN'T say this yet it's too much to do to my boys. This concept, man, it's got so much comedy and tragedy potential. It depends on what the soulmate au is, you know? Is it soulmarks, is it shared dreams or shared pain; what is is changes the outcome. I won't go into more detail cause I have something I'm cooking up that's a little similar to this, but I won't forget it, we'll come back to it.

As always, thank you for our soulmate au food boredom anon. I am lOVING them.

#i need more soulmate aus in my life #i need more nocorro fics in my life #neytiri sully #jake sully #jeytiri #ao'nung #rotxo #neteyam sully #tsireya #nocorro #miles spider socorro #spider socorro #tsu'tey #kiri sully #spiri #avatar #avatar the way of water #james cameron avatar #melissa's asks #melissa on avatar (cameron)

[starfxkr]

so ok lets talk foxypope duo in hollywood au now. they work tg all the time like there's a bajillion pap pics out there of them workshopping tg at cafes. and to boost work morale b/w them they'll dress all matchy-matchy for their cafe workshop sessions n look film twt eats it up; sm so couples are using their matchy looks as couple pfps

anyways so foxypope are a non-negotiable duo. they wont work on a project if the other is not on board bc tg they've curated such a specific vision. foxy is a horror geek so all the screenplays she pushes pope's way are in that vein. but now pope loves him a good psychological drama or thriller but he also loves foxy's vision ... remember she is his muse and while he may or may not explicitly say it she is at the heart/spirit of all of his movies so their movies have horror at the heart of it but under that psychological drama/thriller lens which is why i felt robert eggers was rly fitting for what their movies tg end up looking like.

i also feel like they end up going on a lot of research trips tg for their movies too. they pull from a lot of real-life horror (like how the lighthouse was inspired by an actual lighthouse incident back in the day) so they end up in these rly scary places like deserted lighthouses, abandoned churches etc. to get a feel for whatever story they're trying to work out at the time. ik they got the coolest stories to tell bc of all their research trips

-🐰

YASSSSS LETS TALK ABOUT MY BABIES

she's really his main driving force like pope realized this early on after his first movie without her flopped and he was like "nah we're the dream team we have to be together."

the pics of them out at cafes and scouting locations make people go nuts bc i think she still dresses like shit but in a "chic way" she's wearing rain boots with cargo pants and a giant leather jacket but the blogs eat it up and pope's always seen in the pics talking super animatedly while she's all cool and collected because you know she's already writing his ideas in her head.

they work so well because he's the only one who can practically see into her head and understand her exact vision. nobody else gets her like he does and atp everyone knows it. they curate such a haunting and visceral vibe in their work and they're both morbid people so it works but there's always an underlying romanticism. you cant tell me pope doesnt invent new lighting techniques just so her vision is executed perfectly.

they also frequently disappear for months or even like a couple years when working on projects they don't have a huge filmography for that reason because they're really taking their time. she writes for a couple shows and smaller films in between bc screenwriting really does pay well if youre established and work constantly tho (inputting my real knowledge here...this is looking like my current path.)

#✨.txt #pope heyward prompt #fox!reader #🐰 anon #hollywood au

[landwriter]

WIP Wordsearch Game: Director's Cut Extended Edition

Why not! Courtesy of @softest-punk and @moorishflower - thank you both for tagging me, please enjoy these excessively long excerpts for every word that was a match in the WIPs:

lonely—lighthouses “You’re off your nut. The only thing Keats and I have in common is that we’re broke.”

But later, halfway out the door, leaving for his own lonely apartment, he finds himself asking, “Keats and Shelley were friends, weren’t they?”

“Yes,” says Dream.

He leaves Dream’s apartment with the words What he has offered me is generous, circling around and around in his head like a dog chasing its tail. I would offer the same, he thinks. I would offer more. Anything. He imagines Dream and his mystery love meeting in the cover of darkness, meeting in cars, in parks, imagines Dream’s lips slick with spit instead of grease, and at the end, each time, the other man, who he pictures as older, chiseled, clean-cut — who must surely have a wife — reminding him he loves another, and Dream nodding, serious, straight-backed as his settee. He wonders if they kiss each other. He hopes they don’t.

small—lighthouses “Trying to kill me,” says Dream, sounding scraped raw.

“Nah,” Hob says, handing the soup back, “I don’t think I could do a good Adonais.” Dream looks at him. “Your throat must feel like shit after that. I’m gonna make you some tea. You got honey?”

