#Set the Thames on Fire

[cottoncandiescupcakes]

I know this is meant to be Barbie but Noel looks like if Dickie married a rich man LOL soccer wife Dickie

(Real Noelers know what I am about)

[tundrafloe]

In a 2016 interview with ClashMusic, "Set the Thames on Fire" director Ben Charles Edwards, explained how Noel created Dickie's aesthetic.

Ben: “When it came to selecting a costume for Dickie, we had a huge selection of pink tuxedos and hot pants on hand. But when Noel spotted a light pink baby-doll outfit from the end of the costume rail, his eyes lit up. He threw it over what he was wearing in the rehearsal room and stood in front of the mirror for a moment. Assessing for a minute or two, he said ‘It’s missing something!’ And so he took a string of pearls from the costume department and an old cod-piece and Noel’s Dickie was complete.”

[jupiterslifelessmoons]

Made a portrait of Dickie from Set the Thames on fire

[excessive-linguistic-pressure]

Noel Fielding and Sally Phillips on the set of "Set the Thames on fire"

[electriccnoir]

properly watched set the thames on fire for the first time and had to draw my girl 🫶🫶

[ar0ace-m3ss]

Loosely based off dickie from set the thames on fire

[sophiekarim]

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD & LUCY CARLYLE Lockwood & Co. 1x07 - Mesmerised

𝑪𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒐𝒏 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆

[vitamin-zeeth]

Silly movie time

[alexanderpearce]

we need a word in between homosocial and homosexual

[literary-motif]

London's Drowning

Matias x Reader

It has been raining constantly, and you feel gloomy. Luckily, Matias is there.

You sat on the windowsill, a cup of hot tea in your hands as your gaze fixed on the wet pavement of the street below. It had not stopped raining for days, and it was getting worse. The downpour sounded like the Thames flowing peacefully through London might have evaded the laws of physics and was now beating down on the city. You had made the mistake of stepping outside for an instant without an umbrella and had walked up the stairs drenched. 

The weather was gloomy, and you felt the part. 

“It’s the -ber months, honey,” Matias had said, sipping from his favorite cup with little ghosts on it. “Summer's ending, and we’re diving right into autumn. How fast the seasons change.”

How fast they changed, indeed. You were not a fan. 

The idea of a stroll with him along the river — from Westminster all the way to Whitechapel — had been on your mind for weeks now. You longed to bask in the sun, listening to his soothing voice as he talked about whatever plot hole he was trying to fix. You would finally manage to relax. Again and again, the rain had thawed your plans like the annoying hero in every classical superhero movie, where good always won.

Fall was approaching faster than you would have liked. The colors on the trees were beautiful to observe, of course, bringing a little much-needed color into the dark, dim days of your least favorite time of the year, but the rustling of leaves under your shoes also served as a reminder that summer had passed, and it would be a long, long time until you could marvel at the flowers blooming in Victoria Park. 

You felt a pair of arms encircling you from behind. Soft brown hair flashed before your eyes an instant before you felt Matias rest his head on your shoulder, staring at the wet scenery outside alongside you. “Penny for your thoughts?” he asked.

“In this economy? Give me a dime for them at least,” you replied, the joke rolling off your tongue effortlessly despite the ache you felt deep inside. The rain gnawed on your happiness, and you wished more than anything to set it on fire and disperse the clouds instead. The thought that high above this blanket of gray the sun was shining brightly felt like a raging injustice.

Matias chuckled, squeezing you tighter. “I’ll give you a kiss, how does that sound? Is that enough payment for a piece of your mind?”

You mumbled a reply, taking a sip of your now cold tea, and clicked your tongue in distaste. “I don’t like the weather, is all,” you said. At least there was no storm raging. Thank meteorology for small mercies.

“I know you don’t,” he said, the compassion in his tone nearly making you feel bad. You knew how much he loved the colder months. They were the perfect time for writing, he argued. To you, they felt like silent torture. “How about we watch a movie and cuddle under a blanket? I know work has been stressing you out. Maybe this could help you relax a little?”

The thought sounded nice. You glanced at him, meeting his excited smile. “That sounds lovely,” you said, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his forehead. “But let’s watch something light, please. A mindless comedy, or one of these funny murder mysteries.”

“Of course,” he said immediately, picking up your cup of tea and frowning at the temperature. “Would you like another cup to go with the popcorn?”

“You got popcorn?” you asked incredulously. What had seemed to be a spur-of-the-moment decision had been planned for longer than you thought. 

“Well, I meant to suggest this for a while now, but something always came up. I’ve been longing to spend an afternoon with you like this, just relaxing together. It’s hard to make time for it with our schedules, I know.”

“Work has been exhausting recently,” you admitted, allowing him to take your hand and guide you to the couch. “There’s just so much to do for uni and— and everything else. It just keeps adding up and then I can’t even go on a walk to clear my head because it’s always bloody raining.” You flopped onto the cushions with a huff.

Matias retrieved the large fluffy blanket — your favorite with little cats playing with balls of woll on it — and draped it over you lovingly. “I know,” he said, brushing a hand through your hair affectionately. “Spring will come sooner than you realize, honey. Now would you like another cup of tea?”

You nodded, raising the blanket to your chin. Drowning in the heavy cloud hanging over you, you had not even realized that Matias had lit some of the candles around the apartment. 

Their flames burned steadily, illuminating the room around you with a gentle orange glow that reminded you of the cozy evenings spent together, cuddling under the quilt while observing the snowflakes steadily falling towards the ground. Soon, winter would come with all the beautiful brightness of the decorations people put up. 

“Do you think Mr. Mayer will put that shooting star in his window again?” you asked Matias, taking the steaming cup of tea from his hands with a whispered thanks. 

