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fatehbaz · 4 years ago

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Imagining futures; escaping hell; controlling time; living in better worlds.

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What we see happening in Ferguson and other cities is not the creation of liveable spaces, but the creation of living hells. When a person is trapped in a cycle of debt, it also can affect their subjectivity and temporal orientation to the world by making it difficult for them to imagine and plan for the future. What psychic toll does this have on residents? How does it feel to be routinely degraded and exploited [...]? [M]unicipalities [...] make it impossible for residents to actually feel at home in the place where they live, walk, work, love, and chill. In this sense, policing is not about crime control or public safety, but about the regulation of people’s lives -- their movements and modes of being in the world.

[Source: Jackie Wang. Carceral Capitalism. 2018.]

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Pacific texts do not only destabilize inadequate presents. They also transfigure the past by participating in widespread strategies of contesting linear and teleological Western time, whether through Indigenous ontologies of cyclical temporality or postcolonial inhabitations of heterogenous time. [...] Pacific temporality [can be] a layering of oral and somatic memory in which both present injustices and a longue duree of pasts-cum-impossible futures still adhere. In doing so, [jetnil-Kijiner’s book] Iep Jaltok does not defer an apocalyptic future. Instead it asserts the possibility, indeed the past guarantee, of Pacific worlds in spite of Western temporal closures. [...] In the context of US settler colonialism, Jessica Hurley has noted “the ongoing power of a white-defined realism to distinguish possible from impossible actions” [...]. In other words, certain aspects of Indigenous life under settler colonialism fall under the purview of what colonizing powers define as the (im)possible. [...] Greg Fry, writing of Australian representations of the Pacific in the 1990s, notes that the Pacific was regarded as facing “an approaching ‘doomsday’ or ‘nightmare’ unless Pacific Islanders remake themselves”. From the center-periphery model [...], only a Malthusian “future nightmare [...]” for Pacific islands seemed possible. [...] Bikini Island, where the first of 67 US nuclear tests took place from 1946 to 1958, was chosen largely because of its remoteness [...]; nuclear, economic, and demographic priorities thus rendered islanders’ lives “ungrievable” [...]. The [...] sentiment was perhaps most famously demonstrated in H*nry Kissing*r’s dismissal of the Pacific: “There are only 90,000 people out there. Who gives a damn?” [...] Such narratives were supposed to proclaim and herald the end of Pacific futures. Instead [...] Pacific extinction narratives [written by Indigenous/Islander authors] conversely testify to something like the real resilience of islanders in the face of a largely deleterious history of Euro-American encounters. More radically, they suggest the impossibility of an impossible future. Apocalypse as precedent overturns the very world-ending convention of the genre. By turning extinction into antecedent, [...] [they aspire] toward an unknown future not tied to an apocalyptic ending.

[Source: Rebecca Oh. “Making Time: Pacific Futures in Kiribati’s Migration with Dignity, Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner’s Iep Jaltok, and Keri Hume’s Stonefish.” MFS Modern Fiction Studies. Winter 2020.]

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With the machinery finally installed on the property of the Manuelita estate, Don Santiago Eder launched the first industrial production of refined white sugar in Colombia on the “first day of the first month of the first year of the twentieth century.” Such deeds, mythologized and heroic in their retelling, earned Santiago Eder respect as “the founder” and his sons as “pioneers” in the industrialization of provincial Colombia. Their enterprise [...] remained the country’s largest sugar operation for much of the twentieth century. In 1967, [...] E.P. Thompson described the evolution and internalization of disciplined concepts of time as intimately tied to the rise of wage labor in industrializing England. His famous treatise on time serves as a reminder that the rise of industrial agriculture affected a reorganization of cultural and social conceptions of time. [...]. The global ascendancy of the Manuelita model of work contracts and monoculture in the second half of the twentieth century underscores the acceleration of the Plantationocene, but the historical presence and persistence of alternative [...] time should serve as a reminder that [...] futures and the demarcation of epochs are never as simple as a neatly organized calendar.

[Source: Timothy Lorek. “Keeping Time with Colombian Plantation Calendars.” Edge Effects. April 2020.]

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For several weeks after midsummer arrives along the lower Kuskokwim River, even as the days begin to shorten, the long, boreal light of dusk makes for a brief night. People travel by boat [...]. When I asked an elder about the proper way to act toward Chinook salmon, he instructed me: “Murikelluku.” The Yup’ik word murilke- means not only “to watch” but also “to be attentive” [...]. Nearly fifty years ago, Congress extinguished Alaska Native tribal autonomy over [...] fishing [...]. The indifference of dominant [US government land management agency] fisheries management models to social relations among salmon and Yupiaq peoples is evocative of a mode of care that Lisa Stevenson (2014) characterizes as “anonymous.” When life is managed at the level of the population, Stevenson writes, care is depersonalized. Care becomes “invested in a certain way of being in time,” standardized to the clock, and according to the temporal terms of the caregiver, rather than in time with the subject of care herself (ibid.: 134). Stevenson identifies care at the population level as anonymous because it focuses exclusively on survival – on metrics of life and death – rather than on the social relations that make the world inhabitable. Thus, it is not namelessness that marks “anonymous care” as such, but rather “a way of attending to the life and death of [others]” that strips life of the social bonds that imbue it with meaning […]. At the same time, conservation, carried out anonymously, ignores not only the temporality of Yupiaq peoples’ relations with fish, but also the human relations that human-fish relations make possible. Yupiat in Naknaq critique conservation measures for disregarding relations that ensure not only the continuity of salmon lives but also the duration of Yupiat lifeworlds (see Jackson 2013). Life is doubly negated. For Yupiaq peoples in southwest Alaska, fishing and its attendant practices are […] modes of sociality that foster temporally deep material and affective attachments to kin and to the Kuskokwim River that are constitutive of well-being [...]. As Yup’ik scholar Theresa Arevgaq John (2009) writes, cultivating relations both with ancestors and fish, among other more-than-human beings, is a critical part of young peoples’ […] development [...]. In other words, the futures that Yupiaq peoples imagine depend on not only a particular orientation to salmon in the present, but also an orientation to the past that salmon mediate.

[Source: William Voinot-Baron. “Inescapable Temporalities: Chinook Salmon and the Non-Sovereignty of Co-Management in Southwest Alaska.” July 2019.]

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[C]oncentration of global wealth and the "extension of hopeless poverties"; [...] the intensification of state repression and the growth of police states; the stratification of peoples [...]; and the production of surplus populations, such as the landless, the homeless, and the imprisoned, who are treated as social "waste." [...] To be unable to transcend [...] the horror [...] of such a world order is what hell means [...]. Without a glimpse of an elsewhere or otherwise, we’re living in hell. [...] [P]eople are rejecting prison as the ideal model of social order. [...] Embedded in this resistance, sometimes explicitly and sometimes implicitly, is both a deep longing for and the articulation of, the existence of a life lived otherwise and elsewhere than in hell. [...] [W]hat’s in the shadow of the bottom line [...] -- what stands, living and breathing, in the place blinded from view. [...] Instincts and impulses are always contained by a system which dominates us so thoroughly that it decides when we can “have an impact” on “restructuring the world,” which is always relegated to the future. [...] “Self-determination begins at home [...].” Cultivating an instinctual basis for freedom is about identifying the longings that already exist -- however muted or marginal [...]. The utopian is not only or merely a “fantasy of” and for “the future collectivity”. It is not simply fantasmatic or otherworldly in the conventional temporal sense. The utopian is a way of conceiving and living in the here and now, which is inevitably entangled with all kinds of deformations [...]. But there are no guarantees. No guarantees that the time is right [...]; no guarantees that just a little more misery and suffering will bring the whole mess down; no guarantees that the people we expect to lead us will (no special privileged historical agents); [...] no guarantees that we can protect future generations [...] if we just wait long enough or plan it all out ahead of time; no guarantees that on the other side of the big change, some new utterly-unfathomable-but-worth-waiting-for happiness will be ours [...]. There are no guarantees of coming millenniums or historically inevitable socialisms or abstract principles, only our complicated selves together and a [...] principle in which the history and presence of the instinct for freedom, however fugitive or extreme, is the evidence of the [...] possibility because we’ve already begun to realize it. Begun to realize it in those scandalous moments when the present wavers [...]. The point is to expose the illusion of supremacy and unassailability dominating institutions and groups routinely generate to mask their fragility and their contingency. The point is [...] to encourage [...] us [...] to be a little less frightened of and more enthusiastic about our most scandalous utopian desires and actions [...], a particular kind of courage and a few magic tricks.

[Source: Avery Gordon. “Some thoughts on the Utopian.” 2016.]

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im-the-punk-who · 4 years ago

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The Real People of Black Sails!

Here’s a quick(I promise....I promise this is as short as I could make it without leaving out some really choice shit) rundown of all the real historical figures peppered throughout Black Sails! I think I caught them all but if you know of others please mention them and I’ll add them on! Under a readmore because this is....so long y’all.

Pirates & Maroons

Anne Bonny (possibly 1697 – unknown; possibly April 1782) Started life crossdressing at her dad’s behest to avoid his wife(who wasn’t Bonny’s mom), married a guy her dad didn’t like, moved to Nassau. There her husband became a spy for Rogers and Anne was like ‘Not cool bro’. She met Jack, they started fucking, and Anne discovered she was really good at stabbing things. Resumed dressing as a man and started trying to seduce Mary Read who was also dressed as a man. They did indeed fall victim to one of the classic queer blunders. Anyway, Anne’s like ‘it’s not gay I’m a chick!’ And Mary is like ‘really?? Then it’s a little gayer than you realize because I’m a chick too!’ They (probably) start banging. Rackham’s like ‘hang on! I’m the only dick in Anne’s life’ and Mary and Anne are like ‘you sure are’ and Mary shows him her boobs and then they have some sort of complicated and probably not totally consensual threeway. Then they get captured because, Jack is That Guy Who Was Too Drunk To Realize His Ship Was Under Attack and Mary and Anne had to defend the ship against like, a whole other crew. Jack is hung(not a dick joke), but both Anne and Mary plead stays of execution due to pregnancy. Anne disappears but possibly is maybe referred to later. No one knows. Neat!

Edit: According to sources from this post there is a genealogical record that refers to Anne and it records her death as 1782. Very neat!

Israel Hands (c.1701-death unknown) Israel Hands was a real pirate and Blackbeard’s first mate. Not much else is known about where he came from or his life, other than that Blackbeard shot him in the knee at one point while supposedly aiming for another man. ‘Oops my bad this pistol is from like, the 18th century or something.’ While recuperating in Bath he was arrested after Teach’s death but took a pardon in exchange for ratting out the colonial officials who had been bribed by Teach. It’s unknown what happened to him after that although That Book About Pyrites says he died a beggar in London.

Benjamin Hornigold (1680–1719) Horny4gold was one of the most well known and influential pirates of the Golden Age. Most other pirates sailed under him or with him at one point, and he was one of the founders of the Pirate Republic of Nassau. He never attacked british ships during his time as captain so that he could be like ‘but brooooo I was acting in Britain’s Interests!!! Bro!!!!!’ But his co-pirates didn’t like that and eventually voted to replace him with Sam Bellamy. He accepted the king's pardon in 1718 and became a pirate hunter instead. Bummer. He was reportedly killed in a shipwreck.

Okay listen Horingold in any universe is a fucking JOKE I have to share this passage with y’all:

“Hornigold is recorded as having attacked a sloop off the coast of Honduras, but as one of the passengers of the captured vessel recounted, "they did us no further injury than the taking most of our hats from us, having got drunk the night before, as they told us, and toss'd theirs overboard"” WHAT A JOKE.

Dr. Howell - (birth/death unknown) John Howell was a pirate surgeon forced into service by Hornigold sometime in early 1717. He sailed with various pirate crews until October before returning into the service of Governor Rogers.

Ned Low (1690–1724) N’EDWARD. Okay I’m serious again. Born in London, Lowe grew up a thief in a thief family before moving to Boston. His wife died in childbirth in 1719, so he decided ‘fuck it I’ll become a Pirate Captain’ and did just that. He was known for torturing the people on board the ships he captured before murdering them and burning the ship. Interestingly though, Lowe was known to have a huge amount of regret over abandoning his daughter when he turned pirate, and wouldn’t force married men into his service. He also reportedly would allow women to return to port safely. Because of his numerous captures and cruelties, he was one of the most well known pirates in his day. There are differing reports about Low’s death - some say his crew mutinied and marooned him and he was subsequently hung, others say his ship sunk in a storm, and some say he just straight up disappeared. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Jack Rackham - (December 26, 1682 – November 18, 1720) Really a pirate, really named himself after a housecat pattern. (No, okay, he didn’t, it was because of his threads. But wouldn’t the cat thing fit too?) Sailed with Vane, Anne Bonny, and Mary Read. Was mostly known for being That Guy Who Was Too Drunk To Realize His Ship Was Under Attack and being Anne and Mary’s captain. He was captured and sentenced to hang after the aforementioned Drunk Blunder in 1720.

Mary/Mark Read - (1685 – 28 April 1721) Much like Anne Bonny, Mary dressed as a boy for much of her youth so a parent could swindle someone out of money. From her teenage years on she continued dressing as a man to find work in the military and as a sailor. She did marry but her husband died young and so she decided to become a pirate. Like ya do. She accepted the king’s pardon in 1718, then mutinied on the privateer she was aboard, once again becoming a pirate. Because pirates are sexy. In 1720 she joined Jack Rackham’s crew and sailed with him and Bonny. Cue the whole ‘Hey you’re hot, also I’m a woman.’ ‘Oh, hey, same hat!’ with Anne. In November of 1720, Rackham’s ship was captured. Mary died of a fever in prison(likely due to her pregnancy) in 1721.

Edward Teach - (c. 1680 – 22 November 1718) He started piracy sailing under Hornigold, and built the fleet alongside him and Stede Bonnet until Hornigold retired. COOL fact about Blackbeard is he was a MASTER showman who liked to light slow burning fuses under his hat to scare his enemies, and he relied more heavily on creating an image his prizes feared than violence. He did a lot of cool shit including ransoming the entire town of Charles Town and annoying the shit out of Woodes Rogers before settling in Bath and later dying of like, a shit ton of wounds while battling Lieutenant Maynard. The battle on Roger’s ship is pretty much what happened minues the keelhauling. Afterwards he was beheaded, his head hung from the bow of Maynard’s ship, and his body was thrown in the bay in Bath, where it’s said his ghost still haunts! Funky!

Charles Vane - (1680 – 29 March 1721) Really a pirate captain! Known for being Not A Nice Dude. Sailed with Henry Jennings, Edward England and Jackie Rackhammie. He led the pirates in resisting Rogers in Nassau, and yeah he really did light a ship on fire and 18th centuryeet it into Rogers’ line in order to escape. There’s a note that he returned to Nassau to get married but I couldn’t find any info on who he married so he’s gay now. That’s a rule I just made up. Anyway so at one point his ship got into a fight with another ship and Vane ordered a retreat and the crew was like ‘this is BOOshit’ and voted him out in favor of Jack Rackham. Ouch. Vane and some of the crew that supported him left aboard the Katherine(I believe) but then they got caught in a storm that said ‘fuck you specifically to Charles Vane,’ and he was marooned on an island. He survived! Just long enough for a British ship to stop at the island for him to attempt to board, get caught, and then hung. Deus ex piratica.

(Honorary mentions)

John Silver + Captain Flint (sort of but I’m not kidding!) Okay so of course there are a bunch of suspected origins of the characters of Captain Flint and Long John Silver, but the one I like the most is of two brothers - one of whom had a peg leg! - who captured an enormous Spanish treasure and buried it near Ocracoke island. Their names were John and Owen Lloyd. (And yes, John was the one-legged brother.) In 1750 a Spanish treasure fleet named the Flotas de Indias attempted to sail from Havana to Spain in late August, and three ships were wrecked during a hurricane. By a stroke of luck, the Lloyd brothers had been blown to the same inlet as the wrecked ships Guadalupe and Soledad , and managed to convince the Captain to hire them to transport the treasure to Norfolk.

