#keeper tag

[aylaaescar]

this is............. adorable

[fireofjudgement]

Special thank you to Keeper who slept kept me company through the emotional roller-coaster that was aib season 2

[magpie-to-the-morning]

[fagderolo]

somebody is digging up my grave and breaking their nails on me and crying into the soil and it would grow something new except i am stopping anything from blooming i am stopping sunlight from penetrating this forsaken dirt i am stopping all things good and they should not even be here and i can yell but they know i cannot hurt and somebody has caught my dying memories and somebody remembers my family and i assumed i had been laid to rest but my soul will not keep still somebody is digging up my grave and will be impaled on my ribs somebody is digging up my grave and can feel the strikes somebody is digging up my grave somebody is digging up my grave somebody is digging up my grave somebody is digging up my grave somebody is digging up my grave and there is no headstone

[bluegrasshole]

toying with the idea of writing that lighthouse story as an original story set in nova scotia with lesbeans. i just don’t know what platform to share it on that would guarantee me at least a bit of the validation i need to motivate me...

[fireofjudgement]

Keeper update: she sleeby

[fagderolo]

I wish to be an unknowable entity again I am old and unafraid and nothing can or has ever hurt me

[bluegrasshole]

nursey/dex, lighthouse keeper au

oh no i’m not ruining this idea for myself yet. i’m going to let it take shape until like a sculpture it’s ready to be chiselled from my brain via my fingers and google docs and put out into the world fully formed with too many ocean metaphors and not enough dialogue. but my ORIGINAL thought was actually zimbits lighthouse keeper au (?? sue me i wrote a lot of zimbits in the past month) so:

All Eric was was a postman. All Eric did was drive through the village on his bicycle and deliver mail and sometimes he gossiped and talked with the neighbours and sometimes they gave him a cup of tea or a piece of molasses cake to take along with him, and when he went home he took care of his parents and made them supper, looking out the kitchen window to the edge of town to the lighthouse on the cliff which, depending on the level of fog out on the bay, would be either silent or not, but always standing sentinel over the water. And all Eric knew about that was that the man who kept it never got any mail.