#but on the other hand there are some beautiful pieces of filmmaking too

[abirdie]

Gael García Bernal in Rosewater (2014, dir. Jon Stewart)

(these gifs also feature Claire Foy, Haluk Bilginer and Kim Bodnia)

Gifs are all 540px wide so you can click to see larger.

[other gael filmography gifsets]

[the-boney-rolls]

The Great Covid Beatles Binge, Day 2: Give My Regards to Broad Street

Hoo boy, here we go!

OK so we open with a stern/bored looking Paul stuck in traffic in the rain and it looks like he's spacing out... hey, Paul, are you starting to daydream? Paul? Is this whole movie about to be a dream, Paul? Oh god

This silly little car! The computer, the carpet, the pool ball gear shift. It's giving the 80's car version of the Beatles house in Help! It's also giving hyper-masculine in a way that is, I'm sorry, not convincing.

This plot is already deeply inscrutable. Something about some missing tapes, a reformed criminal that Paul knows somehow and trusts for some reason, and some ominous business men. Something bad will happen at midnight if the tapes aren't found. OK!

Ringo looks so cool and hot! That vest over that sick as hell dragon shirt. Yes. This scene is genuinely funny, too -- Ringo spends the entirety of "Here, There and Everywhere" and "Yesterday" searching through his mountains of drum equipment looking for brushes, only to find them too late. Apparently, the reason for this scene is that Ringo just didn't want to re-record old Beatles songs!

And now we have Paul, Ringo, George Martin and Geoff Emerick all together in a scene! Makes me think about how George Harrison apparently was a little miffed Paul didn't just call him to ask for filmmaking advice since it was something he had experience with. What could have been!

“Wanderlust” is such a great song, actually, damn.

“I’m not a bad boy, really. I’m just — er, manipulated” John??

Now this is more like it! Surprise Linda in drag, hell yes!

I don't know why this scene is happening? It's a rehearsal for... something? But I'll take it. I love "Ballroom Dancing" and I love vaudeville Paul.

I'm starting to feel like Paul's grandpa in AHDN, "so far, I've been in a train and a room, and a car and a room, and a room and a room." Did Paul's experience on that set define what a movie is to him? "Ah yes, a movie must include lots of transportation from one location to another and then some musical scenes." But dear, it worked because there were jokes! And all four of you to play off each other.

I.......... what

This is Silly Love Songs, of all things!

Again, I don't know why this scene is happening in the context of the movie. Is it another rehearsal for something? A music video? Television special? Who knows, Yoko! But OK here we go, I sure am having fun! Linda is extremely into it. That slap bass kills. There's a Michael Jackson impersonator for some reason? Sure! It makes no sense but I love this man and his bizarre beautiful mind.

So now we're doing band rehearsal in some kind of barn? Or abandoned warehouse? Or something? All of the plot of this movie seems to happen in dialog in cars en route to some ambiguous musical engagement.

“Do you think we can get some heat in here or are we practicing to be Canadians?” God bless you, Ringo.

“Should we try Not Such a Bad Boy” “Do we have to?” “Yeah” Bossy Paul bosses around a Beatle, we love to see it.

Is this song about him or John? 

The French horn player coming in late to record "For No One," inexplicably in a bright red motorcycle helmet, so late that he’s preparing up until right before the solo starts. Reminds me of that story of Ringo recording Hey Jude. But it also feels very symbolic of something. There are so many odd inscrutable details in this movie, it could almost be Lynchian in someone else's hands.

“We’re running, and running out of time too” It feels meaningful but I don't know how.

Hello Mr. Darcy! Wow, can I have an entire movie that’s just this Victorian dream sequence? Can we go back in time and do a Beatles movie period piece, please??

The strings in this which are inspired by but are not quite "Eleanor Rigby" are lovely. Apparently this whole sequence is called "Eleanor's Dream," which implies that Paul is Eleanor. Make of that what you will, I suppose.

I like that Linda is a pants-wearing photographer in this period scene. Linda's gotta Linda.

This strikes me as very Evil Beatles. Again, make of that what you will.

Barbara and Linda are acting the HELL out of this going over the waterfall scene damn.

I don't know, I could screen grab this entire segment, it's amazing, it's insane.

But I can't gloss over Paul being horny for Ghost Horse Girl Linda. Incredible.

"That’s it you’re finished. What are you gonna do now?" Well ok at least this one is pretty obviously a reference to the critical reception of his career after the Beatles and again after John.

"Uncle Jim" Ok so I guess this is supposed to be his dad, but what is the point of this scene? And why the monkey? The further I get into this film the more I feel like I am looking deep into this man's psyche but through the murkiest of windows. I'm here for the weird dream symbolism, Paul, but if you're gonna go that route, again go full Lynch and get even weirder.

Just the straight up original recording of "Band on the Run" feels out of place with all these re-records. I wonder why that choice.

His car license plate is "PM 1" That's right, baby, you're number 1.

Another little cute but inconsequential day dream (presumably within the dream that is this entire movie). He looks like Roy Orbison here.

Oh ok Harry was just locked in a cupboard this whole time. So the whole "plot" was pointless. Cool cool cool.

Paul and Harry being giddy and laughing together is cute though, and it makes me wish that that relationship was fleshed out more. Who are they to each other, exactly??

Yup it was all a dream. Love it, love that for us. Thanks, Paul.

OK so this was definitely barely a movie. There could have been something here, but I'll go back to what I said above -- I wish he'd gone weirder with the whole thing! And I wish Paul himself had been weirder. The character Paul is kind of a dud, just plodding along from place to place and only coming alive when he performs. It's like that Hawaiian shirt is supposed to be a stand in for characterization. But worth it for the music video scenes and for getting a tiny glimpse into Paul's psyche.

[gvfgal]

The Art of Life: Epilogue

18+, minors get the hell out.

A/n: Just a nice little update on our favorite creatives!!! Thanks again for all the love on this story, feels good to close this chapter and move on to the next. As always, enjoy <3

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, explicit sexual content, soft!dom Josh, lots of teasing & pet names, exhibitionism, oral (m rec.), masturbation (f rec.), unprotected sex.

Word count: 5.1k

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

One Year Later…

“How many more damn boxes of art supplies do you have?” Sam groaned as he clambered up the stairs with a box hoisted on his shoulder.

Josh and Jake were arranging the couch to your liking as you dusted the blinds, semi-thankful to finally have some.

The new apartment you and Josh were in was another brownstone, but a bit of a step up from the one you had before. Since having graduated, you both now had steady incomes (or as steady as the income can be for an artist and a filmmaker), and decided that splurging on a place big enough for your ever blossoming love and creativity was well worth it.

The ceilings were a lot higher, and unlike your old place, this apartment had two bedrooms, one that Josh readily agreed to turn into your own personal art studio so that you could, in his words, “finally have a real damn living room”.

Josh sat his end of the couch down and crossed the room to wrap an arm around your torso.

“Guess we shouldn’t tell him about the storage unit,” he smirked at you.

“Not until after we get him high,” you gave him a quick kiss on the lips and gently shoved him in the direction of waiting boxes.

Jake groaned and stretched his back, plopping down on the couch.

“You alright over there, old man?” Josh teased as he pulled a kitchen towel out of a box. He held it up for you to inspect, ‘keep or toss?’, and you immediately shook your head in disgust.

“Yeah, I agree,” he tossed it across the room.

“I need beer,” Sam called out to no one, sitting his box down and taking a seat on top of it.

“I second that,” Jake threw a lazy hand in the air.

You sat your duster down and began making your way to the kitchen, “well, since you guys were soooo sweet for helping us, I suppose the least I could do is get you an ice cold beer,” you teased, swinging the refrigerator door open.

You grabbed four bottles from the six pack, the only thing sitting in your fridge other than a bottle of wine.

The bare necessities.

After popping the caps from each of them and discarding them on the counter, you went and passed each of the brothers one, and they all stood to their feet, knowing all too well that Josh, ever the thespian, would want to give a toast.

And true to his nature, he raised his bottle.

“To my beautiful smoking hot girlfriend,” he winked at you, causing you to roll your eyes, “and to new beginnings for us.”

“To new beginnings,” the rest of you agreed. Josh fell onto the couch, pulling you down with him to sit on his lap.

“You know I really like this sofa,” he cheesed, letting his free hand run across the smooth velvet.

You’d picked it out while strolling through Tribeca one afternoon after a showcase. Josh showed up with a bouquet of roses to congratulate you, and you decided to window shop your way back to the subway station.

You didn't buy it that day, but a few months down the line, Josh surprised you with the purchase receipt one night at his apartment.

“Set to be delivered on the day we move in together,” he pointed at the date on the paper, smiling up at you.

You then argued that that couch was too expensive, he then assured you that no purchase was too big if it meant making you happy.

Then you made love.

Snapping out of your day dream, you took a swig from your beer, “I really like it too.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

After his brothers left to explore the city, you and Josh ordered a pizza from your favorite spot and popped open the bottle of wine.

He sat and watched you paint a small piece as he fiddled with videos on his laptop. You were blabbering away about the house warming party you were scheduled to have in two weeks time.

“So I was thinking we could get a charcuterie board from that little deli on fifteenth street,” you balanced your brush and your wine glass in one hand, stroking gently on the canvas while your other hand fed your mouth pizza.

“I would say the one on eleventh but the one on fifteenth does these vegan charcuterie boards and I figured you could get one for Sam,” you took a sip of your wine and looked at him with a curious expression.

He was ogling at you with a goofy grin, causing you to furrow your brows.

“What?”

“It’s amazing to me, the way you’ve mastered the art of pizza-wine-painting. It’s pretty impressive I must say,” he chuckled as he took a bite of his own slice. “That tomato sauce on the corner of your mouth is a nice touch, too.”

There was no teasing in his voice, he stated it matter-of-factly, as if he really meant it, but your cheeks still flushed in embarrassment.

You sat your pizza down on it’s paper plate and used your sleeve to wipe your face, a much easier thing for you to do now since you had an in unit washer and dryer.

“Oh, that reminds me,” he shot up from the couch and dissapeard into the direction of your shared bedroom that was full of unpacked boxes. You heard some momentary shuffling, a loud bang, before he came inching back out, a large canvas in his grasp.

There was only one painting he could’ve possibly been carrying. He was adamant that the only artwork to be displayed in the apartment would be yours, and you sold all the other pieces that had collected in your apartment over time, (something you would’ve done earlier if you knew how much you could make, but you were glad you waited).

“Josh,” you groaned with a roll of your eyes, “I told you I dont wanna hang that one.”

“Oh come on, mama,” he begged, stopping to turn the canvas towards you, as if you hadn’t seen it a million times already.

It was the painting of him you displayed at the showcase that fateful night, seemingly the painting that brought you back to one another.

After the showcase, you had quite a few offers from people willing to buy it, but in the end you opted on keeping it, after all, it was the painting you were most proud of.

Still, that didn’t mean you wanted it hanging in your house.

“You can’t tell me this isn’t the most beautiful piece of artwork you’ve ever seen in your life,” he jammed his pointer finger at the canvas, “look at that detail,” he then pointed towards one of the empty walls, “it’s even got a perfect spot.”

To be truthful, it was a perfect spot. Right above the fireplace, that section of the wall would hold the canvas almost perfectly.

You made your way over to him and examined the painting with a quizzical expression, “is this about you wanting to display my work, or about you wanting a half naked picture of yourself to gaze at in our living room?”

The corner of his mouth turned upwards, “an intricate mixture of the two.”

You frowned, “no.”

“Pleaassseeee,” he begged more, leaning the canvas on the wall to grab ahold of you, “what if it’s just a placeholder, until you paint something just as glorious and deserving?”

You narrowed your eyes and threw your arms over his shoulders, “something tells me you don’t think I’ll ever paint something as ‘glorious and deserving.’”

His smirk returned to his face, “don’t get me wrong, Picasso, I’m nothing if not a believer in your talent,” he nodded in the direction of the waiting canvas, “but you’re not topping that one. Not when you had a muse such as my—”

“Alright, alright Mr. Big Shot,” you pushed him off of you gently with a laugh, “go get the damn nails.”

Like a kid being awarded a piece of candy, he scampered off to the kitchen where the nails were as you picked up the hammer from the coffee table.

“Placeholder,” you reminded him, waving the hammer in the air.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

After 20 minutes of Josh up on the ladder and you barking instructions, feeling very tyrannical since he forced your hand in the first place, the canvas was finally hung.

You both stepped back to admire it and all its glory. You had to admit it did look pretty good hanging there, but you’d never say it out loud for Josh to hear.

“You know we’re taking this down for the housewarming party, right?”

“Well, we’ll see about that,” Josh shrugged with a sly grin, “it’s kind of a good conversation starter.”

“Yeah, like you ever need help starting a conversation,” you bumped his hip with yours, “I’m gonna shower, getting sleepy.”

Josh moved to stand behind you, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist as he began peppering kisses along your collarbone, “want me to run you a bath?”

“Hmmm, that sounds nice,” you hummed. Your head fell into the crook of his neck, and you took a moment to inhale his scent, so very unique to him that it made you love it even more. Now that you two were living together, you thought of his scent clinging to the furniture, lingering in the air even when he wasn’t present, causing a soporific smile to spread across your face.

“Yeah,” he kissed our neck, leaving fire in his wake, “I can pour you some more wine, maybe rub your feet,” his mouth was hovering over your ear now, “and we can talk about what color to paint the accent wall in the bedroom. I’m thinking an earth tone, Laurel Green, maybe?”

His lips closed around your earlobe, sucking gently before his tongue returned to lick a slow stripe back down to your neck.

Goosebumps rose to your body at the feeling, and you bit your lip, “I love when you talk interior design to me Joshua, it’s sexy.”

“Wait until I tell you about my ideas for the backsplash in the kitchen. Two words. Mosaic. Tiles.” he pressed further as he began walking the both of you towards the bathroom.

You threw your head back in laughter, throwing a dramatic hand over your head like a 1940’s starlet, “take me now, Mr. Kiszka.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Two Weeks Later…

In the end, the canvas, in fact, did not come down for the party. Josh was smart enough to get you nice and toasty before the guests arrived, leaving you to forget all about it.

And he was right, it was a good conversation piece. Almost everyone in attendance wanted to know the story behind it, and Josh was more than ready to fill them in on all the mushy details of that night.

He was proud of your relationship. Proud of all the obstacles the two of you overcame that led you to that point. He was proud of your love, and by the end of the night, he was dying to show you just how proud he really was.

While you mingled with friends and family, his eyes tracked your movements constantly. He was enjoying the way you seemed so at home there in just a few short weeks, appearing so in your element that you were practically floating. It very well could’ve been the copious number of Moscow Mules you were plowing through that made you appear that way, but he liked to imagine it being more poetic than that.

As soon as the clock struck midnight, Josh was wrapping the party up, sending guests out the door in twos, eager to finally get you alone.

“Y/n, Josh, lovely hosts as always,” Sam slurred as Karen worked to usher him out the door. They were the last two left, Karen trying her hardest to wrangle her youngest and pack up his charcuterie board that he refused to leave without.

“Come on Sam, your dad is waiting in the rental car,” she gave him a light shove out the front door before turning to hug you and Josh.

“Congrats again, you two,” she gushed as she squeezed you tightly, “we’ll see you tomorrow for brunch?”

“See you tomorrow, ma,” Josh kissed her on the cheek then pulled you into his side.

You could feel his fingers digging deeper than usual into the flesh of your hip, intense heat radiating from his body as he stood so casually on your porch waving his family off.

“Ma!” Sam shouted as Jake climbed from the back seat to help him into the car, “don’t forget my charcuterie board!”

Karen rolled her eyes, “would you stop all that damn yelling? I’ve got it right here, genius,” she quipped back, just as loud as he’d been.

The two of you stepped back inside, Josh shutting the door on his family, their shouting still being heard from inside.

“They sound like proper New Yorkers out there,” he chuckled.

“Guess being in the city so much is starting to rub off on them,” you were tossing trash into a large garbage bag to clear some chores from tomorrow, unaware of the way Josh was undressing you with his eyes.

He crossed over to you and grabbed the large garbage bag from you, his lips turned upwards in a mischievous manner, “we’ll worry about the mess later, mama. I wanna do some christening of our new home.”

The bag was tossed to the side as he sent you a flirty wink, his arms coming to wrap around your waist.

You rolled your eyes, “you dress up as the pope for one Halloween and all of a sudden you become him. I don’t think there’s any christening left, we’ve pounded it out in almost every square inch of this place.”

He threw his head back and laughed at your choice of words before turning serious once more, “almost every square inch.”

When he realized you had no idea what he was referring to, his eyes slowly panned towards the artwork that hung over the fireplace, then to the floor below it, then back to your face.

You gasped playfully, shoving a finger into his chest, “your vanity becomes you, Joshua. Are you really trying to say you want to have sex with me underneath my painting of you? Is this some kink I have not yet been introduced to?”

Though he knew your teasing was nothing but harmless, he still found himself growing bashful at your words. But there was a twinkle of curiosity in your eyes, something that told him that this might just be up your alley too.

His head dropped to plant gentle kisses into your neck, his hands traveling lower to cup your ass.

“It might be,” he shrugged, “won’t know until we give it a try.”

Your fingers found his curly locks, guiding his mouth along your neck with a sigh before yanking him to look you in the eyes.

“What are you waiting for then?”

Without missing a beat, one of his hands darted up to grip your face tightly, a dark lust swimming in his eyes.

“I think you have the wrong idea about this. I’m in charge tonight, you’re at my mercy.”

A chill shot up your spine at the way his voice dropped into a husky authoritative tone, something you rarely got to here from your sweet Josh.

He was mostly sweet and gentle when it came to sex, a direct reflection of the type of person he was. But sometimes, sometimes, a much darker side of him would come out to play, and oh how you’d missed it.

When you didn’t respond to him, he tugged at your face with little force, his eyes narrowing an inch, “do you understand me?”

You nodded, swallowing down a moan that so badly wanted to permeate the air.

Josh tilted his head back, “words. Use. Your. Words.”

“Yes,” you sighed, “yes sir.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed, softly kissing the tip of your nose, “I love it when you listen.”

He released his grasp on you and took a step backwards, drinking in your body as he went over the different things he wanted to do to you. His ongoing silence was making you rather nervous, but you’d stand there and allow him to stare until he gave you further instructions.

After all, you were at his mercy.

Finally, he began backing away, his eyes the last thing to leave you before he settled himself on the couch. He wasn’t facing you, and the couch shielded you from seeing anything beyond the wild tuft of his curly hair, but the sound of his belt buckle coming undone suddenly had you on high alert.

He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side with a heavy sigh before dropping his hands out of your view again.

It took all your strength not to scamper over to him and throw yourself at his feet, willing and ready to bestow love and praise on him in any way he saw fit.

But you were patient, listening closely to the sound of fabric rustling as he dropped his pants around his ankles.

When a soft moan escaped his mouth, you realized exactly what he was doing, and the hair on your arms stood straight.

