#hottest man in the world

[alvadee]

literally giggling and biting my nails at the grainy as fuck photos of Vic in the newspaper archives

[partoftheairforce]

ross is actually irresistible

[teddybeartoji]

film professor!toji, who always wears dark colored slacks and a button-up shirt, alongside with a tie loosely hanging around his neck and a pair of glasses that keep sliding down his nose. the watch on his wrist is always the same one, a relatively chunky silver one that surely can only look normal on a man his size. 

sometimes he rolls up his sleeves, sometimes he unbuttons a few buttons of his shirt; sometimes he ditches the tie entirely and goes for a less sophisticated look. the material wrapped around his biceps looks like it’s about to tear open whenever he folds his arms over his chest and his pants aren’t doing any better, his thick thighs are just bulging out whenever he decides to lean his ass against his desk. and he’s confident, he’s cocky. he looks tired as fuck and his hair is more often than not a complete mess, but needless to say, he always looks very, very good. 

film professor!toji, who’s got a habit of fidgeting with his pens. he’s either simply toying with them in his hands as he introduces the next film you’ll be watching or he’s got one between his teeth as he watches you guys do your presentations. and he usually tucks the thing behind his ear when he’s done playing with it. 

film professor!toji, who’s constantly throwing his legs on top of his desk when he’s listening to the class or when he’s showing you something from the projector. with his hands behind his head, he leans so far back in his chair that it has all of you placing bets on how long he’ll manage to hold that pose before he falls. he never does. 

film professor!toji, who’s an absolute sucker for films from the 80’s. indiana jones, alien, blade runner, scarface, evil dead etc etc – you name it, he’s seen it. has multiple big posters of said films in his classroom too btw. he’s not actually picky though, he’ll watch just about anything because well, why not. he’s not really pretentious either, though he will tease you if you claim a ‘silly’ film as your favourite but he won’t put you down for it. he’ll push you a bit, asking questions to test how sure you are of your answer and then just proceeds to watch you defend yourself with a long ramble with a sly little grin on his lips. that’s what he wants to see after all – that his students love films, no matter what kind. 

film professor!toji, who knows a lot of random facts about the most random films and is not afraid to very casually blurt them out during his classes. some of them are very informative and then some of them are rather questionable, leaning more towards a piece of gossip if anything else. but it’s not like anybody’s complaining.

film professor!toji, who asks what you guys have watched since your last class with him at the beginning of every single class. doesn’t spend an entire hour on this topic but it’s always a certified fifteen minute break from the actual studying because he thinks it’s important for his students to talk about films. to talk about what you saw – if you noticed any peculiarities or mistakes, whether you liked the thing or not. and he always listens; he sips his coffee with his pencil stuck behind his ear, and then proceeds to ask very specific questions. he seems to have seen, or at least to know, every single film ever made and it’s kind of ridiculous(ly hot).

film professor!toji, who's still somehow not entirely used to people calling him 'sir'. mr. fushiguro is what he usually prefers but the 'sir' still pops up every so often and it always catches him so off-guard that it takes him a second to realize that he's the sir.

film professor!toji, who rants in front of the whole class about how much it sucks to watch movies from your teeny tiny laptops. he’s a cinema guy, through and through. and of course, he understands if it’s like a money thing because well, it’s not the least expensive thing to do on a weekly basis but he just tries to emphasize how much better it is to watch things on the big screen. he urges all of you to always take the opportunity when it comes along. 

film professor!toji, who fucking hates grading any sort of papers. he just despises it. he huffs and puffs behind his desk with his head in his hands, contemplating whether this is the right job for him or not (he will never quit). 

film professor!toji, who mostly hangs out with his buddy down the hall, the loud-mouthed history teacher with pink hair. they go on smoke breaks together, laughing together over some stupid answer they saw on a test. 

film professor!toji, who throws his head back with an exasperated sigh every time he spots the white-haired physics professor staring into the hall from the small window on the door with a stupidly big grin on his face.

film professor!toji, who’s schedule falls just in line with the sly literature professor and his brother, the freaky philosophy professor. toji refuses to sit next to the latter, he finds him too off-putting. but with mr. geto – they like to drink their morning coffees together in silence in their own little corner, and it’s surprisingly comfortable. sometimes they talk about films as well, but they almost always end up bickering like some old people because their tastes do not align at all.

film professor!toji, who doesn’t miss the way some of the students seem to swoon over him – he finds it very amusing. he doesn’t really see the appeal, he thinks he’s way too old anyway.

