#very finest discoveries

[vfdinthewild]

"Various fungal diseases potentially attack lilac foliage, often appearing as brown or dark spots or irregular areas that may be accompanied by a yellowing or browning of a lager leaf surface area and sometimes leaf drop."

-from this forum answer on lilac care

[blueiscoool]

Breathtaking New Frescoes Found at Pompeii

Stunning Roman frescoes have been uncovered by archeologists in Pompeii, the ancient city destroyed by an eruption of the volcano Mount Vesuvius in the year 79 AD. Experts say the newly discovered frescoes are among the finest ever to emerge at the renowned archeological site.

The works of art line the high walls of what was once a large banquet hall. The walls themselves were painted mostly black, and the figures on the frescoes appear to emerge from the shadows. Site director Dr. Gabriel Zuchtriegel told CBS News partner network BBC News that the dark color was likely used to hide stains from the lamps that lit the hall after the sun went down.

"In the shimmering light, the paintings would have almost come to life," Zuchtriegel said.

Two pieces dominate the hall; one depicts the Greek god Apollo trying to seduce the priestess Cassandra. The second piece shows Prince Paris meeting Helen of Troy.

About a third of the "lost city" of Pompeii remains obscured by volcanic debris from the eruption almost two millennia ago. As scientists make new finds, they quickly move them to a storeroom to protect them from the elements.

The newly discovered frescoes, however, cannot be moved, so they have been protected with temporary roofing. Plaster glue is also being injected into the walls behind the artwork to stop them from falling down.

"We have a passion and a deep love for what we're doing, because what we're uncovering and protecting is for the joy also of the generations that come after us," chief restorer Dr. Roberta Prisco told the BBC, adding that the work was very stressful.

The dig site is much bigger than just the banquet hall.

Another fresco recovered from what was once one of Pompeii's grand properties had been on a ceiling, but it was smashed by the eruption that destroyed the city. Archeologists were able to lay out the pieces like a puzzle and recreate landscapes, theatrical masks, and Egyptian characters.

"This is my favorite discovery in this excavation because it is complex and rare," Dr. Alessandro Russo, co-lead archeologist on the dig, told the BBC. "It is high-quality, for a high-status individual."

In a bakery next to the grand property, the skeletons of two adults and a child were discovered.

Archeologists believe they may have been slaves who were trapped and couldn't flee the eruption, and were killed by falling stones.

"When we excavate, we wonder what we're looking at," co-lead archeologist Dr. Gennaro Iovino told the BBC. "Much like a theater stage, you have the scenery, the backdrop, and the culprit, which is Mount Vesuvius. The archeologist has to be good at filling in the gaps — telling the story of the missing cast, the families and children, the people who are not there anymore."

The team's discovery was just one of a number of recent revelations from the site, after they found other mythological-themed frescoes in early March and then, just weeks later, a construction site that was being worked on right up until the eruption.

The archeologists said near the end of March that they'd found a home construction project that was frozen in time by the eruption, with materials such as bricks and tools still piled up in the reception area of the home.

By Haley Ott.

[fantasticsandwich]

yandere siren! neuvillette x reader (intro)

Adopted by the sea, you have devoted your life to discovering its mysteries. What happens when you stumble upon an enigma that returns your interest tenfold?

You don’t know anything besides the sea. Neither your name nor the person guided by it years before, but when the moon’s pale face greets you, leering over its wavering, abysmal reflection swathed in sheets of liquid silver and indigo, you recall how some things are only created to be viewed at a surface level. To delve any further is to invite your demise, so you have learned to fill your mind with other sinking thoughts, like how amongst all the treasures your ship ferries to gilded thrones, the finest gems are scattered amongst your motley crew.

However, despite the fact that courts across the land commission you to discover and steal, meager entails can no longer sustain your crew, and you refuse to let the Waverider be decommissioned. The piers are a marketplace of secrets, myth and fact alike, yet when you catch wind of a discovery that will send shockwaves across the earth, you would have been foolish not to investigate. Like any other sailor, you have heard of and long to discover the hermit kingdom of Fontaine, so when another captain aboard a smaller vessel was rumored to possess a map of a newly discovered waterway, you besieged it.

Grinding it to driftwood the very next evening, you did everything in your power to bring that map into your possession and fled, redirecting your course the moment it graced your hands. Now, with a chorus of shanties, you charge steadfast into uncharted waters, where cyclones await, eager to ensnare. You hadn’t anticipated the sudden shift in climate, but your crew is prepared to weather the storm at your side. Diluc, your second in command, stands on the deck, bracing himself against nothing, tottering around.

Your hands clasp around the wheel as if to wring the neck of the tempest itself. The gale roars its fury, clawing at the sails and throwing its weight against the stout hull of your vessel. Yet above the cacophony, your voice rises, slicing through the tumult.

“Retreat below,” you shout, barely audible as a thunderclap crackles across the sky.

Your crew, shadows cast in the intermittent glow of vengeful lightning, scurry across the heaving deck, moving with a bumbling grace, bodies bending and twisting to the will of the wind as they pour into the galley. Doors slam shut, soon to be barred. You scan the expanse of the ship, finding a stray, defiant figure creeping up the stairs, clutching the bannister to keep from spilling over.

“I gave an order,” you sternly declare.

“I won’t leave,” says Diluc, jaw clenched and brows furrowing.

His anger is as brazen as his fiery hair; it whips around like a flame dancing in the wind. He is filled with promise. With light. His loyalty to you, a no-name captain, is misplaced. Your survival is uncertain, but you will ensure your crew endures, no matter the cost. Even if that means discarding your life, they will live through the night.

“If you don’t leave now, you’ll leave at the next port.”

Gauging your sincerity, he creeps forward. You merely glare.

“Now. Or you’re fired.”

With a simper, he retreats. Alone now, you permit your shoulders to sag. It isn’t only the sopping coat that weighs you down.

Tousled by a ferocious wind, waves crest and trough, rattling the ship like brittle bones. Nestled at the helm, you grit your teeth and face the brunt of the aquatic assault. Battered by torrents, your rain-soaked coat weighs like stones. Similarly burdened, your captain’s hat dips below your brow. With your sight cleared, an otherworldly vision is tossed aboard, piercing the veil of rain and darkness. A flash of silver, swift as lighting, slithers onto the deck. His skin holds the pallor of moonlight, a stark contrast to the storm’s grim palette. Those dark blue eyes, deep as the fathomless abyss, ensnare your gaze. The white tendrils of his hair whip about him, serpents writhing. Pointed ears peek through the wild mane, completing the image of a creature not quite of this world.

For a moment, the storm’s clamor quiets, as if the elements themselves held their breath in reverence. He is the embodiment of everything unknown that you sought—the whispered secrets hidden by the sea, the melody of unanswered questions

Briefly, your gazes clash. Stolen with the next tidal wave, the mysterious being is returned just as swiftly as he landed. In shock, your grip on the wheel falters. The tempest, seizing its chance, rears like a spiteful beast, wrenching the helm from her loosened grip. With a violent buck, you are gifted to the whims of gravity. The world upends: the sky, a churning of dark clouds above your head, now swiftly becomes the raging sea below. You are airborne but for a breath before the embrace of the ocean claimed you, a lover both cruel and seductive. The sea you adore is merciless: it offers a churlish welcome, engulfing you in its embrace. You plunge into the heart of the storm-tossed waters, and there is no gradual descent—only the shock of the cold that seizes your lungs, the harsh slap of brine against your cheeks. It is terrifying, this surrender to an earthly yet uncaring supreme. Yet amidst the terror, a strange beauty whispers, almost like a voice in a shell.

Although the sea is dark, beams of sunlight and luminous animals dart through the billowing waves. Hordes of sickly pale flounder filter past in streams, storming you in a whirlpool. Halfway through this descent, enveloped in a cold, viscous pool where light dim and the world above are a distant memory, your life as a captain, your quest for memories lost—they are inconsequential. Here, in the clutches of the deep, your fragmented past us scattered further by the currents, your identity dissolving into the salt and spray. All of it—it was for naught. You are inconsequential compared to the raw might of the sea.

Amidst the turmoil, a figure descends with otherworldly grace. A lithe figure slices through the water, his form a specter of light against the oppressive darkness. With each fluid stroke, he encroaches, his pale skin luminescent beneath the frothing waves, long white hair trailing behind him like a comet tail. The ethereal sight of him strikes the remaining air from your lungs. Death is hauntingly beautiful; you will welcome it with open arms if this beautiful being is your harbinger.

As he approaches, the chaotic churning of the water softens into gentler undulations. His dark eyes, mirrors of the abyss, fix upon you with a precarious interest. His gaze meanders over you. Without warning, he ensnares your wrist with a touch both gentle and resolute. You glance down at where he holds you and notice a glimmering length of pale scales in place of legs. The cold fear seizing your veins is met with an inexplicable warmth. With his guidance, you began an ascent, and the surrounding waters seemed to part in reverence to his silent command. As if recognizing the sovereignty of its son, the tumultuous swells ebb away from you, creating a serene path towards the surface.

You cannot fathom the enigma that is this moment, nor the serendipitous fate that will, if only for a moment, bind your life to that of a non-human, to a siren. His motivations are shrouded, as impenetrable as the depths from whence he came.

Still, foam-capped, you breach the surface. You are hardly lucid enough to expel the liquid ice from your lungs, yet you realize how the winds die, how the waves cease their torment, how the storm abates to present you to him—a figure cloaked in gauzy light, sunshine gleaming from his snow-peaked head, stars in his eyes. Like clouds reflecting the sun, he is blinding.

