#nazi stolen art

[vizrecon]

#woman in gold #nazi #stolen art #ww2

[omskivarwrites]

Author’s note: This is another old prompt that I’d like to turn into an actual short story. I ran out of steam trying to figure out what to do next, and left a note for myself to watch more heist movies (which I never did), so this one cuts off rather abruptly. Still wanted to share, though. I like this one. 

Also, if you find any [text like this], that’s figure-it-out-later filler that I missed. 

Prompt: Letting go, 20s gangster, thief

“On my way to pick up Johnny.”

Harry slipped the phone back into the pocket of her uniform and shook her head. Normally she would leave it at home or in her car, but her client for this job was a micromanaging piece of work who wanted to know her every move. She’d tried to tell him that texting during a job was an unnecessary distraction that had gotten her caught more than once and left an incriminating paper trail, but he’d insisted that was one of the terms of the agreement. She kept him updated at all times, or he’d find someone who would agree to his terms. With the amount of money he was offering, and the not-so-subtle threat that the police would be informed who really stole the Dresden Green, Harry couldn’t say no.

No one said no to Tony Semenza.

Harry hadn’t taken more than three steps toward the door to the broom closet she was currently occupying before her phone buzzed. Again.

“Have a safe trip :)”

Rolling her eyes, Harry jammed the phone as deep into her pockets as it would go. At least she’d convinced Semenza of the importance of using a code. The idiot had honestly thought “the package” was vague enough to not be suspicious. How had the grandson of Marlon “The Knife” Semenza grown up not knowing the basics of avoiding jail time? The family must have had a seriously good and/or expensive lawyer on retainer.

Okay. One more time. Taking a deep breath (and pausing just before she turned the door handle to allow for another ill-timed text from her employer) Harry straightened her shoulders and stepped out into the hall.

The twenty-ninth floor of the Obelisk Hotel was empty, though Harry doubted any of the residents would have given her a second glance. No one ever really noticed housekeeping. Humming the opening bars of Edelweiss, Harriet pulled her cart out of the closet and headed to room 2810.

The door at the end of the hallway was flanked by two beefy men in ill-fitting suits and knock-off designer shades. One moved to block Harry as she approached.

“Turn around, ma’am,” he said.

“But I need to clean that room,” Harry said, putting on her most puzzled expression.

“You’re not authorized to enter. Turn. Around.”

Not authorized to enter? Pfft. Who did Maxwell Steiner think he was? His dad hadn’t been involved in politics for a couple of decades now. “Sir, the resident specifically requested that housekeeping clean this room right away. I think he said something about broken glass?”

She couldn’t see his eyes, but Harry was pretty sure the guard was narrowing them at her from behind his sunglasses. “Stay there.” He pressed a hand to his ear-piece and turned away as he spoke. All she could make out was a hushed murmur.

Harry glanced at the other, shorter guard. He watched her impassively, but beneath the cheap fabric of his suit he was clearly tensed for action. Good to see that Steiner’s budget bodyguards took their jobs seriously. If it came down to a physical altercation (not that she was planning on one) she was in trouble, but dedication to duty was a good trait to have. Even if that dedication was easily bought and just as easily sold.

The murmuring grew slightly louder, and Harry’s ears perked up just in time to catch, “Yes sir. Of course, sir.” The first guard turned back to her, his face the same blank slate it had been when she’d approached.

“Sorry for the trouble, miss,” he said. He pulled a keycard out of his pocket, unlocked the door, and held it open for her. “You’re cleared to enter.”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Harry muttered a “thank you” and pushed the cart inside the hotel suite. As soon as she was past the door it shut behind her with a muted click.

Harry had staked out the hotel several times in preparation for this heist. On average it took housekeeping half an hour to turn a room. Depending on the nature of the request, a call to housekeeping for something more specific could take anywhere from two to fifteen minutes. However, this particular mess she’d been called to clean up was all over the bedroom. Exploding wine bottles tended to stain everything and send glass shards flying into all sorts of places. This one was going to need special attention.

Humming again, Harry slipped on a pair of latex gloves. She had thirty minutes. If everything went according to plan, she would only need five.

Anyone with even a passing interest into the lives of spoiled politicians’ children knew that Maxwell Steiner always traveled with a portable safe. Never one to trust hotel security measures (a quirk that Harry fully agreed with — those safes were way too easy to break into, and apparently they let just about anyone hire on as a hotel maid) Steiner had a custom, top-of-the-line safe made just for him that went everywhere he did. Just what was in that safe was a mystery for the ages, or at least the age of smart phones and sex tapes.

Harry knew what was in the safe. At least, one item in it. And boy was it a doozy. She’d been hired to procure a lot of objects in her relatively short career — man, the stories she could tell that involved live animals and ill-advised uses of historical artifacts — but this one was big, even for her. Never in her lifetime did she think she would ever lay eyes on plundered Nazi loot.

She had to find that safe and get it open before that could happen, though. The logical first place to look was the hall closet, where most hotel safes were kept. And, logically, Steiner’s safe wasn’t there. Harry closed the closet door and was about to check the kitchenette when her phone buzzed.

“How’s traffic? :)”

God, those smiley faces were starting to get on her nerves. Guy couldn’t wait more than three minutes to check in on her, could he?

“Traffic is light, I should get there on time. But remember I told you I don’t like to text while driving.”

Sent. Seen. A response seconds later.

“That’s what red lights are for.”

“:)”

Harry was starting to see red. Motherfucker was doing this on purpose. “Fine,” she muttered, moving on to the bedroom. If Semenza wanted to leave enough rope to hang himself, that was on him. This was a burner phone anyway.

The safe wasn’t in the bedroom. Nor was it in the kitchenette, or the living area, or the bathroom. Harry checked her watch. She was ten minutes in and her objective was nowhere to be found. Where the hell was that safe?

A curtain fluttered, pushed by the breeze from the open balcony doors. Harry frowned. Surely he wouldn’t be fool enough to keep his safe out there… would he?

At first glance it seemed he wasn’t that kind of fool. The only things on the balcony were a white wooden lounge chair, a side table, and a palm fern in each corner next to the building. But that side table didn’t match any of the decor inside or outside; it looked like a solid block of polished mahogany, completely out of place among the sleek modern metal and glass that dominated the presidential suite. Kneeling down, Harry could just make out a rectangular outline on the side. She slid her fingers around the outline, gently pressing against the wood in search of a button or other release mechanism.

There! The wood gave slightly under her fingertips, and a moment later a panel silently slid forward and to the left, revealing a black metal door with a combination lock set into it.

“Bingo,” Harry whispered. A slow smile crept across her face. With a quick glance back into the suite to make sure no one had come in, she set to work on the lock.

For all the fuss people made about Steiner and his safe, it was disappointingly easy to crack. As the final tumbler clicked into place, Harry finally allowed herself to breathe. She was almost done. After this job, she could quit stealing (for a while, at least). She turned the handle, relishing that satisfying clunk it made, and opened the safe.

A spray of dark fluid splattered her in the face and chest. Harry threw herself backward, sputtering and wiping at her eyes. A bitter taste crept onto the edges of her tongue; some of it had gotten into her mouth.

She sat up and looked down at herself. Blue ink covered her hands, arms, and uniform. She could only guess how much of it was on her face. Steiner was clearly more of a tricky bastard than she’d given him credit for. She certainly hadn’t expected ink packs in the safe.

The door to the safe was wide open, revealing… nothing. It was empty, save for a single slip of paper, folded and standing upright.

A paper addressed to Harriet Cohen.

With trembling hands, Harry took the paper and unfolded it. All it said was “Gotcha.”

Fuck. She’d been set up. And worse, she’d fallen for it. How could she have been so stupid? Was Semenza working with Steiner? And if he was, why—? Raised voices from inside grabbed Harry’s attention. Her eyes widened at the bulky figures coming toward her. She couldn’t talk her way out of this one. There was only one way to go.

Harry scrambled to the railing and dove over the side.

For a split second the feeling of free-falling drove all thought out of her brain, save for the single repeating refrain of oh fuck oh fuck we’re gonna die!!! Then she snatched the bottom rungs of the railing, and stopped herself with a jolt that made her stomach lurch and threatened to pop her elbows right out of their sockets. Her feet dangled helplessly in mid-air.

She tried not to think about how far below the street was, or how fast it would take her to hit the pavement if she fell. There wasn’t time to panic about being thirty stories up. All she had to do was follow the plan. If she followed the plan, she’d get out of this alive. Hopefully.

The voices grew louder as Harry shifted her weight

“Looks like she took the bait,” said Meatbag #1 from above. They were on the balcony now.

“I knew she would,” said a new voice. “A rat can’t resist nibbling when it sees a piece of cheese.”

Harry had never had the displeasure of meeting the man in person, but she’d seen enough celebrity “news” to recognize Steiner’s voice. Of course the dirtbag was here to gloat. She’d expect nothing less. Which meant she needed to get away as quickly as possible, before someone took two steps to the right and saw her hands clutching the railing.

Harry looked down. The suite below Steiner’s also had a balcony. She just had to drop down there. The only consequence of missing would be falling to her death. No big deal. She took a deep breath and swung her legs back and forth, building up momentum.

“Now where,” Steiner said, each word punctuated by the click of his heels as he strolled across the balcony, “did the little rat go?”

Swaying out over the street below made Harry’s head spin. She swallowed down the little whine of fear that threatened to leak out. Almost there. She just had to swing out a little further…

The footsteps were coming closer. No more time left. Harry gave one final kick and let go. She tucked her arms and legs in close to her chest, intending to roll as she landed, but she hit the floor flat on her back with a loud thud.

“What was that?”

The impact had knocked the wind out of her, but Harry at least had enough presence of mind to roll beneath the lounge chair. Struggling to breathe without gasping like a fish on land, she clenched her teeth and forced herself to breathe through her nose.

The click click click of footsteps. A pause that seemed to drag on indefinitely, every second marked by the pulse of blood in her ears. Harry tucked her limbs in as close as she could. Was the end of her ponytail peeking out from beneath the chair? Had she left a smear of ink on the tile? Steiner had to suspect she was down here. The only other way out of the suite was through the front door, and the guards would have caught her if she’d gone out that way.

Finally Steiner let out a sigh. “Nothing,” he said, unable to keep a note of disappointment from his voice. “She’s not out here.”

“Dunno where else she could be,” one of the meatbags said. “Only other way out is through the door, and we were out there the whole time.”

“Clever little creatures, rats are.” Steiner’s voice faded as he headed inside, but his voice was raised enough for Harry to catch it. “They’ll find any number of ways to escape a sinking ship.”

The balcony door clicked shut above her, and Harry let out the breath she’d been holding, exhaling like the air was exploding from her lungs. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax. The tile wasn’t exactly comfortable to lay on, but the cool stone soothed her sore muscles. She was just going to lay here for a little bit. Just long enough to catch her breath and let her heartbeat slow down to a gentle gallop. Then it was time to get back to work.

The job wasn’t over. It was just getting interesting.