But of course because they thought the Spanish SUCKED they said ‘psyche’ and just fucked off with it while the Captain was fighting Bureaucratic red tape in North Carolina. Iconique. Owen Lloyd reportedly buried the treasure on Norman Island and the pair became folk heroes in the area, particularly in St. Kitts. (P.s., the Stevenson family ran a sugar production business on St. Kitts, and R.L. Stevenson’s great grandfather worked there as early as 1773 - just 25 years after the epic heist. COOL STORY BRO.)

Captain Throckmorton (Okay not really but I just love this guy’s name) Okay so this guy wasn’t really a pirate captain but he was a Steamboat captain in the 1830s and his name is just too ridiculous for someone to make up. Toot toot, motherfucker.

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Queen Nanny(Maroon Queen/Madi) (c. 1686 – c. 1755) The spiritual, cultural, and military leader of the Windward Maroons (who the Black Sails Maroons are based on.) She led them alongside her ‘brother’ Quao although the relationship between them isn’t known. Exact information about her origins are not known but best guess is that she was of royal lineage from present-day Ghana, born sometime in the 1680’s. She did have a husband named Adou(who may have been the same person as Quao? I’ve read conflicting stuff), but they had no children. Many of the guerilla warfare tactics we now think of as common practice were developed by Queen Nanny and the other Maroons in their fight against British incursions. (The trap that Flint lays, covering themselves with paint and leaves, and the pits the Maroons lay in the forest are tactics known to have been used by the Windward Maroons.)

Nanny was a fucking legend okay a LEGENDS ONLY legend. She was one of the most instrumental people in preserving African culture among freed slaves and Maroons, and in encouraging the resistance to slavery in the Bahamas and surrounding areas. She was one of three leaders of the First Maroon War (which the war in Black Sails is based on). She initially refused to sign the treaty offered to Cudjoe because she knew the British were losing and was like ‘Why????? Would I surrender???? In a war??? I’m winning?????’

Anyway Queen Nanny was a fucking badass please read every piece of literature you can find on her. (You should absolutely read her full bio because she was fucking badass.)

Cudjoe (not exactly, but Julius is very close) (c. 1690s – 1764) Likely a freeborn son of one of the original escaped slaves turned Maroons, Cudjoe is hailed as one of the greatest Maroon leaders(after Queen Nanny). Much like in Black Sails, these original Maroons were slaves who escaped or overran their masters, forming free communities in the Mountains of Jamaica. The treaty in Black Sails is based on the one Cudjoe negotiated with the British, wanting an ‘honorable peace’ with the enemy, rather than the continued war and better terms that Queen Nanny and Quao wanted. (sound familiarrrrrr?) I do want to note that by the end of his life he became completely disillusioned with the idea that the British should be reasoned with and basically started fights with every British superior he could.

The English, Spanish, and Scottish!

The Guthries So while there wasn’t ever a female head of the Guthrie clan in Nassau, the Guthries were a Scottish merchant clan who emigrated to Boston around 1652 due to religious and racial persecution. While most of the family stayed around Pennsylvania and Massachusetts, John Guthrie moved to Virginia and his brother James Guthrie moved to Bermuda sometime after 1683.

(James Guthrie of Suffolk County, Massachusetts was listed in the will of John Richardson, dated 7 May 1683, in which Richardson says, “I give and bequeath unto James Guthrie all I have in the world except twenty shillings to buy John Harris a ring and ten shillings to buy John Kyte a ring.” This was witnessed by John Raynsford and John Ramsey.) Fellas is it gay.

Anyway, between Virginia and Boston and James’ ties in the Bermuda islands, the family made a shit ton fencing pirated goods during the Golden Age of Piracy, particularly from the Pirate Republic of Nassau.

A John Guthrie(likely a son of James’) was also a Colonel who was part of the peace talks with Cudjoe and the Maroons. Neat!

James Oglethorpe (22 December 1696 – 30 June 1785) Okay listen Oglethorpe was COOL AS FUCK. He is the founder of the colony of Georgia and is imo who Thomas Hamilton is probably based on. Oglethorpe was a HUGE humanitarian and even before he decided to form an entire colony around people not owning slaves. He advocated for better conditions for sailors, and prison reform. In 1732 he read a letter by a slave in Maryland named Ayuba Suleiman Diallo and on the spot decided slavery was terrible, divested himself of his stock in the African Trading Company, and resolved to include a law banning slavery in Georgia to the colony’s charter. Radical, man.

Speaking of Georgia, and specifically his plantation near Savannah, Oglethorpe actively spoke with the native Yamacraw who populated the land to ask permission and trade for the land he sought to build Georgia on. His plantation was meant to help debtors in London, released without any support, from falling back into debt and offering them a way forward to landownership through indentured servitude. I highly recommend anyone interested in early attempts at an equality based colonial system read up on the original charter of Georgia. (Of course there were still problems, but Oglethorpe was one of the most prominent proponents of a non hierarchical society - including limits to the acreage any person could own based on how helpful that land was to the people who worked it, and communal resources.) Oglethorpe was also a lifelong friend with Tomochichi, the chief of the Yamacraw, and worked very closely with him on colonial-indigenous relations.

Vincente de Raja (birth/death unknown) He was the real Governor and military Captain of Cuba from 1716-1717. He was a devoted pirate hunter and encouraged Spanish privateering against the pirates. Due to an attempt by Spain to increase tobacco profits at the expense of the farmers, there was a large revolt which resulted in many of the Cuban officials, including Raja, being replaced.

William Rhett (4 September 1666 – 12 January 1723) He was a merchant captain and plantation owner in Carolina who served in the colonial militia and hunted pirates. He captured Stede Bonnet and was probably just as much of an asshole as he is in the show.

Woodes Rogers - (c. 1679 – 15 July 1732) The Governor of Nassau who was largely responsible for ending piracy in the Bahamas. He really did offer a universal pardon, which a large number of the pirates took. Fun fact: before he was Governor, he rescued Alexander Selkirk, who is believed to be the guy Robinson Crusoe is based off of! Neat! He really did have a brother who really did die during his privateering exploits which also really did leave him ‘disfigured’. He got sued by his crew, went bankrupt, wrote a book, got famous for writing the book, and he really did have a wife named Sarah whom he divorced shortly after all this happened. He then became Governor of Nassau for the first time. This first term did end in him being imprisoned for debts incurred defending the island from Vane and Teach and the Spanish, but he was released, helped write that most famous A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pyrates, and became governor again in 1728. He died in 1732 of just plain exhaustion from dealing with the bureaucracy. Alexa play tiny violin.

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oscopelabs · 4 years ago

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‘America’s Not a Country, It’s Just a Business’: On Andrew Dominik’s ‘Killing Them Softly’ By Roxana Hadadi

“Shitsville.” That’s the name Killing Them Softly director Andrew Dominik gave to the film’s nameless town, in which low-level criminals, ambitious mid-tier gangsters, nihilistic assassins, and the mob’s professional managerial class engage in warfare of the most savage kind. Onscreen, other states are mentioned (New York, Maryland, Florida), and the film itself was filmed in post-Hurricane Katrina New Orleans, though some of the characters speak with Boston accents that are pulled from the source material, George V. Higgins’s novel Cogan’s Trade. But Dominik, by shifting Higgins’s narrative 30 or so years into the future and situating it specifically during the 2008 Presidential election, refuses to limit this story to one place. His frustrations with America as an institution that works for some and not all are broad and borderless, and so Shitsville serves as a stand-in for all the places not pretty enough for gentrifying developers to turn into income-generating properties, for all the cities whose industrial booms are decades in the past, and for all the communities forgotten by the idea of progress._ Killing Them Softly_ is a movie about the American dream as an unbeatable addiction, the kind of thing that invigorates and poisons you both, and that story isn’t just about one place. That’s everywhere in America, and nearly a decade after the release of Dominik’s film, that bitter bleakness still has grim resonance.

In November 2012, though, when Killing Them Softly was originally released, Dominik’s gangster picture-cum-pointed criticism of then-President Barack Obama’s vision of an America united in the same neoliberal goals received reviews that were decidedly mixed, tipping toward negative. (Audiences, meanwhile, stayed away, with Killing Them Softly opening at No. 7 with $7 million, one of the worst box office weekends of Brad Pitt’s entire career at that time.) Obama’s first term had been won on a tide of hope, optimism, and “better angels of our nature” solidarity, and he had just defeated Mitt Romney for another four years in the White House when Killing Them Softly hit theaters on Nov. 30. Cogan’s Trade had no political components, and no connections between the thieving and killing promulgated by these criminals and the country at large. Killing Them Softly, meanwhile, took every opportunity it could to chip away at the idea that a better life awaits us all if we just buy into the idea of American exceptionalism and pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps ingenuity. A fair amount of reviews didn’t hold back their loathing toward this approach. A.O. Scott with the New York Times dismissed Dominik’s frame as “a clumsy device, a feint toward significance that nothing else in the movie earns … the movie is more concerned with conjuring an aura of meaningfulness than with actually meaning anything.” Many critics lambasted Dominik’s nihilism: For Deadspin, Will Leitch called it a “crutch, and an awfully flimsy one,” while Richard Roeper thought the film collapsed under the “crushing weight” of Dominik’s philosophy. It was the beginning of Obama’s second term, and people still thought things might get better.

But Dominik’s film—like another that came out a few years earlier, Adam McKay’s 2010 political comedy The Other Guys—has maintained a crystalline kind of ideological purity, and perhaps gained a certain prescience. Its idea that America is less a bastion of betterment than a collection of corporate interests, and the simmering anger Brad Pitt’s Jackie Cogan captures in the film’s final moments, are increasingly difficult to brush off given the past decade or so in American life. This is not to say that Obama’s second term was a failure, but that it was defined over and over again by the limitations of top-down reform. Ceaseless Republican obstruction, widespread economic instability, and unapologetic police brutality marred the encouraging tenor of Obama’s presidency. Donald Trump’s subsequent four years in office were spent stacking the federal judiciary with young, conservative judges sympathetic toward his pro-big-business, fuck-the-little-guy approach, and his primary legislative triumph was a tax bill that will steadily hurt working-class people year after year.

The election of Obama’s vice president Joe Biden, and the Democratic Party securing control of the U.S. Senate, were enough for a brief sigh of relief in November 2020. The $1.9 trillion stimulus bill passed in March 2021 does a lot of good in extending (albeit lessened) unemployment benefits, providing a child credit to qualifying families, and funneling further COVID-19 support to school districts after a year of the coronavirus pandemic. But Republicans? They all voted no to helping the Americans they represent. Stimulus checks to the middle-class voters who voted Biden into office? Decreased for some, totally cut off for others, because of Biden’s appeasement to the centrists in his party. $15 minimum wage? Struck down, by both Republicans and Democrats. In how many more ways can those politicians who are meant to serve us indicate that they have little interest in doing anything of the kind?

Modern American politics, then, can be seen as quite a performative endeavor, and an exercise in passing blame. Who caused the economic collapse of 2008? Some bad actors, who the government bailed out. Who suffered the most as a result? Everyday Americans, many of whom have never recovered. Killing Them Softly mimics this dynamic, and emphasizes the gulf between the oppressors and the oppressed. The nameless elites of the mob, sending a middle manager to oversee their dirty work. The poker-game organizer, who must be brutally punished for a mistake made years before. The felons let down by the criminal justice system, who turn again to crime for a lack of other options. The hitman who brushes off all questions of morality, and whose primary concern is getting adequately paid for his work. Money, money, money. “This country is fucked, I’m telling ya. There’s a plague coming,” Jackie Cogan says to the Driver who delivers the mob’s by-committee rulings as to who Jackie should intimidate, threaten, and kill so their coffers can start getting filled again. Perhaps the plague is already here.

“Total fucking economic collapse.”

In terms of pure gumption, you have to applaud Dominik for taking aim at some of the biggest myths America likes to tell about itself. After analyzing the dueling natures of fame and infamy through the lens of American outlaw mystique in The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, Dominik thought bigger, taking on the entire American dream itself in Killing Them Softly. From the film’s very first second, Dominik doesn’t hold back, equating an easy path of forward progress with literal trash. Discordant tones and the film’s stark, white-on-black title cards interrupt Presidential hopeful Barack Obama’s speech about “the American promise,” slicing apart Obama’s words and his crowd’s responding cheers as felon Frankie (Scoot McNairy), in the all-American outfit of a denim jacket and jeans, cuts through what looks like a shut-down factory, debris and garbage blowing around him. Obama’s assurances sound very encouraging indeed: “Each of us has the freedom to make of our own lives what we will.” But when Frankie—surrounded by trash, cigarette dangling from his mouth, and eyes squinting shut against the wind—walks under dueling billboards of Obama, with the word “CHANGE” in all-caps, and Republican opponent John McCain, paired with the phrase “KEEPING AMERICA STRONG,” a better future doesn’t exactly seem possible. Frankie looks too downtrodden, too weary of all the emptiness around him, for that.

Dominik and cinematographer Greig Fraser spoke to American Cinematographer magazine in October 2012 about shooting in post-Hurricane Katrina New Orleans: “We were aiming for something generic, a little town between New Orleans, Boston and D.C. that we called Shitsville. We wanted the place to look like it’s on the down-and-down, on the way out. We wanted viewers to feel just how smelly and grimy and horrible it was, but at the same time, we didn’t want to alienate them visually.” They were successful: Every location has a rundown quality, from the empty lot in which Frankie waits for friend and partner-in-crime Russell (Ben Mendelsohn)—a concrete expanse decorated with a couple of wooden chairs, as if people with nowhere else to go use this as a gathering spot—to the dingy laundromat backroom where Frankie and Russell meet with criminal mastermind Johnny “Squirrel” Amato (Vincent Curatola), who enlists them to rob a mafia game night run by Markie Trattman (Ray Liotta), to the restaurant kitchen where the game is run, all sickly fluorescent lights, cracked tile, and makeshift tables. Holding up a game like this, from which the cash left on the tables flows upward into the mob’s pockets, is dangerous indeed. But years before, Markie himself engineered a robbery of the game, and although that transgression was forgiven because of how well-liked Markie is in this institution, it would be easy to lay the blame on him again. And that’s exactly what Squirrel, Frankie, and Russell plan to do.

The “Why?” for such a risk isn’t that hard to figure out. Squirrel sees an opportunity to make off with other people’s money, he knows that any accusatory fingers will point elsewhere first, and he wants to act on it before some other aspiring baddie does. (Ahem, sound like the 2008 mortgage crisis to you?) Frankie, tired of the crappy jobs his probation officer keeps suggesting—jobs that require both long hours and a long commute, when Frankie can’t even afford a car (“Why the fuck do they think I need a job in the first place? Fucking assholes”)—is drawn in by desperation borne from a lack of options. If he doesn’t come into some kind of money soon, “I’m gonna have to go back and knock on the gate and say, ‘Let me back in, I can’t think of nothing and it’s starting to get cold,’” Frankie admits. And Australian immigrant and heroin addict Russell is nursing his own version of the American dream: He’s going to steal a bunch of purebred dogs, drive them down to Florida to sell for thousands of dollars, buy an ounce of heroin once he has $7,000 in hand, and then step on the heroin enough to become a dealer. It’s only a few moves from where he is to where he wants to be, he figures, and this card-game heist can help him get there.

In softly lit rooms, where the men in the frame are in focus and their surroundings and backgrounds are slightly blown out, slightly blurred, or slightly fuzzy (“Creaminess is something you feel you can enter into, like a bath; you want to be absorbed and encompassed by it” Fraser told American Cinematographer of his approach), garish deals are made, and then somehow pulled off with a sobering combination of ineptitude and ugliness. Russell buys yellow dishwashing gloves for himself and Frankie to wear during the holdup, and they look absurd—but the pistol-whipping Russell doles out to Markie still hurts like hell, no matter what accessories he’s wearing. Dominik gives this holdup the paranoia and claustrophobia it requires, revolving his camera around the barely-holding-it-together Frankie and cutting every so often to the enraged players, their eyes glancing up to look at Frankie’s face, their hands twitching toward their guns. But in the end, nobody moves. When Frankie and Russell add insult to injury by picking the players’ pockets (“It’s only money,” they say, as if this entire ordeal isn’t exclusively about wanting other people’s money), nobody fights back. Nobody dies. Frankie and Russell make off with thousands of dollars in two suitcases, while Markie is left bamboozled—and afraid—by what just happened. And the players? They’ll get their revenge eventually. You can count on that.