As if conscious of his splendor, he tilts you back. You are too weak to protest as a large hand cradles the gap between your shoulders, the other, resting over your eyes. You feel brief pinpricks along your vertebrae but little else: eased onto your back, you are propelled through the waves, gliding seamlessly, without so much as a splash. You long to speak, but your throat is rimmed with salt. You offer no protest, lulled into sleep as a gentle hum picks up. Dull to your waterlogged ears, it almost sounds like a hymn.

A/N: only the intro for now! I'm hoping to have the rest out by the winter holidays but i've become a bit obsessed with this piece, so I'm nit-picking my prose. Thank you, swan anon, for introducing me to Genshin. While I haven't got a feel for most aspects, I'm really enjoying it. (Was there any reason to include Diluc? Not at all. Does someone have a Genshin crush? Maybe.)

[hwanchaesong]

━⁠☞🍽️ Seventh Course: Picture perfect revenge, the definition of the burnt dessert that is brewing inside your unhinged mind. Well, he deserves it though. 🥢

🎧: Olivia Rodrigo - Jealousy, Jealousy

wc: 816

genre & warnings: angst, non-idol au, cheating, hints of insecurity, reader drinking wine, cursing, lovers to exes, etc etc

a/n: this is a part of The Sour Restaurant series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

You scroll through your phone, sipping on your red wine and laughing to yourself. Giggling like a maniac because the ridiculousness of the situation is truly astounding.

It was a magnificent occasion, one that would normally make people cry but not you.

No, you are built differently.

The discovery that you dug made you so happy you think you're about to burst in excitement.

Because finally, fucking finally! Freedom is nigh and clean air will finally clear your black lungs.

You gaze at the clock, the man that you are waiting for will be home soon, and you are so fucking ready for a confrontation.

Soon enough, your boyfriend enters your shared apartment, jumping a little when he sees your figure in the shadows, indifferently sitting there with a menacing expression.

"Are you okay? Is something wrong?" he frowned when you replied with a scoff, slowly walking in your direction.

The entire living room is dark, the only source of light is the one from the hallway near your bedroom. It gives an ominous vibe in the atmosphere, exactly what you want to exude.

"Y/N, seriously, I don't have time for this. I j-"

You rolled your eyes at his audacity, shoving your phone in his face so he can gawk at the evidence of his betrayal.

He is nothing but a mere asshole in the entirety of this relationship, so thank the heavens for giving you a reason to leave.

Ever since he entered your life, his presence always gave you the sinking feeling of insecurity.

Paranoia at its finest, you could say.

It was all good at first. You can even say with confidence that he was the perfect boyfriend. He makes you feel like you're on top of the world, the only girl that he loves, the happiest person on earth.

But who knows what will happen, right?

His sublime image is merely a performance for you to enjoy and hate later on, especially when you start seeing the signs.

Going home to you smelling like a girl's perfume. Lipstick stain on the collar of his polo shirt. Being secretive on whatever is in his phone.

"Must be your imagination, baby."

"Oh this? This is nothing. I'll wash it later."

"Listen, privacy is also an important aspect of a relationship."

Fuck that privacy. You merely wanted to play games on his phone because waiting in line in his favorite restaurant bore you to death. Must he be so stingy?

Stingy because the shit excuse of a man was hiding something.

You have been tolerating his bland show for a while now, might as well give him a tip for giving you entertainment despite it not being worth your time.

"Tell me I'm crazy now." you smirk, victorious in the battle where you have been wounded far too many times to the point that you can't even bear to look in the mirror without wanting to vomit.

You've had enough comparing yourself to the girls that he hangs out with.

Girls that are way skinnier, comfortable in showing too much skin, wear make up like it's an extension of their body.

Then you saw this very suspicious lady that seemed to be a bit closer to your boyfriend than the others.

You can't help but be jealous of her pretty face, lavish lifestyle, and it seems like her friends love her so much.

But hey, you may be a tad bit insecure but you ain't a raging loser, you are ready to let your inner sherlock holmes out and prove a point.

"What was it again? You are not cheating and it's just all in my head?" here you are, showing him the proof of your hard work and catching him red handed.

Did he really think that you won't see him and that girl making-out in a photo that was posted by his friend a week ago.

No matter how pixelated it was or even if your eyesight is bad, you will definitely see it.

"Y/N, that is not what you think." he tried to explain, and you do not understand the reason for his panic as you confidently push him out of the flat.

"Wooyoung, I've seen, heard and smelled enough. I think it's time for you to shut the fuck up." you give him a fake smile, finally giving him a harsh strike on his chest that got him stumbling in the front of the apartment.

"Please, hear me out." he begs but no, your heart is not made out of cotton to listen to him.

Whatever befalls him, he deserves it.

"Go spend the night with your bitch and come back here tomorrow to gather your belongings while I'm at work. Goodbye."

You shut the door in his face, not paying attention to his knocks and pleas.

Finally, some peace and quiet in your mind, heart and soul.

taglist:

@acciocriativity @iarayara @stolasisyourparent @xdannix @nsixns @heartssol @vixensss @shakalakaboomboo

[thecampjuicebox]

Hi! I would absolutely love shameless smut Astarion x f!Tav (or f!reader) with some oral ministrations ^-^

Hi sweets! Your wish is my commend! I've been waitin' for this one. *cracks knuckles* Let's do this.

Hunger

Pairing: Tav(f) x Astarion

POV: 2nd person (Reader is Tav)

Rating: 18+, Minors DNI

Warnings: Smut, masturbation, oral (f/m giving/receiving), biting, choking, Dom Astarion x Sub Tav, gentle face slapping

Sleep eludes you this particular night, your brain running through the recent events of the past few days. The nautiloid, the tadpoles, gathering this seemingly harmless band of misfits, it's all so.. Strange. Before waking up in the grasp of the mindflayers, your life was simple. A merchant and artist in Baldur's Gate. During the day, you were peddling your wares to the higher society of the city, making a name for yourself amongst the lords and ladies. You specialized in jewelry, mostly. Adorning the necks of the wealthy with the finest jewels Faerun has to offer. You breathe slowly, eyelashes fluttering at the memory. You'd had your fair share of meetings with some of the most eligible fellows in the upper city because of your line of work. Each one of them powerful, wealthy. Insanely wealthy. You've danced with Lordlings, held hands with Dukes, even been bedded by a magistrate or two. None of them compared to the pale skinned elf you happened to pick up after the crash. Astarion. He's so.. Different. Your mind reels at the very idea of him and you fidget in your bedroll.

Tired eyes snap open at the sudden sound of shuffling beside you, the sight of that very elf leaning over you with fangs bared sending you into a daze. He widens his eyes at you, backing away slowly. "Shit." You hurry to your feet, taking a defensive stance towards the intruder. He blinks at you innocently.

"I-It's not what it looks like! I swear!"

Crossing your arms over your chest, you eye him for a moment, waiting for some sort of explanation.

"I wasn't going to hurt you.. I just need, well, blood."

Shit. You stare at him blankly for a moment, mind racing. It all makes so much sense now. His lack of appetite, his blatantly obvious sneaking off at night, the dead boar your group found on the bridge to the Blighted Village. Perfectly drained of blood from no more than two little pinholes in its neck. Of course. He's a vampire. You pause for a moment, considering the implications of your discovery. Heat travels down your spine and stings in your core. You stand firm, furrowing your eyebrows to seem angrier than you really are.

"I can't believe I didn't see it. We even found your last meal lying in the road. Clever of you to act so naïve about the situation. Bravo."

His posture straightens and he places his hands on his hips, lips curving into that devilish grin that makes your knees week. The vampire quirks an eyebrow at you then drags his eyes down your body before meeting your eyes again. His intense gaze makes you shiver. Picking at your fingernails, you chew your bottom lip nervously and kick your foot at the dirt beneath you. Astarion drums his fingers against his hip bones.

"I usually feed on animals. Boars, Kobolds, whatever I can find really. But right now I'm too slow. Too weak. If I could just have a little blood.. I could fight better."

You nod slowly and weigh your options. This could help him. You need him strong to fight the massive hoards of enemies you and your group seem to continuously encounter. What's a little bite? You smirk at your next thought, cheeks unknowingly burning hot the moment the idea crosses your mind. You'll also have the chance to be deliciously close to the vampling. No, don't think like that. The tadpole squirms with excitement in your brain, making you wince slightly at the sudden movement behind your eyes. You sigh and straighten your posture.

"Fine. But not a drop more than you need."

"What? I- Okay. Yes. Perfectly reasonable. Shall we make ourselves comfortable?"

Astarion motions towards his dimly lit tent and you nod, keeping a death grip on your bottom lip between your teeth. His hand rests at the small of your back to guide you into the cramped living space, the gentle yet dominant gesture making your knees nearly buckle underneath you. His breath is warm on your ear. "Lie down." Without hesitation, you lower yourself knees first to his bedroll, a quiet growl rumbling in the vampire's chest as he watches you closely. You choke back a quiet whimper, clearing your throat quickly. Astarion moves next to you and smiles, giving your shoulder a gentle push to lower you the rest of the way to the plush surface beneath you. A trembling hand moves up to cup the back of your head.

"Stay still for me.."

Before you can respond the vampire bares his fangs, moving in to plunge them deep into the sensitive flesh of your neck. Icy hot pain courses through you, each vein in your body simultaneously burning. You whimper up into Astarion's ear. The hand on the back of your head tightens its grip, holding onto your soft hair now. Your mouth falls open at the tension on the back of your head. "A-Astarion.." Is all you can say as his tongue laps at the fresh wounds on your neck, little grunts of enjoyment vibrating your skin. You mewl at the new sensation and grab a fistful of his shirt, desperately pulling him closer to you. He finally breaks contact with your neck, gazing down at you with drunken eyes.

"Gods, you're.. Delicious.."

