#the director for instance

[numbuh424]

Light's wardrobe in the 1st half of the jdrama (ep 1 - 5) vs his wardrobe in the 2nd half (ep 6 - 11).

[quinn-fucks-shit-up]

apparently, my attention to pips in Andor is "distracting" and "[I] should just appreciate the show"

[spiceupyourfcknife]

So assuming that the only true thing in Armands story was the fact that mutiny was building among the coven, did he just release Louis bc it was convenient?

Like if Armand directed the play, made Lestat come and act in it, and wasn’t the one who save Louis, - did he actually save Louis bc he could hear him screaming from starvation… despite Louis saying he did not have the energy to scream…. Or did he just want to kill the coven who after centuries of being led by him turned on him after he’d burnt his own escape route.

[airenyah]

Hey so do you know where I could find this acting manifesto of yours?

I usually try and avoid publicly expressing my opinion on things like this but I recently saw some people commenting negatively on his acting again and I’m starting to doubt my own judgement.

I’ve truly never had a huge problem with his acting but I keep seeing people using really harsh words to describe his prior and current work. I genuinely think he’s doing a good job in THK but these comments sometimes make me think I’m missing something.

That conflicts with the fact I know at least three people he worked with on THK specifically had positive things to say about his acting too and I trust people who do this for a living to know what they’re talking about for the most part.

I guess I’m just looking for your post to have a more detailed perspective of the opposite viewpoint to “he’s a terrible actor” to help affirm some of my thinking so I’m more confident in my positive opinion of his acting.

Overall though I’m enjoying everyone in this show but for me I’m specifically enjoying the four mains the most. Kudos to them honestly.

(Disclaimer: Obviously everyone is entitled to their opinion but the harshness of some of the opinions took me off guard a little.)

fuck these people. they don't know shit.

(mind you. this manifesto was written based on his performance in just star in my mind and hidden agenda. his 2024 shows weren't even out at that point. in fact, thk hadn't even been publicly announced yet. you can see from the start there is talent in this boy if you actually know what to look out for)

bonus: i rant some more in the last reblog

[scalpel-mom-mori]

ok i'll get back to working on crimson solitaire probably tomorrow or sunday i promise

[coldshrugs]

landmark

pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau word count: 4.6k summary: [modern au] estinien meets io in a support group for grieving youths. set five years before this.

Estinien is early—the first one in the room, as usual, even before Counselor Miounne arrives. It’s part of the ritual.

Hit the lights and dim them to three-quarters. Turn on the fancy instant coffeemaker, make sure there are enough of those little fucking pods for everyone. Sugar and powdered creamer too. Music on, some unobtrusive classical harp thing he doesn’t care for. Then he arranges nine chairs in a loose circle and, selfishly, puts the least squeaky one in his spot across from the window.

It helps, to do these tasks before their sessions. The work allows him to mentally prepare for this, because when is it easy to circle death’s drain for two hours?

With the space set up, he slings his backpack over his claimed chair and waits.

They stroll into the meeting in ones and twos. They make their coffee, ask about their weeks (in the casual way, where you’re supposed to answer “fine” even if it wasn’t; the real answers will come later). Eventually, Miounne enters and everyone finds a seat.

He isn’t great with names, but he knows a few by now. Lyse, the one with the sister and dad, and one of the youngest members. Leofard, the one with the mom. He knows all the faces though, and the one hovering by the door is new.

She’s tall, but slouching a little, crossing her arms like she’s scared to take up space or trying not to be seen. Inky blue hair is piled into a loose bun on top of her head, with long wavy strands hanging around her freckled face. Her eyes are bloodshot, almost too focused. She must be new.

As he watches her, her gaze cuts over to him—

“Estinien,” Miounne calls. His attention snaps from the girl at the door to his counselor. “Another chair, please?”

“Yeah, sure.” He quickly grabs one from the nearest stack, looking for a decent place to put it. Two kids slide their chairs apart so he can fit this one between them. Right in front of the window.

He sits again and Miounne claps softly, still standing in the center of the circle.

“Hi friends,” she says, more gently than usual. “It’s been a while since we’ve welcomed a new face, hasn’t it? I know we’re all capable of extending warmth and patience to those who need it, so let’s be mindful of that as we welcome Io to our group, okay?”

She gestures to the door, beckoning the new girl in. Io. He’ll try to remember that. He wonders who she lost and when, and tries not to wonder how. The how never matters anyway. Gone is gone.

“Welcome to Haven: Youth Grief Counseling, Io. Take a seat, just there, sweetie.”

Io sits down and Estinien regrets this seating arrangement; he’s lost the window view. She glances around the circle, her polite smile is a tight line. Her eyes flick to him once more, then back to the floor.

Miounne sits too. She claps one more time and they begin.

Next week starts the same. His chin is in his hand, elbow propped on his bouncing knee as they arrive. Lyse. Leofard. New girl.

Leo takes his seat next to Estinien and leans over. Oh god.

“Estinien,” he whispers loud enough for almost everyone to hear. His eyes flash to the new girl making coffee by herself. “I found out what her deal is.”

“Happy for you,” Estinien says. That’s not his business. But he stupidly glances at Leo anyway.

“She’s like you. Total wipeout—we’re talking mom, dad, two younger siblings—about a year ago. Just now going back to school, apparently.” He looks at her again, taking a bold head-to-toe survey, and Estinien follows. She’s tall, willowy, and there’s something disciplined about her posture; the set of her shoulders feels intentional even in her depression slump. Her ears tilt, and he turns back around. Leofard is still staring. “Wonder what else she’s ready to get back into…” He winks at Estinien.

“Probably best to leave her alone. She’s not here to find a date,” he says.

Leo huffs in fake offense. “Well, neither am I but if it happens, it happens.”

A month passes, one week bleeding into the next, and Estinien is always early to Haven. But someone is earlier today, of all days. The door is open, the light is on, and the chairs are in their circle.

Io is waiting.

He remembers her name now. It’s easy to remember the girl who hasn’t said anything in five sessions. It’s unusual, but understandable; they’re all strangers to her, and if what Leofard said is true, he’s impressed she’s showing up at all.

Estinien recalls what his loss was like a fresh wound—the anger throbbing in his chest, sobbing his voice raw for days, not eating or sleeping. He wouldn’t speak to Alberic at first, either. It feels so childish to him now. But looking at her… those feelings echo in his chest, and he is sharply reminded that grief doesn’t shrink.

He shoots her a courtesy smile as he starts the coffeemaker and CD player.

“Sorry about the shitty music,” he says as the sound of softly plucked strings fills the space. When he looks over, she’s staring at the floor again, eyes wide—that awkward “what the fuck” face—and his stomach flips. He said something wrong.

Cool.

He takes his seat across from her, trying to bury the urge to wait on the bench just outside the room when his chair squeaks. Great. He takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes. To deal or not to deal? He is, unfortunately, too big for the noise to keep from happening and he can’t be annoyed for the next two hours. What does he care if she thinks he looks crazy?

He stands up and jostles the next chair, which is better but not great. He tries the next. Even worse.

“What are you doing?”

The rasp of her voice is so quiet that he doesn’t fully catch the words.

He looks up from the red plastic in his hand. “What?”

She looks like she wishes she’d not asked at all, rubbing a hand anxiously over her arm. She sighs. “With the chairs. What are you doing with the chairs?”

“Trying to find one that doesn’t squeak. I usually—”

“I took that one.” She glances up at him, grimacing, but there’s a light in her eyes. It’s the least miserable he’s seen her so far. She thinks this is funny. “Sorry. You can have it back.”

He puts a hand up when she stands. He’s not taking the chair from the sad girl. “Uh… no. No, you can take it. There’s probably another one that isn’t annoying as fuck, I’ll find it.”

“Then let me help you. It’s only fair, since I disturbed your whole—” she gestures slowly around the meeting room— “process.” God, her voice is in shreds.

He can’t say no when this is the first sign of life she’s shown in over a month, at least here. He nods. “Sure, if you want.”

They go through the chairs in the circle, then the others neatly stacked in the corner. They don’t really talk, besides simple directions: “I tried that one already,” and “will you pass me another,” and “holy shit, that’s the worst one yet.” Estinien is keenly aware of her shifting around him, slowly at first, and then with less hesitation. Finally, they find a chair that doesn’t creak when he sits or moves. It goes in his spot and they clean up the rest.

“Hey,” Io says, and the word is conspiratorial. She catches his gaze, and something about hers makes him feel like glass, like they almost know each other. Like he’s seen her before, a blurry smile littering the backgrounds of photos in the album he managed to salvage, only viewed in profile or half out of frame, obscured by the barely remembered vacation or birthday party in the foreground. He swallows as she reaches into her bag and pulls out a black marker. “Should we make sure we never lose these again?”

“Vandalism? In our therapy group?” He squints, shoving down the fondness she’s conjured in just a few minutes. “Do you even need to ask?”

She laughs, or tries to. It comes out weak and cracked as she crosses to his side of the circle and kneels beside him. She pops the cap off the marker. “It’s Estinien, right?”

He nods, “Yeah.”

“I’m Io. The other total wipeout”—she air quotes Leo’s label—“but you already knew that.” She scribbles a small “E” on the side of the chair then heads back over to her own, where she writes an “I.”

It’s almost time for group to start.

“Are you gonna talk about it today?” Estinien asks. It’s just them sitting directly across from one another, surrounded by empty chairs.

Io shrugs, and her body seems to fold in on itself. Making herself small again. “I don’t know. It’s hard to talk about it at all. I’ll try?”

“You don’t have to. But it does help, in a weird way.”

The others drift in at the usual leisurely pace, Miounne claps, and they begin.

First question: “How are you feeling today?”

They go in a circle starting at Miounne’s left. Some answers are simple, like Leo’s.

“Pretty good. I started planning a trip for fall break, somewhere I think Mom would’ve liked to see. I’m looking forward to telling you guys about the trouble I got into when I’m back.”

Sometimes there’s a follow-up, sometimes Miounne will let it hang. Estinien has no idea how she gauges that, but it feels right.

He’s third to answer.

How does he feel today? He picks at the frayed edge of a hole in his jeans.

“I’m kind of anxious today. I declared my major this year so everything feels… more real, I guess. I’m trying to study for a couple of tests next week but I read the page and it may as well be blank. Nothing sticks. I keep worrying I might…” He pauses. This is normally when he’d look out the window; when something heavy rises to the surface, it’s easier to look outside, but for five weeks, Io has been sitting in front of him. The broken habit means he shares less. But how can he encourage her if he can’t bend a little himself?

