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lunar-system · 3 months

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Izzy Hands: The Moon.

Re-imagined from the traditional Ride-Waite-Smith tarot, this version of the Moon shows Izzy taking the shape of a lone Lover, longing for what he cannot reach.

Longer exploration of the card's symbolism under the cut.

Symbolism of the card

I initially meant this card to be specifically Izzy's, but he is once again unseparable from Ed. Though the moon itself is depicted as Ed, it is through Izzy that I interpret the journey of the card. Feel free to invent your own interpretation as well!

In the original version of the Moon we see a dog, a wolf, and a crayfish. Izzy takes the place of the wolf, marking him as wild and untameable. He is accompanied by a dog, symbolizing his loyalty. The crayfish has retreated, and we can see a monster lurking in the depths of the water, reminding us of the beasts that lie within.

Rachel Pollack (2011) writes: "The Moon signifies the dangerous time between the end of one world structure and the beginning of another. On the emotional level it can indicate the strange state when something powerful has ended and you find yourself thrown back on your instincts."

In the card Izzy already has his wooden leg. He his stepping into his role as the Unicorn, marking a shift in his loyalty and his place in the world. His reign as Blackbeard's first mate is ending, and a whole new world order is being imagined.

Ed is also seen in a new light. With his short beard, he is at the end of his captaincy, possibly even at the end of his piracy. He as the Moon is illuminated by the light of the Sun, personified by Stede in another card, The Sun.

Izzy bears witness to their combined light, unreachable to him on the ground. He teeters at the edge of the water illuminated by that very light, and is faced with a choice. Will he turn, follow the path and try to reach the unreachable? Or will he explore the unknown waters in front of him?

In tarot, water symbolizes emotions, intuition and subconscious. Pollack writes: "Here in the unknown territory our animal selves take over. We cannot suppress the wild emotions but only travel through them." The message of the Moon beckons Izzy to step into the water and face his emotions.

However, there are also dangers in the murky waters of the subconscious. Pollack continues: "The Moon card calls forth powerful dreams, visions, and the power of the feminine." In tarot water is a feminine element. Izzy, a beacon of masculinity, has in the past confused the feminine with the monstrous. He is now dared to invite the feminine within him to the surface. His posture already mirrors that of the feminine lover from the Lovers-card. It also calls back to the Fool, to someone at the beginning of their self-discovery.

Tl;dr: Izzy, the Fool and the Lover, is on a journey from one world to another. Will he follow the path and try to reach the unreachable, or will he find the courage to plunge into unknown waters?

A comparison between the original Rider-Waite-Smith card from 1909 and the re-imagined version

Izzy's pose mirrors the feminine Lover

Sources

Image source: Pamela Colman Smith, 1909, republished as Tarot of A. E. Waite, 2016, AGM-Urania, Germany

Text source: Rachel Pollack, A Journey of 78 Steps, 2011, as cited in the booklet for instruction and guidance of Tarot of A. E. Waite, 2016, AGM-Urania, Germany

#there is even more symbolism in the lighthouses that are topped with the domes from the Tower but it's so much already #it's about the journey between life and death #ofmd #our flag means death #izzy hands #edizzy #steddyhands #blackhands #i'm tagging this as ships cause i ship them all and i made this with shipperly intentions #even if it's not like explicitly shipping content #ed teach #edward teach #blackbeard #gosh i went to some deep waters with this myself #i mean there is so much to interpret here #is izzy shooting for the moon with ed? has he lifted ed high on the pedestal himself?#what does it mean that the water is lit by moonlight?#to me this is the point in fics where izzy does not yet know how he would fit in the steddyhands triangle and doesn't see it possible #and maybe it won't be unless he accepts some things and allows himself to feel #but it can also be read that he needs to let ed go #in either case water is discovery and acceptance #i am planning to make ed the star and stede the sun as well!#my fanart

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ratcandy · 3 days

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happy lesbian visibility week . everyone say hi to Lumi, who is now visible

For those brave souls wondering, "Who is Lumi?" well let me tell you. Lumi is a character that is referenced exactly once in-game offhandedly by the current Lighthouse Keeper, with an unused sprite to boot,

and she and Monch kiss each other very passionately by the fire, and nothing goes wrong in their lives ever ever. (To clarify, Lumi isn't her canon name, it is the name I have bestowed upon her. It's also never stated that this unused sprite is/was the old leader of the lighthouse, but that is the headcanon I'm running with. Just to avoid any confusion!!)