Dream nods minutely. He’s wearing an unnervingly soft expression that Hob puts down to him being terrifically, deliriously sick. He puts the back of his hand against Dream’s forehead. “Well,” he says. “No fever, at least.”

“Are you sure?” asks Dream, still staring at him. Hob feels a heat of his own spring to his face. He can’t even kid himself that Dream is just asking. But he’s sure Dream would regret it later, and there’s no way Hob is going to take advantage of him when he’s sick, and he - he tells himself he respects himself too much to be used as a surrogate for Dream’s man, for the one he loves and the one who isn’t here to check if he’s okay, to feed him soup and rub his back and want desperately, desperately, to suck his dick; and it’s not strange to want to do all those things, is it, to want to give him every small pleasure there is of life until he recovers.

He wishes they were both feverish. Wishes he was a slightly worse or significantly better person than this. He drops his hand.

“Yeah,” he says, after a weird, too-long silence. “You’re good. Where’s the honey?”

taste—lighthouses “God,” he says, sounding helplessly reverent. “I’m so fucking crazy for you, man. I’m- I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you.”

And Dream smiles, soft, and moves for him, hooking an arm behind Hob’s neck and bringing him close, pressing their bodies together, and Hob feels Dream’s naked chest rising and falling against his own as they kiss, and thinks, I love you, I love you, I love you, and he’s sure Dream can taste it in his mouth.

“I know what I want to do with you,” says Dream.

nose—lighthouses “You,” he says, nuzzling into Dream’s stroking, newly spit-slick hand, trying to gentle him, but he won’t be gentled now, not for anything, “Needy for you, for you, nobody else was the same, nobody else was close.”

Dream’s mouth has fallen slack, eyes glazed with lust. He focuses them, barely, on Hob, “For me,” he says.

“For you,” he promises. “Haven’t even made it with anyone else. Wanted you.”

Dream goes still and breathes in sharply through his nose.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“If you keep talking like that, I’m going to come, Hob.”

right—lighthouses “I’ll wait,” he says, standing so hard on the knife edge of truth and discretion he thinks he won’t be able to walk away from this, or walk ever again after it. “I’ll wait a hundred years for, for him.”

“You’re too loyal, Hob.” Dream looks disappointed with him. He wonders if it’s obvious, how fucked he is right now. He wonders if his want is rolling off of him, like fog, if Dream sees it. Or feels it clinging to his skin, damp. If he’s repulsed. He doesn’t want to be pitied. Not by Dream. Not for this. There’s nothin’ wrong, being loyal. Nothing wrong waiting.

book—shaper of forms He does not so mind the crowds, with Hob by his side. It is less of an awful clamour, without the dull roar of daydreams. But his own thoughts are louder, even with Hob holding his hand.

He looks at a book display and accidentally catches his own gaze instead. His window-self looks at him in scorn. Gaunt, it assesses. Frail. Weak. As they pass the next shopfront, he glances over again. And again, and again.

Each reflection is a jolt, a shiver, like a wing’d shadow over water. A fish-fear. Nightmare blotting out the sun. Announcing his new station to the world: you are helpless, you are helpless, you are- Helpless. You are only this. Nothing more.

After, he cannot stop looking, resolved to confront himself until he no longer feels surprise and pain at the sight, but a part of him, too, foolishly hoping to see himself restored in the next window. It is the way humans sometimes unconsciously beckon the same dream of missing something over and over, compulsively looking in the Dreaming for what awaits them in the Waking world: their brake pedal, their destination, their child.

This is not a dream. His loss is his own.

tea—shaper of forms Nightmares, he knows, are important to humanity. He is certain this is what is missing. Fear.

Three nights later — long, he thinks, but perhaps none of the Nightmares he created himself would dare visit their former lord, something he cannot resist finding flattering — he feels an innocuous dream start to turn from under him. He’s in Hob’s kitchen, making tea. His hands tremble and the cup slips and shatters on the floor. He knows he will not catch it in a dream, so he does not try. The puddle of black tea spreads across the floor, suddenly thick and ichorous, and then turns milk-white. At first, he is fascinated.

Then the Nightmare who has been called to his sleeping mind rises out of it with hair and suit the same colour, and teeth for eyes. It is not, he thinks, an especially creative choice. He is certain it is not the Corinthian himself.

Certain, until the Nightmare places a gentle hand on his cheek and says, all friendly impertinence, “Wanna hear a joke? Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.”