He sat down beside you, shifting to slip under the blanket while he held onto the bowl of popcorn. “I think he will,” he said. “He did not take it down until March, so I think he liked it that much, he’s burning to hang it up again. Why?”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you said, switching on the TV. “It’s nice to look out of the window and look at the light. Now, what are we watching?” You stuffed your mouth with a handful of popcorn, feeling a little lighter now that the thundering rain was drowned out by Matias' fond chuckle, and the darkness beyond was chased away by the candles he had lit. 

The dark months would pass, and soon, the sun would peek out behind a cloud again.

[porcelana-r0ta]

Almost Saved You With Prayer

Fandom: Trash of the Count's Family

Relationships: Jour Thames/Deruth Henituse, Jour Thames & Original Cale Henituse

Word Count: 1745

Summary: When her son is born, his Rings are strange, and Jour is heartbroken.

Ao3 Link: [Here]

Her son’s birth is a long and painful one, but it is worth it when a bundle of soft fabric is placed gently in her arms, her little baby still crying angry tears. She’s so in love with her child and exhausted from delivering him that she doesn’t immediately notice the Rings of Life that circle around him in concentric, overlapping bands. 

“Cale,” she says, her voice hoarse from her own screams. “Cale. His name is Cale.” 

“A perfect name for the heir of the Henituse County,” the midwife says kindly. “Shall I send for the Count?” 

“Yes.” She’s breathless. Starstruck by the soft red baby hairs on her newborn’s head. He’s still crying, but she doesn’t care. She just loves. 

“As you wish, Countess.” With a bow, the midwife leaves, and not even a minute later, her husband comes running in. 

“Jour,” he says, panting, his eyes wide and full of wonder. He is quickly at her bedside, his gaze darting from his son to his wife. “The baby?”

“His name is Cale,” she says. “He wants to meet his father.” 

Deruth’s hands tremble as he takes Cale from her. One hand under the baby’s body and the other under his head, supporting the weight that Cale can’t hold up yet. 

“Hold him closer to your face,” she instructs, “so he can see you.” 

Deruth follows her instruction, and something in Cale stalls. His sobbing devolves into sniffles, and then ceases altogether, hazy little eyes blinking imploringly up at his father. 

Her husband is suddenly in tears himself. 

“Cale,” he says, and his tears fall. “Our son, Cale.” 

“Our son.” Jour smiles the words, safe and happy in her mouth. “We’re parents now.” 

“We are.” Deruth lifts the baby just a little higher and lowers his forehead to Cale’s. “Gods, Cale. Mommy and Daddy will always be there for you.” 

Her smile goes a little smaller at that. 

“Yes, we will.”

xxXxx

The next day, when Jour’s brain is no longer flooded with endorphins and exhaustion, her closest maid, Amelia, hands her Cale, and Jour finally notices the Rings around her baby boy. 

They start from the chest, as everyone’s Rings do, and then expand outwards, one for every year of life the person will experience. Cale’s Rings are healthy and bright silver, normally reassuring, if not for the fact that there are three sets of Rings. One is the healthy and bright set, another is a dim set of flickering gold, and the last is a rusting brown, sick in its life. 

Her breath catches in her throat, and if she were not in bed, she would have surely collapsed. 

“My Lady?” inquires Amelia, her tone cautious. “Is everything alright?” 

“Oh, yes,” she says. “I was… I was just struck by the wonder that is my baby.”

“He is lovely,” Amelia says happily. “The County is surely blessed to have him.” 

“Yes,” Jour agrees. “Amelia, please give me a few moments alone with my son.”

“Yes, my Lady.” And Amelia bows out, leaving Jour to stare at the two sets of Rings, and how the first set cuts off so abruptly and violently in slivers of silver. 

“Oh, my baby boy,” she whispers in the loneliness of her bedroom. “What happens to you?”

She reaches out, her hand shaking, and she latches onto that broken Ring, the fortieth band. Her fingernails dig into the noncorporeal form.

Show me, she commands her Ancient Power. Show me everything.

She sees blood and fire and agony and regret. The tear of flesh and bone. A figure kneeling in blood. And she hears weeping and screams and the clash of blades against blades and armor alike. 

And then she hears it: 

“Do we have a deal?” 

“...We do.”

She comes out of the vision crying for her son. She can’t see through her tears. 

“Cale, my baby.” She places her hand over her mouth to muffle the sobs. With her other hand, she pulls Cale to her chest, as if to bury him there forever and protect him from that wretched future. “No! No, please, no, not my baby....”

xxXxx

When Jour was a child, she had a brother fourteen years her senior. His name was Ashur, and by the time she was capable of storing memories, he was married with a son of his own, 

“Jour,” he said once when she was sighing over a boy at age fifteen. “Don’t be too excited. We are Thames.” 

“I know,” she replied, annoyed. Little sisters were always annoyed at older brothers, no matter the age difference. “I can still like them.” 

He gave a sad little smile, “Yes, you can. Perhaps I was too harsh. You won’t always be able to enjoy this time, after all.” 

She wrinkled her nose, “You sound all old, Orabeoni.” 

“I’m decently old, for a Thames.” 

“Our parents are older.” 

“You and I both know that Mother and Father are the exception, not the rule.” 

Her chest became heavy, and Ashur continued, “Time gives the Thames enough mercy to live on.”

“I know,” she whispered, and she pretends not to see the way Ashur’s thirtieth Ring breaks into red sparks of nothingness. 

xxXxx

The maids think she has postpartum depression, and she doesn’t know how to explain herself, so she doesn’t correct them. She just continues to pour herself over her old Thames texts, searching for any way possible to spare her son from his pain. 

By the time he’s a year old and Deruth tearfully begs her to take care of herself, she has to start looking for a different path. 