and if you're thinking to yourself, "Hey wait a second, isn't that one off-handed bit of dialogue about how the previous leader of the lighthouse was murdered by the Fox?" well u'd be right. but don't worry about it :)

SHe and Monch are holding hands and kissing and whatever else people who love each other do. Why? Because they love each other very much. Thank you and goodnight <3

#ALRIGHT. Time to let tumblr know about my self-indulgence.#clamart #cotl monch #um. how do I tag lumi. I did not think of this. She's not like. Technically an OC? She's a canon character but like. Halfway. Sort of.#I don't want to use the lighthouse keeper tag 'cause then she'll get confused with the Current One . Hmm. Let me know what you think chat #cult of the lamb #and yes for people who have been paying attention to my tags. this is 🔥🌊. you can tell which one is which I'm sure HSDGKLJDSH

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wanderingcas · 3 months

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i haaaate when you get excited about a fic idea, plan it, and then when you sit down to write it it's like PULLING LITERAL TEETH. this is just the beginning. shouldn't it FLOW, dang it? ughhh.

#i was spoiled with the lighthouse fic #it was a less complex plot and i had a clear direction for it #this one's more of an undertaking and i'm like 'it's worth it' but... is it lol #sam rambles #cult cas fic

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givemewallywestorgivemedeath · 1 year

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So Mermay is right around the corner…

…what I’m saying is it’s a good time to talk about eel mer AUs again.

Oh hey it is!

Man, I'm still so into submarine pilot Hal Jordan with his crew of green submariners who contract out for the army and do top secret stuff underwater. I'm picturing all the GL's as expert divers who do search and rescues and treasure hunting in their down time and bomb defusal/trench scouting/spying for the army when on contract.

I don't even think this is a real thing but I'm picturing them all in little green mini subs. Like individual ones. Like fighter jets but subs.

Anyway, they're out on a job because the bigger army subs have been getting static interference from an area underwater and they need the experts to go check it out.

What they don't know is that the static interference is coming from Barry, local electric eel mer, who is suddenly stuck in one location because he's got a small child to look after and hunt for.

#(its a really good thing that Hal and Barry met when they were kids. because otherwise their meeting wouldn't have gone well)#(Hal was stuck at Alan Scott's lighthouse for a few summers for bad behavior. and that beach happened to be lil Barry's playground)#I'm thinking Barry straight up doesn't know what to do with lil Wally. cause lil guys are supposed to be near the surface #and just rely on camo to not be killed or eaten #but Barry is honestly more worried about people. who have radar. so he doesn't want to leave Wally alone.#so Barry's electricity is off the fucking charts because hes soloing hunts (they're supposed to hunt in packs)#WHILE ALSO KEEPING HIS KID SAFE #I'm thinking he's got the mer equivalent to a baby carrier or something lmao. Wally's like nine but he's little so he looks smaller #anyway i love this au its fun #mer au #the flash #kid flash #wally west #barry allen #hal jordan #green lantern

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flowercrowngods · 6 months

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part 1 | ao3

shattered on the cliff’s edge, trapped by the tides

— a steddie ghost story —

part 2 / 7

Soaked through by the icy water and the howling winds, and weighted down by shock and fright, Steve’s legs may as well have been made of lead as he, slowly, with a racing heart, accepts his fate and enters the lighthouse.

He flinches, hard, when the door falls shut behind him, as if pushed by an invisible force, and he flinches again when a wave crashes violently. It’s almost as if the lighthouse is shaking with the impact, but maybe that’s just him.

“Okay,” he breathes, whispering because he doesn’t dare to speak any louder, lest the unending darkness might be disturbed — and something tells him that it wouldn’t take all that kindly to that. “Okay.” Once more, with feeling.

Before he can move and find an oil lamp or even just a candle to bring some light into this place, something thumps from somewhere up the stairs he cannot see.

He knows that, just like ancient manors, lighthouses have a life of their own, knows they’re prone to moving and moaning along with the tides, with the wind and the water — but that was not the settling of wood or metal. That was something else.

“Hello?” he calls with a trembling voice, closing his eyes at the echoes of his own voice travelling up and down the tower he is being made to call home for the foreseeable future. “Is— Is anyone there? I’m… Well, I’m Steve.”