#wip word search game #absolutely gratuitous amounts of excerpt #have already done a round and tagged my victims so will not tag further #literally VIBRATING to work on shaper of forms again soon after reading these bits omg #must get up the nerve & time to finish oaths first <3 #the sandman #dreamling

[crimson-phantom-designs]

As beautiful as these episodes were -I must know- when are we going to see the auxiliary wardrobe?!

Is Stede's clothes still in there, maybe a few Ed couldn't part with? The robe Ed loved to romp in? The lighthouse painting? Why hasn't Stede been seen going in there yet? Or anyone for that matter? Is it being kept as a secret treat for later in the season as a parallel to them first bonding going inside?

I know they really haven't had a chance to assess the state of things with taking care of Ed and the spiral of events that followed but you would think that would come up. He went to the empty library right away and asked about who destroyed his portrait immediately.

Maybe Ed broke the latch off in a manic rage and it can't be opened. X'D Does Izzy widdle a new latch for it then? I know Ed had replaced the original one with a skull at one time.

It honestly would be hilarious if in a calm moment Stede just repines how he misses his clothes and hated losing that red jacket because he really felt himself again. And Ed just casually replies.

"What are you talking about? You still got your clothes."

Stede furrows his brow to stare at him. "Ed, please don't tease me right now, I know you got rid of all my things when-" He sighed long, looking away. "Just let me wallow a moment, I'll be fine."

"Nah mate, not teasing. Just uh... can't get to um right now..." Stede's expression tensed further, getting frustrated by all this as Ed add. "You know how to fix your wardrobe thing?... I been trying but the latch thingy is tricky."

Stede eagerly scoots to the side of the bed he was sitting on. "Ed what are you saying?..."

"You noticed it was broken but yeah you're stuff's in there I couldn't part... I mean, pretty your winter coats and summer linens... and a few things... Just the latch is broken so I couldn't get the door working again like I fixed the cabin door. We could see if we could-"

"Get Izzy. He can hoof kick the damn thing in, you better not be joking." Stede had already sprung up with exploding excitement. "Chist, Edward! Why didn't you tell me?!"

"You didn't ask." Ed grinned.

#our flag means death s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #blackbonnet #ofmd

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for wanting to date a girl?

There’s this girl who’s beautiful, smart, and loves blue. We dated for awhile but then broke up because she wanted space, but then I saw our future together reflecting in the ice and found a djinn and made wishes to impress her but things went really wrong and now we’re stuck in a lighthouse together and she doesn’t like how pushy I am about our future together because she feels like everyone is trying to decide who she should be but I love her and we’re meant to be together, I can’t see myself with anyone else and I know she likes me somewhat, and it’s not bad to love someone and want to be with them so AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

[aerodaltonimperial]

that spooky lighthouse au epilogue

(idk man i re-read this fic and was like oh, i love that universe still, that was so much fun to write, maybe i should write a little ending? so here you go.)

Darby wakes before the sun.

At this point of the season, not that much before, but enough that the glow coming in through the blinds is still a muted, reddish hue. It’s learned behavior, really; he was always woken up when something went wrong, or when the lighthouse turned itself on, and now, the instincts are slow to fade. Except that now he wakes up and stares up at the textured ceiling tiles of a just off campus apartment that’s far too small for the amount of people currently living in it.

There’d been a nightmare at some point last night, the kind that worms its way down into his bones. He runs a hand over his face and sighs. Then he rolls over to slide his arm across Jack’s waist. Jack is an indulgent sleeper—he never fails to curl around Darby’s hold, scooching back against him without waking up. He’s the sort of person who has never had to worry about his well-being while he slept, never had fear tickling the back of his neck even in his dreams.

Darby envies him, but more than that, he’s determined to make sure that stays true. He curves himself along Jack’s spine, slotting his knees behind the other’s. Presses a kiss to Jack’s shoulder, the little bit of skin peeking out from beneath his shirt collar. Sometimes, Darby can fall back asleep and catch another hour or two. This morning is not one of those times.

When it’s obvious he won’t be able to get any more rest, Darby slides out of Jack’s grasp and creeps quietly out of the room. There’s only one main room, separated into the living room and the kitchen; counter space is severely lacking, but neither Hook nor Jack seem to be much for cooking. The coffee maker holds a space of honor in the corner. The timer hasn’t switched on yet, so Darby flips it manually.

He’s sitting on one of the unpainted kitchen chairs, staring out the sliding glass door, when the door to the other bedroom opens. Hook makes it halfway out before he realizes Darby is there. Then he frowns, blinks, and sets his phone on the counter. “You’re up early.”

“So are you,” Darby returns.

