@theyforcedmetogetablog / theyforcedmetogetablog.tumblr.com
That gazebo is so fucked
Are you sure gazebo is the correct word?
Are
you
sure?
idk why you’re confused, that poor gazebo needs help
This has hit my dash three times… that final reblog made it worthy.
I only liked this for the gif
You cannot call for help, you must face the gazebo alone
That gazebo is so fucked
Are you sure gazebo is the correct word?
Are
you
sure?
idk why you’re confused, that poor gazebo needs help
This has hit my dash three times… that final reblog made it worthy.
I only liked this for the gif
You cannot call for help, you must face the gazebo alone
The answer to "What the h*ck goes on on those islands to the North and West of mainland Scotland?" by Derek Guy @/dieworkwear on twitter [x]
I love this picture so much! Post it whenever I come across it.
Inner Mongolian Child
The little girl’s name is Butedmaa and she was just 5 when this picture was taken in 2003 by Han Chengli.
(I used to have a printout of this at my desk at work because I just loved looking at it so much.)
Sharp dressed men :)
Valerio Minato's photo that won the Astronomy Picture of the Day Contest by NASA on December 25th, 2023.
In the picture: the moon, the Monviso Mount and the Basilica of Superga (on the Superga hill) outside Turin are all aligned. it took him 6 years to take this shot (and I take it as an example to never give up on your dreams).
WOW.
my dads recently been jokin a lot about “mystic runes” like i asked what we were gonna do when we took a rest stop in santa barbara and he said “look for mystic runes” and then i asked if we were gonna eat or just walk around while my mom shopped and he said “the runes will tell us”
They all look so gooddddd
So do people know about the fucking horrible real life event in Wales that everyone’s favourite mindfuck film The Lighthouse, starring Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe, is partly based on, or do I have to tell you all
Allow me, if you will, to first set the scene.
The location is The Smalls, a group of rocks not far from Marloes Peninsula in Pembrokeshire. The lighthouse is, uh, this.
By 1801, the lighthouse, which was built to a rather odd design in 1776, already had a bit of a reputation as a place you didn’t necessarily want to find yourself as a lighthouse keeper. The design was generally sound, although strange, but some of the materials used made the structure somewhat unsteady, and it tended to rock in severe gales.
The man who paid for its construction, a Liverpudlian instrument-maker named Henry Whiteside, had gone to visit it and oversee some necessary repairs (see the previous paragraph about the lighthouse rocking in severe gales…) in 1777. He was accompanied by his blacksmith, and they ended up stranded there for a month when a huge storm swept in, battering the lighthouse with gale-force winds and rendering the tides unpassable. He wrote a message, sealed it in a bottle, and placed it in a casket - nice bit of foreshadowing here - imploring the receiver not to forget that he was there and begging for help, as all their supplies were almost exhausted. He survived the incident, you’ll be glad to hear.
At the time, a working lighthouse was usually tended by two men to ensure that the light did not go out. This way, one man would always be watching over the light. It was imperative that the light always be lit, because without the beacon to warn sailors of the approaching rocks, ships would very likely crash against them and cause huge losses of life.
In 1801, the two men tasked with this job were Thomas Howell, a younger man who was a cooper (made barrels, basically) before he became a lighthouse keeper, and Thomas Griffith, who was a good deal older and had been a labourer beforehand. Stories about the two of them say that Howell had a history of what we would now recognise as mental illness, and that Griffith had what we might call a ‘strong personality’, and that the two of them did not get on. They often argued and spent half their time at each other’s throats, so the prospect of spending a long period of time together in a lighthouse, 20 miles from anywhere else, with no-one else for company or respite, was going to be interesting, to say the least. Unfortunately, it turned out to be much more than just interesting.
Some weeks passed. They did their jobs, and the light didn’t go out. More time passed. And then, something happened to Griffith. Accounts differ as to whether he was injured or became unwell, but whatever befell him, it was obvious that his life was now in danger. Unable to leave the lighthouse to get help, they set up a distress signal in the hope that passing ships would come to their aid, but none did. To make matters worse, it became apparent that a terrible storm was brewing. Griffith died after a few weeks, and Howell’s nightmare began.