* * * 

Suite 2710 had been rented out to one Jurgen Niemand for the last two days. (By some miracle Semenza had at least been smart enough to use an alias this time.) Sadly, in the interest of not drawing attention to herself, staying in the room wasn’t an option for Harry. (A pity, that. She’d have put room service through their paces and rung the bill up as far as she dared, since it was all on Semenza’s dime. Another time, maybe.) She had made sure she was responsible for the basic housecleaning for the suite, however, which gave her ample opportunity to stash any supplies she might need. Supplies like a change of clothes, for example. Or professional-grade theater makeup. Or wigs.

A quick, scalding scrub in the shower took care of most of the ink, though there were a few faint splotches mingled in with the freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks. A careful application of concealer took care of that problem. Her ruined uniform was dumped unceremoniously into a trash bag, replaced with black leggings and long-sleeved t-shirt. Free of that damned wig for the first time in two weeks, Harry’s head felt lighter than air and no longer itched like she’d rubbed poison ivy all over her scalp. She ran a hand through her short, tight black curls and sighed in relief.

Reluctantly, she pulled up the text conversation between her and Semenza. He wasn’t going to like this turn of events, but it was the kind of thing he’d insisted he be informed of immediately. And his reaction might help her figure out if he was in on the trap.

“Johnny wasn’t at his apartment,” she typed. “His big brother chased me off. Going to see if he’s at a friend’s house instead.” She hit send and hoped that the code wasn’t too obscure for Semenza to figure out.

A minute passed. No reply. That was weird. Normally Semenza was all over his phone. Frowning, Harry slipped the phone into her pocket. Then she shrugged and pulled her climbing harness out from under the bed. Whether or not her employer saw the message, she still had a job to do.

Steiner had been right about the rat metaphor, as insulting as it was. The house Harry had grown up in was plagued with rodent infestations, and one of the first things she’d learned was that for every mouse hole you found, there were guaranteed to be at least two more you didn’t know about.

What Steiner had neglected to mention, however, was that even if you cut off all their escape routes, rats would just gnaw their own.

The air ducts in this hotel, as one might expect, were all connected. Theoretically, all Harry had to do was get in at any point, and given enough time and effort she could find her way to the ducts above Steiner’s suite. That, however, would require more time than she had, and the noise of her crawling around inside a sheet-metal tunnel would alert Steiner and his guards for sure. So, instead, Harry was going to come in from below.

The vents in each suite weren’t big enough for a toddler to crawl through, let alone a fully-grown adult woman, but that was okay. Two days had been plenty of time for Harry to make her own entrance. As long as she was careful about not making too much noise, it was really no big deal to move the bed and cut a hole in the wall behind the headboard, right into the air duct. The duct that, if her calculations and memory of the hotel blueprints were correct, also vented into Steiner’s bedroom. She didn’t need to fit through the vent if she pumped the suite full of sleeping gas and entered through the front door.

Of course, having the logistics of her next step figured out was only half the equation. Steiner and his men would be looking for her, and whatever else Steiner was, he was not a stupid man. He would have realized by now that she was still in the hotel, and sooner or later (and Harry was banking on sooner) he’d either jump to the most likely conclusion, that she had dropped to the balcony below, or just start searching room by room in an effort to apprehend her. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a police officer or hotel staff: he was Maxwell Steiner. If he wanted in somewhere, he’d get in.

And where the hell was the painting? If it wasn’t in the safe (was it ever in there?), where was it?

#my writing #WIPs #writblr #writers of tumblr #prompt response #I really like the rat metaphor but I'm also worried it might be antisemitic? Even if Harry specifically says it's an insult #I guess I could just make Harry not Jewish but I also really like the idea of a Jewish woman reclaiming art stolen by Nazis #real talk - do I use too many parentheticals?

[bananonbinary]

Tumblr's debt is a problem of their own creation. The app is buggy, the userbase is flooded with porn bots, nazis roam free, hate speech roams free, trans women have sfw content marked mature, art and posts are stolen for promotion, features are forced down our throats, ads are malicious and often gross or triggering and giving them money will not stop this.

If we give tumblr money they're not going to get rid of Tumblr live or restore the nsfw or remove ads or whatever you think they're going to do, they're going to KEEP DOING THE SAME THING except with more money to blow. Tumblr is a CORPORATION, they can get a government bailout like any other corporate entity can, and while people are throwing money at a dumbass corporation there are people begging to get bills paid and for food and other necessities.

Please open your eyes to the reality of the situation, its not just some guy anymore, David Karp is long gone its a soulless conglomerate now and they do not need our pity

a lot of yall seem to think that i want to like, bake sale save the baseball team. that's not what this is about. i don't think we need to "fix tumblr's debt," i think we need to make the website profitable (and the debt shows it isnt, altho from what i can gather a better word is "deficit" rather than "debt," ie, they are losing that much more money than they take in annually), because as it stands tumblr has no reason whatsoever to want to keep the current user base around. it's trying to attract a different userbase, because yall are PROUD of the fact that tumblr is a failing website and you dont want to pay them. you're loitering inside a store and acting surprised when the store wants you gone. of COURSE they're constantly introducing new features and not listening to what the users want, they don't want you here.

it's not a protest, it's not an attempt to buy good will, it's a simple business transaction: i spend a lot of time here, and i would like to keep spending a lot of time here. so i will buy my shitty internet crab, and tell my fellow loiterers that they can as well if they want. if you dont want to do that, you literally don't have to, but you can't tell me not to.

you people are all like "ohh tumblr isnt your friend dont give it money" but like. yeah. its not my friend. i would like to pay it for a service it provides, instead of expecting it to continue to provide that service out of the goodness of its non-existant heart. i dont think im the one with the parasocial relationship here.

also:

dont tell me to help a poor people. i am a poor people. i am allowed to spend THREE DOLLARS on something i like for myself, and not give literally every single dollar i have to charity and mutual aid. you have NO IDEA how much or if i do for other people, and you won't, because you aren't owed every detail of my life like that. people are allowed to have things they want for no other reason than they want them sometimes.

#disk horse / #also i wasnt even here when david karp owned the place i literally know nothing about him #seriously yall are like 'its a huge corporation it could keep things as they are if it wanted and keep operating at a loss' #but WHY. *why* would it do that? because it cares about you? it does not. it wants money. #corporations understand money. that is all they understand.

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

BLOG DIRECTORY AND ABOUT - Check Read More! 

this is a fanart blog! I’m not affiliated with Moulinsart or anything official, and I don’t make any money from this blog. It’s entirely for laughs, even when the posts aren’t funny. I try and keep the content on this blog safe for work, there will be swearing and mild injuries every now and then. Let me know if you want anything tagged.

pronouns are he/they. I’m British Chinese, and I’m an animator. I will always leave asks on for this blog, but I might not be able to reply to all of them! I will try my best to respond to as many as I can.

I know a lot of right wing weirdos use Tintin imagery to push their shitty politics so if you’re one of those people kindly fuck off! I’ve also seen people repost my art to other platforms, if you want to share my stuff outside Tumblr please ask first, wait for explicit permission and link back to my blog.

I also never post anything shipping Haddock and Tintin together romantically. I have the tag blacklisted too, I don’t mind interacting with people who ship this but I’m just not interested in interacting with the pairing as I find it super uncomfortable.

Instagram (@professorcalculusstanacc)

Animation

Comics

My Stories

French Translation of My Comics by ironiebd

Post-Canon Characters - Where Are They Now?

- Archibald Haddock

- Chang

- Tintin

- Martine Vandezande

- Zorrino

The ProfessorCalculusStanAccount Post-Canon Timeline (in chronological order):

- St Benezet’s Basement

Tintin and Chang go undercover in a Catholic boy’s college to investigate a series of student disappearances.

(X) (X) (X) (X) (X)

- The Golden Palm

Tintin goes undercover at a film festival disguised as Hollywood starlet Marlene Katz to fight off the mob.

(X) (X) 

- Call of the Songbird

On a backstage tour of the Museum of Art and History, Tintin steals an ancient Chinese whistle to return it to its place of origin after Chang laments how European museums are full of stolen artefacts.

(X) (X) (X) (X) (X) (X)

- The Beast of Loch Broom

After falling out with Tintin, Captain Haddock decides to take Chang under his wing to go monster hunting at a loch he used to visit on childhood holidays.

(X) (X) (X) (X) (X) (X) (X)

- The Gypsum Maw

Tintin is sent by his editor to interview a caver who is stuck in an unregulated cave.

(X) (X) (X) (X) (X) (X) (X)

- White Boy Goes Dancing

tintin finally goes to the club with chang

(X) (X) (X)

- The House of Glass

Calculus is the judge of an international flower show where the plant used to make Rajaijah madness juice is on display.

(X)

- Tintin Takes the Tube

During the London Blitz, Tintin, Chang and Haddock go to check on Chang’s uncle in Limehouse. Haddock uncovers a Nazi plot in some London Underground service tunnels.

(X)

- Unnamed Area 51 story

Chang and Tintin have a midlife crisis and decide to break into Area 51 after a bunch of alien sightings flood the tabloids, and get into trouble with the US government.

(X)

- The Goddamn Moustache Saga

Haddock really fucking hates Tintin’s new look. Bullying ensues

(X) (X)

#Fanart #animation #2d animation #gif #gifset #professor calculus #cuthbert calculus #captain haddock #archibald haddock #tintin #Adventures of Tintin #pinned post

[totowlff]

the encounter

➝ a painting, an agent and a crime. sounds good, no?

➝ word count: 3,9k

➝ warnings: descriptions of crimes, reader being clumsy

➝ author’s note: i finally felt safe enough to post this story. it's a more or less alternative universe, since it has some real things (i'd love to know your bets). hope you like it.

It was an ugly, gloomy day in Vienna, and you found yourself sitting in the cafe you tended to frequent these days. As far as anybody knew, and as far as you told anybody, it was a nice place to come and work during the day, so almost every day for the past few weeks, you sat in your usual seat by the window and sipped coffee as you ostensibly worked on something important on your laptop. As far as anybody asked, the cafe was comfortable enough and it was fairly close to your apartment, and you simply weren’t quite as productive when you were working at home. That’s what you told people, along with the fact that you worked in finance.

You weren’t working on anything at the moment, because your mind was elsewhere, and your eyes were fixed on something across the street from the cafe. You were staring at an old antique shop, with a dark green facade and gold lettering across its front window. You were watching the people inside, talking animatedly, trying to imagine what they were speaking about.

— Maria — you heard someone say. The name was familiar, after all, that was the name that was listed in the identity documents that your boss handed to you in a manila envelope a few weeks earlier, along with an investigation report. Hearing the name brought you back to when he was briefing you on the operation, which had been named “Królowa”, a reference to the object of the investigation. You had been assigned to search for information on a triptych painted by the Polish master painter, Jan Matejko, that depicted a procession accompanying the Virgin Mary and the Baby Jesus to a cathedral in Kraków.  