Little black spots speckle your vision as you try to focus on Astarion's face, a woozy feeling rushing over you suddenly. He must've been starving, he's basically drained you and left you on empty. Your heart thumps in your ears. Soft hands push the hair from your face before resting on your cheeks, giving the now sickly pale skin a few little gentle slaps. A devilish grin thins your lips.

"That was incredible. I feel incredible."

...

Late night feedings have become a regular thing for you and Astarion. You reveled in the intimate way he'd hold you close to him to ensure you wouldn't move, hand tangling in your hair to keep your neck steady. It left you needy every single time, often excusing yourself to a secluded part in the woods to relieve the urges, the freedom to be as loud as you want. Tonight is one of those nights.

Astarion stands and wipes his lips with the back of his hand, licking the remnants of your blood carefully from his skin. He groans happily before helping you back to your feet. You smile and say your goodbyes quickly, dashing out of the tent. He quirks an eyebrow, waiting for your footsteps to fall silent before peaking his head out of his tent, scanning around for you. He spots you ducking into the woods and pure curiosity wills him to follow. "Where in the hells is she going?" Astarion slinks out of his tent and picks up on your scent like a lost dog, carefully following your trail. He crouches low, making sure to leave a decent amount of distance between you so you don't detect his presence.

You tip toe through the thick foliage, leaves quietly crunching under your boots. Stopping in your usual clearing, you sigh heavily, carefully scoping out the area for any intruders before lowering yourself to the ground. Shaky fingers unlace your boots and kick them off in a rush, fumbling with the ties on your shirt. You groan with anticipation and fling the garment to the side, standing up to quickly shimmy out of your leathers. Goosebumps raise all over your pale skin at the cool night air and you slide out of your underwear last, a sticky puddle of arousal staining the fabric. You toss those aside, eyes doing another once-over of the land. No one in sight. You lean against a large oak tree and stare up at the sky, gulping down the massive lump in your throat. You're so desperate for release. So needy. So wet. You close your eyes and allow your fingers to travel over your chest, little whimpers escaping your dry throat as you carefully circle your painfully erect nipples. You give one a pinch, grinding your hips at the air. "F-Fuck.."

Astarion breeches the thick line of trees and enters the clearing quietly, eyes roaming the area in search of you. He catches a glimpse of your boots and smirks, gaze flicking to your pile of clothes. "The little devil." His pointy ears perk up at your moan and he leans in the direction of the sound, holding his breath for a moment to listen even closer. Stifling a moan of his own, he moves towards the tree you're leaning against, eyes fixed on your profile. Without noticing the intruder, your fingers slide down your abdomen, muscles flexing at the feather light touch before hungrily dipping between your folds. You tilt your head higher, jaw falling open as you collect your arousal on your fingers and carefully shimmy your feet further apart to give yourself more room to work. Your knees buckle, your belly aches with desire, your skin burns for attention. Astarion moves in closer, the sound of his shuddering breath causing you to freeze. Your eyes snap open.

"W-who's there? I swear to the gods above, I'll kill you."

The vampire moves into view, tongue flicking out over his bottom lip to moisten the skin. He steps in front of you, placing both hands on the tree to trap you between his body and the tall oak. You gaze up at him, blinking in embarrassment.

"Having all of this fun without me, pet? I'm hurt."

"I.. I just.. Didn't want to bother you with asking. Wasn't sure you'd be interested?"

"Hmph. May I?"

You nod quickly at his question, pushing your hips forward. Astarion tuts, reaching a hand down to rub over your sensitive mound, earning a strained moan. He leans in close to your ear, exhaling slowly before biting at your lobe, a low growl building in his belly.

"At least you had the decency to consider my feelings. How sweet of you."

He presses a single digit to your clit and rubs slow circles, cooing into your ear after each of your whimpers as he gradually picks up speed. Both of your hands find the front of his shirt and give it a rough tug to pull him closer to you, hips bucking up against his touch. He licks a slow, hot stripe up the side of your neck, the still fresh bite mark stinging from his saliva. You chew your lip for a moment, releasing the flesh to whisper up at him.

"May I touch you?"

His fingers pause at your words and he stares down at you, expression melting into one of almost sadness. No one has ever asked to touch him as sweetly as you just did. He's so used to being just a body, a toy. Someone for people to play with as they please. Tears well up in the corners of his eyes and he blinks them away quickly. You back yourself against the tree and wait for his response, hands resting at your sides, The vampire nods down at you, mumbling a soft "Please." You flash a sweet smile up at him, placing your hands on his chest and slowly sliding them down his slender body, falling to your knees. He gasps at the touch, head tilting up towards the sky. A hand instinctively rests on the back of your head.

"If at any point you get uncomfortable, please tell me and I'll stop, okay?"

He beams down at you, bottom lip quivering. You quickly undo the lacing on his leathers and press gentle kisses to his already stiff cock through the fabric, Astarion grasping a handful of your hair in response. You giggle to yourself and tug his leathers down carefully. "Mm.." His eyes darken with lust. He tugs your hair to tilt your head up, forcing you to look at him. His hand leaves your hair and circles around your neck, fingers fitting perfectly in the subtle indents just below your jawline. You grunt at the sudden restriction of air.

"Such a good pet. So obedient for me. I want you to touch yourself while I fuck your throat. Can you do that?"

You groan and nod up at him, face turning red from the lack of oxygen. He releases your neck, giving your cheek a gentle slap before grasping your jaw firmly, fingers sliding upwards to squish your cheeks together.

"Good girl."

You mewl at the roughness of his hands, cunt dripping onto your thick thighs. He releases your face and frees his cock from the constricting leather. You part your knees and slide a hand down between them, fingers swirling around in the mess. Astarion grasps his cock in his hand, giving it a few pumps before pressing the weeping tip to your lips, swiping the pre-cum around your cheeks and mouth.

"Open."

You obey happily, parting your lips and letting your tongue lull out, a thin line of drool falling onto your chest. The vampire taps his throbbing member against your tongue, swiping it back and forth before shoving it as far into your mouth as he can. Your lips wrap tightly around the base as he bottoms out. His head falls back, jaw slack from the warmth of your mouth. You bob your head carefully after giving yourself a moment to adjust to his girth in your throat and your fingers move furiously against your clit, slick coating your trembling hand. Your free hand sits firm on the ground beneath you to hold you steady. Astarions hands move to your hair, grabbing a fistful on each side of your head to keep you in place as he fucks into your throat, groaning with each thrust. Drool spills out of the corners of your mouth when he pushes in. He pauses his thrusts and slides his boot between your legs, gritting his teeth before growling down at you.

"Fuck yourself on my boot like a good pet. Show me how needy you are."

You scoot closer on your knees, lowering yourself onto the shiny top of his boot and you grind your hips into the leather, both arms wrapping around his leg to hold you steady. He resumes his quick thrusts into your throat, rhythm beginning to falter as he nears his end. He gasps for air. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." You stick your tongue out once more to rub against the underside of his cock, earning a loud moan from the pale elf towering above you. "Gods, please. I'm so close." His voice is desperate now, tough exterior crumbling in front of you. He bucks his hips furiously into your face, the tip of his cock brushing the very back of your throat and you stifle a gag, only earning another moan at the way your throat tightens around him. You grind down roughly onto his boot still, slick coating the black leather. He snaps, completely coming undone, hot ropes of cum shooting into the back of your throat and you swallow quickly, making sure to milk every last drop. The vampire shudders and pulls himself away from you and you keen at the emptiness, a string of drool and cum still connecting the two you of you. You flick your tongue out to collect the fluid, hips still moving in a slow steady motion and you gasp as he lifts his foot into you slightly.

"Filthy."

You grin, moaning up at him, chest heaving as you gasp for air. Swift hands yank you up off of the ground, your back slamming into the oak tree behind you. Astarion's lips crash to yours and you melt in his embrace. His tongue wrestles for dominance in your mouth, the taste of him still lingering there. You groan into his mouth quietly and wrap one leg around his waist, the other still supporting your weight. The kiss feels like it goes on for years, lips moving in perfect harmony. This is perfect. He is perfect. Astarion pulls away from your lips and you whine at the lack of touch, eyes fluttering open to stare up at him.

"May I taste you, pet?"

Astarion's sudden change of tone makes your heart flutter and you nod quickly, resting your ass against the tree. He kneels carefully, nose leaving a soft trail down your hip bone and to the top of your mound. He presses gentle kisses there for a moment. Your hips twitch, a hand reaching out to stroke his hair back lovingly. Without warning, he lifts you up, tossing your legs over his shoulders, pinning you up in the air against the tree. His hands rest under your thighs, spreading your legs apart as far as your hips will allow, opening you up to him. You gasp and reach your hands up above your head to grip the thick trunk. Astarion dips his tongue between your folds and licks a long stripe to your clit then back down, spreading your thick juices around. He groans at your taste. His lips work against your clit now, sucking the sensitive nub between them, creating a tight seal. You cry out in pleasure, back bowing upwards. The sensations knock the wind out of you. Waves of pleasure send you into a daze as he shoves his tongue into your slit, teeth carefully scraping your clit. His fingers dig into your plush thighs, leaving little indents that will surely bruise. You whine and grind your hips against his tongue. He grins, sticking his tongue out, allowing you to take control and you happily oblige, grinding your aching clit against his warm tongue.

"Gods, Astarion I'm gonna-"

Before you can finish your sentence, the vampire wraps his lips around your clit once more, tongue lapping furiously at the bundle of nerves. Electricity pulses up your spine, your climax exploding inside of you. You fall apart in his arms, crying his name out to the empty clearing, his mouth still working you through your release. The over stimulation causes you to writhe in his embrace and you desperately push on his forehead, doing anything you can to escape his hungry mouth. He chuckles and lowers you to your feet, hands resting on your hips now to hold you steady. He licks his lips, pressing a wet kiss to yours. You shudder at the taste of yourself. Astarion leans in to press a gentle kiss to your shoulder, nuzzling his nose into your collar bone and you sigh happily. His voice is low and sultry, breathing still labored.