Images fill the space behind his eyes, horrible visions of the old keepers luring him here to murder him, out of sea madness or cannibalistic urges, or just to have a bit of entertainment out here, just for a while. Other images, then, of ghosts coming to haunt him, to drive him to the brink of madness, to the railing all the way up on the tower, and watch his descent into—

Another thump. The sound of a door opening, the wood groaning, the hinges creaking, everything insists the lighthouse protesting its new inhabitant.

And then, through the pitch black darkness, a whisper. Travelling down towards him, growing louder as it comes closer and closer and—

Steve takes a step back, his breath coming in shallow rapidity as he reaches for the handle and finding it unmoving.

Run, the whisper says, sounding more like an inhale than anything else — and is the air getting thinner? Run.

Another wave crashes into the lighthouse.

Run.

The whispering voice is in his head now, loud for all of its tonelessness.

Run!

Steve stumbles backwards, his body too frozen with cold and fear to catch his fall. His body collides with the wall and he slides down, covering his ears with his hands to keep out the noise, to keep out the world as he tries in vain for the fear to subside.

“I’m sorry,” he says, hiding behind his knees like a little boy, scared of his father’s raised hands and his brothers' gloating. “I’m sorry, I mean no harm, I’m just— I’m here to fix the light. I’m here to make sure it’s— everything’s, everything’s fine. I don’t mean to disturb, I’m sorry. I’m Steve. I’m sorry.”

Everything stills then — or maybe it’s the cotton in his ears and the staccato of his heart that drown out everything else and remind him that he’s painfully, desperately alive. And mortal.

But the whispering stops, and so does the groaning up ahead, and silence falls. An unnatural silence, not even broken by the ocean waves outside.

It’s like the lighthouse has stilled to listen to him.

It’s something Robin told him once (or rather, debated at him while he was letting her rant wash over him in a whiff of fondness for his best friend in the whole wide world):

“Ghosts don’t know your intentions, right? So it’s only fair to communicate with them. It’s you breaking into their house, after all. Well, unless they’re haunting your house, but even then it’s fair to assume they have been there all along and you either deserve the haunting and had it coming, or you’re just the poor lad caught in the crossfires. Either way, worth a try, right? If even those still alive assume the worst, I would think an eternity spent in the aether is unlikely to be beneficial to your judgement of character.”

Steve had waved it off then — or, in his case, smile patiently and waited for her to answer his initial question from half an hour ago before she went on a tangent on aether and ghosts and the supernatural; she’d been spending too much time in the library.

“You learn a thing or two about haunted houses, growing up in a family such as mine,” he’d said, and then, “Dinner?”

A pang splits him down the middle, regret and uncertainty tearing at him concerning Robin’s wheareabouts and her safety. She must be safe. She must be!

“They say you don’t like— you, uh, strangers. The locals said you don’t like when people come here, so I’m sorry, but… I’m sorry. I have to fix the light. I’m Steve.”

It’s madness, it must be. Early onset, although his father would have a thing or two to say about that, would claim it had always lived in him, would claim the way he looks at men is proof of that and reason enough to have him hanging in the streets.

It wasn’t madness back then, Steve knows, vehemently, desperately knows. But this? Talking to a lighthouse, speaking into the darkness like it’s sentient even just a minute after he first set foot into it? It must be. He’s never been superstitious, has never been prone to ghost stories or supernatural appearances like Robin.

But something about this place, something about the way it has been haunting his dreams, something about Old John capsizing is enough to make even the calmest man lose his wits.

Something tells Steve that talking with the darkness is the right thing to do, if only for his own comfort.

He looks up, his head thumping against the brick wall behind him, as steps approach. They still, right in front of him, and he’s staring into nothingness, almost expecting to make out a shape. Expecting for the next breath to be his last.

Expecting… something.

But nothing happens, and the sound of the ocean returns. The darkness seems less impenetrable as a sliver of light falls in through a side light up above.

“Thank you,” he says, as stupidly as it is soundless, his voice buried beneath fear and dread.

Miraculously, the darkness seems to fade a little more.

Enough, eventually, for Steve to get up and dust off his trousers in an attempt to look presentable, or to shake off the residue of his fright — if only it was merely residue.

Now that the darkness has lightened, he keeps his eyes fixed to the spot where he feels like he can make out a shape in the dust. Maybe it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, though, maybe it’s just the expectation of finding a spectre that makes one appear.

Madness, he reiterates. But something about it doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t feel mad. And the steps never receded. If they were not an illusion, something created to steal the grounds from beneath his feet, playing with his senses to warp his perception of reality and the truth, then something — someone, quite possibly — is still standing right in front of him.

