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almostempty · 10 days ago

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prisoner - part 1 (f!reader x din djarin)

wc: 4.6k | other fics | rating: 18+ | read on ao3 | part 2 (coming soon)

summary: this time our fav bounty hunter is the bounty and you're on a mission to capture him and claim your reward

note: big thanks to @wannab-urs for hosting the dmamc25 event !! i'm looking forward to catching up on the other amazing fics!

this was my wip for the campaign but i missed the deadline (not a soul was surprised). i'm splitting it into two or possibly three parts, so the man doesn't get dommed yet, but i still wanted to acknowledge the inspiration for the whole thing <3

tags: 18+, my interpretation of pre-canon younger din djarin aka as they said in the 1991 action/thriller classic Point Break he's "young, dumb, and full of cum" aka moody reckless and virile din, some canon typical violence, one (1) tranquilizer injected by needle, dirty talkin' din, bulge riding, opposite of a virgin kink if u squint? mayhaps a filthy whore kink? (dubcon to come in part two bc of course i would, sub!din djarin will also be coming in part two)

thanks to @syd-djarin @auteurdelabre and @swankyorange for support <3

The first time you see him, he’s in everyone’s way. A blunt, metal block that the crowd on the street parts and weaves around. He stands, scanning for something, oblivious to the vendors peddling their wares. He’s completely uninterested in their lives or their products.

Instead, he forces the world to bend around him.

And when he moves, they move. Everyone gets out of his way–and quickly–hustling and veering around him. Not out of fear or respect, but because he gives them no other choice.

It would drive you nuts if he interrupted your path, but from your viewpoint on the rooftop it’s almost amusing. You stretch languidly, enjoying the warmth of the sun as you watch. You catch the glint of his helmet as his head swivels in search of something. It’s the only polished piece of his mismatched armor. The rest is scraped, dented, or painted over. A testament, you assume, to the brutal and dirty life he lives.

When he surges off again, stiff and hurried, stalking whatever he’s tracking, you’re drawn to the hunger in his movements. His physicality. You expect a Mandalorian to be calculated—efficient. And he is. There’s urgency that bites at his heels.

But there’s something else, too. Something reckless in his movements. The way he shoulders through a circle of street performers without a care. The way his hand hovers near the blaster on his hip, ready to draw at the slightest provocation.

In broad daylight.

It’s like he’s not just looking for something. He’s daring the galaxy to give him an excuse to destroy it.

It’s that volatility that makes you curious. The danger that curls around his edges. It entices you.

You’ve met men like him before. Men that burn with the kind of fury only youth and disillusionment can sustain.

Their drive gives them strength, but they have a glaring weakness.

The second time, you’re closer.

At some rundown, backwater outpost cantina—the kind of place where a fight is as common as a drink. You watch the dust particles swirling in the streaks of light filtering through the windows as you sit at a table waiting. It’s not long before the Mandalorian storms in.

He rocks up to the bar with heavy footsteps, ready to slam down some credits in exchange for answers. Unfortunately, he misjudged the stubbornness and the loyalty of the wiry bartender. He lacks tact.

The barkeep offers clipped responses to the questioning. From under your hood, you can see the Mandalorian’s fist clench. A few nearby patrons snicker as the encounter seems to be futile and his patience snaps.

In seconds, his gloved fist is wrapped in the bartender’s jacket, dragging him halfway across the counter. A glass tips and shatters on the floor. And a few heads turn both toward and pointedly away from the scene.

“Try again,” the Mandalorian demands, his voice loud enough for you to catch. It’s deep, modulated by the helmet but still laced with venom. It suits him, you think.

The bartender flails, his eyes widening before he sputters out something. You can’t help the small grin that curls at the corner of your lips.

The Mandalorian is far from subtle but it works. He drops the bartender and storms off just as pressed as the way he came in, his tattered cape flicking behind him as he disappears.

You stay seated as the chatter picks back up.

The Mandalorian is impatient, you note. Unconcerned with the attention he draws if he gets what he wants.

Your smirk grows wider. It’ll be satisfying to watch him unravel when he doesn’t get his way.

The third time, you’re following him. He’s tracking someone through the city, his strides long and swift, no hesitations. You slip from shadow to shadow, quietly leaving enough room to vanish if anything goes wrong.

When his target fucks up–darting into the wrong alley–you’re almost disappointed. You know what happens next. The fight is over fast. Brutal. Mechanical.

The Mandalorian is pure force, absorbing every counter attack with only the slightest stagger. Until his opponent crumples to the ground, groaning and bloody. The Mandalorian hauls him to his feet muttering something you can’t quite hear.

He drags his prize toward the shipyard, his grip unyielding and his pace unrelenting. You trail along continuing your observations.

The Mandalorian is ruthless.

It’s no wonder the reward is worth your time. You can only imagine the grievances he’s racked up on his violent crusade. You look forward to the payout, considering what you might spend it on as you slip behind another ship. You surveil him long enough to learn one more thing.

He’s restless.

A cloak of unease clinging to him that never fades.

Not when the chase is over. Not when he hands off his mark to the crew of miscreants he flew in with. Not when he’s at rest while the others indulge in their night off.

He’s a raw nerve encased in dented metal.

You can feel it buzzing off of him even when he’s sat still. Vibrating at a similar frequency to you. Resonating.

You’ve watched long enough.

The next time, you’re waiting for him.

Din doesn’t know it, but he’ll find you.

Adrenaline burns hot in his veins, twisting violently in his gut. The day was pure chaos. Betrayals, near-deaths, plans unraveling. He’s on edge. A live wire thrumming with an unspent charge.

He’s only a man, but the insatiable call within him feels more suited to a beast.

He stalks through the dark streets like he’s hunting something. Or daring something to hunt him. His jaw clenches tight, his teeth grinding against the insides of his cheek. The city streets are loud, the nightlife too busy for his liking, but the thoughts ruminating in his head are louder.

Their plan was doomed from the start—but the failure still stings.

His crew had been bickering over who was to blame, the voices a blur of petty insults and clashing egos. Din didn’t care who was right or wrong. He just knew that the first one to point the blame at him was getting put through a wall. Or worse. So before anyone found out what worse could be, he left.

So he continues tromping down the street on a warpath. No plan or purpose. Just fuming with the displaced energy that should’ve been released by now. He’s unsure how long it’s been, or how far he’s wandered.

It’s instinct, more than anything, that leads him to where you’ve been waiting. He’s pushing through the doorway before he even realizes where his legs led him. He’d been too busy wrestling with his anger, and now it’s a physical thing, radiating off of him in waves.

Heads turn when he enters the bar. His presence draws attention. Even with his banged up armor, a Mandalorian is still a sight to behold. The cut of his visor sweeps the room like a weapon and most eyes dart away, unwilling to meet it.

The establishment is otherwise lively. It’s packed with a misfit crowd full of sly glances, nervous shifting, and raucous laughter. There’s tables for games and smoking, dancers—barely clothed in bright shades of magenta and gold, and a band with instruments he couldn't name with a gun to his head.

But he’s not interested in drinking or gambling. He’s looking for something stronger. Someone more potent.

He begins to circle the room when his steps quickly falter.

The dark fabric draped around your curves catches his eye first, the way it shifts when you lift your glass to take a slow, deliberate sip. He’s drawn to the line of your neck, the tender, smooth skin and the soft roll of your throat as you swallow.

And then you look right at him.

Your sparkling eyes pierce him. Snare him. Capture him whole.

You tilt your head toward the open seat next to you. The invitation is subtle, but the pull is magnetic. In a heartbeat, he’s moving in.

He drops into the seat, heavy as a man made of metal, leaning an elbow on the bar. You don’t look at him directly, but he sees the way you adjust your shoulders and the faint curl of your lips. It’s enough to tell him you know. That you’re baiting him. Good. He’ll bite.

The bartender approaches, but Din waves him off without a glance, keeping the full weight of his focus on you. The low hum of his anger begins to ease as he takes in the details of your profile—the sweep of your lashes, the plush curve of your lips, your smooth skin.

You take another sip of your drink before turning toward him. Something wicked flashes in your expression before you acknowledge him with a smile.

“You’re not drinking?” Your voice is melodic, stirring his appetite.

“No.”

You take one last sip from your glass before pushing it across the counter slowly, drawing his attention to your hands. He’s tempted to grab one just to marvel at the size of it in his. So delicate. Focus.

“You want another?” he asks bluntly, curious. “No.”

The corner of his mouth quirks under the helmet. Amused. You mirror his sharp tone without hesitation; you’re not afraid of him.

“The pleasure of my company will cost you more than a drink,” you say, tilting your head slightly.

Ah. His curiosity sharpens.

“Good,” his voice is low, but tight. “Not interested in cheap.”

You’re close enough that the conscious brush of your thigh against his spends sparks through him. Your very existence is temptation and his composure is razor thin.

His body screams at him to grab you–right here–to bend you over the bar and see just how much you’re worth. But he waits, wired and anxious, for your next move.

You bite your lower lip, rolling it slowly between your teeth as if you’re reading his thoughts, and flash him an alluring smirk. The charge in the air between you is alive, pulsing with its own heartbeat.

“What are you interested in, Mandalorian?” you ask, your voice steeped in seduction.

He studies you with the emotionless visor. “What type of company are you offering?”

You laugh softly, a sound that winds around his restraint and pulls tighter. “I know a few tricks you might enjoy.”

Your finger dips into your empty glass, drawing up the last drop of liquid before slipping it between your lips. The motion is intentional and filthy.

His chest tightens. His hands flex. His cock twitches as he watches you drag your finger back out of your mouth, devastatingly slow.

You mistake his silence for hesitance, and decide to turn up the charm. You lean in closer, your breath brushing the edge of his helmet. “But, you’re in luck tonight,” you say, your voice dipping lower, “if you’ve got the credits.”

The next words are glazed with false innocence, cloyingly sweet. “I came to the city to save my family's farm, you see. I’ve not got much to send them yet, so I’m willing to offer it all for the right price.”

You bat your lashes demurely, in complete juxtaposition to your finger sucking move merely seconds ago.

“I’m untouched,” your voice lilts. “Fresh. And now with a warrior like yourself in front of me?” You rest your hand on his forearm, just above the vambrace, along the tougher material of his flight suit. “A Mandalorian? Seems like fate.”