So it goes that Dominik smash cuts us from the elated and triumphant Russell and Frankie driving away from the heist in their stolen 1971 Buick Riviera, its headlights interrupting the inky-black night, to the inside of Jackie Cogan’s 1967 Oldsmobile Toronado, with Johnny Cash’s “The Man Comes Around” providing an evocative accompaniment. “There’s a man going around taking names/And he decides who to free, and who to blame/Everybody won’t be treated all the same,” Cash sings in that unmistakably gravelly voice, and that’s exactly what Jackie does. Called in by the mob to capture who robbed the game so that gambling can begin again, Jackie meets with an unnamed character, referred to only as the Driver (Richard Jenkins), who serves as the mob’s representative in these sorts of matters. Unlike the other criminals in this film—Frankie, with his tousled hair and sheepish face; Russell, with his constant sweatiness and dog-funk smell; Jackie, in his tailored three-piece suits and slicked-back hair; Markie, with those uncannily blue eyes and his matching slate sportscoat—the Driver looks like a square.

He is, like the men who replace Mike Milligan in the second season of Fargo, a kind of accountant, a man with an office and a secretary. “The past can no more become the future than the future can become the past,” Milligan had said, and for all the backward-looking details of Killing Them Softly—American cars from the 1960s and 1970s, that whole masculine code-of-honor thing that Frankie and Russell break by ripping off Markie’s game, the post-industrial economic slump that brings to mind the American recession of 1973 to 1975—the Driver is very much an arm of a new kind of organized crime. He keeps his hands clean, and he delivers what the ruling-by-committee organized criminals decide, and he’s fussy about Jackie smoking cigarettes in his car, and he’s so bland as to be utterly forgettable. And he has the power, as authorized by his higher-ups, to approve Jackie putting pressure on Markie for more information about the robbery. It doesn’t matter that neither Jackie nor the mob thinks Markie actually did it. What matters more is that “People are losing money. They don’t like to lose money,” and so Jackie can do whatever he needs. Dominik gives him this primacy through a beautiful shot of Jackie’s reflection in the car window, his aviators a glinting interruption to the gray concrete overpass under which the Driver’s car is parked, to the smoke billowing out from faraway stacks, and to the overall gloominess of the day.

“We regret having to take these actions. Today’s actions are not what we ever wanted to do, but today’s actions are what we must do to restore confidence to our financial system,” we hear Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson say on the radio in the Driver’s car, and his October 14, 2008, remarks are about the Emergency Economic Stabilization Act of 2008—the government bailout of banks and other financial institutions that cost taxpayers $700 billion. (Remember Will Ferrell’s deadpan delivery in The Other Guys of “From everything I’ve heard, you guys [at the Securities and Exchange Commission] are the best at these types of investigations. Outside of Enron and AIG, and Bernie Madoff, WorldCom, Bear Stearns, Lehman Brothers ...”) Yet the appeasing sentiment of Paulson’s words applies to Jackie, too, and to the beating he orders for Markie—a man he suspects did nothing wrong, at least not this time. But debts must be settled. Heads must roll. “Whoever is unjust, let him be unjust still/Whoever is righteous, let him be righteous still/Whoever is filthy, let him be filthy still,” Cash sang, and Jackie is all those men, and he’ll collect the stolen golden crowns as best he can. For a price, of course. Always for a price.

“I like to kill them softly, from a distance, not close enough for feelings. Don’t like feelings. Don’t want to think about them.”

In “Bad Dreams,” the penultimate episode of the second season of The Wire, International Brotherhood of Stevedores union representative Frank Sobotka (Chris Bauer), having seen his brothers in arms made immaterial by the lack of work at the Baltimore ports and the collapse of their industry, learns that his years of bribing politicians to vote for expanded funding for the longshoremen isn’t going to pay off. He is furious, and he is exhausted. “We used to make shit in this country, build shit. Now we just put our hand in the next guy’s pocket,” he says with the fatigue of a man who knows his time has run out, and you can draw a direct line from Bauer’s beleaguered delivery of those lines to Liotta’s aghast reaction to the horrendous beating he receives from Jackie’s henchmen. Sobotka in The Wire had no idea how he got to that helpless place, and neither does Markie in Killing Them Softly—he made a mistake, but that was years ago. Everyone forgave him. Didn’t they?

The vicious assault leveled upon Markie is a harrowing, horrifying sequence that is also unnervingly beautiful, and made all the more awful as a result of that visual splendor. In the pouring rain, Markie is held captive by the two men, who deliver bruising body shots, break his noise, batter his body against the car, and kick in his ribs. “You see fight scenes a lot in movies, but you don’t see people systematically beating somebody else. The idea was just to make it really, really, really ugly,” Dominik told the New York Times in November 2012, and sound mixer Leslie Shatz and cinematographer Fraser also contributed to this unforgettable scene. Shatz used the sound of a squeegee across a windshield to accentuate Markie’s increasingly destroyed body slumping against the car, and also incorporated flash bulbs going off as punches were thrown, adding a kind of lingering effect to the scene’s soundscape. And although the scene looks like it’s shot in slow motion, Fraser explained to American Cinematographer that the combination of an overhead softbox and dozens of background lights helped build that layered effect in which Liotta is fully illuminated while the dark night around him remains impenetrable. Every drop of rain and every splatter of blood stands out on Markie’s face as he confesses ignorance regarding the robbery and begs for mercy from Jackie’s men, but Markie has already been marked for death. When the time comes, Jackie will shoot him in the head in another exquisitely detailed, shot-in-ultrahigh-speed scene that bounces back and forth between the initial act of violence and its ensuing destruction. The cartridges flying out of Jackie’s gun, and the bullets destroying Markie’s window, and then his brain. Markie’s car, now no longer in his control, rolling forward into an intersection where it’s hit not just once, but twice, by oncoming cars. The crunching sound of Markie’s head against his windshield, and the vision of that glass splintering from the impact of his flung body, are impossible to shake.

“Cause and effect,” Dominik seems to be telling us, and Killing Them Softly follows Jackie as he cleans up the mess Squirrel, Frankie, and Russell have made. After he enlists another hitman, Mickey (a fantastically whoozy James Gandolfini, who carries his bulk like the armor of a samurai searching for a new master), whose constant boozing, whoring, and laziness shock Jackie after years of successful work together, and who refuses to do the killing for which Jackie secured him a $15,000 payday, Jackie realizes he’ll need to do this all himself. He’ll need to gather the intel that fingers Frankie, Russell, and Squirrel. He’ll need to set up a police sting to entrap Russell on his purchased ounce of heroin, violating the terms of his probation, and he’ll need to set up another police sting to entrap Mickey for getting in a fight with a prostitute, violating the terms of his probation. For Jackie, a career criminal for whom ethical questions have long since evaporated, Russell’s and Frankie’s sloppiness in terms of bragging about their score is a source of disgust. “I guess these guys, they just want to go to jail. They probably feel at home there,” he muses, and he’s then exasperated by the Driver’s trepidation regarding the brutality of his methods. Did the Driver’s bosses want the job done or not? “We aim to please,” Jackie smirks, and that shark smile is the sign of a predator getting ready to feast.

Things progress rapidly then: Jackie tracks Frankie down to the bar where he hangs out, and sneers at Frankie’s reticence to turn on Squirrel. “They’re real nice guys,” he says mockingly to Frankie of the criminal underworld of which they’re a part, brushing off Frankie’s defense that Squirrel “didn’t mean it.” “That’s got nothing to do with it. Nothing at all,” Jackie replies, and that’s the kind of distance that keeps Jackie in this job. Sure, the vast majority of us aren’t murderers. But as a question of scale, aren’t all of us as workers compromised in some way? Employees of companies, institutions, or billionaires that, say, pollute the environment, or underpay their staff, or shirk labor laws, or rake in unheard-of profits during an international pandemic? Or a government that spreads imperialism through allegedly righteous military action (referenced in Killing Them Softly, as news coverage of the economic crisis mentions the reckless rapidity with which President George W. Bush invaded Afghanistan and Iraq after Sept. 11, 2001), or that can’t quite figure out how to house the nation’s homeless into the millions of vacant homes sitting empty around the country, or that refuses, over and over again, to raise the minimum wage workers are paid so that they have enough financial security to live decent lives?

Perhaps you bristle at this comparison to Jackie Cogan, a man who has no qualms blowing apart Squirrel with a shotgun at close range, or unloading a revolver into Frankie after spending an evening driving around with him. But the guiding American principle when it comes to work is that you do a job and you get paid: It’s a very simple contract, and both sides need to operate in good faith to fulfill it. Salaried employees, hourly workers, freelancers, contractors, day laborers, the underemployed—all operate under the assumption that they’ll be compensated, and all live with the fear that they won’t. Jackie knows this, as evidenced by his loathing toward compatriot Kenny (Slaine) when the man tries to pocket the tip Jackie left for his diner waitress. “For fuck’s sake,” Jackie says in response to Kenny’s attempted theft, and you can sense that if Jackie could kill him in that moment, he would. In this way, Jackie is rigidly conservative, and strictly old-school. Someone else’s money isn’t yours to take; it’s your responsibility to earn, and your employer’s responsibility to pay. Jackie cleaned up the mob’s mess, and the gambling tables opened again because of his work, and his labor resulted in their continued profits. And Jackie wants what he’s owed.

“Don’t make me laugh. ‘We’re one people.’”

We hear two main voices of authority urging calm throughout Killing Them Softly. Then-President Bush: “I understand your worries and your frustration. … We’re in the midst of a serious financial crisis, and the federal government is responding with decisive action.” Presidential hopeful Obama: “There’s only the road we’re traveling on as Americans.” Paulson speaks on the Emergency Economic Stabilization Act, and various news commentators chime in, too: “There needs to be consequences, and there needs to be major change.” Radio commentary and C-SPAN coverage combine into a sort of secondary accompaniment to Marc Streitenfeld’s score, which incorporates lyrically germane Big Band standards like “Life Is Just a Bowl of Cherries” (“You work, you save, you worry so/But you can’t take your dough”) and “It’s Only a Paper Moon” (“It's a Barnum and Bailey world/Just as phony as it can be”). All of these are Dominik’s additions to Cogan’s Trade, which is a slim, 19-chapter book without any political angle, and this frame is what met so much resistance from contemporaneous reviews.

But what Dominik accomplishes with this approach is twofold. First, a reminder of the ceaseless tension and all-encompassing anxiety of that time, which would spill into the Occupy Wall Street movement, coalesce support around politicians like Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren, and fuel growing national interest in policies like universal health care and universal basic income. For anyone who struggled during that time—as I did, a college graduate entering the 2009 job market after the journalism industry was already beginning its still-continuing freefall—Killing Them Softly captures the free-floating anger so many of us felt at politicians bailing out corporations rather than people. Perhaps in 2012, only weeks after the re-election of Obama and with the potential that his second term could deliver on some of his campaign promises (closing Guantanamo Bay, maybe, or passing significant gun control reform, maybe), this cinematic scolding felt like medicine. But nearly a decade later, with neither of these legislative successes in hand, and with the wins for America’s workers so few and far between—still a $7.25 federal minimum wage, still no federal paid maternity and family leave act, still the refusal by many states to let their government employees unionize—if you don’t feel demoralized by how often the successes of the Democratic Party are stifled by the party’s own moderates or thoroughly curtailed by saboteur Republicans, maybe you’re not paying attention.

More acutely, then, the mutinous spirit of Killing Them Softly accomplishes something similar to what 1990’s Pump Up the Volume did: It allows one to say, with no irony whatsoever, “Do you ever get the feeling everything in America is completely fucked up?” The disparities of the financial system, and the yawning gap between the rich and the poor. The utter lack of accountability toward those who were supposed to protect us, and didn’t. And the sense that we’re always being a little bit cheated by a ruling class who, like Sobotka observed on The Wire, is always putting their hand in our pocket. Consider Killing Them Softly’s quietest moment, in which Frankie realizes that he’s a hunted man, and that the people from whom he stole would never let him live. Dominik frames McNairy tight, his expression a flickering mixture of plaintive yearning and melancholic regret, as he quietly says, “It’s just shit, you know? The world is just shit. We’re all just on our own.” A day or so later, McNairy’s Frankie will be lying on a medical examiner’s table, his head partially collapsed from a bullet to the brain, an identification tag looped around his pinky toe. And the men who ordered his death want to underpay the man who carried it out for them. Isn’t that the shit?

That leads us, then, to the film’s angriest moment, and to a scene that stands alongside the climaxes of so many other post-recession films: Chris Pine’s Toby Howard paying off the predatory bank that swindled his mother with its own stolen money in Hell or High Water, Lakeith Stanfield’s Cash Green and his fellow Equisapiens storming billionaire Steve Lift’s (Armie Hammer’s) mansion in Sorry to Bother You, Viola Davis’s Veronica Rawlings shooting her cheating husband and keeping the heist take for herself and her female comrades in Widows. So far in Killing Them Softly, Pitt has played Jackie with a certain level of remove. A man’s got to have a code, and his is fairly simple: Don’t get involved emotionally with the assignment. Pitt’s Jackie is susceptible to flashes of irritation, though, that manifest as a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and as an octave-lower growl that belies his impatience: with the Driver, for not understanding how Markie’s reputation has doomed him; with Mickey, for his procrastination and his slovenliness; with Kenny, for stealing a hardworking woman’s tip; with Frankie, when he tries to distract Jackie from killing Squirrel. Jackie is a professional, and he is intolerant of people failing to work at his level, and Pitt plays the man as tiptoeing along a knife’s edge. Remember Daniel Craig’s “’Cause it’s all so fucking hysterical” line delivery in Road to Perdition? Pitt’s whole performance is that: a hybrid offering of bemusement, smugness, and ferocity that suggests a man who’s seen it all, and hasn’t been impressed by much.

In the final minutes of Killing Them Softly, Obama has won his historic first term in the White House, and Pitt’s Jackie strides through a red haze of celebratory fireworks as he walks to meet the Driver at a bar to retrieve payment. An American flag hangs in this dive, and the TV broadcasts Obama’s victory speech, delivered in Chicago to a crowd of more than 240,000. “Crime stories, to some extent, always felt like the capitalist ideal in motion,” Dominik told the New York Times. “Because it’s the one genre where it’s perfectly acceptable for the characters to be motivated solely by money.” And so it goes that Jackie feels no guilt for the men he’s killed, or the men he’s sent away. Nor does he feel any empathy or kinship with the newly elected Obama, whose messages of unity and community he finds amusingly irrelevant. The life Jackie lives is one defined by how little people value each other, and how quick they are to attack one another if that means more opportunity—and more money—for them. Thomas Hobbes said that a life without social structure and political representation would be “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short,” and perhaps that’s exactly what Jackie’s is. Unlike the character in Cogan’s Trade, Dominik’s Jackie has no wife and no personal life. But he’s surviving this way with his eyes wide open, and he will not be undervalued.

The contrast between Obama’s speech about “the enduring power of our ideas—democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope”—and Jackie’s realization that the mob is trying to underpay him for the three men he assassinated at their behest makes for a kind of nauseating, thrilling coda. He’s owed $45,000, and the envelope the Driver paid him only has $30,000 in it. Obama’s audience chanting “Yes, we can,” the English translation of the United Farm Workers of America’s slogan and the activist César Chávez’s iconic “Sí, se puede” catchphrase, adds an ironic edge to the argument between the Driver and Jackie about the value of his labor. Whatever the Driver can use to try and shrug off Jackie’s advocacy for himself, he will. Jackie’s killings were too messy. Jackie is asking for more than the mob’s usual enforcer, Dillon (Sam Shepard), who would have done a better job. Jackie is ignoring that the mob is limited to “Recession prices”—they’re suffering, so that suffering has to trickle down to someone. Jackie made the deal with Mickey for $15,000 per head, and the mob isn’t beholden to pay Jackie what they agreed to pay Mickey.

