#Quentin tarantino imagine

[bradpittwh0re]

cliff booth icons in Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood(2019) dir. Quentin Tarantino 

[averagewriter-inthedark]

SFW Alphabet—Donny Donowitz | IB headcanon

Link to my IB masterlist

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Affection is Donny’s weakness. Whether it be giving or receiving he is always wanting to touch you in some way. This could be his arm around your shoulders while Aldo is debriefing the squad, your head on his shoulder by the campfire, or light kisses to the forehead before a stressful situation.

B = Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Being friends with Donny is basically signing up for chaos. He’s the type who would suggest doing stupid shit and you have to follow in order to ensure he doesn’t kill himself doing it. Laughing to the point of ab cramps is the best way to describe moments with Donny as your bestie.

The friendship started before you two shipped off to France. You were probably the squad’s nurse or high ranking next to him and Aldo that you guys interacted more than with the Basterds. The friendship sorta naturally happened to the point it’s hard to even put a date on when it started.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Physical touch is the mans love language so of course he likes to cuddle. Holding you in his arms with the radio playing while you two doze in and out of sleep is the best feeling in the world. “Doll,” he’ll make grabby hands at you, “c’mere let me hold ya.” He’s the big spoon obviously, but also he likes when he’s laying on his back and you’re curled into his side.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Hell yeah Donny wants to settle down—the literal dream for him is to own a home with you in a nice area where you two get to grow old together. You two would likely run the barber shop or another business and be the couple who give back to the community.

Donny, surprisingly, is a descent cook. Really he specializes in certain dishes that are family recipes. And best believe he can stir up some smacking pasta. You never have to worry about a messy home or kitchen because the Army embedded it into his brain that orderliness and cleanliness is essential…..except on Sundays. That’s y’all’s break day.

E = Ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He’d rather scalp himself than end things with you. If anyone is gonna break hearts, Donny will sacrifice his own to prevent you from experiencing it.

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Being a bachelor was honestly what Donny expected he’d be all his life. Yeah he dated and had flings but never did it occur to him he’d want to settle down and build a future with someone. When you came along it was like he had an awakening. Immediately he saw the house with a yard full of animals, kids running around the premises and a ring on his finger. After you two got engaged Donny wasn’t quick to rush a wedding especially since you two had just returned to the states. He wanted to work as much as he could to give you the wedding of your dreams.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Despite being a giant beefy man that he is, Donny is very gentle. His touch is like feathers and always carefully handled as to not hurt you. Anytime you’re sad or distress his approach with you is cautious. Asking questions like, “Do you need to talk or want to be alone?” Whatever you decide he’ll respect even if it means walking away to give you space.

H = Hugs (do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Are you kidding this man lives and breathes for hugs. He gives the best hugs of the Basterd (Wicki coming a close second) so you take any chance you can to hug him. Donny won’t even hesitate when you ask for one or he’ll simply bring you into an embrace he notices you’re under distress.

I = I love you (how fast do they say the L-word?)

Considering he realized he loved you in the middle of a legit war, Donny probably said it quick. And by quick I mean right when it hit him like a truck. You two had been best friends by that point to he was worried to an extent it would crumble before his eyes. But to his utter surprise you said, “Oh, Donny, are you blind? I’ve been waiting for you to say something forever! I love you too, you rascal.”

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Okay so while he hardly gets jealous when the Basterds or his friends playfully flirt with you, he WILL become a different person when someone he hates tries to swoon you. Of course he’s confident in y’all’s relationship and knows you’d never betray him, he just fucking hates when an asshole attempts to get your attention. “Jealous again, baby?” “NO……maybe.”

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Kisses with Donny are best described as ‘cheeky’. He’ll send you a smirk with eyes reading, ‘Imma kiss you right now,’ before smacking his lips against yours or your cheek before running away. You can’t help but giggle when he does because it’s so adorable and always puts a smile on your face. Your lips and jaw are his favorite places to kiss, however, when he’s feeling frisky Donny will trail his mouth down your neck and collarbones. For him, the Sargent loves to be kissed on the lips as well. He’ll never admit it but Donny is a sucker for when you kiss his chest.

L = Little ones (how are they around children?)

Donny is amazing with children. It’s one of the things you love about him. Even if you two do not plan to have children he loves to spend time with nieces/nephews and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the type to teach the kids in your neighborhood how to play baseball. He’d also offer discount and free haircuts to the children and teens who cannot afford one. If you do have/adopt kids, then expect Donny to be the best father ever. Always attending their school functions and sport games (most likely baseball) and taking your kids to the zoo, museum, Red Sox games, etc. He is their #1 supporter and will do whatever possible to make them happy.

M = Morning (how are mornings spent with them?)

During the war y’all’s mornings started bright and early at the ass crack of dawn. Donny would be the first one up considering he was in charge of getting the Basterds into formation, but he’d make sure to give you a kiss on the head as a good morning before leaving. When there is the rare chance of staying in an inn or motel then he’s all over you with cuddles and waking you up with kisses.

Back home in the states Donny is the type who will put the coffee on the pot as soon as he wakes up to get you a coffee before your eyes open. Then if he has time he’ll run to the cafe by the corner of your street to get your favorite breakfast. “Is that what I think it is?” “Only the best for my baby this fine Sunday morning.”

N = Night (how are nights spent with them?)

I can see Donny as a night owl. Really it was a result of the late nights overseas where he had to keep watch of the camp. The habit carried over when he returned home in which he would stay up listening to the radio or reading a book. You’d have to force him to come to bed—-often making him a warm cup of milk or run a bath. But once his head hit the pillow mans is out like a light and holding you to his chest.

[stupidfuckingwindow]

I want an entire series about Landa on Nantucket Island getting tomatoes thrown at his house and being banned from Fast Food places when in search of work.

[amarriageoftrueminds]

Thinking about how great CATWS was and how Marvel dropped the ball on all the characters from that movie.

Steve? Got character assassinated beyond repair.

Natasha? Killed off, didn't even get an on-screen funeral and her only solo movie was more about introducing Yelena than her.

Bucky? Never got a prober story, was victim blamed, and will possibly die in Thunderbolts.