Din shifts in his seat, as if adjusting his weight could relieve the feral itch clawing within him. Your lure is powerful, but the mischief in your eyes gives you away.

“Untouched?” he questions like he’s weighing something. You give your best virginal smile.

“You’re lying,” he decides, in a gravelly, hostile tone.

You feign offense, leaning back with a pout that barely masks your amusement.

But he leans in closer, compressing the air between you until his commanding presence is nearly suffocating. His voice drops lower.

“You better be.”

You huff with irritation.

He curls and uncurls his fist, but his gaze doesn’t waver, locked on yours. He drags one massive hand up his thigh, slowly–ever so slowly, but pointedly–until it’s resting on the heavy bulge between his legs.

“I’d prefer to fuck someone that knows how to take this.”

The air crackles between you at his explicit assertion.

Inky darkness floods your eyes before you smirk, daring him to break the control he’s barely clinging on to. And then you speak, low and sultry.

“Follow me.”

You slip off your seat, sauntering toward the hallway without looking back.

Din rises without hesitation, his boots heavy behind you, his decision already made.

You lead him to a small room–more of a storage space really–hips swaying as you float down the hall like you didn’t just scope it out hours ago.

Maybe he was expecting soft drapes and plush furniture. Instead, there’s a single, worn chair.

Good enough.

The dim light is warm enough to make the shadows dance in the space. The sound of the cantina dampens, leaving just the two of you. You push the door shut behind you, projecting confidence.

“Sit,” you command, gesturing to the only seat in the closet-sized room. You see the stagger in his momentum at your order.

His head cocks slightly, the cold shape of his visor locked on you. There’s hesitation, not in fear, but in defiance. You feel his shoulders tightening, his body coiled, ready to strike—or tear your clothes off.

Impatient.

So you push. Hands on the durasteel pauldrons on his shoulders, not forcing him with strength but wielding him with your audacity.

His compliance comes with resistance, his body slow to relent, but he drops into the chair finally. Like he’s claiming it.

The Mandalorian sits, like, well…a man. His legs wide, owning the space despite the walls closing in. His armored body is broad and rigid, all sharp lines and angles.

The testosterone pours off of him, nearly choking you, but you have his attention. His rapt attention.

Your eyes flick to his hands. His fingers flex. Poised to grab, to take, to claim. But your draw keeps him still. For now.

“Let’s see then,” his husky words wind their way right to your core. Molten and sticky.

You straddle his lap without further teasing, adjusting to the cool, firm steel on his thighs, ignoring the faint creak of the chair. You settle closer, shifting your weight, nestling into the cradle of his hips and trapping the rigid length of his erection between you. Your lips part, taking in a sharp breath at the unmistakably generous size of him, even stifled beneath the tactical wear.

It’s an ego trip in having such a powerful figure wound up and straining beneath you. It quickens your heartbeat and makes your cunt throb.

The plates of his armor bite into the meat of your thighs, but it’s the solid mass beneath that has you slanting your pelvis, rocking against him with purpose. His body responds instantly—an involuntary buck of his hips upward that forces a hiss through his helmet. His gloved hands hover just shy of your waist, trembling with the last thread of his restraint.

You want to feel the rush, the untamed strength. Your spine tingles with anticipation.

“What’s the matter, Mandalorian?” you purr, “Afraid to touch me?”

A deep and guttural sound rolls through him and his hands latch onto your hips with bruising force, dragging you tighter against him. The action is rough, desperate, on the verge of losing all civility.

A victorious smile spreads on your face as you grind against him, unabashedly revelling in the friction, you hum in your throat. Each roll of your hips lights a fire beneath his skin. The heat building between you is scorching, even through the layers of armor and fabric.

His breaths come faster, heavier, as he mutters a string of curses. Some of it is in a language you don’t know, but the vehement desire in his tone is clear in any language.

His gloved fingers dig into your flesh, emphasizing the contrast between your softness and his sharpness. It heightens the charge between you, the magnetism that doesn’t relent as you rub against each other like animals.

For a moment, he’s lost in it. Lost in you. His helmet tilts forward like he’s leaning into the touch, and his grip on you is vice-like, pulling you impossibly closer.

Until he forces you still.

A pained look pulls your brows together. You were enjoying that.

“Enough,” his ragged voice is quiet, but commanding. “I want to fuck you now.”

“You will,” you assure, in nearly a whisper. You trail your hands up his chest plate, sliding over the broad expanse before wedging your fingers beneath the cowl around his neck. His body jolts at the skin contact, a groan escapes him, and his grip relaxes.

You resume the dance, chasing the friction, the pressure. Letting a broken moan ring through the air. A sound that overrides his thoughts and sends his hands on a mission. Moving higher, brushing over your ribs to cup your breasts. You gasp, rhythm faltering for only a second. But the raw and unbidden response incites him. He gropes at you roughly, trying to draw more sounds from you.

It pulls a sinful smile to your face as you wrap your arms around his neck.

You’ve got him.

For a fleeting moment, you consider letting it progress. Chasing the release that your body is aching for. Letting him fuck you. Just enough to know, to feel what it would be like. The thought of his thick cock filling you to the brim, driving deeper and deeper, has your pussy clenching. Your thighs tremble. A tear of frustration wells along your waterline.

He grunts with frustration, needing more.

It’s exactly what you wanted.

Your fingers skim the heated skin of his neck again, brushing the edge of vulnerability he keeps hidden. His groan vibrates through you, rich and unguarded. You swear you can hear his real voice beneath the distortion of the helmet.

Din is so engrossed in your touch, your movement, your body writhing in his lap. Drunk off of you.

And then the needle sinks in.

The sting is immediate. His entire body tenses beneath you, the realization dawning too late. His hand flies to his neck, but the tranquilizer works fast. The tension in his muscles melts into dead weight, and his grip on you slackens.

“What the—” His voice is sluggish, slurring before he can complete the sentence.

You hop off of him with ease, sinister smile widening on your face as you strip him of his blaster, then his vambraces, with swift and practiced hands.

“That was even easier than I thought,” you tut.

His head lolls to his shoulder, fighting to keep his eyes on you.

“Disappointing, honestly,” you keep rambling as he fights to remain conscious. “Big, strapping Mandalorian. Fearsome warrior. Nobody would even take the contract.”

You step back, assessing the way his shoulders droop. He’s fading fast. You let loose a heavy sigh, frustrated for more than one reason.

“I was hoping for a challenge.”

A weak sound is choked out of his throat before his tips forward, chin to his chest. Your disappointment was the last thing he saw; a blade carving into his pride as the sedative drags him under.

Din wakes up slowly.

His body is uncooperative and heavy. A dull ache radiates from the base of his neck, through his shoulders and down his spine. His mind is still foggy, clarity flashing in short bursts. He recognizes the sterile hum of a ship.

Din shifts slightly, testing the restraints. Metal cuffs dig into his wrists, holding his arms taut above his head.

“You awake already?”

Your voice slices through the haze, cool and serrated. He turns his head, his helmet amplifying the groan that rumbles out as the movement worsens his headache.

His throat is dry and sore when he tries to respond, but it’s nothing compared to the rage simmering beneath his skin. He knows better than to let his guard down, but he had been careless, reckless.

And you.

You had been such an irrefutable seductress, in ways he doesn’t even have words for. The memory of the way your body felt in his hands, like you were molded just for him, still seared into his senses. The weight of you in his lap, the sounds you made in response to him, the pitiful look on your face when he’d stopped your momentum. It all swirls between the fury.

Because now he’s here. Bound by you. Humiliated by you. Forced to endure whatever ridicule you have planned.

Best he can do to respond to you is a grumbling, “hmph.” Yeah, he’s awake.

You step into his line of sight, arms crossed with a cruel expression on your face.

Seeing you makes it worse. His face is hot. His mind races, thoughts spiraling, berating himself. He fucked up. Let his dick do the thinking. Letting you think you bested him—even if you did.

You lean against the wall, studying his attempts to fight the restraints. The chain scrapes against the ship's hull, each pull more furious than the last. You don’t even bother to hide the gratification. It beams off of you. Like the energy he wastes struggling powers your radiance.

“That’s cute,” you say finally, eyes lingering on his heaving chest. The raw strength he has, useless in his current predicament. “Do you think that’s going to work?”

The rage that flares in his posture is enough to make you laugh. You can picture his teeth gnashing beneath the helmet like a caged animal. Trapped but still defensive, prepared to shred anything that gets close.

“I thought Mandalorians were supposed to be…impressive,” you taunt in a smooth voice as you step toward him. He curses at you—well, you assume, it’s in another language.

You cock your head, assessing him leisurely, taking your sweet time to make sure he knows that you’re detailed, precise. He braces against the cuffs. The chain groans under his force. He’s still menacing. His shape and stature, let alone the outrage emanating from him.

But stripped of his weapons and strung up like a prize, he’s still merely a disappointment. A frustrated, metal clad, man with a foul attitude and a libidinous weak spot. The thought causes you to frown.

He was too easy to catch. Too impatient to actually fuck.

“I thought you’d put up a fight,” you confess.

You slink back just as he lunges toward you, scraping the chains against the hull and no doubt snarling, baring his teeth under the helmet.

“Pity. Most of my bounties are painfully boring. And ugly.”

He juts his chin toward you like an insult. “You lure the rest the same way?” he snaps, disdain ricocheting between you.

“No.” You reply, turning and walking back out of sight. “Was just curious what you’d be like up close.”

He yanks harshly at the chains again, grunting at the exertion. The ugly sound of metal on metal reverberates throughout the ship.

Din wears himself out trying to force his way out of the cuffs, adjusting and tugging trying to find any kind of leverage. He wears out every muscle in his arms and back, taut and bulging, as sweat trickles down the back of his neck. It only exhausts him.

To the point where he’s unsure if he’s drifting in and out of consciousness or hallucinations. When he sees you next, he’s unsure if you’re real or a figment of his madness. A focal point for him to hurl insults and garbled frustrations at.

He’s unsure how much time has passed when he notices you again,sitting on a crate, observing him.

The anger and humiliation still grate on him, and a fresh wave of adrenaline lends him another attempt at breaking free. But he’s weak.

It’s unsuccessful.

You laugh, brightly and sharp as a knife. The sound is torture.