Hook shrugs. He’s dressed in shorts and a tank. “Going to the gym. Can’t sleep?”

“Happens sometimes.”

Hook nods. He goes to the fridge and pulls out a bottle filled with an obnoxious green smoothie, one of those ridiculously expensive things both of them tend to buy without even thinking. He seems as though he’s getting ready to leave, but pauses before he hits the door.

“Hey,” he says, to get Darby’s attention. “I know you saved his life. So...thanks.”

“Thanks?”

“He’s annoying as fuck, and I swear he doesn’t have an ounce of sense in his head, but he’s my best friend,” Hook says. “I don’t know where I’d be without him. So. Yeah. Thanks.”

Darby nods once, slow. “You’re welcome.”

“You’re still an ass,” Hook tells him.

“Feelings mutual.” Darby jerks his head back towards the bedroom door. “He up yet?”

“Nah. He’s pretty lazy sometimes.” Hook doesn’t bother to wave when he leaves, just grabs his keys from the holder nailed to the wall. But the coffee is done, so Darby gets a cup. It’s some organic brand; the bag boasts that it was grown, like, beneath only blue lights that had been locally sourced in dirt flown in from a tiny island in the Pacific or some shit. Darby doesn’t know where the hell they buy this crap. Tastes good, though, so maybe he shouldn’t complain.

Halfway through the cup, Danhausen wanders out from the room. He squints blearily at Darby for a moment before waving a hand. “Ah. Good morning.”

“For an all-powerful entity, you sure would be easy to kill in the mornings,” Darby says.

Danhausen grumbles out something unintelligible when he goes to the counter to hunt down a clean coffee mug. “Yes, yes. Be sure to put a big neon light up when you invite things in. Danhausen will hardly be the most interesting specimen in the apartment.”

When Darby makes a face, Danhausen offers a wide smile. “Darby has been touched by an otherworldly. He is considered a delicacy in some realms now.”

“So has Jack.” Darby frowns.

“Huh,” Danhausen replies, with overly false surprise. “An added bonus.”

That makes Darby think a little. He takes another sip. “You keeping everything away?”

“Perhaps,” Danhausen says. “But it is not a full-time job. We are not very high on anyone’s lists. And right now, Danhausen will go shower, so that we remain that way: unnoticeable.”

Darby doesn’t really know what a shower has to do with not being noticed by dangerous entities from other worlds, but whatever. He finishes his coffee, pours another cup, and goes out onto the balcony. Dawn has broken, painting the sky red. Here, they are far enough from the coast that the smell of the sea is hard to pick up, but Darby lived his life by the brine, and he’d know it anywhere. It’s strange to be looking out over the morning and not hear the roar of the waves or the screams of the gulls.

Eventually, the door slides open behind him, and Jack pads out onto the metal. “Hey. When did you wake up?”

“Not that long ago,” Darby replies.

“I’ve only got Lit and Calc today, so I’ll be back early.” Jack leans over the railing, both elbows propped up against it. “Wanna hit somewhere near the beach for dinner?”

“Sure.”

Jack studies him, chewing on his bottom lip. “You okay?”

Darby turns, back hitting the rail. He loops an arm around Jack’s shoulders, mostly so he can pull the other in closer, press his face against Jack’s hair pulled back in a messy bun. The coconut scent of his shampoo is strangely grounding. His t-shirt covers none of his arm, the tattoo that’s still healing to hide the shadowy marks that will never go away: overlapping ocean waves against the rocks.

Against his better judgment, Darby misses those rocks.

But he’s here, standing on a balcony overlooking the sprawling student apartments that carry far too high a rent, drinking overpriced coffee that Hook will bitch about having to buy more often with more people drinking. Darby drops a kiss against Jack’s temple as Jack curls in closer, fingers sliding up beneath the hem of Darby’s shirt.

“Yeah,” Darby murmurs. “I’m okay.”

And for the first time in maybe forever, he really means it.

#Tag so you don't lose this shit #aaaahhhhh i missed this little universe so much #this was such an absolute BALL to write

[istilldontunderstand]

15 people, 15 questions @dummerjan, my dear, thank you for tagging me <3 guess who's scrambling for any drop of ambition or interests that may not even lie within me and (as well actively avoiding and postponing) looking for a job *sweats in indecision and lack of knowledge about anything* ANYWAYS 1) Are you named after anyone? After my grand grandmother.

2) When was the last time you cried? Not exactly sure, might be when I was freaking out about finding a job the first time or the new years eve 'no idea what's happening in my brain but I'm unhappy' slight crying session for no reason.