He looks up, and there she is—dark, curious, and strangely calming, her eyes burn a hole right through him. Behind her, the trees in the courtyard are starting to take on shades of autumn, gold and bronze intensified by the sunlight filtering through the leaves. It’s a view he can deal with. Io gives him an almost imperceptible nod.

“I worry I might let them down. It feels stupid to say out loud,” he laughs with a short snorted breath. “It’s always in the back of my mind though: what would they think of me now? What does this action mean to them? I guess it doesn’t mean anything and I should just study for the damn test so I can actually be someone they’d be proud of. Anyway… yeah, I’m anxious today.”

Miounne reclines a little in her seat. “Have you tried anything to help you study, to shift that focus on what your family would think towards something more current?”

He nods, looking from Io to Miounne. “Yeah, uh, I’ve asked a friend to join me. We’re going to try that today. He’s been pretty supportive since learning about all of this, and his grades are better than mine anyway. And I try to think about Alberic, my former guardian, I guess. I think he’d be proud of me no matter how I end up, so that helps.”

“Excellent,” she says, looking around at the others before spelling out the lesson. “Leaning on others is a great way to remind ourselves how loved and valued we are, especially when lower moods may make you want to isolate. Re-establishing bonds of friendship, or building new ones, helps bring your focus to just how strong your current support system is, or where it’s lacking. I think you’re doing that beautifully, Estinien. Thank you.”

He exhales, shying away from the praise and returning his focus to his frayed hem. Maybe that’s enough sharing for this week.

They keep going. Io is second to last, and though everyone expects silence by now, Miounne asks anyway.

“How are you feeling today, Io? Anything you want to share?”

He looks up again—will she actually say something today?—and she’s focused on him now. The room is empty again, except for the two of them in the empty circle. Fresh sharpie smell rising from their initials on the chairs.

“Hey,” she says, raising her hand in a little wave. “Sorry for being weird. I’m trying.”

“No such thing as weird in this room,” Miounne offers.

Io doesn’t look away from Estinien. She brushes a stray lock of hair from her eyes, and the tiniest hint of a smile pulls at the corners of her lips.

“I’m feeling okay today. As okay as I think I can feel right now, anyway. I cleaned my apartment this morning. And I’ve been working really hard on a piece for my school’s symphony showcase before fall break. I even invited some friends I haven’t talked to in… too long.”

“That’s wonderful, Io!” Miounne leans forward, elbows on her knees. “I read you major in music at RSU? What do you play?”

Her eyes fall to her lap. “Pedal harp. Mostly classical, but sometimes I make arrangements of new music, for fun.”

Shit.

“Thank you for sharing today, Io. We appreciate the opportunity to get to know you.” Miounne moves on, and so does everyone else.

But Estinien is stuck on this one thing. His stomach ties itself in a knot. Without knowing, he insulted her, and then she helped him with the stupid chairs… And it doesn’t even matter, because she doesn’t know him. They don’t go to the same university, and the only things they have in common are their dead families and the two hours a week they spend in this room. He has no notions of being friends with her, and definitely nothing like what Leofard has in mind. Still, he can’t stop it gnawing at him.

The session wraps and he approaches Io before she leaves.

“Io?”

She turns to him, for once standing at her full height, and they’re almost eye to eye. The almost-smile is back, and that gnaws at him too. “Hey, thanks for the nudge earlier. You were right.”

“Yeah, well,” He fidgets with his keys. “I’m sorry for calling the music shitty. I didn’t know harp was, like, a thing for you.”

Her laugh is stronger than before. “Wait, are you serious? You had no way to know that, and I’m not the music police. You don’t have to like it.”

He shrugs. “Still not a cool thing to say. I mean, I only really know it from this place anyway.”

“Would you… want to come to my concert?” She asks slowly, then shakes her head. “That might be dumb. That’s all the way across town and we basically just met. I—”

A strand of hair falls into her eyes and his fingers twitch as she tucks it in with the rest. She’s still rambling when the words rush out of him before he considers them.

“Yeah, I’ll come.”

“—Oh.” Wide, surprised eyes blink up at him. “Okay, great! You can bring a friend, or a date, or whatever. I’ll bring tickets for you next week?”

Estinien pockets his keys. “Sure. I’ll see you then.” Despite his clumsy apology to someone who may as well be a stranger, as Io leaves, he feels the same wave of nostalgia from earlier. Some things are true no matter how you fight them.

Estinien enters his dorm with two tickets in hand. Keys in the bowl by the door, backpack under his desk, shoes in the closet. He falls onto his bed with a little bounce, holding the shiny slips of paper up to the light.

“What took you so long?” Aymeric asks from his bed on the other side of the room. He’s reclined on a few pillows, and it looks like he’s alternating between two books. “I’m starving.”

Estinien shrugs. “Got caught up talking to someone after the session. She invited me to her concert in a couple of weeks. Wanna go?” He holds the tickets out for Aymeric’s inspection.

He looks them over, brows raising in slight surprise. “You actually want to go to this?”

“I don’t know, but I said I would.” Estinien sits up. “It can’t be that bad, can it?”

“Is she cute, whoever she is?” Aymeric lazily passes the tickets across the canyon between their beds. “Can’t see why you’d want to go otherwise. I mean, I definitely want to go, it sounds kind of fancy, but you… Hmm.”

“Shut up,” he laughs. There are other reasons, but the most important is making amends for being a dick, even by accident. “Her name is Io. She’s nice, seems cool now that she talks. She’s new to the group.”

“We can go, but you didn’t answer the question.”

“Look, it’s nothing like that. She even said I could bring a date.” Estinien places the tickets in his nightstand drawer, regretting the decision to ask for company.

Aymeric shakes his head and returns to his reading. “You poor, sad muppet. Order a pizza already.”

They stand outside the theater in their untucked button-downs over jeans. Estinien hasn’t been on this campus before, but Aymeric has; thanks to an on-again-off-again thing with some miqo’te guy who goes here, they were able to find the place quickly.

“Are we meeting her before the show?” Ayms asks, scanning the crowd. He’s been eager to learn more about Io in the days leading up to this.

“Nah, she’s backstage, but said I could text her after. It’ll be quick. She has other friends coming, so I’ll just say hi.” It sounds simple enough, but anxiety prickles across his chest.

Inside, they find their seats in the front row of the balcony—a surprisingly nice view.

“Not bad,” Aymeric admires the architecture, comparing things to this venue to the one on their campus, but Estinien hasn’t been in that one either. He only catches half of what’s said, eyes focused on the stage. Aymeric nudges him with an elbow. “She’s the harpist, right?”

He nods. “Yeah, she has a solo at some point.” He rubs his hands on his jeans, sitting forward in the seat a little as the lights go down and the musicians file onto the stage.

“Relax,” Aymeric whispers. “You might enjoy it if you chill out. Look, there she is.”

He points through the dark as she approaches the harp in the back center, almost directly in front of him, and he’s reminded of how they sit during Haven. She’s wearing long black boots and a short dress of the same color, with loose sleeves he can see through. Her hair is down tonight, but pulled back from her face. She’s pretty, even from here.

“Whoa.” Aymeric sits forward too. “You couldn’t just say she’s cute, could you?”

“I told you, it’s not like that. She just lost her fami—”

“SHH!”

Aymeric’s smile is infuriating, cradling his chin in his hand. Estinien shoots him a dark look, then passes a hand over his face as anxiety twists into hot embarrassment, thankful for the darkness as the music starts.

And it’s the music he can’t look away from. There’s more movement in it than he expected, a rawness the CDs or digital streams just don’t portray. Everyone is working to build part of a whole, and each of them can be heard in the larger sound.

Then there is Io.

Admittedly, his experience is limited, but he’s never seen her like this. Every motion is fluid, yet deliberate, even while supporting such a heavy-looking instrument. She is focused, on her hands, on the sheet music in front of her, on the others playing around her. And she looks… serene. Happy.

The tempo slows during the fourth song and a godlight falls on her, a little spot of brightness that eclipses all else. Her solo. Estinien holds his breath.

She builds suspense with sound, then her hands move faster than he can make sense of. Sometimes she places a hand flat against the strings to still them, and that is what hollows out his chest. The elegant control in what he thought was so simple. This is nothing like the CD in their support group. He could listen to this forever.

The rest of the orchestra gradually rises around her until the lights on them lift once more. He might be disappointed if the whole thing didn’t work so well. They bring the song to a close, then stand to take their bows while the audience applauds.

Estinien pulls out his phone. He’s supposed to text her, but how does he follow that? Aymeric hovers over his shoulder, watching him type and delete the same sentence three times.

“What do I say?”

Aymeric rests his chin on Estinien’s shoulder, loudly um-ing and ah-ing, and he almost regrets asking. “How about this: ‘Loved the show. I’m still around if you want to meet up.’ Simple, right? And contextually open-ended, in the unlikely case you get a grip.”

He rolls his eyes but types and sends it while she’s still on stage. It’s several minutes after the musicians exit the stage that he gets a reply: “I’m so glad you came! Take the exit to the left and the door immediately to the right, and tell the attendant you’re with me, see you soon!”

They follow the instructions to a cramped backstage area. People are carrying flowers. Should he have brought flowers? Too late now.

They wander the crowd aimlessly, and his anxiety creeps in with each passing second. There’s a touch at his elbow, light but guiding.

“Estinien,” Io’s voice. Her quiet rasp is familiar to him now, and she sounds far more healthy than when she first spoke to him. He turns to her, and she beams. “Thank you for coming!”

He isn’t sure what to do, and he has no token of congratulations to give her. “Thanks for inviting me. Inviting us, I guess.”

“Us?” Io looks over his shoulder, where Aymeric is practically buzzing as he waits to be introduced.

Ayms extends a hand, “Io, it’s wonderful to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you—”

“He asked constantly. I didn’t want to tell him anything—”

“—and it’s nice being able to put a beautiful face to a beautiful name.”

Estinien covers his face with his hands. “A merciful god would’ve killed me by now.”

Io accepts the handshake, “And you are?”

“Aymeric. Estinien’s roommate and, because he won’t say it out loud, his best friend.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Aymeric. I’m glad you guys came; I know it’s a big ask and it’s not everyone’s taste but—”

“It was amazing,” Estinien’s mouth moves before his mind catches up, something that seems to be common in her presence. Io and Aymeric stare at him, brows lifting in unison. Her neck has flushed red. “I just… didn’t know what to expect, but it was impressive.”