"You're absolutely divine, my sweet."

You giggle shyly and wrap your arms around the vampire's thin waist, helping him tug his leathers back up into place. Gently trailing your fingers along the skin just above his pants, you gaze up into his eyes, lids lowering. The vampire shudders at your touch, pulling you into a tight hug. Your heart thumps in your chest.

"You're not so bad yourself."

[blue-eyed-beastie]

A Closer Look at Belle's Book

This illustration is foreshadowing at its finest.

I've seen Beauty and the Beast countless times, but only very recently in 4K. It's actually been a lot of fun for me to pause a scene now and then to view details that I'd never noticed before, despite being so familiar with the film. One of the first things I noticed in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment is the existence of two marble statues resembling the main characters in the opening narration. My most recent discovery has to do with the illustration inside Belle's book when she's sitting on the fountain in the center of town.

Most people realize on their very first viewing that the maiden's blue dress and dark hair are meant to resemble Belle, but what about her companion? It's supposed to be the Beast, right? It's a creature on all fours, standing at the edge of a garden, right? Wrong!

To be fair, it is meant to foreshadow Belle's future romance with her own "prince in disguise", but the illustration is simply that of a man leaning over a low stone wall. What I had perceived as a space between the creature's 'hind legs' is actually the man's hand resting on the wall. So, the caption: "Le Prince Charmant" fits the illustration, after all. A prince in disguise, indeed.

And speaking of princes in disguise... As I was studying the illustration, I was suddenly and profoundly reminded of Disney's Snow White! And not just because of the art style. In each story, our heroine doesn't know the identity of the man who is actually a prince, and in each instance, she's wearing a blue hair ribbon!

Snow White screencaps - source

Even Snow White's castle bears a resemblance to the one in the illustration! (I know Prince Adam's castle is white and red as well, but it's more about the watercolor style of the illustration, in this case.)

Anyway, despite the remarkable resemblance, I doubt that the story Belle is reading is actually about Snow White. I've seen discourse that suggests that she is reading about Aladdin (which was in production at the time), or even Sleeping Beauty. Both female leads in those films wear blue, but Aladdin isn't a prince when he meets Jasmine, and Aurora isn't wearing blue when she meets Prince Phillip, nor does she have dark hair. That doesn't mean that the story is about Snow White, either, despite my previous point about their artistic resemblance. But I'll save that discussion for another post.

For now, I want to focus on the illustration as it pertains to this film. Hinting at Belle's future romance as she's reading one is one thing, but watching it play out is another. I am certain that this scene of Belle and Beast in the snow is intended to mirror the illustration.

It's so poetic, isn't it?

Spring vs. Winter. Man vs. Beast. A blue gown vs. a pink one.

Even the song in each scene is the same! Albeit with different lyrics:

Belle:

"Oh, isn't this amazing? It's my favorite part because—you’ll see Here's where she meets Prince Charming But she won't discover that it's him 'til Chapter Three!"

Something There:

"New, and a bit alarming Who'd have ever thought that this could be? True, that he's no Prince Charming But there's something in him That I simply didn't see."

Foreshadowing at its finest.

[fancy11schmancy]

Finally, after all this time, 1920’s AU Link’s Main outfit concepts are all done!!! It’s been a challenge traveling for work and having time to work on art, but I am slowly getting better at it! (Sorry this took so long ;;)

AU Main Summary:

Since travel has been restored between the light realm and the twilight realm, a newfound unity flourished between the two societies. New friends, new towns/cities to explore, never-before-seen technologies and fashions at their disposal- all seemed well...until nefarious rumors of a returning great threat started to spread... Brief Lore of Link’s Role In The AU: With the new alluring land of Twilight open for entry and for any and all visitors, Link jumps at the chance to visit the amber-hued and shadow-filled world as Zelda’s accompanying guard for the latest council meeting. What and who lies in wait for Link to meet in this parallel reality? A world far more alien and advanced than his own? Rumors of an ethereal beauty shrouded in shadow? ___________________________________________________________ Link, a kindhearted, brave and daring country boy, is ready to make a name for himself as Hyrule’s greatest explorer! He’s known across the land as the “one-man army” for being extremely adaptable and prepared for any situation at any time with his wide arsenal of tools at his disposal. Some may also call him the “evergreen mountaineer” being as there is no mountain or peak he cannot scale- and by the fact he is always seen donning his famous dark green field coat, cap and his pickax of legend. He always greets friends and acquaintances alike with a warm smile and a firm handshake with a hearty hello (or ‘howdy’) with a slight southern draw. (A trademark from those who hail from “across the field," the Ordon Region.)

With his natural talent for exploring and his insatiable hunger for discovery and adventure, he’s charted vast ancient ruins, several dungeons of lore, and has uncovered a fantastic array of numerous treasures on both land and sea. Because of this, he’s occasionally seen as a young, irresponsible and reckless lad, especially due to the extreme nature of most of his exploration missions and his tendency to throw safety to the wind. He may seem like a “lone wolf” most of the time, but he always manages to bring along his dear friend Princess Zelda (and sometimes Midna) for any excursion he may be heading on…but in secret, of course. If the King of Hyrule were to ever find out about the “dangerous” adventures he’s been dragging Zelda onto, surely it would not go well…. Besides adventuring, Link spends his time helping his adoptive family back in Ordon with their expansive pumpkin farm and raising goats that are for producing the finest of goat cheese known region-wide. Any other spare time he has is at the right-hand side of Zelda, helping her with daily royal errands, solving mysteries, or just going out on the town to a local pub or to a delightful picnic in Hyrule Field. When he is at the pub, he can be seen boisterously playing an array of instruments, ranging from drums, stringed instruments, and most notably, his Ocarina (a very cherished gift from Zelda). While Link may be a bit of a country boy, he is no less capable of assisting Zelda in her pursuits of solving the various mysteries popping up around Castle Town, often providing a unique perspective from being the most skilled survivalist around. Once Midna arrives on the scene, she often enables Link’s craziest ideas- bringing out his secret (or not-so-secret) mischievous side. However, Link absolutely loathes Zant, Midna's towering Valet, due to his arrogant nature and his occasional mocking of Link’s short stature.

[kdinjenzen]

Went ahead and, in-between VO auditions, recorded a take on Anton Ego's Review from the end of Ratatouille.

In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designa it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations. The new needs friends. Last night, I experienced something new, an extra-ordinary meal from a singularly unexpected source. To say that both the meal and its maker have challenged my preconceptions about fine cooking is a gross understatement. They have rocked me to my core. In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau's famous motto: 'Anyone can cook.' But I realize, only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere. It is difficult to imagine more humble origins than those of the genius now cooking at Gusteau's, who is, in this critic's opinion, nothing less than the finest chef in France. I will be returning to Gusteau's soon, hungry for more.

[darkprince1110]

Survivor

You did not have A good start to life

you were abandoned by your parents who were dirt poor you had nothing

you had to live off the streets and had to fight to stay alive stealing food Was part of your routine however, everything would change 

As you were trying to flee from the cabbage merchant that you had stolen from you, ended up bumping into a stage coach two Noble women exited the coach They were older women. Identical, twins.

They took pity on you they paid the merchant and took you home with them

you were suspicious of these two at first but overtime came to accept their quirkiness their names were Lo and lee

They spoiled you With the finest clothes in the nation expensive luxurious food anything you wanted they would get you

later, they expressed their desire to adopt you as neither of them had never had any children of course you accepted For this new life, they had graciously given you

A little time had rolled by, and it was discovered that you were in fact, a fire bender however due to this discovery, being so late in your youth. Your bending skills were not very developed.

Your new mothers. Spared no expense. Providing the finest bending masters in the nation.

However none of them were able to help you progress in your bending skill many of them gave up and believed that you would never going to progress further than the basics

However lo and lee refuse to accept that you couldn’t be taught if their child wanted to be the best fire bender in the nation then they were going to make that a reality.

And they knew exactly what they needed to do you needed a master, who was a true prodigy Didn’t give up so easily someone who is on another level than any other in the fire nation princess Azula

your mothers served as her advisors so they knew they could get you acquainted with the princess easily

the opportunity came and they had gotten permission to bring you to work alongside them as an advisor in training at the palace

you accompanied them the next day to the palace your mother introduced you to the princess herself, the two of you were very close in age Azula was polite to you at least as polite as her character allowed.

