lighthouseborn

[lighthouseborn]

THE MUMMY 1999, dir. Stephen Sommers

[lighthouseborn]

*he'll get there, don't rush him

[lighthouseborn]

Close your Eyes and just listen ....

Bark Europa

Source

[lighthouseborn]

“It’s been raining for days.”

“Looks like the rainy season is finally here.”

“Shall I put on a pot of tea?”

“Turn up the heat/put another log on the fire, the rain brought a chill.”

“Close the window, you’ll ruin the flooring!”

“You’re sopping wet.”

“What on earth were you doing out there?”

“Fine, you can come in, but take off your shoes.”

“I don’t need you tracking mud everywhere.”

“The sound of rain is so nice.”

“You’re going out? In this?”

“You can’t go out there, it’s pouring down rain!”

“I like the rain and all, but being stuck inside is so boring.”

“The day would be a lot less boring if you learned how to sit still.”

“I cannot believe we’re stuck in this!”

“Maybe we should find somewhere to take cover until it stops.”

“Does it ever stop raining here?”

“Oh no! The rain ruined our picnic.”

“Want to go for a walk in the rain?”

“Can I have a blanket?”

“Sorry to intrude. This rain came out of nowhere.”

“Look at the sky! The lightning is insane.”

“It’s getting pretty intense out there.”

“A rainy day, warm blankets, a cup of tea, and a book to tie it all together.”

“Let’s go for a walk in the rain.”

“Here, this should warm you up.”

“Come in here before you catch a cold.”

“Ugh, that’s just a silly old wives’ tale.”

“I pity the poor souls caught out in this.”

“Aren’t there any books to read?”

“Rains smells so different in the city.”

“The rain smells better in the countryside.”

“Nothing like the sound of rain to go with a good book.”

“Careful, the tea is still hot.”

-draws on the fogged up windows-

-Flips loudly through book-

-sighs- “It’s so cozy in here.”

[lighthouseborn]

#listen there are times when he looks like henry and times where he doesn't and it has nothing to do with his face or styling you know? #most of titans does Not (with a capital n) look like henry at all #because dick is a much more grounded and self critical character and he spends a lot of time weighed down and putting up fronts #and the....... the Manner just isn't there it's not the same #but here in this movie ---again when it's not playing too far into the comediac aspect of the role--- there's a movement and lightness that. #Yeah. #anyways slkdfjg;lsdkfgj

no yeah exactly past me

lighthouseborn​:

hi, these both come from (here) and i am only here to go “Yeah” about them

actually a lot of this movie like. some of it is a little too hammed up because it’s a comedy and it’s like that on purpose but the parts where he is playing the character straightforward, without the exaggeration, have a lot of Henry energy and i cant stop thinkin about them so here’s some favorites

Keep reading

[lighthouseborn]

Spinner dolphins in the water near the Na Pali Coast of Kaua'i, Hawai'i

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Brianna Pastor, Good Grief

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no because actually im constantly thinking about scifi verse because i am, what you might call, a big fat nerd. and a treas.ure p.lanet flavored thing where i can keep so much of like. his aesthetics and nature and probably even some of the societal roles that put things the way they are right but then also it's. space tech. and laser guns. and magical creatures are just deep space creatures and the weird doors are tech and. you see the vision yes? and then realistically i could just. lore blend that into most settings where i'd want to put him. especially ones where maybe someone else has the hyper space travel but iirc treasure planet isn't quite there except for the big magic door, which is the exception to the concept.

they also completely ignore that open air space travel on a Ship makes. no fuckin' sense bds;lkgj;sdlfkgj but i can live with that. yada yada handwave atmosphere on the decks idk. it's cool shut up don't worry about it.

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  There's no hiding the doubt that pushes at his expression, so he doesn't even bother to try. Just woke up. Sure. But there are times to push and times to leave things lie and– “I can make coffee if you like.” He's got a feeling pushing will act like less of a check and more of a shove. That's reason enough for him not to. They can finish their other conversation first, at least.

  Or as much of it as they can before she drops out.

  He starts prepping the coffee without waiting for answer. Tea's more his go-to, but these steps are still familiar enough that multi-tasking proves no challenge.

  “What is it this time?” Ghosts? Ghouls? Spoons rattle and a bag of heavy, crunchy grounds come down out of the cabinet. As a thought half-after, he checks the expiry date. Still good. “I don't know if you know this but your text read like you'd filled out a Mad Libs.”

She has to think about it. Really think. The fact that she has to think at all says more than her answer ever could.

Inhale.

Pause. More than twenty-four hours is nothing. More than thirty-six hours...thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nineNo.

This isn't the time for counting. Counting might help with sleep, actually. She doesn't want to sleep. That's the whole problem.

Exhale.