“Jo-Josh,” you whispered, wringing your fingers together to stop yourself from moving.

His head fell to the back of the sofa with another drawn out sound, and you could barely see the movement of his arm as he pumped along his length.

He called your name back to you in a similar fashion, “what is it baby? What do you need?”

The way he was being both gentle and demanding, switching back and forth between the two personas, had your head reeling. You took a small step forward, accidentally nudging the discarded trash bag and giving away your movements.

“Aht,” he scolded gently, “I didn’t say you could move yet. Did I?”

His authoritative tone was laced with want, as if he himself was having a hard time holding back from seeking out what he really wanted, but he refused to give up the game.

“No but,” you were cut off by another sound from him that made you squeeze your legs together, “I want to see you, Josh.”

“You wanna see me, baby?” He repeated, “you wanna watch?”

He turned to look back at you with a dazed man smirk on his face, reveling in the way you were all but squirming in place.

“Yes,” you trembled in response as your eyes fell to the movement of his arm. Slow and steady strokes, a firm grip, just like he liked for you to do.

“Come,” he turned to face the painting in front of him, “sit in front of me.”

Without missing a beat, you scurried over to the foot of the couch, your eyes immediately falling to his pulsing erection and the way his hand worked it over.

You were about to kneel down on the floor in front of him, but he stopped you with a snap of his fingers. Your eyes shot up to his, and he grinned at your obedience.

He loved it when you listened.

“Clothes off first, mama. I wanna see that beautiful body of yours.”

Once again in compliance, your hands found the hem of your shirt in a frenzy, eager to please while also eager to get closer to what you wanted. And although Josh was pleased with your obedience, he wasn’t completely satisfied.

“Slow down,” he bit out with a swift downward pull on his shaft, “easy.”

Layer by layer, you stripped yourself down, making sure to take your time as Josh instructed you to, and when you were completely naked, his jaw fell slack.

“I swear,” he groaned as he began speeding up his movement only slightly, “every time I see you like this, it’s like the first time all over again.”

You would have blushed if his next words didn't come out so harsh, “on your knees. Hands in your lap.”

Once you were in the preferred position, Josh relaxed back onto the couch, his legs spread like some king on his throne as he worked himself over. He was holding your eye contact as he did so, enjoying the way your eyes were pleading with him for any sort of attention. As your arousal began to build, you began squirming in place, trying to conjure up some friction. This wasn’t missed by Josh, of course, he was paying far too close attention to you.

“I see what you’re doing,” he panted, “trying to give that pretty little pussy some attention. You must be so wet.”

You nodded swiftly, hoping that your obedience would gain you some kind of a reward.

Josh tilted his head back, glancing at the painting hung above your head before peering down his nose at you, “for me? Is it wet for me, mama?”

Again you nodded, this time followed with a small whimper as you shifted your body again.

“Show me.”

You sat on your bottom and spread your legs for him with a heavy sigh.

Josh hummed in approval, “look at that. Dripping all down your legs.” He released his cock from his hand with a grunt, getting a better look of what you so easily offered over to him.

As much as you wanted to touch yourself, find some sort of release, but you dared not move. You simply allowed him to stare and admire, taking in the way his tongue appeared to brush across his bottom lip.

It stopped to rest in the corner of his mouth as it turned up into a smirk, his eyes dragging up your body to your face.

“You’re trembling. You wanna touch it, don't you? You wanna play with my pussy?”

His pussy. The sound of that had you moaning again, arching your body towards him without thought.

“Yeah, you liked that, huh mama?”

You were growing rather tired of his teasing, you’d been starved of touch all night, even from yourself, and you were growing more and more desperate. But he seemed to be enjoying it far too much, and you would never steal that from him.

“Forgetting to use our words?” his head tilted to the side, the once soft look on his face now being replaced with one of displeasure.

“No, I—” you croaked out, but realized you had no rebuttal to his statement, “I’m sorry.”

His bottom lip poked out, “that’s okay, baby. I know how you get when it comes to my cock.”

As if it knew it had been mentioned, it twitched in his lap, gently tapping against his stomach and leaving a smear of pre cum in its wake. Josh hissed and wrapped his hand around it securely.

“It’s like there’s nothing in that brilliant little brain of yours except that. You forget your manners, forget your words,” he shook his head in mock disappointment, “isn’t that a shame?”

He was certainly knocking you down a peg, playing into that dominant role far too well. So well in fact, that it only served to push you further into your role.

“But that’s quite alright, I’ll let you make it up to me, I’ll even cut you a deal”. He sat back and threw his arms over the back of the couch. He looked like some mafia godfather, about to make you an offer you couldn’t refuse.

“Anything Josh,” you gasped, “I’ll do anything you want me to.”

“I know you will, baby. Cause you’re such a good girl, aren’t you? Such a good girl for me?”

You nodded, but quickly remembered that he was demanding your words, “yes.”

His smile only broadened at that, “come suck me. Put me in that sweet little mouth of yours and I’ll let you touch yourself all you want.”

How could you refuse that offer?

“On one condition,” he raised his finger as he began kicking his pants the rest of the way off, “you can’t cum. Not yet, not until I tell you to, okay?”

“Yes sir,” you nodded, mindful not to move until he gave you the command to do so.

He seemed proud of you, beaming with pride as he settled himself back on the couch once more.

“Come get it, mama.”

You swiftly positioned yourself in front of him, your left hand wrapping around the base of his cock and your right immediately seeking out your clit.

When your mouth sunk around him, his tip nudging the back of your throat, Josh moaned so loudly you were sure any passerby on the street could hear him.

“Fuckkkk baby, just like that. God yes.”

You were swallowing him down without relent, your fingers between your legs moving at a similarly frantic pace. You moaned around him as you eyes rolled back, but still you never slowed.

His began fucking himself up into your mouth, hips lifting from the couch as his hands crowded your scalp.

“Sucking my cock so good,” he growled out, “that mouth is a treasure mama, always so sweet for me.”

His praise made you speed up the movements on your clit, and his eyes quickly fell to where you were working.

“Remember what I said,” he tugged gently on your hair, letting you know he was still fully in control, “no cumming till I say so.”

You were gagging and sputtering around him, but tried your hardest to nod so he knew you’d heard and understood him.

But it wasn’t you, who he should’ve been worried about. With every thrust of his hips, he felt himself sailing closer and closer to his end. He would’ve let go right then, but even in his dominant state, he felt the need to please you first. He wanted you shaking and cumming around him before he allowed himself to do so.

With his hands still in your hair, he pulled you from off of him with a hiss, “turn around, on your knees.”

You wiped the mess from around your mouth before dropping down into an arch facing away from him, wiggling your ass in the air as an invitation.

“Yeah, look at you,” he goaded as he pumped himself in his fist, “so fucking ready. You ready, mama?”

You shuddered when you felt his warm body position itself directly behind you, the tip of his length just barely brushing against your slick.

“Yes, Josh,” you whined, pressing back into him, “give it to me.”

That seemed to really do it for him, a guttural growl left his mouth as his hand fisted into your hair and pulled back roughly. Your stinging eyes were met with the sight of that glorious painting, and you knew this was exactly how he wanted it.

He pushed into in one swift movement, your leaking hole offering him no resistance.

Your mouth dropped open without a word or a sound, and the arch in your back deepened as he slid right into that sensitive spot.

He pulled back out before slamming into you again, yanking on your hair as he did so, “gonna give it to you,” he repeated the movements, “just how you like it.”

His thrusts began to speed up, and the grip he held in your hair prevented you from looking anywhere but at your artwork, forcing you to take it in its fullest.

In a way, it turned you on. Being able to still gaze upon his face while he railed you from the back. You were beginning to see the appeal in having it displayed, and it was surely a conversation to be had once you were finished. But now, as Josh had mentioned earlier, there was nothing in your brain except Josh and his cock.

The way he was stretching you out, how his thrusts were so forceful yet so loving at the same time. The way he was panting and grunting above you, determined to bring you to a heavenly end.

And oh, were you headed there.

“Keep your eyes open,” he ordered as his hand came crashing down into the flesh of your ass, “don’t stop looking until you cum for me.”

“Yes,” was all you could manage, but it seemed to do just fine.

“Can I? Now?”

“Can you what?” Josh was no fool, he knew well what you were asking him. But he was going to play the game to its end, an end he knew was coming quickly.

“Cum!” you yelped as he sailed further still into you, not giving away how close he was himself, “please let me cum for you Joshy I need to cum so bad!”

Tears were brimming your eyes, causing the colors on the canvas to melt and dance around in front of you like some sort of hyper realistic kaleidoscope.

“Cum for me?” he parroted back, “that’s so sweet of you, baby. Go ahead. Cum for me.”

You tightened around him before your release began to spill from you, a shrill cry ringing out into the apartment.

“Oh shit, fuck that’s so good mama,” Josh threw his head back and fisted your hair tighter. The sting combined with your orgasm was a feeling you’d be daydreaming about for weeks to come, replaying that perfect memory over and over again.

As you drifted through the ends of your release, he pulled himself out of you and released his grip on your hair. Before you could hit the ground, he wrapped his arm around your waist and pumped his pulsing member along your back until he was spilling hot spurts onto your skin.

You could feel goosebumps raise on his skin, and you hand reached back to stroke along his thigh.

“One of these days,” he shuddered as the last of his orgasm coursed through him, “one of these days, I’m gonna put a little Picasso in you.”

One of these days, you thought. How beautiful that sounded.

Once you both had a chance to climb down from the mountain top, Josh stood on wobbly legs and extended a hand to you, “come on, my love. Let’s wash up and go to bed. I’m awfully tired.”

You allowed him to help you to your feet, and he placed a small kiss on the bridge of your nose.

“So… the painting stays?”

There was a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, so similar to the day he scooped you up from the library over a year ago. A day that kickstarted you into this beautiful life you lived now.

You threw your arms over his shoulders, “to be discussed, my muse.”

The End.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Taglist: @welllauragvf @objectsinspvce @josh-iamyour-mama

[sunkenhorror]

Blog Post 2

The piece that has stuck with me the most this week was certainly Ouanga, for the stark contrast between the messages its filmmakers intended to convey and the possible alternate readings of the film that may be more evident to modern-day audiences. Clelie, played by Fredi Washington, is in all respects a sophisticated, empowered, affluent woman who is wrongly diminished and marginalized due to her ethnicity. Even though, like Washington, Clelie experiences some proximity to whiteness as a biracial woman who is capable of passing as white (as depicted in one of her other roles, in Imitation of Life), Adam dismisses her out of hand, instead choosing Eve. Despite their close connection as friends and neighbors, and Clelie’s shared profession as a plantation owner—which certainly brings with it some economic cachet, as well, Adam focuses on her race and not the qualities he appreciates about her. Ultimately, Clelie dies at the hands of LeStrange when her magic fails to romance Adam, rendering her something of a tragic character.

I did some research into the movie to learn more about its historical background and the actors in it, and I was particularly impacted by seeing the poster for the movie. The slogan for the movie advertises it as depicting the “Strange Loves of Queer People,” which centers its nature as a moral tale cautioning against interracial relationships and exoticizing Black people. Nonetheless, the poster also includes a subtitle billing it as “Dramatic Dynamite for Adults Only,” and a second subtitle touting that it is “More Risque” than another work of fiction. Clelie herself is prominently described on the poster as “naive… young and beautiful… lithe, yielding and primitive,” a highly sexualizing and demeaning depiction that evokes the “noble savage” trope.

From the movie poster and Clelie’s eventual unhappy ending, it appears clear that Ouanga was made with the intent to demonize, demean, and other Black people and interracial relationships in a significant way. Simultaneously, however, the overt sexualization of Clelie and the emphasis on the film’s “risque” qualities seem to me like a form of fetishization—a marketing ploy that doubles as a tacit acknowledgment of the appeal that Fredi Washington had, even to white male viewers. Interracial relationships have existed across societies, cultures, and time periods, including in America. Though many early interracial relationships in America were non-consensual and borne of violence, there were also interracial relationships, as in the case of Loving v. Virginia, that were borne of genuine desire.

Perhaps Adam’s character, a white man who covets Clelie and clearly harbors affection for her, but ultimately chooses not to act on it and rather reinforces discriminatory structures in doing so, also acted as an audience surrogate for the white men who were secretly curious about interracial relationships or conducted them discreetly. In exoticizing a biracial female character in the film, portraying her as magical, strange, and dangerous, its makers also reveal their fascination with her beauty. Clelie’s character, too, mirrors real life. As Professor Due noted during lecture, Fredi Washington’s acting career ended only a short time after it began, likely cut short due to discrimination—just like Clelie’s life.

[sonsofjustice]

path of the awakened vengeance

triggers: self-harm, familial death, violence

the son of nemesis had answered the call, he'd drunk the ambrosia, he's fought monsters and strange creatures, he's witnessed godlings come and go. he's seen them fight, he's fought with them, for them. he's seen balance and he's seen just how unbalanced everything is. wolfram finds himself in a deep slumber, tucked away in his cabin or perhaps another place that he finds comfort. the last few weeks have been long and arduous. near death experiences have been more common than laughter on some days and the attack on camp still lingers within him, the shock and despair of it all. the loss of companions and the danger that they all seem to put themselves in still weighs heavy on his mind. it begins as a soft hum, a gentle baseline that reverberates through his being, travelling through his bloodstream with each passing note. at the edge of his consciousness he can pick up each soft note; a familiar tune. it strums and tugs at his heart, the lullaby slowly growing louder and louder; a siren song that gets clearer through the haze of his slumber. the song reaches out for wolfram, wrapping him up in an embrace that surrounds the son of nemesis in a gripping feeling that feels as if someone is grabbing hold of his chest and clenching his heart with bare hands. the tempo crescendos, the speed of the song becoming nothing more than a flurry of cacophonous sounds that bang discordantly within him. it's a battle, a force of will, two pieces of the same person wanting to be heard. when he tries to wake up, he can't. the song only grows louder and louder and louder. divinity calls upon wolfram once more and he must answer. it's an overwhelming feeling, like being at the edge of a cliff, waiting to free fall into an abyss below. then, suddenly, his eyes flash open, his chest rises and falls as he tries to get air into his too tight lungs. he gasps for air and, when he's able to finally choke down a panicked breath, he can see a little more clearly. it's then that a realization hits him. he's no longer back where he remembers falling asleep. was any of it real? had all this been a dream?

things had been unbalanced lately. betrayals, near-death experiences, failures, wolfram had experienced them all. he'd grown into his divinity wanting to uphold justice, to preserve the balance. instead, he'd become an arbiter of vengeance, seeking to strike down those who corrupt indiscriminately, slay the innocent without mercy. he sought revenge.

when he'd fallen asleep in his cabin that night, it wasn't atypical from any other night. he'd showered, changed into his pajamas, and put on a familiar film. as he dozed off the sleep, the familiar sounds of metallic swords clashing and cheesy overacting were the perfect background noise. a film by akira kurosawa, one of the greatest filmmakers of the genre, a comfort he'd brought from home. his eyes glazed over, as he felt the familiar tug of sleep draw him in, before they finally shut.

when they snap open once more, he's no longer in the safety of his cabin. it takes a while for his vision to focus, bringing forth even more confusion when it finally does. he's standing beneath a japanese maple tree, the brilliant fire-red leaves fluttering around his feet as a steady wind blows through them. that's all he notices, though, was vivid shade of red. the rest of the world had been sapped of color, as if life had been drained from their very essence. it was like he was thrown into the film itself, transported to a snapshot of a different time and place.

the moon is bright and illuminating in the sky, casting down on him as he glances around, searching for anything, anyone, familiar. he doesn't find it, not here.

in shades of grey, the blood red leaves are a stark contrast. they sway in the breeze, falling down in cascades, piling around wolfram's feet like a pool of blood. around him, in beautiful landscape filled with japanese maple trees, there is only him. the sky stretches onward, blotted by red leaves. his eyes focus again, adjusting to the strange landscape he finds himself in.

as the scene before him comes into focus, he sees a stone path, beautiful flowers adorning each side like a welcome mat, beckoning him forward. violent red maple leaves trail down the path like streaks of blood; he follows, bound to, a slight chill settling in his bones.

he enters what appears to be a village, styled after traditional japanese homes in the countryside. he knows he's never been here before, but it seems so… familiar, like he'd walked this layout sometime in his past. somewhere in the distance, he can hear… a woman groaning, someone in distress.

the village seems empty, pitched roofs and traditional japanese homes line the countryside he finds himself in. they're all stark in color, except for the maple trees and their red leaves that sway in the breeze. he walks and walks and walks. it's empty, desolate, until he hears the sounds of someone, a woman perhaps, in distress. the sounds seem to ride the breeze, drift along it like a song that makes its way to his ears. he doesn't see anyone, but he knows someone is there, someone in need, someone who needs help…

experience at the camp had taught him discretion is the better part of valor, crossing between the houses. something about them were just so strikingly familiar, like he'd lived here once upon a time. he couldn't shake the sinking feeling in his stomach as he heads toward the source of the sound.

maple leaves guide him to the entrance of a home, the door wide open. a few of them lay in a thick, viscious liquid, dark. it was red, as violent a shade as the leaves. somewhere inside, a grunt, the sound of something metallic slicing through the air, another low, gutteral groan.

shaking, he enters, careful and quiet.

wolfram steps into the house, as quiet as he can be, but the floor is covered in a crimson liquid that makes his feet glide across it. there's a creaking floorboard within the home as he tries to right himself, to find his balance before he crashes down. thankfully, he doesn't crash, he doesn't fall, but the sound of the grunting, the metallic sound of something slicing through the air, stops. silence falls over the house he's entered and a sinking feeling latches itself to his heart. before him, he can see footprints in on the floorboards, shaped in the scarlet liquid that matches the maple leaves. they lead in different directions, further into the home, up the stairs, and off to the right.

steadying himself, he exhales sharply. the scene starts to look familiar, like something deep in the recesses of his mind was trying to claw its way to the surface, but he suppresses it. maybe some things were better off left alone.

the paths seem to be a gap in his memory, trying to piece together a puzzle that he didn't have all the pieces for.

he decides to go further into the home.

slowly, with tentative footsteps, wolfram follows the steps that lead further into the house. he continues on straight, stepping near the footsteps as if following a crimson trail left for him. the silence still lingers, filling the space like a held breath, pregnant and poised for an exhale. he turns the corner, entering a living space, maybe a bedroom, maybe a dining area… as he enters, the scene unfolds before him, a figure, maybe even two, seem to be in this room though his vision seems blurred, like he can't quite see what's in front of him. he has to shake his head, blink rapidly, close his eyes and open them a few times. slowly, his vision clears and he's able to make out the figure or figures before him.

its a sun room, where a family once met every weekend to spend time together. it was where a child once played, running his toy car along the the glass. that glass was stained with blood now.

his gaze follows the streaks of blood that led into the room, maple leaves peppering the path where someone must've crawled, bloody and wilted. he watches as a ronin stands above the body of a woman, driving a samurai sword into her midsection. he seems satisfied with his work, leaving the blade where it stood as he stalks off toward the backyard.

maple leaves litter the area across the woman's wound, as if it were pouring from her very being.