The triptych was considered a lost Polish national treasure, stolen from its most recent owner during the Nazi occupation. Previous investigations into its whereabouts dragged on for years, buried in the files of the Europol, based in The Hague, in the Netherlands. When you started working there, almost a decade earlier, the case was stuck on a cold lead about the piece's last owner, Count Hieronim Tarnowski, a Polish aristocrat.

The last documented whereabouts of the triptych was within Montelupi Palace in Kraków, which was owned by the Tarnowski family. However, the palace and all of its contents were expropriated by Nazi command in 1942, before the interior of the Palace was consumed by fire. From then on, there was nothing further documented about the of the painting. It and some other cultural treasures seized by the Nazis were long considered lost by the Polish government and Europol. That is, until one day, you found something that made you dig deeper into the case.

You were doing some research for another art theft case when you found an open thread about Matejko on an art forum. While you were reading praise for the painter's work, you came across a photo posted by a user called Piter1974 that caught your attention.

It was a photo of the triptych, clearly taken with a modern camera given the quality and colors of the image. They contrasted sharply with the images attached to the investigation that you had as reference, which had been taken from pre-war catalogs. The only existing photos of the work were all in black-and-white, taken with early 20th century cameras. You did some cursory checking on the authenticity of the image, and didn't hesitate to print it out. You placed it on your boss’ desk with an air of confidence. 

— What is that? — your boss, a burly, perpetually grumpy Frenchman named Romeo, asked.

— It’s Matejko’s triptych.

He looked unconvinced as he cocked an eyebrow. 

— Came to show me your Photoshop skills? The colors look nice, but…

— I didn't color this photo.

Romeo blinked.

— Do you mean…

— It's a recent image — you said, proudly — The EXIF data shows that it was taken on October 6, 2022.

— Where did you find this?

— On an internet forum. A user posted this in a discussion thread about Jan Matejko's works.

— You…

— It’s not AI or Photoshop. I checked, Romeo — you replied, smiling — The triptych still exists!

Your discovery led to the case being reopened, with the image being examined pixel-by-pixel for any inconsistencies, and your findings being verified. The EXIF data buried in the picture not only showed the date, but it showed what kind of camera the image had been taken by, which was a high-end professional model popular with archivists and museum curators for taking high-quality images suitable for cataloging. 

You felt frustration wash over you. The trail seemed to have gone cold again, after all, how many art galleries were there in the world? It was like you were looking for a needle in a haystack.

But again, fortune smiled on you. While analyzing an old catalog of Jan Matejko's works written by a Polish author, you came across new information about the triptych's whereabouts. According to the catalog’s author, after being confiscated by the Nazis, the triptych briefly reappeared in the 1960s, in the inventory of a well-known antiques shop in central Vienna. Your relief was short-lived when you saw the name of the shop’s owner. 

“Of course Bednarczyk is involved in this”, you thought to yourself, letting out a long sigh.

Czesław Bednarczyk was an old acquaintance of the Polish justice system. He had been a notorious smuggler, taking vast amounts of Poland’s cultural treasures and gold abroad, most of it to be sold in his antique shop in central Vienna, on the Dorotheergasse. 

Despite the mountain of evidence against him, the antiquarian never faced justice for his crimes, nor did his reputation within the art world suffer. When he died in the late 90s, the funeral was attended by great figures from the industry, all paying their respects to the patriarch's family, who worked to preserve his legacy to this very day. 

Bednarczyk's antique shop was taken over by his eldest daughter, Elisabeth. She was known for being one of the leading experts on Viennese porcelain, which kept her from being a major suspect. However, you thought, that didn't mean the place couldn't be involved in some way, as other Matejko pieces had been sold by the Bednarczyks over the years. And so, you went to Vienna with a false identity and a single objective: find the triptych.

After arriving in the city and settling into the apartment that would be your base, you tried to investigate the surroundings of Dorotheergasse, the narrow lane where the antique shop was located. In short order, you found the perfect place to monitor movements in and out of the shop without raising any suspicion — a cafe next to the Jewish Museum across the street. — Maria — the voice repeated, making you wake up from your thoughts. You glanced over your shoulder, finding the friendly smile of Kristina, the cafe's barista — Is everything okay?

— Yes, everything’s fine — you replied quickly, fumbling to hide the fact that you had forgotten that was the name you’d given to the waitress — Why?

— Oh, you… Called me over to place your order, but when I asked you what you wanted, you didn't say anything...

You felt your own cheeks heat up.

— Sorry, Kristina, I was distracted…

— By the antique shop?

You were apparently being too obvious. You wished the ground would swallow you whole.

— Well, no… Not exactly…

— Oh, I’m not surprised.  — Kristina laughed — When you said you had just moved to an apartment nearby, I sort of figured you had an eye for art and antiques.

— But, how?

The barista chuckled.

— I mean, you’ve seen the kind of people that come in here. It’s only old people or people that are crazy about art, and you’re obviously not old.

You smiled, trying to hide your discomfort at feeling so transparent.

— I do like art — you lied — My parents had a lot of pieces at home, like sculptures, porcelain...

— Oh, that shop has a ton of those things.

You raised your eyebrow. 

— Have you ever been inside?

— Yes. I got curious about it and went after work one day.

— Did you talk to anyone there?

Kristina was clearly taken aback by your interest.

— Oh, yes, I talked to a man, he…

— Alexander? — you asked, taking a few seconds to realize that, in your eagerness to find out more about the Bednarczyks, you were close to showing your hand.

— No, his name was something else — she replied, with suspicion on her face — Who’s Alexander? 

In truth, you knew that Elisabeth had a son named Alexander. According to the case’s dossier, he was a specialist in contemporary art and responsible for numerous sales of works to foreign galleries and museums. If the triptych had left the antique shop heading abroad, it likely would have passed through Alexander's hands.

— Well, like I said, my parents like art and I remembered they bought a few pieces from a shop in Vienna run by a man named Alexander — you said, trying to cover your tracks  — I thought it could be him, but I think it's unlikely, come to think of it. After all, how many art and antique shops are in a city this size, right?

After staring at you for a few seconds, Kristina smiled.

— Unlikely, maybe, but not impossible. I imagine the art world isn’t a very big one, after all. 

You went back to focusing on the antique shop. You had noticed some movement near the door and you were trying to pay attention to whoever was leaving, when Kristina cleared her throat.

— Yeah? — you muttered.

— Do you still want something?

Looking at the table, you noticed that your espresso cup was empty, as was the plate full of crumbs from the chocolate cake you had devoured after lunch.

— I think another espresso — you replied. With a nod Kristina walked away from your table, while you looked again at the door of the antique shop as two blonde women came out of the shop’s door. Both of them were talking animatedly and had boxes in their hands.

Just then, you’d decided you’d spent enough time over the past few weeks watching and waiting — you had to see what was inside. 

The next day, the plan was already drawn up in your head. You would go into another antique shop in a different part of Vienna and buy something made of porcelain, something that seemed to be antique. And then, you would go into the Bednarczyk’s shop to try and have it appraised. It belonged to your mother, you would tell them, and you wanted to find out what they could tell you about it and see if it could be restored. Anything to buy more time.

You’d let the staff at the shop talk to you, you knew what questions to ask to not seem like you knew nothing about the pieces, but what to avoid asking to not show that you knew too much. While you were talking to them, whoever they were, you would try to work in a way to ask about any Matejko pieces they knew of.

Your plan was hastily arranged, but it seemed like it should be perfect.

You found another antique shop in Ottakring, across the city, and bought the first porcelain piece you spotted that you knew was old enough to seem like a treasured family heirloom. You thought it would be a good idea to stop by the cafe first and have an espresso to settle your nerves before heading into Bednarczyk’s.

You walked down the street to the direction of the antique store with the box containing the little sculpture in your hands, confident this would be a big step forward in the investigation of the tryptich’s whereabouts. 

As you were glancing toward the shop’s entryway, you let your attention slip for a moment, crashing into the back of the man who was walking ahead of you. The box in your hand slipped and fell toward the ground, the muffled tinkling of shattering porcelain coming from inside the box. You immediately sank to the ground and lifted the flaps on the top of the box.

— No, no, no, fuck — you said, seeing the ballerina you bought reduced to a pile of shards.

— Shit — the man said from above you. When you looked up, you realized that you had stumbled into a man with dark hair and brown eyes, who were fixed on what was once a small porcelain statue — I'm sorry, I didn't see you coming in behind me…

— No, it's okay — you murmured, trying to hide your displeasure at having broken the piece. You had chosen the porcelain ballerina precisely because you knew that it was old enough to be of interest to Elisabeth. However, you couldn’t exactly get her to appraise a pile of dust — Isn’t a big deal...

— From your reaction, it seemed like something important — the man said, as you closed the box quickly and stood up — I’m so sorry. I hope it wasn’t a family heirloom.

You looked up at him, pressing your lips together as you realized how tall he was. “Focus… Maria”, you thought to yourself, feeling your face heat up. You couldn't let your cover identity slip.

— Yeah, it was. I had brought it to see if there was somewhere that could appraise it, maybe restore it, but… I don’t think there’s much to be done about it now.

Looking at the box, the man seemed to think for a few seconds, before looking up at you again.

— Well, if you want, I can find something else to give you instead. I’ll pay for it.

— I don’t… 

— That won't replace the sentimental value, no, but it's the least I can do, considering your little ballerina is broken because of me.

You hesitated for a few seconds. You didn’t want to involve another person in your investigation, especially an innocent bystander that made you feel a strange heat in your chest and a strange flush in your cheeks. However, before you realized it, you were following him down the street, the box with the porcelain shards in your hands, into the front door of the Bednarczyks' antique shop.

He opened the door and motioned politely for you to walk in first, which you did, unable to hide the shy smile on your face. The man closed the door behind him as you approached one of the shelves. It was stocked with a huge assortment of miscellaneous knicknacks - silver candelabras, ceramic vases, sets of different glasses and jars, all polished and carefully arranged. Your eyes landed on a velvet box on one of the middle shelves, and you couldn’t resist the compulsion to step forward and carefully tilt open the lid, trying to see what was inside.

— It's a set of silver flatware — a female voice said behind you. You turned around with a start to see a short, blonde woman with kind brown eyes staring at you. She smiled — Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Mr. Wolff asked me to come assist you.

— Mr. Wolff? — you asked, confused.

— The gentleman who came in with you.

You were still confused, wondering how she knew the other customer’s name. 

— By any chance — you started, stopping when you felt someone touch you shoulder.

— Ah, you found Petra, excellent — the man, apparently Mr. Wolff, said — Petra, could you show us the porcelain?

The woman nodded and directed you to another set of shelves, chatting about , the woman guided you between the shelves, chatting about the store's new arrivals. However, your mind was occupied with trying to remember if you’d ever seen the name Wolff anywhere in the case files. The man seemed to be too familiar with the staff to be just another customer. You remembered reading about Elisabeth, her son, Alexander, and Alexander’s wife, Amy. However, you didn't remember any man with the surname Wolff.

— Here is our selection of porcelain. I'll leave you to choose what you would like — Petra said, with a smile.

— Thank you very much, Petra. As soon as we choose, we will call you.

