#lit fuse

[burned-skyline]

(There's a slightly familiar-looking girl with ginger hair standing in the corner store, looking vaguely lost.) - @aria-aisling

Do you need some directions?

[lucidd-the-weirdo]

Wanted to make a real cringe n edgy BFB au with Bomby just killing everyone-

[plushpyromoved]

something super self indulgent i made cause ive had pyroxdemo on my mind ive been calling it lit fuse :3c

[mvaljean525]

PART FIRST

Down the Delaware, some miles  From the salt air of the Bay, Where the mighty stream still whiles  Slumberingly along his way, Stands the little town which took Somehow the name of Marcus Hook.

Founded by the blue-eyed Swede  Was it in the days of old, When o'er forest, flood and mead  Ruled John Printz, the governor bold, And the music of the drum Echoed over Tinicum.

Empty is the village street  On this wild September night, All deserted by men's feet,  Though the winds are in their might, When, in groups of three or four, Come some figures up the shore

From the misty river-places,  Where the fish-hawk has his home, With their cloaks about their faces,  Like conspirators they come, Striding through the rainy night Toward the tavern's glimmering light.

How the equinoctial blows!  Down about the salty capes, Where the wrecker's beacon glows,  Early morning shipwrecked shapes Shall discover, cold and wan, Thinks Dame Rambo of The Swan .

Daughter of a Norseman she,  Who with Minuit sought this shore, Wandering over land and sea,  As his sires had done of yore, And by Delaware's brown flood Learned to calm his viking blood.

Little cares she for the gale,  Slam of shutter, dash of rain, Drawing for her patrons ale  Thor himself would not disdain, Such as once, 'mid song and story, Foamed o'er Thule's hills in glory.

Later points the ancient clock,  Standing grimly by the wall; “Ten”—its wizard bells now knock  In their tower so dark and tall; Few the guests that still remain, When a sound comes from the rain:

Steps and voices—those of men—  Shaking out of storm-drenched cloaks On the tavern porch—and then  In the door, with beard which smokes From the wet, tempestuous night, Walks a figure to the light.

Tall and most fantastic dressed—  Round his shoulders drawn a cape— Scarlet had it been at best,  Now, about his lusty shape, Like a sea-waif, breaker flung, Faded by the wave it hung.

Ted in knots with ribbons gay  Was the sable beard he wore; Bright he smiled (so gleams the day  Through dark clouds when tempests roar) Bowed and from his low-bent head Took a cap bizarre: then said:

“Madam, to your goodly cheer  Could I bring my comrades in? Wild the night outside and drear.  From the storm's on-coming din Took we refuge in the Bay. Sailors are we, frank and gay.”

From the tables where they sat,  Hard the village gossips stared; In their hands the ale grew flat,  But no word nor sign they dared As Dame Rambo to the tall Guest replied: “Be welcome all!”

Then, in costumes bright and strange,  With a foreign air about them, As though, in their merry range,  Few the seas had been without them, Came these mariners, no man Knew from whence, into The Swan .

PART SECOND

How they drank the bitter ale!  How their bonny beards did wag! Like the berserks, bold and hale,  Who beneath some forebear's flag Once held Yule-tide revelries, Seemed they to Dame Rambo's eyes.

Midnight—struck the old Norse clock;  Louder rang the jovial laugh; More than any of his wild flock  Did the gay first-comer quaff; Sitting near the fire-place wide, With a beaker by his side.

Red the flames shone on his face;  Lit a belted dagger's hilt; “Madam,” quoth he, “by your grace  I a sailor's song will lilt.” Then, with pantomime which ran With his singing, he began.

SONG

1

“Down in the sea-sands,  Where the gull screams, Buried by my hands,  Bright treasure gleams. O'er it a pale ghost  Hovers for ever; Him from his mammon  Death cannot sever; Where his gold glittered  Aye was his soul; Therefore I killed him  To guard it from mole— Killed him to guard it  From man and from mole.

2

“I a gallant am  For whom doves wrangle; In my beard's meshes  Sweet hearts I tangle. Far in Barbados,  Where grows the cane, Seven lovely lady-birds  Deck I with gain. Five in the Carolines,  Three here I kiss; Wedded with priest-book  Each one, I wis— Wedded with candles  And priest-book, I wis.

3

“ I am the pirate,   Blackbeard, the rover. Under my red flag   I skim the seas over.  Keen is my cutlass,   Cold as my heart  When against foemen   Bear I my part.  But when from fair hands   Bubbles the cheer,  Who more benign   Than the bold buccaneer?—  Gay and benign   Than the bold buccaneer?”

Silent for a moment's space  Was the tavern when he ceased, Save that still, outside the place,  Roared the tempest from the east, Then—a bacchanalian sound— Went the rovers' plaudits round.

Pale the villagers with fright.  This the Blackbeard and his crew, Of whose deeds the pitchy night  Was the only emblem true? This the pirate who along All the coast had stamped his wrong?

But in old dame Rambo's eyes  Calmly shone their wonted light; Terror weak she did despise;  Courage was her race's right; Something even did she ken Which she loved in these wild men.

And when from his fire-lit seat—  While the others round him stand— Rose the captain to his feet,  With a beaker in his hand, Smiled she, as each sea-dog hale Drank her health in nut-brown ale.

Then, while every gossip wondered,  From beneath his scarlet cape Blackbeard drew a bag, and sundered  All its tightly-twisted tape. Lo, what gold and silver bright Lay before Dame Rambo's sight!