“I should untie you just for the sport of it,” you muse, as if it’s a passing thought. “I could use some combat practice. Something to stroke my ego. It’s terribly anticlimactic to have captured such an overhyped trophy without even breaking a sweat.”

You draw nearer, checking for anything out of place.

“Even worse, we didn’t get to have any other fun first.” His head jerks at that. You imagine an incredulous sneer under the beskar.

A fleeting thought winds through his consciousness about his own unfinished conquest. He clenches his teeth, shoulders stiffening, adopting the proudest posture he can.

You merely prod and taunt him more as you continue whatever it is you’ve come to do. The ache behind his eyes is sharp as needles, and his arms and legs are cramping and stiff.

The longer you keep talking, the shorter his fuse gets. You make one more comment about how you’d wasted time learning about him, doing recon and research, when he fell prey to the promise of something tight to sink his cock into.

His breaths are ragged now, hostility dripping from his pores. Your voice incenses him, ringing in your ears even when you aren’t talking. Taunting him endlessly, like a thousand tiny cuts stinging and inflamed, never an opportunity to heal, you just jab and slice over and over.

And now you step closer. Too close.

“Gloat all you want. There’s no honor in using tricks,” he spits, his voice jagged and venomous, “like a filthy whore.”

The words hang in the air as you pause.

Your breath stills, the mocking glint in your eyes hardening into something severe; dangerous. He absorbs the shift in your posture—how you go perfectly still, save for the faint twitch of your jaw. The silence is blaring, swarming with something that makes his obstinance waver.

“Seemed to me,” you say as you circle him slowly, your boots scraping against the floor like a predator’s growl, “like you were rather keen on filthy whores when you followed me out of the cantina. Does honor only matter when your cock is soft?”

Din seethes with indignation—yet, a shameful thrill spasms through him, too. He ignores it, attributing it to fatigue, or the desire for retribution. He can’t see you. You’re behind him, silent. A retort is on the tip of his tongue, but it never makes it past his lips.

In a blinding flash, he’s slamming into the floor. His knees make a loud thud as they bang against the hard surface. The pain in his joints is sharp; he curses loudly.

His muscles are stiff and screaming after being in one position for so long. His gaze sweeps across the mostly empty space before you step in front of him once more. The pain is familiar, a constant he’s learned to live with. A sensation he almost craves. He swallows it down, along with the exhaustion, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

“Look at you,” your voice is drenched in condescension. His head tilts up, the visor pointing directly at you. Despite all of his current disadvantages, he’s still a threatening sight. But not to you. Not when you have control.

You crouch, facing him, hands braced on your thighs. Your lips curl with satisfaction and a hint of pride. “You don’t intimidate me.”

You see his fists clenching and the taut brace of his shoulders. All that power and hostility, once again straining–itching–to take it out on you. It’s an addictive rush that makes your blood pump hotter and your heartbeat sink to your cunt.

Your fingers tap restlessly as you stare each other down. You wouldn’t mind seeing him snap. You chew at your bottom lip, maintaining presence of mind. But you let one more thought slip out in a provocatively lush tone. “You look good on your knees, prisoner.”

let me know if you enjoyed this or if you want to fight me over my din djarin interpretation, either way part two is coming

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

tags for babes:

@lovely-vamp-princess

@auteurdelabre

@adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange

@itwasntimethatdidit40

@ivoryandflame

@magneticecstasy

@indiegirlunited

@syd-djarin

@harriedandharassed

@bbyanarchist

@94namkooksworld

@slimybeth69 @yxtkiwiyxt

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin smut #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #ppcu fanfiction

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itficlibrary · 9 days ago

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This week's fic rec theme is 2024!

The following are recs for some of your + our favourite fics to come out within the last year (with a bonus bingo board at the end)! Thanks so much to anyone who sent in their faves!

For fans of soulmate aus & richie tozier’s crippling self-loathing, try:

• Three weddings (and my funeral) by witchietozier (@witchiewitchie)

(23k words + ongoing)

This is a soulmate au (although it very much feels like its own thing), wherein Richie and Eddie are set up to pretend to be soulmates for stanpat’s wedding. Featuring unique & bubbly prose, several awkward situations and musings on a delightfully pathetic Richie’s psyche.

For fans of kid fic & family feels, try:

• It’s a cruel summer with you by eddiekaspbrakirlsblog (@eddiekaspbrakirlsblog)

(21k words)

A series of seven short fics centered on the toziers having a beach house and eddie spending summers with them there, following reddie from age 4 to adulthood. This dedicates a lot of time to characterising Maggie & Went Tozier (as good parents!) and is packed with fluffy childhood innocence & found family themes.

For fans of fix-its & tenderness:

• Hold on and hope we’ll find our way back in the end by rcdwings

(27k words)

A good old fashioned rewrite & fix-it of IT 2019, through Eddie’s eyes and then Richie’s. Featuring all the missing scenes & extra character beats you could want from the movie, a very sweet Maggie Tozier portrayal and a pretty, elegant writing style.

For fans of teen fic & pining, try:

• Well, that’ll be the day, when you say goodbye by thewayilovetheocean (@derrypubliclibrary)

(4k words)

A look at Richie’s in-full-bloom feelings for Eddie and all the angst surrounding that, set before he leaves Derry around 1991. Featuring plenty of internalised homophobia, classic teenreddie banter and a gently hopeful ending.

For fans of lucky 7 ensemble pieces & balls to the wall fun:

• If love is the answer, you’re home by kissbrak and richiebeepbeep (@toziers)

(55k words)

A fic based on Tag (2018), wherein the losers play an annual game of tag and fall in love along the way. It switches focus around all of the losers, gives so much depth & complexity to every single relationship and is all round a deranged & extremely fun romp!

For fans of t4t reddie & awkward meet-cutes, try:

• Switch-hitters by sheepknitssweater

(16k words)

This follows a t4t reddie who meet via softball to the face, and the rest is history. This fic’s style is snappy and lively, its characterisation (especially of Richie) is uber charming, and it deals insightfully with its themes of internalised transphobia and identity.

For fans of funny meet-cutes & haters of sonia kaspbrak, try:

• Come for aunt Brenda’s green beans, stay for the drama by asexual_asshat (@asexualasshat)

(5k words)

Richie meets Eddie on Tinder and they conspire to ruin the Kaspbrak family thanksgiving (to piss off mrs k of course). Featuring these two being absolutely crazy about each other, plenty of hijinks & comedy and eventual smut.

For fans of college fic & heavy angst, try:

• Go on and on and on until by tozierlvr (@tozierlvr)

(160k words)

A series wherein Richie and Eddie (unknowingly) reunite at college after the events of IT chapter one, documenting their entire relationship from start to…uh…end. It’s got super realistic 2nd puberty, eventual gut-wrenching angst, and stays ‘canon compliant’ while adding the most unique tweaks.

For fans of pining & domesticity, try:

• Don’t want to let you go (‘til you see the light) by nonbinary (@oshaskell)

(6k words)

This oneshot sees reddie in a roommates scenario, wherein Richie is working up the nerve to finally ask Eddie out. reddie’s weird little dynamic in this is natural and endearing (Eddie bites Richie at one point), there are cute flashbacks via old videos, and overall this is an extra warm and cozy read.

For fans of soft, happy endings & richie tozier’s wooing attempts, try:

• Take a right at the light by moichi (@clownbrainrot)

(6k words)

This follows Richie on an odyssey to shoot his shot with Eddie, and the mounting obstacles he faces on the way. It’s got bevchie best friendship, a sweet ending and is extra generous with its low-stakes-high-comedy Richie suffering.

For fans of short-but-sweet fics in a corporate setting, try:

pour myself a cup of ambition by searcher_of_amroth (@spagedster)

(8k words)

Richie and Eddie meet by chance because they both have been mandated to see a HR counsellor at their workplace. Featuring oh-god-he’s-cute on both sides, with alternate points of views (a personal favourite!), and plenty of cute moments as they both try to woo the other!

For fans of time loops and happy endings, try:

again, again, again by watchoutforthefanfics (@watchoutforthefanfics)

(12k words)

Richie gets stuck in a time loop and has to save both Eddie and Stan. It goes about as well as you think it would! Features emotionally constipated Richie Tozier (as he should be), angst (as there should be), and healing (as there should be).

For fans of fics set during the 27 years in between and bittersweet endings, try:

familiar by fredastaire (@it2017)

(23k words)

During the 27 years, Eddie returns to Derry once: for his mother’s funeral. Mike is there to help him through it. I love this fic so much! This fic contains Kasplon relationship dynamics, Remembering Your Childhood, and Dealing With Your Emotions About Your Mother.

For fans of Reddie bickering and Benverly, try:

double date by beefcakebeetle

(17k words)

Richie, Eddie, and Ben come to Chicago to help Beverly move her stuff out of Tom’s house. Then, Ben and Bev trick Richie and Eddie into going on a double date! Featuring a lot of cute dynamics between these four, and alternating points of view!

For fans of communication and character studies, try:

remembering you by loelight

(13k words)

Richie and Eddie have a long conversation. Set post Chapter 2. A really cute, fluffy fic! Featuring The Kissing Bridge(™), very little emotional constipation, and a happy ending.

For fans of the Awkward Teenager Drama and slice of life genres, try:

crosseyed & painless by bellbawttoms (@gaylittlerichie)

(58k words)

Eddie gets a girlfriend and Richie loses his absolute mind. Featuring the Authentic Pathetic Teenager Experience, You Guys Just Wouldn’t Get It, Nobody Understands Me, a slice of life in the 80’s in every chapter, and self discovery.

For fans of character studies and introspection-heavy fics, try:

Octopus’ garden by searcher_of_amroth (@spagedster)

(16k words)

Character study fic with a focus on mental health set post Chapter 2 events. Featuring a chapter for each loser (two for stan!), and a whole lot of resolutions and tying up loose ends.

For fans of coming of age fics with plenty of slowburn, try:

that teenage feeling! by fredastaire (@it2017)

(50k words)

Explores Eddie coming to terms with identifying as a trans woman. Set during the 27 years, and features plenty of miscommunication, introspection, and character and relationship analysis, as well as Richie Tozier as a narrator(™).

For fans of character-accurate communication and post-canon fics, try:

Dance slow decades by xosmia

(16k words)

Eddie shows up in Los Angeles in the middle of the night without any warning. Richie and Eddie have a couple of long conversations and reconcile their relationship, both platonic and not.