3) Do you have kids? Nah. Perfectly fine interacting with small kids of other people when I'm not overwhelmed but certainly not planning on having my own. Ever.

4) What sports do you play/have you played? I love table tennis. Also dancing. But anything what is considered 'sport' sport with all the 'I need to have achievements'? Not a fan xD

5) Do you use sarcasm? Usually when I'm feeling bitchy. Sometime I cannot quite control it.

6) What's the first thing you notice about people? Maybe how they look? What kind of mood they're in? Something like that I suppose.

7) What's your eye color? Brown.

8) Scary movies or happy endings? Happy endings. I like my peace and I love my sleep. Get scary movies out of my sight.

9) Any talents? I can make it that spoon hangs from my nose without being attached or held (does it make sense?) I'm bit out of practice but I can sing.

10) Where were you born? In a hospital.

11) What are your hobbies? Right now making fanart, crocheting, sewing and watching bls.

12) Do you have any pets? Had a dog, but she passed away.

13) How tall are you? 168 cm

14) What was your favorite subject in school? English, Arts and crafts and Chemistry.

15) What is your dream job? (what a fitting and hard question for someone who's looking for a a job rn) The problem is that everything interests me but I'm not good in anything. I would say probably illustrating books, being a lighthouse keeper or hobbit gardener.

No pressure tagging <3: @tuuliii @astrarche-x @dragonflavoredcake @theelfmaiden @linka-r9-vysocina @the-vegetation-in-question @fizzyxcustard @saphieve-rosa @icelilyz @ifeelsotiredbuticantsleep @helenepeyrous @allthegoldinerebor @dropthedemiurge @theflagscene @tswizzlesfan

#I'm completely useless to capitalism #tag game

[some-anonymity-preferred]

Way behind, doing it anyway!

1. When did you discover OFMD? A little later than everyone else. I think I started watching it after all the episodes had dropped, and people were talking about the Gay Pirates.

2. What was your first impression? I didn't quite hate it, and I wasn't sure I'd watch past the first three episodes. That was a surprise to me because I like Kiwi humor. I think the problem was I'd been hearing all about how the show was Amazingly Gay and the End of Queerbaiting and a Big Gay Romcom--and that's just not evident the first time you watch the first three episodes. Amazingly Gay gets a reasonable start, to be fair, and all of it is impossible to miss on rewatch. But the first time through, the End of Queerbaiting and a Big Gay Romcom feel like ridiculous oversells. And even with all the casually depicted queerness in the first three episodes, its amount of Amazingly Gay felt like not enough somehow? It might be partly that Stede presents as such a Camp Gay, and Thor Ragnarok made me a bit suspicious of Taika's handling of that type (in retrospect, that was almost certainly the fault of the MCU). That said, I was totally here for Taika, and he doesn't fully appear in the first three eps.

3. First OFMD pic in gallery

Nah, I'm not going all the way back for that. Here's the most recent still OFMD pic I've reblogged:

4. Reasons you like OFMD I love OFMD for all the reasons I thought I wouldn't make it past episode 3. 😂

I love the pervasive, matter-of-fact presentation of queerness in all its rich variety. I love the Big Gay Romance, and all the other supporting queer romances. I love the Revenge family. I love their deep, multifarious, matter-of-fact diversity. I love that these characters exist within and sometimes rub up against a world that, like the one we know, is deeply antagonistic to them. I love that OFMD handles racism with the same gently brutal realism as it does anti-queerness. Those two elements of the show break me so hard, in such a good way. I also love the hard switch Rhys gives Stede between Bumbling Bumbler and Daddy in Charge, and I love how he adapts it as the situation calls for. (It's literally the biggest thing that convinced me to keep watching despite my misgivings. It takes 20 minutes into S1E1 to first see it, and then, damn.) I love Ed's wet cat energy. I love Stede's hair. I love Ed's hair. I love the Revenge. I love the shifting flashbacks and dream/story sequences. I love Izzy as an antagonist, and the painfully realistic toxic relationship between him and Ed that fuels the antagonism. And I love how Izzy constantly shoots himself in the foot. I love all the supporting male characters of color: Frenchie and Olu and Fang and Roach and Ivan, and how most of them are big guys and are so sexy and I just....yeah.

5. Favorite main character

Ed. I am Ed coded to the absolute max. And he's sexy AF, in all his guises.