film professor!toji, who’s eyes do seem to linger on you just a little longer than they do on others though. who does a very subtle double-take whenever you enter the room and who steals glances at you when he sees you in the halls. it’s not like he’d ever try anything, of course – that’d be incredibly inappropriate. you’ but he sure does think you’re pretty, there’s no denying of that… 

[seiwas]

thought about iwaizumi wearing those lifting belts when he’s squatting heavy weights. he groans when he unclips the lock and finishes a set, breathing heavily as he looks over at you filming the entire thing for progress check. then he gives you the most genuine grin, a mixture of pride and relief for hitting pr, sweat still dripping down his temples. and he has the audacity to ask “how did it look?���

[seafoodsoda]

[girlgenie5]

how can someone be so majestic i dont understand

x

[carefulignorantghost]

Buzzcut Alex Turner, 2018

[l33n1s]

The struggle of being sick and not having a MXTX level husband boyfriend to take care of me is indescribable...

[whoblewboobear]

I don’t fuck with timothee chalamet but if fh ever got a live action show it would be very funny if he had to play Riz and that was the role he finally went apeshit for in instead of trying to eye fuck the camera every two seconds

[ricochetthegoat]

Ricochet WWE - Raw (3/11/2024)

[sabraeal]

To Taste of the Bitter Plant

[Read on AO3]

Written for @aeroplaneblues, who this year asked for either an Apothecary Diaries AU or a Skip to Loafer AU, and both of us could barely choose between them. Both were highlights of 2024 for us, and had their own unique challenges adapting them for obiyuki...but Apothecary Diaries won out! I just hope it was worth the wait!

Beware the men beyond the gates. Shirayuki can count on her hands the number of times the Virtuous Consort has betrayed her disgust— saved, for the most part, for traitors, improperly prepared sea perch, and the antics of a particular foreign prince— but her eyes narrowed with it then, contempt just barely concealed behind the wave of her fan. Soldiers think that any woman is theirs to take, so long as some other man hasn’t marked her first. And even then…

Shirayuki does not need the consort to finish the thought to take the warning. She knows only too well about men and their desires. And the sorts of things they might do to sate them, if they have the power.

But it is strange to apply knowledge gleaned from the darkest shadows of the flower district to the outer court's gleaming pavilions.

Whispers do eddy in her wake, men stopping to stare as she passes— did you see that? A girl with red hair. Outside the harem? She must belong to someone! If she were mine, I’d never let her out of the house— but none reach out to touch. Not here, where powerful men might bring a beloved concubine. But their interest is palpable, nonetheless, and their desire…

Ah, well, maybe she should have covered her head, as Mitsuhide has suggested. Or dressed herself up as a eunuch, like the Virtuous Consort. Or accepted a more visible sign of her allegiance, the way Zen had hoped.

Shirayuki lifts her fingers, shifting the slender stick speared through her hair. It’s silver— true silver, warming beneath her touch; even if the soldiers don’t recognize the wisteria blooming at one end, they’ll mark that. Few men could afford such a gift, and none of them are worth crossing; for all that the army men are rough, swaggering over the cobbles of the outer court, they are easily dissuaded from misbehavior that might damage their prospects. Nothing like the ones that stalk the alleys of the red light district, turned away from every reputable establishment. Entitlement, it seems, is an entirely different beast than desperation.

Still, it is at a brisk pace that Shirayuki strides across the pavilion; not that of a timid girl hurrying from one task to the next, but an officious maid on some important man’s business— which she is, technically. How far Zen’s name might reach outside the walls of the Inner Palace, she couldn’t say, but it might be enough to give a pushy man pause. Eunuchs rarely ranked highly among the men of the military, but a favorite of the emperor himself…

Do not make yourself beholden to any man, Yeye had told her, a finger waggling as she chased his heels. The only power you have in this world is that which you make with your own two hands.

Those same hands clench now, nails digging into the flesh of her palms before they release, falling away to float at her side. There’s nothing grasped within them yet, but that would change. Starting today, so long as she doesn’t disappoint Ryuu shi fu.

The carriage waits for her at the outer gate, just as Zen said it would. Windows shuttered, nondescript; the sort of conveyance that could be for any man who might be found wandering the outer pavilion. Her nerves balk as she approaches, begging her to remember the last time she’d been thrown on a cart, sent to places unknown—

But, she counters, forcing her breath to come out even, steady. That is how I ended up here.