Io’s half-smile, the one he’s learning she wears when she’s nervous, lifts the corner of her lips. “Thank you. I wasn’t trying to change your life or anything. I just thought it’d be cool to show you what I do, and maybe get to know you better too. You know, the “bonds” Miounne is always talking about.”

“Io!” A group of people call out from several feet behind them, waving her over.

She waves to them, then turns to him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, those are my friends. I’ll be right back.” He watches as she walks away and they sweep her into a noisy group hug.

“Dude,” Aymeric whispers, “Should I go? Do you want me to go?”

“Go where?”

“Go! Home!”

Estinien glances back at Io, and her friends are definitely looking over at them. “And leave me with them?”

Ayms grimaces, balling his hands into fists. “With her!”

Estinien shakes his head. “No, just give me a second and we can both go.” Aymeric silently fakes a scream.

Io returns, wringing her hands as she says, “We’re going to grab some dinner from a place nearby; you guys are welcome to join us.”

He hesitates. Maybe Aymeric is right and he should stay, or maybe assuming someone working through her grief wants anything more than a friendship with him is not in either of their best interests. “We should probably get back. We’ve both got to pack before break starts.”

Io’s expression dampens. “Oh, okay. Well, thanks again for coming out. I’ll see you at Haven in a couple of weeks?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “See you there.”

Estinien turns on the light and adjusts the dimmer. It’s been a while since he’s been first, but Io shows up right after him.

“Hey,” she says quietly, heading to the CD player while he starts the coffee maker. The ritual is no longer just his.

“Hi.” He’s rummaging through the cabinet beneath the coffee station, gathering the supplies, when she starts the music. It’s not their usual instrumental album… “This is from your concert?”

She starts on the chairs. “I hope it’s okay. I emailed Miounne when I got the recording to ask if I could bring it in, to show everyone what I’ve been working on and that I’m kind of normal outside of all this. But I can switch it back, if you’d rather keep the routine.”

His eyes fall closed and he is back in the theater, watching her play in a beam of light, arms unfurling around the strings like flightless wings and he doesn’t think “normal” is a good description of her at all.

“Estinien?”

He opens his eyes.

“No, this is fine.” He stands and arranges the little coffee bar. “I meant it. I thought it was great.”

“That’s a relief,” she laughs a little. “I mean, I believed you, but…”

He frees the rest of the chairs from their neat stack. Their initials are on the last two. He passes her the “I.”

“But what?”

Io crosses her arms behind her chair, bites her lip. The early evening sun illuminates the courtyard, and as it streams through the window little specks of its light catch in her hair. “I don’t know, I always feel nervous trying to make friends.”

Ah.

It’s like he thought. He can tell Aymeric once and for all there’s nothing else going on here. Which is fine, of course. It’s fine. He wants to learn more about her, and let her get to know him too. He doesn’t have a ton, but he thinks he’s a decent friend. He could be a good friend to Io.

“Yeah,” he says, ignoring the heavy, unnameable thing settling in his stomach. “Me too. But it kind of feels like we’re already friends, right? So don’t worry about it too much.”

Io’s smile pokes through her bitten lip as she takes her seat across from him, the sun at her back. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

She is still smiling when everyone joins them, when the session begins, when Miounne asks how she’s feeling today, and when she bids him goodbye with the promise to text him this week. He knows because he can’t help but look at her.

Some things are true no matter how you fight them.

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Uh… sorry about your boyfriend. He was bitten by a spider… yeah, we had to amputate his leg… But we also taught him how to swim and fight to the death; he’s a pro at it!

[pynkhues]

Hi, for the movie asks 🍿 21 22 23 🙂

Hi! Thank you!

21. A director you think is underrated

Oh, man, so many, but I've been working my way through Peter Weir's filmography again, and I can't believe his oeuvre isn't talked about more in its entirety. Like, yeah, people will talk about Dead Poet's Society and The Truman Show, but to look at the 15 feature films he made and his evolution from formative Australian cinema like Picnic at Hanging Rock, Gallipoli and The Cars that Ate Paris through to his American work like the movies I listed above plus Witness, Green Card and Master and Commander is truly pretty spectacular. There was no genre that he couldn't do, and I think he was a master of tone and atmosphere and it's a shame people will talk about his iconic films really as one offs instead of seeing them as parts of a body of work of probably one of the most influential directors in modern cinema.

22. A director you think is overrated

Also a lot, haha, but I'd say especially Christopher Nolan right now. I enjoyed Oppenheimer a lot, but I think overall his films have a lot of issues and are generally a lot shallower than people acknowledge. He also can't write or direct women at all and that always makes me a bit insane.

23. An animated movie you like

I adore animation, so I could rec so many! I watched Satoshi Kon's Millennium Actress for the first time recently though, and that's just been such a standout. It's kind of a fictionalised, fantasy bio pic in some ways of the life and career of Setsuko Hara (incredible actress! Tokyo Story should be essential viewing!) but really uses her story as an entry point to create a love song to Japanese cinema and the relationship between art and escapism. It's just magic.

Ask me about movies

[doomdoomofdoom]

Yesterday I went on a wikipedia excursion about horror movies from the 80s for reasons that arent relevant and while I was reading through the summary of Firestarter, I wondered why it didn't horrify me whatsoever.

There's some joke here about how that's just every preteens edgy OC backstory, but upon reflection I realized it's because the real world CIA has done much more horrifying things than try to kill one family with supernatural powers.

So for my next horror fix, I'll be reading the page for 'Unethical human experimentation in the United States'.

[doubleca5t]

What do you mean "Gary for women"?

The name "Gary" only became a common given name in the 1930s, during the peak of the career of Gary Cooper, a golden age Hollywood star

Gary Cooper was, to the extent of anyone's knowledge, the first instance of Gary as a first name (like Madison it was only used as a last name before then). His given name was Frank Cooper but early in his career a casting director suggested he adopt a stage name to avoid getting confused with other actors named Frank Cooper. Said casting director decided to name him after her hometown, Gary, Indiana, and he liked it so it stuck. Honestly I think the most bizarre part of this story is that unlike Madison, which has remained a popular girls name even after Splash (1984) had faded from the popular consciousness, the popularity of the name Gary seems to have been completely dependent on the popularity of Gary Cooper because it's been dropping precipitously ever since Cooper stopped being a go-to leading man back in the early 50s.

[reasonsforhope]

Camera-trapping data revealed in a new study show a steady recovery of tigers in Thailand’s Western Forest Complex over the past two decades.

The tiger recovery has been mirrored by a simultaneous increase in the numbers of the tigers’ prey animals, such as sambar deer and types of wild cattle.

The authors attribute the recovery of the tigers and their prey to long-term efforts to strengthen systematic ranger patrols to control poaching as well as efforts to restore key habitats and water sources.

Experts say the lessons learnt can be applied to support tiger recovery in other parts of Thailand and underscore the importance of the core WEFCOM population as a vital source of tigers repopulating adjacent landscapes.

The tiger population density in a series of protected areas in western Thailand has more than doubled over the past two decades, according to new survey data.

Thailand is the final stronghold of the Indochinese tiger (Panthera tigris corbetti), the subspecies having been extirpated from neighboring Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam over the past decade due to poaching, habitat loss and indiscriminate snaring...

Fewer than 200 tigers are thought to remain in Thailand’s national parks and wildlife sanctuaries, only a handful of which are sufficiently undisturbed and well-protected to preserve breeding tigers. 

The most important of these protected areas for tigers is the Huai Kha Khaeng Thung Yai (HKK-TY) UNESCO World Heritage Site, which comprises three distinct reserves out of the 17 that make up Thailand’s Western Forest Complex (WEFCOM). Together, these three reserves — Huai Kha Khaeng Wildlife Sanctuary, Thungyai Naresuan West and Thungyai Naresuan East — account for more than a third of the entire WEFCOM landscape.

Now, a new study published in Global Ecology and Conservation documents a steady recovery of tigers within the HKK-TY reserves since camera trap surveys began in 2007. The most recent year of surveys, which concluded in November 2023, photographed 94 individual tigers, up from 75 individuals in the previous year, and from fewer than 40 in 2007.

Healthy tiger families  

The study findings reveal that the tiger population grew on average 4% per year in Hua Kha Khaeng Wildlife Sanctuary, the largest and longest-protected of the reserves, corresponding to an increase in tiger density from 1.3 tigers per 100 square kilometers, to 2.9 tigers/100 km2. 

“Tiger recoveries in Southeast Asia are few, and examples such as these highlight that recoveries can be supported outside of South Asia, where most of the good news [about tigers] appears to come from,” said Abishek Harihar, tiger program director for Panthera, the global wildcat conservation organization, who was not involved in the study.

Among the camera trap footage gathered in HKK-TY over the years were encouraging scenes of healthy tiger families, including one instance of a mother tiger and her three grownup cubs lapping water and lounging in a jacuzzi-sized watering hole. The tiger family stayed by the water source for five days during the height of the dry season.

The team of researchers from Thailand’s Department of National Parks, Wildlife and Plant Conservation, the Wildlife Conservation Society, Kasetsart University, and India’s Center for Wildlife Studies deployed camera traps at more than 270 separate locations throughout the HKK-TY reserves, amassing 98,305 days’ worth of camera-trap data over the 19-year study period.

Using software that identifies individual tigers by their unique stripe patterns, they built a reference database of all known tigers frequenting the three reserves. A total of 291 individual tigers older than 1 year were recorded, as well as 67 cubs younger than 1 year [over the course of the study].

Ten of the tigers were photographed in more than one of the reserves, indicating their territories straddled the reserve boundaries. The authors conclude that each of the three reserves has a solid breeding tiger population and that, taken together, the HKK-TY landscape is a vital source of tigers that could potentially repopulate surrounding areas where they’ve been lost. This is supported by cases of known HKK-TY tigers dispersing into neighboring parts of WEFCOM and even across the border into Myanmar.

Conservation efforts pay off

Anak Pattanavibool, study co-author and Thailand country director at the Wildlife Conservation Society, told Mongabay that population models that take into account the full extent of suitable habitat available to tigers within the reserves and the likelihood that some tigers inevitably go undetected by camera surveys indicate there could be up to 140 tigers within the HKK-YT landscape.

Anak told Mongabay the tiger recovery is a clear indication that conservation efforts are starting to pay off. In particular, long-term action to strengthen systematic ranger patrols to control poaching as well as efforts to boost the tigers’ prey populations seem to be working, he said.