With a nod, Petra walked away, leaving the two of you alone in front of the shelves filled with figurines, cups, teapots and porcelain vases. After a few seconds of silence, you finally looked at the man next to you.

— Mr. Wolff, is it? — you asked, the tone of your voice causing a smile to appear on his lips.

— Well, yes. Torger Wolff. But you can call me Toto.

Something about what he said made you smile.

— Toto, like the dog in The Wizard of Oz?

— I would say like Toto Rina, the Italian mafioso, but most people think of the dog first — Toto said, without taking his eyes off you — And you, what's your name?

You hesitated for a few seconds.

— Maria.

— Just Maria?

— Maria Bauer.

Toto chuckled.

— Ah, a fairly common name, no? — he asked. “It had to be something from the idiots in the operations department”, you thought to yourself, giving a wry smile.

— My parents weren’t the most creative…

— In my case, they were too creative — he said, looking at the shelf again — I suppose you’re not not from Vienna?

His question made you swallow hard.

— No, I'm not. I moved here not long ago. How did you know?

— Your accent — Toto replied — I'd say you're from the south, maybe. Graz?

— Klagenfurt — you said. That’s what was in your identity document. You hoped he wasn't familiar with the accent there, since you were sure that the Dutch and English you were used to speaking on a daily basis with your co-workers was present in the way you slurred some syllables.

— But you've lived abroad, haven't you?

— Why do you ask?

— Your accent doesn’t sound like a Southern accent. I have an acquaintance from near there, but his accent is a bit different. 

— My mother is Dutch — you lied, almost in an attempt to stop that interrogation — So, I grew up listening to her accent and ended up picking it up.

— Ah, yes, I understand — he said, giving a gentle smile.

Turning your attention to the shelf, you tried to focus on the china in front of you, trying to decide which piece would be the most similar to the one he had broken. Not that it mattered much, but one did catch your eye. It was a figure of two people - a man and a woman, sitting next to a column, with the woman holding a rose and the man holding a basket of flowers on his lap. It was romantic, and oddly endearing.— Did you like this one? — Toto asked.

— Yeah — you replied, your fingers brushing the top of the porcelain column, where there was a small hole to hold a few flowers  — It's very beautiful.

— I agree. 

— With such a renowned expert curating the collection, it's not surprising — you said, taking the porcelain figure in your hands.

— Oh, do you know of Elisabeth? — he asked. You glanced over to Toto to find that he had a curious expression, like something you said made an impression.

Maybe you’d already said too much.

You’d betrayed the fact that you were not from Vienna and had recently moved to the city, leaving you no acceptable excuse to explain how you knew who owned the shop you were in. It wasn’t as if she was well-known outside of very specific Viennese society and academic circles — No, I don't know her — you said, giggling nervously.

— So how do you know she curates the porcelains here?

— Well, like I said, I recently moved and I'm still cleaning up my apartment, so I'm working from the cafe across the street — you lied, trying to sound as calm as possible  — And, one day, I noticed the antique shop across the street and looked up some information about it online. My parents collect art - mostly these porcelain figures, so I thought I’d bring in one of their older pieces to have it appraised and restored, since she seemed like the best person to do it.

— Of course, the internet — he said, laughing — What's not on the internet nowadays, right?

— Right? You can find anything — you smiled, feeling your heart pounding. He seemed to buy it, but you couldn’t guarantee that you’d be so lucky next time. 

After asking if you liked the piece you were holding and calling Petra to confirm your choice, Toto asked you to stay there, before heading towards the counter at the back of the shop together with Petra.

Watching him talk to Petra, you started feeling guilty. You had only just met Toto and you already felt terrible about lying to him, which made you feel even worse, as feeling such strong emotions about telling lies was an occupational liability for you. But still, he had nothing to do with the investigation beyond knowing who Elisabeth was, and ostensibly frequenting her family’s antique shop. He certainly wasn’t a person of interest, so you could only conclude that he was one of her wealthy patrons. “He must be rich”, you thought, watching him scribble something on a piece of paper and hand it to Petra.

Perhaps, in other circumstances, you could get to know each other better. It was crazy, you thought, to be imagining a future with a man you knew nothing about and had just met mere moments ago, but you couldn’t help it as you looked at the way he smiled at you. It was a sweet, warm smile, and you’d never met anyone else you felt a connection with so immediately. It was the same smile he gave you once more as he handed you an elegant box that Petra had given him. “What a handsome son of a bitch”, you thought, giving him a small smile.

— Here — Toto said, handing you the box — I know it's not a one-for-one replacement, but it's my way of apologizing for the accident earlier.

— It’s no problem, really. You could very well have ignored what happened and kept walking, so…

— No, I don’t think that would have been — he murmured, eyes fixed on yours. That intensity of his gaze on you made your own cheeks feel hot.

— What do you mean by that? — you asked, giggling nervously.

— It would be impossible to ignore you — Toto said, seeming to realize the effect of his own words on you — I could never just walk past you.

The room filled with silence that stretched out long enough for you to think of a million scenarios in which you would end up with your lips pressed against his.

— Well, I'm going to take this home — you finally said, taking a brief look at the box — Thank you for your kindness, Toto.

— It was the least I could do, Maria — he replied with a smile, putting a peculiar emphasis on your name.

Giving one last wave, you turned around and left the antique shop feeling like you were floating. However, nothing compared to the feeling that came over you when you opened the box and found a note on the bubble wrap that surrounded the delicate piece of porcelain.

— I'd love to see how it looks on your shelf — you read quietly, realizing that Toto had written his phone number below his message while Petra was wrapping the figurine.

You dug into your purse and pulled out your phone, but started feeling guilty again. You were in Vienna for work, not to flirt with strangers. You were dealing with dangerous people and getting involved with more people meant additional risk, not only for them, but for you and your career.

“Well… one photo of my bookshelf probably won’t hurt anyone”, you thought, before saving the number on your cell phone.

#toto wolff #wlffog #formula 1 fic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #toto wolff x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff fluff #formula one fanfic #formula one fic #ocwlff

[toxinellebug]

Shadybug’s Paris Headcanons

Paris is not the “City of Love”, it is the “City of Progress”.

Many of those old fashioned buildings from a bygone era have been torn down and replaced with buildings that are more practical than aesthetic or factories.

Plastic is fantastic, the Seine is super polluted (and there is a rumored crocodile living there so citizens are advised to stand clear) but after getting rid of some useless parks, Project Oxygen has already started to improve Parisian Air Quality.

There is no ice-rink.

Admission to the Louvre is ridiculously expensive, and several pieces of art and historical artifacts have been locked up in the archives because it was determined that they were detrimental to public welfare and could incite anarchy. (In reality, the Supreme has locked away anything that is related to previous holders of the Miraculous).

There is a strict curfew and Martial law upheld by the Enforcers under the decree of the Supreme.

As such, there is no need for elections or mayors.

Socialism is prohibited.

This means that Libraries are not free; you need to fill out paperwork and pay a membership fee to gain entrance, and pay a separate rental fee for each book you rent, and the late fees are horrific. The selection of books available is limited as any material deemed to promote dangerous ideas has been strictly banned under penalty of law.

Fire and rescue services are not paid by tax payers, they are paid for by the people who need saving, as such, nobody is willing to go into financial debt over a cat stuck in a tree.

But thanks to the Supreme, there are no more wars, no debates over politics or religion. The world can focus on technological progress. Banning dangerous items has greatly reduced all crime, and Enforcers carry out punishment swiftly and efficiently.

Disobedience is not tolerated, because disobedience leads to civil violence and disruption, which leads to anarchy.

But if you are obedient and work hard, it is possible to move up in the world.

Freedom is a small price to pay for World Peace.

No one knows where the Supreme’s headquarters are located expect for a few elite, and no one knows if the Supreme is one person or a group of people.

But the Supreme guides the world and has lead everyone to prosperity. The Supreme cannot be questioned.

The Supreme defeated the Nazis, the Japanese, and even the Soviets.

Any radical or terrorist groups are swiftly eliminated by the Supreme.

There is no such thing as miracles. Keep your head down, mind your own business, fall in line, and strive for your own success, do not be weighed down by others or allow yourself to fall victim to misleading liberal and socialist ideals and propaganda that will lead to civil unrest. The obedient are always rewarded for their efforts. The impoverished exist due to laziness or criminal intent and are to be avoided. Those who ask for help expect free handouts and wish to leech off the hard work of upstanding citizens; they must be shunned.

Nobody does anything without adequate compensation. Never trust a “free lunch”, it may be poisoned.

Pigeons are disease spreading vermin and every effort is being made to exterminate them.

The Supreme began to suspect that whomever stole from him is hiding out in Paris after certain impossible “miracles” begin to happen in the city.

But the Supreme can’t show weakness and allow those who have sworn loyalty to know that he was robbed. Can’t risk them getting greedy and trying to steal from him as well.

He needs someone naive and inexperienced, someone who can be easily tempted and manipulated into retrieving the stolen Miraculous and keeping their mouth shut about it.

Who better than emotionally unstable teens, angry at the world, and bitterly determined to keep their business secret from adults who could never understand their pain? Teens who have no wealth or power of their own to change their lives and achieve their desires. Teens who would be too prideful or too afraid to admit their mistakes when things go wrong? Teens too oblivious to how the world really works, and could not care less for the consequences of their actions, even if it means slowly destroying the city in order to lure out a man who is determined to play “Hero”.

And, should they prove useless, it would be easy to take their miraculous back and let their bodies deteriorate, along with any and all secrets of magic jewels.

After all, it is hardly newsworthy if some Baker’s daughter suddenly “dies from an incurable illness”, and the Tragedy of a teen model “disappearing”, either as a means to escape the pressures of fame or a desire to join their mother in the afterlife is both entertaining and distracting, the Media will eat it up like candy.

This is the World that Betterfly/Hesperia wishes to change.

#miraculous paris #miraculous world #miraculous fandom #shadybug #miraculous ladybug #toxinelle #griffe noire #claw noir #The Supreme #Kwamis #Gabriel Agreste #Adrien Agreste #marinette dupain cheng #Hesperia #Betterfly #mlb s5 #miraculous #miraculous paris special #miraculous world paris

[scary-movies-on-netflix]

ZONE OF INTEREST (2023)

This is a deeply unsettling movie about the Nazi commander and his family who ran the Auschwitz concentration camp during World War II.

There isn’t much plot.  We simply follow the family as they live their daily lives on the edge of the camp of horror.  The wife receives a delivery: clothes stolen from newly-arrived prisoners, which she invites her household staff to share.  The wife takes for herself a fur coat.  She tells a servant to have it cleaned and mended.  Her husband, based on the real life person who perfected the machinery of mass murder, named Hoss, receives visitors with plans for improved incinerators.  The wife tends to her garden, and they have dinner at night as a family.  The only intrusion of the camp is auditory: there is an ever-present rumbling, at times punctuated by gunshots.  One can look from the garden toward the smokestacks of the incinerators spewing ash into the air. 