"mom." he whispers, stunned and horrified as he watches her lay there, clinging to what little life she had left.

the word hangs from his lips like a wilting willow branch while maple leaves cascade from the wound to her stomach. it pools around her, bright, vibrant, sticky, and sweet. her breaths are choked off, pained, her eyes can't seem to focus and when the whispered word reaches her ears, its as if her body freezes. wolfram was never meant to see her this way. but now it's too late. her head tilts toward him, eyes fixed on his. "run." she tells him, but her voice is too soft, too weak, dying. he can't make out the word from where he stands. the ronin, the murderer walks out of the room, footsteps coated in maple leaf red as he stains the floorboards of the sun room, creating another path. he focuses, trying to decipher what she says. "it's too late for me. run." finally, he's able to hear her voice, like it's floating to him on a breeze, like it's whispering directly into his ear.

wolfram surges forward, dropping to his knees in a pool of blood. it doesn't matter, not anymore.

"no, no. i'm not leaving you, i never should have." he makes a grab for the samurai sword embedded within her. it seemed angry, full of rage, like one touch would slice his hand clean open. she groans, drawing his attention away.

"who did this? tell me, please." cradling her fragile head in his lap. she goes to speak, but it seems like she can't. instead, she grips tightly to the pendant around her neck, a gift from his father following their engagement party. a promise, they'd be together in life and in death.

"mom, please. please don't leave me again." he begs, fists clenched at his sides. another life he'd failed to save, another failure. "i'll kill them. i'll strike them down again, and again, until they pay for what they did to you." angry, vengeful tears stream down his cheeks, crimson red as they fall into his lap. "i'll sunder their bodies until they repent for their crimes. i'll watch them all fall."

a sadness washes over his mother's features at his words, at his promise, at this whispered oath made of vengeance and hatred. it's a dark thing, a deal forged in spilled blood, vowed over an open wound. she lifts a hand, watercolor splashes of crimson dripping from her fingers, as she presses her hand against wolfram's cheek. "run." the warning comes again. "before he does this to you, too." behind him, footsteps creak against the floorboards, as if coming down stairs. could there be more? could there be someone else within the house?

the son of nemesis leans into the palm, unable to hold the tears as they fell. "i'm sorry, mom." he presses a tender kiss to her forehead, lips hovering against the flesh. "i love you. so, so much." with a sob punctuating the action, he draws the blade from her midsection, putting her out of her misery.

he sits there for a moment, kneeling above the lifeless body of his mother. memories flash before his eyes, of her watching him play in the yard, tending to his scraped knees, singing him lullabies and holding him tight. now, all that was left was the void, a shell filled with anger and pain.

he gently closes her half-lidded eyes, draping the kitchen tablecloth over her. he stands, gingerly moving into the shadows, concealed by the dark void of corners of the kitchen. he waits, breath held, prepared to strike should the assailant return. his instincts are screaming at him to run, but he stays in the shadows, ready to fight, or run. for now, he waits.

maybe it's the creak in the floorboards, maybe it's the aching sob that's lodged in his chest, like a stone in his throat that rattles with each breath. wolfram slinks in the shadows, waiting, waiting, waiting. eventually, the footsteps make their way back into the room. dressed in all black, like the endless night, like a void, the figure appears. face covered, hands covered, every inch, covered. they enter the room, hovering at the threshold, one footfall away from truly entering the room.

wolfram clasps a hand over his mouth, his other hand gripping the handle of the blade tightly. he doesn't… remember this, this didn't make sense, it-… this is wrong, all wrong.

he tries his best to remain quiet, desperate to conceal himself, he stares hard at the void. he uses his domain, trying to ascertain whether it was good, or evil, trying to determine its intentions.

he calls upon the power inside of him, that balancing shift, that moral compass, that feeling of right or wrong. he's met with indifference, he's met with a familiar presence, but something altogether…different. the footstep crosses the threshold. the figure looks as if he's dressed in the same attire as who he saw kill his mother. there's no blood on these clothes, though, nor in the footsteps that that are soundless, weightless, quiet, as the figure makes its way in. it kneels down over the red stained tablecloth, maple leaves pooling around the edges of the fabric. the figure reaches forward, as if to pull the cloth away from his mother's face…

no.

wolfram's heart pounds in his chest as he watches the ronin approach the slumbering form of his mother. he vowed to strike down evil, to let the power of vengeance guide his blade. he wouldn't let them disturb his mother.

narrowing his gaze, he moves quietly through the darkness, standing as he raises his blade.

"leave her be."

the figure stills, calm and collected, a shadow in the stark contrast of a red stained home. "you should have done as she told you." the voice is clear, but it sounds as if something is muffling the speech, as if not to give away who this figure is. it doesn't turn to face wolfram, it stands there hovering over the corpse of his mother. "i will give you the opportunity to put down the blade and flee, otherwise i cannot promise your safety."

the scales will balance, one way or another. the hatred in his heart, the rage, the vengeance, it settles deep in the pit of his stomach. forged by blood, he will find his revenge, flay the flesh of the man who took his mother from him, who robbed him of his childhood, his security blanket. the man who honed a child into a sharpened blade.

the vile hatred for a father, the tender love of a mother. the yin and yang, forever fighting for dominance. the voice of his mother rings in his head, her dying wish to protect her son. he'd obey.

"mom." tears well up in his eyes once more. "i will spill their blood, you will have your vengeance." he turns, giving one last glance toward his mother before he walks out the way he came.

down the path, those maple leaves mocking him as they flutter in the breeze. falling to his knees, he repeats an action he'd done not once, but twice before. the first, an offering of blood to his divine parent, forged by peace. the second, an offering of blood as penance, a pleading bargain forged by desperation.

now, an offering of blood would be made for something different, something darker.

the razor sharp tip of the blade draws across his palm once more, drawing dark, thick blood from his hand.

"vengeance, be my blade," amber tears fall from his eyes, mourning a skeleton left deep in his closet. "guide me to the wicked so i may strike them down."

angry, he sobs.

"bless me with the strength to be your sword, so i may grant my mortal mother peace."

vengeance is a coiled snake lurking in the pit of a stomach, the bile acidic and putrid; a dangerous concoction that melts away inhibitions and makes the focus singular: revenge. retribution, vengeance, revenge. the same word spelled three different ways. a different path for the same outcome. blood mixes with blood, tear stained cheeks to slit palms to pooled feet, to swaying maple leaves that laugh in the breeze before stillness makes them silent. there is something lingering within wolfram, a darkness that blooms like fresh blood, like a new wound. for so long, there has been peace within him, a balance. now, that balance seems askew, tilted, and he must make it right. there's a strange feeling pulsing through him and as the words drip from his lips, his body nearly caves in on itself as pain rattles through his body, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. he grits his teeth, surrenders to it for a moment, before he forges himself into a weapon, steels himself to be something greater than his own cause, his own ideals. blood pools around him, thick and shining, enough that his own reflection stares back at him. it stays unblinking, unmoving, until it's mouth begins to move and words echo throughout wolfram's mind. "vengeance is your nature, there is no mercy for the wicked. may your divine judgment call your blade to action. vengeance is your weapon, let your qualms hinder your from delivering its sentence. vengeance is your future and if you allow your enemies to survive your vengeful nature, you must do what you can to make amends to those that were hurt by your failures."

pain is no stranger to the son of nemesis. it's a friend that always lingers in the shadows, familiar. its an infestation that burrows deep into the recesses of his mind, taking root and multiplying until there is a total hostile takeover.

today, that pain will be wielded like a weapon, transformed; no longer a monster in his closet, but a tool to be used. the divine hand of justice removed his blindfold, freed his occluded vision and gave him clarity. he knew what he needed to do now.

it feels as if his flesh was being flayed from his body, exposing the inner machinations, baring his very soul to the ether. shakily, he rests his blade flat in his hands, staring deep into his reflection.

he repeats.

"vengeance is my nature, there is no mercy for the wicked. may my divine judgment call my blade to action.

vengeance is my weapon, let not my qualms hinder me from delivering its sentence."

the blade seems to heat up rapidly in his hands, the kanji etched into the steel red-hot now. it cauterizes his open wound. it burns, but the pain seems negligible now. he nearly buckles.

"vengeance is my future and if i allow my enemies to survive my vengeful nature, i must do what i can to make amends to those that were hurt by my failures."

he grits his teeth, hard enough that they threaten to crack under the pressure. the son of nemesis remains steadfast, determined.

an oath given and an oath taken. the blade burns against wolfram's open palms but it hurts no more than the slice of steel that tore open his flesh. the voice echoes and echoes in his mind, sinking deeper and deeper into him, taking root somewhere inside. he was made to be a weapon and now he will wield himself as such. retribution. vengeance. revenge. revenge. vengeance. retribution. all the same and yet all different. all of which reside inside of wolfram winters. he grits his teeth, feeling them quake with the force of his jaw, he nearly grips onto the blade once more, feeling the warm blade beneath his now cauterized hand and— he wakes up. he finds himself exactly where he remembers falling asleep, the television still playing. it still feels like a dream, whatever he'd experienced, but something within him feels different, changed. he feels strength coursing through him, feels a purpose that has taken shelter within him, made a home of his ribs, and siphons the power of his heart for its own gain. vengeance. retribution. revenge. a divine judge, jury, and executioner to the wicked. vengeance is his nature. vengeance is his weapon. vengeance is his future. and time will tell to see just how true that becomes.

[denimbex1986]

'The craze for Barbenheimer, a nickname coined for one of the biggest Hollywood clashes at the box office involving the films Barbie and Oppenheimer in July, is far from over.

Filmmakers are known to focus on the minutest details of their characters, but what caught viewers' attention are the classic watch pieces from Tag Heuer and Hamilton that the characters wore in these films.

Ryan Gosling aka Ken's Tag Heuer pieces

It's absolutely no surprise that in Barbie as well as at the film's promotional events, Ryan Gosling was seen sporting a Tag Hueur piece on his wrist (not to forget the pink dial watch he wore for the Canada red carpet event).

Being Tag Heuer's ambassador, Gosling wore at least three vintage Heuer Carrera chronographs in Barbie, which were from the 1960s and '70s.

Cillian Murphy's Hamilton Cushion B

Filmmaker Christopher Nolan continued his long association with Hamilton even through his latest movie, Oppenheimer.

Actor Cillian Murphy, who played Robert J Oppenheimer in the film, donned at least three vintage collections of Hamilton: Cushion B, Lexington, and Endicott.

On various occasions in the movie, Murphy was seen wearing these strikingly beautiful pieces with simple dials and classic leather straps.

Matt Damon donned Hamilton's Military Ordonance

If you thought Murphy was the only actor who wore a Hamilton piece in Oppenheimer, then you would be surprised to know that other stars donned some brilliant Hamilton watches, too.

Matt Damon, who essayed the role of US Army Lieutenant General Leslie Jones, was spotted wearing two classic vintage Hamilton editions. He donned the brand's vintage Military Ordnance as well as Piping Rock.

Emily Blunt's Lady Hamilton A-2

Apart from Murphy's Cushion B two-handed watch from the 1930s and the 1940s' Lexington and golden Endicott, Emily Blunt sported a timeless number from the brand, too.

Blunt, as Oppenheimer's wife Kitty Oppenheimer, wore a sleek Lady Hamilton A-2. The watch came with a feminine square dial along with gold-colored hands and indices.

The quintessential Hamilton piece is reminiscent of the bygone era.'

[petersasteria]

good 4 u || harry holland

sour masterlist || harry || sour taglist

1,589 words sorry for the shit ending ?? bc i didnt know how to end it lmao italics are flashbacks

* * * *

“Babe, you didn’t have to spoil me.” You chuckled.

“You deserve it, love. You deserve the world.” Harry looked at you lovingly before pressing a sweet kiss on your lips.

-

“I really want to be a professional photographer and filmmaker, you know?” Harry told you one day. Both of you were lying wide awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. Both of you couldn’t sleep, so you talked about random things.

“I believe in you, Harry. I believe in you more than anyone or anything. You can do just that. I support you.” You smiled as you turned your head to face him. He looked at you and grinned, “So, you think I’m really going to be those things?”

“Yeah. Why not? You’re an amazing photographer and filmmaker. Believe in yourself, Harry. My faith in you will be nothing if you don’t believe in yourself. Trust me.” You told him.

“That’s true. You’re right.” Harry said before yawning.

“I’m always right.” You curled up against him and rested your head on his chest. He chuckled and kissed the top of your head.

-

“Harry, where are you? I’ve been waiting out here for an hour now.” You said through the phone. Harry said he’d pick you up from your university, but he wasn’t there yet. Then it began to rain heavily, causing you to run to the nearest shade. You were cold, wet, and impatient.

“I’ll be there in a while. See you later!” Harry hung up.

After thirty minutes, Harry finally arrived. You quickly got in and sighed in relief when you realized the whole car was warm.

“What took you so long?” You asked him.

“My car’s acting up. I hate this old piece of shit.” Harry grumbled as he tried to start the car. After five tries, it finally worked.

“You need a new car.” You laughed.

“Yeah, I do.” He chuckled.

-

“I hope I’m not interrupting your sleepover or whatever.” Harry said quietly through the phone. You were at your friend, Elouise’s slumber party because it was her birthday.

“No, you’re not. We’re just watching a movie and I’ve seen this movie a bunch of times.” You assured him. You walked out of the living room and went to the kitchen. You sat on the bar stool and asked, “What’s up?”

“Mum and dad are just being mean, that’s all.” Harry sighed.

“I know you’re about to cry, so just let it out. Talk to me.” You said softly. Harry started sobbing and telling you about his fight with his parents.

“Y/N/N, I got offered an apprenticeship in Dublin. That’s the biggest opportunity I’ve ever received and they’re stopping me. It’s like they don’t want me to succeed, but when Tom wants something done, they let him. It’s so fucking tiring. I never asked them for anything and the one time I do, they say shit. It’s unfair.” He sobbed and your heart broke for him.

“I feel you. I legit feel the same way, but we just have to prove them wrong, yeah? You’ll make it big and what they say won’t matter as much anymore. They love you and they just want what’s best for you, but sometimes they don’t exactly know what’s best for you. It’s weird, I swear. Just prove them wrong. You’ll get another opportunity again and when you get that, it’ll be bigger than that apprenticeship in Dublin.” You told him with a small smile on your face.

“You get me so well.” Harry smiled as he wiped his tears. “I’ll just go to sleep now. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

-

You couldn’t take it anymore. Harry’s face seemed to be everywhere you went, haunting you. After being together for two and a half years, Harry broke up with you because of reasons only he seemed to know. After he broke up with you, you spent the whole week just crying. You didn’t understand, but life was really cruel.

Three weeks later, word got out that Harry was dating some model and that surprised you. It surprised you because he moved on really quick and he looked really happy and healthy. He looked better compared to when he was dating you. You were proud of him, but it made you wonder why Harry chose to make himself better for this girl and not for you when you were together. It seemed unfair.

Unfortunately, you were still friends with Sam. You were Sam’s favorite and he actually preferred you instead of Harry’s new girlfriend. Wanting to hang out with you, You and Sam met up at the mall and just shop or walk around. You couldn’t really hang out at Sam’s house because of Harry and his girlfriend.

“She’s nice, but I’m on your side.” Sam said as he ate his ice cream. You laughed and shook your head. Sam looked at you and said, “I’m serious! She’s trying to make me her best friend or something. Like, she’s trying really hard.”

“Then try to be her friend. Maybe you guys might click and then you’ll replace me like how Harry replaced me.” You said. You were aware it was petty and pathetic, but you couldn’t help it. This time, it was Sam who laughed.

“You know, I overheard him the other day. He told her that she’s the only person who gets him and I’m just sitting there all confused because he said the same thing to you. In fact, it’s like he forgot all about you.” Sam said as he animatedly spoke with his hands. He seemed really annoyed.

“Okay, then.” You chuckled. “You seem annoyed.”

“Yeah because I thought both of you were it for each other.” He said with a sad smile. You returned it, but didn’t say anything.

At the end of the day, it was time for both of you to go home. Sam groaned in frustration as he texted while walking. “What?” You asked, turning your head to look at him.

Both of you stopped walking when you reached the mall’s exit. Sam was typing furiously as you looked at him in confusion. “What’s wrong?” You asked.

He looked at you and sighed, “Tom can’t pick me up.”

“I thought you drove here?” You asked and he shook his head. “What happened to your car?”

“My parents borrowed it because their car is in the shop, getting fixed. Tom can’t pick me up because he has to use his car to go to an event that he forgot about. I’d call for an Uber or something, but I literally have zero money on me. So, I have no choice but to ask Harry.” Sam said, biting his lip.

“Well, shit.” Was all you said as Sam looked at you with guilt all over his face. He quickly sent a text to Harry and he smiled a bit when he immediately got a reply.

“He’s coming soon.” Sam told you. You snorted. You vividly remember Harry’s slow and beat up car. Sam was talking to you, but you weren’t really paying attention. Your mind went to all those times you spent in Harry’s old car and all the places you’ve been. Those were moments you’ll never forget.

“Y/N, my ride’s here.”

You were pulled from your thoughts as soon as Harry said that. You looked at the direction that Sam was looking at and you were surprised to see a beautiful, new car. It was charcoal grey and the windows were so clean, you could see the inside. Harry was driving and his new girlfriend was sitting on the passenger seat.

“Oh shit. I didn’t know she was coming.” Sam turned to you. “I’m so sorry, Y/N/N. If I had known he was taking her, I wouldn’t-”

“It’s okay. I’m mature and civil. I can handle it. Besides, I can’t avoid them forever. It was bound to happen.” You gave him a small smile.

Harry stopped in front of you both and he rolled his window down. His sunglasses were resting on top of his head and he looked really fresh.

“Are you getting in or not?” He asked Sam, completely ignoring you.

“Hello to you too.” Sam rolled his eyes and crossed his arms as he took a few steps to the door of his backseat. “Y/N, do you need a ride?”

You shook your head, “No, thanks. I’ll call an Uber.” You turned to face Harry, who was already looking at you. “Your photography is improving.” You said.

“Thanks.”

“Nice car, too. I’m glad you replaced the busted ol’ thing.” You chuckled awkwardly.

“Yeah, I figured I should buy myself a new car. The old one wasn’t doing it for me. I need to upgrade, y’know?”

You held back a snappy reply because it wouldn’t do you any good. Plus, you didn’t want to draw attention to yourself. You wanted to ask him if he broke up with you because he needed a girlfriend upgrade, but you kept it to yourself.

“Yeah, that’s nice. Good for you, though… and congrats, I guess.” You gave him a tight-lipped smile and he returned it. Sam got in the car and rolled his window down. “I’ll text you, okay?” Sam said and you just nodded. Harry drove away and you stood there, watching.

You wished you could not care like Harry and you wished you could move on just as quick, but you couldn’t. No matter how hard you tried, you were still stuck on him. It sucked.