Nick Fury? Got character assassinated in Secret Invasion.

Maria Hill? Was killed off in SI.

Sharon Carter? Turned into a villian.

Sam Wilson? Unlike the rest they haven't completely fumbled the bag with his character but he was still screwed by FATWS in many ways, and his first solo movie doesn't look very promising either.

Also consider that their sequel to the movie where we find out Howard Stark knew about Nazis in SHIELD (the specific Nazi that tortured Bucky and killed members of the 107, and tried to kill Steve) ...was a movie where Howard is assassinated by Hydra and yet Bucky gets blamed and brutally attacked for it. Even though this is the same movie where we find out Bucky was mind-controlled.

And their sequel to the movie where we find out Peggy knew about Nazis in SHIELD is..... Uh. Nothing. They never address it. A character who died offscreen gets screen time wasted on a fulblown Royal funeral (attended by people who didn't even fucking know her!!)

They treat her like some kind of living saint, to the point where she's now a full blown Mary Sue, with yet another bloody tv show where every storyline must be about her, and her possessing Steve, and Steve is reduced to a Stepford Husband wheeled out to repeat 'Peggy. Is. Perfect' type lines. 😬 (Steve. Blink if you need rescuing.)

All Bucky's everything now belongs to Peggy.

Oh, apart from the blame of course! He gets to keep all of that! 🙂

(Oh, and as per What If, Sam is no longer part of CATWS, his own intro movie, and even Natasha's own movie is now about- guess who?? Peggy! And Peggy having Steve!)

Apparently Sharon has been turned into a villain in the comics, too. Just as they start product-synergy introducing MCU!Peggy to over-ride comics Peggy. I wonder why...

(It's so funny that TFATWS assigned MCU-Sharon MCU-Peggy's annoyance at being overlooked by men (cough the man she's relentlessly hitting on cough) and decided that this would be her villain origin story... and yet nobody has connected the dots to Peggy and her behaviour?)

Sharon and Sam's characterisation only feels like an organic continuation because, frankly, the MCU never bothered to write them being particularly nice people to begin with?

Sam being a fratbro-style dick to Bucky in TFATWS, with a side of dispensing unsound self-contradictory counselling advice, is consistent with being a dick to Bucky (and arguing against helping him) since CATWS and quitting a counselling job at the drop of a hat. (Only the 1980s movie locker-room homophobia queerbait is new.)

Sharon being a villain is consistent with being a Carter not being asked to join the 'bringing down Hydra' team in CATWS, dressing up as the same profession as Steve's dead mother to 'befriend' him while she's just spying on him (contrast: the calling-out Nat got from Steve just for not telling him something), staying in SHIELD while they were hunting down Steve and Natasha, immediately joining the CIA (aka, the people who just happen to have a superhero-proof electric chair and want to shoot Bucky on sight, who also have Everett 'ex-husband of Madame Hydra who laughs at the idea of Bucky getting a lawyer' Ross on staff), ...which is easily infiltrated by a (thinly-veiled-Hydra) villain who wants to mind-control TWS to bring down the Avengers (deja vu??), being snippy to Sam for no reason, continuing to lie about herself beyond the point of it being necessary, and also being a creep who expects a thank you kiss from Steve just for doing one basic helpful thing when asked. *phew!*

But the geniuses who inherited the job of writing her in TFATWS can't see any of that... They see no issues, so they think they've written her 'turning' bad. The writing is still shonky because it still isn't self-aware about what it's portraying. The cognitive dissonance is still dissonant.

(Same problem with Fury. They keep giving him 'bad' things to do, showing him instinctively first joining the 'bad side', eg. Pierce's SHIELD, the Kree, etc. But with the exclusion of Steve yelling at him in CATWS -- and only so that Nick gets called out, but not precious Saint Margaret, ofc -- it's never addressed. They can't do anything interesting with the moral charcoal that they've accidentally cooked up, because they aren't even aware that it's there. 🤦‍♀️)

We were mercifully spared from Joss Whedon's terrible ideas for Maria... (supposed to be a villain in A1, baffled as to what to do with a female character so obviously she should be hinted as a love interest for Steve out of fuckn nowhere in A2) ...only to end like that.

Outside of that AOU Avengers party, where she was chill and kinda gay, I feel like the best characterisation we got for her was when- was it in one of the Spidey movies?? -she was a Skrull. 😤 If only I could say the same of Steve...

[mlmxreader]

Family | King Schultz x m!reader

@margheeeeritii asked: hello it's me again, i hope your'e having a nice day :)

i wnated to request an M!readerxKing Schultz whit the prompt "You didn't tell them we're married?" were Django comes to visit his old friend only to find out he's married now and settled down.

thank you very much!

summary: a visit from Django and Broomhilde gets Schultz both excited and anxious.

tws: swearing, smoking

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

Django and Broomhilde were in town for a week, which was fine and dandy by all accounts, and although you were excited to meet them, to meet your son-in-law and his wife, you could see that King was more than nervous about it; pottering around the house to make sure that everything looked perfect for them, tearing his hair out to make family dishes just the way his Mutter and his Vater used to.

He wanted it to be special, and although he was in agony doing it, you could tell that the only way be would calm down would be when Django and Broomhilde walked through the door.

You had heard many stories about Django, of course, of what he and King did during their time together as bounty hunters, and you couldn't deny that you were absolutely looking forward to meeting the man, the myth, the very legend himself; even if your husband was in agony over it, wanting everything to be perfect, wanting everything to be just right.

When you heard the sound of horses approaching, you looked out the window, and smiled when you saw two people; it couldn't be anyone else, as nobody ever came too close to the house for fear that the big guard dog, an old greyhound called Moritz, would tear them limb from limb. Even the postman would abandon letters and parcels at the very edge of the property.

But as the two riders came closer, Moritz didn't stir. Still sound asleep in his basket beside your desk. It wasn't until the riders had dismounted, left their horses with Fritz, and knocked on the door that the big dog dared to open an eye; he huffed, and raised his head, following after you when you went to answer.

"Uhm, pardon me," the man took his hat off, and looked at you with raised brows. "But you ain't seen King Schultz, have you?"

"Yeah, he's in the kitchen," you nodded. "You're Django, right?"