She pulls aside Head Butler Ron Molan, who’d been hired a year and a half ago. 

“Ron,” she says. She bounces her son on her hip to keep him from being fussy. “I’m sure you’re aware that Henituses don’t hire just anyone.”

“Of course, my Lady. This Ron is pleased to have a job here so that his son might be raised well.” 

“That’s good.” Jour plays with her son’s red hair that matches her own. “Ron. I know what the Molans used to do on the Eastern Continent.” 

“Ho?” His voice is suddenly dangerous and quiet, but Jour knows him, knows his Rings and his son’s Rings, and she thus knows she will be fine. 

“I want you to protect Cale,” she says. She looks up from her son’s hair to meet Ron’s eyes. “Protect my son, Ron, and you and your son will never have to run again.” 

He relaxes just a bit, but it’s enough. 

“This Ron would never do otherwise, my Lady.” 

“Good.” She sighs, presses a kiss into Cale’s hair, and says, “Thank you. Thank you, Ron.”

xxXxx

There’s not much else to do after ensuring her boy will live as long as possible, somehow until age forty and eighteen and seventy-three all in one. The Thames studied time, not space, but there are still enough cross-referenced texts in her library that she knows it’s not regression but transmigration. 

Her baby will be leaving his family, not just like her, but it will be enough. 

When he’s four years old, she runs her index finger around his fifteenth silver ring, the future flashing across her mind’s eye, and thinks, Well, not much of a family. Not much of a father.  

She asks Deruth to always be there for her child, to say no when he needs it, and Deruth just laughs. 

“Well, he’ll have everything he’ll ever need!” he says. “He’s a Henituse, and your son, at that. How can I say no to your visage?”

She gives a wan, watery smile. That might have been nice to hear before Cale was born, before she saw his future. 

“We can’t let him be too spoiled, dear.”

Deruth embraces her from behind, wrapping his hands around her waist and pulling her into his chest. He buries his face in her red hair, “Well, no.  But he deserves it.”

“It would be a disservice to our son.” 

He sighs out a laugh, “You’re right. You always are. No, we won’t spoil him.”

“You’ll say no when he needs it? When it’s best for him?” 

“Yes, of course. Especially if it’s best for him.”

“Good,” she smiles brighter. 

Later that night, she creeps into her son’s room. At four, he sleeps soundly, no longer a colicky newborn or a toddler in pain of teething. She rests her finger on his fifteenth silver ring, and weeps. 

Nothing has changed. Her husband is a liar. 

Jour doesn’t know what to fucking do. 

xxXxx

Jour runs her fingers around Cale’s fifteenth and eighteenth silver rings and tries not to feel betrayed whenever she looks at her husband or the Molans. 

It’s not their fault her son is so purely Thames that they believe his act without any training.

xxXxx

Jour’s son is eight and she is on her last Ring. She’s done everything she can for him and still she’s done nothing. There’s only one thing left to do.

One night, while Deruth is out on business in the city nearby, she cries herself to sleep. 

When she awakes, she writes a letter. 

“To the person who will be living in my son’s body…” She accepts what must be done. The man—White Star—in her son’s future cannot be allowed to acquire her full Ancient Power.

xxXxx

Next week, when Jour leaves for her trip to Harris Village, she kisses her husband. Then, she hugs her son, tiny and small and so full of love that he would destroy himself for children sprung on him with no notice, and she only barely holds back her tears. 

“Goodbye, Mama. I love you!”

“And I love you, Cale.” She holds his face, rubbing her thumbs under his brown eyes, and he smiles trustingly up at her, believing that she’s coming home healthy. 

Her heart breaks. She hugs him again. 

Deruth reaches out to hold her hand while she hugs Cale, and she takes it, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before letting it drop. 

She loves him, too, and she would choose him in every lifetime. But she doesn’t want to touch him when she knows what he will do to her son.

Long after the carriage has left Rain City’s limits, she weeps. 

She is leaving her son with people who will let Cale rot alone in alcoholism and self-hatred, the joke and scorn of noble and common society alike.

Maybe that makes her worse than all of them.

[throughpatchesofviolet]

To Sail Forbidden Seas ~ Chapter 1

Synopsis: After a long voyage, Yi Sang and Heathcliff seek shelter.

Ship: The Adventure of Wuthering Heights

Words: ~2330

Warnings: alcohol; a physical altercation between characters; food

“It’s not much further, now,” Yi Sang said, glancing over his shoulder at his companion, who ambled along behind him, his head hung low as he clutched at the ragged cloak concealing his shoulders.

For a moment, Yi Sang’s gaze lingered on his friend’s hand, eyes silently tracing the tattoos inked into his scarred flesh, then he shook himself, turning to point at an inn down the road.

“There it is—Thames Landing … you’ll be safe there.”

His partner slowly lifted his head, eyes gleaming beneath his hood as he quietly studied the building Yi Sang indicated—it was a quaint, two-story structure, built from shabby wooden planks. The slanted roof had been bleached by the sun, and a makeshift fence, cobbled together from bits of driftwood, encircled the building. It was simple, almost rustic, in presentation.

“This place … good. Has charm.” The man spoke slowly, his sentences short, but each word was firm. Still, his brow furrowed, and he cast a questioning glance towards Yi Sang. “Safe … you sure?”

Yi Sang nodded, smiling as he motioned for his companion to follow him down the road. “At ease, my friend … I promise you Mycroft Holmes won’t lambast you with questions—aside from those pertaining to your stay, of course.”

The pair halted in front of the inn, and the man lifted his gaze to the sign hanging above the door. Even in the semi-darkness, he could make out a series of white letters that spelled out the inn’s name, the words painted to resemble a bridge arching over a dark band of water.