It’s not much, but it's enough to get her through the door.

One of my men will be waiting there, Zen had promised, smile as soft as the brazier’s glow. Knowing you, Apothecary, you’ll need someone to watch your back. Close as he was, she’d already been flushed, the attention of the Inner Palace’s Overseer at his finest overwhelming to say the least. But she’d pitched a spirited protest— reminding him of her previous independence, and her many years living in a far more dangerous city for girls like her than he could ever imagine. Which had only led to him reminding her that in their short tenure together she has been kidnapped twice and the object of a potential assassination once.

Shirayuki allowed that perhaps a single guard might not go amiss. She could hardly complain when Mitsuhide was as circumspect a companion as any could ask for, never getting underfoot and only stepping in when the word of the Overseer would carry farther than her own. For all that he was as sweet as a young lady’s lapdog, officials quivered before him like hares before a hound. If she needed a minder, there were certainly worse for Zen to saddle her with

Which is why it’s such a surprise when he does.

“It’s you,” is the first thing to fall out of her mouth, and she just barely bites back the accompanying, why?

“I should introduce myself.” The man in court blue is not Mitsuhide at all— no, he’s smaller, more slender, with an all-too familiar set of gold eyes set below a straight-edged scar. The hand pressed to his chest is not so much callused as nicked, small scrapes striping his skin that healed less from proper attention and more from time. “I’m Obi. That’s not my real name though”— he admits it easily, proudly— “and everything else about me is a secret.”

She stands there for a moment, one beat chasing the heels of the next, before she stumbles out, “There must be some sort of mistake.”

*

“So what’s this little side trip all about anyway?” They’d left the sedan shuttered in the palace, saving her from the prying eyes of soldiers and court officials, but once they’re out on the city streets, Obi opens them, propping an elbow up up the sill. He’s long-limbed, this former assassin of hers, and curious too, head craning out into the open air as far as his anatomy will allow. “Some official got knocked off or something?”

“I don’t know the particulars of his position,” she informs him, primly. “But it’s someone important enough that Zen isn’t willing to record the cause of death as misadventure without some form of inquiry.”

It’s not until she catches the twitch of his mouth that she realizes— “Ah, I mean, Zen liang jun…?”

“Don’t worry, xiao jie.” One side of his mouth slips up, cocky and, quite honestly, infuriating. “Zhu ren has seen fit to explain that whole situation. Don’t gotta bother trying to act all formal in front of me. Honestly, I’m impressed that an attendant like you is interested in a little liaison with His Most Esteemed Eunuch-ness, even though he doesn’t have all the necessary equipment to get you—”

Warmth burns up her neck, heating her tongue like a hob does a kettle until, “And you’re sure Zen asked you to watch over me?” shrills out of her, scalding as steam.

“He even said I might be useful.” His chest puffs up beneath his robes, not one to be daunted or damned by faint praise. “But what about you, xiao jie? Seems funny to send off some consort’s food taster to solve the sort of thing a court official does.”

“I have some knowledge of medicinal plants.” An understatement, to say the least, but it’s not as if her former assassin needs to know about her apprenticeship. He probably wouldn’t even believe that a small eunuch child could be a master physician, let alone that she would permit him to act as her mentor. “There is a saying— perhaps you have heard it? The dose makes the poison.”

“That’s one way to think about it, I guess.” Her bodyguard is constant motion, eyes crinkling and limbs shifting; a whole theater packed into a person so narrow he might slip through the floorboards. “So what d’you think it is? Wolfsbane? Cinnabar? Maybe even snake—?”

“Fish.”

That’s enough to quiet him; all of his theories drying up like a stream in summer. “…Fish?”

“Pufferfish, to be exact.” She smooths her skirts over her knees, cotton a luxury against her palms. “It’s a delicacy. And if it’s not cut and served in precisely the right fashion, poison from its organs can leak into the flesh.”

He blinks, eyes flashing like coins across knuckle-back. “And rich people pay to eat it?”

“Yes.” Funny to hear a man like him balk at a risk to his life, but well— she’d thought the same when Garrack explained it to her.

They only prepare the fish? Even now she remembers how she sat back on her heels, utterly stymied. Nothing else?

How amused Garrack yi sheng must have been when she shook her head, knowing the sort of opulence the Emperor had at his own table. You have to remember: people with that much money and power live in a different world from us regular folk, Shirayuki.