"Right," he smiled, clearing his throat and gesturing to the lady beside him. "This is Broomhilde."

"Hilde," she corrected, shaking your hand. "And you are?"

"(y/n)," you smiled at them, gesturing for them to come inside. "(y/n) Schultz... and that supposed guard dog is Moritz."

"Moritz," Broomhilde smiled, dropping to her knees so that she could pet the dog as he wagged his tail.

Django looked around, noticing the various little trinkets and keepsakes that littered the house, but when he noticed a particular photograph, he paused, and gestured for you to come over. "That's you and King, ain't it?"

"Yeah," you shrugged. "We took that when we were visiting Vienna together."

"Huh," Django nodded. "What was it like?"

"Oh, absolutely lovely," you grinned, fond rememberance in your eyes. "We went to this little saloon not far from where we were staying, and the whisky was dirt cheap... but the food was even better, if I'm honest."

Django hummed, not thinking very much of it. "Where's he now?"

"In the kitchen," you told him, patting his arm gently. "Make yourselves comfortable, I'll go get him."

You left Broomhilde and Django to look around, to get comfortable, heading to the kitchen; Schultz was smoking a cigarette as he leaned against the counter, a pot on the stove as he sighed.

"Everything alright, Hase?"

Schultz nodded, scratching his beard as he grumbled ever so softly. "This is taking far longer than it should, mein Mann."

You smiled, shaking your head as you came to stand beside him, your arm going around his waist. "Django and Hilde are here... Moritz didn't even fucking stir until I opened the door."

"Of course he didn't," Schultz laughed softly. "He's a guard dog, he won't protect us from family."

You dared to chuckle, but then you frowned a little as you thought about how Django had not even recognised your name. "King, by any chance, did you forget something?"

He fell silent, thinking about it for a moment. "Actually, I did."

"What did you forget?"

"I forgot to mention that I had a loving husband," he admitted, like he was ashamed at his own momentary forgetfulness. "Didn't I?"

"You didn't tell them we're married? What next, you'll forget our anniversary?" You joked softly, making him laugh as he tried not to grumble at you. "It's fine, I'm sure they'll figure it out - they're smart."

He was relieved, to say the least, that you weren't angry at him for forgetting to mention that he had settled down and had a stunning husband who he hoped to spend the rest of his days with; but he did still feel quite guilty about it.

"If it helps, we've got your favourite for dinner."

"Yeah?" You asked with a soft hum. "Is it your Vater's recipe, or mine?"

"It's a mix of both," he admitted. "Aber... it'll be gut, trust me."

"I dunno about trusting you," you teased. "You did forget to tell Django and Hilde that you have a husband."

"Es tut mir leid," Schultz sighed. "Vergib mir... bitte, mein geliebter?"

You kissed his cheek, gently padding his chest as you pulled away and nodded. "I'll forgive you, Doctor."

He was still nervous, especially when he brought out dinner as everyone sat at the table, and still felt guilty for forgetting his marital status, but once everyone was eating, Schultz finally started to relax; a mix of small talk and roaring laughter started to fill the house, scatterings of in depth intellectual conversation and retellings of the good old days. It felt more like home than it had ever done before.

A family, sitting at the dinner table and eating together - laughing, swapping stories, having real conversations together. It felt more like home with Django and Broomhilde there with you.

"So, come on," Broomhilde set her fork down, a mostly empty plate resting between her elbows on the table as she looked at you with slightly raised brows. "When did you and the Doctor marry?"

"Ooh, uh..." you rubbed the back of your neck as you tried to think about it. "Our ketubah was signed nearly... two, three years ago."

"Three years," Schultz started, "two months, one week and fourteen hours."

You stared at him for a second, a grin coming to your lips as you dared to reach for his hand. "You kept time?"

"I kept time," he agreed.

"That's really sweet," Django nodded. "Y'know... Hilde and I were talking while you was in the kitchen."

"Yeah?" You hummed.

"D'ya think, maybe, we could stay here, with you, while we're in town?" He asked.

There was a moment of silence, but the Schultz looked at you, and then he looked back at Django as a grin came to his lips. "Natürlich, mein Sohn!"

A family, under the same roof.

[strawberrystrangers]

IF YOU CAN DONATE, IT’D BE SUPER GREAT, IF NOT THEN PLEASE SHARE IT OUT TO GET THE REACH!!

SHARING IS JUST AS SIGNIFICANT AND BENEFICIAL, BIG LOVE!! Xx

Our insta: https://www.instagram.com/dahliasareneverblue.film?igsh=MWFiaHFxZWNjZzUyOQ==

[rockhoundbeck]

Sooo coming back to shitposting :D

"Am I fat?"

Mr. White: Why u worry about it? All bodies are beautiful ☺

Mr. Orange: what? No, don't think like that 😽

Mr. Brown: *stops and thinks* I think u look great ☺

Mr. Blue: (I think he'd basically have the same answer as Mr. White xd)

Mr. Blonde: I know 4 fat ppl and ur 3 of them- (motherfucker 😭)

Mr. Pink: 😼 fat is what u make my dick-

Help, I just made this based on meme, don't hate on me 😭

[ptok]

Hans Landa Cafeteria Dream part 2

(before reading this, please read Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/ptok/726747001890488320/hans-landa-cafeteria-dream-part-1)

Then the spectator did not see but knew that Hans returned to the cafeteria and was maybe somewhere at the back of the building, in some corridor. The camera (or whatever it was) showed that there was another woman in the cafeteria room on the first floor. In comparison with the ‘waiting and wandering’ woman, this one was dark-haired, slimmer, and rather taller; she also had some vibe of the ‘emo’ style (she was an ideal personification of the popular ‘Wojak meme’ character).

She was sitting at the table which was close to the fictionally removed wall, and the opposite chair has not been taken yet. Closer to the bar, the waiter was calmly standing and cleaning some plates. I supposed right away that the emo woman was also waiting for Hans, and I thought he had a date also with her, as the song might have suggested, but after a while I realized there is no evidence that she is also his date. All these thoughts of mine were connected with the fact that I started to sympathize with the blond-haired ‘impatient’ woman because, even if the ‘emo’ one has not been the date, the emo woman apparently had a fixed appointment with Hans, while the blond-haired woman in A-type skirt had not, despite her wishes.