“Now, Heathcliff,” Yi Sang said softly, drawing his companion’s attention back to him, “while I can guarantee the Holmes siblings won’t object to you residing here, I cannot say the same for their other patrons—many of them are unscrupulous fellows, you see … the shameless, deceitful sort who’d sell you out in a heartbeat.”

His friend nodded solemnly. “Then I stay under cloak. Until you sort things out.”

Yi Sang smiled sadly, his fingers settling on the door handle. “Yes … I do believe that’s for the best.”

Taking a deep breath, Yi Sang threw the door open, and Heathcliff blinked as warm, golden light spilled onto the street. Hushed conversations tickled Heathcliff’s ears, and he reached to pull his hood over his eyes before following Yi Sang inside, quietly studying his surroundings from beneath his cloak. Wooden chandeliers hung from the ceiling, providing ample light for those below, and a massive fire blazed in the hearth built into the far wall. A large, bubbling kettle was suspended above the flame, the steam rising from the cauldron carrying a mouthwatering aroma that reached Heathcliff’s nostrils from the doorway, causing his stomach to growl.

“This way.” Yi Sang motioned for Heathcliff to follow as he approached the bar, flagging down the man behind the counter. “Mycroft! Can I trouble you for a moment?”

The bartender glanced up from the glass he was drying, his face brightening when he recognized Yi Sang. “Well, well … if it isn’t the first mate of the Pequod, himself! To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“The pleasure’s all mine—though, you could raise a toast to Captain Ishmael, if you so desired.” Yi Sang smiled, settling onto a barstool as Heathcliff melted into the corner. “She led us on yet another successful hunt.”

“Ah … Sherry did mention something about her going after another Whale …” Mycroft set the glass in front of Yi Sang, then reached beneath the counter for a bottle of whiskey, proceeding to pour the sailor a drink. “Now, what exactly can I get for you?”

“Well … my companion and I were looking to room here for the evening …”

Heathcliff exhaled slowly, tuning out the conversation as he scanned the inn—men crowded around large, rickety tables scattered throughout the dining room, swapping stories and downing tankards of liquor. Oftentimes, the amber liquid missed its mark, sloshing onto the floor, instead.

The harpooneer snorted, and was turning his gaze back towards the bar when something—nay, someone—caught his eye: a woman, the hem of her periwinkle gown trailing along the soiled floorboards, circled the tables, unimpeded by the sailors stumbling around her. She cut through the intoxicated mob like a ship through the Waves, her tawny hair streaming behind her as she weaved between toppled stools and unconscious men, scooping up dirty dishes as she passed.

Something about the way she carried herself intrigued Heathcliff—despite the chaos unfolding around her, she remained calm and collected, tending to her clients’ every need without complaint.

He shrank further into the corner as she drew near, his eyes dropping to the floor until she’d swept past. As her footsteps faded, Heathcliff slowly lifted his head, staring after her.

“Oi! You, there! You’re not ogling that lass, are you?”

Heathcliff flinched, shrinking back into the corner as one of the sailors staggered to his feet, scowling at the harpooneer. “Did not mean to stare,” he mumbled, lowering his gaze.

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t,” the man growled, lurching towards Heathcliff, who drew his cloak tighter around his shoulders. “But you were, weren’t you? Bet you’re thinkin’ you have a shot with her, too.”

“Was not,” Heathcliff muttered, pressing his back against the wall as the man stumbled closer.

“What was that?” The sailor came to a stop a few feet away from the harpooneer, his face set in an ugly sneer. “Speak up, you bastard—no one can understand you when you’re mumbling.”

Heathcliff grit his teeth. “Said, ‘was not.’ You need your ears checked.”

“You think you’re clever, eh? You wouldn’t be talkin’ like that if you knew who I was.”

“Do not care who you are. Go away. Want to be alone.”

“Do you? Well, you should’ve thought about that before you started makin’ eyes at the lass … now you’ve gotta pay the price.”

The sailor lunged forward with surprising speed, and Heathcliff raised an arm, barely blocking his fist. Swearing, the man struck out with his free hand, clawing at the edge of Heathcliff’s cloak, and the harpooneer hissed, attempting to squirm away, but it was no use—his assailant caught hold of his robe, grinning as he tore it from Heathcliff’s shoulders.

But his smile faded as the cloak fluttered to the floor, his eyes widening in horror as he noticed the tattoos inked on Heathcliff’s skin. “By the Wing’s … you’re … you’re …”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the inn as everyone stared at Heathcliff—at the markings covering every inch of his exposed flesh.

“You’re from … the Middle …” The sailor stumbled backwards, clasping his hands before starting to beg. “P-please … spare me—I didn’t mean any of it, I swear!”

Heathcliff lowered his head. “Tattoos from Middle, yes. But I … I not with them. Not anymore.”

The sailor blinked, his brow furrowing. Then, he straightened, his sneer returning. “You left the Middle? Isn’t that some kind of taboo?”

Heathcliff said nothing, and the man laughed as whispers passed through the crowd.

“Silence speaks louder than words, or so they say,” he said, grinning. “So, you ran out on the Middle, fully knowing the consequences … I wonder, just how much are they offerin’ for you?”

The sailor glanced at the men behind him, still smiling.

“Perhaps we should see about turning you in—we could use some extra cash, right boys?”

Murmurs of agreement echoed behind him, and the sailor, emboldened, grabbed Heathcliff’s wrist.

“Right, then … I’m goin’ to need your name—I’ll be givin’ it to the Middle, you know.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort.”

The man blinked as a voice rang out from across the room, and Heathcliff lifted his head, his heart skipping a beat when he saw a woman striding towards them, her eyes flashing.