Right. He's still waiting for an answer. Her mouth opens. Closes. Oops. She forgot to think of an answer. He's been waiting too long. She chuckles and sheepishly raises a shoulder. That's an answer, sort of. It shows him that she's paying attention. That her glassy-eyed stare doesn't mean she's passed out with her eyes open again. She blinks away the fatigue, shakes her head, then gives a more animated shrug. That doesn't mean it's a better answer.

"Um." She pulls her head back. Furrows her brows. Wrinkles her nose. Grins. "That's a dumb question. Just woke up right now. I was totally zoned out."

@lighthouseborn asked: “...When was the last time you slept?”

[lighthouseborn]

  A single note of amusement. He's going to remember that particular assertion. Put it to the test, a long as his coin and/or good graces with Auntie Nettie hold. Which could be quite awhile, he'd like to think. The humor weakens as she doesn't answer him. Agonizing over something. He imagines cold truths and carrying currents. Complicated answers to questions she's commanded him not to ask...

  The push catches him a shade off guard, but he rolls with it all the same. Moves again to his side of the bed. His brows lift lightly at the idea that he intends anything. Merely an enabler! The levity leaves him as she continues.

  “Mm.” A thinking noise. And acknowledgement that it is no joke. The gift of a god. He unknowingly drags his thumb over the scar on his face as he thinks. Really the room is a safe place. At the height and depths of the brothel, they've been tucked away there as a favor to Henry, but it's usually not for outsiders or customers. Out of sight and mind and the awareness of most people who did not work for the house. Even still. “Alright.”

  Then, curiously, he begins to climb. To his feet on the bed, then he braces briefly on the frame and pushes up into the supporting beams of the room itself. Even with his rigging experience it's an odd, twisting climb though the strange twisted structure. He's always thought it looks like it has warped over time — like it was straight and sensible once, but the years had pushed and pulled and stretched it to fit the city. He ends in a corner where, with a light grimace for effort and a shift of his shoulder, he moves a plank in the wall to unveil a space perhaps just large enough for a single person. A glance shows him what he expects — a bundled collection of notes and letters, a small book, and a little bag he expects holds a few fine treasures. A fine layer of dust; she's not put anything here especially recently. He looks down to Ingvi and nods toward the hiding place still held open. “Will this do?”

She feels his follow, the shift of the bed under them as he braces over her. She doesn’t move her hands yet, still struggling against the frustration that demands an outlet. She is sure Henry would understand, but it is not a position she wants to put her old friend in, regardless.

“There is not enough rum on this island for that,” she grumbles. But this is part of why she sought him out; he would have solutions she hadn’t thought of. Still, she hesitates. If she is drunk enough to dance, she will be too drunk to stay her tongue, and that is the only thing giving her pause. She can’t stand the thought of him looking at her with the horror echoed in her crew, or the pity she faced in Ula, or even a fraction of the screaming heartbreak in Tova’s eyes when she told her sister—

Behind her hands, she screws her eyes shut, forcing herself away from that line of thought. Henry wouldn’t, she thinks. She hopes. And if she’s going to get far enough away from death to sleep again, she’s going to follow where Henry leads her.

Ingvi shoves at his shoulder, enough to get him moving so she can sit up. “I need… somewhere safe for my sword,” she cautions. “It cannot fall into the wrong hands, and I do not think you need me armed if you intend to get me ofrǫlvi.” Not that she would relinquish all her weapons; simply the most accessible. Storm grey eyes cut across to him. When she speaks next, it is with all the frozen exhaustion that has made its home in her bones. “It was a gift. From a god.” If she trusted anyone to take that at face value, it would be him.

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  There is precious little sense in it, thinks Henry. Perhaps even no sense at all. To stand there now, before his father, and still feel grappled by such tangled worry, such thorny fear. Merciless as a bramble woven between his ribs and tied off around his heart — one that had lived there so long the rest of him had grown around it. Removing it now only left a hole. That same old wound. A physical pain in his chest that pinches his brow and crumples his shoulders, withheld at every edge except the plea that, truthfully, escaped before he could consider it.

  The return somehow stabs. Though he asked for it, and it's the answer he would hope to hear, it hurts. It makes less sense than the worry.

  Henry fears, for that second of strange new hurt, that appeasing the grief of years gone will be a task even more impossible than the drawn out hunt for the trident turned battle for his whole self that all his loved ones had tried so hard to keep him from for so many years and his breath catches in an agonized inhale — then releases in a sigh as his father's palms cradle his face. The kiss to his brow bestows affection, appreciation, comfort. His shoulders drop and his eyes ease closed, surrendering to the reassurance. Letting it sweep away the tangle, give permission to the weary ache of recent months as much as the long-dry tears shed on the cliffside and the not-quite-prayers said over stolen book pages. Letting it be real. Tangible. Gentle.