She respected her advisors so that respect extended to you

when your mothers Told her the situation how many of the top instructors had failed to teach you the art of fire Bending they tried to persuade the princess to consider taking you on as her first student 

for the princess, the idea of her a 14-year-old prodigy, a fire bending master with her own student was enough for Azula ego to accept

She took you on her student

she warned you that almost wasn’t good enough and that you would succeed under her but everything would have to go perfectly and that any mistakes well there would be consequences for failure

Although the princesses status was intimidating, you had dealt with trials all your life, you knew for certain you could handle whatever the princess threw at you.

you are a survivors

[picturesquesociety]

studying, in its essence, is a pursuit that transcends the mere accumulation of knowledge; it is the symphony of the mind’s quest for understanding, the delicate unfolding of curiosity into mastery. to study is to embark upon a journey where the mind becomes both student and sculptor, molding itself in the light of discovery, chiseling away ignorance to reveal the edifice of wisdom.

the act of studying is a contemplative dance, where each page turned, each concept grasped, is a step closer to the vast, boundless expanse of enlightenment. it is here, in the quietude of deep concentration, that one’s intellect becomes attuned to the subtle rhythms of thought, as ideas and insights weave themselves into a tapestry of comprehension. the mind, once scattered like leaves in the autumn wind, gradually coalesces into a singular focus, sharp as the finest blade.

time itself seems to yield to the scholar in these moments. hours dissolve like mist in the morning sun, for the studious mind does not measure time in minutes, but in the richness of concepts uncovered, in the thrill of connections made between seemingly disparate facts. there is a certain luxury in this immersion, a gentle intoxication that comes from surrendering oneself to the flow of learning, from feeling the weight of knowledge settle into the soul like an ancient tome sliding into place upon a shelf.

yet, studying is not without its trials. it is a path strewn with moments of frustration and bewilderment, where the mind grapples with complexity, where understanding seems perpetually just out of reach, a star obscured by clouds. but it is in these very struggles that the true beauty of studying lies. for every challenge overcome is a triumph, every breakthrough a testament to the mind’s resilience and the unrelenting power of perseverance. the rewards of such labor are not ephemeral; they linger, enriching the intellect and sharpening the perception long after the books are closed and the notes are put away.

to study is to commune with the great thinkers of ages past and present, to converse with minds whose brilliance continues to illuminate the path of human progress. it is an intimate act, almost sacred, for in the quiet moments of reflection, one becomes both the questioner and the answerer, engaged in a dialogue with the vast, unknowable universe.

in the end, studying is not merely a preparation for some distant goal or achievement. it is, in itself, an act of becoming. each fact learned, each idea explored, transforms the mind, rendering it more expansive, more capable of grasping the intricacies of the world. to study is to refine the self, to cultivate a garden of knowledge within, whose blossoms may well bear fruit for a lifetime.

[nitrateglow]

Favorite films discovered in 2023

2023 kind of sucked, but it was a fruitful year for me as a movie geek. I finally got around to seeing films that have been on my TBW pile for years now. I also gave myself a challenge that I actually completed: watch at least one film from every year between 1900 and 2023.

Anyway, I'll stop beating around the bush. Here are my top 20 favorite film discoveries in 2023. (The order is very, very loose from 5 on down. I genuinely had a hard time narrowing the list down to 20, let alone ranking everything.)

When a Woman Ascends the Stairs (dir. Mikio Naruse, 1960)

This well-regarded drama follows Keiko, a bar hostess who's just turned 30 years old. She has limited options as an unmarried woman in postwar Japan. Considered "old," she has to marry soon or scrape enough money to buy her own bar. With its jazzy score and first-person narration, When a Woman Ascends the Stairs has a noirish vibe but it certainly isn't noir at all. Though the film is tragic, what moved me so much was Keiko's character. She has a tough lot and her story is ultimately tragic, yet she is determined to keep going, even if life won't give her a break.

The Boy and the Heron (dir. Hayao Miyazaki, 2023)

Miyazaki's current "last film" is certainly his most abstract and puzzling. I imagine it'll be one of his more divisive titles in the years to come, but count me among its fans. While being "in the know" regarding the current state of Studio Ghibli and Miyazaki's 60+ year-long career in animation allows one to better appreciate the many allusions and themes within the film, it stands just fine on its own as a surrealistic adventure about grief and the power of art. Also, damn, I LOVE hand-drawn animation so much.

Black Cat (dir. Kaneto Shindo, 1968)

Kaneto Shindo's Black Cat is yet another confirmation of my feeling that horror pairs best with humor or heartbreak. While there are some morbidly funny moments, Black Cat is largely a devastating supernatural horror story about a young samurai who encounters two mysterious women in the woods, not realizing they are the ghosts of his murdered wife and mother. Even worse, they've sworn to kill any and all samurai they encounter, since their deaths were the result of raping, pillaging samurai-- but they remain human enough to desire an exception. I was creeped out thoroughly by the chilly atmosphere and imagery of this film. I liked it even better than Shindo's Onibaba and that was one of my favorites from 2022!

Malcolm X (dir. Spike Lee, 1992)

I usually dislike big movie biopics for being stuffy and formulaic. Malcolm X avoids both of these issues. Directed to the hilt by Spike Lee, this film is passionate and compelling, about as far from a stuffy Oscarbait biopic as you could imagine. Also, Denzel Washington is AMAZING in the titular role. Like, we're talking one of the best performances I have ever seen because not only is Washington convincing as Malcolm X, he also perfectly portrays his arc from zoot-suited young criminal to uncompromising activist leader. I was absolutely mesmerized the entire time-- it's a long movie that never feels its length and I'll definitely be revisiting it in the future.

The Kiss Before the Mirror (dir. James Whale, 1933)

James Whale’s horror movies are listed among the finest 1930s cinema had to offer, but his other works remain woefully overlooked. The Kiss Before the Mirror is a strange marital drama set in a dreamlike interwar Vienna. A lawyer defending a murderer who shot down his cheating wife comes to discover his own wife in the midst of a casual affair. Will this discovery lead to another killing? Despite the lurid plot elements, Kiss is closer to Kubrick’s introspective Eyes Wide Shut than a typical 1930s melodrama. Both husband and wife are complex characters struggling with destroyed illusions, making the story a hell of a lot more complex than you'd expect.

Five Miles to Midnight (dir. Anatole Litvak, 1962)

I am so glad I ignored the meh reviews on this one because I would have missed out on one of the best thrillers I've seen in years. Sophia Loren is a woman desperate to shake off her narcissistic, abusive husband played by Tony Perkins. When Perkins is wrongly believed dead in a plane crash, he hides out in Loren's apartment so they can collect the life insurance money, split the funds, then part amicably. This being a Hitchcock-style thriller, it doesn't work out that way. What sells the film is the psychological cat-and-mouse game between Loren and Perkins's miserable, mismatched married couple, and a noirish sense of doom lends a great deal of atmosphere.

Shoes (dir. Lois Weber, 1916)

Shoes is the best Lois Weber film I have yet seen and it still packs a wallop a century-plus since its initial release. Mary MacLaren plays a young woman single-handedly supporting her family on a five dollar a week salary. She wears shoes that are falling apart but can never seem to save enough for a new pair-- that is, until an unsavory way of getting the cash presents itself, much to her horror and temptation. This is a heartbreaking little film that showcases a lot of what I love about 1910s American cinema. There's less glamor in the settings and nothing at all genteel or cleaned up about the poverty on display. MacLaren is wonderful in the lead too, her performance a quietly compelling portrait of quiet desperation.

Jeopardy (dir. John Sturges, 1953)

Barbara Stanwyck was in such a wealth of films that I can forgive myself for not realizing this one even existed. After seeing it, it's easily in my top five favorite films of hers. On the surface, the plot sounds like fodder for sleazy sex fantasy: a housewife on vacation is kidnapped by a hot escaped convict. She's racing against time to save her husband from drowning after the tide comes in at the beach where he's trapped; the convict has a very specific price for any aid he's willing to offer. Stanwyck's characterization complicates the situation and the direction amps the tension to a breaking point. Great, great stuff!

Girlfriends (dir. Claudia Weill, 1978)

This film came across my path in a weirdly personal way. One of my sisters got engaged this year. We've been close all of our lives and shared an apartment for years, so this is going to be a big change for both of us. Girlfriends is about a young woman whose best friend is getting married, meaning she'll be on her own for the first time. In addition to making this adjustment, she's a photographer currently hired for weddings and bar mitzvahs, but dreaming of entering the larger world of art galleries. I guess you could say it's a 70s version of a quarter-life crisis film (Noah Baumbach's Frances Ha takes A LOT from it). The performances and direction are exceptional, having that unglamorous, lived-in vibe I love about the films of this period. It also just happened to come into my life at the most resonant time, so there's that.

Ivan the Terrible, Parts One and Two (dir. Sergei Eisenstein, 1945 and 1958)

As a person who hates the idea that realism is the only valid form for cinematic drama, Eisenstein's hyper-stylized Ivan the Terrible movies are a joy. The compositions are like something out of a painting, the acting is operatic, the writing mythic and sweeping. The dance number in Part II is one of my favorite scenes in any movie ever. Best of all, the films rise above their propagandist origins, becoming a fascinating study of institutional power set against individual charisma.

The Red Queen Kills Seven Times (dir. Emilio Miraglia, 1972)

I've been getting more into giallo lately and The Red Queen Kills Seven Times is among the more memorable titles. You have the fashion world setting, a disguised murderer running around in a red cloak, over the top kills, a villainous junkie who looks like Bucky Barnes, a spooky castle with death traps, the works. It's a movie where I don't really care too much about the plot. It's the off-kilter, sinister atmosphere that draws me in, as with most giallo movies.

Little Miss Sunshine (dir. Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris, 2006)

It took Alan Arkin dying for me to finally get around to seeing this much beloved 2000s gem. I expected to only be interested in Arkin as the drug-addled, foul-mouthed grandpa, but the entire movie is so warm-hearted and hilarious that I fell in love with it whole hog. The characters are all quirky without being Quriky (tm), if you know what I mean. And I love the final message about just living your life and not worrying about whether or not you're "successful" in the eyes of society. An old theme to be sure, but done so, so well here. (Also, the mercilessly satirical jab at child beauty pageants is pure gold.)

Pom Poko (dir. Isao Takahata, 1994)

I feel like a lot of western anime fans only see Pom Poko as "lol that movie where the tanuki have comically oversized testicles." And yeah, that is indeed something in this movie but there's so much more. It's one of the boldest films I've ever seen, an "animated documentary" (to use Takahata's words) about a village of tanuki waging war against humankind's encroachment upon the natural world. It's such a genre grab-bag, critic Daniel Thomas' description fits it best: "The story weaves through slapstick comedy, social commentary, satire, surrealism, and tragedy. It changes moods much the way the tanuki change form, bending and molding into a new shape, and relentlessly moving forward." I still think Only Yesterday is Takahata's best film, but Pom Poko is strong competition and yet another film I can see myself rewatching many times to come.