“Conservation success takes time. At the beginning we didn’t have much confidence that it would be possible [to recover tiger numbers], but we’ve been patient,” Anak said. For him, the turning point came in 2012, when authorities arrested and — with the aid of tiger stripe recognition software — prosecuted several tiger-poaching gangs operating in Huai Kha Khaeng. “These cases sent a strong message to poaching gangs and they stopped coming to these forests,” he said."

...ranger teams have detected no tiger poaching in the HKK-TY part of WEFCOM since 2013.

-via Mongabay News, July 17, 2024

[hellotailor]

armand’s costumes are such an interesting data point re: his nebulous sense of identity.

when analyzing any costume, there are always many factors to consider: the setting, the character’s personal taste and economic constraints, storytelling concerns like tone and genre, etc. with armand, we also need to remember that he’s 500 years old and violently disconnected from his human origins. everything he wears has an element of disguise, selected to blend into a new environment.

armand was enslaved as a child in 16th century delhi, and barely remembers his mortal life. unlike louis - who can return to new orleans after 80 years and reconnect with his past - armand has no home to return to. his whole backstory, even his name, is rife with traumatic subtext, leaving him with an obsessive need for structure and control. this adds an extra layer of meaning to costuming choices that initially seem like straightforward menswear. 

armand’s 1940s wardrobe is very put-together - primarily three-piece suits and coats that make him look wealthier and more formal than louis, who is purposefully dressing down. most of these outfits are tailored to bulk up armand's frame, leaning into the "maitre" persona. and like his business-casual dubai wardrobe, he always leaves his collar open. when i interviewed costume designer carol cutshall, she described this as a symbolic power move, signalling that he's an apex predator who doesn't need to protect his throat.

my personal interpretation is that while armand clearly likes to look good, he has a complicated relationship with attractiveness. he doesn't always want to draw attention. his color palette is shadowy (black, grey, brown, olive green), and he’s much less flashy than the other Théâtre vamps. however when he’s feeling confident and flirty, he becomes more of a power-dresser - for instance his hunting outfit with the big coat and sunglasses, or his habit of wearing kohl.

interestingly, most of armand's 1940s costumes set him apart from the coven. the Théâtre vampires dress like cabaret performers, embracing a lot of period-specific styles. by contrast armand is more timeless and neutral. in fact, due to the relatively minor changes in men's suits over the past 100 years, there's a lot of overlap between his wardrobe in the 1940s, '70s and 2020s:

the rest of the Théâtre squad share an unofficial uniform of boldly clashing monochrome patterns with pops of bright color. meanwhile armand has a very plain wardrobe, emphasizing the image of him as a businesslike authority figure surrounded by zany artistes. he only wears subtle stripes on a few occasions in the '40s, reflecting the recurring prison motif we see in lestat's trial suit and (most famously) the dubai penthouse bedroom:

if we ask the question, "what does this person like to wear?" there are easy answers for lestat, louis and claudia. we understand their tastes, and the motives behind them. but armand is more enigmatic. we can recognize through-lines in his wardrobe, but his "taste" is dominated by whatever role he's currently decided to embody, whether that's a parisian theater director or a real estate mogul in dubai.

the times when he appears to have the most fun with clothing are when he steals a pair of sunglasses from his human dinner (!) and when he's pretending to be rashid. in other words, when he's explicitly performing for an audience. "real armand" is still a mystery.

(i may write more about armand's dubai wardrobe later, but for now, you can find all of my iwtv costumes posts on this tag!)

[kooyabooya]

DISAVOW

kim dahyun x m reader

5k words

“Let me get this straight: you slept with Momo?” 

(Okay, that’s one way to get a conversation going if you were in Dahyun’s shoes.)

“I’m not gonna ask a second time. Answer the goddamn question.” 

–

It already feels wrong to commit the action, and even worse to say it. Most of the day has been pretty bad as it is. Dahyun had a rough day at work when a bunch of things didn’t go her way. Just one unfortunate instance onto the next. Woke up late, missing a few makeup supplies, late to work because of a stupid ticket, and didn’t even get to reshoot the one scene for her role because the director apparently ‘forgot’. She really was just sitting in her trailer till she felt like dying. 

As for your case. You had a long day too. So, you slept. Just- not in the way neither you or Momo had suspected. It’s not her fault she flaunted a body too tempting for the average man to resist, especially with that mouth of hers. You had to shut her up, and it’s somewhat safe to say that this was a tipping point of what was happening in the workplace leading up to the incident. 

You’re setting the record straight, even if the lines are beginning to be scribbled lazily. Dahyun’s gaze remains unfazed while you’re trying to down as much wine as possible and she just told you that you’ve slept with one of your coworkers plus her best friend and you’re not sure how much worse this ultimatum could get. 

Clearing your throat, sighing. Because the day can’t get any shitter. “You- didn’t even give me a chance to speak?” 

“Which is why I’m letting you speak now.”

“Can we not make a big deal out of this?!” 

“A big deal? Christ- do you hear yourself? With Momo?!” Dahyun raises her voice in agitation. You couldn’t have seen that coming. Scratch that: you definitely should’ve seen it coming. 

Did you even think of what was gonna happen? Fuck no. 

You and Momo are equally blamed for that. 

Recalling the memory of Sana’s party, you remember seeing Momo in that strapless red dress, hot off the sewing machines showcased from the Met Gala, and Chaeyoung herself was even appalled at the appearance. Dahyun also was in agreement, unfailing to look away because she would’ve asked how your reaction would’ve been if she was sheathed in red. And the way Momo strutted her way to you two felt right out of a movie where all the girls are working towards stealing something valuable later. 

(In a slight retrospect, yeah. You’ve seen the signs before.) 

“Well, aren’t you gonna explain to me why?” Dahyun demands, and you’re wishing the wine was a whiskey instead. This kind of conversation was not one to be done sober. 

“What do you want me to say!” You’re exclaiming, a mere move of the arm not tantamount to what you’ve done. “It’s not my fault that she’s equally all over me as you!” 

And Dahyun, of all people, knows this. You and her are both sides of the same coin when it comes to Momo being the sole catalyst. Not since you’ve walked in on them accidentally while visiting their dance practice and that was the fastest one-eighty you did ever in your life. Or when Momo pulled you off to the side in some bar and made you forget about the belt left in the bathroom when everything’s all said and done. Or- the time they made you feel like a hotshot when they both visited your office and that was the talking point in the break room for freaking months. 

You can sense the rage boiling in Dahyun, so much of it you can actually smell. Steaming off her pale skin in these rare occasions to where it turns into wanting to fuck someone into the sheets. You feel it. It’s hot when Dahyun gets like this, and you want it. The same could be said for Momo when she makes you wanna pop a blood vessel. Depending on the circumstance, and the girl, it varies from moment to moment. 

While you can sense the blistering warmth enveloping the room, your hands grip the obsidian countertop to cool your nerves. If you wanted to make the hard choice - and you really, really wished you didn’t - it’s Dahyun. You want the girl who’s been at your side since college but can’t say a word without getting a slap on your arm or pinch of the ear, who willingly gives you a few extra napkins while eating out because she could never finish her meal and doesn’t say much to be annoying in order to get a rise or even when her other friends tease you and she can’t do much to protect either you or herself. Some days her face lights up when she walks out of the office and sees you waiting on the second step leaning on the railing and you look at her at the other corner of the room and wonder how she’d handle your cock. There’s also the fact she would taste so much better than the wine, a fine course once indulging in the appetizers.

Momo, in some corner of the world is probably thinking of this moment and watching with her palms rubbed together, devilishly smiling. Dahyun still can’t believe that you went to Momo. You had a sliver of interest to her friend as much as she did (again, another topic to be saved for another day, but if Dahyun’s pulling your finger, Momo’s doing the exact same thing too) but she’s funny and chaotic and if you really look into it - where you’ve done time and time before - then Momo’s in it for the fun at ripping the seams and leaving no care for the damages she leaves behind. Nayeon or Sana, whoever can get to Momo first, this girl is a problem. 

“The fuck you say?”

You inhale deep, lighten your fingers off the edge. It didn’t occur to you what was said just now. “She wants me. Momo wants me, Dahyun. Simple as that. No strings attached.” 

Dahyun huffs, toying the ends of her hair. She stares at you sliding the glass further and further away, unbuttoning the ends of your sleeves and you’re beginning to think of the limitless ideas running through her head of how to get your hands tied to her imagination. “Knowing her, I get the fact she’s-” her fingers are in two’s, making quotations, “-a literal sex tornado.” 

That should be it. The end of the conversation right there. You and Momo fucked, end of story. Your mind isn’t helping in playing back the memory: eye fucking Momo a week prior, flash forward a few days after, winding up in Momo’s place and focusing on the heat, her finger, that fucking pussy; the messy bangs when you’re holding her head close to yours and her lips next to your ear. Dahyun wished that was her, cumming on your cock instead of Momo. Your wife, who’s within an arm's reach of the assortment of knives, looks at you as you think about Dahyun (or Momo) cumming. The idea of her killing you is a fast way to finish this ordeal. 

“I-” Your tongue freezes between the words. “Not arguing with that statement, actually.” 

Dahyun laughs, out of pure disbelief, walks her way towards you. Taking the bottle of wine and setting it next to the fridge. “If we’re going to be transparent with each other, no one else is going to get you fucked in the way that I do.” 

Clenching your teeth was way much worse than her not grabbing the knife and charging at you. “Momo knows it was a one time thing. It was always gonna be a one time thing.” 

“And it should always be me.” Dahyun says. Rolling her eyes with a disgusted crunch on her face 

You could see her hand ball up in a fist. Both of your feet remain unmoved and the air hitting your neck comes in tiny pricks. 

“Though,” her voice dejected, “seems like one of us has forgotten that.” 

You lick your teeth, bite your lip.

“Care to elaborate?” 

She looks up, tilts her head one side and to the opposite, shifts her gaze to the empty wine glass, seeing you in her peripheral. “I’m not gonna explain myself here.” 

“Why not?” 

Her shoulders tense and relax. “No matter who you talk to, whether it’s my friends crushing hard on you or after a long terrible day, I should be the one at the end of it.” Dahyun’s voice becomes increasingly agitated. 

“It’s always you. Always.” 

“Is that what you think? Have we not done everything to convince ourselves that?” Her hand lightly slaps the countertop, the wisps in her hair falling to the front of her face. “I’m not the one who’s forgotten our commitments.” 

Your head starts to spin, heart pounding at an immeasurable rate. “You’re right. I have.” 

Dahyun runs a hand down her face, then her neck. She would have these instances under stress, doing everything she can to micromanage herself and not have the other person take notice because: she’s not the kind of girl you’d want to piss off. 