On and on, excuse after excuse, until one finally pushes Jackie over the edge: “This business is a business of relationships,” the Driver says, which is one step away from the “We’re all family here” line that so many abusive companies use to manipulate their cowed employees. And so when Jackie goes coolly feral in his response, dropping knowledge not only about the artifice of the racist Thomas Jefferson as a Founding Father but underscoring the idea that America has always been, and will always be, a capitalist enterprise first, the moment slaps all the harder for all the ways we know we’ve been let down by feckless bureaucrats like the Driver, who do only as they’re told; by faceless corporate overlords like the mob, issuing orders to Jackie from on high; and by a broader country that seems like it couldn’t care less about us. “I’m living in America, and in America, you’re on your own … Now fucking pay me” serves as a kind of clarion call, an expression of vehemence and resentment, and a direct line into the kind of anger that still festers among those continuously left behind—still living in Shitstown, still trying to make a better life for themselves, and still asking for a little more respect from their fellow Americans. For all of Killing Them Softly’s ugliness, for all its nihilism, and for all its commentary on how our country’s ruthless individualism has turned chasing the American dream into a crippling addiction we all share, that demand for dignity remains distressingly relevant. Maybe it’s time to listen.

#killing them softly #andrew dominik #andrew dominik film #brad pitt #Jackie Cogan #james gandolfini #richard jenkins #ray liotta #scoot mcnairy #ben mendelsohn #american cinematographer #financial crisis 2008 #independent film #beastie boys #oscilloscope laboratories #film writing #musings

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einsteinsugly · 3 years ago

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Fire and Rain, and Jackie's paternal relatives...

John "Jack" Charles Burkhart, Jr (born 1920): Jackie's father. Humbled by his experience in prison, and nearly penniless (despite his meager inheritance from his middle-class sister), he just wants to spend time with his daughter and grandchildren.

Inheriting his mother's smart and savvy nature, he once did well in life. But like his father, mixed with his mother's inherent intelligence, he can be a bit of a sneaky scoundrel, and that's what did him in. Multiple times. Now, he has to reckon with his past, while focusing on his shaky present.

Emma Grace Perkins (nee Cowell, formerly Adams and Burkhart) (December 1885-1980): Jackie's grandmother. Married thrice. Once out of love, and twice out of convenience.

John Charles Burkhart, Sr (1882-1929): Jackie's grandfather...well, biologically. A desperate, gambling scoundrel, he was in the red long before the crash of '29. And Emma, smart and savvy, kept them financially afloat. But not much else.

Sarah Louisa Abbott (nee Adams), or simply, "Aunt Sarah" (1907-1988): Jackie's much older aunt...well, half-aunt. She is Jack's older half-sister, and Charlie's mother. Lillian calls her, even after her slow, painful death, "Irish scum" because of her father's lowly, Irish heritage. But Jack's far more lenient, and has always seen her as a second mother.

Charles "Charlie" Edward Abbott (born 1927): Technically, Jackie's much older cousin. But she sees him as an uncle, as Jack sees him as more of a little brother rather than a nephew. He lives in Miami, and since Jack's on probation in Wisconsin, he can't take him in.

Lillian Grace Croft (nee Burkhart) (born June 28, 1914): Jackie's aunt. Cold and unheeding, she's all about decorum. And maintaining appearances.

Corinne Grace Hunt (nee Croft) (born 1942): Jackie's, once again, much older cousin, through her Aunt Lillian. She's a lot like her mother, and so are her children, Vanessa and Kevin.

Natalie Rose Croft (born 1945): Jackie's much older cousin. After coming out as a lesbian in the '60s, the Burkhart family wants nothing to do with her.

Note: I have more extended family members I've been developing, not only in Jackie's family but extended family members of the other characters as well. Such as the temperamental mess also known as the Pinciottis, the devious delinquents hidden in Kitty's family tree, and Edna's mostly terrible relatives.

#that 70s show #jackie and hyde #jackie burkhart #steven hyde #kitty forman #eric forman #donna pinciotti #laurie forman

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waywardwonderland · 4 years ago

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Young!Sam x Reader, Dean, Bobby, John

The first time you meet Sam is at your Uncle Bobby’s house. Little do you know school girl crush you develop will follow you a lifetime.

Word count: 1092

Warnings: School girl crush, kinda fluffy?

Author’s Note: OK so I have not written in literal YEARS. Please be nice to me as I am very sensitive, I had this idea for a series that could be read as one shots or together.

When you first met Sam you were 10 years old. You had arrived at your Uncle Bobby’s for the weekend and there were two other boys in the living room standing with another tall stranger you didn’t recognize. “Dave and Jackie – this is John Winchester” your Uncle said introducing the tall man as your parents walked up to greet him. You stayed in the corner, shy of the other boys in the room. “Y/n, this is Sam and his brother Dean” Bobby put a hand on your shoulder to comfort you and directed you towards the boys. “Sammy here is your age and Dean is just a bit older.” Bobby said as Dean rolled his eyes at the comment.

“Only Dean can call me Sammy” Sam spoke up from his place across the room and Bobby. “Hi Sam” you said quietly before running upstairs to the spare room in the house where you always stayed. Once in the room you noticed there was an extra cot with a pink blanket on it, the bed you usually stayed in had a military style duffle bag and a backpack already claiming it. You sighed and put your backpack on the cot, looking around the familiar room.

Your mom joined you shortly after and explained that she and your dad would be hunting with John, they were looking for something that killed Sam and Dean’s mom when Sam was just a baby. You nodding knowingly and hugged your mother goodbye before opening the closet in the room where you kept your books. Your parents frequently dropped you off at Bobby’s house and you didn’t mind. You knew that they had a job to do and it was important.

You were pulled from your book when you heard feet entering the room. “Oh hey” Sam said when he saw you sitting on the cot in the corner of the room. “Hi” you responded quietly before looking back to your book. “I’m sorry that we have to share a room this weekend, dad usually lets Dean and I stay at a motel by ourselves when he hunts but he said that we have to stay with you and Bobby this weekend” Sam mumbled as he rifled through the backpack on the bed. “It’s ok” you shrugged before looking back at your book but quickly directing your attention back to Sam and how his hair fell in his face while he looked through his bag. You thought he was kind of cute, but you would never admit it to yourself or anyone else for that matter. You forced your nose back in your book only leaving the room when Bobby called you down for dinner.

Bobby made your favourite porkchops which Dean ate like a slob. If you knew what the word cocky meant as a 10 year old you would have definitely used it to describe him. He was only 14 but already had a superiority complex, complaining the entire time about not being allowed to join your parents on the hunt. You rolled your eyes and kept your eyes on you plate, looking up only when Bobby delivered a firm smack to the back of Dean’s head and told him to “keep the shop talk away from the dinner table”. You smiled and chuckled, meeting Sam’s glance from across the table before your cheeks went red upon meeting his eye. You quickly looked down and concentrated on the floral design circling your plate.

The rest of the dinner was awkward small talk, it was obviously difficult for Dean to not talk about things that go bump in the night for more than 15 minutes. You helped Bobby do the dishes and then before you knew it you were yawning and craving sleep. Your parents had driven 7 hours to Bobby’s and you never slept well in the car. You changed into your PJs and climbed into bed, leaving the table lamp beside you on as you knew the Winchester boys would be up shortly.

You were on the verge of sleep when you heard two sets of feet enter the room. “Sammy’s got a crush!” Dean teased as you heard him unzip the duffle bag. “Dean quit it!” Sam responded by looking to you snuggled into the pink blanket, “she might still be awake!” He said cautiously looking at you. It took everything in your power to keep your eyes closed and breathing relaxed.

“Like that would be such a bad thing” Dean laughed walking down the hall towards the bathroom. Sam sighed and you heard the ruffling of clothes and then blankets. Your body finally let you drift to sleep after you heard the click of the lamp upon Dean’s return to the room.

You awoke a few hours later to the sound of what you thought could have been a warthog in the room. You sat up rubbing your eyes and noticed a bright light in the bed beside you that you realized to be coming from a flashlight held by Sam once your eyes focused. “What’s…?” you mumbled in a half asleep state pushing the blankets off and straining your body to see the clock on the other side of the room reading 3:08 AM.

“Ooh, sorry!” Sam said quickly clicking off the flashlight in a hushed whisper and closing the book he had open.

“No it’s ok” you whispered back trying to now adjust your eyes back to the darkness. “Does he always snore like that?” You asked as Dean let out another loud grumble.

“Only when he steals beers from the fridge” Sam laughed, turning to face you. You smiled back at him, thankful for the fact that the darkness concealed your blush.

“I’m sorry about your mom” you said quietly from the adjacent bed.

“Thanks” Sam said flatly. “I was only a baby so I never really knew her, but Dean did… I think it hurts him a lot more than me” he sighed.

“And that’s why he steals beer from the fridge?” You asked inquisitively, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yeah that and other reasons” Sam chuckled. His laugh made you smile. “Goodnight Sam” you murmured yawning and turning over to face the wall.

“Night y/n” he whispered laying back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling.

This was far from the last night you would spend with the Winchesters, platonically or otherwise but it was the start of your school-girl crush on Sam, a crush that you would carry for the rest of your life.

Part 2:

#young!sam #young!sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #supernatural reader insert #sam winchester fanfiction

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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The Karate Kid: The Real Martial Arts History Behind the Movies

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When it comes to martial arts films, The Karate Kid was a game changer when it came out in 1984. Its lasting cultural impact was a landmark advancement for the western understanding of the martial arts. But was it a genuine representation of Karate?

Den of Geek consulted Dr. Hermann Bayer, an expert authority on Okinawan Karate and the author of the upcoming book Analysis of Genuine Karate―Misconceptions, Origin, Development, and True Purpose. Dr. Bayer remembers firsthand how The Karate Kid stimulated the Karate boom in the mid-eighties because he was a practicing Karateka then. But as a martial scholar, he’s pragmatic about his opinions.

“First and foremost, we have to bear in mind that we are talking about a movie, not about a documentation or a piece of research,” says Bayer. “This means that we need to concede that fascinating viewers by something pretty, amazing, or spectacular to look at is more important than authenticity.”

The Year That The Karate Kid Premiered

When we reflect upon the original, we must remind ourselves that the landscape of martial arts films in the west was vastly different in 1984. There just weren’t that many martial arts movies in western pop culture back then.

Bruce Lee’s Enter the Dragon came out over a decade before The Karate Kid, and tragically, Lee didn’t live to see it succeed. Many B-movies coat-tailed on Enter the Dragon‘s success, especially in the subgenres of Bruceploitation and Blaxploitation. This comprised the bulk of martial arts for western audiences. Beyond the imported niches of Hong Kong Kung Fu and Japanese samurai movies, there just weren’t that many other martial arts films available. And those were limited to showings in second- and third-run theaters or midnight “Kung Fu Theater” TV broadcasts. Consequently, the genre was considered low-brow entertainment with minimal impact on the box office.

When The Karate Kid debuted, most of today’s martial arts superstars had no Hollywood presence. Despite starring in dozens of Hong Kong films, Jackie Chan had only led one Hollywood production by that point. That was Battle Creek Brawl, made by the same filmmakers who did Enter the Dragon, however it under-performed and was deemed a failure. His other Hollywood credits in 1984 included a cameo in the sequel ensemble comedy The Cannonball Run II. With only three minor Hollywood appearances, he was still virtually unknown to the Western audience.

Chuck Norris was more prominent having starred in more than a half dozen B-action flicks by then. His 1984 entry was Missing in Action in which Jean-Claude Van Damme had an uncredited role. JCVD didn’t grab any limelight until four years after The Karate Kid, when he starred in his breakout lead role for Bloodsport. Jet Li was only on his second film that year, Kids From Shaolin, but that wasn’t shown outside of Chinatowns in the U.S. It would be another 14 years after The Karate Kid before Jet made his first Hollywood appearance as the villain in Lethal Weapon 4.

The Karate Kid changed the way martial arts films were perceived. It demonstrated that the martial arts genre could deliver wholesome family entertainment, as well as good box office returns. It ranked fifth among the highest grossing films of 1984, behind Beverly Hills Cop, Ghostbusters, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, and Gremlins. The Karate Kid was the sleeper hit of the year, and it made Daniel LaRusso (Ralph Macchio) and Mr. Miyagi (Pat Morita) into crane-kicking icons.

The Limitations of the Karate Kid Trilogy

The Karate Kid was a Hollywood adaptation of a common plot device of Kung Fu movies – the training trope. Many of Jackie Chan’s late seventies films were “martial training” stories. Those narratives can be distilled down to three acts as seen in The Karate Kid: the hero suffers an injustice — like the murder of his family (or in Daniel’s case, just getting bullied) — then the hero finds a quirky master who uses obscure, almost non-nonsensical training methods, and finally the hero, armed with these hard-earned skills, takes revenge.

Jackie’s groundbreaking 1978 Snake in the Eagle’s Shadow is a perfect example of this. That was a turning point for Jackie, the launch of his unique style of comedy Kung Fu, back when he was in his physical prime. In that same year, the Kung Fu grindhouse Shaw Brothers studios delivered the timeless classic film The 36th Chamber of Shaolin, which is a perfect example of the same formula. “Martial training” stories are even retold in animated films like Mulan and Kung Fu Panda. The Karate Kid just had the ingenuity to set it at West Valley High School in San Fernando, California.

Today, Daniel-san is enjoying a revitalization through Netflix’s hit series Cobra Kai. Packed with more easter eggs that an April bunny basket, Cobra Kai has been rectifying flaws from the original films with a subtle, yet effective elegance. Despite its time-honored success, the original films fell under tremendous scrutiny from genuine Karatekas who were quick to point out inaccuracies. Frankly, for such a flagship film of the martial arts genre, the martial arts weren’t that good. The main cast of the original film had little or no martial arts background. Kreese (Martin Kove) was the only cast member who studied Karate prior to the films.

Part of this adds to the charm. Despite being the All Valley Karate Champ twice in a row, Daniel is a newbie to the art. In fact, the original trilogy happens in a little over a year. The Karate Kid takes place in 1984. The Karate Kid III, despite premiering in 1989, depicts events at the following All Valley Karate Championships. Daniel goes from zero to hero in an alarmingly short time.

How could Daniel genuinely master Karate with so little training time? Is “wax on, wax off” deck sanding and fence painting truly that effective? Of course not. If it were, the MMA cage would be dominated by car washers, carpenters, and house painters. That’s the magic of movies. Movie martial arts are no more realistic than movie car chases.

This still begs the question – how much of Miyagi’s weird training really works?

“Whole floor. Right circle, left circle.”

Traditional martial arts training can take many forms, and the spirit of Mr. Miyagi’s esoteric lessons isn’t too far off the mark. Although few practitioners today carry water up mountains like the Shaolin monks, mundane chores like cleaning and repairing are still implemented in training within a traditional Dojo. Frankly, the repetitive nature of martial arts practice is boring so any way to invigorate enthusiasm is welcome. And the efficiency of multi-tasking is always appreciated, even in modern strip mall Dojos.

A common training ritual is cleaning the floor before class. This is extremely important because most Dojos practice barefoot. Many old school Dojos require that students push damp rags across the floor with their hands in a low crouch. As anyone who has done it knows, this is harder than it looks and serves as an excellent warm-up exercise. When the Dojo needs repairs, students pitch in where they can because a good Dojo fosters community that way, and variations on training emerge within those tasks akin to Miyagi’s painting and sanding. And if there’s a Dojo fundraising carwash, you know there will be plenty of “wax on, wax off” practice.

But beyond the waxing, sanding, and painting, how real is Miyagi-Do?

“Only root Karate come from Miyagi.”

There are two styles of martial arts represented in The Karate Kid, Okinawan Karate and Korean Tang Soo Do. Kreese’s Karate is Tang Soo Do mostly because the choreographer for the original films was Grandmaster Pat E. Johnson, a leading proponent of that style. Although most likely the product of coincidence, it fit Kreese’s character perfectly. Many U.S. soldiers who served in Korea brought Tang Soo Do back to the states when they returned, just like Kreese, including Johnson and his martial comrade, Chuck Norris.

In Season 3 of Cobra Kai, Kreese’s backstory confirms what martial arts fans have always suspected – that his style of Karate is in fact, Tang Soo Do. Calling it “Karate” was not inaccurate. Few Americans know Tang Soo Do, so even today, some schools market themselves as “Korean Karate.” Tang Soo Do is a predecessor of Taekwondo. Taekwondo is the other Asian martial art in the Olympics alongside Judo, but this is soon to change.