For fans of fix-it fics, try:

a murmur beneath my skin by mikripetra

(26k words)

Richie and Eddie bump into each other randomly at a grocery store in their thirties. It triggers a butterfly effect that neither of them could have seen coming. Featuring character studies, hurt/comfort, and psychological horror.

Here’s a bingo board for you to cross off, with bonus spaces to find more! Check out these resources to help you leave some comments along the way!

#themed lists #2024

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zeroducks-2 · 2 months ago

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I am conflicted. Your SlaDick art makes me go hnngg, but I've never found Slade to be a particularly interesting character. A good 80% of what I see about him on here is just discourse, which usually points towards a character being super intriguing, but most of what I've read in the comics he just seems like 'Generic Assassin Character With Bonus Divorced Dad Elements' What am I missing out on???

(Also, can I have a link to your header image? I need to reblog that asap)

Hey Tiger! How are you doing? Unfortunately I can't give you a tumblr link to my header image because tumblr's puritan ass considers it too much and took the post down LOL (it is literally just a guy in lingerie so idk what they're on about). You can have the Bluesky link instead.

Okay so about Slade. I honestly don't get the whole, uhh... "it's funny cause he's divorced" thing going on in the Slade fanbase. Like yeah he used to be a military man, he got married and had kids, but because he secretly became a mercenary and made lots of enemies, one of his sons very nearly died and his wife (understandably!) divorced him for it. I don't get what's funny about it, I don't get why people go "LOLOL he's a divorced guy!" like where's the punchline exactly? Lots of people get divorced is that a funny thing...?

Well but anyway. He used to be a very complex, very gray character in the 80s, when he was written by Wolfman and Perez. Initially he was not exactly a bad guy despite acting in the role of an antagonist, he was going against the Titans to honor the memory of his dead eldest son. Of course being a mercenary with little qualms about killing people put him in the gray area by default, but he was nice with the kids when the situation allowed it, very loving towards his middle child (Joseph, who also was a Titan), and he and Dick held mutual respect for each other (to the point that Dick convinced Bruce that Slade was actually a good man, and a honorable man who would never break his word. Which tbf was true).

The run Deathstroke The Terminator which ran from 1991 to 1996 is interesting and complex, selling itself like a Macho Man Thing! With Guns! And Explosions!, while it's actually tackling delicate themes such as parental grief, loss, CPTSD, the horrors of war and such. Slade's incrollable friendship and loyalty towards William "Billy" Randolph Wintergreen (former comrade in arms) is a very important and fairly touching aspect of it, and Slade's struggle to just Be A Good Person despite everything (and failing) is imo very compelling.

Over the years (and at this point irremediably), Slade has veered from being a gray, complex and multidimensional character into being only a villain. He stopped being caring towards his family (or he's directly manipulative and abusive especially towards Rose, youngest child born from adultery), he stopped being "fatherly" towards the Titans, and lost complexity overall. What he gained were impeccable Daddy Dom vibes, also thanks to the cartoon (Teen Titans 2003), where a Slade Wilson inspired character (called only "Slade" and voiced by Ron Perlman) is the embodiment of evil and has a fixation on young Robin Dick Grayson.

There are more "modern" moments in which Slade is still an interesting character. Like when he tried to steal the speed force from Wally (and eventually got it from Ace) to go back in time and save his eldest son's life (and failed miserably, but managed to change the fact that Grant, his boy, had died alone, because he held him through his last moments). The Slade you see being shipped with Dick is sort of an amalgam of all that... sometimes he's the sharp, wicked monster of the tt03 cartoon, sometimes he's a more gentle elder man who genuinely grew fond of Dick, sometimes he's a piece of garbage who's toying with a kid, and most of the times he's a ruthless mercenary who will stop for nothing and no one to fulfill his contracts... but he has a soft spot for Dick.

This last bit of characterization comes from the most iconic Nightwing run (1996 by Devin Grayson), and it's where Dick and Slade have some of their most interesting interactions since the New Teen Titans run of the 80s. There Slade acts like a lazy but dangerous big cat, and Dick has his carefully studied methods of dealing with him, which work because Slade is very fond of him basically.

There are more things to say but this post is long enough already! I feel Slade is one of the characters who have been done dirty by DC executives, because they have a hard time dealing with gray characters overall. He's versatile when it comes to fanworks because his characterization is all over the place (except a couple core concepts he's a different character in each media he appears in, basically), and Sladick is ridiculously hot and works imo very well in lots of different circumstances.

#my asks #slade wilson #sladick

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submissiveebrat · 3 months ago

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When you're a star, they let you do it. You can do anything." He adds seconds later: "Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything." — Trump in a previously unreleased recording made by "Access Hollywood" in 2005, published Friday by The Washington Post and NBC News

"If Hillary Clinton can't satisfy her husband what makes her think she can satisfy America #MakeAmericaGreatAgain." — Trump tweeted in April 2015. He later deleted the post.

"It must be a pretty picture, you dropping to your knees." — Trump to a female contestant in 2013 on an episode of "Celebrity Apprentice."

"Did Crooked Hillary help disgusting (check out sex tape and past) Alicia M become a U.S. citizen so she could use her in the debate?" — Trump tweeted in September 2016. He was referring to former Miss Universe winner Alicia Machado, whom he publicly shamed for gaining weight when he owned the contest

"It's certainly not groundbreaking news that the early victories by the women on 'The Apprentice' were, to a very large extent, dependent on their sex appeal." — Trump wrote in his 2004 book, "How To Get Rich."

"All of the women on 'The Apprentice' flirted with me — consciously or unconsciously. That's to be expected. A sexual dynamic is always present between people, unless you are asexual." — Trump, also from "How To Get Rich."

"You could see there was blood coming out of her eyes. Blood coming out of her wherever." — Trump in an interview with CNN in August 2015, referring to Fox News Channel anchor Megyn Kelly.

"Look at that face! Would anyone vote for that? Can you imagine that, the face of our next president? I mean, she's a woman, and I'm not s'posedta say bad things, but really, folks, come on. Are we serious?" — Trump in a September 2015 interview with Rolling Stone, speaking about then-primary rival Carly Fiorina.

"It doesn't really matter what (the media) write as long as you've got a young and beautiful piece of ass." — Trump in an interview with Esquire Magazine in 1991.

"A person who's flat-chested is very hard to be a 10, OK?" — Trump in an interview with shock jock Howard Stern in September 2005.

"I saw a woman who was totally beautiful. She was angry that so many men were calling her. 'How dare they call me! It's terrible! They're all looking at my breasts.' So she had a major breast reduction. The good news: Nobody calls her anymore — nobody even looks — and not only that, it was a terrible job." — Trump to Stern in 2008.

Congratulations America, this is who is now president AGAIN. A misogynist, sexist, vile pig. Good Job. 👏👏

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highly-important · 2 years ago

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Little Art things I'm obsessed with pt 1

Portraits of absent figures:

David Hockney - A Bigger Splash, 1967

Hockney originally visited California in 1963 and was won over by the sunlight and laid-back lifestyle, especially the luxury and ubiquity of the swimming pool. He described it as his "promised land" The splash is about freezing a moment in time, but it is also empty of human presence but implying a human. The male figure is present in some of David's other works from this time period, especially his muse and then-partner Peter Schlesinger. These paintings are about a hedonistic gay lifestyle, and the swimmers, the divers, are often the subject of voyeurism and desire. But in this painting, we just missed the diver, which makes the object of desire more private and personal. Who was the painter looking at, lusting after, etc. I like the contrast of the incredibly sharp and graphic suburban neighborhood, and the chaotic, organic splash. So again, if the divers represent this homosexual desire, we have this contrast of an orderly heterosexual world, and the queerness that joyfully disrupts it.

And then of course, with the absent figure, there is this massive sense of loss and loneliness. And so much of loneliness is about concealment, hiding in shame. This is a private space, but its also an exposed space, enhancing the loneliness. The figure is isolated, alone, invisible. Its a sadness that contrasts with the setting, the activity, and saturated lighting.

Felix Gonzalez-Torres - Untitled (billboard of an empty bed), 1991

These billboards were exhibited in the streets of Manhattan during the AIDS crisis. This piece was created the same year Felix Gonzalez-Torres's boyfriend Ross died. This portrait is a celebration of love and a memorization of loss and the emotions between intimacy and publicity. In the artist's own words:

“What I’m trying to say is that we cannot give the powers that be what they want, what they are expecting from us. Some homophobic senator is going to have a very hard time trying to explain to his constituency that my work is homoerotic or pornographic, but if I were to do a performance with HIV blood — that’s what he wants, that’s what the rags expect because they can sensationalize that, and that’s what’s disappointing. Some of the work I make is more effective because it’s more dangerous. We both make work that looks like something else but it’s not that. We’re infiltrating that look.“

The work intentionally uses the matching, identical depressions to imply a same-sex couple. The image itself is extremely intimate, but its being displayed in public spaces.

Felix Gonzales-Torres became known for his absent bodies.

And then, a little different, this painting by Jacques Guillaume Lucien Amans (1837) commissioned by Frederick and and Coralie Frey, depicts the three Frey children, with the faint shadow of a figure. There was a legend that there was a fourth figure in this painting. In 2005 a private collector, Jeremy K Simien, purchased the painting and it underwent conservation.

The painting revealed Bélizaire, a fifteen year-old enslaved domestic owned by the children's father. The picture captures the complex relationship between the boy and the children, the family that was keeping him captive. For one thing, the way he is set back from the others. There is this sort of intimacy between them along side the psychological trauma of forced bondage.

Here is a great Tiktok about the painting, to quote "What I'm struck by is what a sensitive portrait this is of this young man who was living in an inhumane society where he, despite being a human being, was bought and sold."

A few years after this painting was created, the three Frey children died, and Bélizaire was the only one who survived into adulthood.

The painting stayed in the Frey family. At some point, likely in the late 19th or 20th century, Bélizaire was intentionally painted over. In 1972, the great-granddaughter of Coralie Frey donated the painting to a Louisiana museum, informing them that a figure was painted over. During the course of the painting's life at the museum, no effort was put into restoring the figure.

Jeremy Simien's, who bought and restored this painting, said on his instagram "Bélizaire, they know your name now. Tell the ancestors to let me sleep for a minute."