He looks on even long past the point of impolite staring, searching the dust for a shape that only appears in his periphery when he moves his eyes.

It feels rather undeniable, though, that someone is watching him.

“Hello,” he says at last, having regained some of his voice and footing. His hands clench by his sides, though, his body revolting against speaking with an apparent ghost.

The darkness doesn’t answer, and neither does the dust. But with the memory of urgent whispers still on the forefront of his mind, Steve is almost grateful for it as he carefully reaches for his bags and stars to move so slowly that it might almost be a mockery of the situation if his legs weren’t so shaky.

The weight of an invisible gaze rests on his shoulders and settles in the bones of his neck. It takes everything in him not to rub at it — he has no idea what the darkness would take offence to, and he already feels incredibly lucky to have made it this far with his life still intact and only his sanity and his pride having taken a crack along the way.

He thinks of Old John again, thinks of Good luck, kid. He almost asks the darkness about him, but he bites his tongue just in time. The stairs are steep and if he fell, given an invisible push, chances are he wouldn’t remain as alive as he is right now.

So he swallows and feels his way along the wall up the stairs. When he finds an oil lamp, he reaches for the matches in his bags — blessedly dry — and lights it.

It’s almost blinding, the shine of the flame that sets to illuminate the way, but Steve feels his gaze drawn to the foot of the stairs where the spectre is still framed by the door. Still appearing to look at Steve.

Stalemate is one thing to call it, maybe, this tension in the air, the weight of their gazes accompanied by the stumbling of Steve’s heart and the trembling of his hands.

Steve swallows and continues with his ascent of the winding stairs, never once losing the feeling in his neck. He finds more lamps along the wall and lights them until they lead him to a set of chambers that in any other lighthouse would have been down at the bottom or even in another building altogether, leaving room in a large house or a tiny hut for the keepers to reside in. But none of that is possible out here, in the middle of the sea, towering on top of cliffs that already make it nary impossible to get here.

The lighthouse is prone to flooding if the wind shifts or the ocean remains ruthless in a storm, so everything needs to be located above the threat of sea level.

He finds two bedchambers, the beds unmade, a richly stocked pantry that will last him several months if he keeps it locked away from wet air, and an almost inviting kitchen. A burnt smell wafts from the oven, grown stale over time but a certain bite has never quite managed to air out, and when he takes a look, he finds what was supposed to be bread still in there. A coat hangs on a rack, another is hung over the back of the chair, and another stool has been thrown over.

It looks for all intents and purposes like someone was just here. Like someone is still here.

What happened to the old keepers? — That does not concern you.

A shiver runs through him and he tries not to succumb to the terror that seems to lurk inside these walls as he starts a fire in the hearth. He is exhausted, adrenaline rushing from his body and leaving behind only apathetic tiredness and a longing for rest. He doesn’t even remember the light, his head filled with fog and exhaustion.

Once the fire is going and he is sure there is enough coal for it to last all night and keep him from freezing to an early death, Steve falls into bed without dinner. He only has enough strength not to retreat into a dead man’s unmade bed, instead finding new bedding and linen to make it his own.

He doesn’t sleep on that first night, but he falls into a haze thick enough to be unable to move as the whispers return, knocking and hammering along the walls almost rhythmically, as if waiting for a signal.

There is no time, they say, though he cannot be sure the next morning if he dreamed that or if he really heard it echoing along the walls.

Run. Leave. There is no time.

Tick.

And the night remains dark.

tagging: @klausinamarink @steviesummer @auroraplume @dragonmama76

#steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fic #stranger things #dio words #spooky lighthouse au #if i tell y'all i am writing these things on my phone within the last hours of the day... :p #i have never done anything spooky so this is my lame attempt at eerie atmosphere i hope i succeeded i hope it doesn't suck #steve will be more in character soon but for now he's stressed and scared and haunted hope that helps #ao3 will take a while to update sorry #i feel like this one's vastly different from part 1 in tone and pace but i'm trying not to obsess over that as i still regain my words #tried to keep this one shorter than yesterday’s hence the rather abrupt ending sorry bebés

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 6 months

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hey hey!!! I've been working on a seminar for Escape the Plot Forest 2023 all week & happy to share that y'all CAN SIGN UP NOW!!! all the details are in this community post I made on youtube, but TL;DR: my event broadcasts at 10AM EDT on October 25 (this wednesday) & you can watch it for FREE (the free tickets allow you to replay up to 24 hours after the broadcast I believe).

my seminar is called "plotting through emotion: a surprising way to plot as a pantser" SOOO it's built for the character-driven lovelies. <3

in the youtube community post I also posted a link to a coupon that'll get you an all-access pass for free also (which means you can watch the summit whenever you want). you can also buy the pass through my affiliate link if the coupon runs out (max 50 people) but like!!!! the coupon!!!!

just wanted to share on here bc it's a really great resource and lots of people have asked in the past about more online educational resources on writing! anyway not meant to be an ad, just wanted to share in case some of y'all might want to attend!