Bullet Train (dir. David Leitch, 2022)

I still kick myself for not seeing this in the theater when it came out. Bullet Train is a wonderful lark of an action film. On first watch, I recall thinking it was like a live-action anime shot in a very Tarantino-esque style. I've seen it a few times now and I enjoy the hell out of it every time. And if you don't like it, well, you just might be a Diesel.

That Cold Day in the Park (dir. Robert Altman, 1969)

Another film with a so-so reputation that I really enjoyed. Sandy Dennis (who's gradually becoming one of my favorites with every performance I see from her) plays a virginal rich woman who takes in a handsome young guy one cold day. Her initial kindness quickly curdles into erotic obsession and her house guest has his own secrets. It's an early Robert Altman film and not his most polished work, but that makes it all the more fascinating to me. It's a creepy psychological thriller with a haunting ending, as well as an interesting time capsule of the late 1960s.

Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! (dir. Russ Meyer, 1965)

Where has this movie been all my life?? It's a bizarre campfest about three criminally minded go-go dancers who romp across the California desert, strewing all kinds of havoc in their wake. It's such a strange movie that I don't know how to describe it properly: it's got a New Wave sensibility to it all the while indulging in exploitation B-movie nonsense. Definitely a fun film to watch with a group.

Jeanne Dielman, 23, quai du commerce, 1080 Bruxelles (dir. Chantal Akermann, 1975)

I finally bit the bullet to watch this one after it topped the 2022 Sight & Sound list. Do I think it's the greatest film of all time? No, but I don't like singling out any work of art for such a designation. Putting aside all the drama that ensued when this was granted GOAT status, Jeanne Dielman is a striking film. It's definitely not something you just throw on casually-- you need to set aside the time to watch it and be in the right headspace. My initial mild interest morphed into a sense of anxious dread as the film ground along its three hour runtime, its protagonist struggling to retain her total sense of self-possession and control as she's thrown off her groove by unexpected events.

The Wicked Lady (dir. Leslie Arliss, 1945)

This is not high art by any means. It's melodrama with a capital M, laying the cheese on thick. Margaret Lockwood plays a devious, scheming femme fatale in 18th century England who's a gold-digging noblewoman by day and a highwaywoman cavorting with bad boy James Mason by night. This is easily the most entertaining of the Gainsborough melodramas I've yet seen, dripping with soap opera antics, sumptuous costumes, and camp-a-plenty.

War and Peace (dir. Sergei Bondarchuk, 1966-1967)

There is no substitute for reading Tolstoy's massive novel, but this 1966 Soviet version is definitely a fine work in its own right. Filmed in three parts, it's about nine hours long and it does a good job capturing the interior lives of the characters in the source material. Everything about it is just breathtaking: the costumes, the sets, the massive numbers of extras during those battle scenes. It's the kind of intellectually and emotionally stirring epic that makes all those hours fly by.

The Sweet Smell of Success (dir. Alexander Mackendrick, 1957)

I often chafe when people act as though all 1950s American cinema were Leave it to Beaver wholesomeness and buttoned up repression. Some of the nastiest Hollywood movies I've ever seen came out of the 1950s and The Sweet Smell of Success is prime among them. Among the best of the late classic noir period, it follows Burt Lancaster as a popular but monstrous newspaper columnist who uses his power to control the lives of everyone around him, particularly his sister, to whom he has a borderline perverse attachment. The dialogue is as sharp ("You're dead, son. Get yourself buried." "I'd hate to take a bite out of you. You're a cookie full of arsenic.") and the cynicism as thick as the best of Billy Wilder. If you love noir, you can't miss out on this one.

What were your favorite film discoveries of 2023?

[blueiscoool]

Archaeologists Unearth More Than 50 Viking Skeletons in Denmark

Archaeologists in Denmark have unearthed more than 50 “exceptionally well preserved” skeletons in a large Viking-era burial ground in the east of the country.

A team from Museum Odense have spent the last six months excavating the Åsum site, which covers about 21,500 square feet and is thought to date back to the 9th and 10th centuries.

The skeletons were buried alongside artifacts from far beyond Denmark’s borders, suggesting Vikings traveled extensively for trade, according to the team from the museum.

Michael Borre Lundø, archaeologist and curator at the museum, said that it is incredibly rare to find Viking remains in such a good state of preservation.

“Often when we excavate bodies from the Viking age we are lucky if there are just a few teeth,” he said in a telephone interview Tuesday.

The conditions at the site are what helped keep the skeletons in such good shape, he said.

“At this particular site, there’s a lot of chalk in the ground which helps preserve the bones and there’s a lot of natural water in the ground as well,” he said. “For long periods of time the bodies of the Vikings were covered in water, which slows down the decomposition of the bones.”

Archaeologists had been called in to excavate the area as part of work to renovate the electrical grid.

“We had no clue that there was going to be a burial ground with Viking skeletons there,” Lundø said.

“It is truly unusual to find so many well-preserved skeletons at once, like those discovered in Åsum,” he added separately in a press release.

“This discovery offers extraordinary opportunities to perform a wide range of scientific analyses, which can reveal more about the general health, diet, and origins of those buried,” he said. “The analyses might even reveal whether the buried Vikings were related, which would be particularly significant, as this has never been examined in similar graves.”

Items found buried alongside the skeletons also suggest a lot about the deceased - including their status in society and how far they might have traveled to trade.

Perhaps the most significant of the skeletons was that of a woman found buried in a wagon, the upper part of a Viking cart that was used as a coffin.

Lundø said in the press release: “The woman was buried in the wagon she likely traveled in. We must imagine that she was buried with her finest clothes and belongings. She was given a beautiful glass bead necklace, an iron key, a knife with a silver-threaded handle, and, most notably, a small shard of glass that may have served as an amulet.

“At the foot of the wagon, there was a finely decorated wooden chest, the contents of which we still do not know.”

The grave of another person nearby contained a fine bronze three-lobed brooch, a single red glass bead on a cord around the deceased’s neck, an iron knife and a small piece of rock crystal.

It was this stone that was of particular interest, according to Lundø.

“Rock crystal does not occur naturally in Denmark and was likely imported from Norway. Several items from the many graves in Åsum indicate that the buried Vikings were connected to international trade networks that developed during the Viking Age, he said in the release.”

According to the release, the discovery of the burial site confirms that Åsum was a key geographical point for the earliest urban developments, which eventually led to the formation of Odense - Denmark’s third largest city

Archaeologists are still excavating some of the area at the site, but most of the skeletons and artifacts are now at the museum awaiting further examination.

Lundø said: “Now the skeletons are drying out a little bit before we can wash them and ship them off to Copenhagen for further examination.”

Among other things, scientists in the Danish capital will be aiming to extract DNA from the remains in order to learn more about those buried there.

“That’s going to be very exciting,” Lundø said. “I think that will give us a much better idea of people’s ages, sex, what diseases they might have had and whether they were related.”

By Lianne Kolirin.

[mathilde-with-an-e]

My lovelies, I am still alive and kicking!! No promises but I have no less than three videos currently in progress. Hopefully they will be published over the summer if all goes to plan.

A Sherlolly/Jane Eyre mashup! Yes, that one!! Mentioned many moons ago but that is well under way! Using the music from a show Louise Brealey appeared in: A Discovery of Witches. A brilliant show that everyone should watch.

A Siegfried/Audrey tribute. The music has been chosen (but keeping it a secret because it would be giving too much away) and I am enjoying every second I’ve figured out so far. They are such a delight.

A Ted/Rebecca tribute. Combined with another one of Cumberbatch’s finest. I found that a scene from The Electrical Life of Louis Wain captured the essence of who Ted and Rebecca are to each other very nicely. I can’t change what the show did, but I can honour the love that these two shared.

Stay tuned! 💛

- Mathilde

youtube channel

[daphnefisherofficial]

bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

CHAPTER ONE

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc/Jake/Steven) x Avatar Fem!Reader

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CHAPTER ONE - SHADOWS OF THE PAST.

TWO MONTHS LATER…

The grandeur of your ancestral house in Guildford enveloped you as you strolled through its opulent corridors. Intricately carved wooden paneling adorned the walls, while rich crimson carpets absorbed the echo of your footsteps. The air is filled with the faint scent of polished wood and aged leather, exuding dignified timelessness.

Ascending the grand staircase, you run your hand along the mahogany handrail, feeling the smoothness of centuries of use. Reaching the landing on the second floor, a series of oil paintings greeted your vision. Painted by the likes of Van Gogh, Monet, Gauguin and Millet, each frame you passed through expressively telling stories of their lives’ hardships expressed through masterful strokes that evoked love, pain and unwavering resolve.

You finally reached a pair of imposing double doors, elaborately carved with intricate designs and gilded accents. Pushing them open, you step into your refuge within this grand manor. You took in the soft early afternoon light streaming through the lace curtains, the interior awash in soft, muted colors that evoke a sense of calm and serenity. The master bedroom itself bore an air of regal charm, with the walls adorned with exquisite silk wallpaper featuring delicate floral patterns. A four-poster bed draped in satin was situated at the very center, the bed linens made of the finest Egyptian cotton and the plump pillows neatly arranged in the head rest. 

Seating yourself at the foot of your bed, your eyes caught a familiar oil canvas painting facing your direction - a self portrait of you dressed in a filipiniana gown while holding a soft-feathered fan on your right hand. Brief images of the very day you were painted flashed through your mind, remembering your shy, palpable smile as you took a graceful, elegant pose towards the handsome yet unrecognizable painter as his right hand carefully glided his paintbrush across the canvas.