6. Favorite supporting character(s)

I am both glad and not to see that "(s)." Could I choose just one? No. Since I am allowed to choose multiple, is it going to look like I'm naming the whole cast? Yep!

Top of the top: Frenchie.

Followed closely by Olu, Mary, Lucius, and Fang.

Honorable mentions: Roach, Nana, the Swede, Buttons, Evelyn, and Alma.

I also love the native community on shipwreck island, Hornberry, and Mister "We Could Have Made Magic." (Jim is too past-me coded for me to love, and Jackie doesn't rate for me yet; I suspect both will change with season 2.)

7. Songs that remind you of your fav characters

Halsey's The Lighthouse is my Stede abandons Ed at the dock theme. Elza Soares' Coracao do mar and Phoebe Bridgers' Motion Sickness also remind me of Ed. White Flag by Joseph for Stede. Here's my OFMD playlist:

8. Underrated character

Frenchie. Frenchie does not get his due in this fandom, and it's a damn shame.

9. Character you resonate most with

Ed, hands down.

10. Character you hated at first but grew to love

Buttons

11. Favorite duo

Frenchie and Olu

12. Scene that made you laugh

Frenchie naming the Pyramid Scheme

13. Scene that made you cry

The bathtub confession

14. Favorite episode

S1E5, The Best Revenge is Dressing Well

15. Favorite quote

"Have you ever been sketched?" --Lucius

16: Favorite line delivery

"Your face." --Roach

#30 days with ofmd #ofmd

[thiswasinevitableid]

Strange Days (Indruck)

The winner of the mer and humans on land poll was: A lighthouse keeper who doesn’t believe mer are real

“You sure you don’t wanna keep him?” Duck stares at the Newfoundland on the steps of the lighthouse. The dog stares back disdainfully. 

“Nah. Beacon’s a good dog, but my place ain’t big enough for him. Besides, it’s good to have one of those around in case you gotta rescue folks. Or you fall in.”  Leo pats him on the back, “you’ll be fine. You got a good head on your shoulders.”

Duck thanks him and says his goodbyes as the former keeper gets on his horse and rides inland. Then he walks up the stairs into the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse, where he’ll be the keeper until…

Well, until he gets tired of it or dies. Leo had been keeping it since 1880, and after twenty years decided to leave the Graveyard of the Atlantic for somewhere a bit less windswept. 

After ten days of learning the ropes from Leo–and getting growled at and knocked into by Beacon–Duck prepares himself for his first night alone. Winnie, the mouser, meows at him from the steps of the staircase to the lamp. 

“Yep, guess it’s just us three.”

“Mew.”

He stares up the spiraling iron walkway, “Wish I could say that suits me fine. But I’m a shit liar.”

“Bwoof” 

“Coulda done without that agreement, Beacon.”

—--------------------------------------------------------

“It’s just by the lighthouse. You can’t miss it.”

Indrid is glad Barclay gave him that detail when directing him to his new territory; the outer banks can bleed together after a while, and being relatively new to the whole area means he’d rather not make enemies by unintentionally stepping on someone’s tail. 

He makes a full circuit of his new home, waving to Dani when she swims by on her way home. He can unpack his few belongings soon; it’s warm and calm enough this evening that he doesn’t feel like being cooped up. 

Once on the surface, he floats on his back and soaks in the sun. In his old haunts he wouldn’t have been so bold; the Colds held territory near old whaling and fishing communities up north and as a result had made a lot of enemies by ripping holes in nets or tipping over boats. Showing his face as a mer would have meant someone trying to shoot him or catch him to sell to a sideshow, as Barclay calls them (he’s been reading human newspapers more lately).

But here, on a stretch where the only visible structure is the lighthouse and the beaches are empty, he feels no fear of being in the open. One of the selling points his friends made when talking him into moving south was that this patch of sea is dangerous for ships, but safe for those who can be beneath the waves. Which means fewer fish being chased off and fewer people trying to throw nets on him. 

(Besides, since he can see the future, he has some chance of knowing when danger is coming).

He drifts and daydreams so long that the light is now beaming across the water. It transfixes him, and he climbs up onto a still-warm rock to better observe it. There must be a human in there, perhaps more. It seems a lonely location, even miserable if it becomes as story as they say. It must be a certain kind of human who is willing to take such a post. 

Indrid knows it is good manners for both humans and mers to offer gifts when you move into a neighborhood. If he and this human are to live so close, perhaps he ought to make a gesture of goodwill. 

Now if only he knew what to offer….