“Madam, ere once more we fly  O'er the deep, take this souvenir; Never, under any sky  Have we tasted better cheer— I and my bold corsair band.” Thus he spoke, with cap in hand.

Low he bowed, as when he entered:  “Now, my merry men, away!” On them were all gazes centered  Till were gone their figures gay; And The Swan's lamps dimly shone On the villagers alone.

----

Blackbeard

Arthur Peterson  1851-1932

----

Graphic - Don Maitz  (B.1953)

[medievalmonk]

Lit Fuse

Just a little drabble; it may pop up later in a fic, but for now, I had to get it on ‘paper’ so to speak. 

You were in a particularly bad mood when Loki stormed into the Avengers’ common kitchen. He stopped when he realized that you were in front of the coffee machine with your back to him, and you were apparently lost in thought, since you didn’t move aside for him.

He waited impatiently for several minutes for you to acknowledge him before clearing his throat more loudly than necessary. You jumped at the sound, then turned to face him.

“Do you mind?” He asked, motioning toward the counter.

“Sure.”

You moved one step to your right while he went the same way, then you both ended up doing a weird little dance before he gave an annoyed huff. His hands gripped your shoulders so that he could lift you and set you out of his way.

His action surprised you, and your hand fell on a folded newspaper that Steve had left on the countertop.

“Unhand me!”  

The newspaper smacked harmlessly against his ribs, making him stop in shock. His eyebrows lifted in astonishment even as you gaped at him, your mouth open.

Oh, shit….did I just….

“Did you just strike me?” Loki asked, incredulously, his voice interrupting your inner thoughts.

You closed your mouth, doing your best to imitate his frown.

“Apparently so.”

“You really don’t have any sense about you, do you?” He asked then, with just one eyebrow arching.

For months, you and Loki barely tolerated one another and gave each other a wide berth. You didn’t know what you could possibly have done to make him dislike you so much, but there came a point where you just stopped thinking about it. It hurt at first, since nothing you did or said ever made a difference; you learned that you just had to deal with it.

So, you now ignored him when you could, and kept interactions as brief as possible when you couldn’t.

This day had started off wrong and kept going like a bus skidding down an icy hill. Now here you were, being held off the floor by the spoiled space-prince, and enough was enough.

“Alright, that tears it! Put me down!”

With no sense of preservation, you hit him again, in the same spot. Loki let his breath out angrily before he shook you hard enough for you to see stars.

“You really want your backside paddled, don’t you?” He asked.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Kicking at him is a bad, bad, bad idea, you keep telling yourself.

“You don’t think so? Hit me again.” His voice was soft, dangerously so.

You glared at him for several seconds before lifting the newspaper in order to tap it lightly against his chest. Then you used the end of it to brush a non-existent something off his shirt.

“Got it.”

Loki set you onto your feet before slinging you across his shoulder, holding you there easily despite your attempts to get free. You struggled against him, knowing that it was no use: you weren’t going anywhere until he allowed you to.

Loki carried you to your suite, to your bedroom, then sat on the side of the bed after kicking the doors closed. Then you went face down across his lap. He gathered your wrists together and held them in the small of your back while ignoring your writhing.

“Loki!”

His palm came down onto your bottom with one sharp blow, causing you to shriek with outrage and pain. Even though he’d curbed his strength, it had hurt.  

Then, to add insult to injury, he pushed you off him and onto the floor. You sat there for a moment before scrambling out of reach so that you could stand. Loki watched while you smoothed your hair down, his expression impassive.

His lips quirked ever so slightly when you rubbed your backside with a disgruntled expression. Then you took a deep breath before rushing at him, both hands extended to make contact with his shoulders.

He fell backwards, with you on top of him. Your hands went into his hair, anchoring his head still while he grasped your sides.

Loki’s eyebrows arched again as you stared down at him; when you pressed your lips against his, his grip on you tightened. Tentatively, you nibbled at his lower lip, watching as his eyes fluttered closed.

His hands slid down to your waist, then slid under the hem of your shirt before going further to cup your backside. You winced slightly, causing him to loosen his hold on you.

“Loki,” you whispered, lips grazing his jawline before finding a sensitive spot close to his ear.

“Yes?” He whispered back, unsteadily.

“I like this much better than fighting.”

Your fingers run lightly down his throat, bringing a slight shudder from him. After a couple of minutes of this, his hand found the back of your neck in order to hold you against him while he rolled you beneath him.

You kept a hand in his hair: it was softer than it looked, and was so thick and heavy. Loki tilted his head, moving toward your touch when you caressed his scalp; he practically purred under your touch.

The quiet moment was then interrupted by a hard knock on your outer door.

“It’s about time!” Thor shouted, loud enough to reach the bedroom.

“Norns,” Loki sighed.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his pained expression before you tugged gently on his hair. When he kissed you again, both your hands slid to his neck while you kissed him back.

“I agree,” he murmured against your lips before he nuzzled at your earlobe.

“What’s that?”

His breath in your ear made it hard to concentrate on the conversation.

“I agree that this is much better than fighting.”

[sdcomics525]

244 - Blew Up In My Face Some ideas are smart, some ideas are fucking stupid. Happens to the best of us (sometimes...)

[lilxybugdoodles]

I'm tired but it's morning so take some of Cave Johnson's combustible lemons.

[lucklesslongshot]

Februpony Day 28: Draw Anything! I just wanted to thank @funpicturesofponies for coming up with this month long challenge and everyone who liked and reblogged my art! Seriously, this was the most fun I've had! Thank you so very much!