And shout out to the picture that make me want to write this, Hyde Park Flowers, London by Tumblr user @kimironside I won't re-post it so check out the link.

#art #art history #felix gonzalez torres #belizaire #david hockney #Jacques Guillaume Lucien Amans #Jacques Amans #Jeremy K Simien #tw slavery #tw aids

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antigonick · 1 year ago

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My boyfriend did not die in 1991. I told a lie and it turned into a fact, forever repeated in my official biography. He died on Christmas Day, 1990, when his family disconnected the mechanical breathing machine. He was a composer in the school of music. We were working on a piece for voice and strings. I liked writing the words under the whole notes, hyphenating them to make them last. I liked sitting on the bed in his apartment, writing on the sheet music—bigger paper, thicker, how it sounded when it fell to the floor when we got tired. It was winter break, friends in town, we hopped from party to party, catching up but separately. It was late, the night was clear, the roads were empty. The four of them were sober, the driver in the other car was not. I was a few miles away, in a bar, waiting. When the bar closed, I left him an angry message for standing me up. A few hours later, a friend called and told me. He suggested I break into the apartment and start removing things before the family arrived. For several minutes I didn’t understand, then—evidence. He hadn’t told his family and it didn’t seem right to tell them now, to suggest that they didn’t really know him. I drove in the darkness between the accident and dawn. I climbed through the window. I couldn’t figure which things looked suspicious and which things would be missed. I was sloppy, rushed. I grabbed the wrong sheet music. It was a piece that had already been performed. A few days after Christmas there was a memorial. I sat in the back. As part of his speech, his father mentioned the missing music and made an appeal for its return. I couldn’t give it back. On New Year’s Eve, in a black velvet jacket, at a party in the lobby of a downtown hotel, with a drink in each hand—one for him, one for me—I kept asking where he was, if anyone had seen him. I had his passport in my back pocket. I shouldn’t have taken that either. It was the only picture of him I could find.

—Richard Siken, Cover Story, published in Pithead Chapel

#lit #poetry #richard siken #pithead chapel

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scifigeneration · 7 months ago

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Blade Runner soundtrack at 30: how Vangelis used electronic music to explore what it means to be human

by Alison Cole, Composer and Lecturer in Screen Composition, Sydney Conservatorium of Music at the University of Sydney

In June 1994 the late composer Evangelos Odysseas Papathanassiou – better known as Vangelis – released his soundtrack for the 1982 film Blade Runner. It would go on to become emblematic of his skills, with only a handful of soundtracks reaching a similar level of cult status.

Prior to this, sci-fi film scores tended to be characterised by orchestral sound palettes. For instance, John Williams’ 1991 Star Wars soundtrack leaned on the London Symphony Orchestra to communicate the vastness of a galaxy far, far away.

Vangelis, on the other hand, used an electronic approach to bring a subtlety and complexity that shifted the focus inwards. His ability to communicate deep emotion, alongside expansive philosophical concepts, was perhaps his greatest achievement with Blade Runner.

Missing pieces

Director Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner was adapted from Phillip K. Dick’s 1968 sci-fi novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? – which itself was a thoughtful examination��of empathy and what it means to be human. The emotional gravitas of the original story, along with Vangelis’ accompanying timbral exploration, created an aural experience that was new to sci-fi films at the time.

Vangelis began work on the score in 1981. He received edited footage scene-by-scene on VHS tapes and created live takes in his studio with his synthesiser collection.

However, the first official soundtrack was delayed some 12 years after the film’s release, due to what was reportedly an ongoing disagreement with producers.

When it finally was released, purists viewed it as more of an album than a soundtrack. They criticised it for not having much of the music used in the original film, and for including pieces that never appeared in the film, such as Main Titles and Blush Response.

While the 2007 version (a 25th anniversary edition) included some unreleased material, parts of the original soundtrack remain unreleased even today.

A symmetry between newness and nostalgia

By emphasising longer drawn out notes, rather than thick instrumental combinations, Vangelis thoughtfully taps into the atmosphere of Scott’s visual world to create something truly unique.

Early sci-fi movies such as Forbidden Planet (1956) and The Day The Earth Stood Still (1951) often used electronic instruments developed in the early to mid-1900s, such as the theremin and the modular synthesiser. While these instruments helped augment concepts such as aliens, spaceships and robots, they did this somewhat simplistically.

A more sophisticated perspective pervades through Blade Runner, which combines film-noir instrumentation with classical, electronic, jazz and Middle Eastern music genres.

Specifically, Vangelis leverages the different sound qualities of synthesisers – such as bright and airy, thin and cold, or dark and thick – to at once capture emotion and highlight the complex ideas in the film’s narrative. In the final act, expansive synths dominate as the film reaches an intellectual and emotional climax.

While the synthesisers lend an artificial timbre to the score, the musicality simultaneously communicates life and feeling. In this way the foreign and familiar became enmeshed.

The film’s retro costuming and brutalist architecture also set up an expectation for the soundtrack. At times, the score will meaningfully go against this expectation by delving into a more nostalgic sound. The track Love Theme is a perfect example.

Innovative takes

Vangelis’ innovative use of dialogue in the soundtrack also helped to translate the complexities of the human condition. The tracks Main Titles, Blush Response, Wait for Me and Tears in Rain all feature dialogue in a way that makes them feel like a part of the film’s DNA.

The soundtrack’s arrangement was also uncommon for its time, as it mirrored the action narrative sequence. Tracks 1 through 4 are mixed as a single ongoing track. Tracks 5 through 7 are separated by silence, while tracks 8 through to 12 are also combined into a single piece. While this technique is common in electronic composition now, it was unique at the time.

The films dark, fraught and sad dystopian themes are further highlighted through collaborations with Welsh singer Mary Hopkins in Rachel’s Song, and Greek singer Demis Roussos in Tales of the Future.

Today, the Blade Runner soundtrack remains the most beloved of Vangelis’ works by his ardent fans – and it continues to commands its place in the 20th-century electronic music canon.

#movies #art #science fiction #cyberpunk #movie soundtrack #Blade Runner #Vangelis #sounds like science fiction #electronic music

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thevulturesquadron · 9 months ago

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Hello! 👋 Could you list some of the best comic books that explore the Rogue/ Magneto relationship?

Hey there!!! 👩‍🚀 Oh gosh! With pleasure! I might be a bit rusty because I haven’t gone through older Marvel comic books in a while and also because I am not up to date with the recent years of X-Men comics BUT there are still a couple of issues that are very dear to me when it comes to Rogue & Magneto, so happy to share:

It all started in the year 1981:

1. Uncanny X-Men #269 ; Uncanny X-Men #274 & Uncanny X-Men #275 (1981, Written by Chris Claremont) [The story is pretty self-contained to these 3 issues and it all starts with Rogue realising that her Ms. Marvel powers are gone and Carol Danvers somehow has her own body now. (a very simplified context of what was going on in that era with the X-Men) I absolutely love Rogue in these issues. She has sass and personality, and she still carries a lot of her energy from the 80s.]

2. X -Men Volume 2 (Issues #1 - #3) - (1991, Chris Claremont) [They meet again after the events in the Savage Land, now on opposite sides.]

3. Magneto Rex: Issues #1- #3 - (1999, Joe Pruett) [This miniseries… is a bit weird and needs some context. It’s at a time where Marvel really wanted to have Magneto return to his evil ways and be a villain for the X-Men (regardless if it made sense or not). Not one of my favourites and generally can live without but it’s a ‘next stop’ in their interactions, so adding it to the list.]

4. Then we have X-Men Legacy! ( 2008, Mike Carey) [This one is a chonker, and to make things worse it is connected with other series running at the same time. It has pieces of Rogue and Magneto through the entire run but all in all, the story sees them reunite under the same team in Utopia (starting with Legacy #231). The full run of Legacy can be difficult to follow up on but if you have the time, it’s really worth it. It’s also the first story in YEARS where Rogue is allowed to shine and do her own thing. If you need a more detailed list of what issues are really worth reading, in what order and what is happening in between them let me know and will be happy to write down a breakdown!]

5. Memorable mentions in the main series: There are quite a few tiny bits about them in the comic books but here’s a list of issues that give more context to how they interact and how they feel about each other:

a. Marvel Fanfare #33 - (1982, Chris Claremont. I love Rogue in this one and it’s such a nice example of what a good and powerful duo they can make. Something that is later explored in Legacy as well. b. Legacy #223 (during Rogue’s journey to control her powers) we have a glimpse of how she remembers and sees Magneto’s presence in her life. c. Magneto #10 (2014, Cullen Bunn) - Similarly, a glimpse into Magneto’s mind on how he remembers Rogue and the impact their connection in the Savage Land had on him. d. Mr & Mrs X #6 (2019) - there is a page between Rogue and Magneto where, in all that mess, at least Magneto’s honest feelings for her and his care for her happiness shine through.

And last but not least, Age of Apocalypse. [This is a completely separate timeline that the comic books liked to visit from time to time. In this universe Rogue and Magneto are pretty much in love and married but… it’s a very tragic universe. Original series started in 1995; then it got revisited in 2005 and again in 2015… I think? The series… is far from perfect, there are so many things that can be described as unhinged (dialogue included) but, there is so much love for these two characters and I absolutely recommend it if you are ok with investing some time into reading it, and most of all if you are ready for a real heart break (again and again).]