Some people- coworkers or co-stars - if you will, were very attentive at how Dahyun operated on and off the clock, watching her do these roles and have a guy or girl you don't even know much about have their care when you know it isn’t the case when she’s behind closed doors with you. 

You start to feel uneasy, rubbing your palm across your leg, and when Dahyun crosses her arms as you’re slotting yourself behind. She looks over her shoulder, the slight tension of muscle and you haven’t even put your hands on the girl yet. You’re still gauging, waiting for her to talk. “Dahyun, please,” you mumble, fingers curling her elbows, slithering them in place around her waist. 

“You-” and she sighs. “I hate when you do shit like this behind my back, especially if it’s with somebody that I’m also very close with.” 

“Momo-” 

“Momo told you to go to her.” 

“The one time. I swear.” 

“And yet you still went while I was out busy.” Dahyun’s accusation doesn’t sit on your nerves right, and your grip softens. 

“I was gonna tell you before you left. And it was gonna come off the lines as ‘Hey! I know you’re probably busy, but I need a favor. Does Dahyun mind if I borrow you for a couple hours? Maybe have a few drinks with another person, probably Jihyo, and who knows?’ She could bring a few things over and we can talk about something more interesting besides work.’ That’s how I wished it would’ve gone.” 

Dahyun laughs softly. Since you know very well that if you told her some half-assed constructed lie on the spot, she would’ve been fine with it. You’re aware of how jealous she could get without explicitly saying it and show instead. She wouldn’t have stopped you from going that day, and she’s not stopping your hand lightly clutching her breast. “Maybe a heads up from you or Momo would’ve been nice,” she huffs, leaning her head up to where the breath canvases your neck. “Now it looks like I have another thing to deal with once all of this is over with our work.” 

“She’s shown you a thing or two, why not have her do it again?” You taunt. 

Dahyun rolls her eyes once more. “Starting to think you should’ve married her instead.” 

“We are not going there. Momo just went out of line because she’s missing that aspect in her life. I’m not regretting my choice here.” 

‘My choice has always been the same as before,’ you felt compelled to say, ‘You.’ Dahyun has every right to be furious. You want to prove everything to her again. “Fucks sake, Dahyun.” 

“Don’t twist this back on me.” Her voice snaps. “Enough. I’m tired. Let me get ready for bed. I can save this conversation for later. When we’re both in the right headspace.” 

You pull your hands off of Dahyun, but not stepping back. This kind of proximity is always nice to keep. “I'm still guilty as charged?” 

“For marrying me? Never.” For being a shortsighted bastard who’s lucky to not be out of the house by now. You wonder about her thoughts, or something like that. “Be glad I like you and Momo both.” 

So you settle your bearings and back away. Dahyun hands you the wine bottle for you to place in the fridge while she heads to the bedroom, but stops her tracks when she notices you reach for your phone on the kitchen counter. 

“Hey.” 

“Hm?” 

“Who- are you gonna call?” 

You don’t answer her question and press the phone to your ear; you mouth the word ‘Momo,’ and give her a shameless wink as another way to piss her off

(You might be an actual fucking idiot for doing this though you’re doing it anyway.) 

There is absolutely no way you’re pressing her buttons after she indirectly threatened to kill you. Calling Momo after what went down is only going to solidify your undoing. You don’t even put the wine back in the fridge and walk past Dahyun, barely getting far as she swipes the phone out your hand and pins you to a nearby cabinet - lips crashing against yours, hard. 

Her taste is infectious, parting your lips wider by the second. Mixed with the cold wine and the iced tea along with the fading hints of her lavender mint perfume Dahyun would spray on occasions - it’s not worth fighting against at all, she’s throwing her body onto you; the sweet rush burning from within, bending the will to her and the urge to do the same keeps growing and growing, holding the small of her back while the phone’s cast aside. 

The line’s still ringing. She could hear it too, and you’re starting to worry if the call goes to voicemail, slipping a finger or two underneath Dahyun’s jaw and tip it upwards so you can keep her occupied at her neck. Her chest rises, gut sucking in. “For the love of god, Momo, please don’t pick this up,” you murmur, keeping a close eye on the screen while you’re forcing Dahyun to the counter. 

Like Dahyun, it seems the universe is against you, because Momo’s lower voice comes over the line in that instant. “Hey, you don’t usually call at this hour. What’s up?” 

Dahyun snatches the phone and you’re left clasping the empty hand, wincing, puffing one side of your cheek. She examines the contact name before flashing a look, answering with a soft sing-song tone. “Momo! Hi!” 

“Don’t say anything to give it away,” you order. Both hands are on her hips, lifting her up funnily where her feet barely touch the floor, knees touching yours and filling the space in the middle. You could feel the rising heat from her shorts and she won’t deny needing this. 

Even in the faces too - close to the point where your cheeks are grazing when Momo says, “Uh, is everything good?” and you can hear the casual innocence with some of the sexual implication laced in the words. You’re saving the trouble with her for another day; for now, you’re just gonna slide your hands up Dahyun’s thighs and beneath her sweater. 

“No, no, yeah, I’m okay, I-” Dahyun’s breath stops when your mouth’s pressed open to her neck, and down her collarbone. “Didn’t manage to find my phone in time so I used-” 

“Your hubby’s phone instead?” 

“Pretty much, yeah.” 

Welp, as if things couldn’t be less serious. Two of your flings are keeping it light with the exchanges. Dahyun looks back at you, a wicked smile emerging. “Girl, what is it with you this time?” Momo’s voice asks, “I swear if it’s about the incident with the dogs-” 

“Stop it, now,” you say, and Dahyun shakes her head no with a tempting pout of her lips. As if you’re not slipping off her (your) sweater, for god’s sake. You let your hand skate upward to the clasp of her bra, having it come undone and bring your fingers back around to her small breasts and not do anything about thumbing her nipples in a circular motion and her breathing gets to an irregular rate. Momo’s spilling off into a string of apologies and what Boo and Dooby did to poor Ari to the point where your mouth’s back to the mouthpiece and centimeters off Dahyn’s mouth, whispering: “Hang. The fuck. Up.” 

Dahyun glares at you with kneaded brows and it causes a snap in the nerves, bucking back into her. 

Really? At a time like this? You shouldn’t be one to test me. 

That alone is rewarded with a look of astonishment across her face. Momo on the opposite end of the line sighs to unknowingly make her presence and this girl’s timing is intentionally tragic. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get ahead of myself. Say, did you want me to drop by sometime tomorrow?” 

Right when Momo asks that, Dahyun fails to answer since she’s burning lasers directly into your eyes. You’ve got a handful of her breast and the other digging in the waistband of her shorts, aware of the fact that you’re both married to each other and she’s on the phone with one of her best friends who fucked around too much and it’s defiant to the vows; but that’s a one time thing, right? 

Dahyun simply just says: “You can. I don’t have anything in the afternoon. Feel free to swing by after lunch,” and she doesn’t falter her gaze at all. She’s winning. Saving the relationship. Not even the headlines or the blade to your heart could ever compare. 

You hope it never comes to that. 

“Alright. It’s settled then. I’ll see you at your place later,” says Momo on the phone. 

“See you soon.” Dahyun replies. 

The call goes dead soon after. 

Dahyun holds the phone between your faces, staring at you with the endless void past those eyes. You’ve got the green light - the go ahead, you really should, and enticingly could, in the next few seconds, make her feel like the only thing that mattered before she even has a chance to change her mind. A fucking insanity it is to have the thought of asking if she’s okay with this because someone’s gotta play the nice guy here. Silence fills the air with the quiet exhales and the returning beep of the smoke detector down the hall. 

“So now you want this?” You remark, hands right where they are - where they’re supposed to be. 

Dahyun’s throat bobs. Her eyes flick from your mouth to your eyes and to her body, seeing nothing else but your hair when she feels the lips touch her sweet skin. To be meticulous and not cut the wrong wire is extremely, extremely difficult. The pale shade she carries is warm and soft and you can feel the gentle bump of her heart on your hands and face. Your foot is slipping across the hardwood. All she does is breath carefully and you feel it hit your jaw. 

The worst thing she could do is say no. You’re more unsure of not being clear enough and she’ll probably forget it in the next few minutes. That undeclared authority, the unspoken ownership of each other, anything goes if one makes the move first. As much as you’d love to slip your hand beneath her shorts, (if you hadn’t done so already) she has to want it also. So you sigh and tip her forehead to yours. “Dahyun, I need to hear it. How much you want it.” 

Her face freezes, holding herself best she could, tilting her head back as she places the phone flat on the counter. It’s bleak, incoherent: “Oh, you have no idea.” 

(As if she couldn’t have made it more clearer.) 

You pick up right where it’s left off - without the overbearing tension - clutching her sides as she wraps her arms around your neck, flushing her hips with yours. She’s gripping the ends of your hair and keeps kissing while you’re marking up her neck; a power move in stripping her to nothing, and the both of you know it well, picking up the slack where the other leaves. Her hand goes astray, slipping to the phone. 

“Don’t even think about it,” you rasp against Dahyun’s mouth, pulling her lower lip. 

“Wanna find out what happens if Momo got a facetime call just now?” She mumbles back, grinning. 

You feel her hand hook your nape, pressing a thumb down the crease of her thigh with a little more force. “Momo can go fuck herself.” 

“Momo managed to get herself fucked by you, didn’t she?” 

She giggles while you inhale a sharp sound, fingers curling around the waistband of her shorts and revealing the white ends of her panties. “Save the bullshit for later.” 

“Later?” Dahyun’s taunting is one to go up against, when the jealousy is strong enough to be forced back around. Her version of karma. “Why don’t you tell me all the things you did-” 

Your fingers graze the fabric, lock eyes with hers. “Dahyun. You wouldn’t fucking call her again. I dare you.” 

“Or what-” 

Dahyun fixes her gaze when your hand slips out of her shorts, dragging her shorts and white laced panties to the floor. “I suggest you find something to hold. Quick.” 

“Hold as in what-” 

You spread her thighs open. Okay, maybe this is a little bit rushed. Maybe you should’ve done more of the kissing, the teasing, lay a few more red marks on the plush thighs before ghosting your breath over the exposed flesh in between and put her over your shoulder to the bedroom to show what she signed up for. Instead, your mouth’s been good in this predicament, and the patience can keep you at bay for so long; you lean in with your arm at her leg and just focus on the girl in your hands. 

Better than stainless steel. She tastes salty and sweet. You can imagine what it’ll be like when you get to the sticky part. 