The wife’s mother comes to visit.  The mother looks out the window at night at the glowing incinerators.  She leaves without telling her daughter.  The wife, pissed, threatens a slave with incineration.  Hoss sexually assaults a slave and furtively cleans his genitals in a basement sink.  He is transferred to another post, but his wife doesn’t want to leave.  “This is our Lebensraum,” she says, pointing to the house.  Hoss attends a meeting where men in uniforms and suits plan the destruction of Hungary’s Jewish population.  Hoss is transferred back to Auschwitz, but beforehand he attends a party.  Later he calls his wife and explains that he spent the time thinking about how to most efficiently kill everyone there. 

He leaves the office at night but stops to vomit in the stairwell.  He pauses on a landing and looks in our direction.  There is a hard cut and we are at Auschwitz, now, as employees clean the museum.  They sweep and vacuum the floors.  They clean the glass displays, behind which are the shoes and clothes of the dead.  We cut back to Hoss, who descends the stairs into darkness.

This is existential horror.  We don’t have to wonder if people could ever commit industrial-scale murder, because they already have.  We view the perpetrators here with detachment.  Shots are framed with wide-angle lenses.  One of the only close-up shots is of Hoss at work, focusing in on his face as he looks at something off screen and we hear terrors around him.  The only other close-up we get is of a nameless Polish girl.  We see her twice throughout the movie as she sneaks across the landscape, hiding food for the slaves of the camp, before returning home.  She’s presented in reverse colors, like a film negative, the moral opposite of those running the camp.

This film is not especially enjoyable to watch, yet it is a work of art.

#zone of interest #movie review #horror movie #existential horror #2023

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous ask: What do you think of the new Indiana Jones movie? And of Phoebe Waller-Bridge?

In a nutshell: From start to finish ‘Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny’ is watching Indiana Jones being a broken-down shell of a once great legacy character who has to be saved by the perfect younger and snarky but stereotypical ’Strong Independent Woman’ that passes for women characters in popcorn movies today.

I went in to this film with conflicted feelings. On the one hand I was genuinely excited to see this new Indiana Jones movie because it’s Indiana Jones. Period. Yet, on the other hand I feared how badly Lucasfilm, under Kathleen Kennedy’s insipid woke inspired CEO studio direction, was going to further tarnish not just a screen legend but the legacy of both George Lucas and Steven Spielberg. The cultural damage she has done to such a beloved franchise as the Star Wars universe in the name of progressive woke ideology is criminal. The troubled production history behind this film and its massive $300 million budget (by some estimates) meant Disney had a lot riding on it, especially with the future of Kathleen Kennedy on the line too as she was hands on with this film.

To me the Indiana Jones movies (well, the first three anyway, the less we say about ‘Kingdom of the Crystal Skull’ the better) were an important part of my childhood. I fell in love with the character instantly. Watching ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’ (first on DVD in my boarding school dorm with other giggly girls and later on the big screen at a local arts cinema retrospective on Harrison Ford’s stellar career) just blew me away. 

As a girl I wanted to be an archaeologist and have high falutin’ adventures; I even volunteered in digs in Pakistan and India (the Indus civilisation) as well as museum work in China as a teen growing up in those countries and discovering the methodical and patient but back breaking reality of what archaeology really was. But that didn’t dampen my spirit. Just once I wanted to echo Dr. Jones, ‘This belongs in a museum!’ But I happily settled for studying Classics instead and enjoyed studying classical archaeology on the side.

I couldn’t quite make sense why Indiana Jones resonated with me more than any other action hero on the screen until much later in life. Looking like Harrison Ford certainly helps. But it’s more than that. I’ve written this elsewhere but it’s worth repeating here.

‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’ is considered an inspiration for so many action films yet there’s a very odd aspect to the film that’s rather unique and rarely noticed by its critics and fans. It’s an element that, once spotted, is difficult to forget, and is perhaps inspiring for times like the one in which we currently live, when there are so many challenges to get through. Typically in action films, the hero faces an array of obstacles and setbacks, but largely solves one problem after another, completes one quest after another, defeats one villain after another, and enjoys one victory after another.

The structure of ‘Raiders’ is different. A quick reminder:

- In the opening sequence, Indiana Jones obtains the temple idol only to lose it to his rival René Belloq (Paul Freeman). - In the streets of Cairo, Indy fails to protect his love, Marion Ravenwood (Karen Allen), from being captured (killed, he assumes). - In the desert, he finds the long-lost Ark of the Covenant, only to have it taken away by Belloq. - Indy then recovers the ark only to have it stolen a second time by Belloq, this time at sea. - On an island, Indy tries to bluff Belloq into thinking he’ll blow up the ark. His bluff fails. Indy is captured. - The climax of the film literally has its hero tied to a post the entire time. He’s completely ineffectual and helpless at a point in the movie where every other action hero is having their greatest moment of struggle and, typically, triumph.

If Indiana Jones had done absolutely nothing, if the famed archeologist had simply stayed home, the Nazis would have met the same fate - losing their lives to ark’s wrath because they opened it. It’s pretty rare in action films for the evil arch-villains to have the same outcome as if the hero had done nothing at all.

Indy does succeed in getting the ark back to America, of course, which is crucial. But then Indy loses the ark, once again, when government agents send it to a warehouse and refuse to let him study the object he chased the whole film. In other words: Indiana Jones spends ‘Raiders’ failing, getting beat up, and losing every artefact that he risks his life to acquire. And yet, Indiana Jones is considered a great hero.

The reason Indiana Jones is a hero isn’t because he wins. It’s because he never stops trying. I think this is the core of Indiana Jones’ character.

Critics will go on about something called agency as in being active or pro-active. But agency can be reactive and still be kinetic to propel the story along. It’s something that has progressively got lost as the series went on. With the latest Indiana Jones film I felt that Indiana Jones character had no agency and ends up being a relatively passive character. Sadly Indiana Jones ends up being a grouchy, broken, and beat up passenger in his own movie.

Released in 1981, ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’ remains one of the most influential blockbusters of all time. Exciting action, exotic adventure, just the right amount of romance, good-natured humour, cutting-edge special effects: it was all there, perfectly balanced. Since then, attempts have been made to reproduce this winning recipe in different narrative contexts, sometimes successfully (’Temple of Doom’ and ‘the Last Crusade’), usually in vain (’Crystal Skull’).

What are the key ingredients of an Indiana Jones movie? There are only four core elements - leaving aside aspects of story such as the villain or the goal - that you need in place before anything else. They are: the wry, world-weary but sexy masculine performance of Harrison Ford; the story telling genius of George Lucas steeped in the lore of Saturday morning action hero television shows of the 1950s; the deft visual story telling and old school action direction of Steven Spielberg; and the sublime and sweeping music of the great John Williams. This what made the first three films really work.

In the latest Indiana Jones film, you only have one. Neither Lucas and Spielberg are there and arguably neither is Harrison Ford. John Williams’ music score remains imperious as ever. His music does a lot of heavy lifting in the film and let’s face it, his sublime music can polish any turd.

This isn’t to say the ‘Dial of Destiny’ is a turd. I won’t go that far, and to be honest some of the critical reaction has been over-hysterical. Instead I found it enjoyable but also immensely frustrating more than anything else. It had potential to be a great swan song film for Indy because it had an exciting collection of talent behind it.

In the absence of Spielberg, one couldn’t do worse than to pick James Mangold as next best to direct this film. Mangold is a great director. I am a fan of his body of work. After ‘Copland’, ‘Walk the Line’, ‘Logan’ and ‘Le Mans 66’ (or ‘Ford vs Ferrari’), James Mangold has been putting together a fine career shaped by his ability to deliver stories that rediscover a certain old-fashioned charm without abusing the historical figures - real or fictional - he tackles. And after Johnny Cash, Wolverine and Ken Miles, among others, I had high hopes he would keep the flame alive when it came to Indiana Jones. Mangold grew up as a fanboy of Spielberg’s work and you can clearly see that in his approach to directing film.

But in this film his direction lacks vitality. Mangold, while regularly really good, drags his feet a little here because he’s caught between putting his own stamp on the film and yet also lovingly pay homage to his hero, Spielberg. It’s as if he didn't dare give himself away completely, the director seems too modest to really take the saga by the scruff of the neck, and inevitably ends up suffering from the inevitable comparison with Steven Spielberg.

Mangold tries to recreate the nostalgic wonder of the originals, but doesn't quite succeed, while succumbing to an overkill of visual effects that make several passages seem artificial. The action set pieces range from pedestrian to barely satisfying. The prologue sequence was vaguely reminiscent of past films but it was still a little too reliant on CGI. The much talked about de-ageing of Harrison Ford on screen was impressive (and one suspects a lot of the film budget was sunk right there). But Indiana’s lifeless digitally de-aged avatar fighting on a computer-generated train, made the whole sequence feel like the Nazi Polar Express. Because it didn’t look real, there was no sense of danger and therefore no emotional investment from the audience. You know Tom Cruise would have done it for real and it would have looked properly cinematic and spectacular.

The tuk tuk chase through the narrow streets of Tangiers was again an exciting echo of past films, especially ‘Raiders’, but goes on a tad too long, but the exploration of the ship wreck (and a criminally underused cameo by Antonio Banderas) was disappointing and way too short. 

The main problem here is the lack of creativity in the conception of truly epic scenes, because these are not dependent on Ford's age. Indeed, the film could very well have offered exhilarating action sequences worthy of the archaeologist with the whip, without relying solely on the physicality of its leading man. You don't need a Tom Cruise to orchestrate great moments but you could do worse than to follow his example. 

Mangold uses various means of locomotion to move the character  - train, tuk tuk, motorbike, horse - and offers a few images that wouldn't necessarily be seen elsewhere (notably the shot of Jones riding a horse in the middle of the underground), but in the end shows himself to be rather uninspired, when the first three films in the saga conceived some of the most inventive sequences in the genre and left their mark on cinema history. There are no really long shots, no iconic compositions, no complex shots that last and enrich a sequence, which makes the film look too smooth and prevents it from giving heft to an adventure that absolutely needs it.

And so now to the divisive figure of Phoebe Waller-Bridge. 

It’s important here to separate the person from the character. I like Phoebe Waller-Bridge and I loved her in her ‘Fleabag’ series. She excels in a very British setting. I think she is funny, irreverent, and a whip smart talented writer and performer. I also think she has a particular frigid English beauty and poise about her. When I say poise I don’t mean the elegant poise of a Parisienne or a Milanese woman, but someone who is cute and comfortable in her own skin. You would think she would be more suited to ‘Downton Abbey’ setting than all out Hollywood action film. But I think she almost pulls it off here. 

In truth over the years Phoebe Waller-Bridge, known for her comedy, has been collecting franchises where she is able to inflict her saucy humour into a hyper-masculine space. I don’t think her talent was properly showcased here. 

Hollywood has this talent for plucking talented writers and actors who are exceptional in what they do and then hire them do something entirely different by either miscasting them or making them write in a different genre. I think Phoebe Waller-Bridge is exceptional and she might just rise if she is served by a better script.