Then, although as a spectator I only had a glimpse of Hans coming into the first-floor part of the cafeteria, I knew that the meeting between him and the emo woman has begun. Then the camera presented that the blond-haired woman was nervously, but still gently knocking on the cafeteria’s transparent (now real) door on the ground floor. No one was listening to her. All persons – the waiter, Hans Landa, and the emo woman – were on the first floor, in the cafeteria room. Then I realized what was the goal of the woman: she loved Hans but at the same time, for the sake of her dignity, she could not dare to present herself as so desperate by going straightforwardly to the first floor and making her appearance known to Hans during his other meeting (or even during his solitary cup of coffee or milk 🥛). ‘That might destroy everything!’ – I caught her thought. I saw that on the ground floor, just before the cafeteria’s entrance, the woman put her shoes off and ran into the building’s interior, then went up the carpeted stairs barefoot (yes, my mind made a strange reference to the shoe scene with Bridget). Then I slipped again into the movie universe. I was in the first floor’s corridor which was not visible from the front perspective. I saw the blond-haired woman reclining under the door to the cafeteria room, knocking gently at the lower part of the door, very close to the floor. Then my mind was like giving thumbs up to this woman: she was very clever, she managed to give some mysterious hint of her appearance by thought-provoking ghost-like knocking, while putting her elegant shoes off, and therefore lack of the heels’ sound, combined with the sneaking way of moving, did not allow Hans and others to think that there is someone behind the door, and that this is a woman on her heels, and that this is, finally, that specific woman. But I also started to fear whether she would manage to creep out from the first floor on time, before someone intrigued opens the door. Then the waiter, or even Hans himself, would see her in this non-elegant position, and the emo woman would for sure ridicule her. Another fear of mine was whether the shoes would still be waiting for her the way she left it before cafeteria’s entry. But I did not make to know answers to these questions as this thread of my dream has ended.

[edwardshundredyearoldspunk]

I love watching quentin tarantino movies on my phone because I just know he would hate it

[marklikely]

oh god i hate you black xmas 2006

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Can You Keep Up? 🔪 | Sgt. Hugo Stiglitz Imagine

Takes place during the events of Inglorious Basterds

Inglorious Basterds Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Sgt. Hugo Stiglitz x female basterd!reader (romantic), the Basterds (platonic)

Content Warnings: profanity, light angst, war, murder, blood, violence, n*zis, hate crimes | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 2.7k

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

Premise: Sgt Hugo Stiglitz had a reputation long before becoming a member The Basterds. Killing Nazis and ending the war were the only thinks he cared about….until a new basterd entered the picture. One who had her own reputation in America that rivaled even some its most notorious gangsters.

————————

“You should tell her,” Wicki mumbled in German, which would do nothing to hide their conversation since the person they were referring to spoke German. Had she been closer to the pair they surely would’ve been found out.

Hugo groaned, pitting a glare to the Austrian, “No.” Wicki rolled his eyes.

“One of these days the others are going to notice how you’ve changed in the last few weeks.”

“I have not changed!” The German defends, whisper-shouting while checking to make sure she wasn’t in their proximity. Eyes locking on her figure, he found Y/n scalping her latest kill. Quickly he turned away, the image of her tackling the Nazi down from a tree branch appearing in his mind, the stoic expression he wore faltering. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen a person do and boy did it make him feel things.

But then again, Y/n L/n was not an ordinary soldier. Hell, she wasn’t even a soldier.

A native of the city that never sleeps, the cards of a promising life were not in place for Y/n. At a young age petty crime was her ticket to surviving. Pickpocketing off of unsuspecting tourists, stealing cars from junkyards, and making quick cash by taking whatever opportunity presented itself. That was her life from childhood to the end of adolescence.

Right around the age of 21 in 1930, the midst of prohibition, Y/n found herself at the bar of a speakeasy owned by one of the most notorious mob bosses in the city. Now when one thinks of organized crime and all its associates, women never have a place amongst the ranks. It’s just how things worked—patriarchy and sexism in all.

Y/n had already garnered herself a reputation in the underground world of New York. Known by only the name, The Rose, due to the red inked rose tattoo on her neck, Y/n was listed on the top ten most wanted in the city. Doing jobs ranging from burglaries to ‘get rid of them, leave nothing behind’ as they came to her as long as they paid well. And by well, we’re talking Y/n couldn’t have a bank account open for they would be suspicious of the depositing amounts.

No eye witness had ever been able to give a detailed description for the NYPD to develop a composite drawing. Y/n was a ghost among the living. Making her dangerous and a myth to many who refused to believe a woman could be capable of the crimes she committed. A lot of the hits she was responsible for had the police believing it was rival gangs. Nothing was traced back to her save for burglaries where a witness reported, “whoever it was, I think it was a woman. There was something about their physique and voice in the few words they spoke that had me thinking it wasn’t a man.”

So yeah, Y/n was a professional criminal at the ripe age of 21. A literally hit woman who was damn good at making things appear as an accident. Becoming an associate of a mob boss was not what she envisioned, but leave it to a man who’s also a ghost to the public eye able to uncover a fellow one.

“How’d you know who I was?” The vodka from her martini hit her tongue as she took a sip. Eyebrows raised at the man beside her, dressed in an expensive pinstriped suit, she noted the two men in suits flanking him. That in itself was enough to piece together he was someone important. Then he got to talking and before long Y/n formally introduced herself knowing the jig was up.

“A man like me has his ways.”

“And I’m assuming a man like you is someone who likes to keep his presence quiet. Yet, you took a risk by approaching me. Why is that, Mr. Falcone?”

“I’ve got a job for you.” This has her tilt her head, intrigued by the proposal.

“What kind of job?”