You’ve been having these recurring dreams again as of late. But you cannot figure out for the life of you who the mysterious subject of your night recollections is.

Mildly shaking your head, you made your way towards your antique writing desk situated near a large bay window, overlooking the well-manicured gardens outside. The scent of freshly picked flowers finally distracted you from your musings, mingling with the aroma of polished wood. Carefully arranged, your flower vase was strategically placed beside an assortment of your night study essentials -  an inkwell, quill pen, notepad, a hardbound copy of Atlas of Ancient Egpyt, and a work laptop with multiple tabs open. 

Against one wall, a towering bookshelf houses an impressive collection of leather-bound tomes, each one a testament to your intellectual pursuits. You returned the hardbound copy of Atlas of Ancient Egpyt to its previous resting place, vowing to return to it after your overseas assignment. That book was an essential to you since you work full time as a museum curator for the British Museum. Back then, that career path wasn’t meant for your gender in the olden age. But as the world changes with time and equality between sexes have been more embraced, you found yourself living your life long passion of promoting cultural heritage and ancestral discovery.

Typing away at your laptop, you’ve mostly dealt with a lot of email exchanges involving procurement and acquisition of artifacts, record keeping and liaising with Egyptologists for the upcoming Ennead exhibition you’re organizing. You have already let most of your recent business contacts know that you’re on overseas leave, advising everyone to liaise with your secretary, Aleah Santos, in your absence.

A gentle knock on your door pulls you out of your reverie, your eyes now diverted towards the bedroom entrance. A middle-aged British man stands in the doorway with an air of quiet dignity, his appearance a testament to his impeccable service and professionalism. His face exudes an air of experience and reserve, befitting his role as the trusted steward of the household. He wears a perfectly tailored, immaculately pressed charcoal-gray suit with a crisp white shirt and a silk tie, and his salt-and-pepper hair was meticulously combed and styled to maintain a polished appearance.

His striking deep, intelligent blue eyes observed you quietly, framed by well-defined eyebrows that conveyed a sense of attentiveness. He was holding in one hand a tray with a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea and a blueberry scone, and a neatly pressed and folded set of smart, business casual clothes in the other. The fabrics were chosen with care and tailored to perfection, a testament to the older man’s meticulous attention to detail.

“Bill, how lovely to see you this afternoon”, you smiled appreciatively before standing, slowly reaching for your wardrobe in his arms. “Thank you for bringing these”

"It's my pleasure, Lady Carter", Bill answered politely, his refined British accent adding to his aura of sophistication. William Jones, who you affectionately nicknamed “Bill”, is the latest addition in the long line of the Jones household who have served the Carter family for a very long time. As the new head of the family estate, the depth of his loyalty to you runs deep and unquestioned.

"I've taken the liberty of preparing your necessities for the trip”, Bill said with a warm smile as he followed you inside, placing the tray of refreshments on your desk. “You'll find your travel documents and essentials ready in your briefcase, and I’ve packed you a suitcase for the three-day trip”

“What would I ever do without you?” you chuckled playfully, grateful for his unwavering efficiency.

“Years of service have taught me well”, Bill chuckled softly. “Now, if I may, I’d like to go over your schedule for the week.”

“Go ahead, I’m all ears”, you nodded, finally taking your first sip of the afternoon tea prepared. It was nothing short of exquisite, the fragrant steam wafting up to greet your senses. “Impeccable brew as always, by the way”

"I’m glad you like the concoction, Milady”, Bill nodded before clearing his throat, proceeding to recite the details of your upcoming trip. “Your flight to Chicago is later this evening at 7PM, and I will be driving you to the airport three hours prior”

You nodded, mentally ticking off the items on your mental checklist, as he continued to consult his notes and brief you.

“Upon your arrival to the United States, a valet service will pick you up and take you to your hotel. I made reservations at the one within walking distance of the family court where your next interpreting assignment will be running for three days”

“That’s good to hear”, you nodded, taking a small bite of the scone. “Have my secretary check on the tour guide headcount at the British Museum and handle the recruitment interviews while I’m gone” 

“Understood”, Bill said curtly, finishing up writing on his notes. He gave a small bow before leaving the room. With his departure, you set to work on packing your travel essentials for your upcoming assignment. 

The routine of operating as a freelance interpreter was familiar, accepting potential clients needing your services regardless of location. You cater mostly to the Filipino community, as it helped you fulfill your duties as Mayari’s avatar - to oversee, guide and protect her travelers of the night. Of all the careers you dabbled in your long life on this earth, being an interpreter and a museum curator were one of the very few roles you’ve had that you took immense pride in. Both navigated the complexities of language and history, bridging the gap between cultures and individuals.

The next morning after your arrival in the United States, the Chicago sun greeted you as you stepped out of your hotel room and into the bustling city streets. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted from a nearby café, tempting you, but duty called.

You found yourself before the imposing building of the Chicago Family Court in Cook County. It was a massive edifice of imposing architecture, and its walls seemed to resonate with the stories of countless families and their struggles. On your way to the court registry, you navigated the maze of hallways with purposeful steps. The walls were painted in muted tones, and the faint hum of conversation filled the air. Lawyers in tailored suits, stern-faced judges, and anxious family members all found their places. The court clerk finally checked you in after having you sign the log book, advising you of your assigned courtroom for your scheduled appointment.

You walked into the assigned courtroom, the polished wood of the benches and the imposing judge's bench before you. The judge’s gaze met yours as you approached the witness stand, acknowledging your presence as he had you sworn in. He instructed you to raise your right hand as you recited your oath, a solemn promise to faithfully and impartially interpret the proceedings for those who needed it. 

“Thank you, Interpreter”, the judge nodded, your duty now officially recognized. “Please introduce yourself to the courtroom for the record”

“Yes, Your Honor”, you greeted in a clear, unwavering voice. “Good morning. My name is Mira Batala-Carter, and I will be serving as the Tagalog/Filipino interpreter for the witness in the stand”

The court proceedings began, and your voice filled the room as you translated the witness's testimony. You moved seamlessly between languages, ensuring that justice prevailed, one word at a time. The judge and attorneys watched you closely, appreciating your precision and dedication.

After the session concluded, you extended a hand to the witness, a kind-hearted woman who had been through a trying experience. She thanked you for your services, her eyes conveying a profound gratitude that words could not fully capture. As she left your presence, you muttered a silent prayer to your patron goddess, fulfilling your role as her avatar as you invoked a simple protection spell.

“Patnubayan mo ang guhit ng kanyang kapalaran, aking diwatang Mayari”

Guide the lines of her fate, my goddess Mayari.

As the proceedings unfolded over the next three days, you found yourself immersed in the world of legal battles, translating the words and emotions of those caught in the intricate web of the justice system. It was a demanding role, one that required not just linguistic proficiency, but also an acute understanding of human nature and the ability to convey the nuances of speech. Legal jargon and emotional testimonies flowed through you, and you remained resolute in your duty as an interpreter.

You arrived early on the last day of your interpreting assignment, finally giving in to your caffeine cravings as you clutch a cup of steaming coffee to ward off the chilly Chicago morning. You took a seat in the hallway, waiting outside the assigned courtroom. As you sipped your cappuccino and glanced around, your eyes landed on a man slouched on one of the benches, clearly taking a nap. 

His face stirred a memory, one that danced tantalizingly out of reach. Yet you couldn't quite place where you had seen him before. He had a rugged handsomeness, an aura of enigmatic mystery that drew you in. 

The man's companion, a woman of Arabic-Egyptian descent with a cascade of curly, dark hair, approached him, carrying a steaming cup of coffee. She leaned down, her concern etched on her face as she gently nudged him awake. She whispered something to him, and he stirred, blinking his eyes open.

Your heart clenched as you witnessed the tenderness in their interaction. The way their eyes met with shared history and unspoken understanding prompted a deluge of memories to flood your mind, unbidden and unexpected.

Like ghosts from the past, you heard sounds of laughter and shared secrets echoing inside your head. Your lips trembled as they seemingly remembered the tenderness of breathless kisses stolen beneath the moonlit sky. The details eluded you, but the emotions were vivid—joy, love, and a sense of belonging. 

But as swiftly as those memories resurfaced, they slipped away like sand through your fingers, leaving you with an ache of longing and confusion.

Who was this man, and why did his presence stir such deep-seated emotions within you?

Before you could delve further into your thoughts, a call from Bill interrupted your reverie. You reached for your phone, the jarring ringtone pulling you back to reality.

"Lady Carter," Bill's voice came through the receiver, crisp and professional. "I have an important update from Miss Santos. We are still missing one more tour guide from the total headcount you require for the upcoming exhibition"

��Copy that”, you nodded. “Please have her finalize the applicants I’ll need to interview on Saturday”

As you hung up the phone, a court clerk emerged to announce that the morning proceedings will now begin. Finishing the rest of your coffee, you threw the empty cup at the nearby bin before entering the courtroom once more to complete the final leg of your interpreting assignment. 

Unbeknownst to you, Mayari, the patron goddess of the moon, quietly observed from a distance as her ethereal, astral form shimmered from afar. Her eyes, filled with a sorrow you had never seen before, remained fixed on you as she recalled the most grievous of her sins—removing your image of Darius Carter and your memories of the events that had bound you to Khonshu's avatar, Moon Knight. She had acted with what she believed was your best interest at heart, but now, as she watched the remnants of your forgotten past resurface, doubt crept into her heart.

Mayari was determined to see her decision through to the end, to protect you from the darkness that lurked in the shadows. Yet, as she gazed upon the unfolding drama, the lines between right and wrong blurred, and the weight of her choices pressed upon her.

“Mr and Mrs Spector, please come to the front”

END OF CHAPTER ONE.