“Sh-Sherry …” the sailor stammered, stumbling backward. “I-I’ve gotta do this, love—if the Middle were to find out your brother was hiding this man, they’d kill him …”

“The Middle isn’t going to find out we’re serving this gentleman,” the woman replied icily. “You aren’t going to breathe a word about him to anyone. Right?”

“B-but … this is to pro—”

“Right?”

The man flinched as she cut him off, eyes dropping to his feet. “Right.”

“That’s what I thought.” She folded her arms, nodding towards the door. “Now, leave, Victor. You’ve harassed my clients enough for one evening, and I shan’t tolerate your indecency a moment longer.”

“Sherry, I—”

“Leave. Now.”

Her words were like thunder, ringing clearly through the silent inn, and a shiver shot up Heathcliff’s spine as the sailor whimpered, slinking away. The woman watched him leave, then turned to the throng of men behind her, scowling.

“As for the rest of you … I trust you know what’ll happen if I find you’ve sold this man out?”

A chorus of soft “ayes” rippled through the crowd, and she nodded.

“Good—as you were, gentlemen.”

With that, the men exchanged glances, some smiling, others shaking their heads, before resuming their conversations. The woman knelt down, retrieving Heathcliff’s cloak from the floor and gently dusting it off before draping it over his shoulders.

“My sincerest apologies, sir … I do hope your stay hasn’t been spoiled by Victor’s poor conduct.”

Heathcliff blinked, unable to tear his gaze away from her face—she was even prettier up close than she had been from afar, with sharp, angular eyes whose color reminded him of the sea at midday.

“Your eyes … like ocean.” He said finally, his words soft. “Very pretty.”

She studied him for a moment, then smiled. “Thank you.”

Warmth bloomed in Heathcliff’s chest as the woman fussed with his cloak, straightening it so his tattoos were hidden. After a moment, she stepped back, lifting her eyes to meet his.

“Now, then … how may I serve you, this evening?”

Again, Heathcliff blinked, his gaze dropping to the floor as he mumbled a response. “Came for room. Yi Sang … said it was safe here. Said Holmes siblings … accept me. As guest.”

“Ah … then you’ll need to speak to my brother, Mycroft.” She nodded towards the bar. “He’ll see to preparing your lodgings.”

“Yi Sang said … he’d handle it.” Heathcliff murmured, shuffling back into the corner. “So, I wait.”

“Is that so?” the woman frowned, brow furrowing. “Well, if you have any trouble, do let me know—I’ll do everything in my power to ensure your stay is a pleasant one.”

She offered him a curtsy, then melted back into the crowd, leaving Heathcliff staring after her.

“So … my sister’s caught your eye, has she?”

The harpooneer started, turning his head to find the bartender studying him curiously—only then did Heathcliff notice his sharp, angular eyes. “Your eyes … shaped like hers.”

Mycroft nodded, setting down the glass he was drying. “That’s about the only feature we share, it seems … well, aside from one peculiar faculty unique to our family, that is.”

“Heathcliff …” Yi Sang spoke softly, unable to meet his friend’s gaze. “I … I failed you. I shouldn’t have allowed that man to expose you, and yet …”

“You have not failed me,” Heathcliff said. “You promised me a safe place, and this place … is safe. Even after seeing my tattoos, I am welcomed. Like you promised.”

Yi Sang was quiet for a moment, then cleared his throat, rising to his feet. “Mycroft has generously arranged for us to reside in separate lodgings—and he’s providing dinner, on the house.”

“My sister will see to it you’re fed,” Mycroft said, chuckling softly. “Your friend’s in for quite the treat, Yi Sang … Sherry’s serving her finest chowder, tonight.”

“Please inform her I’ll be dining in my quarters.”

“Of course … and how about you, sir?” Mycroft addressed Heathcliff, raising an eyebrow.

“Eat in room, like Yi Sang.”

“Very well, then.” Reaching beneath the counter, Mycroft produced a pair of brass keys, setting them on the counter. “Yi Sang, you’ll be staying in room 212—it’s the third door on the right. And, Heathcliff, you’ll be in room 201—first door on the left after you climb the stairs.”

“Thank you, Mycroft,” Yi Sang murmured, his fingers curling around one of the keys. “Your hospitality is sincerely appreciated.”

“As is your business,” the bartender replied, winking. “Enjoy your evening, gentlemen … and do let either Sherry or I know if you need anything.”

He bowed as they turned, making their way across the crowded dining hall. Heathcliff kept close to Yi Sang, eyeing the drunken mob warily as they approached the stairs.

“Heathcliff,” Yi Sang said softly as they climbed the creaking steps, “about what Mycroft said, before … you’d best tread with caution.”

The harpooneer blinked. “What do you mean?”

“The way you were looking at Sherry … if you truly do fancy her, you need to be careful. That man from earlier—the one who attacked you—he’s one of her admirers. And they don’t take kindly to competition from strangers, as you’ve no doubt come to realize yourself.”

“Was not staring for that reason,” Heathcliff muttered. “She stood out. Could not look away.”

Yi Sang sighed. “She does tend to have that effect … just be careful, alright?”

Heathcliff nodded as they reached the second-floor landing—ahead of them stretched a short corridor with four doors on each side, and they paused, waiting for their eyes to adjust to the gloom.

“Your room’s here,” Yi Sang said, motioning towards the door nearest to them. “If you need anything, you can always—”

“Call on you. I remember.” Heathcliff gently nudged his friend forward. “But I will not bother you. Not tonight. You need rest.”

Yi Sang stared at him for a moment, then his gaze softened as a smile spread over his face. “I shall get on that, then … and I am wishing you pleasant dreams, as well.”