Dahyun exhales next to you, glancing over to see that she’s kept her eyes up to the air and not doing much to close her mouth. She’s doing that awe expression when one of her costars does something stupid, and it’s not the ideal look you were expecting, shifting your weight a little more forcefully her lower half bucks at the touch. You pinch her hip and lightly tap her clit. “Oh fuck- okay,” gasps Dahyun. Her hand goes lazy and moves the phone off the obsidian and grasps where she can - the shoulders, the back, all the same. 

That’s enough to pause for a second and grin wickedly, pupils blown. “Look what happens when you don’t listen.” 

“Fuck off.” Dahyun manages, pulling you in at the nape. “Are you gonna keep talking or are you- ah-” 

While you’re traversing down a familiar path, in her sensitive areas and remembering the form of her lips on yours, you hold her steady, two fingers inching at the opening. She curses, nails carving up skin, and there’s a light slap of skin to hard surface, clutching to the counter. She’s melting in your arms and the sounds are turning your synapses to mush. You were expecting her to be more adamant, more desperate to make you stay; though, it doesn’t take much for you - no more than ten minutes and you’ve got it all sorted. Either that, or- you know her well enough to fix her up without asking. 

If anything it’s the solution she’s been searching for, the same desperation for you to tear her insides and instill the lost belief. Even if it meant for Momo to play a role in commensurating. For Momo to steer you away from the light for just a small moment. 

Maybe all of this was the point of it all. 

Dahyun stops you with both hands on your chest, catching her breath, staring down your palm flat to her waist. “Momo had no idea what she was getting herself into,” you say, “But she knew what she was doing.” 

She looks at you quizzical. “That woman has plans of her own.” 

You kneel down to kiss her leaking cunt, earning a heel to the shoulder blade. Soothing the sudden sensation with a lick of her crease at the thigh, keeping your eyes level. “God knows we’re playing her game instead.” 

“As if,” breathes Dahyun, and lightly slaps your face. But that doesn’t stop you from going at her neck. “Keep the ‘what if’s’ all you want. Don’t you dare leave me like this.” 

“Who said I’d hold back on you?” 

So you’re leaning back in, deeper. Meet her mouth and slot your tongue to her lips and get your fingers warm again. “You knew I had an eye on Momo ever since that time. And it seems like she had the same thought,” you proclaim. 

Her knee grazes your side and her foot wraps to your ass. “What if I were to go to Momo the next time around? What then?” 

“You wouldn’t, Dahyun,” you grumble, sliding your fingers out and swiping them on the inside of her thigh. “Why don’t we find out if the roles are reversed.” 

“Start with me first,” she demands.

“With pleasure,” you relent, and you’re yanking her from the small of her back, stabilizing herself with the foot to your posterior. The grip to your neck, into the defined muscle, and she’ll keep on holding on for dear life if the bruises are meant to stay for eternity. You want her to reciprocate the wanting, let her mark you for the keepsake. “You’re gonna owe me for this once it’s over - when I can make you cum like she can’t replicate-” 

“Healthy competition,” she seethes, and her whole body tenses when you let her flat on the counter to tend the wet lines on her legs. Nibbling gently; enough to indirectly say that you’ll fall on your knees but still have the power. 

“I could go to her tomorrow.” You propose to Dahyun with her foot on your collarbone before slipping past your back, the angle left open for your hand to resume the unfinished work. “Bring up last night, and ask what she did to me that you didn’t have, then tell her the predicament we’re in. I could even bring you along to confess the whole thing. Now that would be interesting.” 

This might be a little out of line for your standards. Possessiveness? Toxicity? All the boxes are being ticked off for the times you had to peel Dahyun off from the girls. Sana didn’t take much convincing. Tzuyu is attached to the poor girl’s hip. Nayeon wouldn’t shut up about liking Dahyun’s ass. At the end of the day, she’s yours. No one could ever get her like this and the whole world knows it. 

It shouldn’t piss you off this much but it is; you alone knows how dangerous it could be to drop the healthy mindset and let the anger flow into the fucking, but this is Dahyun at her most vulnerable - where she’s burning red and addicting in your mouth, and you’ve kept it calm and lighthearted half the times. And this is one of the many where you’re itching to ruin her. 

“What more do I have to do to make you see me, and only me,” she sneers, lost in rapture and her pools of black and her seeping cunt. “This pussy should be enough as it is, no?  

“Fuck yes,” you gasp, bitting another open area of skin left unclaimed. “Trust me, I’m getting you there, but if you wanna keep complaining-” 

Her back arches and she’s near your heart. “You motherfucker-” 

You angle your head for a better view and- aw, pitiful. Fixing her up with the opposite hand to her hip and close to the end of the counter, Dahyun setting herself straight so her face is right in front of yours. “What’s wrong? Gonna cum for me?” You hover over her mouth. Go off the deep end. Fast. Rough. Her teeth almost cut the end of your tongue off. The grip she has in her small hands is steel tight, but her legs aren’t following the same page. “It’s okay, baby,” you coax again, muffling the moan passing through her lips, “relax-” 

Almost there. She’s almost there. In the pace of her breaths and clenching of her stomach - the lavender and faint hints of mint fogging your vision and it’s fucking fantastic - there we go, cmon honey, do it, do it, you can’t take much more of this- 

Dahyun buries her face into the side of your throat and she does, the whine loud enough tells you how hard as a plus. 

The feeling is probably up there in the few times throughout your life: Kim Dahyun squirting and cumming on your fingers, sobbing and sweating and spilling whimpers down your chest as you’re easing her in the motions. You can get her like this again later, fuck the sense out of her brain and body where she can’t function, and your name the only psalm she can recite to convert her ideals. 

You’re patting her back and shushing her on the come down, breaths still hot on your collarbone. By the way, you’ve still got your fingers deep inside her, initiating her to pinch your shoulder, shift the hands around to where she’s most comfortable. 

Her breathing intertwined with yours joins the creaking of the floorboards beneath, securing her at her ass while her upper body is still at your chest. Still naked and weakly pulling your shirt off, shuffling to the couch to rest from the short trip. Cradling your head with her hair in a worse mess than before, earnestly staring at you so lovingly. The sparkle in your eyes gives a faint smile across her lips and you’re left speechless. It’s hard for you to ignore the tightness in your pants, tapping your fingertips across her skin, and you’re not thinking about Momo as much now. 

In the end, it was always going to be Dahyun. You love the idea of claiming her as yours. Making her cum like that before your clothes have even dropped to the floor. It’s an adoration in itself - pressing your lips to hers and to her temple - the many instances of adoring her, all fucked out and barren, resting on you with the trail of clothes back in the kitchen and making an indirect vow that she belongs with you. That alone should be enough to stay with you forever. 

So it does. When the tension is finally past the highest. She lifts her head off of you and blinks. 

“You made me squirt on my favorite sweater.” 

“Oops.” you chuckle. 

She could’ve said anything else. Not even the red blotches and bite marks can ever suffice the way she’s back to her straightforward and subtle self. You won’t forget she was on the precipice of killing someone tonight and you just gave her an orgasm as a way of forgiveness but aware enough for it to come bite you back in the ass someday. Whether you’re at each other’s throats or suffocating at the clench or thrust later - it’ll be found out eventually, but all you say is: “For the record, that was my sweater.” 

Dahyun fakes a laughing sound. “My bad for dropping your phone.” 

“You wanna go there?” 

Dahyun then laughs genuinely, her body extending all the loose ends so simply but very delicately. “No, dingus. We’re fine,” she reassures, swinging one leg off and the other and you can’t keep your eyes off of that ass of hers. 

You track her pathing through the house barefoot and naked and consciously; picking up the sweater, her shorts, and the panties too - your phone back on the counter and not to be checked for the rest of the night. She slips into the hallway and a few seconds pass, turning the other cheek when she’s in a used soccer jersey. 

She leans her shoulder onto the wall and puts her back to the drywall, and you feel suspended in time just staring at each other. Your thumb runs across the four fingertips and run your tongue on the edge of your teeth. Her blush is faded and eyes half-open. Legs defined by the muscle and her hips just meet the end of his shirt, not to mention the waist forming as the cotton’s pulled to the rear. That boner’s still there, too, and manspreading the only method to do right where she left you, she’s definitely seen it before and it’s amazing how she hasn’t mentioned it yet. 

Breaking the silence: “I don’t think I can stand up, babe.” 

Dahyun sighs, shaking her head and beaming a soft smile. “Were you thinking about me or Momo just now?” 

You laugh, because she has it figured out. “If I answered the latter, then my dick would be chopped off.” Besides, it won’t be that long for you to ignore the clothes if she’s keeping her distance with that choice of clothing - especially the fact she definitely has nothing underneath. 

It’s on purpose too. She still needs her fix, after all. 

There’s a reason she’s not helping you, nor suggesting for you to wash up because there’s a whole lot of mess left to be dealt with. And the thought of not doing anything was also a plausible choice - though that would piss her off even more - Dahyun observes when you finally stand and walk toward her. Watching as the height difference increases the more she tilts her gaze upwards. 

Sinning and penance are both routes to take from the shared cause. You either let your head fill with regret, or channel that devotion to someone who’s willing to take it all. That familiar swing of tension is in the air once again. “So, what will it be, sir?” 

You lean down and take her lips. Lift her off her feet and have them bracket around your waist. “Seems like I still owe you.” 

“Oh really,” she sighs, moaning again when the touches are more desperate, rough. Carrying her through the corridor and into the bedroom, but not until she stops at the walkway. “You think this will be enough for you to stay away from Momo?” 

You arch an eyebrow. “It takes more than my decision to make that happen.” It should, you also think, but Dahyun doesn’t expand on that answer. 

“Fuck me good till the morning and I’ll leave it up to you,” says Dahyun, and you nod. Her string of laughs and moans growing louder in the bedroom and that’s everything you ever needed. 

–

It’s not until much later when you’re staring into space, where the whirr of the espresso machine doubles down on the trance as you try to process the events unfolded in the past couple weeks. The tinge on your lips and the soreness at your cock. Your head spinning in the endless cycle of self-introspection until it’s ended by the vibration of your phone on the counter, left untouched from last night. 

A message notification on the screen: still left me out to dry, i see how it is :// <3 🍑

Whether to reply or leave it on read is a personal decision. 

[miyamiwu]

A Guide to Chinese Names & Nicknames for your Fandom Needs (Part 1)

I made this guide with my different CMedia fandoms in mind, but it should apply to any other Chinese media.