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[bb-bare-bones]

Transformations in Re-Animator: Body Horror at its Finest

By Tabby Knight (Instagram - tabby.knight6)

Artwork by Dy Dawson, @xgardensinspace

I love Re-Animator. I’m in love with it. Seriously, disgustingly, violently in love with it. If I could marry a film, it’d be Re-Animator (and I’d be sure to court it first—flowers, chocolates, disembodied hearts floating in jars, the works). If I could marry a character in a film, it’d be Herbert West, which probably indicates—not that I needed an indication—that there’s something really very wrong with me as a human being.

But the heart wants what it wants, and ever since I watched Stuart Gordon’s 1985 splatter-fest as a bloodthirsty undergrad, streaming the film in low quality on my cracked, ageing iPhone, my heart has wanted Re-Animator. I love everything about the film, from its lead characters to its buckets of blood to its ridiculous, oh-so-quotable moments of barefaced comedy (“You’ll never get credit for my discovery. Who’s going to believe a talking head? Get a job in a sideshow.”) and I know just about everything about it, too. I’ve seen its sequels (Bride’s a messy triumph, we don’t speak about Beyond) watched interviews, deleted scenes, actor and director commentaries, the works. I’ve also tracked down just about every other horror film featuring the dynamic duo of Jeffrey Combs and Barbara Crampton, seeking something of the same calibre to scratch that gory itch. A few films have come close, but none so far have surpassed it. As a lifelong viewer of 80’s corn-syrup gore, I can assure you that Re-Animator is unmatched. It stands alone.

There’s a lot of talk about Re-Animator as a cult classic, and rightly so. There’s also talk about it as a comedy (true) a splatter film (also true) and a landmark of Lovecraftian canon (absolutely). But what I don’t see talked about as much, is that it’s a pretty impressive piece of transformation horror—verging on body horror, really—in the same vein as Jekyll and Hyde, The Fly, or American Werewolf in London.

At its core, Re-Animator is a film about uncontrollable, transforming bodies, both the obvious and the subtle. From its opening sequence (Doctor Gruber’s freaky, bulging eyes that explode right out of his head) to its final, blood-soaked showdown, the body is a constant site of change.

There is, first and foremost, the transformations brought about by Herbert West’s re-agent: the re-animation of the tranquil dead to aggressive, violent zombies. By that same token, the re-agent also transitions Dean Halsey from a rational human being into a creature who mindlessly kidnaps, restrains and strips his own daughter, and aids Doctor Hill’s transition from a creepy, unethical professor to an all-out, murderous sexual predator (albeit a decapitated one).

But there are also the subtle changes. Dan’s patients are always in motion, crossing over from life to death (it’s funny to think that in a film set primarily in a hospital, none of the patients on display actually make it out alive) and the bodies in the morgue are always shown in transitional states of rot and decay. Almost every shot of a body (or its parts) displays these changing states in full detail, a constant reminder of human fragility—our own lack of control over our own bodies, and the inevitable breakdown of the flesh.

But my favourite transformation—and perhaps the most criminally overlooked—doesn’t actually occur in the body at all. Or at least, not at first glance. It’s the transformation we see in All-American good guy Dan Cain: our squeaky-clean med student protagonist, and eventual accomplice to Herbert’s maniacal experiments. At the start of the film, Dan appears to have it all. Good career prospects, a super cute girlfriend (Megan Halsey, I’m in love with you) and what appears to be a fairly concrete spot on the Dean’s List: Dean Halsey even goes so far as to describe him as one of Miskatonic’s most promising students—no mean feat, considering he’s regularly bedding the ultra-conservative Dean’s only daughter. The only identifiable flaw in his apple pie life would appear to be his inner struggle with mortality. Not his own, you understand, but that of his patients. He refuses to accept that dead is emphatically, irrevocably dead. And of course, it’s this struggle that sets up the rest of the film.

Throughout Re-Animator’s speedy 90-minute runtime, we see Dan transition almost seamlessly from an upstanding member of society to a man who willingly injects a volatile substance into the corpse of his dead girlfriend, despite knowing full well what the consequences will be. In essence, he transforms from a regular guy into an all-out monster. Granted, he’s a monster with a conscience (we see that very clearly in Bride of Re-Animator) but arguably, so are your American Werewolves and Brundleflies.

In fact, you could argue Dan’s a little bit worse than most transformative monsters: Dan’s conscience, such as it is, always seems to disappear when faced with the prospect of his own self-interest. Despite all his prior reservations, his reluctance to revive Dean Halsey (until it suits him) his fury at Herbert’s murder and resurrection of Doctor Hill, all of it seems to dissipate in the face of Meg’s death. Then, suddenly, there’s no hesitation, no ethics. He barely hesitates in retrieving the reagent, measuring up the dose, or injecting Meg in the brain stem. His transformation—man to monster—is complete. And he didn’t even have to shed his skin to do it.

This is, in part, what I think is missing from the 1989 sequel, Bride of Re-Animator (aside from Stuart Gordon in the director’s chair). Bride’s a good movie, and I like it a lot, even if it does lag a little somewhere around the middle. But what really lets it down is the absence of that underlying transformative arc – we as an audience aren’t particularly unnerved by Dan’s second descent into medical madness, because it’s not exactly shocking or new. We’ve already seen the very worst he could do first time around, and anything Bride tries to offer us naturally falls short. A better direction for the sequel might have been a role reversal—maybe Herbert gains something of a conscience while Dan continues to lose his? But then of course, there’s the risk that Herbert might also lose some of the callous edge that makes him such an iconic anti-hero (and makes me love him so, so much). It’d be a fine line to walk, and interestingly some fanworks do a great job of it, but it’s never quite transferred to the realm of sequel film.

For me, it’ll always come back to that final shot—the plunge of the Re-agent filled syringe before Barbara Crampton’s iconic scream and the dramatic cut to black. There’s only one ending that comes close to scratching the same depraved itch in my strange little brain, and that’s the closing line in Stephen King’s Pet Semetary:

“…Darling.”

[ethanhuntfemmefatale]

fuck it. ethan hair ranking

it's saturday im bored i don't want to practice mozart anymore. let's go

I'm gonna rank bottom to top this time and include visual aids. none of my choices are going to be much of a surprise to anyone who knows my particular tastes I think.

7. Dead Reckoning Part 1

Ethan is just gorgeous in this movie but his hair doesn’t do it for me. It’s short enough that it can’t have the same personality as it does at Fallout or MI1 length. It looks good on him! But it’s kinda flat. It's just fine. Also it doesn’t strike me as being a character choice so much as a “McQ likes TC’s hair better short” choice

6. Fallout

I would like to formally apologize to arc @callmearcturus i am sorry for slandering your boy like this. I love him too. fallout ethan is objectively the finest look that ethan has ever had I love him even above my dearly beloved MI1 ethan. He's deeply beautiful and i love him so much my heart hurts. but for me it's not the hair it's the Vibes. the vibes are here but the hair is just. it's a haircut. It's just normal to me, it’s floofy which I appreciate but. still. It’s a nice looking cut. Good for cosplaying a man. Utilitarian. It works well on Ethan but it doesn't capture my fascination.

5. MI3

it might also be time for me to formally apologize to mar @malewifebillcage for slandering her boy.......mi3 ethan's hair is also just a cut to me. and objectively i think the fallout cut even looks better on him. but I love MI3 hair dearly and deeply for character reasons because it’s such an aggressively rom com cut it really feels like Ethan googled “house husband” for reference pics. so i like it better cause it amuses me

4. MI1

I'd like to formally apologize to myself for slandering my own boy. (Also Luther in the back hi Luther I love you.) Ethan's hair in this movie is also excellent characterization and provides a perfect baseline for all my Ethan Hunt hair meta thoughts. And it’s so expressive! I love how spiky it is! That being said while it has a lot of personality it is simply not as aesthetically gorgeous to me as some of the cuts I ranked higher. MI1 Ethan I’m sorry

3. Rogue Nation

rogue nation Ethan literally takes my breath away at times with how beautiful he is. I am obsessed with the subtle length and swoop and the way it falls over his forehead. It’s the kind of hair that says “I had my gender crisis years ago and decided my gender was Gorgeous”. And yet it isn’t Character Driven enough for me to have it at the top

2. MI2

mi2 hair i think about you all the time.

both rich in Character Implication and mind-blowingly pretty. This is his hot girl summer hair his cherry bomb by the runaways hair it’s his ‘blew up my dad who wants me’ hair. It’s so far from the MI1 ingenue that it leaves manwhore in the dust and wraps back around to ingenue again. This is the hair of a man (????) who is trying so very hard to be absolutely anything other than what he is that he becomes exactly what he doesn’t like being. Every single image of him with this hair is like a masterclass in gender and rebellion and trauma and self discovery. and I Want To Run My Hands Through It.

But! there is something about the MI2 hair that feels. Styled and calculated and superficial. Hair for an Effect. Which is part of what I love about it! It’s also why this hair isn’t my absolute favorite. That title goes to:

Ghost Protocol

Ghost Protocol hair my absolute fucking beloved. What tips this hair over the edge for me is the way it looks when he’s tired and disheveled, in the prison breakout scene, in the car after the Kremlin, etc. This hair feels so natural for him, it’s a bit wild and floppy and makes him look kinda like a Creature instead of a man (I mean this in the most flattering way possible). He’s not trying to claim gender the way he is in MI2 or MI3, he’s…doing his own thing. It’s somehow both a utilitarianism and an indulgence. He’s not trying to fit in anywhere, he’s not trying to be anything, he’s in his base state and it’s fucking gorgeous. I guess for me this is the thing—MI4 is the movie where Ethan doesn’t have to function as a member of society, and has been free of functioning as a member of society for a while now. And this is the result. I could stare at him forever<3