Still. The protest even now sat bitter on her tongue. That hardly seems reasonable. Don’t they have some sort of common sense?

Garrack’s mouth had twitched, letting out, Not a lick of it.

“They pay quite a lot to not only eat it, but to have someone on their staff that is trained to prepare it," she informs him with the same briskness Garrack yi sheng had imparted it to her, as if it were common knowledge, an unquestionable truth.

“Even though they’re only going to eat it every one and a while?” He lets out a whistle, long and low. “That’s rich people for you. All the money in the world and they can’t buy themselves a bit of common sense.”

Shirayuki smothers a smile behind her sleeve. “Maybe so.”

*

It is a man that greets them at the door, well dressed for a servant, but head bowed too deeply to be the master of the estate. “My mistress has taken to her bed,” he explains briskly, not rude but simply busy. Harried, almost, pausing to look over his shoulder before leading them down a spacious corridor. “So it is I that will act as your guide for the day.”

“Is she feeling all right?” Shirayuki hurries her steps, careful not to draw insultingly close, but— interested. Concerned. “Is she having ill effects from the dinner? Should I look at her after I finish—?”

“Ah, no. Liera niang niang does not partake of the Master’s more…unique dinners.” His hand lifts, politely waving off her concern. “She is only fatigued from the strain of his passing. We are lucky that his brother was visiting and could take over the running of the house, or else I might fear for her nerves. She is not a strong woman, I am afraid…”

“How fortunate for you that your master’s brother was already here.” Obi’s smile sits politely on his lips, but there’s not a drip of sincerity in it. “It couldn’t have all fallen together better if he planned it.”

There’s no use to the warning glance she gives him, not when the servant only nods, eager to agree. “So you say! I cannot imagine what ills might have befallen us with both master and mistress unable to perform their duties. Now here is the kitchen. It has not been used since”— his voice drops, wary— “the incident.”

But it has been tidied, Shirayuki can’t help but notice. The cooking utensils are all clean and in their proper place, and whatever was left over from the fish has been tossed out. Not that she can blame them; fish guts didn’t just smell as they ripened, they lingered, long after the mess has been taken away. But what she's left with is only washed counters and organized shelves, jars and bottles sitting neatly, ready to be plucked from their perch when needed.

A fine place for cooking, no doubt, but for an investigation— well, there’d be no proving if it was the fish that caused the Master’s unfortunate demise. Which means she’ll have to approach it from the other angle: assuming that it wasn’t.

“Do you know what this is?” The jar falls into her hands with a rattle, four oblong berries skittering across the glass. Rolling them to a corner, she can see the four-point star on one of them, stark even through the deep amber drink.

Obi’s mouth curls, like a cat who has caught sight of an unwary bird. “It’s booze, xiao jie. Good stuff, with how clear it is.”

He lifts the lid, and the pungent scent of liquor rolls over her, metallic in her mouth. And yet beneath that, something sweet. “That’s not what I was asking.”

“Ah!” The servant bustles over, replacing the lid with a smile. “That’s roka liquor, Master’s favorite. He enjoys it— ah, forgive me, he enjoyed it frequently.”

“Frequently? Are you sure?” The sting of the scent still lingers, even after the man’s tucked it back on the shelf. “I hadn’t realized it was so…popular.”

“It isn’t.” Pride puffs his chest like a rooster strutting through a hen house. “Master is— ah, was a connoisseur of rarer delicacies. An associate introduced him to it just a few months ago, and he could not get enough of the taste. He always said—

“What is going on here?” If Shirayuki had thought the servant finely dressed, the man at the door is even more so, the green silk of his robe bright and finely embroidered with waterfowl flying from a pond. The master’s brother, it seems, scowling at the lot of them as he sweeps in. His eyes dart over each corner, accounting for every last spoon out of place. “No one is allowed to enter the kitchen without permission.”

“Ah, zong guan.” The servant cast a nervous look back at them before bowing over his hands. “These are…ah, you remember, we were told—?”

“So you let them in?” The man does not so much approach as descend, falling upon the servant the way a hound might a quivering hare. “Off the street? I told you that no one—”

Obi steps between them in one smooth motion, one hand pressed solicitously to his chest. “Pardon me, da ren, it seems you have not heard. We are part of the palace’s investigation into the death of your brother.”

His brow furrows, fouling his already sour expression. “Well, no one informed me that there was any inquiry! I certainly didn’t request one.”

Her former assassin’s smile turns to all teeth. “The request came from Liera niang niang.”