#& yes I'll post the seminar to my channel when I'm allowed to!!!#some really amazing talks on there like there's one about using highly emotionally charged scenes as LIGHTHOUSES for PANTSERS??#LIKEEEEEE #i participated in a seminar that was hosted by the same folks in march and it was GREATTTT so!!! if u have been wanting to attend #something like this - here you are!!!

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moregraceful · 3 months

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#i should post the pregnant cat side fic on ao3...that was a really tender side story

I’m currently Jennifer Lawrence asking what do you mean? What 😭 do you 😭 mean? But without the pressure. I, too, have been frustrated by my lack of writing. If you ever feel like sharing even a scrap of that little side story, even just sharing bullet points, I would eat that shit up. But no pressure!! I’m even thankful you even posted the original story. I am also clearly, not afraid to shoot my shot lol

no omg please. i love to talk about my fic and your photoset is like the nicest thing anyone's done for my fics unprompted. it makes me so happy...thank YOU!

i had to go 21 pages back in my #unfortunate birdcage fanfictions tag to find the fic. i am always so happy to share it because i love it as a little scene, and then am always so distressed none of my metadata and cataloging classes in library school actually changed any of my social media behaviors so my blog is and will always be an absolute nightmare to navigate. lol anyway!!: god is a small pregnant cat in the sun // “and we’re all too small to talk to god” // jamie meets a cat

rest under a cut bc i suffer from fatal can't shut up when someone shows one iota of interest in my fic disease...

i was eating yogurt tonight and pondering this au after your ask!! and as with everything i write for hrpf, it's always in a constant state of evolution, when players come and go or i rewatch miyazaki films or w/e. but here are some thoughts i had, unrelated to jamie and jared:

tomáš is a grizzled fisherman with a kind heart, who spends most of his time fishing alone

future captain matty sells tuna's fish at the fish market but he sucks at it bc he's too nice to old grandmas who want nice fish but pretend they don't have enough money to buy it (they do, he's just a dummy). tuna has to hire a second person to help, but unfortunately that person is will borgen

obviously will and captain matty are harboring enormous crushes on tuna and deal with it by acting out (juggling fish across the booth to make him shout at them)

in the past i have said joey daccord is a gardener for chris and philipp and this still true, however sometimes i think he helps out with the early morning shift at the mccann bakery and will load like bread and cookies into his truck and take them down to the fish market so that....

eeli can sell them at his jam stand. eeli's jam makes you feel one of two emotions: unbridled euphoria or catastrophic depression. you never know what is going to happen. two jars of the same strawberry jam can alter the trajectory of your life in two different ways. and much like pregnancy, once you eat it and have a horrible time, it releases endorphins and then you're like actually that wasn't so bad, and you go back to his jam and mccann bakery bread stand and he looks at you beatifically and says, oh you liked it? :)

And then of course for Jared and Jamie:

most critically the one single time jared makes it out to the lighthouse (VERY sneakily bc like...that's a worksite lol harbormaster grubauer is kind but not soft) to Spend The Night, they obviously have very dreamy tender night time sex but ALSO the ghosts are quiet and jamie sleeps through the night without waking ONCE because that's true love babey!! jared ofc does not sleep at all because foghorns are loud lol

i outlined a longform version of this fic uhhh in dms with @bakingblues once i think, where jamie is veteran of (unspecified) armed conflict and he is running from what he did (also unspecifed) and he like is like i must punish myself and live alone to atone for my sins (unspecified but knowing me it's probably like...the Inherent Cruelty of War and not like anything that would get him tried in the hague) which is why he takes a lighthouse job. and in the whole fic it's totally unclear if he is being haunted by ghosts (real) or ghosts (ptsd). and ofc jared's gentle and constant love for him does not like Heal him but as with all love it makes the ghosts easier to bear