Cobra Kai Season 4: What to Expect

By Gene Ching

Cobra Kai and the Debate Around Cultural Appropriation

By Gene Ching

Miyagi-Do is derived from a branch of Karate known as of Goju-Ryu. Writer Robert Mark Kamen had learned some Goju-Ryu which inspired him to create Mr. Miyagi. He even poached the name of the founder of Goju-Ryu, Chojun Miyagi, and adapted the history to fit the Miyagi family history for The Karate Kid II where they travel to Okinawa. Goju means “hard-soft.”

“Karate legend Miyagi Chojun gave the name ‘hard-soft’ to the style in the mid-1930s,” explains Bayer.

Bayer finds the contrast between Miyagi’s and Kreese’s philosophies more intriguing than their difference of styles. “I see the first movie of the trilogy as the most important in terms of establishing the two contrasting mindsets of Mr. Miyagi’s ‘Karate approach to life in general’ and John Kreese’s ‘No mercy’ combat-specific attitude. However, both mindsets are essential to and part of genuine Karate.” Bayer claims that fighting in genuine Karate is exclusively reserved for life-threatening situations. “Karateka never start a fight; they always end a fight―and to end a fight ‘no mercy’ is essential.”

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The All Valley Karate Championships and the Olympics

The most unrealistic story element in The Karate Kid is the All Valley Karate Championships. Beyond the controversy about whether Daniel-san’s crane kick win was illegal, Karate tournaments didn’t have the level of production value in the eighties depicted in the movie. Even today, they seldom get that elaborate. A hexagonal ring is hard to make out of the square puzzle mats typically used for local tournaments nowadays. And that spectacular tournament table backdrop was way beyond the budget of tournament promoters. However, Karate will soon be showcased on the global stage, replete with a grand pageantry far beyond what the All Valley Championships imagined.

The Tokyo Olympics will introduce Karate as one of the five new sports in 2021. This will be divided into two categories: Kata, which is a solo form recital akin to gymnastics floor routines but with kicks and punches instead of leaps and flips, and Kumite, which is sparring. Here, Dr. Bayer draws an important distinction between authentic Karate and sport. It’s a critical distinction for what plays out in The Karate Kid. “As long as any kind of rules are implemented, combat changes into some kind of game,” says Bayer. “Life-protecting fighting is pure violence, pitiless full-power action, and has no place in a sport setting.”

Here also is where Bayer sees Kreese’s villainy. A symptom of his wartime PTSD, Kreese is unable to make the distinction between self-defense and sport. “The ‘No Mercy’ combat approach in competition and sports is inexcusably misplaced and represents an ‘Americanized’ misconception of Karate, characterized by ‘winning at all costs’ in combination with the importance of fancy uniforms, of ranks, and of other attributes in an attention-seeking culture.”

According to Bayer, this is also where the authenticity of Miyagi’s contrasting Karate approach shines. “This is the exact opposite of Mr. Miyagi’s humble Karate-Do mindset, where ranks, belts, and other visible signs of competency are irrelevant. His answer to the question what belt he wears was ‘Canvas. JC Penny. Three ninety-eight. You like?’ In spite of its lethality, the purpose of authentic Karate training is not the use of violence, it is gaining self-control, especially in situations loaded with threats and aggression, and where blood pressure and adrenaline levels are off the chart.”

Despite this separation of killing art and sport, Bayer still sees the role of sport Karate as extremely important, and he can’t wait to see what happens at the Olympics. “Sports Karate canalizes aggression into fun and competition activities, and its training practices are perfect for physical education, for health and fitness purposes. Under a responsible coach, students grow mentally and are guided towards positive values―reflected in modern physical education learning outcomes and their according training designs.”

“Karate here. Karate here. Karate never here.”

Despite its martial shortcomings, The Karate Kid succeeds in revealing the heart of Karate. The hardships Daniel endures, his loyalty to his sensei, Miyagi’s humility, and the distinctions between the street fights and the championships all play out with an uncommon sincerity, and perhaps that is the secret of its longevity. Even if Miyagi-Do is entirely by Kamen’s design, it’s a clever homage to Okinawan Karate. And even in the martial world, that’s hard to find.

“Authentic Okinawan Karate’s genuine purpose was exclusively self-protection and the protection of someone’s life,” says Bayer. “This genuine Okinawan Karate is hardly to be found in today’s worldwide Karate practice.”

The Karate Kid trilogy is streaming on Netflix now.

The post The Karate Kid: The Real Martial Arts History Behind the Movies appeared first on Den of Geek.

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shakespeareanwannabe · 5 years ago

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Play by Play

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x F!OC/Santiago Garcia x Rebecca Cooke

Summary: Santi gets in way too deep with this woman that he barely knows, but finds that sometimes a leap of faith can be worth it.

Warnings: References to parental issues, age gap in a relationship (both participants are well over the age of consent), child abuse/child trauma, misogyny, swearing, PTSD, low self-esteem

A/N: Hi everyone! So, I started writing this story way out of order. Started with Protective Instincts, jumped to Best Laid Plans, went backwards to Strange Comforts, then came all the way back to the beginning with New Beginnings. But that’s because I was just writing them as they came to me (or, if I’m being honest, as @darksideofclarke provided me with golden headcanons that I just expanded on). But now, I’ve sat down and written a general plan for this multichapter story that is turning out to be so astoundingly different from everything else I’ve ever written.

So, I’ll be posting in chronological order now, and I’ll make an announcement here in the A/N about where Protective Instincts, Strange Comforts, and Best Laid Plans fit into the whole scheme of things.

Anyway, here’s chapter 2!

**********

“Hey Jackie,” Santi greeted as he strolled through the front door of the clinic.

“Evening, Santiago. How’re you?” the red headed receptionist replied with a smile, looking up briefly before resuming her typing.

“Same old, same old,” he replied, eyes scanning the clinic. “How’re John and the kids?”

She smiled brightly at him. “Lorelai got accepted to Clemson with a scholarship!”

“That’s amazing, you must be so proud,” he replied, turning his attention back to her when he didn’t find who he was looking for.

“Why is Jackie proud?”

He smiled and felt his face heat up as he turned to face Rebecca, who was just slightly limping through the front door. She was dressed in her usual artfully professional work attire and toting a gym bag that was undoubtedly stuffed with her workout clothes.

“Hey Bex,” he greeted as he slid over to her. “Want some help with that?”

“Ugh, please,” she whined. “I spent the day running after three kindergarten classes, and my hip and back are aching.”

Santi relieved her of the bag and offered her his elbow, a slight tremor running up his spine as she leaned into him.

Three months. That’s how long he’d been going to physiotherapy with Steve. It also happened to be exactly how long he’d been working up the courage to ask Rebecca out.

That first day they met, he’d assumed it was the same kind of visceral reaction he’d had with other women in the past. She was stunningly beautiful, sarcastic, and witty. In other words, just his type. But he wasn’t looking for anything at that moment. He’d just gotten out of a year of trying the domestic thing with Yovanna, and it had crashed and burned spectacularly. He had a new home; he had his friends surrounding him once more. He was good. He was solid. He decided then and there not to do anything to screw up the upward trajectory he was on. That, plus he didn’t want to make things awkward for Charlie, who had a business to run.

So, he’d ignored it. Pushed down the desire to engage and romance, and focused instead on trying to get his knees back under him. But then, their appointment times had lined up and they spent their entire sessions chatting with each other and sassing Charlie. Then it happened again. And again. And, before long, Santi found himself listening in on Rebecca when she booked her appointment times with Charlie so he could book the same slots with Steve.

Three times a week for three months, he spent two hours talking and laughing with this resilient, funny, and kind woman.

That first week had been the introductory stuff.

**********

“So, what are you in for?” she asked, a sly grin on her face.

He grimaced. “Does a lifetime of poor choices count?”

She snorted, burying her face in her arms in an attempt to hide her embarrassment at the unladylike sound. “I’m pretty sure that’s why most of us are here.”

He nodded slowly in acquiescence. “Even you?”

She sighed as she settled further into her table, the heat from the heating pad soothing her sore muscles. “I got into a bad car wreck seven months ago. Idiot driver T-boned me when I was on my way back to work from an in-school art class. Fractured my hip, got a nasty concussion, and a wicked case of whiplash. I got lucky when the concussion symptoms stopped after a few weeks, but I had to come here to get my butt kicked to fix my hip and neck.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. Being military, it was sometimes easy to forget that the civilians they were trying so desperately to protect could also be taken down by something as simple as crossing the street or taking a drive.

Rebecca leaned herself up on her elbows to fix him with a thoughtful look. “You know what? You’re the first person to say that to me.”

“Seriously?”

She nodded slowly as she relaxed back into the pillow beneath her. “My mom took the ‘Woe is me, my poor baby is hurt’ route and the doctors were more concerned with making sure I was physically okay than checking in on my emotional state. So, thank you for that.”

He shrugged as easily as he could lying down. “My buddy Will always says that sometimes the best thing you can offer someone are words, so they know you’re there.”

“Will sounds like a smart guy. How’d you two meet?”

“We were put into the same squad in the military. Worked together for years.”

“Ah, I shoulda guessed you were military,” she groaned as she shifted slightly, moving quickly to catch the heating pad before it slipped. “You’ve got that kinda look.”

“You mean the beat to shit look?” he sighed, turning his head away from her to stare at the ceiling fan rotating slowly above him.

A poke in the arm startled his attention back to her. She had strained herself across the gap between the tables, barely able to poke his arm with her middle finger without sliding off.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she replied gently. “I just meant that you look like the kind of guy who has seen too much bad in this world. Which isn’t fair. Nobody should have to carry that kind of burden.” Santi struggled to swallow; his emotions all caught up in his throat and his skin tingling from the slight brush of her finger against his arm. “I’m not gonna say ‘thank you for your service’, because I feel like that’s just an empty platitude at this point. But I will say that I hope you find a way to make that burden just a little lighter.”

He looked over at her again and smiled. “Thank you.”

**********

Okay, so the introductory stuff got heavier than Santi anticipated. Parental problems, traumatic events, talk of his service. He was in heavy with this girl and he didn’t even know her last name.

That came in week two.

**********

“Basketball or baseball?”

“Baseball. Same question.”

“Baseball. Hockey or football?”

“Football. Same question.”

“Hockey. Cats or dogs?” Rebecca grunted as she kicked her leg out, struggling against the sliding weights attached to her injured leg by a cuff and a cord.

“Dogs. Same question to you,” Santi replied, voice distorted as he squatted on the FitVibe.

“Dogs. You know, you can’t just say ‘same question’ every time it’s your turn. It kind of defeats the purpose of the game,” she gasped as she finished her first set, twisting around to grab her water bottle from the chair behind her.

Santi shrugged as the machine stopped vibrating, giving him 90 seconds to rest before his next set started.

“Did you have a dog growing up?” he questioned as he sipped from his own bottle.

She nodded as she gulped down her icy water, Santi trying and failing to keep his eyes off her delicate neck and chest, which were gleaming with a sheen of sweat. “A St. Bernard. Cookie. I loved that dog, but I hated his name. I mean, really? Cookie Cooke? What were my parents thinking?”

Santi chuckled as his machine began counting down to start the next set. “Probably that it was cute? Who knows? Your turn…” He grunted as he carefully squatted as the pad began to shake again. He closed his eyes against the twinge of pain and missed Rebecca blatantly staring at his ass before beginning her next set.

“Star Wars or Star Trek?”

“Star Wars. Books or movies?”

“Both. Goonies or Stand by Me?”

“Can’t go wrong with Goonies.”

“Ugh, and here I was just thinking that you had good taste! Who in their right mind picks Goonies over Stand by Me?” she teased.

He shot her a glance out of the corner of his eye. Even blurry from the vibrations coursing through his body, she was the prettiest girl he’d seen in a long time.

“Never said I was in my right mind, sweetheart,” he winked and that giggle that he was so enchanted by escaped her lips again.

**********

Week three was when he really tried to pump the breaks on his rapidly developing feelings for her. Not only had Yovanna sent him a box of his stuff via airmail, but he became privy to some information that assured him that this thing between them would never work.

**********

“Don’t tell me you’re done already!” he called from the Kin-Com as Rebecca practically skipped over to the table closest to him. She had her good days and her bad days with her injured leg, and Santi liked chatting with her the past nine days, but he loved chatting with her on her good days. There was this spark, this energy she radiated when she was feeling good that he just wanted to bathe in.

“This is what you get for showing up late, Santi! You’re strapped into the death machine and I get a massage to wrap things up.” She shot him a bright smile before lying down on the table, just out of his range of sight thanks to the half partition wall that separated the machine from the rest of the clinic.

“Don’t tease the old man, Rebecca,” Charlie cautioned in a faux-mocking tone.

“Hey, if I’m an old man, what does that make you? Frankie is two months older than me!” he pointed out, pressing against the mechanical arm that was slowly manipulating his leg.

“Apparently the term is ‘panther’,” she replied, straight-faced. “Learned that one at ladies’ night after one of my friends had a few too many and found out Frankie’s 10 years older than me. Me, I call it lucky.”

“Yeah, you better,” he warned as the machine stopped moving. A quick look at the computer screen told him he had finished his set for the day, and he quickly unstrapped himself and hopped down, walking slightly creakily to the table next to where Charlie was carefully massaging and manipulating Rebecca’s hip.

“Your fiancé’s ten years older than you, Chuck?” Rebecca asked, her eyes closed as she tried to relax her aching joints.

Charlie shot Santi an unamused glare as he lowered himself onto the table and laid back, Steve approaching with the cryo-cuffs and ice machine.

“Yeah, Frankie’s 40 and I’m 30. Why?” she asked, an accusation hiding deep in her voice as her body tensed up.

Inwardly, Santi was nodding approvingly. Frankie sometimes got too in his own head about his age, especially in relation to his fiancée’s, and Santi knew how much Frankie doubted himself when it came to their relationship. Charlie was a successful business owner and college graduate. Frankie was a retired soldier who almost lost his pilot’s license because he’d been desperate for money when his girlfriend got pregnant and knew just how lucrative drug running could be. It wasn’t difficult to see why Frankie felt so insecure about the relationship, but Charlie was so good at getting him out of that headspace, and even better about shutting down anyone who had anything negative to say about her man.

“Nothing!” Rebecca was quick to reply. “I was just curious. Age is just a number, right? Besides, I saw you two together when he came to pick you up that one time, remember? You two are cute as hell. He just doesn’t look 40.” Rebecca rolled her head to look at Santi, and he felt his own hackles raise a little, suddenly self-conscious of his greying hair and his weak knees. Then, she smiled softly at him and, if he wasn’t fooling himself, a warm affection infused her gaze. “Neither do you.”

He felt all the blood rush to his face and once again had to bat down the idea of asking her out. A box full of old mail and knickknacks had just arrived on his porch that morning from Australia. Domesticity didn’t work for him, and even casually seeing someone felt like too much of an effort. Still, there was something about that look in her eyes, the easy repartee they had going on, the support they gave each other during their workouts, that told him that, if he was going to try again, she was the one to try with.

“Hey Becky!” a loud voice boomed across the clinic. “Where you at?”

Rebecca smiled apologetically at him and Charlie before raising her voice just a little to call back, “I’m over here!” She turned her attention back to them, looking almost sadly at Santi as she said, “Sorry guys, that’s my date for tonight.”

A tall guy sauntered over from the reception desk and Santi felt himself reacting instinctively.

He was tall, well over 6 foot, and wearing a fancy, well-fitted navy suit with a white button down underneath, no tie and the first two buttons undone.

“Ah, there’s my girl!” he leaned down and gave her a claiming kiss, almost like he knew that Santi was watching.

“Uh, hi Derek. I thought you were going to wait outside?” she asked, looking away from them all as she raised a hand to her cheek.

“I was, doll, but I’ve been out there for twenty minutes. Our reservation is set for 7:30, and it takes ten minutes to drive out there, so go get yourself cute and let’s go.”