In the end I think she does a decent stab at playing an intriguing character in Helena Shaw, Indy’s long lost and estranged god daughter and a sort of amoral rare artefacts hustler. Phoebe Waller-Bridge brings enthusiasm, charm and mischief to the role, making her a breath of fresh air. She seems to be the only member of the on-screen cast that looks to be enjoying themselves. 

To be fair her I thought Waller-Bridge was a more memorable and interesting female character than either Kate Capshaw (’Temple of Doom’, 1984) and Alison Doody (’Last Crusade’, 1989). She certainly is a marked improvement on the modern woke inspired insipid female action leads such as Brie Larson (’Captain Marvel’), or any women in the Marvel universe for that matter, or Katherine Waterson (’Alien Covenant’). Waller-Bridge could have been reminiscent of Kathleen Turner (’Romancing the Stone’) and more recently Eva Green, actresses who command attention on screen and are as captivating, if not more so, than the male protagonists they play opposite.

To be sure there have been strong female leads before the woke infested itself into Hollywood story telling but they never made it central to their identity. Sigourney Weaver in ‘Alien’ and Linda Hamilton in the ‘Terminator’ franchise somehow conveyed strength of character with grit and perseverance through their suffering, while also being vulnerable and confident to pull through and succeed. Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s character isn’t quite that. She doesn’t get into fist fights or overpowers big hulking men but she uses cheek and charm to wriggle out of tight spots. She’s gently bad ass rather the dull ‘strong independent woman’ cardboard caricatures that Marvel is determined to ram down every girl’s throat. If Waller-Bridge’s character was better written she might well have been able to revive memories of the great ladies of Hollywood's golden age who had the fantasy and the confidence that men quaked at their feet.

What lets her character down is the snark. She doesn’t pepper her snark but she drowns in it. All of it directed at poor Indy and mocking him for his creaking bones and his entire legacy. It’s a real eyesore and it is a real let down as it drags the story down and clogs up the wheels that power the kinetic energy that an adventure with Indiana Jones needs. ‘The grumpy old man and the young woman with the wicked repartee set off across the vast world’ schtick is all well and good, but it does grate and by the end it makes you angry that Indy has put up with this crap. I can understand why many are turned off by Waller-Bridge’s character. As a female friend of mine put it, we get the talented Phoebe Waller Bridge’s bitter and unlikable Helena acting like a bitter and unlikable man. But it could be worse, it could be as dumb as Shia LaBeouf‘s bad Fonzie impersonation in 'Crystal Skull’.

I would say there is a difference between snark and sass. Waller-Bridge’s character is all snark. If the original whispers are true the original script had her way more snarkier towards Indy until Ford threatened to leave the project unless there were re-writes,  then it shows how far removed the producers and writers were from treating Indy Jones with the proper respect a beloved legacy character deserves. It’s also lazy story telling.

Karen Black gave us real sass with Marion Ravenwood in ‘Raiders’. Her character was sassy, strong, but also vulnerable and romantic. She plays it pitch perfect. Of all the women in Indy’s life she was good foil for Indy.

Spielberg is so underrated for his mise-en-scène. We first meet Marion running a ramshackle but rowdy tavern in Tibet (she’s a survivor). She plays and wins a drinking game (she’s a tough one), she sees Indy again and punches him (she’s angry and hurt for her abandoning her and thus revealing her vulnerability). She has the medallion and becomes a partner (she’s all business). She evades and fights off the Nazis and their goons, she even uses a frying pan (she’s resourceful but not stupid). She tries on dresses (she’s re-discovers her femininity). Indy saves her but she picks him up at the end of the film by going for a drink (she’s healing and there’s a chance of a new start for both of them). This is a character arc worth investing in because it speaks to truth and to our reality.

The problem with Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s character is that she is constantly full on with the snark. Indy and Helena gripe and moan at each other the entire film. Indy hasn’t seen her in years, and she felt abandoned after her father passed, so there’s a lot of bitterness. It’s not unwarranted, but it also isn’t entertaining. It’s never entertaining if the snark makes the character too temperamental and unsympathetic for the audience to be emotionally invested in her.

I think overall the film is let down by the script. Again this is a shame. The writing talent was there. Jez and John-Henry Butterworth worked with James Mangold on ‘Ford v. Ferrari’ and co-wrote ‘Edge of Tomorrow‘ while David Koepp co-wrote the first ‘Mission: Impossible’ (but he also penned Indiana Jones and the ‘Kingdom of the Crystal Skull’, and the 2017 version of ‘The Mummy’ that simultaneously started and destroyed Universal’s plans for their Dark Universe). I love the work of Jez Butterworth who is one of England’s finest modern playwrights and he seemed to have transitioned fine over to Hollywood. But as anyone knows a Hollywood script has always too many cooks in the kitchen. There are so many fingerprints of other people - studio execs and directors and even stars - that a modern Hollywood script somehow resembles a sort of Ship of Theseus. It’s the writer’s name on the script but it doesn’t always mean they wrote or re-wrote every word.

Inevitably things fall between the cracks and you end up filming from the hip and hoping you can stitch together a coherent narrative in post-production editing. Clearly this film suffered from studio interference and many re-writes. And it shows because there is no narrative fluidity at work in the film.

Mads Mikkelsen’s Nazi scientist is a case in point. I love Mikkelsen especially in his arthouse films but I understand why he takes the bucks for the Hollywood films too. But in this film he is phoning in his performance. Mads Mikkelsen does what he can with limited screen time to make an impact but this character feels so recycled from other blockbusters. Here the CIA and US Government are evil and willing to let innocent Americans be murdered in order to let their pet Nazi rocket scientist pursue what they believe to be a hobby. But to be fair the villains in the Indy movies have never truly been memorable with perhaps Belloq, the French archaeologist and nemesis of Indy in ‘Raiders’, the only real exception. It’s just been generic bad guys - The Nazis! The Thugee death cult! The Nazis (again)! The Commies! Now we’re back to Nazis again which is not only safer ground for the Indy franchise but something we can all get behind.

However Mads Mikkelsen’s Dr. Voller, is the blandest and most generic Nazi villain in movie history. At the end of World War II, Voller was recruited by the US Government to aid them in rocket technology. Now that he’s completed his task and man has walked on the moon, he’s turning his genius to his ultimate purpose, the recovery of the ‘Dial of Destiny’ built by Archimedes. Should he find both pieces of the ancient treasure, he plans to return to 1930s Nazi Germany, usurp Hitler, and use his advanced knowledge of rocket propulsion to win the war. In a sense then he was channeling his inner Heidegger who felt Hitler had let down Nazism and worse betrayed Heidegger himself.

So there is a character juxtaposition between Voller and Indy in the sense both men feel more comfortable in the past than the present. But neither is given face time together to explore this intriguing premise that could have anchored the whole narrative of the film. It’s a missed opportunity and instead becomes a failure of character and story telling.

Then there are the one liners which seemed shoe horned in to make the studio execs or the writers feel smug about themselves. There are several woke one lines peppered throughout the film but are either tone deaf or just stupid.

“You trigger happy cracker”-  it’s uttered without any self-awareness by a black CIA agent who is chaperoning the Nazi villain. Just because white people think it’s dumb and aren’t bothered by it doesn’t make it any less a racial slur. If you want authenticity then why not use the ’N’ word then as it would historically appropriate in 1969? The hypocrisy is what’s offensive.

“You stole it. He stole it. I stole it. It’s called capitalism.” - capitalism 101 for economic illiterate social justice warriors.

“[I’m] daring, beautiful, and self-sufficient” - uttered by Helena Shaw as a snarky reminder that she’s a strong independent woman, just in case you forgot.

“It’s not what you believe but how hard you believe.” - Indiana Jones has literally stood before the awesome power of God when the Ark of the Covenant was opened up by the Nazis, and they paid the price for it by having their faces melted off. Indy has drunk from the authentic cup of Christ, given to him by a knight who’s lived for centuries, that gave him eternal life and heal his father from a fatal bullet wound. So he’s figuratively seen the face of God (sure, he closed his eyes) and His holy wrath, and has witnessed the divine healing power of Christ first hand. And yet his spews out this drivel. It’s empty of any meaning and is a silly nod to our current fad that it’s all about the truth of our feelings, not observable facts or truth.

For me though the absolute worse was what they did to Indiana Jones as a character. Once the pinnacle of masculinity, a brave and daring man’s man whose zest for life was only matched by his brilliance, Henry Jones Jr. is now a broken, sad, and lonely old man. Indiana Jones is mired in the past. Not in the archaeological past, but in his own personal past. He's asleep at the wheel, losing interest in his own life. He's lost his son, he's losing his wife. He's been trying to pass on his passion, his understanding to disinterested people. They're not so interested in looking at the past. He remains a man turned towards the past, and then he finds himself confronted by Helena, who embodies the future. This nostalgia, this historical anchoring, becomes the main thread of the story.The film tries to deconstructs Indiana Jones on the cusp of retirement from academia and confronts him with a world he no longer understands. That’s an interesting premise and could have made for a great film.

It’s clear that the filmmakers’ intention was for a lost and broken Indiana to recapture his spirit by the film’s end. However, its horrible pacing and meandering and underdeveloped plot, along with Harrison Ford’s miserably sad demeanour in nearly every scene, make for a deeply depressing movie with an empty and unearned resolution. 

By this I mean at the very end of the film. It’s meant to be daring and it is. There’s something giddy about appearing during the middle of siege of Syracuse by blood thirsty Romans and then coming face to face with Archimedes himself. The film seems to want to justify the legendary, exceptional aura and character of Indy himself by including him in History. Hitherto wounded deep down inside, and now also physically wounded, Indy the archaeologist tells Helena that he wants to stay here and be part of history. 

It's a lovely and even moving moment, and you wonder if the film isn't going to pull a ‘Dying Can Wait’ by having its hero die in order to strengthen its legend. But in a moment that is too brutal from a rhythmic point of view, Helena refuses, knocks out her godfather and takes him back to the waiting plane and back to 1969. The next thing Indy sees he’s woken up back in his shabby apartment in New York.

I felt cheated. I’m sure Indy did too.

After all it was his choice. But Helena robbed him of the freedom to make his own decisions. She’s the one to decide what’s best. In effect she robbed him of agency. Even if it was the wrong decision to stay back in time, it’s so important from a narrative and character arc perspective that Indy should have had his own epiphany and make the choice to come back by himself because there is something worth living for in the future present - and that was reconciling with Marion his estranged wife. But damn it, he had to come to that decision for himself, and not have someone else force it upon him. That’s why the ending feelings so unearned and why the story falls flat as a soufflé when you piss on it.

‘Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny’ feels like the type of sequel that aimed to capture the magic of its predecessors, had worthwhile intentions, and a talented cast, but it just never properly materialised. In a movie whose pedigree, both in front and behind the camera, is virtually unassailable, it’s inexcusable that this team of filmmakers couldn’t achieve greater heights. 

The film was a missed opportunity to give a proper send off to a cinematic legend. Harrison Ford proving that whatever gruff genre appeal he possessed in his heyday has aged better than Indy’s knees. He may be 80, but Ford carries the weight of the film, which, for all its gargantuan expense, feels a bit like those throwaway serials that first inspired Lucas - fun while it lasts, but wholly forgettable on exit.