* * * *

𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @celestialholland @alinastarkrovs @piscesparker @prancerrparkerr @spideyspeaches @givebuckyhisplumsnow @blueleatherbag @theonly1outof-a-billion @hollandbroz-n-haz @starlight-starks @webmeupspiderdaddy @studiesinspanish

[everlarkficexchange]

Hold Me Up

Prompt 42. Group of friends. Economic disaster, no jobs; eventually in desperation someone in the group suggests making a porno for $, the idea takes off, as they work on a script and put out ideas, a lot becomes clear, like who has kinks, who has tried a lot, and that one is an inexperienced virgin. Does the writing experience have consequences to the group dynamic, will they actually film and sell it, will they stay friends? Are any couples or siblings part of the group? Are secrets revealed through brainstorming?

Submitted by @567inpanem

Author: JLaLa

Rated M

Summary: “What the hell are you suggesting?” Gale asked.

“I thought it was obvious,” the woman next to him said. “I’m suggesting we make a porno.”

Strapped for cash, a group of friends—plus two strangers—decide to go all out.

Multiple pairings, and of course, Everlark. 

“Hold me up in the palm of your hand Lying to you is a river of sin Your metaphors, your silent calls Your feelings are too real…”

                                                -Live

Hold Me Up

Part One

Katniss closed her eyes as the rush of hot water hit her face. It had been a hell of a day.

Her boss cut her hours at the record store due to the lack of sales. She had done everything short of offering to blow the man—wouldn’t have worked, he was gay—to get as many hours as possible. However, everyone was suffering due to Panem’s economic disaster and Heavensbee’s hands were tied.

All she wanted to do tonight was eat the leftover Chinese in the fridge, binge watch Bridgerton for the hundredth time and use her vibrator until she climaxed to the image of Simon Basset eating her out—

“Katniss!” There was a quick knock before the door opened. “Sorry, but I have to piss like a racehorse—”

She pulled back the shower curtain to the sight of her roommate and friend, Peeta, unzipping his jeans.

“Seriously, couldn’t you do that somewhere else? Like, maybe get a plastic cup or do it in the sink?”

“Last time I did, Gale totally flipped out on me,” her friend replied. “It’s not like you haven’t seen my dick before. You’ve seen it plenty of times, most of the time it was erect.”

The peril of living with two boys was that you always seemed surrounded by morning wood…any kind of wood really.

“Fine.” Katniss closed the curtain. “Try not to be loud about it though.”

“How am I loud while I pee?”

“‘Oooh fuck, finally…I’ve been holding that in all day!’ Katniss mimicked mockingly. “You’d think that you were doing something else instead of emptying your bladder.”

“Honestly, sometimes a good pee is better than sex,” Peeta retorted. “I don’t think that I’ll be able to stop it once it starts so just sing something really loud or you’ll be hearing me hitting the porcelain pretty hard.”

Katniss walked under the shower to rinse her hair and belted out the first song that came to her.

“I got a new life

You would hardly recognize me

I’m so glad

How could a person like me care for you?

Why, why do I bother

When you’re not the one for me

Is enough enough?”

“I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes…” Peeta sang along and Katniss giggled hearing his melodic baritone. “I saw the sign…life is demanding without understanding—”

“We should start a group,” she offered as she turned the nozzle and the water stopped. “Especially since I’ll likely be laid off soon.”

“Oh shit! I’m sorry, Katniss.” A hand peeked through the curtain, holding a towel and she took it, quickly wrapping it around herself. “We’re all taking it up the butt, aren’t we?”

She pulled back the curtain and stepped out. “What do you mean?”

“Haymitch and Effie will probably have to close down with everything happening,” he informed her. “The rent for the bakery space is just too much for them. I mean, we still have our regulars, but they’re not making enough to pay me to make a dozen danishes and scones.”

“That sucks.” Peeta was still wearing his apron around his waist, a red bandana covering his blond locks, along with his usual baking uniform of a fitted white tee and jeans. “I know how much you love that job. Not to mention, Haymitch and Effie are pretty kickass.”

“Well, at least we have Gale,” her friend replied as he opened the door, letting her step out first before putting a companionable arm around her waist. “Old reliable Gale—”

There was a cough and they found Gale sitting on their couch lighting up their emergency joint.

This was bad.

++++++

“My whole department was pretty much eliminated,” Gale explained once he stepped out of his daze. “They led us in, one by one, into that small office and gave us the whole spiel about making cutbacks before handing us our severance checks. This will hold me for about six months of my piece of the rent—”

“This is probably the worst time to tell you,” Katniss started. “But Heavensbee reduced my hours at the store and I’ll probably be getting the boot soon.”

“Effie and Haymitch can’t afford to keep me at the bakery,” Peeta told him. “They’re also likely to lose the business, too.”

Gale nodded, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. “Well, we’re fucked.”

“Now there’s that positive attitude that we know and love,” a sharp feminine voice said.

The three looked up to find the rest of their friends stepping into the apartment led by Johanna, who lived across the hall from them. Madge, her roommate, followed in with a pizza box and the group was finished out with Finnick, who lived downstairs and was—until today—Gale’s teammate.

“Well, we’re fucked!” Gale repeated, his voice hitching up at the end. He looked to Johanna. “Good enough?”

“We’re all getting it,” Madge said, sitting next to him calmly. “The Forever 21 I’m working at is closing. So, I’m screwed, and I won’t even have severance like you and Finnick.”

“I have thousands of dollars in debt over the camera equipment I just bought,” Finnick told her. “I’m supposed to be working on my documentary.” Their friend was a budding director. “Now, I’ll be using the rest of my severance to pay it off.”

Johanna plopped down in their lone seat, putting her feet on the table.

“Not that I don’t love you guys, but I’ve been out of a job for months, so your sob stories mean nothing to me,” she said. Grabbing the joint, their friend took a long inhale and breathe out in relief. “The job market is non-existent at this point.”

“God, maybe I should’ve pushed on blowing Heavensbee,” Katniss muttered.

Finnick snorted. “What?”

“He’s gay, but probably not getting any,” she replied, next to Peeta. “If you close your eyes, it feels the same.”

“You might have something there,” Johanna suddenly said, her oak eyes contemplative.

Peeta glared at her. “Not funny. You really want Katniss turning tricks for rent?”

“Hardly,” their friend replied. “No offense—” Johanna looked to Katniss. “—you alone have no sex appeal, and this is coming from a full-fledged lesbian.” She turned to Madge. “She would—with the pouty lips and the big titties. Not to mention those golden locks. Put a little red hood on her and you’ll have those Fairy Tale freaks begging to see what’s underneath.”

Katniss crossed her arms. “Well, thank you for telling me that I’m undesirable.”

“I didn’t say that.” Johanna looked between Katniss and Peeta. “I said you alone would have no sex appeal but put you with him—” She nodded at Peeta. “—or her.” A hand waved over at Madge. “People will pay big money to see that. A nice little ying and yang.”

“What the hell are you suggesting?” Gale asked.

“I thought it was obvious,” the woman next to him said. “I’m suggesting we make a porno.”

++++++

Several beers in, the idea started to make sense.

“Babe, if this thing took off, we could pay off the camera equipment,” Annie, Finnick’s fiancée, said. She had joined them a little after the major freak out over Johanna’s idea. “Also, you could get some experience in handling the equipment and I could get experience with the boom mic.”

“That is true,” Finnick mused.

“Guys, do you know how many different types of porn there is out there? How would we make one that people would be interested in?” Gale asked. His voice had taken on a rough slur, five bottles in, as he leaned against a drunken Madge.

“Simple,” Johanna smirked. “We do our research. This neighborhood is full of not-so-reputable places; it’s why rent used to be freakishly low. We can ask what men and women would like to see. Also, we’re all decent looking.”

“What about the fact that you’re talking about us having sex with each other?” Peeta asked, eyes bloodshot. Katniss laid on his lap, singing along to the music on her phone. “No offense, but I don’t want to have sex with you. You scare me a little.”

“Well, who would you want to have sex with?” Madge asked with a buzzed grin.

“Easy.” Peeta looked at the giggling woman on his lap. “Katniss.”

“Really now?” Finnick leaned forward in interest. “Why her?”

“I’m comfortable with her,” he explained. “We were each other’s first kiss, granted we were only five—but also, she’s seen my dick plenty of times.”

Katniss drunkenly waved her finger at him. “I’m not scared of it…”

“Dude, why aren’t you together?” Annie asked.

Peeta shrugged. “Seemed better to stay friends.”

“Those two are such chickens,” Gale called out. “They just tiptoe…and tiptoe…and it’s all like ‘I think Katniss is beautiful’…or ‘I want to have Peeta’s babies’…and I’m just like why don’t you just fuck already?”

“Fine.” Katniss slid onto the floor and held her hand out, palm down. “We’ll do this. I get to fuck Peeta because everyone is so invested…but we all have to be in this.” She looked at the rest of the group, her eyes landing on Peeta. “Do we agree?”

Johanna placed her hand over Katniss’. “I’m in.”

Madge followed immediately. “Me, too.”

“Fine,” Gale muttered before his hand landed on the pile.

“We’re down,” Finnick said, adding his hand.

“But only as the filmmakers,” Annie added before placing her hand on top of her fiancé’s.

Katniss looked to Peeta; nervousness laced in her grey eyes. “And you?”

He examined her, almost losing himself in her gaze before placing his hand down to seal the pact.

“Let’s do this.”

++++++

“Do you like oral?” Katniss asked the scantily-clad waitress. “Giving? Getting?”

“Yes, to both,” the pretty blonde answered.

Johanna and Gale had gotten to work quickly, both making up the questionnaire that they were using for research. While that was happening, Annie and Finnick put up an ad looking for available actors and actresses to add to their production.

Two days ago, their questionnaire had revealed that threesomes, double penetration, and girl-on-girl were high on the list. Unfortunately, they didn’t know who would be doing what except for Katniss and Peeta.

“And anal?” Katniss continued as Peeta joined her at the table.

“Sure,” the woman answered. “I’m pretty open. Me and my ex used to film ourselves all the time.” She looked at the two. “You two looking for tips?”

“Maybe,” Katniss replied. She turned to Peeta. “Did you want anything?”

“Coke, please,” he told the woman. “I’m still recovering from the past few days.”

“Coke for him and a Lagavulin for me,” Katniss told the waitress.

“You like the good stuff.” She gave Katniss a saucy wink. “I’ll be right back with your drinks. I’m Delly, by the way.”

“Katniss.” Katniss gestured over at Peeta, who gave Delly a light wave. “Peeta.”

She nodded. “Nice meeting you.”

As soon as Delly walked away, Katniss turned to her friend. “What do you think?”

“Decent rack, sweet face, and she has experience apparently,” Peeta replied. “Thoughts on having her on the team?”

“Well, she seems friendly,” Katniss replied. She eyed him. “Would you do her?”

“If I had to…sure,” her friend replied. “How about you?”

“Me and Delly?” Katniss looked to the woman at the bar, awaiting their drinks. She was pretty with wavy, shoulder-length hair and wide eyes. Not to mention, her body was banging—the bejeweled bustier made her breasts look incredible—and her personality was easy. “Sure. Why not? I mean it will make me more…desirable.”

“Are you still pissed off that?” Peeta asked. “Johanna loves to rile you up.”

“I hate that she can.” Katniss sighed. “Are we really going to do this?”

“Haven’t you ever been curious?” Peeta’s gaze fell warmly on her. “How it might feel like between me and you?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “We kissed that one time, but nothing came of it. I thought maybe you didn’t like it…or me.”

“I do like you. I love you.” Peeta reached for her, pulling her onto his lap. “I guess we were just both too scared to explore what kind of love we could’ve had.”

Her arms wove around his neck as Katniss pressed her forehead to his. “I love you and I like you, too.”

“Your drinks, lovebirds.” Delly approached them, a bright smile on her face. “Anything else I can get you?”

“Actually.” Katniss stood up, pulling out the business card with Johanna’s number on it. “I have a proposition for you.”

++++++

“What are your special skills?” Johanna asked as she looked over Delly’s resume.

Delly gave the group a bright smile, her eyes landing on Katniss with a wink.

The group gathered the following day for auditions for the two additional actors at Finnick and Annie’s place.

Currently, Annie and Peeta were reviewing resumes and headshots in the hallway while the rest of them assessed the auditions.

The group had agreed to hold them at Finnick and Annie’s since it looked the most professional. The couple’s apartment was stylishly decorated thanks to Annie’s chic but budget-friendly taste—most of their furnishings from Target and IKEA.

“Can you look into the camera?” Finnick asked from where he stood in the center of the living room.

“Sure.” Delly looked straight into the camera, smiling into it. “Well…I can do a handstand and suck dick at the same time.”

“Can we see?” Madge asked from where she stood next to Finnick.

“The sucking dick part or the headstand?”

“How about we just see how it looks?” Finnick suggested. “Have Annie bring the next male audition in.”

Gale stood from his seat. “I’m on it.” He quickly came back, followed by a tall, dark-skinned man who flashed them all a handsome smile. “Everyone, this is Thresh. Thresh, why don’t you join Delly in front of the camera?”

“Sure,” he said easily and walked over to Delly, holding out his hand. “I’m Thresh.”

Delly shook it, her mouth widening in a grin. “Delly.”

“Okay, whenever you’re ready,” Johanna told the two.

Nodding, Delly bent over, pressing her palms to the floor. Then as she steadied, the woman easily lifted her hips…then her legs…before straightening them, her toes pointing in the air.

“Amazing,” Madge whispered.

Next to her, Gale nodded in agreement.

Katniss stood from her seat, going to Finnick, and looked at the camera’s viewfinder.

Delly and Thresh made a strikingly good couple on camera. They were at ease, chatting as if Delly wasn’t in front of the man’s crotch and at a perfect angle to go at his junk.

“Thresh, any special skills?” Gale asked, handing Johanna the man’s resume.

“I can get an erection on command,” Thresh told them.

“Okay, we all need to see this,” Johanna said. “Someone get Peeta and Annie in here.”

“Delly, you can get off your hands now,” Katniss said.

“Let me help—” Thresh held her hips as Delly eased down. As she did, the crotch of her leggings met his groin, and she wrapped her legs around his to steady herself.

“The perfect standing wheelbarrow,” Finnick remarked from behind the camera. “Bravo!”

Peeta and Annie stepped inside as Thresh helped Delly onto her feet. She smiled gratefully, kissing his cheek before dashing over to where the rest of the group was gathered.

“Even if you don’t hire me, I need to see this,” she told them.

Peeta joined Katniss’ side. “What are we looking at?”

Finnick signaled Thresh. “Whenever you’re ready.”

The man simply undid the top button of his jeans, unzipped, and holding the sides of his jeans lowered them down.

Taking a deep breath, the man closed his eyes, as the group watched his cock—a rather thick one—go from half-mast to full in less than a minute.

“Well, that deserves some applause,” Peeta told everyone and began to clap.

The group quickly joined in, but not before hiring both Delly and Thresh.

++++++

“Okay, two things,” Gale announced, going to the easel and whiteboard that he had set up in their living room. He wrote out ‘Location’ and ‘Plot’. “First, location. Any thoughts?”

“We can’t just do it in one of our apartments?” Finnick asked.

“Would you want to sit on your living room couch thinking that Johanna ate Delly out on it?” Gale asked him. “Or Katniss and Peeta on your kitchen counter—”

“True,” Annie said. “Let’s not shit where we eat.”

“Maybe we can rent out space for very cheap,” Thresh said. “I might know some club places where I work security that might be in our price range.”

They learned that Thresh was a part-time security guard and a returning student at the local community college. He was trying to get his Business degree and planned to open a gym after he graduated.

“Great idea,” Gale wrote down, ‘Thresh-club spaces’. Anyone else?”

“That bar I work at might be willing,” Delly told them. “I might have to give the owner a boost—”

“No way,” Peeta interrupted. “We don’t want you doing those kinds of favors just to get us a workspace.”

“Definitely,” Katniss agreed, smiling at the girl. “We’ll figure it out together.”

“Okay, what about a plot?” Johanna went to the board. “Every porn needs one to entice an audience. Why don’t we do a round robin and everyone says one thing that turns them on? I’ll start.” She turned around and wrote on the board—‘A clean bush’.

“Doesn’t everyone like it to be clean down there?” Finnick remarked before looking to Annie. “I mean you keep it pristine—”

“No need to tell everyone about my cat, love,” his fiancée retorted.

“I mean, I don’t mind it being wild down there,’ Gale told the group. He took the marker from Johanna and scribbled, ‘Bossiness’. “I like a dominating woman.”

“Definitely a good BDSM storyline,” Madge remarked as she walked up to the board, writing ‘Rough play’. “I like manhandling and being manhandled. I worked with this guy and we use to hook up all over the office. Once after everyone left, we were going at it and he takes me and lifted me—” She mimicked her lover with her hands. “—onto the copy machine before pounding the living daylight out of me.”

Everyone stared in shock at the seemingly sweet blonde twirling a tendril of her hair.

“Come Monday, everyone was trying to figure why there were a hundred copies of someone’s bare pussy on the copy machine tray,” she said in a daze.

“Damn—” Gale swallowed harshly. “—thank you for your contribution.” His gaze went to the person sitting next to Madge. “Katniss?”

“I…I…” Katniss bowed her head. She wasn’t thrilled with everyone knowing just what got her going. However, at some point, they were all going to be seeing her being thoroughly fucked by Peeta. “I like…dirty talk.” She shifted in her seat, aware that next to her sat her soon-to-be co-star. “I don’t have any experience, but when I’m…masturbating, the voice in my head is usually whispering very depraved things in my ear.”

“Care to expand, sweetheart?” Thresh asked from where he sat across.

“Well—” Katniss folded her hands in her lap. “The voice will tell me how much he loves feeling his fingers being squeezed by my cunt, how drenched I am around his dick, how he wants to fuck me until I can’t feel my legs…sometimes he talks about fucking me in both holes…his dick in my pussy and his thumb in my asshole—”

Peeta suddenly jumped from his spot. “I’m going to grab some water from the fridge. Anyone?”

He quickly disappeared into the next room before anyone could even answer.

“You just gave Peeta a boner,” Delly cackled from her seat on the carpet. “Why aren’t you dating?”

“Because—” Katniss searched for a reason, finding herself unable to answer. “—let me check on him.”

She found him bent in front of the fridge.

He pulled back sans water and turned just as she stepped in.

“We ran out of water.” Peeta met her eyes fully, watching as she approached. “I didn’t mean to run off—”

“Peeta, what turns you on?” she found herself asking.

Katniss stopped in front of him and her gaze took her friend in—swept-back blond waves, a firm jaw, and blue eyes…hazed with arousal. They never really talked about the fact that they had admitted to their friends that they were curious about fucking one another.

To be entirely truthful, the voice in her ear, the one that spoke such deliciously sinful things—was Peeta’s voice.

She didn’t know when the mystery man had morphed into her best friend, but sometimes the image of him—in his usual uniform of a pair of jeans, a tee, and an apron—would cause a heat that threatened to burn her to the very core.