“Leira—?” The man sputters, practically pacing the length of the room before turning back and beginning again. “That woman! I am the master of this house in my brother’s absence—”

“Xiao jie.” Obi turns to her, voice low, all of his levity gone. “Do you need more time?”

She does not need to hear him say it to know he really means, this man is not going to give us it if you do.

With one last look at the jar, its cloying scent still caught in her nose, she shakes her head.

“Good,” he murmurs, mouth curling into a wolfish grin. “Then let’s get out when the getting is still good.”

*

“So you’re telling me it wasn’t the fish?”

The Virtuous Consort is not famed for her mobility of expression, but there is a hint of amusement lingering in its corners as Zen throws himself back in one of her chairs, disgruntled huff exploding from his lips. “There’s no need to be petulant. One cannot be an expert in every subject”

“I didn’t say I had to be,” he snaps, arms folding over his chest; less like a man of authority and more like a put out young lord. “I just thought…well, I’d been so sure…”

“It was not the fish that led to the death of your acquaintance.” Shirayuki glances at Obi, and he slips a clear glass bottle out from his voluminous sleeve, setting it on the table. It is quickly followed by another, this time tinted brown, and well— she’ll be giving him a firm talking to about just what is appropriate to take from the medical office later, but for now, his act of petty theft only aids her explanation. “However, there was something else at his table that was dangerous enough to take a life.”

Obi places down two shallow cups— she hadn’t seen him pocket those either, nor had the Virtuous Consort, by the height of her brows— and pours liquor into both of them. “Both of these bottles contain roka liquor, but only one of them is from the estate, and the other is from the medical office.”

“Oh.” Zen grimaces; a sure sign that it’s been pressed on him before. Hardly a surprise when Garrack calls it her favorite cold remedy. “Why would he have this hanging around? It’s not really the season for coughs or colds.”

“His servant said that a business associate had brought him a bottle a few months ago to serve with dinner.” She glances up to where Zen lounges, one hand propped on the chair’s arm, casually cupped around chin. “Leira zong guan developed quite a taste for it.”

That careless posture cracks down the middle with a splutter. “T-that stuff? A taste? Was he some sort of glutton for punishment or something?”

“I admit, I was surprised too.” Few medicines had such enthusiastic receptions. Effective ones, at least. “It’s used often in the medical office, but it’s known for having a bitter, astringent taste. Unpleasant, to say the least. But after having it with his dinner, he bought a whole case of bottles off of his associate, to serve when he has his more…unique meals.”

“All right, so Leira clearly had odd tastes when it comes to his liquor.” Zen frowns down at the cups on the table, thoughtful. “But what does that have to do with his death?”

“Plenty. Although it might seem like a relatively easy process, fermenting roka berries is much harder than it seems.” She hefts one of the bottles into her hands, letting the berries rattle along the bottom of the glass. “Any alcohol has the ability to turn to poison if it’s brewed the wrong way, but wines— which is what this is, even if we call it liquor— do not often turn. However…there is a component inside these berries that, when fermented under certain conditions, turns to poison.”

He shifts closer, squinting at the bottles. “Under certain conditions?”

Shirayuki sets the two bottles beside each other. “In the first few months after I came here, Ryuu shifu taught me that certain plants are particularly potent at certain times of day. For the roka berry, its potency is at its highest at the brightest part of the day. However, we pick it in the morning, at dawn’s first light.”

Zen’s smile slants knowingly. “Ah, because that is when the poison would be at its most potent as well.”

“Exactly. Which is why we store them in a cellar underground during their fermentation—”

“And used these darker bottles too, right, xiao jie?” Obi plucks it from her hand, grinning as he lets the berries rattle across the glass. “So even when you take them up to the office, you aren’t letting them get a bunch of light.”

She blinks. “Yes. Though truth be told, even that probably wouldn’t be enough to activate the poison. Despite being called a berry, the outer skin is hard, and it makes it difficult for anything but the medicinal oils to diffuse into the alcohol for some time. But it is common with wines that when a first fermentation comes out too astringent, you may ferment it a second time— back sweetening, it’s called. Quite literally, it makes the wine sweeter.”

“So roka liquor doesn’t have to taste like bile?” The betrayal in Zen’s voice lays thick, like a child who has found a sliver of green pepper hidden in his dumpling.

“No, no, xiao jie— you said that the skin makes it hard for anything but the oils to get out for some time.” Obi glances down at the cups. “And that back sweetening, I’m guessing— that’s past the point where the poison decides to sit this one out.”