“Uh…” Rebecca looked between Santi and Charlie while worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

Santi had never wanted so badly to punch someone he hadn’t even officially met. He wanted to speak up, tell Derek that Rebecca was already cute in her leggings and off-the-shoulder t-shirt. Tell him that he can’t just barge in and interrupt an appointment in a place of business.

Charlie leaned into his line of sight and subtly shook her head and, deep down, he knew she was right. If he punched him, or called him out, he would be just as bad. Plus, what right did he have? He’d spent a few hours with this woman and had zero claim on her time or her attention.

“It’s okay, Rebecca. We’re done for today anyway. You can use the staff bathroom to wash up if you’d like,” Charlie assured, helping Rebecca off the table.

“Okay, thanks Charlie. Santi?” He slowly slid his eyes up to meet hers and read the apology there clear as day. “I’ll see you next week, okay?”

He cleared his throat. “Sure thing. See you then.”

Rebecca smiled, a hint of relief overtaking her features as she sighed. “Good. Have a good weekend everybody!”

She headed towards the staff bathroom with her gym bag in tow and ‘Derek’ left, presumably to go and wait in the car like he was supposed to.

“Frat boy lookin’ douche,” Santi grumbled under his breath.

“Yeah, and the bag it came in,” Charlie muttered as she wiped down Rebecca’s table.

“Isn’t he a little young for her?” Santi asked rhetorically. “He looks like he just stepped off the stage at college graduation.”

“Dude, she’s like, 25. They’re probably the same age.” Charlie flung the white towel she had been using over her shoulder. “Don’t tell anyone I told you that. Patient confidentiality and all that.”

Santi felt his heart sink but told himself it was for the best. Now he had a good reason for not asking her out. What 25-year-old would want to date a broken-down old man anyway?

**********

Week four didn’t happen, and it was the one time Santiago Garcia considered himself a coward.

He’d promised. He’d explicitly told her that he would see her the following week, but he’d called at the last second and rescheduled with Steve for times when he knew she would be at work.

He just didn’t know how to face her. Yes, he had no claim to her time or attention. Yes, he’d spent a grand total of 18 hours in her presence. No, he had never explicitly asked if she was seeing anyone. And, yes, he had sworn off dating for a while, so he had no right to get his back up about her having a date.

And yet, the thought of seeing her, all smiley and happy after her date with ‘Derek’ made him sick to his stomach.

Week five he tried to reschedule again. He picked a time slot that aligned with the closing of the museum she worked at, knowing she often stayed a little longer after closing to chat with coworkers and stare at the art. He should have known, however, that things rarely ever turned out the way he wanted them to.

**********

“Have you been avoiding me?”

The soft voice made him trip over his feet, his left foot tangling in the rungs of the rope ladder he was currently working with.

He looked up and met Rebecca’s soft eyes, tinged with sadness. He sighed and walked around her, stooping to pick up his water bottle before perching himself on a padded wooden block.

“No. Why?”

“Because I haven’t seen you in a week and Charlie wouldn’t tell me why,” she huffed, wrapping her arms around her chest as she moved to lean against the wall across from him.

“I was busy.”

“Really? Huh,” she chuckled sarcastically. “So, this has nothing to do with Derek coming in here?”

He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “Nope.”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Okay, Santiago. Whatever…” She turned and began to walk away, out of the back room where he was working out and back into the main gym area.

It was then that he noticed her clothing. A really pretty black blouse with a purple and red floral pattern and a black pencil skirt that pulled his eyes straight to her ass, and no red gym bag hanging from her arm.

“You not staying to work out?”

She turned back to him and laughed humorlessly. “No. I called reception and asked if you were coming in today. Gwen wasn’t going to say, but then Jackie got on the phone and told me you were here. Apparently, she’s got a soft spot for you. So, I left work early because I couldn’t stand not knowing if you were mad at me.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he mumbled looking down at the silky fabric of his gym shorts, guilt beginning to gnaw at his core.

“Oh, I’m getting that message loud and clear,” she snapped, marching back over to him and getting right up in his face. “But I did. Because I was worried that I had offended you with my age comment, or that I made you uncomfortable by saying that you didn’t look your age, or that I somehow upset you by not telling you that I was, unfortunately, going on a date that night.”

He stood up, standing nose to nose with her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we both know you don’t owe me anything. I hope you and Derek had a wonderful time together.”

“Screw you,” she seethed.

Santi scoffed and shook his head, turning away from her to escape into the bathroom.

Once he had the door locked behind him, he sighed heavily and splashed cold water on his face.

This. This was why he didn’t want to seriously date anyone. He inevitably would screw things up. Or, worse, he’d ruin things before he even had the chance to really start with someone.

Fuck, Yovanna had been right. He somehow always managed to dim whatever light there was around him. Rebecca’s warmth and energy were so bright, so addicting, that he had thought it possible to bask in them without hurting her. She was like the Sun, drawing him in even when he wanted to stay away. Nobody could hurt the Sun. It was so warm and so bright and so uplifting that it couldn’t be damaged. Yet, there he was.

Santi sighed and stared at himself in the mirror, resolving to fix things next week. He’d switch back to his regular time and pray to a god he wasn’t sure he believed in that she would be willing to hear him out. That was his long-term plan. His immediate plan was to get through the day’s session and go home to drink that bottle of whisky he’d been saving.

Opening the door, he took two steps onto the rubber flooring of the back room and froze.

Soft sobs echoed in the airy space, and he felt his heart sink down to his toes as he followed the sound back to that padded block, finding Rebecca hunched over on it, a hand pressed delicately to her mouth as she tried to muffle the sound.

He grimaced to himself, knowing he was the cause of her distress. Hesitantly, he reached out and tried to place a gentle hand on her shoulder, but Rebecca caught sight of his shoes first and jerked back in surprise, looking up at him with tears gleaming like diamonds in her eyes under the harsh florescent lights.

He slowly crouched down in front of her, balancing on the balls of his feet.

“I’m an idiot,” he started, and felt his heart lift slightly as she choked on a laugh. “And I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head at him, desperately swiping at her tears. “No, you were right. We barely know each other, so we don’t owe each other anything. I had no right to get mad at you. For all I know, you had a family emergency that made you switch your appointment times.”

Santi was already shaking his head. “Your instincts were good, sweetheart. I did change times to avoid you, but not because I was mad at you.”

“The age comments—”

“Were sweet,” he finished for her, meeting her gaze for the first time since he had lowered himself down. “If you had said anything bad about Frankie, I wouldn’t have had time to argue with you before Charlie jumped down your throat.” She laughed again and his heart lifted just a tad higher. “And I appreciate you saying I don’t look my age. I always think the grey gives me away,” he added wryly.

“It suits you,” she rebutted quickly. “Not many people look good with the salt and pepper, grey thing. All I can think of are Idris Elba, George Clooney and you.”

Santi laughed loudly. “Well, I will take that compliment.”

“Good,” she nodded decisively. “Now get off your knees before Steve comes and yells at you.”

She shifted over on the block and he laboriously heaved himself to his feet, coming to sit next to her, a few inches of space between their bodies. They sat in a cloud of quiet calm, both knowing that there was more to resolve but unwilling to break the silence.

“Maybe it’s not my place, but I just think you can do a lot better than Douchebag Derek,” Santi finally said. “No offense,” he added quickly, silently berating himself for the slip.

She giggled at the nickname. “No offense taken. It was actually my first time ever meeting him,” she admitted quietly.

Pope’s mind rapidly went over the brief interaction and he felt his blood begin to boil. “But…”

She nodded sadly. “I know. He’s the son of the museum curator, so I felt like I couldn’t turn him down without affecting my job. And you know how much I love my job.”

He did know. She was the educational liaison for the local art museum. She led field trips that came through the museum, explaining different art pieces and their historical and artistic significance, while also leading the students through art lessons on how to either imitate an artist’s style or create their own styles. Occasionally, she would also make trips to low-income schools in the area through an outreach program, going into classrooms to teach art lessons and give the teachers a break. It was on her way back from one of those in school visits that she got into her car accident, but it hadn’t diminished her enthusiasm for her work. In fact, it had made her desperate to get back into the museum and back into the classroom.

“But he kissed you. And he called you Becky,” Santi commented, confused.

Rebecca allowed her head to fall into her palm. “I know…apparently his mom really talked me up and made me seem really desperate and really into him. Plus, he seems to think he’s God’s gift to women, so it was the perfect storm of misogynistic crap.”

Santi was shaking his head. “Next time, tell me. I don’t care if you have to do it in front of the guy, just let me know and I’ll get him out of your hair in ten seconds, tops.”

She sighed and shuffled closer to him. “Thanks Santi. It’s nice to know that someone has my back.” She ended up pressed right against his side and gently lowered her head to his shoulder.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

**********

That day marked the end of Santi sticking to his guns about not dating. After that, it became an increasingly difficult game that he was playing with himself.

Get closer to her, get to know her more, be that shoulder for her to lean on when she needed it, but don’t cross that line. Just because she said he didn’t look his age; it didn’t mean she wanted to be with someone his age. It didn’t reduce the 15-year age gap between them. She said it was nice to have someone have her back, so that’s who he became. Her constant cheerleader, her confidant, her friend. It was the first female friend Santi had had since Charlie. Before Charlie, never.

They exchanged numbers that day, and soon his days became filled with texting her different stories about his day, like how he ended up at the hospital with Benny because the idiot accidentally put a nail through his finger when he was helping nail down Santi’s new kitchen floor, or how he couldn’t move after a session where Steve had him in the therapy pool for 45 minutes. She’d send him funny quotes she heard her ‘kids’ say on field trips or in the classroom, or photos of paintings in the museum with ridiculous captions.

After she laid her head on his shoulder, he knew he loved her. After she sent him a photo of Queen Elizabeth the First’s portrait with the caption “wanna thank your mother for a butt like that”, he knew he was in love with her. And after she showed him a picture of her childhood dog Cookie and her at age 6, he knew he was drowning in her and that his only salvation would be asking her out.

Still, he kept drowning for months.

“Santi?” He turned his attention to Rebecca, still leaning gently on his arm as they stood outside the change room. “You okay? I lost you there for a second.”

“Yeah, Bex, I’m fine,” he smiled warmly at her and felt a silent thrill go through him when she got a little flustered. “Uh, Jackie was excited because Lorelai got accepted at Clemson.”

“Wow, good for her.” They both paused, a slight awkwardness hanging over them. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you out there?”

“Oh…uh, yeah.”

The door closed with a quiet click and Santi wanted to kick himself. They had spent weeks dancing around this thing, and it was pissing him off to no end.

He had never been like this. Not since he asked out Libby Stiles in the fourth grade. Why was this one girl sending his head spinning? Okay, he knew why, but it wasn’t fair. He could ask out any girl he ran into, except the one he wanted.

“Hey!” Santi turned around at the hissed greeting and found Charlie pumping up an exercise ball behind him. “If you don’t ask her out, I am going to ask her out for you!” she whispered.

Santi took a cautionary glance back at the door before stepping over to her. “What are you talking about?”

“Cut the shit, Santi!” she huffed quietly. “You think I haven’t noticed that all of your appointment times line up with hers? Or that you spend more time talking to her than you do actually doing your stretches? Or that you get this sad sap look in your eyes when you look at her?”

“And what the fuck do you know about it, Charlie?” he snarled under his breath.

“Because it’s the same way I look at Frankie, you dork!” she smirked. “It’s the same way Frankie looks at me, it’s the way Benny looks at every fucking Ring Girl who walks by. Oh, and it’s the same way she looks at you when you’re not paying attention. Now, get this ridiculous sexual tension out of my clinic and ask her out!”

“How?” he exhaled. “And what do we do? Where do I take her?”

“Jesus, Santi…” she breathed, straightening herself and running her arm over her sweaty forehead. “Who are you and what did you do with Santiago Garcia?”

He rolled his eyes and stomped over to the stationary bike. A minute later, Charlie rejoined him after adding the exercise ball to the ball bin.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she murmured softly, one hand on his back.

“I know,” he apologized, grinning at her and nudging her with his elbow.

“It’s just clear as fucking day, Santi. What’s holding you up?” Charlie crossed her arms and leaned against the handlebars of the bike he was riding. “And don’t say it’s the age gap. Not to me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Is 15 years not a good enough reason, Chuck?”

She shrugged, leaning down to rest her chin on her arms. “Not to me it isn’t. Besides, Santi, that girl is into you.”

“Right, yeah. These looks she’s been giving me. Okay.”

“Jesus…” Charlie swore under her breath, Santi chuckling as he recognized a few Spanish curses mixed in with the English. Charlie really was Frankie’s lady. “Okay, you didn’t hear this from me, right?” Santi nodded, leaning in as far as the bike would allow him. “Those first few weeks, before you started stalking her schedule to get the same time slots? She would call in and ask Jackie what times you were coming so she could book the same times as you. That’s why Jackie told her you were in here that day you made her fucking cry in my back room. Jackie’s a hopeless romantic and has wanted you two idiots to get together from the start.”

Santi sat back, feeling like the wind had just been knocked out of him. “S-seriously?”

Charlie nodded, a smirk on her face. “Yep. And if you ask her out this week, I win the jackpot.”

“You guys have been betting on us?” he hissed, leaning forward again.

“Oh, please. Like you and the Millers weren’t taking bets on when Frankie would finally pop the question, and I know for a fact you pulled the strings on that one to turn things in your favor, Mr. Best Man,” she rolled her eyes. “Look, ask her out today and I’ll use the winnings to cover your tab at the Beer Garden tonight. Deal?”

Santi fixed her with a suspicious look. “Is this you wanting to win or is this you actually having my best interest at heart?”

Charlie gave him a light smack on the back of the head as she moved away to her desk, conveniently located between the main gym and the back room, with the therapy pool behind her.

“You know me better than that, Santiago. Now get your girl, please.”

**********

Charlie was right. She was always right. It was one of the things that drove Santiago up the fucking wall. Frankie and Charlie were the perfect pair because, between the two of them, they were right one hundred percent of the time. Ben needed advice for his next fight? Forget Will, he was going to Frankie and Frankie’s future wife. Will revamped his speech and needed someone to read it over? Send it to Mr. and Future Mrs. Morales. Santi needed to pick paint colours? He just handed the paint chips to the couple of let them go wild. When they argued, it drove Frankie nuts because his lady had a knack for being right about almost everything. (The one time she was wrong in all their years of dating was when she claimed that Mateo would be a little girl, and Frankie wasn’t going to let her live that down as long as they lived.)

This time, she was right about Santi having to ask Rebecca out, and Santi was sure that ‘Fish would have the same advice if he were to call him up. This hurry up and wait bullshit was driving him crazy, so he needed to do it now, for his own peace of mind.

“Hey, man,” Steve hustled up to him, worry etched across his face.

“Hey Steve, you okay?”

He was already shaking his head. “My brother just called. Our mom took a nasty spill down the stairs. I’m really sorry, but I’m gonna have to cut this short. You’re basically done anyway; I was just gonna do some laser work with you but we can do that on Monday. I talked to Charlie; she can set you up with the cryo cuffs.”

“Yeah, man. No worries. Hope your mom is okay.”

“Thanks, man.”

Santi watched Steve leave for a minute before getting off the glider and heading into the back room, where he knew Charlie and Rebecca were.

“Hey Santi,” Charlie called from the goalpost set up in the corner. “Did Steve talk to you?”

“Yeah. Shame about his mom.”

Charlie nodded emphatically. “She’s a sweet lady. I’ve got my fingers crossed for her.”

“Me too…” Santi watched as Charlie bent to attach a weight to Bex’s foot. “You want me to go grab a table, Chuck? No rush.”

“Sure, if you want,” she replied distractedly. “Or…I was just gonna have Rebecca kick some soccer balls to work on her range of motion. Maybe you could goal keep for her?” she shot him a sly smile.

“I’d love that,” Rebecca piped up, a touch of embarrassment washing over her at her too-enthusiastic tone. “I mean, if you’re free.”

“Sure. Yeah, I can do that,” he agreed awkwardly, moving across the room to stand in the net.

“Alright then. Rebecca, you’re in good hands. Have fun you two.” Charlie turned and sauntered away, turning back once to mouth “Ask her out, dumbass” at him.

“You ever play soccer, Bex?” he asked, adjusting his stance so he stood in the middle of the goalpost.