However, this precipice between friendship and whatever it was, scared her.

So, Katniss held back.

Peeta shook his head. “It’s kind of stupid.”

“I just told everyone that a mystery voice gets me wet with talk of double penetration.”

He laughed roughly. “That is true.”

Meeting her eyes, Peeta leaned back against the door of the fridge.

“I like sex in different places…the element of danger…of being caught.” His golden complexion tinged with pink. “It’s a major turn-on.”

She nodded, toeing in closer to him. “Have you ever—"

“No, just fantasies,” Peeta said. “Compared to the rest of our friends, I’m pretty daisy fresh.”

“Tell me the last place that you’ve fantasized having sex in,” Katniss said. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” he replied, his hand reaching to cup her cheek.

His thumb grazed the corner of her mouth and she resisted the urge to take it into her mouth to taste.

“The bakery.” His gaze fell to her lips. “Specifically, against one of the ovens as it’s warming up and y—whoever and I just get so caught up in the smell of sugar…of rye…and one another that we don’t know where the heat is rising from—”

Katniss suddenly straightened. “Ohmigod…the bakery.”

“What?”

“The bakery,” she repeated.

His eyes widened in realization. “The bakery.”

END OF PART ONE

This will be multiple parts, not sure how many though.

Yes, before you ask, this is loosely based on Zack and Miri Make a Porno which I think is a hilarious movie with some great music.

Speaking of music, the title comes from Live’s ‘Hold Me Up’, which was used in the soundtrack of Zack and Miri. It also plays during a pivotal scene.

Other music used: ‘The Sign’-Ace of Base

I hope you’re enjoying it so far—as if now, I have just completed the second part.

Thanks for reading!

-JLaLa

[lucysometimeswrites]

Hey can you please make a award season one but for a latina reader, if you would like you can keep the tom element. Sorry I'm asking again I accidentally deleted the last ask I made. I love your writing, you are amazing.❤️☺️

thank you thank you so much ur so sweet and of course! here you go and i hope you like it :) absolutely loved writing for latina!reader 

Awards Season (latina!reader)

---------------------------------------------------------------

“Here to present the award for Best Actress in a Leading Role, please welcome Meryl Streep!” the host announced. A roar came from the audience at the mention of her name, the very acclaimed actress welcoming the attention and making her way to the microphone.

“Oh, stop it” she said and waved them away, earning a laugh and even more cheering from the theatre. “If I’m honest, I really considered not presenting this award because it breaks me inside to give the Oscar to someone else when it’s rightfully mine” she said in a funny, raspy evil voice, resembling a witch, “But you know, sharing is caring or whatever. Alright let’s get to it.” she continued dejectedly, still joking.

“This year, we have been blessed with beautiful films and, along with them, incredible performances from beautiful and talented actresses. Viola Davis, your abilities to embody different characters and raise awareness to ongoing issues in society has always amazed us, and it does once again in Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom”, Meryl announced, the camera going to Viola who was sitting about 10 seats to my left, the audience (including me) applauding and praising her. Literally all of her performances are incredible.

Could I still believe I was here? Definitely not, and not any time soon. From small skits to my big break with Tom Holland in a stupid rom-com that I didn’t even want to make, to now. Tom knows it’s nothing against him, it’s just that I haven’t learned to appreciate romantic comedies the way he has, but the thing I loved most from doing it was finishing it with Tom. He had become such an important person in my life since that moment, what with guiding me through the newfound world of fame and being there for me when I joined the Marvel franchise, it was just more than I could ever dream of. Now I sit here at the freaking Oscars, with Tom Holland as my date, and having done one of the greatest films ever, nothing could keep the smile off my face. Or the nerves.

 My leg kept bouncing up and down, a nervous action I often did and one that the guy beside me had caught on to real quick when we first met. His warm hand gently squeezed my thigh, and I turned to look at him a little surprised.

“Hey, it’s okay” he softly said, his gaze soft and comforting.

“I didn’t even realize I was doing it” I answered in the same tone, whispering a thank you and letting my hand rest on top of his, weirdly interlocking our fingers. 

Meryl turned to where Olivia Colman was sitting, “Your Majesty,” she started, referencing her portrayals of royalty and causing her to chuckle, “your moving performances have always left us wanting more, and I’m sure that is what I and everyone felt when we saw you in The Father” a big smile broke out on her face, and cheering ensued once more for our queen, or at least one of mine.

“Aging is some we all go through...unfortunately,” Meryl uttered into the mic, touching up her almost white hair, “and you, Cynthia Erivo, made us relate to your character this way with your brilliant acting in Reaching 39″, that woman is simply amazing, I thought as I clapped and cheered with the audience.

“My dear Kate,” the camera panned to Kate Winslet, who just stared fondly at the woman on the stage, “watching you grow as an actress has been one of the pleasures of my life and you reach new heights both professionally and literally in Misdemeanors”, she is such an icon, oh my.

Finally, Meryl Streep turned to look at me in the front row with a grin on her face, and I quickly got into “camera mode”, as I like to call it. I sat up straighter, looking at her with gentle eyes and smile. 

“Señorita Y/N Y/L,” she started with the heavily accented Spanish word for Ms., “with your entrance into the world of filmmaking, you have set new expectations for all of us to reach. Even though this is your first nomination, I feel in my heart it won’t be the last, and we can’t wait to see more of you like we saw with your extraordinary performance in Paraíso” she finished, bringing a big smile to my face at her words. Turning to the camera, I became a bit shy and gave a small wave, feeling Tom squeeze my hand in comfort and another hand on my shoulder from behind. I turned to see Salma Hayek, one of my co-stars in the film, who gave me a strong nod and smile, loudly saying “Eso!” as a cheer for me.

“And the Oscar goes too...” ayyyyy no ay no que nervios que nervios que nervios me muero- all of this going through my head repeatedly but having to put on a smile and a calm façade for the camera was exhausting. Tranquila, tranquila, si no ganas está bien igual solo el hecho de estar aquí ya es lo más-

“Y/N Y/L, Paraíso!” Meryl announced, and all I heard were screams and loud clapping from around me. 

Shocked, I looked up with wide eyes and my jaw going slack a little. I felt a buzz fill my body and the idol on the stage beckoned me up, when I realized I hadn’t moved. I slowly stood up and instantly turned to Tom who quickly pulled me into his arms with a strong hug and whispering in my year, “I knew it! I knew you would do it darling. I’m so so proud of you babe, go get your award!” not giving me a chance to answer as he gave me a quick kiss and turned me around in the direction of the stage. Still in a bit of a daze, I didn’t see Salma, Eugenio (Derbez), and Benicio (del Toro) make their way to me, ambushing me in a group hug as they started jumping around and sort of with me, chanting “EH! EH! EH!” like Latinos at a party and causing me to laugh and come back to my senses. I hugged them all and continued to the stairs, stopping to hug my directors Guillermo del Toro and Alfonso Cuarón. 

I lifted my dress as I ascended the steps, and in true nervous fashion, stumbled and almost face planted in front of thousands of people. 

“Uy, mierda” I chuckled to myself, and accepted the help of none other than Chris Evans who lent his arm for the remaining steps. I thanked him with a smile and after his Congrats!, I made my way to Meryl who held the famous award in her hands. She handed it to me and pulled me into her embrace, saying “Beautiful job, sweetheart, you’re amazing”, and all I could answer was “Oh my, thank you so much, you’re the amazing one”, sharing a laugh with her and standing in front of the mic.

I looked out into the audience, who were still giving me a standing ovation. Almost like a camera in my head, I tried to ingrain this moment in my mind and took a deep breath, starting my speech.

“God, I really hope I don’t forget any words in English right now” I said with a breathless laugh, inciting one from the people below me. “Thank you so much. Thank you to...um...so many people. To the Academy for this great, great honor. To my fellow nominees for inspiring me every single day. Being in the same room as you is already insane, let alone being nominated with you, it’s just- it’s truly out of this world. Viola, Olivia, Kate, Cynthia, you are my literal idols and if I could physically cut this Oscar into five pieces,” I said as I made a motion of cutting the award and humoured the audience, “I would give a piece to all of you. Um, thank you to my team, my agent, Victoria, te adoro y te agradezco for believing in me and helping me live out my dream. Sorry, I’m probably gonna switch between languages during this.” I said with a laugh. 

“Paraíso was a project that, for me, came out of nowhere. But for my extraordinary directors los señores Guillermo del Toro and Alfonso Cuarón, it was a life’s work so to you, gracias por darme la oportunidad de darle vida a Marielos and for giving me the experience of a lifetime. Salma, Eugenio, Benicio, Gael, and all the cast and crew, thank you for becoming my second family and supporting me every step of the way. It has been my honor to work with you” I said with a hand on my chest, showing that I was speaking from my heart and smiling at the kisses and cheers sent to me from them, hearing a crazed Te amamos! from Eugenio. It eased the tension in my body which I was incredibly thankful for. 

“I also want to thank-” I stopped, getting a little choked up, “ha, sorry, it’s my family that couldn’t be here” I said, a wave of claps and cheering in comfort came from the audience. Quickly composing myself, I continued, “Ya, okay. All the way back home, lo hice! Familia, les dije que no les iba a agradecer si me ganaba un Oscar algún día por no creer en mi y hoy es ese día, pero no me lo perdonaría si no les agradezco. Gracias por apoyarme a pesar de que yo sé que les dio un ataque que quisiera ser actriz. Gracias por siempre estar ahí para mi, por quererme incondicionalmente y por enseñarme que trabajando duro todo se puede lograr. Los amo infinitamente.” I finished, with tears threatening to roll down my eyes. I tilted my head to the sky to prevent them from falling, and with a deep breath I turned to Tom who had his hands in a prayer stance while looking intently at me, the same smile from before still gracing his face.

“Tommy...” I started, and the audience audibly awed at the nickname, “Oh, you don’t even know what I’m gonna say to him” I said with narrowed eyes, but my gaze found my love once more.

“Thank you so much for being my rock ever since we met. I’m beyond thankful for you and all you do for me, baby. You make me the happiest and thank you for pushing me to do things that scare me. For being there for me in case I fall and for being my person. Te amo, amor.” I blowed him a kiss which he caught and jokingly used to wipe his tears, making me and the other celebrities laugh.

Please wrap up, I read from the screen, and let out and “Ay, perdón! I gotta wrap up sorry sorry” hurriedly finishing up my speech. 

“Lastly, this award goes out to all the Latina girls out there with big dreams. Nunca se den por vencidas. No dejen que nadie les diga que no porque de que se puede, se puede. Querer es poder! I love you guys, my fans oh my gosh, thank you thank you, gracias!” I rushed out, raising the award to the air with one last big smile as Meryl guided me backstage to answer some questions. Just before I was off sight, I turned and looked out to the stage once more.

Lo logré...

---------------------------------------------------------------

once again, disclaimer, movie names are mostly fictitious. feedback and requests always welcome!

[flufffysocks]

let's talk about andi mack's worldbuilding

sorry this took forever to make! i've been pretty busy with school stuff and i kind of lost my inspiration for a bit, but i ultimately really enjoyed writing it! i wish i could've included more pics (tumblr has a max of 10 per post), and it kinda turned from less of a mini analysis to more of an extremely long rant... but i hope it's still a fun read!

i've been rewatching the show over the past few weeks (thanks again to @disneymack for the link!), and i’ve been noticing a lot that i never did the first time around. this is really the first time i’ve watched the show from start to finish since it aired, and it honestly feels so different this time - probably a combination of the fact that i’m not as focused on plot and can appreciate the show as a whole, and also that the fandom is much, much smaller now, so there’s a lot less noise. so the way i’m consuming this show feels super different than it did the first time, but the show itself doesn’t - it’s just as warm and comforting to me as it was the first time around, if not more so.

i think a lot of that can be attributed to andi mack’s “worldbuilding”. i’m not quite sure that this is the right word in this context, to be honest, because i mostly see it used in reference to fantasy and sci-fi universes, but it just sort of feels right to me for andi mack, because you can really tell how much love and care went into constructing this universe. for clarity, worldbuilding is “the process of creating an imaginary world” in its simplest sense. there’s two main types: hard worldbuilding, which involves inventing entire universes, languages, people, cultures, places, foods, etc. from scratch (think “lord of the rings” or “dune”), and soft worldbuilding, in which the creators don’t explicitly state or explain much about the fictional universe, but rather let it’s nature reveal itself as the story progresses (think studio ghibli films). andi mack to me falls in the soft worldbuilding category. even though it takes place in a realistic fiction universe, there’s a lot of aspects to it that are inexplicably novel in really subtle ways.

so watching the show now, i’ve noticed that the worldbuilding comes primarily from two things - setting and props, and oftentimes the both of them in tandem (because a big part of setting in filmmaking does depend on the props placed in it!).

one of the most obvious examples is the spoon. it really is a sort of quintessential, tropic setting in that it's the main gang's "spot", which automatically gives it a warm and homey feel to it. and its set design only amplifies this:

the choice to make it a very traditional 50s-style diner creates a very nostalgic, retro feel to it, which is something that's really consistent throughout the show, as you'll see. from the round stools at the bar, to the booths, to the staff uniforms, this is very obvious. the thing that i found especially interesting about it though is the choice of color. the typical 50s diner is outfitted with metallic surfaces and red accented furnishings, but the spoon is very distinctly not this.

instead, it's dressed in vibrant teal and orange, giving it a very fresh and modern take on a classic look. so it still maintains that feeling of being funky and retro, but that doesn't retract from the fact that the show is set distinctly in modern times.

of course, this could just be a one-off quirky set piece, but this idea of modernizing and novelizing "retro" things is a really common motif throughout the show. take red rooster records. i mean, it's a record shop - need i say more? it's obviously a very prominent store in shadyside, at least for the main characters, but there's no apparent reason why it is (until season 2 when bowie starts working there, and jonah starts performing there). a lot of the time, though, it functions solely as a record shop. vinyl obviously isn't the most practical or convenient way of listening to music, but it's had its resurgence in pop culture even in the real world, mostly due to its aesthetic value, so it's safe to say that it serves the same purpose in the andi mack universe.

the fringe seems to be nostalgic of a different era, specifically the Y2K/early 2000s period (because it's meant to be bex's territory and symbolic of who she used to be, and its later transformation into cloud 10 is representative of her character arc, but that's beside the point). to be honest, exactly what this store was supposed to be always confused me. it was kind of a combination party store/clothing store/makeup store/beauty parlor? i think that's sort of the point of it though, it's supposed to feel very grunge-y and chaotic (within the confines of a relatively mellow-toned show, of course), and it's supposed to act as a sort of treasure chest of little curios that both make the place interesting and allow the characters to interact with it.

and, of course, there's andi shack. this is really the cherry on top of all of andi mack's sets, just because it's so distinctly andi. it serves such amazing narrative purpose for her (ex. the storyline where cece and ham were going to move - i really loved this because it highlights its place in the andi mack universe so well, and i'm a sucker for the paper cranes shot + i'm still salty that sadie's cranes didn't make it into the finale) and it's the perfect reflection of andi's character development because of how dynamic it is (the crafts and art supplies can get moved around or switched out, and there's always new creations visible).

going back to the nostalgia motif though, the "shack" aspect of it always struck me as very treehouse-like. personally, whenever i think of treehouses, there's this very golden sheen of childhood about it, if that makes sense. i've always seen treehouses in media as a sort of shelter for characters' youthful innocence and idealistic memories. for example, the episode "up a tree" from good luck charlie, the episode "treehouse" from modern family, and "to all the boys 2" all use a treehouse setting as a device to explore the character's desire to hold onto their perfect image of their childhood (side note: this exact theme is actually explored in andi mack in the episode "perfect day 2.0"!). andi shack is no exception to this, but it harnesses this childhood idealism in the same way that it captures the nostalgia of the 50s in the spoon, or the early 2000s in the fringe. it's not some image of a distant past being reflected through that setting; it's very present, and very alive, because it reflects andi as she is in the given moment.

some honorable mentions of more one-off settings include the ferris wheel (from "the snorpion"), the alley art gallery (from "a walker to remember"), SAVA, the color factory (from "it's a dilemna"), and my personal favorite, the cake shop (from "that syncing feeling").

[every time i watch this episode i want to eat those cakes so bad]

these settings have less of a distinctly nostalgic feel (especially the color factory, which is a very late 2010s, instagram era setting), but they all definitely have an aura of perfection about them. andi mack is all about bright, colorful visuals, and these settings really play to that, making the andi mack universe seem really fun and inviting, and frankly very instagrammable (literally so, when it comes to the color factory!).

props, on the other hand, are probably a much less obvious tool of worldbuilding. they definitely take up less space in the frame and are generally not as noticeable (i'm sure i'll have missed a bunch that will be great examples, but i'm kind of coming up with all of this off the top of my head), but they really tie everything together.

for example, bex's box, bex's polaroid, and the old tv at the mack apartment (the tv is usually only visible in the periphery of some shots, so you might not catch it at first glance) all complement that very retro aesthetic established through the settings (especially the polaroid and the tv, because there's really no good reason that the characters would otherwise be using these).

besides this, andi's artistic nature provides the perfect excuse for plenty of colorful, crafty props to amplify the visuals and the tone. obviously, as i discussed before, andi shack is the best example of this because it's filled with interesting props. but you also see bits of andi's (and other people's) crafts popping up throughout the show (ex. the tape on the fridge in the mack apartment, andi's and libby's headbands in "the new girls", walker's shoes, andi's phone case, and of course, the bracelet). not only does doing this really solidify this talent as an essential tenet of andi's character, but it also just makes the entirety of shadyside feel like an extension of andi shack. the whole town is a canvas for her crafts (or art, depending on how you want to look at it. i say it's both), and it immensely adds to shadyside's idealism. because who wouldn't want to live in a world made of andi mack's creations?

and, while it's not exactly a prop, the characters' wardrobe is undoubtedly a major influence on the show's worldbuilding. true to it's nature as a disney channel show, all of the characters are always dressed in exceptionally curated outfits of whatever the current trends are, making the show that much more visually appealing. i won't elaborate too much on this, because i could honestly write a whole other analysis on andi mack's fashion (my favorites are andi's and bex's outfits! and kudos to the costume designer(s) for creating such wonderful and in-character wardrobes!). but, i think it's a really really important aspect of how the show's universe is perceived, so it had to be touched upon.