I wouldn’t rate ‘Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny’ as the worst film in the franchise - that dubious honour still lies with ‘Kingdom of the Crystal Skull’.  Indeed the best I can say is that I would rate this film at the benchmark of “not quite as bad as Crystal Skull”.But it’s definitely time to retire and hang up the fedora and the bull whip.

For what’s worth I always thought the ending of ‘Last Crusade’ where Indy, his father Henry Jones Snr., and his two most faithful companions, Sallah and Marcus Brody, ride off into the sunset was the most fitting way to say goodbye to a beloved character.

Instead we have in ‘Dial of Destiny’ the very last scene which is meant to be this perfect ending: Indiana Jones in his scruffy pyjamas and his shabby apartment. Sure, the exchange between a reconciling Indy and Marion is sincere and touching. But that only works because it explicitly recalls ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’. That's what Nietzsche would call “an eternal return”.

I shall eternally return to watch the first three movies to delight in the adventures of the swashbuckling archaeologist with the fedora and a bull whip. The last two dire films will be thrown into the black abyss. Something even Nietzsche would have approved of.

Thanks for your question.

#ask #question #indiana jones the dial of destiny #dial of destiny #indiana jones #lucasfilm #harrison ford #phoebe waller bridge #james mangold #steven spielberg #george lucas #john williams #kathleen kennedy #disney #film #cinema #movies #arts #cancel culture #personal

[polish-art-tournament]

round 1, poll 4

Murzynka:

painted in 1884

yes the word is considered problematic / offensive nowadays, it is however the title of the painting

the painting was stolen in ww2! mabye looted by the nazis? noone knows tho. it was finally found after 78 years in 2012

bilińska was such a talented portrait artist

the lighting and the colours are soo nice

most probably painted at the art academy studio looking at the live model, hence the perspective. and why the portrayed girl looks kinda uncomfortable. and why she is draped in a white sheet.

why is she holding a japanese fan? 19th century obsession with ~~exotic~~ motives. smh.

Stańczyk:

painted in 1862

i generally dislike matejko but stańczyk is so iconic that i've grown to like it

long story short Stańczyk was a court jester for the last kings of the Jagiellonian dynasty in Poland in 16th century. he was also politically savvy and known for his accurate satirical comments on the country's past and present political situation.

in the painting he has just read the letter announcing some significant war losses (the fall of Smolensk); he is somber, but in the background, behind the curtain, the royals having fun at a ball and remain ignorant of the news

it's one of Matejko's early paintings; he was just 24 when he finished it

it's also an autoportrait since Matejko gave Stańczyk his own face

also sort of prophetic since it was painted just a year before the Januray Uprising haha

check out more of their works! Bilińska, Matejko

#jan matejko #anna bilińska #polish art #stańczyk #polblr #polls #round 1

[ohsalome]

Raids on about 30 museums around the country have been led by Russian curators in what experts regard as a systematic effort to seize Ukraine’s cultural treasures. Many of these treasures, an important part of Ukraine’s cultural heritage, made easy pickings for invading Russian troops. On top of murder, rape and robbery, they have pillaged national antiquities and artworks in the biggest case of cultural plundering since the Second World War.

“The orders are coming from someone pretty high up in the Kremlin,” said Sir Antony Beevor, the historian and author of Russia: Revolution and Civil War. “Vladimir Putin’s propaganda is that Ukraine as a country doesn’t exist, it’s part of Russia — so they can grab anything they want.” Robert Service, another British historian, described the looting as being “Russian state-sponsored” and added: “This is different from soldiers stealing things.”

Today’s Russian looting is “very reminiscent of the Red Army in 1945”, said Beevor. More than 2.5 million items were sent back to Moscow. Some were returned to communist East Germany in a gesture of goodwill in the 1950s but the remainder, including Gutenberg Bibles and gold from the excavation of Troy, has remained in Moscow, despite German pleas for its return.

Yet experts have little optimism about the prospects of Ukraine recovering its stolen artworks or archaeological treasures. “Losses, I’m afraid, are irreplaceable,” said Symonenko. “The Russians have not yet returned what they stole from European museums in 1945.”

#ukraine #russia #war in ukraine #art theft #cultural appropriation #museums

[dontcallmecarrie]

On Echoes and Parallels

writer's block bites, but here, have some momentary introspection on birthdays .

Justin Hammer glared at the tiny box sitting on their desk, and the ridiculously shiny Rolex Daytona winked back.

Why on earth their father thought they’d like it, Justin had no idea— for one, they leaned more towards understated elegance and timeless styles. Steph had teased them more than once as a kid for dressing like an old man, but considering their family’s entire aesthetic was “different shades of old money”, they’d fit right in.

…but now they’d catch an earful for “being ungrateful” if they didn’t wear the watch that was the current bane of their existence, and that wasn’t even mentioning the whole ‘part of your late grandfather’s watch collection so show some respect, boy’ emotional snarl that was the true crux of the matter.

Because Justin could count on one hand how many memories they had of their grandfather, but the man, like all Hammers, had been a piece of work.

However, his untimely death before Justin had hit the double digits apparently wiped the slate clean. Of course, having an ironclad will probably helped, but it’d still taken the better part of a decade the man’s estate completely settled.

For as it turned out, all Hammers had their own vices, and while Justin’s father was skirtchasing, Humphrey Armitage Hammer’s had been collecting. Had he been any poorer, he probably would have been deemed a hoarder— but as it was, the Hammers probably could have turned over his storage units over to a museum or three without anyone batting an eye.

Or, well, mostly: Justin was 99% certain his art collection had stuff stolen by Nazis, considering how tight-lipped their parents got whenever the topic came up. His fountain pen collection was much more innocuous, but his coin, gun, and watch collections were probably worth more than the net worth of several countries put together.

Justin’s parents would had been more than happy to get rid of most it, but.

Apparently, that would make the family look bad, with people possibly going “look at how this man’s legacy is being squandered” and, of course, that would never stand. So, instead, now everything that had belonged to Grandfather went to storage, with the odd relic dusted off and flaunted. Such as, for instance, the shiny Rolex sitting on Justin’s desk.

They probably sounded spoiled, Justin knew; what other eighteen-year-old would complain about receiving their grandfather’s extremely expensive watch?

Except said grandfather had literally hundreds of watches just gathering dust in some storage facility, and it’d been Justin’s father who’d grabbed at random and shoved it at him with a gruff “congratulations, you’re a man now,” and called it a day.

Like they needed the extra headache after keeping the peace between their parents and Steph, especially today of all days. But if he didn’t show up to his own birthday party wearing it, Justin would catch hell from his father, and contend with his mother’s austere disapproval for the next decade.

Ugh. The only silver lining was that their attention span was next to nonexistent when it came to Justin, so so all he had to do was bear it today and conveniently ‘lose’ the watch afterwards— really, sometimes it paid off to be so estranged from parents who’d never quite forgiven him for not being a genius. With his luck, Justin could grab a fountain pen from storage, pretend his father had graciously picked it out, and nobody would either notice or care.

Which, predictably, is exactly what happened.

However, what no one could have predicted was what happened a couple of years later, when Tony Stark became an orphan one cold December night.

.

That Christmas had been rough, but also alerted Justin to the fact that his rival was going to be facing his first birthday without his parents. And sure, he had Jarvis looking out for him, and Obadiah Stane, Justin couldn’t quite help but feel that they should be doing something too— come on, it was for Tony’s eighteenth birthday.

So, after they headed home after that Christmas, Justin got to thinking. Their plans for Steph were currently at a delicate stage, so they’d need to be careful no matter what they decided on. Not to mention their extremely limited budget— their parents would never approve of anything they did to even potentially benefit their rival, after all.

Then they caught a glimpse of the tiny box sitting in the darkest corner of the room, and had an idea.

While the watch wasn’t their style, that level of flashiness perfectly matched Tony’s. Not to mention that a Rolex was a perfectly respectable brand, and considering the rumors of Tony being fast-tracked to CEO? It’d probably be nothing compared to the actual genius he brought to the table, but every little bit helped when it came to stockbrokers and shareholders.

“Thanks, Justin.” Tony said, smile bright and an strange amount of amusement on his face considering everything, until— “is there a reason it has ‘Hammer’ engraved on it?”

Justin froze. Then, once the words registered, they forewent any semblance of dignity in favor of a facepalm because really, they should have expected this. “That— I am so sorry, it was my grandfather’s. He had a habit of putting his name on everything.”

“Your grandfather?” Tony repeated, and now his voice sounded strange. Which, fair, it wasn’t like Justin ever brought him up beyond a vague, ‘may he rest in peace’ manner and having him come up now was probably not their brightest moment.

Justin tried to keep their shoulders from hunching defensively. “Yes, my grandfather. If you don’t like it, I can…”

They trailed off for a moment, because their first thought was to say, ‘I can get you another one,’ except, well, they couldn’t. Not when their parents controlled so much of Justin’s finances, and they’d never approve of such an expense as a gift for Tony Stark of all people.

“No, don’t, it’s great! The man had good taste.” Tony said, interrupting Justin’s thoughts and visibly brightening as he went on.

“I thought you’d like it.” Justin said, and they hadn’t meant to let their voice sound so soft but it was the truth.

…a truth that ended up going much further than they’d expected, as Tony took to wearing that watch everywhere.

#No Hero [Downward Descending] #schrodinger's canon #3 am musings #my writing

[gertruderobinsonscat]

In a continuing series of “fanfics I will never write but still mentally plot out while trying to fall asleep”: a fic about how Benoit Blanc met Phillip back in the 90s called Absolute Beginners. Some vague story beats:

1. Phillip is an art thief who assumes the persona of a stammering, awkward, floppy-haired romcom protagonist in order to get invitations to the weddings of the rich and famous so he can scope out the place for a job. During a planned heist he finds a dead body and becomes a suspect. 

2. Meanwhile, Benoit Blanc is hired by a young Jewish woman to help track down family heirlooms stolen by the Nazis, and case of the murder Philip witnessed is related to it somehow (either the painting he was hired to steal was one of the looted heirlooms, or the murderer/victim is the looter). This is Blanc’s first solo case and the one that helps launch his career. 

3. Phillip has to choose between staying and helping Blanc and his client, thereby risking being exposed for his previous crimes or doing a runner. He chooses the former, and after some rich assholes are exposed and get their comeuppance Phillip is arrested. No one can do anything about it, but he ends up only serving a few years before being paroled for good behavior, and when he leaves prison Blanc is there to pick him up for their first official date. 