Hope this helps! Happy to go into more details or put aside a cleaner list if interested! 💜

There are a couple other mentions in the comics so in case I missed something important I will summon one of the gods of endless knowledge when it comes to X-Men to correct or add to the list: @maedelin

#rogue #magneto #erik lehnsherr #x men #anna marie #rogneto #rogueneto #mavel #comics!!!#yes!#hope the list doesn't look like a mess #anna marie adler #textpost

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porcelainbirdss · 5 months ago

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those summer nights ⋆·˚ ༘ * kuroo tetsurou

kuroo tetsurou x f!reader

content warning: serious topics, health issues, enemies to lovers shenanigans continue, small misunderstandings

ch. two - "a bowl of spice." ↓

second of july, 1991.

shuffling sound of paper could be heard inside the living room as kuroo leisurely turned the pages of some old magazine. he managed to dig it up from his grandmother’s cabinet, somehow.

he smirked at a picture of a cat, it’s muzzle twisting in a mischievous way, appearing as if the feline was sneering at him from the yellowed paper. he was totally engrossed in reading - uh, actually, he didn’t even know what he was reading.

comprehending the words on pages was still a challenge for kuroo. well, at least the lines weren’t blurring into each other now. it was a good sign of well-deserved rest.

earlier on, whenever the man tried picking up a book (because sitting on the couch half-awake, half-knocked out was pretty dull) the letters would always dance around before his eyes. it looked as if the whole alphabet had a blast, mocking him.

no matter how much he missed reading, it was simply impossible when the book reminded him of just how sick his mind was. so obviously, the moment he could once again make out words without having to squint at the page, he was beyond thrilled.

he reached for the last piece of cantaloupe on his plate, quickly devouring the sweet snack before getting up and tidying after himself. leaving the magazine behind, he washed all of the utensils in the sink, later wiping his hands with a cloth.

honestly, kuroo hadn’t felt so refreshed in years. even though he only slept for four hours, which objectively wasn’t much. he internally thanked his parents who proposed the idea of moving to the countryside. they were rarely helpful, but he had to admit he was filled with gratitude. both to them and his grandmother.

his eyes trailed over the wall, searching for something to hang his attention on. finally, he stopped on the clock, it’s hands indicating it was around 2pm. that meant the dinner would be ready soon. he even offered help with making it, but his grandmother denied, explaining that y/n would be bringing them food today.

the black-haired man was pretty perplexed by that, but decided not to inquire further. sometimes people just make portions of their food way too big, and would like to share it with others. or… whatever the reason was.

truth be told, kuroo had mixed feelings about the woman. yes, she was kind to his grandma. at the same time, y/n seemed almost hellbent on making him have a rough time here. it wasn’t exactly spiteful, she just— well. she just liked annoying him.

when kuroo got up at roughly 6am, he wanted to bask in the morning sun for a while. thinking nothing of it, he walked out on a balcony, and after two minutes she was already there. y/n started bombarding him with questions. "why are you here?", "shouldn’t you be asleep?", "oh, you surely got scared by the owl noises, didn’t you?", and so on.

he didn’t indulge her, as he had no strength for such bicker in the morning. where did she even get all of that energy? he knew some people of her kind, but still. it was just too much for that early of an hour.

swimming in his reveries, kuroo sat down by the table, his eyebrows unconsciously scrunching up.

on one hand, the man wished for y/n to stop budging him. on the other one, he wanted to get to know her better as well. ugh, why was she occupying his brain so much? was his mind really having fists of delirium?

suddenly, a sound of footsteps and cheerful chatter broke the silence, making him perk up from his slouched position on the chair.

y/n and his grandmother were already here. he got up from his seat, arriving by the door where the two of them were standing and conversing about something his ears failed to grasp fully.

when his gaze suddenly locked with y/n’s, he immediately sensed something was up. he just didn’t know what it was. a sense of tangible unease ran down his spine, as he held back a sour expression.

"good day, kuroo. are you enjoying yourself so far?", she offered him a small smile. it was hard to tell whether it was feigned or not. knowing y/n, it probably was.

"oh, i’m doing just fine," he responded with equally polite tone before spotting the dishes resting in her arms, "want me to help you carrying those?" he offered, already reaching towards the girl.

"no need. everything’s fine," y/n assured, as she took off her shoes, "after all, this is a welcome dinner for you. i spent the whole noon making it."

what? a welcome dinner?

kuroo blinked twice, thinking that maybe his mind was playing tricks on him again. was the girl standing in front of him y/n, or was she someone else? realizing that he was staring for way too long, kuroo quickly cleared his throat. his honeyed eyes fixated on his grandmother, seeking answers.

"see? y/n is such a kind girl. she worried about you so much!" the older woman chuckled warmly, "she stormed into our house when you were upstairs, gushing that she wanted to give you a welcoming gift! so i told her - why not make dinner?"

the man nodded slowly. huh. perhaps he misjudged her character, and she was just kind of… obnoxiously oblivious? or had trouble getting along with strangers. maybe both.

y/n’s smile faltered slightly for unknown reasons. the girl waved her hand dismissively, saying it was nothing. she scurried to the kitchen, swiftly placing everything on the table. her nimble fingers managed to unwrap the bowls with record speed, as she ushered everyone towards her.

warm, pleasant smell quickly filled the room, spreading across every corner. kuroo measured his portion with an uncertain expression. in comparison to others, this one looked… slightly off. his eyes unfocused as he pondered whether he should point it out.

finally deciding against it, he returned to the present time, grabbing his chopsticks.

as they began to eat, the man suddenly felt it.

his eyes teared up, and he spotted y/n looking at him with anticipation, her brows just slightly furrowed. just what was this hellish thing?

"so, how did i do?" her innocent voice rang by his ear, making him feel mad.

he could only imagine the girl throwing in as much cayenne and chili as she could, snickering under her nose as her 'welcoming dinner' took a deep burgundy tint, changing into something only a maniac of spice could handle.

"it’s very good, y/n. what do you think kuroo?", his grandmother asked, swallowing the food.

he knew that the girl only wished to see his face contorting in pain, as he ran around the kitchen like a beheaded chicken, screaming for a glass of milk and whatnot. he couldn’t give her this satisfaction, not today.

"tasty. though i think it lacks in spice." he responded, coating his words in a forced, sweet tone.

the mere irony of his sentence made y/n somewhat taken aback, her cordial expression falling just a bit. "i’ll keep that in mind, kuroo. next time, i’ll add extra pepper just for you."

the three of them continued to eat, though kuroo already felt his insides beginning to actually turn to ashes. sweat dripped down his temples as he tried to hold back any signs that could betray his miserable state. the idle chatter of two women somehow distracted him from the stinging sensation, but everybody has their limits, right?

suddenly, he felt a tap on the shoulder. he looked up from his bowl, only to see his grandmother examining him with a concerned look.

"dear, are you feeling okay? do you have a fever?"

the man strained his face muscles to form something akin to a smile, "i’m perfectly fine. it’s just… a little hot in here." with that, he sent a quick, resentful glance towards y/n, who surprisingly held no humor in her expression.

minutes stretched on. he was so close to taking his final bite, and yet, the chopsticks started to feel heavy in his palm.

unfortunately, before he could fulfill his dream of ruining y/n’s unfunny joke, something within him snapped. he slowly got up, excusing himself. he started walking towards the bathroom, his peaceful stroll quickly breaking into a sprint. both y/n and his grandmother looked at each other with shock.

when he reached his destination, he instantly latched onto the tap, washing out his mouth with cold water. he heaved, splashing his face. his eyes met with his own reflection, and he looked like some kind of marathon runner. blush was covering the entirety of his face, plus he was dripping with sweat.

he examined the mirror more closely, losing focus in his eyes. he should be angry. normally, he’d be fuming, alas it wasn’t happening. instead of that, an oddly familiar, yet at the same time foreign feeling arose in his guts.

he felt… alive?

looking back, the only time he appeared and acted like that was in past. on the volleyball court, his heart was filled with emotion, mind sharp like a blade. thinking of it, insomnia took that away, replacing it all with anguish and suffering.

it was terrifying. knowing that no matter how hard he clawed at the past, it would not come back to him. right now it seemed to return in a different shape, but still the same. even if only for a few minutes.

however weird it seemed, kuroo was glad about everything that just unfolded. still, when he snapped back into reality, he couldn’t help but feel a little silly.

"why am i acting like a fool over a bowl of extremely spicy food?" he muttered, still looking into his own eyes.

with a sigh, he shook off the water clinging to his face and hair. laughing about his own stupidity, he took a deep breath, finally walking back to the kitchen. the man was instantly met by his worried grandmother, asking him whether he was okay and what happened. it’s not everyday someone hurries to the bathroom like that.

kuroo chuckled, wiping his wet forehead with the vermillion shirt he had on. his focus landed on the girl who was still sat by the table, studying him with a curious look. there was no malice behind her eyes. seeing his abnormally wide grin, she involuntarily smiled back.

"you know what, y/n? i changed my mind. next time without the extra spice."

second of july, 11:27 pm.

one thing kuroo hated most about insomnia was how unfair the illness could be. he took a big step forward- now he had to take two steps back.

putting it simply: he couldn’t sleep. again.

the man cradled his face, resting his tired head in the comfort of his palms. he repeated every single step from yesterday, and yet, he felt more awake than ever before. maybe it was a good sign? still, the clarity of his mind was quickly fogged by feeling of impending doom.

anxieties tended to pay him regular visits. often in the middle of the night, when all he could do was stare at the ceiling. 'what if i won’t be able to sleep normally ever again?' or 'am i gonna waste my whole life?'.

kuroo rarely shed any tears, but having something ripped away from him just by a stupid sleeping disorder was usually a fatal punch. big dreams and promising future always appeared before him painted in vibrant colors. as of now, the vision was nothing but a blurred canvas, as if somebody took a big brush and smudged everything together, creating a grayish stain.

and right now he truly felt like crying.

he heaved, curling his fingers into fists as first waterworks of tonight started to slowly trail down his cheeks. if anybody saw him in that state, he would probably crumble into the ground, or transform into a stone statue.

quietly he prayed to whoever was listening for at least an hour of sleep. however, kuroo’s leg was still bouncing, and his heart rate seemed as irregular and fast like always. ''tomorrow will be better'', he muttered to himself, ''i’ll sleep for full six hours. i’ll—"

before he managed to spiral down, a low knocking sound came from his left. the man immediately wiped his face, drying off the tears with his sheets. shit, his grandmother was here. he pulled himself up from the bed and quickly opened the door, plastering a wide grin on his face.

"grandma. did something happen?" he inquired in a trained, steady voice.

the older woman studied his face for a prolonged second, and kuroo almost thought she spotted his damp eyes. fortunately, she either didn’t notice or decided to ignore that for his own sake.

"no," the corners of her lips curled up, "i just wanted to check up on you. you seemed absentminded the whole supper."

that much was right. after y/n departed, the whole house suddenly appeared to submerge itself in unnatural silence. the constant burning in his throat stopped, and he was once again left with his own (rather grim) thoughts that sometimes occupied the man’s mind, especially when he had nothing to do. speaking more precisely - had no one to bicker with.