[^ some of my favorite outfits from the show! i am so obsessed with andi's jacket in the finale, and i aspire to be at bex's level of being a leather jacket bisexual]

and lastly, phones. this is a bit of an interesting case (pun intended), because the way they're used fluctuates a bit throughout the show, but i definitely noticed that at least in the first season terri minsky tried to avoid using them altogether. these efforts at distancing from modern tech really grounds the show in it's idealist, nostalgia-heavy roots, so even when the characters start using their phones more later in the show, they don't alter the viewer's impression of the andi mack universe very much.

so, what does all of this have to do with worldbuilding? in andi mack's case, because it's set in a realistic universe and not a fantasy one, a lot of what sets it apart from the real world comes down to tone. because, as much as this world is based on our own, it really does feel separate from it, like an alternate reality that's just slightly more perfect than ours, which makes all the difference. it's the idealism in color and composition in andi mack's settings that makes it so unmistakably andi mack. even the weather is always sunny and perfect (which is incredibly ironic because the town is called shadyside - yes, i am very proud of that observation).

the andi mack universe resides somewhere in this perfect medium that makes it feel like a small town in the middle of nowhere (almost like hill valley in 1955 from "back to the future"), but at the same time like an enclave within a big city (because of its proximity to so many modern, unique, and honestly very classy looking establishments). it is, essentially, an unattainable dream land that tricks you into believing it is attainable because it's just real enough.

all this to say, andi mack does an amazing job of creating of polished, perfect world for its characters. this is pretty common among disney channel and nickelodeon shows, but because most other shows tend to be filmed in a studio with three-wall sets, andi mack is really set apart from them in that it automatically feels more real and tangible. it has its quintessential recurring locations, but it has far more of them (most disney/nick shows usually only have 3-4 recurring settings), and it has a lot more one-off locations. it's also a lot more considerate when it comes to its props, so rather than the show just looking garish and aggressively trendy, it has a distinctive style that's actually appropriate to the characters and the story. overall this creates the effect of expanding the universe, making shadyside feel like it really is a part of a wider world, rather than an artificial bubble. it's idealism is, first and foremost, grounded in reality, and that provides a basis for its brilliant, creative, and relatable storytelling.

tl;dr: andi mack's sets and props give it a very retro and nostalgic tone which makes its whole universe seem super perfect and i want to live there so bad!!

[glenngaylord]

Mother Of Intervention - Film Review: Jonathan Agassi Saved My Life ★★★★

Many years ago, Israeli filmmaker Tower Heymann thought it would be a fluffy good time to follow around one of the world’s leading gay adult film stars in service of a sexy, funny documentary. Little did he know at the time that his years of filming his star, Jonathan Agassi, would instead result in something so raw, touching, and harrowing, yet also profoundly universal.

Agassi, born Yonatan Langer in Brooklyn in 1984 but grew up in Israel, took off like a rocket when he made one of the most popular films in gay adult industry history. When the film first meets up with him, he’s living the high life in Berlin, traveling the world for film shoots, winning awards, and allowing his alter ego to give him the confidence he lacked as a young child. We see behind the facade early on when he visits his mother and two siblings in Tel Aviv. His close bond with them, especially with his very supportive Mom, gives us a sense of his troubled upbringing, filled with bullying and an absent, homophobic father.

Agassi’s success, however, gives him his strut, his ease with gender fluid clothing, and his feelings of overall godlike sexiness. That effeminate little child doesn’t seem too far below the surface, nor does the damage and trauma he has carried around with him throughout his life. Agassi doesn’t shy away from using drugs, from cocaine to crystal meth, as his career soars.

One stunning moment occurs only 8 minutes into the documentary when Agassi, sitting down for an interview, a lit cigarette in his hand, nods off mid-speech. Agassi’s then boyfriend intervenes, carrying him to bed. I’m afraid at this point, Heymann realized we aren’t in Kansas anymore. It won’t be the last time we experience this. From here, we witness a person spiraling out of control. He soon loses a major adult studio contract and makes money as an escort, where drug use seems either rampant or necessary to get him through nights where he’s too tired to have sex.

Luckily, Agassi has a beautiful relationship with a mother who allows him to be his true self, despite some slight pushback from his brother and sister. Clearly, Mom can talk about anything with her son. She accompanies him on a shooting location in Greece, loves letting him model his lacy lingerie and high heels, and watches his films, well, at least the talky, pre-sex parts! Although she’s a fearless protector, she also has the self-awareness to recognize that their dynamic feels unnatural. She feels she should be supporting him financially and not the other way around. Although unspoken, she seems to sense that her son has been wrestling some demons, and instinctively creates a safe space for him. It’s the core of a film which could easily have been a god-worshipping puff piece, but instead feels instantly relatable to any kid who grew up being made to feel less than his fantastic self.

Agassi’s father enters the picture to further complicate the narrative. In an attempt to figure out what makes his Dad tick, Agassi questions him about his marriage to his Mom. This scene had me riveted, trying to decipher what were lies and what were truths. This change in perspective, however, adds another layer to the theme of surviving one’s childhood.

Through it all, Heymann rigorously and patiently waits for his moments. After what seems like decades of manipulated narratives in documentary filmmaking, this one feels not only authentic, but emotionally connected. It’s impossible to watch this beautiful film without being shocked, but more importantly, without feeling something. Anyone who has ever had that one solid person who gets you, who is there for you no matter what, will connect with Agassi’s perfectly imperfect mother. Furthermore,  Agassi, who never seems to be playing it up for the cameras, risks it all with his brutally exposed persona, flaws and all laid bare for us to empathize. For those who want titillation, it’s there, although dialed back a bit from being explicit porn. Yet, this film, which deservedly won the Israeli version of the Academy Award for Best Documentary, proves there is so much more than meets the very sexy eyes.

[novelconcepts]

(1/4)In one of your tags from the gifsets when Jamie walks into the kitchen and Dani first saw her! I just realized how oblivious until now with that narrative “how the au pair felt when she first saw the young woman” I was even oblivious with the way they look at each other. This is a romantic set up! To be honest, at first I thought they would not get along at first, and will come to parts where they’d start a fight one way or another.

(2/4)And then the part where Jamie asks Owen if he thinks Dani is pretty, the way Owen blushes I swear I thought that Owen and Dani were gonna be a couple!! Thanks goodness Owen answers he’s only got eyes for Hannah!! I mean, I started this show with a blank page without knowing if there’s any lgbtq character (I was hoping since we got Theo from HH)

(3/4)This says so much how we often, in media, being disappointed, being called too much as we read between the chemistry of any interaction of two same sex characters! And here’s in Bly, they set us up with that romantic first not-encounter encounter and we had to step back to see if this is intentional or we’re being reading too much again!

(4/4)And then nine episodes later, we got the most heart wrenching true love story of two women! Masterchef kisses!!! Thank you show! I was starting to root for Dani x Jamie interaction after their 1:1 with Jamie tries to calm Dani. What about you, what moment from the show that got you root for them?

So, here's the thing about me: I will always, always ship the ladies together in a show. And, like you said, I’m very accustomed to being let down when showrunners decide that in order for character to be queer, it has to be saying something. Like, they have an allotment of queerness they have to dole out. And to have a story coming in on the heels of a really successful show where we did have a queer character--and a really well fleshed-out one who never felt like she was gay for gay’s sake, but still, a character in the ensemble rather than The Lead--I felt like...in most other shows, that would have qualified as the “allotment”, as it were. “We already gave you Theo, what more could you ask for?”

So Dani turns up in this show and I think, “Okay, she’s a delightful Midwestern 80s girl with some real trials on her shoulders, she clearly lost someone, let’s see where this goes.” And I honestly didn’t think she was going to be anything onscreen, in terms of romantic story. I sort of assumed that if she had lost someone, the crux of her story was going to be about coping with that loss and moving on. Even when they introduced Owen, I didn’t think, “Oh, okay, here’s the romantic co-lead of the story”; they did a really excellent job of having both parties perform that car ride with platonic care. Like, we have the potential to get along really well, we’re likely going to bond, but there were no long camera shots of one watching the other, no sense that he was going to have interest in her or vice versa. They felt like instant friends. So, I thought, “Okay, cool, she could use some friends, she’s probably still going to just have this arc of coming to terms with losing this person.”

And I didn’t know who she’d lost yet, so I did think it could have been anyone. Brother. Father. Friend. I wasn't sure it would matter, I just figured that was going to be the focus.

And then Jamie walks in. And in retrospect, you’re right: this setup for romance was instant. The introduction, the narrator’s line, the way Dani looks up, the quick glance Jamie gives her before promptly pretending not to notice, all of these are textbook filmmaking tricks to Introduce The Love Interest. And Jamie, naturally, is styled like a classic lesbian in every way, so I thought, “Huh. That’s interesting. But they already gave us Theo last time, so...”

Which is deeply unfair. It’s unfair to the creative team, it’s unfair to the story, it’s unfair to me as a viewer, to have that knee-jerk assumption on my shoulders. And I like to think that Bly surprising me as it did will help me not make that I’ve been burned assumption in the future, because...we really have come a long way. But even so, on this first watch, I thought, “That’s interesting. I could ship it. But I don’t think that's the story they’re going to tell”, because I didn’t yet trust the creative team to prioritize queer relationships on the same level as straight ones. 

Things continue, and we get all the little clues that, in retrospect, are huge: Jamie thinks Dani is “too pretty” and quite frankly can’t shut up about her. Dani physically brightens when Jamie’s in the room. Jamie reassures Dani that she’s doing well, and does so with the gentlest nudge at flirtation, and Dani swivels her whole body to follow Jamie as she leaves, making sure to catch every last glimpse she can before Jamie disappears into the house. And we’re getting these clues from other characters, too, in the way the kids exchange that look when Jamie’s first introduced, in the way Owen constantly looks to Hannah with every indication that he’s not kidding in the least when he says he only has eyes for her. But I still wasn’t...sure I could trust it. 

Which is silly. Because there is nothing, not a single thing, that is subtle about this love story. The music cues, the camera work, the angling of the actresses toward one another in every scene they share. The way Pedretti makes certain Dani looks the easiest in her body and in her smile when it’s Jamie making her laugh. It’s so intentional all the way down, like the entire team was saying, “Here. This is important. This is valuable. And we absolutely refuse to let anyone watch this show and say, oh, we didn’t feel it. It came out of nowhere. Couldn’t they just have been friends?” 

Episode 3 went a long way to hammering it home, of course. Between the conversation on the couch about love and possession, where the silence between them stretches on with a sort of comfortable heat, and the way Dani looks at her--and the camera looks at her--when Jamie is asleep on the couch, and that final moment with the hand grab, I realized they were really going for this thing. And obviously by Episode 4, you’re supposed to know what’s up. The gloves are off, the story is fully tilted in this direction, and I think it was around this point that I started to realize who the narrator probably was. Originally, I think I thought she’d be a very grown up Flora; once I realized Jamie was in fact the Romantic Lead of the piece, I went, “Oh. Ohhhh. Oh shit.”

The moral of the story here is, I trust this team now. I trust them to prioritize queer love with just as much “this is normal, guys, get over it” care as straight relationships. And, frankly, it makes me re-evaluate my opinion of the sexuality tackled in Hill House. The first few times I watched that show, I thought, “God, it’s nice that they gave us Theo. She’s flawed, she’s human, she’s funny, and her being gay is non-negotiable.” Now? Now I watch it and think all of that while also thinking, “You know what? Luke could be queer. His response to Joey all the way through really reads more like a friend who wants to help, with nervous confusion in the event that she nudges too close.” And especially after that interview where Victoria Pedretti said she always assumed Nell was queer, and that her ending up with a man didn’t negate that, it just wasn’t really relevant to parse it all out onscreen, I thought, “You know what? She’s right. There is absolutely nothing stopping that from being true.” And that’s how I’ve approached all media since I was a teenager, fair, but the difference is it feels...like these shows agree. That this is why they didn’t announce the LGBT rep ahead of time. That it’s not gonna be “gay for gay’s sake”, that it’s not going to be for drama or to cause a ruckus, but that these stories say, “Hey. This is a real thing. Love looks like this, too. Here: watch this beautiful, poignant, heartbreaking story of two women who love each other more than anything in the world. Watch it, and understand that they are so normal, and that them being gay changes nothing about how they live out their story together.” And I love that. 

[sonsofjustice]

path of the awakened vengeance

triggers: self-harm, familial death, violence

the son of nemesis had answered the call, he'd drunk the ambrosia, he's fought monsters and strange creatures, he's witnessed godlings come and go. he's seen them fight, he's fought with them, for them. he's seen balance and he's seen just how unbalanced everything is. wolfram finds himself in a deep slumber, tucked away in his cabin or perhaps another place that he finds comfort. the last few weeks have been long and arduous. near death experiences have been more common than laughter on some days and the attack on camp still lingers within him, the shock and despair of it all. the loss of companions and the danger that they all seem to put themselves in still weighs heavy on his mind. it begins as a soft hum, a gentle baseline that reverberates through his being, travelling through his bloodstream with each passing note. at the edge of his consciousness he can pick up each soft note; a familiar tune. it strums and tugs at his heart, the lullaby slowly growing louder and louder; a siren song that gets clearer through the haze of his slumber. the song reaches out for wolfram, wrapping him up in an embrace that surrounds the son of nemesis in a gripping feeling that feels as if someone is grabbing hold of his chest and clenching his heart with bare hands. the tempo crescendos, the speed of the song becoming nothing more than a flurry of cacophonous sounds that bang discordantly within him. it's a battle, a force of will, two pieces of the same person wanting to be heard. when he tries to wake up, he can't. the song only grows louder and louder and louder. divinity calls upon wolfram once more and he must answer. it's an overwhelming feeling, like being at the edge of a cliff, waiting to free fall into an abyss below. then, suddenly, his eyes flash open, his chest rises and falls as he tries to get air into his too tight lungs. he gasps for air and, when he's able to finally choke down a panicked breath, he can see a little more clearly. it's then that a realization hits him. he's no longer back where he remembers falling asleep. was any of it real? had all this been a dream?

things had been unbalanced lately. betrayals, near-death experiences, failures, wolfram had experienced them all. he'd grown into his divinity wanting to uphold justice, to preserve the balance. instead, he'd become an arbiter of vengeance, seeking to strike down those who corrupt indiscriminately, slay the innocent without mercy. he sought revenge.

when he'd fallen asleep in his cabin that night, it wasn't atypical from any other night. he'd showered, changed into his pajamas, and put on a familiar film. as he dozed off the sleep, the familiar sounds of metallic swords clashing and cheesy overacting were the perfect background noise. a film by akira kurosawa, one of the greatest filmmakers of the genre, a comfort he'd brought from home. his eyes glazed over, as he felt the familiar tug of sleep draw him in, before they finally shut.

when they snap open once more, he's no longer in the safety of his cabin. it takes a while for his vision to focus, bringing forth even more confusion when it finally does. he's standing beneath a japanese maple tree, the brilliant fire-red leaves fluttering around his feet as a steady wind blows through them. that's all he notices, though, was vivid shade of red. the rest of the world had been sapped of color, as if life had been drained from their very essence. it was like he was thrown into the film itself, transported to a snapshot of a different time and place.

the moon is bright and illuminating in the sky, casting down on him as he glances around, searching for anything, anyone, familiar. he doesn't find it, not here.

in shades of grey, the blood red leaves are a stark contrast. they sway in the breeze, falling down in cascades, piling around wolfram's feet like a pool of blood. around him, in beautiful landscape filled with japanese maple trees, there is only him. the sky stretches onward, blotted by red leaves. his eyes focus again, adjusting to the strange landscape he finds himself in.

as the scene before him comes into focus, he sees a stone path, beautiful flowers adorning each side like a welcome mat, beckoning him forward. violent red maple leaves trail down the path like streaks of blood; he follows, bound to, a slight chill settling in his bones.

he enters what appears to be a village, styled after traditional japanese homes in the countryside. he knows he's never been here before, but it seems so… familiar, like he'd walked this layout sometime in his past. somewhere in the distance, he can hear… a woman groaning, someone in distress.

the village seems empty, pitched roofs and traditional japanese homes line the countryside he finds himself in. they're all stark in color, except for the maple trees and their red leaves that sway in the breeze. he walks and walks and walks. it's empty, desolate, until he hears the sounds of someone, a woman perhaps, in distress. the sounds seem to ride the breeze, drift along it like a song that makes its way to his ears. he doesn't see anyone, but he knows someone is there, someone in need, someone who needs help…

experience at the camp had taught him discretion is the better part of valor, crossing between the houses. something about them were just so strikingly familiar, like he'd lived here once upon a time. he couldn't shake the sinking feeling in his stomach as he heads toward the source of the sound.

maple leaves guide him to the entrance of a home, the door wide open. a few of them lay in a thick, viscious liquid, dark. it was red, as violent a shade as the leaves. somewhere inside, a grunt, the sound of something metallic slicing through the air, another low, gutteral groan.

shaking, he enters, careful and quiet.

wolfram steps into the house, as quiet as he can be, but the floor is covered in a crimson liquid that makes his feet glide across it. there's a creaking floorboard within the home as he tries to right himself, to find his balance before he crashes down. thankfully, he doesn't crash, he doesn't fall, but the sound of the grunting, the metallic sound of something slicing through the air, stops. silence falls over the house he's entered and a sinking feeling latches itself to his heart. before him, he can see footprints in on the floorboards, shaped in the scarlet liquid that matches the maple leaves. they lead in different directions, further into the home, up the stairs, and off to the right.

steadying himself, he exhales sharply. the scene starts to look familiar, like something deep in the recesses of his mind was trying to claw its way to the surface, but he suppresses it. maybe some things were better off left alone.

the paths seem to be a gap in his memory, trying to piece together a puzzle that he didn't have all the pieces for.

he decides to go further into the home.

slowly, with tentative footsteps, wolfram follows the steps that lead further into the house. he continues on straight, stepping near the footsteps as if following a crimson trail left for him. the silence still lingers, filling the space like a held breath, pregnant and poised for an exhale. he turns the corner, entering a living space, maybe a bedroom, maybe a dining area… as he enters, the scene unfolds before him, a figure, maybe even two, seem to be in this room though his vision seems blurred, like he can't quite see what's in front of him. he has to shake his head, blink rapidly, close his eyes and open them a few times. slowly, his vision clears and he's able to make out the figure or figures before him.

its a sun room, where a family once met every weekend to spend time together. it was where a child once played, running his toy car along the the glass. that glass was stained with blood now.

his gaze follows the streaks of blood that led into the room, maple leaves peppering the path where someone must've crawled, bloody and wilted. he watches as a ronin stands above the body of a woman, driving a samurai sword into her midsection. he seems satisfied with his work, leaving the blade where it stood as he stalks off toward the backyard.

maple leaves litter the area across the woman's wound, as if it were pouring from her very being.

"mom." he whispers, stunned and horrified as he watches her lay there, clinging to what little life she had left.

the word hangs from his lips like a wilting willow branch while maple leaves cascade from the wound to her stomach. it pools around her, bright, vibrant, sticky, and sweet. her breaths are choked off, pained, her eyes can't seem to focus and when the whispered word reaches her ears, its as if her body freezes. wolfram was never meant to see her this way. but now it's too late. her head tilts toward him, eyes fixed on his. "run." she tells him, but her voice is too soft, too weak, dying. he can't make out the word from where he stands. the ronin, the murderer walks out of the room, footsteps coated in maple leaf red as he stains the floorboards of the sun room, creating another path. he focuses, trying to decipher what she says. "it's too late for me. run." finally, he's able to hear her voice, like it's floating to him on a breeze, like it's whispering directly into his ear.

wolfram surges forward, dropping to his knees in a pool of blood. it doesn't matter, not anymore.