—-------------------------------------------------

Duck is walking the beach at the base of the lighthouse, not thinking of anything in particular, when a shine catches his eye. On a nearby, half-submerged, rock is a pile of silver. When he picks it up, it cascades to reveal a necklace studded with gems. There hasn’t been anyone on the beach all morning, and this was placed here. Not lost. 

“Plus sometimes when you’re up there you get a glimpse of a mermaid.”

“Leo, I ain’t a kid. Or a sailor who’s gone too long without, uh, company. I don’t believe in mermaids.”

The older man smiles, “Keeping the light can change some things.”

There’s no mermaid leaving treasure from sunken ships for him to find. This was just tossed here by the waves. 

He tucks it in his pocket; it’s not a bad start to a nest egg. 

—-------------------------------------------

Indrid ducks back under the waves. The human liked his gift. And stranger still, Indrid rather liked watching that human, with his dark hair and round, friendly face, accept something Indrid had chosen for him. 

If he leaves enough acceptable gifts from afar, perhaps the handsome creature will allow him to offer some in person.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

This is weird.

Two days ago, Duck found a massive Marlin, still alive, on the same rock where he found the necklace. Since he wasn’t lacking food, and felt kind of bad for it, he managed to toss it back into the sea. 

Today, he’s found a basket of fresh oysters. The basket is green, almost like it was made by seagrass. 

Once again, there’s been no one on the beach for more than a short stroll, let alone someone equipped with a boat to dive from. 

Yeah, it’s strange alright. But he really likes shellfish. He can even cook them on the beach for lunch.  Even if they’re probably washed off from a boat somewhere and definitely not left by a mermaid. 

Three nights after the oysters, Duck is in the gallery, checking everything before the lamp is lit. In the sea below, a human face and chest emerge, watching the lighthouse. The man doesn’t seem to be in distress, and it’s calm enough today that there’s been a few swimmers. 

That has to be what he is. Because Duck refuses to believe the silvery tail glinting in the sunset belongs to the swimmer. There’s no such thing as mermaids. But maybe he needs to request more books from town before his imagination completely gets away from him.

—------------------------

Indrid has just finished leaving clams for Duck when there’s a splash behind him.

“Damn it, Beacon, I told you, you don’t gotta fish people out if they’re just swimmin’!”

Indrid trills, failing to gain speed before a large mouth closes gently around his arm and begins dragging him onto the shore. The futures suggest that a struggle will lead to injury, and so he resigns himself to an undignified entrance. 

The dog shakes himself off as the lighthouse keeper hurries down the beach. 

“Sorry, uh, sir, he gets a little overeager when it comes to help….” The charming drawl peters out as the human notices his tail. 

Indrid waves both that and his hand, “Hello. My name is Indrid. I am your seaward neighbor.” He pats the dog's head, “it is nice to formally meet you both.”

The human says nothing, just stares at Indrid’s tail with his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. 

“I brought some clams today, since you prefer shellfish to swimming ones.”

“....You’re a fuckin mermaid.” He murmurs. This close, Indrid can see one of his eyes is blue, the other brown. 

“Just mer is fine. We come in a wider variety than man and maid.” He cocks his head, “are you alright?”

The human sits down in the sand, “Leo was right. Y’all are just swimmin around out there.”

Indrid shifts so he’s sitting rather than on his stomach, “My presence bothers you.”

“N-yeah-uh, I, I don’t feel, uh, fuck, strong one way or the other? Fuck.” The human removes his hat, brushing sand from the top, “Look, uh-”

“Indrid. And you are..Duck? An interesting name.”

“It’s a nickname. How you know it I got know clue. Look, Indrid, it ain’t personal. In fact you seem real friendly. But I spent my whole life trying to tell myself this kinda thing is just old wives tales. I feel all…outta sorts.”

“Ah. I see. I will leave you in peace. I know what it is like to feel as if you have unwanted company.”

“It ain’t even that. If I’m bein’ honest, I don’t mind company. I just need a little time to take it all in.”

“Shall I…come back tomorrow, then?” 

“Sure. Just not too late, I gotta make sure I’m minding the light when I’m supposed to.”

“Very well. Just after that bell in town rings noon?”

“That works, yeah.”

“Should I bring clams or oysters?”

Duck meets his eyes with a bemused, but friendly, smile, “Wouldn’t say no to some snapper.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

“Can you hear it from there?” Duck calls out the window of the keepers cottage. 

“Yes!” Indrid grins at him from the beach, then continues turning his catch—a massive flounder–humming as his silver tail gleams in the sunlight. 