Something that has been irking me a lot since To Be Hero X penetrated the mainstream English fandom spaces is how many people keep referring to the characters by just their surnames 😭. It sounds weird and demonstrates a lack of knowledge on Chinese culture in general. I don’t blame these people, though. A lot of the TBHX fans are new to donghua, and we’re also past the era of fansubs with detailed translation notes.

However, it’s no excuse to stay ignorant. To help you avoid making the same mistake again, here’s a Chinese names guide for your fanfic and meta needs.

Disclaimer: I am not Chinese, but I have been studying the language for years and also engage in a lot of CMedia. So, I do know some stuff. Regardless, if you find any errors in this post, feel free to tell me so I can correct it.

Note: Fandom-specific examples are written in small text like this.

Post last updated: May 29, 2025

Essentials

1. Chinese name order is Surname first, followed by Given Name.

Chinese surnames are usually only one syllable, making it easy to figure out which character in the full name is the surname. Just look at the first one.

However, there are a few two-syllable surnames, like Sima, Ouyang, Zhuge, etc. You may refer to this list for other two-syllable surnames.

In Link Click, Liu Siwen’s partner is named Ouyang, and in some subs it’s written as Ou Yang. However, Ouyang is actually just her surname, since her father is named Ouyang Bubai. We don’t know daughter!Ouyang’s given name. I also don’t understand why Liu Siwen would call her by just surname...

2. Calling someone by both their surname and given name is the neutral, normal way to call anyone.

To those calling Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi as just Lu and Cheng, and Lin Ling and Yang Cheng as just Lin and Yang… Please don’t. Who tf are those 😭

2.2. But in some stories, characters may not have surnames.

In the danmei (Chinese BL) novel Bestial Blade, the setting is a prehistoric-ish tribal society where nobody has surnames. Although some characters may have two-character names, the first character is actually part of the given name and not a surname. In the case of characters with only one-chara given names, affixes/honorifics are added when addressing them. This will be explained later.

2.3. Nobody calls anyone by only one syllable, unless there’s a special reason behind it.

Example 1: In To Be Hero X episode 8, every child in the orphanage has no surname and go by only a one-character given name. But nobody really calls Qing/Cyan as just “Qing.” It’s not always in the English subtitles, but children and adults alike actually call Qing as Xiao Qing (Little Qing). The “xiao” is a term of endearment, and it’s explained later on in this post. At one point, the orphanage director also calls her by the nickname “Qing Qing.”

The one time Xiao Qing was called with only “Qing” in this episode was at the end, when the orphanage director got mad at her. Not using xiao or her nickname at that moment was really chilling.

Example 2: In the danmei novel Your Distance, there were instances where the male lead Bai Changyi addressed the protagonist Ting Shuang by just “Ting.” This sounds weird, but it’s fine ’cause it was on purpose. In the context of the story (two Chinese men living in Germany) and the relationship between the characters at that time (not that close), it sounded as if Bai Changyi was trying to keep his distance from Ting Shuang by refusing to associate with him like how one would with a fellow Chinese.

3. A close family member calling you by full name and without any honorific can be odd.

Like, imagine your mom calling you by full name. Once or twice, it sounds like you’re in trouble (re: Lucky Cyan example in 2.3). But all the time? Your mom hates you.

Nicknames or given name+honorific is more normal.

This doesn’t apply to Cheng Xiaoshi and Qiao Ling from Link Click, even though they canonically consider each other as siblings. Idk, maybe because they have different surnames and aren’t really blood-related? Anyways, how they address each other is fine. And considering how they get along with each other, I also think they’d find those affectionate nicknames cringe 😂

4. If the given name is more than one syllable, then it’s fine to address that person by only given name and without any affixes and honorifics. This is an indication of closeness/familiarity.

e.g. In Link Click: Xia Fei calling Cheng Xiaoshi as only “Xiaoshi.”

However, there are instances where an older person may call a younger person by given name even if they aren’t that close. Like, a preschool teacher addressing their student by only given name is acceptable.

In family, an elder addressing someone from the younger generation with only given name is also normal, regardless of how close they are. But the opposite is not true. It is generally considered rude for someone younger to call an older relative by only given name.

Chinese Nicknames via Name Variation

5. It can be formed by repeating a syllable in the person’s name.

This, for me, is the most affectionate way to address someone. It sounds very cute.

Lin Ling (林凌) from To Be Hero X can be called Ling Ling (凌凌), and that’s why the Chinese fandom abbreviates his name as 00. In Chinese, zero is 零, which is also pronounced as líng.

5.2. However, be careful in choosing which syllable to repeat because you might end up with a nickname that doesn’t sound nice.

In Link Click S1E1, Cheng Xiaoshi laughed when Qiao Ling called Lu Guang “Guang Guang.” This is because Guang Guang sounds a lot like wang wang, the Chinese onomatopoeia for a dog’s bark. (Some subs translated “Guang Guang” as “good boy” to get the joke across.)

In a similar vein, please don’t nickname Wang Qing as Wang Wang 😭. Qing Qing 青青 is much prettier; it sounds like the qingqing 轻轻 that means “softly” or “gently.”

5.3 Also consider how you’re portraying a character in your fic.

Would Vein from Link Click, whose Chinese name is Xiāo Wèiyǐng 萧未影, be comfortable being called Yǐng Yǐng 影影? The tones are different, but if you say it fast enough the sound isn’t that far from the yīngyīng 嘤嘤 which is a cutesy way of crying in text online (similar to “huhuhu” in English).

Xiāo Xiāo 萧萧 also sounds close to xiǎo xiǎo 小小, which means tiny.

Xiao Xiao and Ying Ying don’t really sound “manly,” but they’re not exactly bad nicknames either (I think). Just consider the context of your story before going with any of them. If unsure, consult a dictionary or a native Chinese speaker.

6. Adding the prefix ā 阿 for monosyllabic names.

This is more common in Southern China.

In To Be Hero X, Ahu’s name is actually the prefix ā 阿 + the character hǔ 虎, which means “tiger.”

In Mo Dao Zu Shi, Wei Ying is called A’Ying. In Bestial Blade, every female supporting character in the Black Eagle tribe is named with the prefix ā 阿 + a one-character given name.

You can only append ā 阿 to one character. So, no “A’Wei Ying.” Just A’Ying.

7. Adding the suffix 儿 (-r or -er).

This is more common in Northern China.

Like ā 阿, -er is only added to one syllable

It is often added to the last syllable of the given name

The subtitles don’t show it, but Nezha, from the Demon Child movie, is called Zha’er by his parents.

8. Adding the word 小 xiǎo (little) before the name.

You add this before the name of those younger than you or subordinate to you.

In Link Click S2, Liu Lan actually calls Li Tianxi “Xiao Xi.” But in some subtitles, they put in “Xixi,” probably for English localization.

When done among relatives and family friends, it is a neutral, informal way of calling someone. Cute, but also doesn’t express any special-ness since it’s no surprise for an aunt to call her niece as Xiao + Given Name. Still much more affectionate than just calling them by given name, though.

However, when done in a work setting…

a boss calling one employee with Xiao + Surname expresses some degree of favorability, especially if they still call the other employees by full name.

An older employee calling their younger boss with Xiao would sound like they’re not taking them seriously because of their age.

An old, mature boss calling their reckless new and young recruit with Xiao could indicate they think their employee is childish.

So yeah, it all depends on context as well as the speaker’s tone when they say it.

Xiao + Given Name is often used for children.

e.g. Empress Wu from White Cat Legend calls Li Bing “Xiao Bing-za.” Ignore the “za” for now, but the fact that an Empress is calling her subject with Xiao + Given Name is enough to show how much she favors Li Bing. Or maybe she just thinks he’s like a little kid, since she is waaay older than him. (Don’t be fooled by her young facade; she’s an old lady.) Regardless, “Xiao Bing-za” sounds very informal.

Xiao + Repeated Syllable (re: #5) sounds really cute. A bit childish, perhaps, but it really depends on context and tone.

Not a fandom example, but I used to call my cat Xiao Maomao (little cat cat)

9. Adding the word 老 lǎo (old) before the surname.

This is like the opposite of xiao, and it comes across as more rough/casual. Compared to xiao, it has more of a “bro” vibe.

Lao is often used for those older than you, while xiao for those younger.

But between those of the same age, you can use either depending on the kind of tone you want to achieve (re: #8 for notes on xiao)

If you use lao for someone younger, it could come off as ingratiating or extremely respectful.

Link Click: I can imagine Cheng Xiaoshi addressing Lu Guang as “Lao Lu” when begging him for a difficult favor 😂

That’s all for now! For a more comprehensive guide on Chinese nicknames, check out these resources:

How to Address Chinese People Correctly – Appellations in Chinese

30+ Chinese Nicknames: A Guide to Popular Choices and Cultural Significance

In part 2 of this post, I will talk about Chinese honorifics.

[mariacallous]

Goldie Finkelstein was just 13 when she was sent to Wiener Graben, a work camp that later became a concentration camp. The youngster lost her entire family in the war, and among the things she never learned from them was how to cook. She had no family recipes and, according to her son, when she married Sol Finkelstein, also a Holocaust survivor, she didn’t know how to boil water or cook an egg.

Eventually, other survivors taught Goldie the necessary skills, and she was a quick learner. She soon became known for the copious amounts of baked goods she would provide for any occasion. Her recipes, some of which are included in the “Honey Cake and Latkes: Recipes from the Old World by the Auschwitz-Birkenau Survivors” cookbook, include cake mixes and other ingredients that wouldn’t have been used in pre-Holocaust Eastern Europe. Her whiskey cake, for example, calls for both yellow cake mix and vanilla pudding mix.

Goldie’s experience illustrates the ways in which recipes, including those we think of as quintessentially Ashkenazi Jewish, have changed over the years. Survivors lost the ancestors who passed along oral recipes. Families’ personal artifacts, such as handwritten recipes, were abandoned when Jews were forced to flee. 

Most significantly, perhaps, after the war, survivors had access to different ingredients in their new homes. Sometimes that was due to seasonality, such as was the case for those who moved from Eastern Europe to Israel and had access to more fruits and vegetables year-round, including dates and pomegranates. Other times, it reflected changing tastes or newfound wealth  — liver soup, pates with liver and offal were classic Eastern European dishes in the early 1900s, when there was an intention to use every part of the animal, but became increasingly uncommon. In other cases, like Goldie’s, packaged goods replaced homemade. Another survivor whose recipes appear in “Honey Cake and Latkes,”Lea Roth, detailed making noodles for Passover from the starch leftover at the bottom of a bowl after grating potatoes before the war. After the war, most people added “noodles” to the grocery list.