"no, no. i'm not leaving you, i never should have." he makes a grab for the samurai sword embedded within her. it seemed angry, full of rage, like one touch would slice his hand clean open. she groans, drawing his attention away.

"who did this? tell me, please." cradling her fragile head in his lap. she goes to speak, but it seems like she can't. instead, she grips tightly to the pendant around her neck, a gift from his father following their engagement party. a promise, they'd be together in life and in death.

"mom, please. please don't leave me again." he begs, fists clenched at his sides. another life he'd failed to save, another failure. "i'll kill them. i'll strike them down again, and again, until they pay for what they did to you." angry, vengeful tears stream down his cheeks, crimson red as they fall into his lap. "i'll sunder their bodies until they repent for their crimes. i'll watch them all fall."

a sadness washes over his mother's features at his words, at his promise, at this whispered oath made of vengeance and hatred. it's a dark thing, a deal forged in spilled blood, vowed over an open wound. she lifts a hand, watercolor splashes of crimson dripping from her fingers, as she presses her hand against wolfram's cheek. "run." the warning comes again. "before he does this to you, too." behind him, footsteps creak against the floorboards, as if coming down stairs. could there be more? could there be someone else within the house?

the son of nemesis leans into the palm, unable to hold the tears as they fell. "i'm sorry, mom." he presses a tender kiss to her forehead, lips hovering against the flesh. "i love you. so, so much." with a sob punctuating the action, he draws the blade from her midsection, putting her out of her misery.

he sits there for a moment, kneeling above the lifeless body of his mother. memories flash before his eyes, of her watching him play in the yard, tending to his scraped knees, singing him lullabies and holding him tight. now, all that was left was the void, a shell filled with anger and pain.

he gently closes her half-lidded eyes, draping the kitchen tablecloth over her. he stands, gingerly moving into the shadows, concealed by the dark void of corners of the kitchen. he waits, breath held, prepared to strike should the assailant return. his instincts are screaming at him to run, but he stays in the shadows, ready to fight, or run. for now, he waits.

maybe it's the creak in the floorboards, maybe it's the aching sob that's lodged in his chest, like a stone in his throat that rattles with each breath. wolfram slinks in the shadows, waiting, waiting, waiting. eventually, the footsteps make their way back into the room. dressed in all black, like the endless night, like a void, the figure appears. face covered, hands covered, every inch, covered. they enter the room, hovering at the threshold, one footfall away from truly entering the room.

wolfram clasps a hand over his mouth, his other hand gripping the handle of the blade tightly. he doesn't… remember this, this didn't make sense, it-… this is wrong, all wrong.

he tries his best to remain quiet, desperate to conceal himself, he stares hard at the void. he uses his domain, trying to ascertain whether it was good, or evil, trying to determine its intentions.

he calls upon the power inside of him, that balancing shift, that moral compass, that feeling of right or wrong. he's met with indifference, he's met with a familiar presence, but something altogether…different. the footstep crosses the threshold. the figure looks as if he's dressed in the same attire as who he saw kill his mother. there's no blood on these clothes, though, nor in the footsteps that that are soundless, weightless, quiet, as the figure makes its way in. it kneels down over the red stained tablecloth, maple leaves pooling around the edges of the fabric. the figure reaches forward, as if to pull the cloth away from his mother's face…

no.

wolfram's heart pounds in his chest as he watches the ronin approach the slumbering form of his mother. he vowed to strike down evil, to let the power of vengeance guide his blade. he wouldn't let them disturb his mother.

narrowing his gaze, he moves quietly through the darkness, standing as he raises his blade.

"leave her be."

the figure stills, calm and collected, a shadow in the stark contrast of a red stained home. "you should have done as she told you." the voice is clear, but it sounds as if something is muffling the speech, as if not to give away who this figure is. it doesn't turn to face wolfram, it stands there hovering over the corpse of his mother. "i will give you the opportunity to put down the blade and flee, otherwise i cannot promise your safety."

the scales will balance, one way or another. the hatred in his heart, the rage, the vengeance, it settles deep in the pit of his stomach. forged by blood, he will find his revenge, flay the flesh of the man who took his mother from him, who robbed him of his childhood, his security blanket. the man who honed a child into a sharpened blade.

the vile hatred for a father, the tender love of a mother. the yin and yang, forever fighting for dominance. the voice of his mother rings in his head, her dying wish to protect her son. he'd obey.

"mom." tears well up in his eyes once more. "i will spill their blood, you will have your vengeance." he turns, giving one last glance toward his mother before he walks out the way he came.

down the path, those maple leaves mocking him as they flutter in the breeze. falling to his knees, he repeats an action he'd done not once, but twice before. the first, an offering of blood to his divine parent, forged by peace. the second, an offering of blood as penance, a pleading bargain forged by desperation.

now, an offering of blood would be made for something different, something darker.

the razor sharp tip of the blade draws across his palm once more, drawing dark, thick blood from his hand.

"vengeance, be my blade," amber tears fall from his eyes, mourning a skeleton left deep in his closet. "guide me to the wicked so i may strike them down."

angry, he sobs.

"bless me with the strength to be your sword, so i may grant my mortal mother peace."

vengeance is a coiled snake lurking in the pit of a stomach, the bile acidic and putrid; a dangerous concoction that melts away inhibitions and makes the focus singular: revenge. retribution, vengeance, revenge. the same word spelled three different ways. a different path for the same outcome. blood mixes with blood, tear stained cheeks to slit palms to pooled feet, to swaying maple leaves that laugh in the breeze before stillness makes them silent. there is something lingering within wolfram, a darkness that blooms like fresh blood, like a new wound. for so long, there has been peace within him, a balance. now, that balance seems askew, tilted, and he must make it right. there's a strange feeling pulsing through him and as the words drip from his lips, his body nearly caves in on itself as pain rattles through his body, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. he grits his teeth, surrenders to it for a moment, before he forges himself into a weapon, steels himself to be something greater than his own cause, his own ideals. blood pools around him, thick and shining, enough that his own reflection stares back at him. it stays unblinking, unmoving, until it's mouth begins to move and words echo throughout wolfram's mind. "vengeance is your nature, there is no mercy for the wicked. may your divine judgment call your blade to action. vengeance is your weapon, let your qualms hinder your from delivering its sentence. vengeance is your future and if you allow your enemies to survive your vengeful nature, you must do what you can to make amends to those that were hurt by your failures."

pain is no stranger to the son of nemesis. it's a friend that always lingers in the shadows, familiar. its an infestation that burrows deep into the recesses of his mind, taking root and multiplying until there is a total hostile takeover.

today, that pain will be wielded like a weapon, transformed; no longer a monster in his closet, but a tool to be used. the divine hand of justice removed his blindfold, freed his occluded vision and gave him clarity. he knew what he needed to do now.

it feels as if his flesh was being flayed from his body, exposing the inner machinations, baring his very soul to the ether. shakily, he rests his blade flat in his hands, staring deep into his reflection.

he repeats.

"vengeance is my nature, there is no mercy for the wicked. may my divine judgment call my blade to action.

vengeance is my weapon, let not my qualms hinder me from delivering its sentence."

the blade seems to heat up rapidly in his hands, the kanji etched into the steel red-hot now. it cauterizes his open wound. it burns, but the pain seems negligible now. he nearly buckles.

"vengeance is my future and if i allow my enemies to survive my vengeful nature, i must do what i can to make amends to those that were hurt by my failures."

he grits his teeth, hard enough that they threaten to crack under the pressure. the son of nemesis remains steadfast, determined.

an oath given and an oath taken. the blade burns against wolfram's open palms but it hurts no more than the slice of steel that tore open his flesh. the voice echoes and echoes in his mind, sinking deeper and deeper into him, taking root somewhere inside. he was made to be a weapon and now he will wield himself as such. retribution. vengeance. revenge. revenge. vengeance. retribution. all the same and yet all different. all of which reside inside of wolfram winters. he grits his teeth, feeling them quake with the force of his jaw, he nearly grips onto the blade once more, feeling the warm blade beneath his now cauterized hand and— he wakes up. he finds himself exactly where he remembers falling asleep, the television still playing. it still feels like a dream, whatever he'd experienced, but something within him feels different, changed. he feels strength coursing through him, feels a purpose that has taken shelter within him, made a home of his ribs, and siphons the power of his heart for its own gain. vengeance. retribution. revenge. a divine judge, jury, and executioner to the wicked. vengeance is his nature. vengeance is his weapon. vengeance is his future. and time will tell to see just how true that becomes.

[aliveandfullofjoy]

So I was reading about the first Oscars ceremony, and it had a division between Outstanding Picture and Best Unique & Artistic Film, where Unique & Artistic was apparently meant to be an equal to Outstanding Picture but dedicated more for prestige artistic works. The next year, the two categories became one from then on, and Outstanding Picture was the only top prize. (If any of that is wrong, blame wikipedia.)

If the split had remained, and there was a more commercial-y movie top prize and a prestige art top prize, what are some notable movies that suddenly pick up wins?

okay wait........ this is a brilliant question and i am ashamed to say i’ve never really given it much thought until now.

idk if you’ve seen wings and sunrise but they’re both pretty great and they do represent wildly different kinds of filmmaking. while it’s safe to say Wings is the more commercial film, it has great craftsmanship behind it and it very clearly created the template for accessible, capital-i Important, and well-made best picture winners to come. 

and, full transparency, sunrise is one of my, like, top 15 favorite movies, so i’m hella biased, but that movie is a gorgeous and strange and thrilling piece of work. the title “unique and artistic film” is impossibly vague, but watching sunrise makes it very, very clear that it fits that bill for that category. and while we’ll, of course, never know what might have happened if that category had continued, it’s tempting to think that all the winners in unique and artistic film would be of sunrise’s calibre, but knowing the oscars... that’s clearly a fantasy, lol. while sunrise is a wildly inventive and artistic film, it’s important to remember that it was fully on the academy’s radar -- janet gaynor won best actress in part for her performance in the film, and it also won best cinematography. so while it’s tempting to think the academy would always recognize a truly unique and artistic achievement every year, in all likelihood, they probably wouldn’t stray too far from the movies that were already on their radar. 

so for this thought experiment!!

it’s probably safe to assume every best picture winner has to go in one of the two categories. there are only a handful of winners that stick out as maybe missing out on the big win in this new system, but only a handful. 

so uh. this is way more than you asked but i got hooked. here’s what i think might have happened if the two best picture categories had stuck around. as i was working through the years, it became clear to me that, unfortunately, in a lot of years, the unique and artistic film would likely end up going to the more overtly “prestigious” films, such as the song of bernadette or the life of emile zola, while their far better and more commercially viable rivals (casablanca for bernadette, the awful truth for zola) would win outstanding picture. the actual best picture winners have an asterisk next to them. what’s also interesting to consider is the importance of the best director category: most of the time, a split in picture and director will tell you what’s clearly the runner-up. those years, usually, give you a good sense of how the two awards would shake out.

Outstanding Picture / Unique and Artistic Film

1929: The Broadway Melody*; The Divine Lady 

1930: The Big House; All Quiet on the Western Front* 

1931: Cimarron*; Morocco 

1932: Grand Hotel*; Bad Girl

1933: Little Women; Cavalcade*

1934: It Happened One Night*; One Night of Love 

1935: The Informer; A Midsummer Night’s Dream (** this is one of the few years i think the actual BP winner, Mutiny on the Bounty, would miss out; The Informer was clearly the runner-up for BP with wins in director, actor, and screenplay, while Midsummer was seen as THE artistic triumph of the year, and with its historic write-in cinematography win, there was clearly a lot of passion for it)

1936: Mr. Deeds Goes to Town; The Great Ziegfeld*

1937: The Awful Truth; The Life of Emile Zola*

1938: You Can’t Take It With You*; Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs or Grand Illusion (** this one’s tough... Grand Illusion made history as the first non-english movie nominated for BP, and it clearly had a lot of support, but Snow White was such a monumental moment in Hollywood, and the academy clearly acknowledged that with its honorary award)

1939: Gone with the Wind*; The Wizard of Oz (** this is one of the first years with a clear runaway favorite for best picture, which makes guessing the way the other award would go very difficult! i’m leaning towards Oz purely because of its technical achievements, but i’m not confident about that choice at all.)

1940: Rebecca*; The Grapes of Wrath 

1941: How Green Was My Valley*; Citizen Kane

1942: Yankee Doodle Dandy; Mrs. Miniver*

1943: Casablanca*; The Song of Bernadette

1944: Going My Way*; Wilson

1945: The Bells of St. Mary’s; The Lost Weekend*

1946: The Best Years of Our Lives*; Henry V

1947: Gentleman’s Agreement*; A Double Life 

1948: The Treasure of the Sierra Madre; Hamlet*

1949: All the King’s Men*; The Heiress 

1950: All About Eve*; Sunset Boulevard

1951: A Place in the Sun; An American in Paris*

1952: The Greatest Show on Earth*; The Quiet Man 

1953: Roman Holiday; From Here to Eternity*

1954: The Country Girl; On the Waterfront*

1955: Marty*; Picnic

1956: Around the World in 80 Days*; Giant

1957: Peyton Place; The Bridge on the River Kwai

1958: The Defiant Ones; Gigi*

1959: The Diary of Anne Frank; Ben-Hur*

1960: Elmer Gantry; The Apartment*

1961: West Side Story*; Judgment at Nuremberg

1962: To Kill a Mockingbird; Lawrence of Arabia*

1963: Tom Jones*; 8½ 

1964: Mary Poppins; My Fair Lady*

1965: The Sound of Music*; Doctor Zhivago

1966: A Man for All Seasons*; Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

1967: In the Heat of the Night*; The Graduate

1968: Oliver!*; 2001: A Space Odyssey 

1969: Midnight Cowboy; Z 

1970: Airport; Patton*

1971: The French Connection*; The Last Picture Show

1972: The Godfather; Cabaret

1973: The Sting*; The Exorcist

1974: Chinatown; The Godfather, Part II

1975: Jaws; One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest*

1976: Rocky*; Network

1977: Star Wars; Annie Hall*

1978: Coming Home; The Deer Hunter*

1979: Kramer vs. Kramer*; All That Jazz

1980: Ordinary People*; Raging Bull

1981: Chariots of Fire*; Reds

1982: E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial; Gandhi*

1983: Terms of Endearment*; Fanny and Alexander

1984: Amadeus*; The Killing Fields

1985: Out of Africa*; Ran

1986: Platoon*; Blue Velvet

1987: Moonstruck; The Last Emperor*

1988: Rain Man*; Who Framed Roger Rabbit

1989: Driving Miss Daisy*; Born on the Fourth of July

1990: Ghost; Dances with Wolves*

1991: The Silence of the Lambs*; JFK

1992: Unforgiven*; Howards End 

1993: Schindler’s List*; The Piano 

1994: Forrest Gump*; Three Colors: Red 

1995: Braveheart*; Toy Story 

1996: Jerry Maguire; The English Patient*

1997: Titanic*; L.A. Confidential

1998: Shakespeare in Love*; Saving Private Ryan

1999: The Cider House Rules; American Beauty*

2000: Traffic; Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (** this is another year where i think the actual BP winner, Gladiator, might have missed out. it was a tight three-way race going into oscar night, and if there were two BP awards, i think this consensus might have settled, leaving Gladiator to go home with just actor and some tech awards.)

2001: A Beautiful Mind*; Mulholland Drive

2002: Chicago*; The Pianist

2003: Mystic River; The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King*

2004: Million Dollar Baby*; The Aviator

2005: Crash*; Brokeback Mountain

2006: The Departed*; Babel

2007: No Country for Old Men*; The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

2008: The Dark Knight; Slumdog Millionaire*

2009: The Hurt Locker*; Avatar

2010: The King’s Speech*; The Social Network

2011: The Artist*; The Tree of Life

2012: Argo*; Life of Pi

2013: 12 Years a Slave*; Gravity 

2014: Birdman*; Boyhood

2015: Spotlight*; The Revenant

2016: La La Land; Moonlight*

2017: Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri; The Shape of Water*

2018: Black Panther; Roma (** again, i think Green Book gets bumped out in this scenario, i think Black Panther is precisely the kind of movie that benefits from an award that’s seemingly more ~populist~ while Roma easily snags the unique & artistic prize)

2019: 1917; Parasite*

2020: The Father; Nomadland*

but of course i have no idea at all, and most of these are just my gut reactions lol. what a fun question!

[gavillain]

Top ten princesses!

*rubs hands together* Alright, let’s rank us some Disney princesses. Technically there’s only four others who aren’t gonna make the cut buuuut they’re the four I don’t really like XD

10: Pocahontas (Pocahontas)

With Pocahontas, you can very clearly see the behind the scenes "self-consciousness" of the filmmakers baked into her character writing. Pocahontas was Disney's big attempt at Oscar gold, trying to tell a Big Important portentous story while also grappling with trying to make Pocahontas as inoffensive as possible. The result is a character who is kind and likable enough, but also kind of wooden. The historical accuracy value is practically nil, and Pocahontas as a character and a movie comes off worse and worse with the passage of time. All that being said, I think Disney did the very best job they could with Pocahontas given the situation she emerged in. They created a character who is likable, free-spirited, a strong believer in justice and unity, and a character who leads with empathy and courage at the forefront. If nothing else, Pocahontas is a strong role model for little girls to look up to, and her love story with John Smith is one of Disney's most mature love stories as well, so there's plenty for older fans to enjoy as well.

9: Mulan (Mulan)

Mulan is counted as a Disney princess because they don't have any other Asian princesses and they wanted a more diverse lineup. That's the reason. Y'all can stop pretending not to know now. But with that strange categorizing, Mulan is weird fixture of the princess lineup any way you look at her. Mulan, for me, both as a princess and a movie, has always been just kind of there. A lot of people passionately love it, and I get that completely. A lot of people tear it apart, and I get that too. Mulan is a great girl power character, and her resourcefulness and cleverness being her defining trait is excellent. Her internal turmoil over her identity is perhaps more poignant here than with any other princess, and Reflection still stands as one of the greatest Disney songs ever written. That said, Mulan's defining character flaw being clumsiness and awkwardness and this being why she has such internal turmoil about fitting in just makes her come off as a bit hollow to me, and I feel like there was a better route to take her. After how surprisingly good an LGBT take on her worked over in Once Upon a Time and how much better that informed her feeling like an outsider, it just made the animated version come off as weaker on the internal side to me. Good character overall, though, and I do really like Mulan.