Turning on his heel, Yi Sang vanished into the shadows, and Heathcliff released a slow sigh, his shoulders sagging as he unlocked the door leading to his chambers.

[dennissima]

Magic night in London

Below there is the first picture I took when I went out the Blackfriars station.

It was a crazy journey from Milan to London and back in less than twenty hours. My flight from Linate was at 1:30 pm and I arrived at Gatwick at 14:20. Thank you Thameslink for taking me to South Bank (where this photo was taken).

At 4 pm I already reached the National Theatre.

You can easily guess the reason of my journey, right?

First of all, I spent my time losing myself in the National Theatre’s bookshop (yes, I bought two books: the Nye script and a playwriting manual).

When I set at Kerb I took advantage of the recharge station near a table to charge my phone meanwhile I was drinking something fresh in that warm day.

A friend of mine reached me and I was a bit distracted by how much I was nervous for what was going to happen.

The performance started at 7:30 pm so at 7 pm I was already waiting at my seat.

“Nye” started and I still don't have enough words to explain such a brilliant production it is. Great cast, amazing writing, and stunning set design. The performance was funny and moving. Almost three hours and I loved every minute. I left the Olivier theatre shaked by goosebumps.

Still excited because of the show, I reached my new friend @orth82 at the Stage Door for wait Michael Sheen. The kindest person in the world.

He was on fire on the stage, he gave everything through the character and he was exhausted. But he spent his time greeting everyone who was waiting for him at the stage door.

I was pretty nervous and I made a mess with the gift I bring to him, the books he signs for me an photos and hugs i forget to ask for.

(Please Michael, don’t hate me! I wanted to be brilliant but you make me clumsy!)

Look at him! It’s Michael Sheen! He’s gorgeus!

He stayed with us untill he asked “Did I miss anyone?” and then he took his bags and walked away.

So in that crazy night I was amazed by the performance, Michael knew for five minutes I existed and also meet wonderful people from Good Omens fanbase. They even take care of me and helped me to find food. Yes, I forgot to have dinner or eat something since lunch 🫠

Then it was time to back to Gatwick, my flight departure was at 7:30 am.

I enjoyed London by night and even catched a shooting star on the sky abobe the Thames.

Everything was magic!

I spent the night in airport. Thank you again Thameslink to made me move easily despite the strike and the interruptions and the cancelled trains.

Flight at 7:30 am. Arrived at Milan at 10:30 am (1 hour of tome zone!).

Exhausted but full of grace 🤩

[matthias-the-tulip]

my updated list of parts i hope they keep in the red, white & royal blue movie

(updated after i reread it in a day) (a lot of these are just funny lines that add absolutely nothing to the plot but they make me laugh)

• the MAGAZINE 😭

• “he has the personality of a cabbage.”

• “i want to hear you gush like he's your fucking prom date.”

• alex makes a long loud fart noise


• “i'm going to throw up on you” at the stables (doesn't look like they're at a stables in the trailer 😒)

• “i'd rather be waterboarded” also at the stables (again, doesn't look like they're at a stables)

• “i bet he has a secret lovechild,” nora says. “or he's gay. or he has a secret gay lovechild.”

“it's probably in case i see his equerry putting his batteries back in,” alex says.

• midnight ice cream on instagram

• “i didn't know you wore glasses.” (henry's wearing a suit not pyjamas and alex is not wearing glasses what's that all about!)

• awkward fist bump on “this morning” (does not look like it’s a chat show in the trailer but also would a royal even go on this morning)

• star wars stan henry 🥹

• “not impressed, just surprised.”

“at what?”

“that you actually have, you know, feelings.”

• henry is beginning to smile…

• “do you MIND?” in the cupboard at the hospital

• “you're not the prince of me” 😭

• “i'd rather not be the little spoon.”

• henry's feet in a mop bucket

• “locked in a cupboard with your elbow inside my rib cage.”

• “i cannot believe even mortal peril will not prevent you from being the way you are.”

• “are you psychoanalysing me? i don't think royal guests are allowed to do that.”

• “is that the time you threatened to push me into the thames?”

• “no booty calls.”

• “it was like you were trying to set him on fire with your mind.”

• june's (nora now i guess 😟) plot to murder woody allen

• “don't let the papers print lies about me after i've garroted myself with my tie.”

• “you are the thistle in the tender and sensitive arse crack of my life.”

• “yes, famously the most sinister of all animal sounds, the gobble.”

• “cornbread knows my sins.”

• the whole turkey situation really

• “buy a summer home in majorca with the turkey”

• MR WOBBLES

• “jabba” cakes.

• henry watching bake off

• “you're jeff goldblum”

• “yo there's a bond marathon on and did you know your dad was a total babe”.

“I BEG YOU TO NOT”

• “it sounds like you did your best.” 🥹

• the new year’s party being referred to as “the legendary balls-out bananas white house trio new year's eve party” (white house duo now 😭)

• “please do not attempt to steal my shine. you will fail and i will be embarrassed for you.”

• “says prince fucking charming.”

• get low playing at the new year’s eve party

• alex’s reaction to get low playing at the new year’s eve party

• “christ, you are as thick as it gets.”

• alex falling while running with june (nora now i guess 😟) cause he was thinking about henry

• “he's gay and you're hot, so.”

• “still waters, deep dicking.”

• “prince henry is a biscuit,” nora says,
“let him sop you up.”

• they know each other's sleep schedule and alex gets in a bad mood when he doesn't talk to him 🥹

• “you're not going to kill him, are you?” she says.
“probably not,” alex tells her

• “shut up, shut all the way up, oh my
god”

• alex pushing henry up against a wall!