“I’m aware one-and-done is your style,” he starts, removing his glasses and placing them in his pocket only to remove a Manila colored envelope. “But I’m willing to offer you something more permanent. It means you’ll have to stop any and all business with competing employers,” he was referring to rival gangs and families. Basically Y/n would be an associate in his ranks. “But I can assure you,” the envelope slides over to her, Y/n immediately taking it into her hands to peek inside. “any and all needs would be provided. I’m sure you’ll find the pay more than sufficient than what you’re normally accustomed to.” Inside was at least $20,000. Twenty wads of ten $100 bills stacked together. The man was right in his assumption of money Y/n obtained on a job—ranging between $3-7k depending on what needed to be done.

Y/n was quiet for a moment, finishing her martini before turning back to Falcone. “Forgive me for being so blunt, Mr. Falcone. Your offer is gracious and tempting, but I thought women have no place in the mob. Why would you want to work with me?”

“Because you’re good at what you do,” he stated the obvious, motioning for the bartender for two glasses of whiskey. “You’ve managed at such a young age to turn the boys in blue upside down over your looming presence. And they still have yet to uncover how deep your ledger bleeds in this city. They only believe you’re responsible for all those bank heists and the last person the mayor’s God awful son was seen with.” Y/n withheld the smirk threatening to form.

“But I know from whispers in the dark the number of people you’ve successfully indisposed. And I know you’ve managed to accumulate that many because you know how to work with men’s weaknesses. How they are so captivated by the rose before them, they fail to see the thorns. Why wouldn’t I want to work with someone of such talents?” Passing over one of the whiskeys, Falcone lifted his own. “What do you say, Miss. L/n? Do we have a deal?”

The clinking of glass signaled the signing of the unwritten contract penned beneath the dim lights of Falcone’s speakeasy. From that moment on Y/n was an official member of the Falcone crime family. Their hitwoman to be exact where she maintained her double life for nearly twelve years. Bathing in the riches, living the high life. All while keeping a low profile where Falcone’s dirty work was never traced back to her and vice versa.

Unfortunately, mistakes happen. Costly ones where everything crumbles in the blink of an eye.

Well it didn’t all crumble. Technically the FBI was only able to prove Y/n was responsible for one count of federal racketeering. Any other crimes—nearly 50 to be exact—they believed she did had no hard evidence.

Let’s face it, they damn well knew it was her. But Y/n was really good at her job. Only reason she got caught was her getaway driver fucked up by turning left instead of right where a squadron was waiting for them. One look at her tattoo and the feds were busting down the doors of the police department.

But dragging her ass to Alcatraz to become the first female prisoner was not the plan the feds had for Y/n. At the turn of the new year in 1942, America had entered World War II following the attack on Pearl Harbor. Troops were sent off to Europe each week, nurses deployed, and supplies to aid the allies.

“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” Y/n choked on the smoke from cigarette, handcuffed by the wrists and staring at the agent like he was insane.

“Not in the slightest,” he blew out his own smoke. Placing his bud in the tray, the agent leaned his elbows on the table, “listen, Miss. L/n, it’s either this or prison. As much as my colleagues hate to admit it, you’d make a great spy. We’re offering your freedom—full pardon and all—in exchange for your cooperation with the OSS for however long it will take for us to win this war. The Army already agreed.”

Y/n stayed silent, deep in thought while finishing her cigarette. Go to war, become a spy for America, and try to not to die before it ends. Or waste away in a prison located on an island with no chances of escaping and remain there until she dies. “Fuck it, guess I’m going to Europe.”

Touching down in France Y/n was hauled to the OSS base camp, still chained by the wrists and ankles, where she was introduced to the General. From there the rules and regulations of her position were relayed on top of being assigned to the squadron deep behind enemy lines known as The Basterds.

One could imagine the reaction the squad had when their newest comrade was revealed to them. The only warning they got was, “bring her in,” before a smirking chained Y/n waltzed in with two soldiers flanked beside her.

“Hello, boys.”

Donny just about swallowed the toothpick in his mouth. The younger basterds wide eyed and mouths agape while Hugo and Wicki appeared confused. Then there was Aldo who was visibly flabbergasted, “What the hell is this?” It wasn’t everyday one saw a woman in handcuffs guarded by armed escorts. But despite her innocent demeanor, there was something sinister lying behind her gaze. “Who is she?”

“Your new mercenary,” the general plainly states.

“This pretty little thang?” Donny wants to laugh, earning an amused smirk from Y/n. Aldo shushes him a glare at the same moment the general does.

“This pretty little thing could make your death look like an accident, Donowitz.” The comment had Y/n roll her eyes. Now that has the Basterds intrigued…and a little concerned. Their reaction made her chuckle.

“Believe me gentlemen, it wasn’t my idea to join you on the front lines. But, the FBI said it was either this or Alcatraz.”

“Alcatraz?!” Smitty gasps. Off to the side Hugo leans closer to Wicki, whispering in German, “What is Alcatraz?”

“It’s a federal prison in California located on an island where they send the worst of the worst criminals. They say no one can escape once they’re locked within its walls.”

So, from what Hugo observes, this woman happens to be one of the worst criminals in America.

Aldo, just as appalled, follows up with, “Now what on earth did you do that would have the feds sending you to the Rock?”

“My job,” she shrugs in response.

“Which was?” There were dozens of ‘jobs’ with a one way ticket to Alcatraz. Mostly gang members and mafia bosses. Serial killers and bank robbers. Its most famous residents being Al Capone, George Kelly Barnes, Robert Stroud, and Alvin Karpavivz.

The general slaps down the file in front of Aldo, “killing people for money, money laundering, blackmail and extortion of politicians on behalf of the New York’s mob, robbing almost every bank in the city, and bombing the Wall Street Journal.”

“Now general,” Y/n tsks, receiving horrified expressions from everyone in the room. The metal from her handcuffs clanked as she held palms up, “That’s a little far-fetched, don’t you think? After all those are only accusations. None of which can be proven,” her nonchalant tone combined with the not-so-innocent smile gave indication the general spoke the truth. “Except for the blackmail one. That I did do.”

The Basterds were pretty much hesitant of Y/n up until the first time they saw her in action. Not only did she lure a patrol of Nazis to them, but she took down six of the ten with. One for each bullet in her pistol. All the Basterds were beyond amazed, but none more than Hugo.