8: Moana (Moana)

Moana has a similar situation to Mulan where she's not really a princess but she gets shoehorned into the princess mold because they have nowhere else to put her. She and Mulan are Disney heroes, and they have different expectations for that reason. All that being said, Moana is easily the best of the Revival era CGI princesses. For one thing, while she has a bit of the Revival trend of modernizing the princesses too much, they don't make her overly adorkable to make her relatable (... “overly” being the key word; she’s not exempt). On the contrary, Moana is written very much like a person. We see Moana grapple with the weight of duty both to her people and to the world as a whole. Her story is one of trying figure out whether it is better to chase the unknown or to follow the tried and true. And I like that. I also really appreciate how Moana wins the final battle with empathy for the monster, and that's what makes her unique. The whole "Know Who You Are" musical number is legitimately one of the most powerful moments ever put into a Disney film too. My biggest issue with her actually comes from Maui whose constant meta quips and spotlight stealing tends to undermine Moana's character a lot and takes away from some of her moments that I wish hit harder than they do.

7: Jasmine (Aladdin)

Jasmine is the only princess in the lineup who is not the main character of her movie. On the contrary, she's the love interest of the main character and more of a supporting player in her film. She doesn't even get a solo, something every other princess, save Merida who isn't in a musical, gets. As a result of this, Jasmine isn't really as strong in her own right as several of the other princesses. But she's still awesome. She has a strong internal life and vibrancy, and the way her character revolves around a longing for freedom and the way that compares to Aladdin and the Genie makes her really come alive and work well within the context of the film. She's also clever, resourceful, a self proclaimed fast-learner, and someone who never allows her voice to be silenced. Yet even with all her strength, she's allowed tender moments of kindness and gentleness to show that there's another side to her. Also the TV series and sequels expanded on her character in a wonderful way.

6: Tiana (The Princess and the Frog)

Okay, yes, Disney's first black princess being a frog for more than half the movie was a bad creative decision on their part that wasn't a good look. But for Disney's first black princess, considering the company's history with race issues in particular and how self-conscious a lot of their princesses of color have come off, I think a lot of people underestimate just how good Tiana is. Tiana is vibrant and full of personality without every coming off as a stereotype or as anything less than dignified and admirable. She's hard worker, but she never comes off to me as trying to be "look how much better I am than the other princesses." She lets her actions and her character speak for themselves. I like that her arc is actually about finding a healthy balance between storybook love and wishing and hard work and determination. She's a woman with ambition, but she also learns to make time for a bit of fairytale fantasy and the things that really count like love and friendship. Also, just major props to Anika Noni Rose for making Tiana so damn likable and fun to follow.

5: Aurora (Sleeping Beauty)

And now that we're in the top five, we start getting into the classics. Aurora gets an unfair reputation as a basic boring princess who needs a man to save her and has no value of her own. But with Sleeping Beauty being an adaptation of ballet in particular, that's really missing the forest for the trees. Sleeping Beauty was envisioned by Walt as the pinnacle of animation, an animated film that would stand tall in an art gallery, and you can see that very much at play in Aurora. From Marc Davis's absolutely stunning animation on her to Mary Costa's beautiful vocal work in blending with the musical stylings of Tchaikovsky, Aurora is, more than any other princess in the Disney lineup, a piece of high art. She's written deceptively simply to allow for the animation and the music to convey the brunt of her character. And, when you get right down to it, Aurora is, like art, designed around the emotions of the piece more than specific character quirks. Yet the essence of her kindness, of her grace, and of her sly looks and shrewd coyness is all right there in the character. She also pretty perfectly encapsulates the emotions and feelings of young love, and I think there's a lot of value in that portrayal as well.

4: Ariel (The Little Mermaid)

I used to give Ariel a hard time in the recent past, and I fully regret allowing certain sects of discourse to color my view of her. Ariel is an amazing character, and an excellent princess. One of the things that has struck me, revisiting the movie as a gay adult, is just how queer of a story Ariel's is. Hans Christian Anderson wrote the original in response to male lover of his, openly gay Howard Ashman was a major creative driving force behind the story, and openly gay animator Andreas Deja brought to life the visceral Grotto scene based on his falling out with his own father. There's queerness baked into the fabric of this film, and it shows itself clearly with the narrative of a princess who is unhappy with her home life and has a forbidden love that she must hide away from her own family and then must undergo the process of evolving into the version of herself that she wants to be in order to satisfy the love within herself. She gets dismissed as being just a rebellious teenager, but there's so much more to her than that and she hits home to so many people for that reason. Also, Jodi Benson's incredible voice work and the writing for her makes Ariel constantly a vibrant and interesting character who I feel like we get to know better and more intimately than almost any other princess.

3: Cinderella (Cinderella)

Though, much like Aurora and Ariel, Cinderella gets an unfair reputation as weak and needing a man, that couldn't be further from the truth. Cinderella is an abuse survivor who keeps her dreams, optimism, and kindness alive even in the face of crippling despair and misery. She's a woman who fought a daily battle just for the right to keep existing, and while the Fairy Godmother gave her magical assistance, Cinderella earned her happy ending herself. I just have to admire how she embodies patience and kindness while also still being strong in her own way. She's not a masculine warrior action figure; she's very feminine. Yet she finds strength in her femininity without relying on sex, and I just think that's wonderful. I also really love how much personality and humanity they filled Cinderella with without going overboard or making her into a parody of herself. Cinderella maintains the grace, poise, and beauty of a princess all while having so many little quirks and traits that make her feel like a real woman. Also, it must be said, Cinderella III is still the best Disney sequel, and I love how it expands upon her and gives her new opportunities to prove herself all while maintaining the core kindness and strength of her character.

2: Snow White (Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs)

The one that started it all and still a radiant joy of beauty and kindness, Snow White is everything a princess should be. Like Cinderella, Snow White shows that you can survive abusive situations with your positivity in tact. In fact, Snow White goes one step further. She shows that "there's no use in grumbling when raindrops come tumbling; remember you're the one who can fill the world with sunshine." She's a beacon of hope and positivity who shows that compassion and kindness are the true virtues that deserve to be held as the most precious. She also shows the importance of found family and finding a loving support system that is right for you even if that's not your actual family members. In addition to all that, Snow White is great for being full of personality and having a vibrancy to her. She meets the dwarfs and immediately begins to take charge and to hold them to the standards she expects. She's never afraid to make her voice or opinion heard, and she's also got a playful teasing side to her that shines through. While her film is a heightened reality, she still has a core realness to her that makes her plight and her adventure feel all the more immersive for a viewer.

1: Belle (Beauty and the Beast)

But my favorite princess is always plain to see. While I love many of the other princesses, none quite hit that same sweet spot for me that Belle does. Belle is an outcast. She's a well read and intelligent woman more concerned with books and ideas of adventure than she is with the types of things she's expected to be concerned with by her small town. According to the townsfolk, she should be only concerned with getting married to a handsome man and being his doting little wife. However, Belle has absolutely no interest in taking part in any of that nonsense, and because of that, the people of her hometown write her off as odd or crazy. Many of us have been in a similar situation and felt excluded from society because we were somehow "not normal." Whether it was for our sexualities, our weight, our skin color, our religious beliefs, our over abundant love of comic books, or what have you, many people out there feel alone and ostracized. Yet Belle is that shining beacon of someone who lives her authentic life no matter what the world around her thinks, and that can give courage to others who relate to those feelings. Belle inspires the Beast to change to be better for her, not because she can break a spell, but because she sees the true beauty inside of him that no one else ever had. Some of my favorite types of heroes are those individuals who see the good inside of everyone. Those who give everyone a fair chance, especially to those who were never given a chance by anyone before, are the type of heroes we need more of in real life. No she can't fight off villains or complete daring feats of physical prowess, but she doesn't have to do those things to make a difference. She can save an entire castle by goodness and compassion alone. Paige O'Hara really does a fantastic job filling Belle with personality as well. I love that her voice work conveys confidence and strength, but also has moments of gentleness and vulnerability. She's allowed to have a range of emotions and certain spunk that is nothing short of endearing. Special mention must go to how excited and energized O'Hara plays Belle as getting when she talks about her books and stories. You really get the sense that reading is Belle's passion, not just something she enjoys. There's a real sense that Belle experiences the world around her fully and vigorously, and that adds to the charm of her character that makes her, for me, the most likable and best of the Disney princesses.

[insanityclause]

Guillermo Del Toro is no stranger to widespread acclaim, especially from his ride or die legion of fans. Pan’s Labyrinth, the Hellboy duology, the list of genre-bending, timeless masterworks goes on. Coming off his 2 Oscar wins for The Shape of Water in 2018, and moving into finally releasing his animated Pinocchio film from the pits of development hell along with an adaption of Nightmare Alley next year, this couldn’t be a more thriving time for the Mexican auteur. Though amongst all the praise and glory, something has still felt missing these last handful of years. Besides his Oscar-winning film, Del Toro’s works prior to the 2010s are what generally buzz conversations of his genius. Those aforementioned films did, after all, skyrocket his name to fame. His titles from the last decade, however, are just as crucial to the Del Toro canon and emphasize his greater influence as a filmmaker. One, in particular, has seemingly gotten by in its young life at the hands of few. But now that Crimson Peak has officially turned 5, it’s time to turn that few into many.

Del Toro’s trifecta of the 2010s (not counting his work on television) stand out vastly from one another. Pacific Rim, Crimson Peak, and The Shape of Water: all love letters penned from the ‘nichest’ corners of his mind. These 3 arguably boast more diversity in genre than Del Toro’s 5 films of the 2000s (3 comic-book adaptations and 2 Spanish-set fantasies). Not a criticism, as established, those films now flaunt an immovable place within the cultural zeitgeist. Though with a career notoriously marked by a slew of unrealized projects (more on this later), it’s not often recognized how the ideas that did make the cut still lead a crystal clear trajectory in Del Toro’s growth as a storyteller. In the eyes of many, Del Toro pulls ideas out of a hat and gambles on which one actually sees the light of day. Humorous sure, but this is far from the truth.

Each Del Toro project feels like a pivotal step for what would come later, take his work on Trollhunters paving the way for his upcoming first animated feature for instance. Despite this trajectory, Crimson Peak feels criminally unsung 5 years later. Pacific Rim continued its life with a sequel and more planned spin-offs. The Shape of Water literally set a new bar for the Academy. This leaves Crimson Peak feeling like the pushed aside middle child of this trio. This isn’t a call for a sequel, and ‘underrated’ gets tossed around very loosely in modern film discussion. But for cinema as quintessential as Crimson Peak, it just doesn’t feel like it gets enough recognition – especially when the current film industry is seeing less big-budget, R-rated projects heavily steeped in genre.

You can easily trace Crimson Peak‘s short-lived spotlight back to its marketing. The timely October release and scare-heavy trailers sold a classic ‘Haunted House’ horror, when in reality, Del Toro’s film is a Gothic Romance. Set in the early 1900s, an aspiring American writer, Edith Cushing (Mia Wasikowska), is swept away by a promising English baronet, Thomas Sharpe (Tom Hiddleston). They discover true love and marry, leading the young newlywed to her husband’s decaying mansion in the English hills. The age-old manor is slowly, but surely, sinking in red clay – the very source of Sharpe’s wealth. Here Edith is forced to live with her new sister-in-law, Lucille Sharpe (Jessica Chastain), a reserved yet commanding force who works to hide the true nature of the house and its endless secrets. Mystery lingers as untamed lust, envy and greed unfold between the mansion walls, not leaving enough room for the restless red-colored spirits who haunt them. When it snows on this cursed hill, the clay surfaces, making it seem as if the land bleeds. Given more than just red clay rises from beneath, a deeper meaning is given to the place locals call ‘Crimson Peak’.

Just like the clay at the center of its mystery, Crimson Peak is an amalgamation, but of genre. It would be novice to expect anything less from Del Toro. The Gothic elements call back to many classic tales, such as Alfred Hitchcock’s adaption of Rebecca and, of course, Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre. On the horror side, homage is paid to Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and Jack Clayton’s The Innocents. It’s a devilish blend that only this filmmaker could pull off so beautifully. And oh is Crimson Peak so god damn gorgeous. To contrast common period pieces that go for muted or sepia-toned color palettes, Del Toro turns the saturation on high. The result is an eye-popping picture that heightens the core emotions at play: fear, pain, and more importantly, love. Simply mesmerizing, avid fans will be quick to recognize the same shades of golden yellows, sea greens, and ruby reds found in Del Toro’s other works. It feels right at home in his filmography visually, while packing its own unique punch.

Red, a color mainly associated with passion, here instead intricately represents endless bloodshed. A twist that would suggest Crimson Peak is just as equal a horror film as it is a love story. Regardless of what might have been initially marketed to audiences in 2015, this film is a Gothic Romance from start to finish. Del Toro himself made this distinction clear to the studio from the get-go and repeatedly draws the line whenever given the chance. Yet, much like the rest of his repertoire, Crimson Peak utilizes horror not as a means to an end, but as a means for introspection. Yes, there are classic horror conventions such as jump scares, but it couldn’t be more obvious that Crimson Peak isn’t trying to evoke the same kind of high and dry fear other films heavily rely on. Del Toro is actively trying to get under your skin to achieve a hell of a cathartic viewing experience.

The ghosts of our past and how we let them define us is a core theme in Crimson Peak. The film opens on a flashback in which Edith is visited by the charcoal black ghost of her recently deceased mother. The nature of this visit sets the groundwork for the rest of the narrative. Mother Ghost, dreadful in appearance, doesn’t necessarily come to haunt her child, but to warn her. “Beware of Crimson Peak,” she says. The way Edith takes in this otherworldly occurrence, and those that follow, sets her apart from everyone else in the film. Wherein others flee from or lock away the ghosts of their past, she learns how to wear them on her sleeves – reaching out to the dead multiple times in the story, each attempt more confident than the last. Not too dissimilar from what Del Toro was playing with before, Jaeger pilots confronting past trauma in their quest to defeat Kaiju. At the same time, the transformation that occurs in Crimson Peak when neglected demons consume you from the inside – humans becoming the true monsters of their supernatural tales – would only be amplified in Del Toro’s next film.

Every minute detail coincides with this strategized, therapeutic use of horror. And to the everyday moviegoer trained by common tropes, Crimson Peak is quite deceptive. Just like Mother Ghost at the beginning of the film, the red spirits never manifest with the intent to cause physical harm, but instead to give messages and guide. Red clay seeps down the walls and the mansion ‘breathes’ as the country winds burst in. The house feels alive in the most cinematic sense possible, but the case as to it being ‘horrifying’ is not so black and white. Expertly designed to every inch, there is plenty of beauty to be found in the manor. Much of it has just been corrupted by a debauched affair – keeping this story rooted as a Gothic Romance. Subversion has always been the name of Del Toro’s game, and it’s within Crimson Peak that he uses it to mix genre so well while still staying true to his vision.

Though Crimson Peak saw Del Toro take subversion to a new level, notably with his main character. This film is a key chapter in his overarching legacy; not the first of his works to be lead by a defiant woman, but the first to have the female hero entangled in an unabashed love story. Effortlessly played by the brilliant Mia Wasikowska, the not so damsel in distress at the center of Crimson Peak is one of the most significant characters of Del Toro’s career. In discussing Gothic Romance with The Mary Sue in 2015, Del Toro explains: “This is quintessentially a female genre, that was written with characters that were very complex, very strong. I wanted to make a movie in which to some degree I recuperated and, maybe if possible, enhanced all that.” And enhanced he did for every central male character acts in more distress than Edith ever does, even when she is literally at the edge of death. A more than welcome change of pace that makes for a more resonating film.

Edith’s willingness to tackle the unknown is captivating and her vigor inspiring. But she isn’t absolved of frailty. For someone who comes to terms with facing the dead, her sheer vulnerability to heartbreak and suffering brings great humanity to the role. Hardly recognized, but Edith is one of Del Toro’s most self-reflective protagonists. A marginalized writer, inspired by the great Mary Shelley no less, in the midst of drafting her magnum opus, she immediately faces backlash from her novel’s inclusion of the paranormal. “It’s not [a ghost story]. It’s more a story with a ghost in it. The ghost is just a metaphor… for the past,” she says – giving Crimson Peak a rare Del Toro tongue-in-cheek quality that he utilizes until the credits roll. Meta enough given that the crimson ghosts Edith later encounters are, in fact, echoes of the past, but when looking back on the public’s initial perception of the film, it creates a charming, albeit ironic, wit only found here.

Additionally, when tracing back to Crimson Peak‘s pre-production days, you’ll find something even more profound. Penned by Del Toro and an old collaborator, screenwriter Matthew Robbins; this was the first script completed after the release of Pan’s Labyrinth in 2006. The two first worked together an entire decade earlier on Mimic, which has now gone down as the only film Del Toro has truly lost to studio interference. Del Toro was supposed to direct Crimson Peak in the late 2000s, but along came Hellboy II and his involvement in launching The Hobbit (another R.I.P). Through this hectic time, Del Toro would reunite with Robbins in writing 2010’s Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark, directed by Troy Nixey. However, the two also spent time together writing something else: an adaptation of H.P. Lovecraft’s At the Mountains of Madness.

For those unfamiliar, At the Mountains of Madness is by far one of, if not, the most tragic of this filmmaker’s unrealized projects. After spending years trying to get this dream off the ground, Del Toro had the following to say to Empire in 2010: “It doesn’t look like I can do it. It’s very difficult for the studios to take the step of doing a period-set, R-rated, tentpole movie with a tough ending and no love story.” The payoff of Crimson Peak being a period-set, R-rated, tentpole film only 5 years after that statement couldn’t be sweeter. In the film, Edith is told to insert a love story for the better of her novel. Del Toro is obviously commenting on expectations tied to gender here, but you can’t help but wonder if he’s also referring to one of the biggest thorns in his own writing career – one that also ties back to writing partner Matthew Robbins.

When faced with the question, Del Toro has consistently said that all of his films carry an inherent Mexican touch just from the utter fact that they come from him, and Crimson Peak is no different. Whether if deriving from his personal experiences with tackling genre, both on and off paper, or from actual events tied to his life – Del Toro reimagines two separate ghostly encounters experienced by him and his mother through Edith – this film beams with the very essence of Del Toro’s soul. Perhaps most personified when the marginalized writer gets bloody and fights back with nothing but her pen, a visual that cements this as an important stepping stone in his career. It’s a fascinating through-line, connecting to very different segments of his canon while still defining a clear path. The mending of our wounds and subversion of gender roles is continued from Pacific Rim, while setting a bold new course for delving into unfiltered, mature romance in The Shape of Water.

This is only a fraction of what makes Crimson Peak quintessential Guillermo Del Toro. Gothic Romance has long been part of this auteur’s framework, and you would be remiss not to indulge in all of its glorious melodrama. Even if it isn’t your cup of tea, Del Toro will make it so. Reaching its 5-year anniversary, the film hits stronger than before. The intricate motifs, compelling use of practical effects (complete with the involvement of Del Toro veteran Doug Jones), and cathartic use of horror make for something that has yet to be replicated by a major studio. Its lacking box office performance suggests that maybe the world merely wasn’t ready for this masterwork? But just like its characters, we hold the power to define what comes next. Del Toro himself has previously ranked Crimson Peak as one of the 3 best films he’s ever made, and straight-up called it the most beautiful. Take his word and dive in no strings attached, because who knows when we’ll get another large scale, unapologetic Gothic Romance with this much grandeur.