“Ha, no,” she replied, kicking the soccer ball over to him. “My physical exercise is limited to yoga and swimming. Anything involving a ball or a racquet or running? That would be a no from me.” Santi kicked the ball back to her as it reached his feet. “You?”

“I played some when we would go visit my cousins in Colombia, and I played for my fifth-grade team in school, but that was about it. Sometimes we would play with some of the village kids when we were in Afghanistan. Give ‘em a taste of normal for a few minutes.”

She smiled sweetly as she returned the ball to him, leg moving a little steadier this time. “That’s really great of you.”

“Not really,” he shrugged, sliding over a step to stop the ball before kicking it back to her. “We were the ones fucking up their country. It was the very least we could do. But, god, Tom hated when we did that.”

She scoffed. “Well, that’s not fair of him. Those kids deserve something at least a little fun after all the crap they have to deal with.”

Santi grunted in agreement. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Bex laughed once, low and devoid of joy. “Oh but I do.” Santi stopped the ball and meandered over to her, looking at her questioningly. “Santi, most of my job revolves around kids. You’d be surprised how many of them tell me that their daddies hit them or their mommies throw things at them or that their grandparents intentionally starve them for being bad.” Tears welled up in her eyes and Santi quenched the urge to wrap her in his arms. “I’ve made more CPS calls than I can count and, the worst part is, I never know if that kid is safe after I make the call. Santi, there’s a reason my trunk is full of kid sized snack packs, granola bars, juice boxes. The museum doesn’t cover any of it, but at least I know that, when I walk into a classroom or those kids walk into my museum, they’ll feel safe and loved, and they won’t have to worry about food for at least a day.”

“Jesus, Bex,” he sighed, a small, sad smile on his face. “And they call us the heroes.”

She let out a tear-filled laugh and wiped at the single tear that had managed to escape. “We all do our part, Santi. You play soccer with kids in war torn countries. I feed the ones who get left behind at home.”

Rebecca turned away from him, heading for the main gym when he reached out and grabbed her elbow gently, giving it a squeeze as he turned her towards him and doing his best to ignore the electricity that ran up and down his arm at her touch.

He sighed and released her, his hand coming up to rub at the curls on the back of his head.

“Look, stop me if this is way off base, but if I don’t say this I’m gonna go crazy. I…I really like you, and I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while but, uh…” he smiled wryly and chuckled, hating how she made him feel like an inexperienced teenage boy.

“Santi?” Rebecca stepped closer and entwined her fingers with his remaining hand, giving it a tight squeeze.

“Do you want to go to the Beer Garden with me tonight?” he burst, the words falling out of his mouth. “A, uh, a bunch of us are going tonight. My old squad, Charlie and Frankie. Would you like to come with us? I mean,” he felt his cheeks heat up. “Would you like to come with me? As my date?”

A sweet, giddy giggle surged past her lips. “I’d love to.”

“Really?”

She squeezed his hand, more laughter bubbling up from her lips. “Yeah. I…I’ve been trying to build up the nerve to ask you out for coffee for the last, like, month.”

“Maybe if tonight goes well we could go for coffee next week?” he asked hopefully.

She sighed and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

“Awesome,” he breathed. “I’ll pick you up at 8?”

“That sounds perfect.”

**********

Tags list (open): @darksideofclarke, @writefightandflightclub, @eternallyvenus, @rae-rae-patcha, @himbopoes, @sophoclese, @phoenixhalliwell, @buckstaposition

#santiago pope garcia x oc #santiago garcia #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #fanfiction #oscar issac #pedro pascal

37 notes · View notes

the-darklings · 5 years ago

Note

DUDE your tags on the hozier jackie and wilson song post GOSH. WHAT HAVE U DONE? the level of involvement i have developed towards those two is absurd at this point thanks for that

—reasons wretched and divine;

pairing: santino x reader (vipress) [you win this one team santino]

wc: 2.2k+

an: so anon is referring to this post and the tags on it. I originally wanted to hold off writing this cause while it is a canon event for COA, it takes place directly during Chicago, and obviously since no one has any clue wtf happened there I worried it might be premature to write this but you know what?? I’m miserable and wanted to write something cute so here we go. Enjoy dear anon! And to the other anon who said there are no fics for him…I hope this can sate your thirst lol.

Lake Michigan is a sprawling, large ravine of water that reflects the setting sun as you stare at it through the hotel window.

In the far west, dark clouds are already gathering and you know that there is substantial snowfall in the forecast. Ares had made a comment earlier about how navigating Santino’s security is going to be a nightmare for the next few days.

Curling tighter in your seat, you lean your cheek against your folded arms, debating a nap before dinner. You managed maybe two hours of sleep last night and your head feels exceptionally heavy. You hate the fact that awake or asleep you never seem to find peace anymore.

The earlier silence filling the room has been suffocating though, so you have opted to turn on the radio to dispel it. The random station continues playing an unfamiliar song and your eyes flutter closed for a second.

The door to your room suddenly opens behind you, and your fingers wrap around a blade; a cold, comforting weight in your hand.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you turn, readying your muscles for a fight.

But your fear is unfound when you spot Santino strolling into the room, his phone pressed to his ear and expression pinched with annoyance. His lips, too, are pulled into a faint sneer as he listens to whatever is being said impatiently.

“I do not need it tomorrow,” he remarks in biting, cold French before spotting you and giving you a brief smile as he turns his attention back to the conversation. “I do not need it later. I need it now. So I suggest you start doing your job before I find someone who can.”

He hangs up without waiting for an answer and grumbles under his breath. “People. Tell me, cara mia, is everyone that’s not us is this stupid and incompetent?”

“Probably,” you drawl, sheathing your blade and turn your attention back towards the large window. “You’re also kind of an asshole.”

Santino scoffs with a snarky grin as he comes to a stop beside you, his expression easing. His eyes take you in—pathetic and miserable, with your limbs folded around you like a shell—and his smile dies a little. There is something about that intense regard of his that makes you almost brittle. It’s as bad as Winston, except Santino doesn’t look grim with understanding. Santino dresses up his rage with a calm softness that brims with that familiar, cold promise of retribution.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, though it sounds more demanding due to subtle anger lacing the words and deepening his accent. “Still unwell?”

“I’m fine,” you shoot back dully, not looking at him, but that glimmer of curiosity still forces your tongue. “I didn’t know you could speak French so well.”

It’s a statement more than a question, but just as expected Santino sits down beside you in the other spare chair. Unlike you, however, his eyes focus on you oppose to the stunning scenery outside the window.

“I am a Camorra heir,” he reminds you but there is nothing patronising to be found in his smooth baritone. “My father made sure that Gianna and I had tutoring in all the main spoken languages from around the world. We started young.”

“What if you don’t have an aptitude for languages?”

Santino smiles slightly when you glance at him, but it’s a cool, cutting thing. The look in his eyes even more so as he laces his fingers together, his elbows resting on his thighs. “Ah, my father did not particularly care for that, cara.”

You scoff, shaking your head a little. That isn’t exactly surprising to hear, especially in relation to a man like Giovanni. A man of strong, unforgiving features, deep voice and eyes so dark they make it difficult to even look at him. It makes you suppress a shiver just thinking about him.

For a few minutes, you sit in almost comfortable silence and although you don’t consider Santino someone you can completely relax around, you find yourself grateful he is here. Better than being alone. Perhaps Winston had a point after all.

But you don’t need anyone, you remind yourself.

You don’t need another repeat of John.

John and his beautiful wife. John and his wonderful wedding. John and—

Something inside aches; a dull, violent throb of loneliness. Of pain.

Your fingers tremble violently before you hide them from sight, and feel Santino follow the motion with his eyes. Too slow.

After another few seconds of watching the almost gone sun, he rises to his feet with a deliberate sort of air around him. He turns to you, extending his hand in your direction, his eyes giving nothing away.

You stare at him blankly.

“The radio,” he speaks after a pause, one eyebrow quirking. “We should practice. We have to be—”

“Convincing, yes, you have said that maybe ten times already,” you interrupt with a roll of your eyes before glancing around the room and back to him. “I’m not going to dance with you, Santino.”

The man before you slides one of his hands in his trouser pocket, observing you with a tilt of his head, and keep his hand extended between you.

“Come now, cara mia,” he speaks, his voice laced with boredom and this time you do see the arrogant heir who gets everything he wants. “My arm is growing tired.”

Snorting, you rise to your feet stiffly, glaring. You know him well enough to know that he will not drop it. So you will give him what he wants, if only to get rid of him. So much for not being alone.

You stand face to face for a second—with him simply gazing at you and you glaring back. He steps closer, one arm wrapping carefully around your waist while another gently takes a hold of your hand. Your body is a coiled mass of taut muscles while your jaw grinds painfully. His expression is both guarded and open all at once as he peers at you silently.

He’s warm.

It’s an odd thing to notice about a man who revels in violence. But till that moment you haven’t realised how cold your hands have gotten. He cradles your fingers in his larger ones, surprisingly gentle, and the warmth of his Camorra ring presses into your skin as you sway awkwardly from side to side.

“Clearly,” he starts teasingly, but more subdued than you’re used to seeing him. “We are both exceptionally gifted dancers.”

You don’t answer him. You’re not in the mood to joke around. You haven’t been in the mood for anything lately.

The radio continues playing another unfamiliar tune, and you let your mind focus on the lake outside your window again.

“Say something,” he whispers abruptly, strained, and you head snaps in his direction at the angry softness wrapping his words. His grip on you tightens briefly before loosening again. “Anything. Where is the fire that I adore so? Do not tell me that he robbed you of it so completely, cara mia.”

Your heartbeat spikes, and you stare at him coldly. “I am seconds away from walking away from this whole thing,” you inform him and your words are harsh even though you don’t so much as raise your voice. “You don’t talk about him. Ever.”

Santino’s jaw tenses at your words—at the acidic bite of them—but he doesn’t oppose you. Only looks at you. You wonder what it is exactly that he’s trying to unearth. You’re not sure there’s anything left to you anymore.

Though you continue swaying from side to side, the silence between you is chilly, heavy.

The song on the radio changes again and you blink, recognising the start of a familiar tune. Then comes the voice and despite your best intention to remain unaffected, you start swaying to the beat. Santino notices, his green eyes gleaming with understanding.

“This song…” he trails off, glancing towards the radio. “It is familiar to you, no?”

No other version of me I would rather be tonight and lord, she found me just in time.

You shake your head in immediate denial, but Santino’s eyebrows jump up playfully and he matches your rhythm, turning from side to side with more energy. His arm stays on the small of your back but now a small smile lingers across his lips.

I need to be youthfully felt ‘cause, God, I never felt young.

He starts humming and you shoot him a half-hearted glare. “What are you doing?”

His smile turns slyer, knowing, but his voice is ever-so innocent when he speaks. “Dancing, bella.”

The chorus kicks in, and Santino pushes you away from him before tugging you back with one smooth motion and you stifle a gasp, your grip on him tightening. He moves you in a more deliberate circle, singing under his breath. He butchers every single line, clearly having no idea what the lyrics even are while you continue glaring. But he just watches you, smug and shrewd, every time your eyes meet.

He steps back and raises your hands above your head. Rolling your eyes, you turn in a circle, your muscles loosening somewhat as he pulls you back into his embrace.

“Those are not the lyrics,” you grumble petulantly, shooting him a look but Santino only grins wider. “It’s not—”

He dips you with a chuckle and pulls you back up to him, ignoring your slap on his shoulder with another grin of amusement.

“Then you better sing it with me and correct me, cara,” he informs you, mock-serious, but his eyes glow with mirth, a playful teasing. He steps back, grabbing your other hand and tugs back and forth, creating little waves with your arms.

You both no doubt look ridiculous. Like two little kids dancing in a playground, clumsy and uncoordinated, as you try to create your own rhythm.

But—

There is a slow blooming lightness in your chest you can’t recall feeling for ages.

A reluctant smile tugs one corner of your mouth even if you try to smother it, and you know by his pleased expression that he’s spotted it nonetheless.

We tried the world; good God, it wasn’t for us.

“She’s gonna save me, call me baby,” you sing under your breath and he joins you—both of you most likely completely off-key and miles away from the tune—but you can’t help but chuckle when you note how seriously he’s taking this. “Run her hands through my hair. She’ll know me crazy, soothe me daily. Better yet, she wouldn’t care.”

Clearly picking up on the lyrics, Santino sings a bit louder—still off-key—as he leads you in an extravagant circle, your arms still swinging. He twirls you again, and you can’t help but chuckle as your terrible mix of voices soars while you turn from side to side. You’re a flurry of movement, both caught in the lively energy of the song as you tangle in each other.

“We’ll name our children Jackie and Wilson raise ‘em on rhythm and blues,” you finish off, breathless with laughter and lean into him for a second, a crooked grin splitting your face.

Santino drags his eyes over your features, seemingly caught off guard by what he’s seeing, and clears his throat slightly before smirking faintly.

“Who is this man?” he questions, both curious and somewhat out of breath, and you don’t miss the fact that his grip on your doesn’t loosen. “We should go see him.”

You can’t help but snort, and his expression creases with wonder when he notices your amusement. He’s smiling too though—as if your momentary joy is somehow important to share in.

“What?”

“Well, for one, I don’t think he’s on tour,” you point out and realise that you haven’t heard your voice this light and carefree in months, if not years. “And I’m sure an Italian mobster with a pack of guards is going to draw no attention whatsoever.”

Your sarcasm is clear and open, and his answering crooked grin makes him appear younger, less guarded. Less arrogant, too, and more…more human. Something you have never seen him show openly before—not like this.

“It could be just us and Ares,” he tells you calmly, but there is a flicker in his eyes that seems to make him hesitate for a split second before he continues on, “Or…just us.”

Something inside your withers at his words; retreating inwards, terrified and broken, and you pull away from him.

With every new inch of distance between you, Santino’s open expression draws closed again. Only the cool, haughty heir remains and for a loaded moment, neither of you speak. A step at most separates you but it might as well be miles. It has caught you off guard—this genuine moment of fun and freedom and laughter, but it’s time to come back to reality.

And the reality is that you are not here, in this city, for fun and games.

“We should focus on the job.” Forced and empty.

“Yes, of course, cara mia. It is for the best.” Stilted and formal.

His hands slip back inside his pockets and he regards you for another brief moment before moving past you.

You stand rooted in your spot, the distant sound of the radio filling the air.

Santino’s footsteps fade.

Outside, it begins to snow.

…

an: ofc I have to finish with a sprinkle of angst. hope you enjoyed this tho. I needed something sweet today. Dedicating it to my little bean who I had to say goodbye to today, and Team Santino who is cheering me up a lot these last few days with their wild messages. Love ya guys!

#santino d'antonio x reader #santino d'antonio #john wick fic #john wick imagine #john wick #fic: children of ares #s: i can wait

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recentanimenews · 4 years ago

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FEATURE: The Fantastic True Story of How Project A-ko Was Lost and Found

Disclosure: The author of this article personally contributed to the MADOX-01 Kickstarter project described later in the piece.

Thirty-five years ago, when Project A-ko debuted in Japanese movie theaters, no one thought they were witnessing the birth of an anime classic. Director Katsuhiko Nishijima jokingly claimed in the behind-the-scenes documentary Project A-ko Secret File that he helped create the film because he needed some cash to buy new teeth.

The film, which is named after an unrelated Jackie Chan movie and which began production as an adults-only entry in the Cream Lemon series before transforming into a general audience science fiction action-comedy film we know now, would prove popular enough to spawn three sequels and a spin-off series.

If you've seen the film, it's no mystery why Project A-ko earned its reputation as a milestone of modern anime with adoring fans both in Japan and overseas. And yet, the film itself was shrouded in mystery, because sometime after its video masters were struck from the original 35mm film elements, the reels containing Project A-ko vanished without a trace.

This is the story of that discovery.

School Girls Head West

In the United States, Project A-ko was originally licensed by the now-defunct Central Park Media, a New York-based film company run by John O'Donnell. CPM first published the film on VHS in 1991, and Project A-ko proved to be an evergreen title all the way up until its final CPM release on DVD in 2002. After CPM went out of business in 2009, Discotek Media announced the rescue of the license of Project A-ko in 2010, releasing the film and its sequels on DVD later in 2011.