Shirayuki nods. “The skin breaks down enough over the process where the costs begin to outweigh the benefits. Also not enough on its own to kill a man, but…”

“But between the sweetening…and the clear glass…probably not fermented in some cellar anyway…” Zen stares at the table, glancing between the two bottles, no longer sitting behind their cups. “Which one…?”

She grimaces. “Ah…whichever one is sweet?”

“Welp,” Obi huffs, swaggering over to the table. “Only one way to find out!”

Shirayuki might be next to him, but he scoops up a cup too quickly for her to do anything but gasp, “Wait!”

“Huh,” he hums, licking his lips. “That is a little sweet, isn’t it?”

Mitsuhide is already scrambling out from behind Zen’s chair, pounding the other eunuch on the back. “Obi!”

“Shirayuki!” Zen turns wide eyes to her, pleading, but he hardly needs to ask, not when she’s already digging through her bag.

“I have an emetic,” she promises, and before she can even fully hold it out, Mitsuhide sweeps it from her grasp.

“No wait!” Obi gasps, one hand pressed to his chest, the other warding the bigger man off. “I’m only—“

It’s no use— once he opens his mouth, Mitsuhide pours the concoction down it, leaving him coughing, gasping, retching—

And finally, with one generous heave, he empties the contents of his stomach into the basin one of the consort’s ladies hurry to give him. He must have had a larger lunch than she’d seen him pick at on their way back to the palace; it goes on for what feels like hours.

It’s the cough that tells her he’s done, and the deadpan glare as he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. “I was going to say, zhu ren,” he rasps. “I was joking.”

“You…” Zen stands, towering over where he crouches, more angry god than man. “Have a terrible sense of humor.”

“Yeah, well…” Obi saws out a laugh. “Takes one to know one, I guess.”

*

“So.” The Virtuous Consort sets her mask aside once Zen and his aides have left, no longer the stand- offish daughter of the north, but just a normal girl, not much older than her. “What weren’t you telling them?”

“I wasn’t” —she draws short, catching Kiki’s pointed glare— “trying to keep anything from them, not really.”

“Of course. You just won’t tell them anything that might condemn a man if you’re not certain.” Her head tilts, the stream of sunlight that passes for her hair cascading over one shoulder. “So what is it that you aren’t certain about? Or shall I guess instead?”

Shirayuki glances at the corners of the room; empty, her other attendants handily dismissed. Other girls might duck around an archway or press their ears to the door, but if those ladies linger, they have at least done her the dignity of being impossible to detect.

“Why now?”

Kiki blinks, her slippered feet tucked into the cushion beneath her. “What do you mean?”

“His servant said that he had acquired a taste for it. And certainly a back sweetened brew would have held poison, but…” She licks her lips, mind churning like running water over stone. “The other bottles there— they were brown. Still not safe, but…a slower death. So why then. Why…?”

“The clear bottle.” Kiki nods, thoughtful. “Why now?”

“It was a gift from his brother.” She’d barely needed to press the servant at all; simply praising the fine vintage as he saw them out to the carriage was enough. “But where could he have gotten it? Apothecaries typically brew their own, if only to know that it’s done properly. He could have done it on his own but…”

“It’s not the thing a man hoping to be a high ranking court official would dirty his hands with.” Her brows furrow, gaze fixed out to the courtyard beyond. “So the question is, who did?”

“Someone had to have made it— and then given it to him! Told him what it could do, and…” Despite the warmth of the summer months, the night presses in cold around her. “They’re still out there.”

“Ha.” Kiki shakes her head. “Now there’s a thought to keep a person up at night.”

[jimmyspades]

"We had everything in harmony. We'd come to the point where everything was turning into music for us, and you had to go upstairs and smash all the instruments."

James Spader as Jack Pozzi in THE MUSIC OF CHANCE (1993), dir. Philip Haas

[thegreenwallrabbit-blog]

If reincarnation exists then Carlos Oliveira was a golden retriever in a past life and I refuse to hear otherwise.

[raceweek]

well that was ugly and boring. ANYWAY. to philip island. where sexy things happen

[duchessofostergotlands]

Speaking of "sexy and cool" this appears to be Prince Albert of Monaco wearing a Ron Burgundy from Anchorman t-shirt on holiday:

[carefulignorantghost]

Alex Turner shirtless. You’re welcome lol