#glass onion #benoit blanc

[lifeintheworldtocome]

WELL HE COLLAPSED WITH STEVENS-JOHNSON SYNDROME ON THE ER FLOOR PANIC ATTACKED ANAPHYLACTIC AND ATAXIC WELL THE WAY HE SPUN HIS BUTTERFLY RISKED ALL SIX HIS PHALANGES ROMAN CANDLES AT BOTH ENDS AT HIS SYNAPSIS AND THE MATTER WITH WHICH HE RECYCLED HIS HUMORS TROJAN HORSED HIS BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER AND RAISED THE LD-50 YES YES AND THROUGH FIGHT OR FLIGHT REVELATIONS SHAME THE BLACKBOXWARRIOR HE SKIPPED THIS TOWN AND HEADED STRAIGHT DOWN HISTORY SHIELDS HIMSELF FROM REASON IN A KEVLAR BABY-BLUE TUXEDO QUILTED FROM THE FINEST FIBERS FLESH AND FIBERGLASS AND FLOWERS HIS EGO A MOSQUITO EVIL INCARNATE GOOD INCOGNITO POPS PLACEBOS FOR LIBIDOS SCREAMING BLESS THE TORPEDOS FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT ITS WORTH IF IT WAS GONNA KILL YOU BOY IT WOULD HAVE BY NOW FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT ITS WORTH THERES NO MORE LOOKING BACK ITS LOOKING UP OR LOOKING DOWN WELL HE WAS WEARING STOLEN RUBBER SHOES AND WRAPPED A POISON IVY NOOSE AROUND HIS LOTUS JUGULAR WHEN THEY CAME WELL THEY FOUND HIM WITH A MAP TO EVERY VICTIM OF HIS LOVE AND A TATTOO OF A BLUE JAY ON HIS FACE AND THEY WAITED FOR HIS VITAL SIGNS TO LIE AND LET A FLATLINE CRY A HYMN OUT IN HUNGARIAN HARMONIC BUT HE COCKED HIS NOGGIN THROUGH HIS STOMA SANG FOR AULD LANG SYNE HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE SUCCULENTS ILL DYE YOUR HYDROPONICS HIS RIBCAGE WAS A HORNETS NEST PALPITATIONS SET THE BEAT HIS VAGUS NERVES A TURKS HEAD KNOT AN AXEL HITCH A CARRICK BEND HE WONDERED IF CHRIST CONSCIOUSNESS WOULD CHARGE A CANCELLATION FEE AUF WIEDERSEHEN AU REVOIR HE GRIPPED HIS WITS RIGHT BY THEIR ENDS FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT ITS WORTH IF IT WAS GONNA KILL YOU BOY IT WOULD HAVE BY NOW FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT ITS WORTH THERES NO MORE LOOKING UP ITS LOOKING UP OR LOOKING DOWN hello welcome why dont you take a seat get comfortable relax take a second if you need to now whats bothering you well why dont we start at the beginning growing up how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence? did you have xenon orchid sinews spilling down the outer center of your blooming escher/mandelbrot head? and how about claustrophillic tendrils clapping caskets closed on seven-knuckle thumbs did you get along well with the gideon bugler pineal glands your projector eyes casting scifis on your strd strands? tell me about your nerve to steal nerves of steel from under bacchuses bloody nose did namibian himbas tiedye you your ears pierced with a phineas gage flagpole? did you die before your day? well thursday traction tuesday titration now my hope is to assess through my objective report of your subjective conjecture whether this proprietary blend of expertise and seasoning works as well as this transorbital ice pick holistic ballistics what you got a better idea? well its about the best we could come up with what you think ideas spread because theyre good? no they spread because people like them so now here we are once again holding as it were a mirror up to your mirror i guess its just something people do A BLOODY KNIFE TO SPLIT YOUR INFRASTRUCTURE WINE TO REV YOUR MOTOR FUNCTIONS COITAL MACHINATIONS OF THE DEAD WELL YOU MAINLINE YOUR ANIMUS KARATE CHOP YOUR ABACUS AND LEARN TO BE AN ANIMAL INSTEAD BUT I NEVER DID THINK YOU BETTER THAN THIS YOUR MODUS OPERANDI CAUSES NAZI/SKOPTZYISM AND SUICIDE WHY TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE WHEN IT IS YOU WHO ART THE PROBLEM NOT THE THINGS YOU DO BUT SOMETHING SICK INSIDE LITHIUM AND DIALECTICS BOY YOU REALLY IS DEFECTIVE CBT DONT SEEM EFFECTIVE FOR THE CLUSTER B ACCEPT IT OFFER UP YOUR INNOCENCE PLEASE IGNORE THE SIDE EFFECTS YOUVE LOST YOUR MIND AND ALMOST LOST YOUR LIFE BEFORE SO YOULL BE FINE FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT ITS WORTH IF IT WAS GONNA GET YOU BOY IT WOULD HAVE BY NOW FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT ITS WORTH THERES NO MORE LOOKING BACK AND WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO LOOK BACK I MEAN ITS NO GOOD LOOKING BACK SO TRY TO LOOK FORWARD NOW FOR WHAT FOR WHAT FOR WHAT ITS WORTH IF IT WAS GONNA KILL YOU BOY IT WOULD HAVE BY NOW FOR WHAT FOR WHAT FOR WHAT ITS WORTH THERES NO MORE LOOKING BACK ITS LOOKING UP OR LOOKING DOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWNNNNNNNNNNNN

#rattles the bars of my cage #if you even care

[silver--scar]

INTRODUCING ME

🚫PLEASE HEED WHAT I WRITE BELOW🚫

The Basics

My name is Silver Scar! I use any pronouns and have many floating interests! I sometimes use tone indicators, and I love gaming, art, and talking/hearing about interests!

I AM AN ADULT!

While I do not mind chatting and having fun, making moots and friends here and there, at the end of the day, we are NOT EQUALS if you are a minor. I am a firm believer in keeping proper boundaries in place and making the internet safer for the younger people. Again, I don't mind making friends! But remember that I will not treat you like an adult if you aren't one. It's for the best, even if you hate me for it.

I do my best to be respectful and educated, but I am a bit slow. If I say something wrong, PLEASE HOLD ME ACCOUNTABLE FOR IT AND INFORM ME ON HOW TO DO BETTER! The last thing I want is for people to let it slide or immediately attack me.

My Platforms

Aside from tumblr, I also have other social handles you can visit! The main ones I have are:

Tiktok

Instagram

Twitter

https://x.com/SilverScar360?t=s_Gldynda0uxih9ZIgAWvg&s=09

Twitch

Here, and on all of these other platforms, I AM NOT A SAFE SPACE FOR THE FOLLOWING:

PEDOPHILES

ZOOPHILES

NAZIS/ZIONISTS

RACISTS

HOMO/TRANSPHOBES

PRO/COMSHIPPERS

It will result in an immediate ban. I do not care. I know it's ironic that (currently) I am a South Park fan, but even I do not like the things that occur within the show, regardless of satire or jokes, and I'm tired of people hiding behind this fact or using it as an excuse.

My Interests

I have a few things I enjoy which will all change in the future. So far, this is a few bits of what I'm into:

South Park

Red Dead Redemption 2

Minecraft

Stardew Valley

Dauntless

TheHunter: COTW

Warriors

Call of Duty (Story Mode only)

Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Slime Rancher

Hermitcraft

Bonus Bits

I love to write short stories in my spare time, but I am no means a good writer.

I have a pet dog! Her name is Missy, and she's a Pitbull/Boston Terrier mix.

I'm a heavy procrastinator, but I'm trying to change it up this year!

I love creating ideas. Even if I suck at it. Whether stories, art, AUs, concepts, I love to explore the "what ifs" in things.

I'm a rambler. I'll talk, dump a bunch of images, or spam a lot about many things big and small. But I also love hearing people ramble! Like, yes! Tell me more about why your oc did this thing or why you think this film is your roman empire! /gen

My online persona is Gumbo from Fortnite. I have stolen him and he is mine. I am literally a monster gumball machine guys, believe me. /j

Lastly, I do commissions! You can ignore this last bit, but if you ever consider supporting, you can look at the examples below!

Anyways thank you for taking the time to read this! I hope to deliver stuff you all will enjoy!

#intro post #introduction #blog intro #introductory post

[omgthatdress]

On the note of museums recognizing their gains though colonization....

in New York, a law was recently passed requiring pre-1945 works of art that were stolen by Nazis to be labelled as having been stolen by Nazis.

I think it's important that similar laws in the future be passed so that museums have to label the pieces that have been stolen through colonization be transparent about how their pieces came to be in their collection.

My opinion of the British Museum is rather complicated. I've posted a lot of their objects before, and I will post them again. Even if the items they possess came through violent and exploitative means, the objects are still incredibly valuable pieces of cultural significance that need to be preserved and used to educate people, and and the modern British Museum is one of the best places to do that.

But the thing is, it doesn't have to be places like the British Museum, the Smithsonian, and the Met alone that can house these precious artifacts. Museums can and absolutely should be de-colonized. Items can be preserved while still being returned to their places and people of origin. There needs to be full transparency about the origins of cultural artifacts. Colonized peoples need to be involved in preserving and curating their history.

[nightfallsystem]

FREE PALESTINE (link 2 how to help)

check out my art blog @qiekzart bcuz im drawing kagamine len everyday until my preorder arrives :3

I am Qiekz!!!!!! I am a 15 yr old artist. I use IT/ITS only !!

I speak english but i am learning japanese :] if i make mistakes with my japanese please kindly let me know...

sideblogs i actually use: @qiekz @qiekzart these are both art blogs...

tasma's sideblog(s): @tazmahell @tazmaboxed

IM PLURAL sometimes if other people speak they tag with "-name" so yeah :3 system origin here!

Special interests: YUGIOH.... Giant isopods!!!!!!

PLZZZ tag me in stuff related to my special interests and interests!!!!!!!! i will be extremely happy.

Interests: Made in abyss*, servals, fucked up animals, fish, anime and manga, japanese language, hatsune miku project mirai, the nintendo ds, vocaloid, kagamine len

*i fucking hate the disgusting parts of it 😭😭 please dont think im a creep

i kin Faputa from made in abyss, Lee Hoon from suicide boy, Yuya Sakaki from yugioh arc v... these damn kins are stupidly serious to me so yknow. i do appreciate being referred to as them it makes me pretty happy. i will sometimes refer to them as me because they literally are lol

#autistic about this thing tag <- YUGIOH TAG. sorry. i have autism

i am mentally unwell and post a lot of vents so please block the "tw vent" tag. if you reblog my vents i will block you

common triggers are tagged as "#tw [trigger]". eyestrain and flashing is tagged as "eyestrain" and "flashing."

DO NOT DM ME UNLESS I GAVE U PERMISSION/UNLESS WE R MUTUALS BCUZ I FUCKING HATE IT

TRIGGER LIST

DNI

Anti endo/Anti non-traumagenic systems/etc

Proship

LGBTQphobic, transmed, anti mogai.

Use nazi terms like "aspergers" / aspie supremacists kys

Ableist, think "narc abuse" is a thing/demonise people with any disorder

Harass people or support it

Fakeclaim anyone for any reason

Radqueers

Have minors on ur DNI, NSFW-Focused blog, post/reblog untagged NSFW

Post untagged gore/self harm/suicide stuff

Reblog/post AI images or other stolen art

Zionists kill yourselves

#woo new pinned yay woohoo #read my dni plzzz :3333 #tags for navigation: #fav #favs #autistic about this thing tag