lorna prompted me a million years ago with jamie + jared + seashells i think? or oyster shells? and i never finished the fic bc i'm the worst but here's how it goes: one time after a storm the island is COVERED in oyster shells, like hundreds, maybe thousands, of them, and it was a bad bad bad storm and the ghosts were so loud and jamie didn't sleep at all and he's so tired and so lonely, but he's not scheduled to leave the lighthouse that week. so instead of doing his work, jamie spends the day picking up dozens and dozens of the most intact oyster shells. and he very patiently figures out how to drill holes in them and string them together with fishing line and it takes him all day but by the time it's time to turn on the lighthouse light, he has made a big intricate windchime for jared and his cousins. and when he finally makes it off the island three weeks later, he gives it to jared and his cousins. they all are soooo charmed and the girls hang it outside the door of their bakery immediately even though that is so excruciatingly embarrassing for jamie. however jared gives him the kind of hug that makes you fall in love with a guy and jamie, well, he's got a soft heart.

thank you for sending this ask!!!!

#i'm having a week that defies human comprehension so i made a small impulse purchase of 3 of that fancy yogurt that comes in clay pot #la fremière???? at the normie grocery store #HELLOOOO that yogurt turned my entire day around #i'm so glad i bought more than one lol but i'm trying to savor it #but it's so like. wow so there is a world beyond chobani...amazing...#anyway i just think. obviously this entire au is miyazaki coded so no brands but maybe eeli secretly sells idk. cream in clay pots #and the clay pot cream is an aphrodiastic #i'll say no more #unfortunate birdcage fanfictions #no but fr thank you so much for asking i appreciate it so much!!!#oh my god i just realized this au DID have an aesthetic tag #lighthouse tag #you know how tumblr used to save tags...i miss her

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saltpepperbeard · 3 months

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David Zaslav (derogatory) is about to get a gay-ass card 😌💅

Here's more information on how to send a postcard/greeting card (it works internationally!) [x]

And here is my text in case anyone would like to bounce off it:

Hello Mr. Zaslav, Just writing to tell you how much I adore the beautiful property that is Our Flag Means Death. It impacted me in way I'll probably never be able to fully articulate. As a queer person myself, the closest comparison I can make is that it felt like coming home. It felt like entering a large, warm, wonderful house, and feeling right at place. I have truly never been so in love with a piece of media, and so seen within it. So, for that reason, I respectfully implore you to reconsider your decision in regard to the third and final season. David Jenkins has always said that he intended the show to be three seasons. He gave us these wonderful characters and their silly little world, and wanted to see them through to the end. And as do I! Please; allow the third and final season to exist as intended. Allow our home to stay standing and sturdy. Allow this beautiful piece of queer media to carry on forever more. This type of representation matters so much, and the love within it carries more weight than any amount of money could buy. So please, please; reverse the recent decision made, and renew Our Flag Means Death. Thank you so much for your time.

#OFMD #SaveOFMD #RenewOFMD #Renew as a crew #OFMD Season 3 #Be a lighthouse #I'm like 99% sure this won't make it into his hands #But even getting it SOMEWHERE to WB would be lovely #SOMEONE is going to have to see it and see the ~*~gay~*~ of it all HSJKDSDKLS

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shineemoon · 1 year

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When time passes and anxiety swallows you No matter when, I’ll steadfastly protect your night I'm still by your side, always (© trans: 5hinee25tar)

#SHINee #onew #lee jinki #circle #this song is making me an emotional wreck just like lighthouse #if he sings it at the concert I'm not gonna survive 😭

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cctinsleybaxter · 2 months

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Original plan was to spend the whole month on that video but I really got hyperfocused on it; sorry to my other adult responsibilities I need to rotate this 2 second clip of Robert pattinson having the worst jerk off sesh in human history like it's a piece of fencing in zoo tycoon

#(i'm not going to make this unrebloggable but behave)#i felt like i was physically performing an exorcism and then midway through got ANOTHER idea for a song i actually love #so uh. watch out maybe?#the lighthouse

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groovyinsects · 3 months

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random doodles

#insecta #1930s toon #insect oc #insect #potl #phantom of the lighthouse #reid #mcvee mansion #vaughn #olive #meh #the vaughn and olive doodles are from my thumbnails for my mcvee animatic #looking at the olive pics makes me think of those “which mood are you feeling today” posts #so which olive am i feeling today--i think a bit of no. 4 #though usually i feel i'm the most like olive no. 2 pfft XD

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wanderingcas · 11 months

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title: where there is darkness pairing: dean/cas tags: historical au (1950s), angst with a happy ending, gay but in sepia

Posting a (long) sneak-peek of this fic, because I'm getting restless not sharing this. Enjoy!