Satisfied that they’ll be able to pick up the second episode of The Outlaw on the radio while they eat an early dinner, Duck heads out to join him, two bottles of Coke in hand. Indrid adores sweet drinks, and if Duck could bring him a strawberry phosphate from town, he would. 

Since Indrid became an undeniable element of his life, Duck has seen him almost every day for the last two months. And if he’s honest with himself (or with Winnie, who listens as he fusses over all this out loud), when he doesn’t see the mer for a day or more he gets worried that something has happened to him. 

The Outlaws theme blares to life as Duck divvys up the fish. Usually the two of them will talk during dinner, but after the first minute of action Indrid’s focus is entirely on the radio, and he barely eats until the program is over. When the announcer says to tune in next week, the mer gives an indignant chir. 

“But I wish to know what happens now. Will the sheriff simply ride off now that the outlaw has let him go? Or will he follow him into town? What if they never see each other again??”

Duck chuckles, “guessin they will, if only so they can make more episodes.”

“Promise you will let me listen again?”

“Of course, ‘Drid. I like your company. Pardner” he exaggerates his accent on the last word and Indrid laughs.

“You would make a very dashing lawman. I assume.”

Duck nudges his toes against Indrid’s tail “Thanks, but this life is plenty exciting for me.”

The mer goes silent for a moment, then he asks, “Duck? Why were you so bothered when you first knew of me? Is it because that is too much excitement?”

“Not exactly. I’ve had…weird stuff happen to me most of my life. Blue, glowing women turn up in my bedroom. There are lights in the sky near my hometown no one can explain. A friend of mine when on some scientific research trip and swears that something bit him and that he can’t remember what happens to him on the full moon. And all I ever wanted for myself was a quiet life. To do what made me happy without the fear of it all bein’ upended or dangerous. The weird shit always made me…nervous. Maybe that makes me a fool or coward but…I dunno.”

“I do not think it does.” Indrid moves closer, “I left home for the same reason. To not be looking over my shoulder all the time. But…since strange things have found you..perhaps you and he could look out for each other?”

Duck wants to kiss him. Red-brown eyes are so earnest, so hopeful, that he’s certain he could and Indrid would melt in his arms. 

Beacon howls from the house as a warning comes over the radio of a storm. 

“Dear me, it’s early.” 

“Guess I better get my ass in gear. You gonna be okay?”

“As long as I am deep enough, it will not catch me.” Indrid takes his hand, rubbing it against his cheek, “take care, Duck.”

“I will. I’ll see you when it’s over.”

—-------------------------------------------------

Duck takes back every single bad thing he’s ever said about Beacon. The dog’s barking is the only reason he goes to the door of the lighthouse and looks out. In the roaring, ripping wind and rain, a figure has been tossed to the rocks at the base of the house. 

Indrid. 

He drags the mer inside, nearly being blow off his feet. He’s glad he’s kept up the floor of living quarters in here, and even gladder that said room is only three floors up. 

“Fuck, fuck, ‘Drid, can you hear me?” He lays the mer on the floor, his chest and tail scratched and bruised from the rocks, “goddamn it, you told me you were gonna stay deep!”

“There was a future where you Winnie slipped the door and you went after her and drowned.” Indrid murmurs, then chirps in pain, “I wanted to be here in case you did, so I could, could save you. The wave took me by surprise. I am sorry.”

“Why are you fuckin sorry, you got hurt because of me.”

“Yes, but you now risked your life for something strange, which I did not wish you to do.”

Duck cradles him closer and kisses him once, gently. Indrid trills, surprised, and then purrs and wraps his arms around Duck’s damp shoulders. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, that’s the worst fuckin moment for this but I just...’Drid, you may be the weirdest fuckin’ thing in my life but you’re also the best. Everyday I wake up happier because I know I’ll see this fuckin’ stunnin face in the waves, looking for me.”

Indrid kisses him, tasting of the storm, “And everyday I surface with a heart lighter than the sun because I know you will be in the lighthouse.” He strokes Duck’s cheek, “my brave keeper.”

Duck rests their foreheads together, “Don’t that work out nice?”

“It does. And since you are about to ask, yes, please get the bathing tub you’ve been keeping outside; the collected water will be enough to wait out the storm. And after that…well, I have some ideas for how to pass the rest of the day.”

Duck trails his fingers up Indrids’ tail, savoring the way it flexes under his touch, “I’m all ears, darlin.”

#indrid cold/duck newton #indruck #mermay #duck x indrid #human/monster romance #taz amnesty