It was like he was seeing the female version of himself when Y/n invoked her talents with a blade on a Nazi. Effortless when sneaking up behind or jumping from a branch onto their shoulders. Never missing her target when firing her pistol. The fear she produced when a Nazi recognized the tattoo on her neck. Word got around quickly among the German army of the female basterd who looked as delicate as a rose but possessed thorns unlike any other.

Hugo, a man of few words, couldn’t help but be curious of the American. Y/n noticed it too with how many times she caught him staring at her. Finally she had enough of his staring and confronted him one night when they were on watch, “Penny for your thoughts, Stiglitz.”

“You speak German?” His tone was of surprise, making her smirk.

“I speak many languages. German, Italian, Spanish, French, even Gaelic. It’s sorta a necessity for the job I do—interacting with people from all parts of the world.”

“Job….” Hugo repeated under his breath, “you are a professional criminal? That is what Donowitz was saying.”

“Oh so you believe gossip now?” She teased, though making no motion to deny the accusation. “Good to know you boys talk about me in your free time.”

“Is it true?” Hugo persisted, making Y/n straighten her posture, no longer finding humor in the conversation. The tone had shifted to a serious one.

“Will you look at me differently than you already do if it is?” Was her challenge. Not waiting for his answer she continued, “I’m only guaranteed my freedom once this war ends for the things they caught me for, Hugo. Confessing to you the ones they didn’t…..well why would I admit guilt? A smart criminal would never.”

To be honest Y/n technically confessed to Hugo she was in fact responsible for all the crimes the general had informed them of. Though vague with her words, Y/n spoke with her eyes. Showing Hugo her true nature without voicing the truth.

From that moment on there was an unspoken connection between the two. A mutual respect and understanding for each other that was different from the other Basterds. Hugo could rely on Y/n to have his back and vice versa. Never did they question the other’s decision or actions even if the Basterds disagreed. While it took a few months, they eventually considered them friends instead of mere comrades.

He didn’t know when he started to see Y/n in a different light. Maybe it was when he watched her dance in a tavern with Omar and Aldo. Or maybe it was when she shot at the nazi sneaking up behind him from her sniper's den. He found peace in the moments they would sit by the fire and not say a single word. Admiration in the way she didn’t give a fuck about what people thought of her. Held her ground and owned her mistakes. Maybe it wasn’t full blown love Hugo felt for Y/n, but there was a deep fondness for her.

Whatever it was, Wicki seemed to catch on.

Like right now when he spotted the blonde observing Y/n scalping her latest kill. Trying to get Hugo to man up and confess his feelings to their fellow Basterd was like teaching a toddler simple manners. “I don’t see what you are so afraid of, Hugo. You two are friends. And from what I’ve seen when you’re not looking, I think she feels the same.”

Hugo couldn’t ignore the slight skip in his heart at the assumption. Still stoic, the German shrugged his shoulders, “We’ve got a job to do, Wilhelm. There’s no time for—.”

“No time for what?” The two men jump at the sound of Y/n joining their conversation. Neither noticed she had moved from her spot.

“Nothing,” Hugo sputters out, placing his knife back in its holster. In his head he was hoping to whatever God she didn’t hear what they were saying. So much as catching the word ‘she’ Y/n would know it was her given she was the only woman in miles.

Tilting her head, Y/n keeps her expression neutral. “Wicki, can you give Hugo and I a moment alone.”

“Of course,” the man excuses himself, bidding a glance to Hugo on the way out. Once he was a good distance away and none of the other Basterds were in sight Y/n approached Hugo. He waited for her to speak, but instead was left stunned at the feeling of her lips pressing to his cheek.

“Wh-what was that for?” A smirk is her response.

“I think you know,” she throws a wink. “You and Wicki’s forget your voices carry.” Red flares on Hugo’s cheeks, but he manages to calm it down. Y/n only widens her smile, “Don’t worry about saying what you feel,” she gives another kiss, though this time on the corner of his lips. “I can see it in your actions.”

Spinning on her heel, Y/n starts making her way back to the others when Hugo calls out to her, still shocked by what had taken place, “What does this mean then? For us?”

“Whatever you desire, darling,” Peering over her shoulder the woman gives a cheeky smirk, “think you can keep up?”

[writemekpop]

Love Drunk | Lee Donghyuck (Haechan)

Summary: When Haechan accidentally proposes to you during sex, you don’t know how to react. 

Genre: Established relationship AU, fluff

Word count: <1k

“Oh yes, right there,” Haechan sighed as your bodies rocked in time with each other.

His strong hand stroked up and down your waist, resting possessively on your butt. It sent a shiver through your thin T-shirt to your skin.

“Marry me, Y/n,” he gasped. 

You froze, staring at Haechan. 

He opened his eyes wide and stared back at you. 

“What did you just say?” you whispered, moving away from him. 

“Nothing – whatever – I was babbling,” Haechan said. 

“No you weren’t. You said… you wanted to marry me.” You wrapped your arms over your knees and stared at them in disbelief.

“People say that!” Haechan said. “It’s like, a sex thing. You don’t really mean it.”

You frowned. “’Choke me’ is a sex thing, Haechan. Not marry me.” 

You felt the pit in your stomach grow and grow. “Please go, Haechan. Just get out of my room,” you managed to say before your throat closed up. 

As soon as Haechan closed the door behind him, the tears welled in your eyes. 

This was meant to be a casual relationship, just for a year or so until you graduated. You still had so much to do. You were meant to make your first feature film, get an internship with a studio, and buy your own place before you even thought about marriage.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. 

You opened the door for Haechan, then sat on the floor. He came and sat quietly next to you. 

“You know, when someone asks you to marry them, it’s usually considered a good thing,” he said, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

You laughed. “So you were asking me, huh?” 

Haechan shook his head, his eyebrows coming together. “No. But really, is the idea of marrying me so terrible?” 

You looked at Haechan for a long moment, then shook your head. 

“No, it’s not,” you said. “That’s the problem. Marrying you would be amazing. You cook the best Chinese, you let me talk about Quentin Tarantino all day, and you think I’m beautiful even when I look like this,” you say, wiping your nose. 

“Right. That sounds like a decent reason to cry,” Haechan said gravely, so you punched him in the shoulder. 