***

As with most things in his life, Dean has a love-hate (but mostly hate) relationship with this lighthouse.

It’s easy to take care of on sunny days and clear nights, but it’s grueling during a storm or fog. Sun shines through the window in the midday, providing warmth, but it’s ever-loving cold the rest of the time.

It provides him with shelter from the outside world.

But it traps him in, like a caged animal.

Love, hate—day in and day out. And right now, standing against the railing of the balcony with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips and the wind whipping at his back, it’s hate.

The light’s ready for the dusk that’s beginning to settle on the harbor. Dean’s cleaned the lens and brewed the meths. He turned on the tap, set a match to the mantle. The routine is so familiar, he could do it in his sleep. The light rotates behind him, illuminating his back briefly before turning its watchful eye to the rest of the harbor.

Bright, dark. Bright, dark. Around and around like a carousel.

Him and this lighthouse go way back, like a bad relationship that he can’t quit. When John moved him and Sam to Kittery and started work on this light, Bobby would bring Sam and Dean to visit during the fortnightly supply runs. Every visit was like a further punch to the gut to remind him of what he’d lost. It wasn’t like the light they’d all lived at when Dean’s mom was alive, with a cozy house that always smelled like freshly baked bread. This was a cold, sterile environment that smelled like three guys living in close quarters. And John—

He could barely look Dean and Sam in the eye when they visited.

After a few months at Whaleback, John seemed to relax into the work and his smile came more easily, but Dean would smell the whiskey on his breath.

After a while, Bobby stopped taking Sam and Dean at all.

The lighthouse took John and swallowed him whole. During his brief few days of shore leave, he’d just sit with a bottle at the table. Dean came to dread it, since it meant that the money he’d squirreled away in the coffee can on top of the cupboard would inevitably be pilfered for booze money.

Dean doesn’t know why he’s thinking about all of this, or about John. Maybe it’s because of where he’s currently standing.

Muttering a curse, Dean pulls the zippo out of his pocket and lights the cigarette.

“Got you.”

Dean turns as his brother comes onto the walkway, collar popped and hands deep into his coat pockets. His cheeks are already pinched red from the cold.

Dean adopts an easy posture, arms settling on the railing as he leans back with a grin. It hides the bitter taste of nostalgia still on his tongue. “I said I wanted to quit, not that I was going to quit.”

Sam rolls his eyes, then joins Dean at the railing. “Light all set?”

“Yup. Everything’s good. Go get some shut-eye.”

“I thought it was my shift tonight.”

Dean shrugs a shoulder. “Not tired. I can take the whole night.”

“You took the whole shift last night, too,” Sam says with a frown. “What about that chamomile tea Bobby brought last week? Did you try that?”

“Not drinkin’ a flower. I’ll sleep the old-fashioned way.”

“Clearly that’s not working.”

“I’ll take the shift tonight.” Dean levels his brother with a stare. “Okay?”

Lips twisted into a frown, wind sweeping at his hair, Sam suddenly looks like a younger snot-nosed version that had that same miserable look when Dean tried to tell him that Dad volunteered himself for a double shift that month. Before the Coast Guard took over during the war, things were more relaxed—less regulated. John was able to take all the double, triple shifts as he pleased, drinking himself stupid with all the bootlegged liquor in the cellar.

It always upset Sam, when their dad didn’t come home. He was a sensitive kid.

Just like all those years ago, Dean’s heart is punched out with a desire to make that frown leave Sam’s face.

“You wanna sneak back with Bobby tomorrow when he comes for the supply run? Go see Eileen? I can cover things here.”

Sam rolls his eyes with a scoffed laugh. “That’s a pretty terrible first impression to make on the new keeper Bobby’s bringing in.”

Fuck. Dean had forgotten about that. “That’s tomorrow?” he asks with a wince.

“Yes, and we need him to last more than a week, unlike the last guy. Otherwise the Coast Guard is not going to let us have a say in who comes or stays anymore.”

“Last guy was a pansy,” Dean grumbles around his cigarette.

“You punched him in the face, Dean.”

Dean glares out at the thin line of the distant shore and doesn’t reply.

“Since you’re a vet, they’re taking it easy on us,” Sam continues, “but Bobby was talking to someone up in a higher rank the other day and—I think this is our last chance.” He clears his throat. “Your last chance.”

