Farewell Sweet Girl

[ ] He looks [ ] and he looks [ ] again. [ ] and the moon [ ] looks [ ] He looks at the moon [ ] and [ ] quiet. [ ] "And the plane still crashes."

blackout poetry of a fantastic fic called cockpit resource management by @theminecraftbee. i was really hoping for another conjunction but thats the fun of erasure isnt it! this section is so striking in the text that i couldnt help giving a poem a go

✨ Gem and the Scotts ✨

Inspired by The Hesitant Fiancé by Auguste Toulemouche

🍉🍉🍉

Stellar death

My gift for @saltyr3mix as part of the the @mcyt-halloween gift exchange. 🎃🎃🎃

Day 2: Sail/Soar

The first thing i thought of when i saw the prompt was paper airplanes and paper boats,

My own Mean Gill. And I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

—

Guess what I finally watched! Here’s a baroque-inspired take on Martyn’s betrayal~ (Plus it’s mermay, so, merman Scott! Why not haha)

May 4, 2024 - CNN writes about how the mean anti-genocide protesters silenced a lone counter-protester at the University of Pennsylvania:

How did they silence him, you ask? They drew a circle around him in chalk, and labeled it "Designated Dingus Area":

A fog has rolled in. 

She’d first noticed while cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, Pearl long gone. Gem couldn't blame her for leaving as soon as she did; she had a long day at work. It was something about the mail system breaking and troubleshooting for five hours. It sounded exhausting. Gem was happy to clean up by herself if it meant he got some rest- by god, did he deserve it.

She whistled to herself as she wiped down the table, the mindless task not keeping her attention very long. Her eyes wandered to the window in search of anything more interesting to focus on, when she noticed the thick mist obstructing her view of the beach. Her eyebrows furrowed. There wasn’t any reason for fog tonight, given that a heat wave had passed through earlier that day. But she wasn’t a meteorologist; who was she to know why it’d be foggy? Gem let it slip from her mind. She had better things to worry about than a simple bit of fog. It was nothing the lighthouse couldn’t fix. 

Gem rinsed her rag and shook it out to dry before moving on to the door, sliding on her boots, throwing on her coat, and grabbing the lighthouse key from its hook. As its keeper, she had to make sure the lighthouse was up and running every night, a routine she’d become quite familiar with these past few months. 

Outside felt more foreign with the dank, chill mist of the fog, a stark contrast to the warm, still evening air earlier that night. She was glad to escape it when she reached the tower and its winding staircase. Though, she wasn’t saved by its embrace for long before she reached the top. The chilled air made her shiver when she opened the door, and she made sure to pull her coat tighter around her. This was fine; she didn’t have to be up here long anyway. 

The lighthouse keeper made her way to the lamp inside of its glass enclosure, flicking on the switch and watching it blink to life. The light’s beam illuminated the fog, yet she could still barely see. Gem frowned, hoping the ships could see, at least. 

She made sure to grab the bucket filled with bottles of cleaning supplies and rags, and decided to get to work. Turning back to the door, she could swear eyes were peering at her from the corners of the fog, watching her every move with a searing scrutiny. She whipped her head to the side, finding nothing there. Unease settled into the pit of her stomach. 

It’s just your mind playing tricks on you, Gem. You’re stressed, you didn’t get a lot of sleep and the fog’s only creeping you out, okay? She hoped what she said to herself was true.

She had almost forgotten about what was freaking her out in the first place as she continued her duties as lighthouse keeper. That is, until she heard the whispering. She had been on the outside walkway of the tower, cleaning the rails when it started. A shiver ran down her spine as a mirage of voices murmured in her ears, faint enough to not be able to make out what they’re saying. Faint enough to not know if they were real. 

Okay, fuck this. 

Anxiety flared in her chest, causing her to heave for air as she frantically threw her cleaning supplies into their bucket. Sure, she was brave Gem who ran the lighthouse by herself, but she wasn’t stupid. She was probably having a nervous breakdown. It was the stress. Her job was getting to her. She would just take the rest of the night easy and stop by Doc in the morning to double check if anything’s wrong with her. 

Gem fully ditched her bucket and headed to leave. A single, dim light cut through the haze of the night in the distance. Grian. Of course, leave it to him to be her saving beacon in a time like this. 

She said her thanks and prayers to any deities she could think of as she practically sprinted down the stairs, almost tripping once or twice. Gem was barely thinking as she undocked her boat, sailing across the river for company. She just needed to not feel so alone right now. Hopefully the man’s presence would calm her, even if just slightly. Gem thought it to be unlikely, but she could at least hope.

She found Grian in his usual spot on the dock. He’d built a small hut beside it since she last saw him- about a week now, she guessed? He’s still fishing, just like their last time together. Hopefully, he’d be in a better mood now. 

Gem docked in front of him, only being lit by his dingy lamp, which is even less bright due to the fog. She could only tell that he noticed her by his curt nod in her general direction. 

“Grian?” Gem started tentatively, leaning off the side of the hull. She wasn’t sure what might provoke him. “Have you seen anything…” Gem trailed off, wanting to avoid informing him of her experience. She wasn’t sure why, but something told her not to tell him, “unusual? Lately?”

He shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong to me.” She looked him over. Deep bags have settled under his eyes. He looked exhausted. “Why?”

Gem hummed in response. “Nothing, just wondering if you were alright with the fog and everything.” No response. She shifted on her feet in a wish to stave off her unrest. “Well, um. Goodnight?” He only grunted. Alright? Weird, but what was new with him?

She moved to undock and sail back. Gem gripped the wheel tightly, a restless, agitated feeling rumbling in her gut. Something didn’t seem right, something beyond her anxiety. 

The boat continued along the water, when a shape emerged from the fog- something she could swear wasn’t there ten feet beforehand. A large, jagged rock appeared in her headlights, seemingly out of nowhere. She cursed, panickedly swerving to avoid it. A terrible scraping sound filled the still air. Shit.

Luckily, the rest of the way back home was normal. Gem frantically parked her ship at the dry dock, investigating the gash in her hull that was very, very real. She swore that rock wasn’t there before! Whatever. Just go to sleep. 

The next morning, she went out to investigate her path. Examining the river, she couldn’t find any rocks that she could have hit on the course she was on. She needs to make that appointment with Doc. Quick.

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that one sl!gem's skin with a sculk corruption on her arm but it's lowkey highkey inspired by william birkin from re2