• “i mean, er, should we, i dunno, slow down?”henry says, cringing so hard at himself that one eye closes. “go for dinner first, or-“

• hooking one knee around the back of alex's thigh 😉

• ”i'm going to die,” henry says helplessly.

“i'm going to kill you,” alex tells him.

“yes, you are,” henry agrees.

• alex fixing his hair for him 😢😢😢

• henry singing god save the queen (king i guess) to make his 🍆 go away

• “i am going to do very bad things to you, and if you fucking ghost me again, i’m going to get you put on a fucking no-fly list. got it?”

• “you were jealous,” alex says. “you want me.”

• henry calling alex bossy 😂

• alex literally just insulting henry while he’s going to town on him

• “do you ever stop talking?” henry says. “such a mouth on you.”

• “hi,” he says, when he reaches henry’s eye level.

“hello,” henry says back.

“i’m gonna take your pants off now,” alex tells him.

“yes, good, carry on.”

• fucking eyelashes

• when he's done, he presses a sticky kiss in the crease of alex's leg where he'd slung it over his shoulder

• the mattress shifts, and henry moves up to the pillows, nuzzling his face into the hollow of alex's throat. alex makes a vague noise of approval, and his arms fumble around henry's waist, but he's helpless to do much else.

• the tip of henry’s nose catching on alex’s

• “for fuck’s sake, man, you just had my dick in your mouth, you can kiss me goodnight.”

• monocles for babies 😂

• “i don’t like that look,” amy says. “you look…sweaty.”

• “what in the rich-white-people-sex-dungeon hell?”

• the whole polo kit situation. henry slowly putting his boot back on the floor

• “i’ve thrown men in the dungeons for less.”

“hey, don’t threaten me with a good time.”

• paris!!! leaving directions to the cheese

• “you're a mad, spiteful, unmitigated demon, and I'm going to kiss you until you forget how to talk.”

• birthday floggings et al and the buttercream!

• alex’s heart going weird at henry on the boat and having to put his head in his hands

• “i don't give a damn what joanne has to say, remus john lupin is gay as the day is long, and i won't hear a word against it.”

• “i will staple your dick to the inside of your leg”

• “i did get both of the gay kings.”

• “deflowering the darling of the republic.”

• “i'm not ... historically great at talking about things,” henry says.

“well, i wasn't historically great at blowjobs, but we all gotta learn and grow, sweetheart.”

“wasn't?"

“hey,” alex huffs. “are you trying to say i'm still not good at them?”

“no, no, i wouldn't dream of it,” henry says, and alex can hear the small smile in his voice. “it was just the first one that was.. well. it was enthusiastic, at least.”

“i don't remember you complaining…”

“yes, well, i'd only been fantasizing about it for ages.”

• baby. (!!!)

• “i miss you,” alex says before he can stop himself. he instantly regrets it, but henry says, “i miss you too.”

• “i want to ... put my fingers in his mouth...” she moans, sounding horrified.

• just the whole karaoke bar situation. plz. toilet stall hookup!

• “bisexuality is truly a rich and complex tapestry.”

• o captain, my captain

• “if only you had known the mighty work of thine loins would be undone by a gay heir who likes it when american boys with chin dimples are mean to him.”

• the fruity truth: my favourite english author is jane austen.

• “when at wimbledon”

• “i want to see a cage match between your grandmother (grandfather i guess) and this fucking ghoul running against my mom”

• “and you are good. most things are awful most of the time, but you're good.”

• “he is truly a picture, wearing an expression of bewildered panic and absolutely nothing else.”

• “jesus tits”

• henry falling out of the wardrobe and just. sitting on the floor. (zahra finds him in the wardrobe instead :()

• “i thought you were getting into international relations or something.”

“i mean, technically-“

• “you're literally putting your dick in the leader of a foreign state, who is a man, at the biggest political event before the election, in a hotel full of reporters, in a city full of cameras, in a race close enough to fucking hinge on some bullshit like this, like a manifestation of my fucking stress dreams, and you're asking me not to tell the president about it?”

• all of zahra's quips tbh - “every time i see you, it takes another year off my life.” - “ask me if i'm afraid of the crown.”

• SEXUAL EXPERIMENTATION WITH
FOREIGN MONARCHS: A GRAY AREA.

• EXPLORING YOUR SEXUALITY: HEALTHY, BUT DOES IT HAVE TO BE WITH THE PRINCE OF ENGLAND?

• FEDERAL FUNDING, TRAVEL EXPENSES, BOOTY CALLS, AND YOU

• history, huh? bet we could make some. (the emails plz like i need at least some of them read aloud over a montage or something)

• “some saucy tart once tried to impugn my virtue against an oil painting of him, and in the halls of memory, some things demand context.”

• I GUESS THAT MAKES YOU. THE MF. NORTH STAR.

• “i thought you might need to, like, have a catholic moment about this or something?” 😭

• “santa maria is watching!”

• skinny dipping!!!

• “philip is the heir and i'm the spare, and if that nervy bastard has a heart attack at thirty-five and i've got malaria, whither the spare?”

• alex's meltdown outside kensington. very important. - “how 'bout i just keep yelling and we see which of the papers show up first!” he turns back to the window and starts flailing his arms too. “henry! your royal fucking highness!”

• “jesus, could you stop being an obtuse fucking asshole for, like, twenty seconds?”

• “i fucking love you, okay?” alex half yells, finally, irreversibly.

• “what do you want?”

“i want you-”

“then fucking have me.”

“-but i don’t want this.”

• “a whole lifetime of fine. that’s not good enough for me.”

• henry nuzzling his nose behind alex's ear.

• alex laughs and grabs his head and aggressively kisses his cheek, smashing his face into the pillow.

• “next time we shall visit some of the george Ill pieces and see if they burst into flame.”