“Everything’s all wrong. I wasn’t meant to find a husband at the age of twenty-two!” 

“You- seriously want to marry me?” Haechan said, his eyes widening. 

“Yes,” you said. “Do you seriously want to marry me?” 

Haechan nodded.

Haechan cupped the side of your face and kissed you. His lips were softer and plumper than imagination. You felt like the room was spinning all around you. You were going to get married. You were going to get married!

You said, “Then that means…”

When you pulled away, you were still dizzy.

“You do want to marry me, right? That wasn’t just ‘a sex thing’?” you said, grinning. 

Haechan nodded, grinning. “I do.” 

--

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

[pynkhues]

I recently read an article in which Quentin Tarantino stated that fewer movie stars exist as a result of "Marvel movies in Hollywood." I think Jennifer Aniston made a similar argument before saying that there are no longer any movie stars. I'm not sure what that means. I can think of a lot of movie stars right now, such as Zendaya, Timothee Chalamet, and Zoey Deutch etc. what do you think? I'd love to hear your thoughts on this and Quentin's comments.

QuillBot's

Months ago, when you sent me this ask, anon, I wrote out a really long reply and as soon as I hit post, my laptop crashed and ate the answer, and I was so annoyed at myself for not saving my reply, that I couldn't bring myself to try and re-write an answer. I'm really sorry for that, especially because I think this is such an interesting ask (or well, two asks, because I think the death of the movie star and the impact Marvel's had on the broader concept of a movie star, are kinda two different things).

I've been thinking about it a bit again recently though, particularly as the Oscar race gears up, and Jacob Elordi and Charles Melton''s respective stars are rising in an industry currently desperate to find the new young Hollywood male 'talent', and I've been thinking about it again because honestly?

I agree with Jennifer Aniston, I think the movie star is dead.

We are a long, long way from Golden Age Hollywood where actors like Cary Grant and Marilyn Monroe could captivate a public imagination in a way that translated to big box office effect, after all. Hell, we're even out of New Hollywood, an era dominated by names like Al Pacino, Jack Nicholson, and Jane Fonda, and the Blockbuster era with Tom Cruise, Sylvester Stallone and Harrison Ford.

My original reply went into a lot of the different reasoning as to why this is (like with many things, I don't think there's any one reason for it), in particular how the advent of streaming has changed our relationship with films and TV shows, how the saturation of the market has diluted the staying power of celebrities, how social media and the perceived accessibility of celebrities removes personal mystique which in turn removes intrigue and increases a sense of entitlement, and the fact that so many people having stopped going to the cinema means that the experiential element of seeing a film in a setting larger than life has been diminished.

I think call out culture plays a role too, with any actor on the rise being torn down by tweets they made eight, nine or ten years ago impacting how their star rises, I think the dismantling of the studio system (which is a good thing!) also harmed actors in the long run as studios stopped investing the same resources into making and training stars (they used to be able to sing, dance and act! Now some can barely even act!), and I think, of course, the rise of prestige TV changed the industry substantially (after all, movie stars were movie stars - they traditionally did not, and would not, do TV, which created a clear class structure in terms of screen-based storytelling).

And yeah, I think the language shift from film and TV to content has done irrepairable damage to the artistry of filmmaking and the consideration of a movie star as an actor at the top of their field instead of an actor with the most Insta followers or YouTube subscribers (after all, if everything's content, isn't it the same thing? [no lol]).

Which I guess is kind of where Quentin Tarantino's argument comes in, right? What he's saying is that Marvel's made it so that the IP - the content itself - is the star, not the actor, and I'd say he's probably right with that.

Think of it this way - back in the New Hollywood/Blockbuster era, Harrison Ford was the movie star - he was leading new franchises left-right-and-centre between Star Wars and Indiana Jones, sci fi epics like Blade Runner, leading action thrillers like Patriot Games, The Fugitive and Clear and Present Danger and getting nominated for Oscars for Witness.

He was a movie star in every sense of the word because you could hinge a film - one with a new concept, not just remakes or sequels - on him and be virtually guaranteed a success. He was what sold the tickets, the director just hopefully had to make something good enough people would leave the cinema glad they saw.

Tarantino's argument is the Marvel model - - hell, even the new Star Wars properties, turned the franchise into the star, for better or worse, which means original films can't compete because nobody knows the IP. Back when Harrison Ford was at the top of his game, his name was what helped original films including smaller, standalone works like Witness find an audience, but the studios have changed that. Capitalism has changed that.

Properties with existing audiences and deep pockets for merch were prioritised, only now those franchises are faltering and you've got a generation trained that 'cinematic events' are reserved for blockbusters in established universes, instead of taking a risk on a new film because you know you love an actor who's in it.

Do I think we could go back?

Maybe, but probably not.

I think the place we are now in the history of cinema / TV / 'content' means you can't make a movie star anymore because I think the industry is simply so different that no actor can break through in the same way that even Leonardo DiCaprio could 30 years ago. That industry doesn't exist anymore, actors aren't guaranteed draws (Bones and All proved that for Timothee Chalamet, and Wonka I think could go a similar way), or they have to heavily rely on other industries to become household names which I think dilutes them as a pure 'movie star' (Zendaya's a great example of this - I like her a lot, but how many movies has she even been in? They built her career up in peripheral industries long before they tried to sell her as a movie star, and frankly, I'd question her even as a leading actress yet given she's typically only either been in ensemble casts or clear supporting).

It's a whole new world, and yeah, I think the movie star is dead.

[artfilmfan]

Quentin Tarantino shaking hands and taking photos with soldiers who have committed some of the most horrific acts in recent history will be his legacy and forever taint his work. I was already unimpressed by most of his recent rehashed work, and the idolizing of the Tarantino fanboys of anything he does always made me wonder, but he managed to seal the deal himself with his real life actions. After actual footage of decapitated babies killed by IDF is seen by the entire world (or an IDF sniper deliberately killing a 5 year old girl), he goes and does the most tone deaf thing in his entire life. Obviously intentional to show support and that's what makes him one of the biggest kind of genocide enabling douchebags one can imagine in the filmmaking world (even Steven Spielberg who i'm no fan of had the decency of defending Jonathan Glazer's Oscar accepting speech where he blasted Israel's policies). Utterly disgraceful and disgusting. Says more about him than anything he ever did in his life. In such cases you cannot separate the art and the person. He's finished. We will never forget. We will never forgive.