"i’m fine, really. is this the only reason why’re you still up, grandma? it’s late." his smile eased into something less forced, taken aback by the amount of worry his grandmother nurtured towards him.

"oh, you know, kuroo…" she began, "i tried going to sleep, but you kept me up. it pains me to see you like this."

the black-haired man’s jaw clenched. he didn’t know, but the older woman was more perceptive than one could imagine. she always thought about his oddly pale skin, and the bags under his eyes that seemed etched into his youthful face. how his hands shook whenever he reached for something. the worn expression he carried on when he thought no one was looking. constant sighing.

she pitied him, aware of the fact that he internally suffered.

"you shouldn’t worry too much. it’s unhealthy." kuroo said in a hushed tone, "everything’s alright," he reassured, "but thank you for checking up anyway, grandma."

concern was still visible on her face, but the older one settled on letting go of the topic for now. she wished him a goodnight and slowly departed back to her bedroom.

kuroo was now left alone once again, but didn’t feel like continuing his crying session. instead, he shut the door close and decided to clear his head with some fresh night air. he stepped out on a balcony, at first failing to notice the silhouette standing on the opposite side.

and perhaps y/n wasn’t aware of his presence either. she was leaning on the barrier, her nightgown gently swaying in the warm, but hardly noticeable breeze. the woman appeared to be deep in thought, her gaze pointed towards the forested mountains. a singular cough ripped from her chest. it was weird seeing her like that, almost intrusive in a way. she always gave off that feeling of being on high alert, hyper-aware of her surrounds.

"hey." kuroo mindlessly called out to her, realizing only after the sound left his mouth, that he should probably bask in the serene tranquility rather than start another word fight with y/n.

at that, the girl practically snapped her neck in his direction. caught off guard, she blinked twice before acknowledging who exactly was the source of the voice.

"hi." she responded, her posture stiffening noticeably.

a beat of awkward silence washed over them, rendering the two unmoving. god, kuroo’s mind went totally blank. he had no clue what to say. fortunately before the situation became unbearably cumbersome, a questionable idea sparkled in his mind.

"that prank you pulled on me earlier was dumb, did you know that?" he started, the man’s eyes glinting with tangible mischief.

y/n immediately perked up, roses starting to bloom on her cheeks. she closed the long distance between them, jogging up closer to where he was standing.

"the hell you mean?" she squealed, pointing her index finger at kuroo, "i don’t recall doing anything like that!" her tone was agitated enough to rile him up as well.

"you don’t recall the damn bowl of pure spice you gave me for dinner?" he clicked his tongue, lifting up his eyebrows, "don’t play stupid, y/n. i know you’re smarter than that."

hearing his words, the woman paused for a second. her mouth opened and shut, as if she was mulling over whatever she should say. finally, with a reclusive grunt, she started to mutter under her nose.

"you know… actually it was an accident," she began, breaking her gaze away from kuroo’s eyes, "i just— ugh. when i was making your portion, the sauce bottle slipped from my hand and-," y/n stopped for a second, probably contemplating whether she should continue or not, "and it just spilled inside the pot!"

what?

at that revelation, kuroo’s lips lifted up, and before he knew it, he busted out laughing. he crossed his arms, bursts of uncontrollable laughter piercing through the still night’s air.

it was ridiculous, really. for some unknown reason, the vision of y/n accidentally dropping the bottle was unbelievably amusing to him. it probably wasn’t even that funny, but he couldn’t stop his sounds of joy. again, blame everything on his tired mind.

corners of the girl’s lips also curled up, and she couldn’t help but quietly chuckle along.

"hey, stop laughing!" y/n protested in a wounded tone, but the grin on her face betrayed her true feelings, "i mean, what was i supposed to do? i didn’t want to make your grandmother wait, so i just… kinda prayed that you’re a spice fan, or something like that."

kuroo sighed deeply, trying to calm himself down. he ran his fingers through his dark locks, voicing a pleased hum. oh, how nice it is to laugh so deeply you can feel your stomach hurting and tears threatening to spill from your eyes. he shook his head, finally putting an end to his giggling.

"so… you’re basically saying that you genuinely wanted to give me something? and that whole 'welcome dinner' thing wasn’t just made up as an excuse to pull a mean joke on me?" he questioned, drilling his intrigued gaze into the woman.

at that, she seemed to get even more frustrated. y/n wanted to protest, but ultimately forced herself to stay truthful.

"i mean—! uh, well. maybe?", she stumbled over her own words, "but don’t take it the wrong way. i still don’t like you!"

she gripped the barrier harder, making her knuckles go white. her first impression of kuroo was… bad. she remembered it clearly, as it was only yesterday. when the girl crouched in order to unpack her bag, she noticed that he still had his shoes on, even though he was already inside the house.

then, he began ogling her. instead of a simple introduction, he choose to gawk at her as if she was a ghost or something. it was simply impolite.

finally, he didn’t even offer to help his grandmother with taking the basket along with jars to the kitchen. he was built as if moving stones was no effort for him, and yet he stood frozen like a lost child.

that enough detail was all it took for her to form a certain amount of disdain towards kuroo. alas, later on she realized that her judgement of his character might have been wrong.

when y/n lied sprawled out on her bed, time of the clock showing around 10am, a certain memory struck her. she suddenly remembered the man’s grandmother saying something about her grandson moving in, and that he was sick. she didn’t disclose what the illness was, but mumbled about 'how serious', or 'how dangerous' it’s nature was.

the reason as to why kuroo was acting so spaced-out wasn’t because he was an airhead.

he was simply sick.

after y/n puzzled the pieces together, she felt awfully guilty for treating him so poorly. in order to make up for it, she conjured the idea of a welcoming gift. unfortunately for her, it turned out to be a disaster. well, at least she tried, right?

she wished she could admit that she actually didn’t mind kuroo. the woman enjoyed his presence, as it wasn’t too overbearing, or anything. he could be… agreeable. sometimes.

yet, now it seemed too late to back out from their constant bicker, so she just stuck with it.

kuroo noticed that y/n lost her train of thought, suddenly becoming quiet. he nodded slowly, leaning over the barrier in order to support his heavy body.

"why do you dislike me anyway?" he asked in a hushed voice, hoping for an answer. in his mind, the man didn’t do anything wrong or insulting towards her, so her negative feelings seemed unjustified.

the girl snapped back to reality, her gaze suddenly turning antagonistic. she swished her head to the right, an unpleasant frown growing onto her face.

"i think that’s where our discussion ends. have a good night." y/n replied curtly, swiftly turning back and walking into her room before loudly shutting the balcony door.

huh.

kuroo definitely didn’t expect that sort of a reaction. they were getting along just fine a while ago, laughing together and talking with ease. so what changed during those few seconds? he gritted his teeth, watching y/n closing the curtains from behind the glass.

maybe the girl was just like his insomnia. you take a step forward, now you have to take one back. for now he decided not to think about it too much.

he let out a prolonged sigh, feeling that his body demanded sleep. whether he could grant it was a mystery for him.

the man dragged his feet inside, closing the door as well. he plopped down onto his bed, soon finding out that him and rest weren’t destined together for now.

🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐 🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐 🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚

notes: y/n in this story sometimes acts unreasonably or on a whim. perhaps she’s scared of being vulnerable?

anyway, i’m aware that this chapter turned out to be very long and i hope i didn’t bore you all to death. i’m afraid this might turn out to be a slowburn lmfaoooo (let’s hope not). also also!! THANK YOU SO, SO MUCH for all the likes and everything. i am extremely grateful <333

#haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #kuroo testuro #kuroo x you #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo fluff #hq kuroo

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lisasooyaa · 2 years ago

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mochiflxwer’s miss beloved design based on the piece ‘Temptation Muse’ by Ichiro Tsuruta (1991)

#ranboo #ranboo fanart #miss beloved

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daddiesdrarryy · 2 years ago

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*September 1st, 1991*

Narcissa: Someone is calling us through the Floo

Lucius: I’ll answer it

Lucius: Hello?

Draco, crying: I WANT TO GO HOME!

Narcissa: Draco? What’s wrong?

Draco: Potter rejected my friendship!

Lucius: Oh no, do you want me to come there? Give that boy a piece of my mind?

Draco: I hate him now

Narcissa: Surely something wrong must have happened

Lucius: Nonsense, that dense boy has no clue what he missed out on, being our son’s friend

Narcissa: Your father’s right, Draco, he will talk to Harry’s parents soon

Lucius: Wait, what?

Narcissa: You just said—

Lucius: Yeah, I didn’t mean I could go up to that man and tell him that our son has an *whisper* obsession…with their son, and now he’s crying on the first day of school because the Potter boy didn’t want to be his friend

Narcissa: You’re his father

Lucius: Can’t I just buy him a new broom instead?

Narcissa: …

Lucius: …

Lucius: All right, I’ll Floo them

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priafey · 5 months ago

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people are always so surprised when i list reggae as one of the two genres that had the most influence on goth music (the other being post-punk). Despite "Bela Lugosi's Dead" being the clearest and most well-known example of reggae's influence on this genre, this is the song i usually show them as an example, because the influence here is subtle enough that you can miss it, if you don't know what to look for:

youtube

[from 1986]

listen closely to the drum, especially after 0:40. you can hear the counterpoint (i think that's the right word in english? in spanish i know it as 'tumbao') that sets the rhythm for the whole song. it's a call-and-response kind of percussion (subtly syncopated), where two distinct parts seem to play off each other (by cutting each other off) to construct and maintain it. put simply, it kind of sounds like two 'halves' of a drum are in conversation. but they act as one.

listening to any Jamaican dub song (like this piece from 1976) makes it clear where goth music drew inspiration from in its beginnings. the deep, rich bass, the counterpoint of the drums, the slow tempo, the broody, melancholic sound of it. most or all of these elements from dub carried over to reggae, and were subsequently taken and infused into post-punk, new wave, gothic rock, darkwave, etc etc.

just listen to this (starting from the 2:50 mark)...

youtube

[from 1984]

...and the leap from the Jamaican dub song linked above to this one by The Danse Society suddenly doesn't seem so huge.

here's a different song from much later, where the influence from reggae is undeniable just from listening to the first few seconds:

youtube

[from 1991]

and a much more recent song:

youtube

[from 2023]

here the drum machine and the guitar take center stage, and have a more on-beat, unbroken sound, but you can still make out the bass being "in conversation" with itself in the background (same with the hazy synth that starts in at 0:27).