“The hell you mean?” Dean asks, drawing up to a straight back. “They’re gonna sack me?”

“Move you, I think. To a solo light on the shore.”

Dean throws up a hand. “Well, fine. Let them. What’s the problem?”

There’s that miserable look again. Sam won’t raise his head as the unspoken words hang between them. Dean stays silent, challenging Sam to say it.

“You know what the problem is, Dean,” Sam quietly says.

Yeah. Dean knows. He knows that without Sam, Dean at a solo light would probably end with him hanging from the rafters.

Blowing out a drag of smoke into the wind, Dean hunches back over the railing. “I’ll try,” he concedes. “But if he’s a dumbass—”

“Then I’ll train him,” Sam interjects. “You don’t even have to be in the same room as him. We’ll put him on the early morning shifts, make him sleep in the afternoons.”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Make him stay in the service room listening to the radio.”

A grin forming on Sam’s face, he adds, “Tell him that shore leave is ten days instead of four so he stays off the lighthouse for longer.”

“Yeah, the Coast Guard won’t notice that.”

“Whatever it takes for you to cohabitate with this guy, I say we do it,” Sam says with a shrug. “Get creative.”

Dean makes a move to flick the stub of his cigarette away; Sam grabs his arm to stop him. “I just cleaned the landing, Dean.” With a scowl, Dean tosses it into the ocean instead.

Sam runs a hand through his messy hair and sighs, the disapproval evident in his frown. “Need anything before I go down to the bunks?”

“Nah. Get some sleep, Sammy.” Dean gives his brother a smack on the chest in dismissal. “I’ll wake you for the morning shift.”

“Okay, but actually wake me this time. Don’t let me sleep in until nine.”

Dean taps out another cigarette from the carton he fishes out of his pocket. “No promises.”

“And let me actually make breakfast tomorrow, too!” Sam calls before he disappears through the door.

“I would if your eggs weren’t shit!” Dean barks back. His words are snatched up by the wind. He turns back toward the ocean, clicking the lighter as he holds it up to the cigarette butt. “Seriously, who raised you?”

Blowing out another puff of smoke, the cigarette still caught between his teeth, Dean eyes the shoreline. Their new keeper is probably staying at Bela’s place, if it’s still even running. The inn nearly went under last year after her parents declared bankruptcy. He ran with her a few times in high school before he cut town—she was sharp around the edges. Misunderstood. Just like him.

He remembers the new guy’s resume. It had stood out to him among the rest, mainly because he seemed the least qualified. Didn’t make sense at all why the Coast Guard chose him as the new rookie, when five men before him—way more experienced, to boot—didn’t last.

No family, no money. Maybe that’s why they took him. That’s better, for these stag lights—bunch of single men with no families means there’s a better chance of them staying. It’s why the Coast Guard is itching to get a new keeper for the light, what with them eyeing recently married Sam, and Eileen, who’s in the family way.

It would make more sense for Sam to leave, get a position at a light with a house. Where he could see his family every night.

What Sam and Dean used to have, before Mary died.

Dean runs a hand down his face, letting out a curse. Whatever the word is for wishing for a time that he can’t get back to, ever—that’s what tonight is. Memories he didn’t ask for turning around and around in his head like a wheel. That’s what the sea does when you look out into it: shimmers back at you, showing you what you want to see. And sometimes what you don’t.

The door behind him creaks open again. With a grumble, Dean lets out a breath of smoke, a reprimand on his tongue for Sam to get the hell to bed.

A bang echoes through the air.

Dean drops his cigarette in surprise, whipping around to face the door. It yawns open, mercilessly blowing in the wind, banging against the side. Dean strides over to it and pulls it firmly closed before it breaks one of the windows.

The lens, green and opaque, flashes across his eyes; he squints as the light rotates away. Turning back to the railing, spots dotting his vision, he sees a shadow.

One taller than him, broader; stumbling toward the railing with a groan.

Dean closes his eyes, briefly; chest constricting. A trick of the light. It happens.

“It’s haunted!” one of the failed keepers had shouted as he stuffed his clothes into a carpetbag, stumbling down the stairs. “This place is fucking haunted!”

But that keeper had got it wrong—it wasn’t the lighthouse doing the haunting.

It was the person inside of it.

***

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#destiel #destiel lighthouse keepers au #literally i'm sitting on 5 chapters and want to start posting SO BAD but i want to wait until it's 80% finished #it's killing me guys lol #so i hope you liked this little bit of it

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