˚ ༘ † ⊰ ｡ @lighthouseborn  sent: ❛ Promise me you’ll still be here when I wake. ❜

in  an  instant  he  knows  from  where  Henry's  fear  stems;   his  son,   now  grown  and  independent,   still  feels  the  bitter  abandonment  of  a  child  left  alone  without  adequate  goodbyes.   in  truth,   William  has  thought  about  it  each  day  since,   and  each  time  with  a  soreness  of  wounds  that  refused  to  heal.   they'd  thought  it  for  the  best,   he  and  Elizabeth.   they'd  thought  the  boy  would  do  better  avoiding  the  pain  of  his  parting.   leaving  him  in  sweet  dreamworld,   with  the  scent  of  his  father  still  lingering  within  that  liminal  space,   sounded  a  merciful  act  until  it  didn't.

          he'd  recognised  that  as  soon  as  the  sole  of  his  first  boot  had  landed  on  the  Dutchman's  deck,   far  too  late  to  pelt  across  sand  and  cliff  to  return  to  the  boy's  side,   gathering  him  up  in  the  firm  arms  of  his  farewell.   and  how  sharply  he'd  ached,   only  minutes  before,   dallying  at  his  son's  bedside  in  that  den  littered  with  trinkets  and  a  swinging  hammock.

          at  the  time,   he'd  thought  that  the  hope  his  fingers  brushing  against  sun-bleached  strands  would  rouse  Henry  was  a  desire  born  of  selfishness. 

          but  time  marched  on,   as  ever  it  does,   cruel  in  its  disinterest  in  their  plight.   the  second  before  that  flash  of  green,   before  being  drawn  back  under  the  waves  once  again,   he'd  still  only  seen  Elizabeth's  lone  figure  up  in  the  distance.   here  one  moment   —   gone  the  next.

          now  Will  smiles,   brimming  with  sadness,   regret,   but  also  an  overwhelming  joy  of  the  promise  he's  about  to  make   ( despite  the  anxiety  that  gnaws  at  him,   expecting  an  errant  clause  to  still  drag  him  back  to  the  depths ).

          “ i'll  be  here  when  you  awake.   you  have  my  word,   son. ”

          his  lips  touch  against  Henry's  forehead,   both  new  and  familiar  in  the  same  breath.   his  son  is  already  taller  than  him,   but  rough,   tender  hands  either  side  of  the  boy's  face  lead  him  down  to  the  affection.   “ get  some  rest   —   you've  earned  that  much,   for  all  you've  done,   and  far  more  besides. ”

[lighthouseborn]

Along the shore the cloud waves break, The twin suns sink behind the lake, The shadows lengthen...

[lighthouseborn]

hi

im doing that thing again where i encounter a name i really like and i think about places i could use that name to create a character and. somehow i have arrived at the thought of him someday having not one, not two, but three daughters

[lighthouseborn]

a thing i need to lock in on is like. i think henry uses people's names more often than most people but i also think he uses some terms of endearment fairly freely. and i never do because i feel presumptuous when i do it but i have to remind myself that he is presumptuous. and impertinent. and a pain in the ass (affectionate)

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  “Is that a criticism of the story, or my way of telling it?”

"You say that, but...if it felt like the 'best part' was coming up, I wouldn't be asking you to pause, right?"

[lighthouseborn]

  Last night. Yesterday. What a pair they make, crashing back into their loved ones' lives like boat and planes and a stack of unfortunate plates. Ah. Henry takes a breath and intentionally banishes his sleep-lagged bout of bitterness. And in fact-

  “You tell anyone you'll be here?” he asks, though he's already got suspicions of what the answer's going to be. He goes after the plate set for him as a cover for the way those thoughts are sure to show plainly on his face. Much safer to shovel breakfast into his mouth (however...questionable said breakfast may be. Cold in spots and wildly under-seasoned. Hetty would be appalled.)

  Yesterday. That would explain why Henry still looks so exhausted, then. Richie makes a vague noise in the neighborhood of sympathy around a bit of food. He's no stranger to the proddings of family that come with a reunion. He's even familiar with Elizabeth's brand of it. It's not entirely dissimilar from that of his sister, actually.

  "Mm-mm." In decidedly less-than-upper-class fashion, Richie doesn't bother to finish chewing and swallowing before he's answering the question. "Haven't been for a while. I just got in last night." Which is to say, he'd been discharged from medical and allowed to rest in his own bed last night for the first time since returning. The little rueful twist to the left side of his mouth belies a little of the truth of it.

  "I'll be around for a few weeks, at least." At least as long as it takes to recover enough for light duties, anyway. "You're welcome to stay."

[lighthouseborn]

im just. im JUST saying.

looking at. some theoretically generic art books for reasons but like. look me in the eye and tell me that's not the potc flying dutchman though