You see, the problem Howell now faced was what to do with Griffith’s dead body. The prospect of keeping the body inside the lighthouse didn’t particularly appeal, for fairly obvious reasons; as long as the storm raged on, he would be unable to leave the lighthouse, and anyway, someone had to stay to man the light. The body would quickly decompose, and spending any length of time in a confined space - the lighthouse interior was only around five metres in diameter - with a rotting corpse wasn’t Howell’s idea of a good time. However, throwing the body into the sea wasn’t an option, either. Due to the two men’s storied history of animosity, Howell was aware that discarding Griffith’s body would incriminate him for the man’s death, and make it look like he had something to hide. Howell weighed up his two options: spend a few weeks with a decaying corpse, or end up being hanged for murder. He chose the first one.
At first, he managed to go about his business almost as usual, while Griffith’s body rotted in the lighthouse alongside him, but after only a short time, the stench became unbearable. He began to realise that he wouldn’t be able to keep the body in the lighthouse much longer, and yet he knew that he couldn’t get rid of it, either.
Then, the solution came to him. Howell, remember, was a barrel-maker by trade. So, he dismantled a bulkhead in the sleeping compartment, fashioned it into a rudimentary coffin, and placed Griffith’s decomposing body inside it. He then affixed the coffin to the railings on the outside shelf with ropes, just outside the window of the sleeping compartment, so that the coffin wouldn’t get washed out to sea by the storms.
And then the storms worsened.
The lighthouse was battered by wind and rain so heavy that no ships could even get close. Rescue was out of the question. Howell worked, night and day, to keep the beacon lit, trying to send distress signals, but to no avail. Still tied to the railings, the coffin bore the brunt of the storm.
And then the winds started to blow the coffin apart.
Boards of wood were stripped away, leaving Griffith’s decaying body exposed to the rain and wind. The body itself was caught in ropes twisted around the railings. Outside Howell’s window, lit by the beam of the lighthouse, Howell could see the arm of the dead man, outstretched from rigor mortis and raised up in a beckoning fashion. At night, the wind lashed the remnants of the coffin and battered it against the lighthouse. As the storms raged on, the coffin completely blew apart and left only the body, hanging upside down from a tangle of ropes outside the window. When the wind blew at a certain angle, the rotting body swung and Griffith’s beckoning hand knocked against the window.
Called by Howell’s distress signal, a few ships did manage to get close enough to the lighthouse during these weeks to see a lone man standing at the top of the lighthouse. The crews of these ships attempted to shout to the man, but he appeared not to hear them over the storm. He waved to them, but never made any attempt to respond to their calls. None of these ships could get close enough to land.
After three weeks, a boat was finally able to rescue Howell, and recover Griffith’s body. He had spent a total of four months in the lighthouse. The light had never gone out. However, he was so severely traumatised from the experience that when he got back to shore, his friends didn’t recognise him. He was described as grey and ashen, and he could barely speak. Some accounts say his hair had turned white. There’s very little information available about what happened to Howell after his rescue, but by some accounts, he had gone almost entirely mad.
After the events at Smalls Lighthouse, maritime policy changed, and all lighthouses were manned by three men rather than two.
Why didn’t he just bury it? Or was it all rock on the island
The Smalls are just a tiny rocky outcrop, not a proper island, so there was no earth there at all. Just rock rock, and more rock. There were also very strong tides which would have swept the body away if he’d tried to fix it to the rocks outside, as most of the outcrop was completely covered in water for part of the day.
Also important to note that the original lighthouse, before it was rebuilt, looked like this:
So places to put the body were rather limited.
before and after
just looked over to find my cat had somehow crawled into the sleeve of my jacket ???? fucking wheezing. the baleful worm
help me mother
happy new year 🎆
Hades 2 - Ares, the god of War
This comic will only get funnier with time
hate when theyre like. *unfounds your family*