• DANCING TO YOUR SONG IN THE MUSEUM

• “i completely fucking love you” and the ring and the chain

• “once shaan managed to dislodge him from the chandelier”

• henry’s email about memories and grief and the first time he saw alex

• “jesus, be a gay beard”

• henry and alex in the car after the fake date

• “i will physically fight your grandmother (grandfather i guess) myself if i have to, okay? and, like, she's (he’s) old. i know i can take her (him).”

“i wouldn't be so cocky,” henry says with a small laugh. “she's (he’s)full of dark surprises.”

• “your spine's a ridge i'd die climbing”

• “check the fucking news, you horny little miscreant”

• “it’s about to be gay DEFCON five in this administration.”

• “then fuck it.”

• the big group hug

• oscar saying “give ‘em hell.”

• “you're my mean friend.”

• “jumping off cliffs is kinda my thing”

• I 😭 LOVE 😭 HIM 😭 ON 😭PURPOSE 😭 they can't leave that out if they do i'll kill someone

• “what are we even defending here, philip? what kind of legacy? what kind of family, that says, we'll take the murder, we'll take the raping and pillaging and the colonizing, we'll scrub it up nice and neat in a museum, but oh no, you're a bloody poof? that's beyond our sense of decorum! i've bloody well had it. i've sat about long enough letting you and gran and the weight of the damned world keep me pinned, and i'm finished. i don't care. you can take your legacy and your decorum and you can shove it up your fucking arse, philip. i'm done.”

• “for what it's worth,” he says to philip, “that is the bravest son of a bitch i’ve ever met.”

• “we banged it out last night” + high five

• “i've been gay as a maypole since the day i came out of mum, philip.”

• all the support for them 🥹

• bea pouring the tea on philip's lap

• “you know, i think all that cocaine i did must’ve really done a job on my reflexes!”

• henry pulls alex close and kisses him, whispers, "i love you i love you i love you."

• never 😭 tell 😭 me 😭 the 😭 odds 😭

• “my life is a cosmic joke and you're not a real person”

• “you are the absolute worst idea i’ve ever had”

• “listen, you've had your first big sex scandal. no more sitting at the kids' table.”

• how to love each other in plain sight

• “holding henry’s hand atop his own knee” in the portrait

• “all this fundraising for sobriety is going to drive me to drink”

• “i'm the prince of...here” 😭

• “you spent a month of your gap year talking to yaks in mongolia, h.”

• “i know it's a lot, but you give people hope. so, get back out there and be alex.”

• the super six 😭 (fantastic five now i guess)

• the picture of them on the cover of the magazine

• henry fixing june's hair 🥹 (NORA NOW I GUESS 😟)

[galaxygirl8880]

Okay, get this.

Along with the Thames being descendants of the hunters, (or something like that I don't remember sue me) in their bloodline there were some people who's emotions would show physically. It didn't hit every generation and it wasn't really predictable.

And by that I mean if someone of Thames blood got too excited or sad or anxious, any emotion, it would show.

In their records, there was one girl who if she got too upset by something, the winds around her would start getting aggressive and cause lots of destruction.

They are closest to nature so naturally that's what their emotions will respond to. Usually it wouldn't effect other emotions, just one or two. So if someone who got too anxious caused plants to form everywhere, nothing would happen if they were happy and excited.

I'm hoping you understand where I'm going with this ;-;

Their curse luckily skipped jour, but it became obvious that it didn't with cale once the frustrated toddler set the couch on fire when told that his father was busy and couldn't see him yet.

And jour was so so lucky when the maid that told them left quickly enough that she didn't see anything. But she wasn't fireproof so trying to comfort him was a struggle. In the end, her dress was a bit burnt and there was soot all over her hands and face-

Her son panicked and started crying, ending all of the fire.

As much as jour hated it, Cale was forced to grow up being extremely cautious when angry. It accidentally led to him shoving his anger down and pretending like he was fine. Because most people won't react positively when if you get too angry over something you accidentally set the curtains on fire.

Deruth made sure to tell Cale that he wouldn't get treated any different, that he wasn't a monster and that he still loved him. (Later, Cale would think back and say that Deruth was a liar.)

The day he found out his mother died was the day the ice developed. This time he didn't tell anyone.

Onto cale's regression-

There's combinations of Og!Cale and Krs, right? Where Krs actually gets reborn as Cale and the story progresses like that or something-

I want that but it's switched. Og!Cale on his first life living in the 20 year long war and trauma, then he gets reborn as Krs and omg a new opportunity at life where he won't have to act like he hates everyone AND loving parents?? Sike, more trauma.

As much as the war and apocalypse dulled his anger issues, they are still there but he's just a really good actor. Okay so he reads TBOAH and is fucking creeped out (slightly offended at his description in the story doesn't matter if it's slightly true-) and he's asleep and back to being Cale.

At first, he's confused. After sending Ron to get him water he proceeds to panic in the bathroom. He's terrified. What's happening? Why is he back here again? This is exactly what he wanted to get away from. All rational thought leaves his brain as he proceeds to freeze over the bathroom.

"Young Master are you alright in there?"

Right, not the time to panic he can do that later.

Time to put on a show.

---

Basen actually saw Cale get angry enough for that one noble kid's jacket to set on fire.

He was surprised because there was seemingly no way for that to have happened, then he saw a little flame on Cale's boot and panicked. Hastily stepping on it to put it out because Cale just protected him he didn't want him to be hurt.

Basen saw this fleeting look of fear in his eyes until it was gone and Cale delivered those words he still keeps close to heart even after all these years.

---

I could probably expand on this a bit more :>

Oddly enough I think this is one of my favorites

[ar0ace-m3ss]

People don't understand how obsessed I am with set the thames on fire