“Some of these recipes changed because of New World versus Old World,” explains Jeffrey Yoskowitz, author of “The Gefilte Manifesto: New Recipes for Old World Jewish Foods.” Yoskowitz and his co-author Liz Alpern work not to replicate pre-war Ashkenazi Jewish recipes, but to reclaim and modernize them. To do that, they’ve had to examine the ways in which recipes have changed.

In the Old World, for instance, almost every recipe called for breadcrumbs. At Passover, the leftover crumbs from the matzah were used to make matzah balls, leaving nothing to waste. But when immigrants in the U.S. could use Manischewitz pre-made matzah meal, then recipes started calling for it to make matzah balls.Today’s recipes for kugels with cream cheese, cottage cheese and sour cream would not have been made in the Old World, where dairy products were expensive. Again, ubiquitous cows in the New World made that “celebration of dairy” possible, Yoskowitz says.

At first, recipes may not seem like the most essential thing to recover from Holocaust survivors, but they paint a picture of what life was like before the war. It is essential to see the Jewish experience as one that is not solely as victims, and learning what people ate and cooked is part of that.

“Bringing back recipes can help bring people back to life,” says Edna Friedberg, a historian and senior curator with the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum. “In particular, it was women who were in the kitchen in this period, and so this is a way to make the lives of women very vivid and real for people.”

The idea is not to romanticize Eastern Europe, says Maria Zalewska, executive director of the Auschwitz-Birkenau Memorial Foundation, which published “Honey Cake and Latkes,” but to see the memories connected to togetherness, like picking fruit toward the end of the summer and using that fruit in a recipe, such as cold cherry soup with egg-white dumplings. 

In addition, examining recipes gives us a sense of what role cooking and food played in trauma processing, Zalewska says. “Remembering the foods and the food traditions of their lives before imprisonment were some of the ways that survivors coped with starvation,” Zalewska adds. These are things that survivors say they are not often asked about, but when asked they report remembering dreaming about food during incarceration. 

“We have quite a number of testimonies, where survivors talk about being in situations of starvation, and food deprivation and ghettos and camps and in hiding, and that dreaming about and remembering food from before gave them emotional sustenance,” explains Friedberg.

Exploring such memories have been meaningful for those survivors who were young when they lost their families.

New Orleans’ Chef Alon Shaya has been working for several years to recreate recipes from a book belonging to the family of Steven Fenves, a survivor and a volunteer for the museum. The book was rescued by the family cook, Maris, when the family was forced to flee their home on the Yugoslavia-Hungary border in 1944. The recipes are largely written without measurements, times or temperatures, and many of the ingredients are different from those used today. (Like the Fenves family, Goldie’s son, Joseph Finkelstein, says his mother wasn’t big on using measurements as we think of them in recipes today. She knew the quantity of an ingredient, for example, if it would fit in her palm.) Unlike Yoskowitz, who is looking to update recipes, Shaya has been working to replicate them as closely as possible  — and has come across a few surprises.

Many of the desserts use a lot of walnuts, for example, which, of course, are also used in contemporary baking. But Shaya is using what he says are “copious amounts of walnuts” in various ways, such as grilled walnuts and toasted walnuts. The Fenves family walnut cream cake, which includes both walnuts ground in the batter and in a cream in-between the cake layers, has featured on the menu at one of Shaya’s restaurants, Safta, in Denver.

For all the recreation, and Shaya’s goal to bring the tastes of his youth back to Fenves, he says “it is impossible that a recipe in New Orleans would be the same as one in Bulgaria. The seasons are different, what animals are butchered are different, and the spices taste different.”

Indeed, place matters, Yoskowitz says. Ashkenazi food has a reputation of being terrible, he says. Take mushroom soup, for example. “There is no good mushroom soup in a deli. It is made with mushrooms that don’t have much flavor. But if you have it somewhere made with mushrooms grown in the forest, then that is going to be good soup.”

Many Holocaust survivors settled in new lands with new ingredients, and little memory of how things were made before the war. They knew they used to eat mushroom soup but didn’t specifically remember the forest-grown and harvested fungi. So, dishes morphed depending on what survivors had in their new home. In Eastern Europe, veal was plentiful, but in the U.S. and Israel, schnitzel began being made with chicken instead (a process Yoskowitz calls the “chickentization” of cuisine). And the beloved Jewish pastrami on rye? The pastrami would have traditionally been made with kosher goose or lamb. It wasn’t until Jews came to the U.S. that beef was easily accessible. 

The same is true of what is likely the most iconic Jewish American dish. “Bagel and lox are what we think of as the most Jewish food. But the only thing that came over was the cured and smoked fish,” Yoskowitz says. “Cream cheese was a New York state invention. Capers were Italians. It was a completely new creation, and it became a taste associated with Jewish people.”

One of the most poignant recipes in the “Honey Cake and Latkes” book is a chocolate sandwich, a basic concoction of black bread, butter and shaved dark chocolate. Survivor Eugene Ginter remembers his mother making it for him in Germany after the war, to fatten him up after years of starvation.

Adds Shaya: “We have to continue to adapt, and I think that that is part of the beauty of it.”

[whateveriwant]

The 141 being freaky in bed

18+ only. GN!Reader.

I’ll be honest, most of the time I headcanon the guys as pretty vanilla in the bedroom, but I do think they have a few instances where they’ll embrace their nasty freak tendencies.

Ghost

This man is such a freak in his day to day life that, comparatively, I don’t think he’s very freaky in the bedroom

That being said, one thing he does really enjoy is degradation. Things like making you hump his boot while he yawns boredly or leaning against the headboard as you ride him, crossing his arms behind his head, tutting as he mocks, “Y’ call that puttin’ your back into it?” (But he never lets you embarrass yourself for too long before he’s flipping you onto your back to show you how to really fuck)

In a similar vein, he loves to talk to your genitals like they’re their own person, e.g. “Is this needy cunt/cock desperate for me? She’s/He’s drippin’ like she/he is. Tsk, poor thing.” Sometimes he pretends like you’re not even in the room with him – that it’s just him and your holes he can’t wait to stuff

He’s also a big fan of spit play. Whether it’s spitting on your groin as he stares you deep in the eyes or spitting in your mouth while he pries your jaw open, letting out a string of cigarette-flavored drool. He uses it almost like a stake of ownership, not unlike when someone licks their food to stop others from stealing a bite

Above all else though, he likes having control. There’s the usual things like deciding the pace, the position, and so on when you fuck, but then there’s other things he also takes upon himself. Things like carrying you to/from the bed, stripping/dressing you like a doll, bathing you, shaving you. Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry.

Freak-o-meter rating: 3.8/10

Gaz

Don’t let his boy-next-door looks fool you. This man is more than capable of getting down and freaky when he wants to

For example, he’s a deviant for public sex. Doesn’t matter if it’s in the backseat of the car in a packed parking lot, in the bathroom at your family get-together, or even in the stuffy janitor’s closet at base when there’s a meeting happening right next door. For him, the riskier the sex, the better

He also loves to mark you up. Whether it’s a small love bite on your chest or a hand shaped bruise on your ass, he lives for seeing his marks on your skin. But one thing to note – those marks are for his eyes only. Don’t be going around showing them off to everyone. And also, don’t worry about them ever fading. He’ll make sure to apply new ones before the old ones can disappear

Now, some might consider this cheesy, but he really enjoys roleplaying in the bedroom. It can be as subtle as a single word huffed in your ear or it can be as extensive as a stage production – complete with costumes, props, and plot. By far, one of his favorite scenarios to play is the injured soldier being “tended to” by his slutty nurse

Building off that last point, not only is my man a bit of an actor, but he’s also a director because he loves to film you two having sex (Martin Scorsese, eat your heart out). His POV is his preferred angle to film from because it puts him right back in the moment when he watches it again, but really, any angle where he can watch you come apart on his cock is grade-A wank material for him

Freak-o-meter rating: 5.1/10

Price

I think of him almost like a sleeper cell freak. Most of the time he goes about his business very mild and vanilla, but then something will set him off and then all of a sudden he’s going full blown freak

While he is first and foremost a man of obtaining consent, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy a little free use when you permit. Especially if he’s had a long day at work or if he’s just finished a tough mission, having you ready and willing to take him whenever he wants is precisely what he needs to wind down

Say it with me, folks: creampies, creampies, creampies. To him, there’s nothing better in this world than stuffing a nice tight hole full of cum. He loves to dump multiple loads in you and then have you hold it, before pushing it all out in one thick glob. Bonus points if he shoves it back in with his fingers so you can do it over and over again

One nasty habit he has is taking your cum-stained underwear with him whenever he’s away for work. So when he misses you or needs a reminder of home, he holds it up to his nose (or cock) and remembers what he’s got waiting for him. (By the time he gives them back to you, those drawers are so stiff they can stand on their own)

As you’ve probably already guessed, this man has a big scent kink. When you come home after the gym or after doing a double at work, he loves to bury his face in your chest, pits, crotch, etc. and just inhale. That natural tang of your sweat is an aphrodisiac like no other to him. It very much gives Napoleon telling Josephine not to bathe before he returns from war

Freak-o-meter rating: 6.8/10

Soap

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again. This man is a capital-F Freeeeeak!

Foot fetish, ‘nuff said. He likes to admire your feet, pamper them, massage them, kiss them, put his cock between them and fuck them, etc etc. Once, when he was really down bad, he had you don a pair of strappy heels and stomp on him (best night of his life if you ask him)

As long as he can remember, he’s liked to play with his food, and the bedroom is no exception to that practice. Whether it’s feeding you sensual staples like strawberries and champagne or drizzling his cock in chocolate syrup and having you suck it off, he’s not one to shy away from mixing food with sex

However, one kink he does get a little nervous about sharing is his interest in pet play – him being the pet, that is. It’s not that he has any real shame in it, but more so he never knows how the other person will react when he brings it up. If that is something that interests you though, he’ll be absolutely thrilled. There’s nothing he’d like more than to be led around on a leash by you. (And might I say, he looks great on his knees)

But by far, without a doubt the number one thing that gets his rocks off is group sex. There’s just something about getting to share in multiple people’s pleasure simultaneously that excites him beyond comparison. So whether it’s cucking, partner swapping, an orgy, etc. he’s down for it. He’s truly the inspiration for the phrase “guys literally only want one thing and it’s fucking disgusting”

Freak-o-meter rating: 9.99999/10