[theehorsepusssy]

TheeHorsepussys Portland : Vaseline Alley aka Stark Street aka Harvey Weinstein ( I always get that mixed up) Harvey Milk Blvd

Documenting some gay-ass history for the kids

Red Arrow - 2 blocks to Touche. Not gay but spent most of the 90s in that bar. Fancy looking dining room/pool room but mostly service industry clientele. Hard to find a spot to do drugs discreetly.

Green - Everyday Music. Where to sell vinyl for dope money.

Yellow - Big BIG abandoned, scary building. Looked haunted. Was eventually renovated. But gave you the heebie-jeebies walking past it at night. Gay bashing zone

Green Arrow - The City Nightclub. Underage nightclub. Chicken Hawks(is that Gus Van Sant?), lots of drugs, good DJ downstairs, GREAT DJ upstairs

Red - The Henry Weinhard Brewery (demolished) Made the area smell really, really awful. Gagging thinking of it.

(Stark Street starts to the right here. It looks like they built some weird barrier in the intersection..probably cuz drunk gays in middle of street)

Orange - The Bathhouse. Home away from home. I would sell rip-off size bags of meth to subsidize my habit. Sucked a huge penis here. Gagging thinking of it. Gay bar downstairs was called either Flossies or Silverado or both. Male strippers. Would buy my shitty little bags of dope.

Blue Arrow - at one moment in the 90s, a sex club I think owned by Fantasy Video. Robert would meet his side piece there . The director Todd Haynes, I fuzzily recall reading, was a patron. I went once. Weird vibe. There was a plaque on the wall outside the entrance commemorating the recording of Louie, Louie.

Orange - The Eagle. Bar where it was common to have sex. I saw a guy take a foot up his butt. Cops started randomly coming in to cock block. There is a new bar called the Eagle up in NE Portland up by the Heroin Fred Meyer (I suppose they all are now)

Blue - Transient hotel above the store I hated buying cigarettes from but can't recall why. Maybe it was expensive.

Green - Greasy spoon called Roxys. Horrible breakfast food 24/7. I think it used to be down the street on Everett. Had a tiny basement bar. Moved to Vaseline Alley in 90s. Had ginormous picture of Quentin Tarantino or some shit. Very 90s

Yellow - Three Sisters (Six Titties) dive bar/gay bar. Never really went there. At some point was a male strippers bar. Robert had me escort one of his side pieces there. Kid thought the stripper was really into him. I tried to explain. I won $600 on the poker machine and drove the kid home.

Orange - Django Records. Large amounts of cheap used records. 3 for a dollar bins! I bought Eyehategod In the Name of Suffering here. Also the Cruising soundtrack...33cents!

Red - Fancy, expensive hotel. Yell really loud underneath the windows. They like that. Cops always parked along this stretch. Drunk gays got their first DUIs around here.

Mint- block of amnesia. I don't think it existed

Red - Boxes. Gay bar where you did lines of coke/mda/meth in the bathroom without hassle. TV sets with Oprah or Steel Magnolias, shit like that on. Spartacus Leather fetish store was down a couple doors. Inside Boxes, you could take a wood paneled passage through the fish restaurant kitchen ( I don't think anyone ever ate there) and end up at.....

Green - the Brig. Named because dance floor had bars around it like a jail cell. Imagine the creative dance moves as the queens grappled bars, ass out while Madonna songs played on a loop. Your meth dealer could be found here, doing a fan dance. Don't wear black. Semen stains show up under the blacklights. (or do)

Yellow - the house paint store. Eventually became the Panorama in the age of MDMA. Rave type music. Went there once to meet a dealer. Obnoxious experience.

White - Silverado. Country Western night most nights. My roommate dj'd andtaught line dancing but dance floor was like 10 sq ft so it was just the gays holding hands and boot scootin' in a little circle for eternity. Bar I could get into underage.

Orange - Ben Stark Hotel. Like outta Barton Fink. But really,really seedy. Had some weird sex in there. Now a boutique hotel owned by some Donald Trump guy Gordon Someone who did something once. Probably haunted.

Brown - Scandals. Beer /wine bar. Big windows so you can people-watch and talk shit. Used to go in there underage until I got thrown out snorting a rail of MDA off the tabletop. Had electronic darts and video poker in the 90s. Me and Robert had a domestic dispute there.

Red - row of funky vintage/antique shops. Someone used to broadcast a pirate radio station somewhere around there in the 90s

Blue - Portland Underground. Small venue had some big shows early 90s. Top floor is where I swear I saw Econochrist play. But it's an office building. Maybe confused

Yellow. OBryant Square aka Paranoid Park. Skateboarders and street drugs. I got "chased" by AF Nazis here. Probably more like I ran my fat ass up the street after this girl I knew screamed "run!" And they probably just laughed. I didn't look back. I think it's demolished now.

White arrow- up the block toward the Galleria. Second floor toilet was really cruisy. Careful of cockblocking rent-a-cops. Kiosk by cafe I think was only place downtown to buy pipe to smoke pot

[whereserpentswalk]

Ok so Shakespeare wasn't considered high art in his time. He was making plays that weren't expected to last, that everyone would be able to see. They were considered incredibly violent and taboo during his era, and basically the exact kind of entertainment people who are weird about Shakespeare today would hate. His plays were literally made in writers rooms with people punching up eachothers scripts.

Because of this, I feel like the best modern equivalent to Shakespeare would be Quentin Tarantino. Someone who makes commercial art that's incredibly violent but also has a deeper meaning.

So imagine, if you will, 500 years from now, Quentin Tarantino is considered the most important artist in western history. Every highschooler in the 26th century will have to read at least one of his scripts in English class and have to analyze the themes. People will quote his movies because 21st century English sounds cool and poetic to them. People call him the bard unironically. There's a conspiracy about how it was secretly some tech ceo writing those movies because no commener could ever write the most famous scripts in American history.

High art and low are isn't real. It's just art the rich like and art the rich don't like.