(i should note this sort of inter-dependent call-and-response is not unique to dub or reggae, or even to the West African music that serves as their foundation (though some would argue the expression of it through percussive instruments is). it can also be found in South Indian ragas (or ragaams) and Tuvan throat singing, for instance.)

#the Jamaican dub song is Kunta Kinte by The Revolutionaries btw #any amendments or objections to what i've stated here are more than welcome. i'm not trained in musical theory‚ i just like Sounds #goth #goth music #gothic rock #post punk #darkwave #reggae #sansgwilie

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aliveandfullofjoy · 2 years ago

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95th Academy Awards: Oscars Trivia!

Another torturously long awards season is over! A24's highest-grossing film ever, Everything Everywhere All at Once, defied almost every piece of popular wisdom about the Academy Awards and easily cleared every hurdle in its path to a blowout, historic Best Picture win.

As you probably know, I'm a sucker for Oscar trivia, and this year has plenty of juicy nuggets to dig into. Let's get to it, starting with our newest Best Picture winner.

Everything Everywhere All at Once is the third film in Oscar history to win three of the four acting categories, after A Streetcar Named Desire (1951) and Network (1976). All three films won Best Actress and Best Supporting Actress. Everything Everywhere All at Once is the only film of the three that managed to win Best Picture.

Michelle Yeoh is the first Malaysian actress, first Asian actress, and second woman of color to win Best Actress. This is only the thirteenth time that Best Actress and Best Picture have overlapped in the 95-year history of the Oscars. Yeoh's nomination made her the first Asian actress nominated for the award since 1935. The only other is Merle Oberon, who hid her Asian identity in life and passed as white.

Everything Everywhere All at Once is the first science-fiction film to win Best Picture.

Everything Everywhere All at Once is the first Best Picture winner with a woman of color (Michelle Yeoh) in the lead role.

Having opened in theaters in late March 2022 (the same weekend of the 94th Academy Awards), Everything Everywhere All at Once is the Best Picture winner with the earliest calendar release since The Silence of the Lambs, which opened Valentine's Day 1991.

Everything Everywhere All at Once is the third Best Picture winner with a majority non-white cast (after 2016's Moonlight and 2019's Parasite) and the first American film with a majority Asian cast.

Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert (Everything Everywhere All at Once) are the third directing team to win Best Director, joining Jerome Robbins and Robert Wise (West Side Story, 1961) and Joel Coen and Ethan Coen (No Country for Old Men, 2007). Kwan is also the fourth Asian director (and first Asian-American) to win Best Director.

Everything Everywhere All at Once is the first movie in 95 years of Oscars history to win six(!) so-called "above the line" awards -- referring to Best Picture, Director, the four acting categories, and the two writing categories.

Everything Everywhere All at Once is the first film to sweep the four primary guild awards (Producers Guild, Directors Guild, Writers Guild, and Screen Actors Guild) since Argo (2012), and only the fifth overall.

Some crazy coincidences between Michelle Yeoh and her Best Actress presenter Halle Berry: in addition to currently being the only two women of color to win Best Actress, they are also both former Bond girls (Yeoh in Tomorrow Never Dies [1997], Berry in Die Another Day [2002], both with Pierce Brosnan). Additionally, both women are former contestants of the Miss World pageant: Berry represented the United States in 1986, while Yeoh represented Malaysia in 1983. Also, in a weird case of history rhyming, both Berry and Yeoh won over a previous Oscar-winner in a film directed by Todd Field (Sissy Spacek in In the Bedroom in 2001, Cate Blanchett in TÁR in 2022).

With four wins, All Quiet on the Western Front tied with Parasite (2019), Roma (2018), Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000), and Fanny and Alexander (1982) as the most-rewarded non-English language films in Oscars history.

This is also the second time that Cate Blanchett has won a Golden Globe, a BAFTA, and a Critics Choice Award for a performance, only to lose the Oscar to the lead of the Best Picture winner. The other time this happened was the year another comedy won seven Oscars: Shakespeare in Love. Blanchett, who was nominated for Elizabeth that year, lost to Gwyneth Paltrow.

TÁR brought Blanchett her eighth Oscar nomination, tying her as the fourth most-nominated actress in Oscar history. Only Bette Davis (10), Katharine Hepburn (12), and Meryl Streep (21) are ahead of her.

TÁR is only director Todd Field's third feature (after 2001's In the Bedroom and 2006's Little Children), but all three of his films have gotten Best Actress nominations for their leads.

Blanchett has also extended her record as the Oscar-nominated actress with the most appearances in films nominated for Best Picture. With TÁR, she has now appeared in 10 Best Picture nominees.

Tom Hanks (who turned in one of the weirdest performances ever caught on film in Elvis) also crossed the 10 Best Picture appearance threshold with this year's nominations. The only nominated actor with more Best Picture appearances is Jack Nicholson, who's been in 11.

This year's nominations saw a record-breaking number of Asian actors nominated: Yeoh in Best Actress, Ke Huy Quan (Everything Everywhere All at Once) in Best Supporting Actor, and Hong Chau (The Whale) and Stephanie Hsu (Everything Everywhere All at Once) in Best Supporting Actress. Yeoh and Quan won, marking the first time multiple Asian actors have won in a single ceremony.

Hong Chau (The Whale) is the first Oscar-nominated actor to be born in a refugee camp.

This year also saw a record number of Irish actors nominated in a single year, with five: Colin Farrell (The Banshees of Inisherin) and Paul Mescal (Aftersun) in Best Actor, Brendan Gleeson and Barry Keoghan (both from The Banshees of Inisherin) in Best Supporting Actor, and Kerry Condon (again, The Banshees of Inisherin) in Best Supporting Actress.

It was a banner year for Ireland in other categories, too, with nominations in Best Live Action Short (An Irish Goodbye, which won the award) and in Best International Feature (The Quiet Girl, the first Irish-language film ever nominated for an Oscar).

With his win in the Supporting Actor category, Quan became only the second Asian actor to win that award, joining the late Haing S. Ngor, who won for his debut performance in The Killing Fields (1984).

All five of the nominees for Best Actor -- Austin Butler (Elvis), Colin Farrell (The Banshees of Inisherin), Brendan Fraser (The Whale), Paul Mescal (Aftersun), and Bill Nighy (Living) -- were first-time nominees. This is the first time this has happened in this category since 1934(!!!).

It was a huge year for first-time nominees across all four acting categories: 16(!) of the 20 actors nominated were first-timers. This is the most ever in a single year. The only actors with previous nominations were Cate Blanchett, Angela Bassett, Judd Hirsch, and Michelle Williams.

Jamie Lee Curtis (Everything Everywhere All at Once) is the third person to be nominated for an Oscar after both of her parents were nominated as well: her father Tony Curtis was nominated for The Defiant Ones (1958), while her mother Janet Leigh was nominated for Psycho (1960). The other sets of nominated parents and children are Liza Minnelli (with parents Judy Garland and Vincente Minnelli) and Laura Dern (with parents Diane Ladd and Bruce Dern). Minnelli, Dern, and Curtis all won acting Oscars.

With his performance in The Whale, Brendan Fraser became the first person to win Best Actor for a film not nominated for Best Picture since Jeff Bridges in Crazy Heart (2009).

This is also the first time since 2005 that all four acting winners were first-time nominees. Additionally, none of the four acting winners won in their category at the BAFTAs, which has never happened before.

With his Best Supporting Actor nomination, Judd Hirsch (The Fabelmans) broke the record for the longest gap between acting nominations: he was last nominated 42 years ago for Ordinary People (1980). The record previously belonged to Henry Fonda, who had a 41-year gap between nods.

In addition to being the first actor ever nominated for a performance in a Marvel movie, Angela Bassett (Black Panther: Wakanda Forever) also became the fourth Black actress to be nominated more than once. She joined Viola Davis, Whoopi Goldberg, and Octavia Spencer.

The Fabelmans is the first movie to win the Golden Globe for Best Picture - Drama to go home emptyhanded at the Oscars since The Turning Point (1977[!]). In fact, this is the first time ever that both Golden Globe Best Picture winners (The Fabelmans in Drama, The Banshees of Inisherin in Comedy) went home with zero Oscars.

2022 had some other similarities with 1977, too: this was the first year since 1977 that two films (Everything Everywhere All at Once and The Banshees of Inisherin in 2022, Julia and The Turning Point in 1977) got four individual acting nominations. Both years saw comedies win Best Picture and Best Actress (Annie Hall in 1977), and both years had a sci-fi blockbuster nominated in Best Picture (Star Wars and Avatar: The Way of Water).

Ana de Armas (Blonde) became the second actor nominated for playing Marilyn Monroe, which is more Oscars than Monroe herself was ever nominated for. She was nominated in Best Actress alongside Michelle Williams (The Fabelmans), the other actress nominated for playing the star (in 2011's My Week with Marilyn).

De Armas also became the fifth Latina nominated for Best Actress, joining Fernanda Montenegro, Salma Hayek, Catalina Sandino Moreno, and Yalitza Aparicio. She is also the second Cuban actor ever nominated, after Andy Garcia.

With her win for Black Panther: Wakanda Forever, legendary costume designer Ruth Carter became the first Black woman to win two Oscars — ever.

Only Austin Butler and Ana de Armas were nominated for playing historical figures this year. Weirdly, both Elvis and Blonde feature actor Xavier Samuel in small roles. What does it mean?

At 34 minutes long, The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse is the longest Best Animated Short winner ever.

In addition to being the first song from an Indian film to be nominated for and win the Oscar for Best Song, "Naatu Naatu" (RRR) is the fourth non-English language winner of that award, after "Never on Sunday" (1960, originally performed in Greek), "Al otro lado del río" (2004, in Spanish), and "Jai Ho" (2008, in Hindi, Urdu, and Punjabi). "Naatu Naatu" is in Telugu.

It was the year of the sequel: between Avatar: The Way of Water and Top Gun: Maverick, this marked the first time multiple sequels were nominated in Best Picture in the same year. Black Panther: Wakanda Forever and Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery also received major nominations.

Avatar and Top Gun also marked the first time since 1982 that the two highest-grossing films of the year were both nominated for Best Picture.

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