Project A-ko still has a huge fan following overseas, but for all its success as an anime classic, it has never received a high-definition Blu-ray release in the United States. Even Central Park Media’s final “Special Edition” DVD release was recorded off the laserdisc because the original film elements were presumed to be lost. When it came time to create an HD remastered release, the original 35mm prints of Project A-ko were nowhere to be found.

As a result, when Discotek Media announced that they were bringing Project A-ko to Blu-ray in September 2020, they also revealed that they were using technologies called the Domesday Duplicator and AstroRes to try to capture the best video possible from the available sources.

According to Justin Sevakis, CEO of MediaOCD, Discotek’s Production Contractor, the Domesday Duplicator captures and digitizes RF signals from multiple laserdisc sources, which results in a cleaner image overall.

“[Domesday] is a cool concept and very intriguing, but I think people got the wrong idea that this was some sort of game-changer in terms of restoring A-ko,” said Sevakis. “It definitely would’ve helped, but it only got us part of the way back to the condition of the original master tape it came from. Even if we had THAT tape, it was a video master from 1986, and still would’ve required a lot more restoration work from that point onward.”

youtube

The initial plan was to take the Domesday Duplicator transfer to an engineer who then used AstroRes, a process that uses machine learning to estimate the original linework to create an HD signal of the original. “When it comes off the disc, it’s still a video transfer,” said Sevakis. “Even for an SD master, it’s blurry because it was made in 1986. If anything was the miracle process, it was AstroRes.”

When it comes to older anime, Sevakis says that missing film elements are the biggest challenges when it comes to preserving and archiving. “If we’re stuck with decades-old video masters, often they’re made in such a way that makes restoring them very difficult or impossible ... Sometimes there are also old analog video problems that make the image completely unacceptable on a modern 4K display. At that point, the best you can really do is release it in standard definition.”

The Domesday Duplicator and AstroRes processes certainly made the most sense for the Project A-ko restoration Discotek was producing at the time. But soon enough, a simple investigation into an unrelated Shinji Aramaki title would prove otherwise.

The MADOX-01 Connection

While Discotek Media began the Herculean task of reconstructing Project A-ko, a plucky little North Carolina-based distributor known as AnimEigo was breaking ground on their next Kickstarter-financed release: a Blu-ray version of Metal Skin Panic MADOX-01, an original animation video from 1987 directed by Shinji Aramaki.

A one-shot story about a young man who dons a highly advanced prototype suit of mechanical powered armor in a quest to say goodbye to his girlfriend, MADOX-01 is a goofy story with a lot of humor and some exquisite technical animation.

In fact, Metal Skin Panic MADOX-01 was the first anime title licensed and distributed by AnimEigo. In an interview included as a special feature on the DVD release, Robert Woodhead, the founder and CEO of the AnimEigo, recalled that originally he was given the option to license Project A-ko or MADOX-01, but he decided to go with MADOX-01 because he felt it had more “mainstream appeal,” a choice which he jokingly referred to as “the first of many terrible business decisions.”

Flash forward to December of 2020, when Robert Woodhead of AnimEigo and Ollie Barder of Sola Digital Arts discussed securing the materials for a high definition Blu-ray release of Metal Skin Panic MADOX-01. This plan hit a snag: Woodhead had previously inquired about obtaining the film elements needed to make a MADOX-01 Blu-ray but was informed at the time that the original materials were not available.

It seems the black hole of “lost films” Project A-ko fell into claimed another victim, but Woodhead was undaunted. In January of 2021, Woodhead made new inquiries with AMG, the company that acquired the rights to MADOX-01 from Pony Canyon. An AMG representative acquired a list of films being stored at the Tokyo Genzōsho film archives — “information that the previous contact person at Pony Canyon apparently didn’t have,” according to Woodhead — and the missing MADOX-01 materials were located.

Tokyo Genzōsho, also known as Tokyo Laboratory and usually shortened to Togen, hosts a wide range of original materials from Japanese film producers in climate-controlled environments. As one of Japan’s major labs, they offer a wide range of professional media services to the film industry.

Found Footage

During a meeting with the AMG licensors, Woodhead was shown the list of films stored at Togen. Much to his surprise, not only was Metal Skin Panic MADOX-01 listed but right next to it on the list was another title: Project A-ko.

The long-missing film 35mm print of Project A-ko wasn't actually lost. The film had simply been misfiled and couldn't be located for decades as a result of a clerical error. “It wasn’t hard to find,” said Woodhead. “The problem was that there was a break in the chain of knowledge about the film’s location.”

“We’ve been looking for Project A-ko for 20 years,” Sevakis explained. “Most professional film, anime included, is locked away in a giant climate-controlled warehouse, in this case, run by the film lab that developed it. According to their records, it wasn’t there."

Due to Woodhead’s discovery, Discotek Media was able to request the archivists to make a physical search of the vault. When they did, they learned that Project A-ko “was there the whole time,” in Woodhead’s words.

Happy Endings

After Woodhead got permission to inform Discotek of his discovery and the missing film reels were found, Discotek announced on a Twitch stream in March 2021 that they were canceling their initial plans for the AstroRes remastered Project A-ko release and instead were producing a remastered Blu-ray using the newly rediscovered original 35mm print.

And that's the story of how Project A-ko was lost and found: lost by accident due to a simple filing error, found through happenstance and serendipity, an anime classic rescued from obscurity for future generations of fans to enjoy.

At the time of this writing, the restoration process for the Blu-ray release is well underway, with Discotek eliminating anomalies “ranging from dust and small scratches to flickering and jitter caused by the photography of the era,” according to Sevakis. While there is no release date currently set, if the sample footage above is anything to go by, Project A-ko is going to look and sound better than ever.

As for AnimeEigo's efforts on MADOX-01, the company's Kickstarter for the OVA reached its $50,000 goal in 42 minutes after it launched on April 30, now sitting at over $130,000 as of May 4, 2021.

“The film lab vaults are out-of-sight, out-of-mind for most of the companies in Japan, especially because at this point not many people deal with film on a regular basis,” said Sevakis. “The people dealing with the rights often don’t even have a clear idea of what’s in there, even if the records are correct! Who knows what else might be found?”

Paul Chapman is the host of The Greatest Movie EVER! Podcast and GME! Anime Fun Time.

Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: Paul Chapman

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

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fayewonglibrary · 5 years ago

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Heavenly pop stars edge out God (2002)

By Philippa Hawker

Every year, some of the most successful pop stars in the world come to perform in Australia - unobtrusively, without mainstream fanfare, although they play to packed houses and ecstatic fans. They are the celebrities of Cantopop, Hong Kong’s popular music voice.

Two weeks ago, its biggest male star, Jacky Cheung, played the Rod Laver Arena. Tomorrow, Hong Kong’s movie and pop princess, Sammi Cheng - who is like Britney Spears and Julia Roberts rolled into one - has a sell-out show at the Crown Palladium.

Cantopop isn’t known for originality or innovation. Its specialities are wistful love ballads and dance-floor jingles. Songs are frantically churned out to a formula, with a McDonald’s-meets-Motown efficiency.

Performers are quickly created and constantly made over: it’s a market insatiable for novelty yet highly dependent on familiarity. Promotion is crucial. Performers often have sponsors, and there are vouchers for clothes and haircuts given away with discs: a new single by the latest teenpop sensation, The Twins, comes in a hexagonal pink box with sweets, coupons and a calendar; when you buy a new Kelly Chan disc, you get a watch. The music is regularly dismissed as saccharin and sappy, a triumph of hype. Yet Cantopop has enduring careers, distinctive styles and an intriguing history.

It developed in the late 1960s and early ‘70s with a demand from Hong Kong audiences for popular music in their own dialect, Cantonese.

It has subsumed a range of influences from America, Japan and Taiwan, and has adjusted to new markets and political climates. Its stars also record in Mandarin for the Chinese market, and occasionally in English and Japanese.

There’s a constant pressure to perform, tour, make publicity appearances, maintain a fan base, keep a flow of singles and albums coming - at least three albums a year. A snappy turnover of looks and hairstyles is also mandatory, especially for female artist.

The more the performers do, the happier fans are. “Working hard is Hong Kong style,” says Agnes Au, manager of Melbourne’s Chinatown Cinema and a promoter who has been bringing top Cantopop stars to Australia for 10 years. There are usually three or four tours a year, at Chinese New Year, and in June and September. The audience is mostly under 30. And there are the movies. Rising Cantopop stars are offered movie deals the way new Australian cricketers seem to be given book contracts along with their baggy green caps. There is often little correspondence between the pop singer image and the film roles. Stars can appear in comedies and crime thrillers, period films and arthouse movies. Musicals are rarely made in Hong Kong. According to director Johnnie To, they are labour-intensive, don’t suit the quick-turnover approach of Hong Kong film making, and audiences think of them as old-fashioned.

Leslie Cheung was one of Cantopop’s first pop idols, and he also happens to be one of the cinema’s most compelling actors. His breakthrough film role came in 1986, when he played a young police officer whose brother is a triad member in John Woo’s A Better Tomorrow. His musical career began in the late '70s, when he sang American Pie in a talent contest. He retires occasionally to concentrate on his acting, then makes comebacks, in the Nellie Melba tradition. He has a light, crooner’s voice and a flamboyant stage presence: he has been known to wear long wigs, dresses, gold hot pants, a white tuxedo with angel wings.

The male singers have a higher profile and draw bigger audiences: they can stage 30 to 40 consecutive live shows in Hong Kong, while a top female star might have to be content with a mere dozen.

Four male artists have dominated the industry: they are known as the Four Heavenly Kings. Jacky Cheung (sometimes called the God of Songs) is widely acknowledged as having the best voice. He was a reservations clerk for Cathay Pacific when he was discovered in a talent contest - alongside beauty pageants, one of the main ways that the industry finds new faces and voices.

The second king is the dapper Andy Lau, a TV actor turned film star, famous for once making nine films simultaneously. He was the first Asian face of Pepsi.

Then there’s Leon Lai, known as the Heavenly King of Fan Support, and Aaron Kwok, the Heavenly King of Dance. And, keeping this older generation on its toes, there are always new faces, new acts, Heavenly Pretenders, figures such as Chan, Nicholas Tse, Andy Hui, Eason Chan and the Twins. Of the female stars, the best known are Sammi Cheng and Faye Wong. Cheng is famously nice, consummately professional. There is some wonderful footage of her shot during a 1999 concert tour, when she was driven around the stage in a dune buggy to greet the maximum number of fans in the shortest possible time. Pressing more flesh in one night than the average politician does in a lifetime, accompanied by bodyguards, she has toys and gifts thrust upon her, almost has her arm wrenched from its socket, and keeps on singing, a trouper to the last agonising handshake.

At 29, she has already made 30 albums. She still lives with her parents. Her film career is flourishing: she has best-actress nominations for three movies in this year’s Hong Kong Film Awards, as well as singing one of the best song nominations.

If Cheng has a girl-next-door image, Faye Wong is known as “the difficult one”. She is not as popular as she once was, but she’s the closest thing the industry has to an alternative star. Her film debut was in Wong Kar-Wai’s Chungking Express, where she played a gamine behind a fast-food counter and could be heard on the soundtrack singing covers of songs by the Cranberries and the Cocteau Twins.

There is a procession of up-and-coming stars, a vast industry to promote them, and a passionate, obsessive fan base. In a recent survey of the people admired by Hong Kong teenagers, nine out of the top 10 were Cantopop stars.

The odd one out was God, and he came in ninth, trailing Gigi Leung, beating Cecilia Cheung.

------------------------------------------------------------------

SOURCE: THE AGE AU

#2002

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emiliachrstine · 5 years ago

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jackie and steve for the ask thingy

How did they they meet? They meet at SHIELD! Jackie was the head of the team to monitor Steve while he was still “sleeping”. After a pretty dramatic moment where Steve escapes and they lock eyes for the first time, they have their first conversation when Steve is brought back.

Who developed romantic feelings first? They actually both do but they’re so stubborn and oblivious that they don’t really want to accept it at first. For one, Jackie feels that it’s kinda weird because the dude was born in 1918 and was technically old enough to be her grandpa or even great-grandpa, and two, Steve kinda feels guilty about moving on and he’s a little afraid to embrace any sort of future for him where his past is no longer linked to him. But once they kiss it’s like over for the two of them ajsdhakj

Who is their biggest “shipper?” OH MY GOD. Okay, honestly, there are probably a few people. Gabby definitely being one of them. Sharon is a close second. I would say Alex as well. And Tony even though there is a lot of angst involving the three of them. And no matter what transpires between Tony and Steve, Tony knows that Steve loves Jackie so like he really is supportive of them.

When did they have their first kiss and under what circumstances? Okay their first “kiss” happens at the mall when they are trying to escape from Rumlow and STRIKE. But their first official kiss is when they get back to SHIELD at the end of TWS to stop INSIGHT and Jackie is in a disguise and needs to get to the main control room to stop the launch. Steve basically pulls her aside and says to be careful but there’s more to it than that. He doesn’t want anything to happen to her and he doesn’t want to lose her. So Jackie is the one to initiate the kiss and tells him to be careful as well! YO IM SMILING JUST THINKING ABOUT IT

Who confessed their feelings first? From what I have planned, Steve is the one who confesses it first

What was their first official date? A motorcycle ride through the city, a walk through the park and eating a bunch of street foods. I do have an idea for a chapter where Tony throws a gala of sorts and they would totally be each other’s dates.

How do they feel about double dates/group dates? They love them!!! They love going on double dates with Alex and Sharon and also Tony and Pepper.

What do they do in their down time? Often they’ll put on a record and would just sit and talk. They love being in each other’s company and can spend quite a bit of time just sitting in silence together.

What was the first meeting of parents as an official couple like? Steve first met Jackie’s parents at Thanksgiving and it went off really well!! With her father’s Alzheimer’s it wasn’t ideal but Steve will grow a great admiration for his future father in law. And her mother grew up with stories of Steve so she was a little star struck when she met him. But Kathleen will grow to have a real maternal bond with Steve.

What was their first fight over and how did they get past it? They’re first real fight happens when they are reunited between CW and IW. It’s about the Accords, Bucky, how Steve kept the knowledge of Tony’s parents a secret, that he didn’t care about her or their kid. Like, Jackie really lays it into him and Steve tries to remain calm but when she says that he basically didn’t give a shit about her or Madison, that kinda makes him snap. So it’s a pretty big fight they have. They get through…just by getting through it. After they air out their grievances, Jackie starts to soften towards him again. But Madison getting pretty sick during their stay in Wakanda is what starts them on the path back towards each other.

Which one is more easily made jealous? Uhhh idk maybe both of them??? They never get into instances that would make them feel jealous. Although, Jackie does encounter some women who flirt with Steve and she’s just all, “okay listen I know he’s gorgeous but back up because he’s MY MAN” And Steve would be more reserved with his jealously but Jackie could spot it a mile away. In FACT, if I do that gala chapter I might have Steve get a little jealous when a man pays particular attention to Jackie, ooohh.

What is their favourite thing to get to eat? Burgers or sandwiches, depending on what they’re in the mood for

Who’s the cuddly one? What their favourite cuddling position? They are both very cuddly!!! The only way they can fall asleep is if they are close or holding each other. The most common position is Jackie resting her head on his chest and an arm wrapped around him. But there are instances where Steve is the big spoon or if Jackie can’t fall asleep, Steve would find his way to her with his head resting on her chest and she would just stroke his hair. Wow they’re so soft

Are they hand holders? Not necessarily. Out in public, at most they would just have their arms link together. Hand holding, or hand touching, is a pretty intimate gesture between them. It’s their silent way of saying “I love you, I’m here for you and everything’s going to be okay”

How long do they wait before sleeping together for the first time? What’s the circumstances? Okay so I see them having sex for the first time between AOU and CW which is like almost two years after they first showed interest in each other. So they definitely waited their time!

Who tops? ASJDKAS Okay so since I’m going with the whole Steve Being A Virgin, at first, Jackie tops so she can show him how it’s done. But since Steve is a quick learner, he tops quite a bit. But they switch it up!

What’s the worst first they’ve ever gotten into? The first worst?? Hmmm, I know i already talked about this earlier, but their first big fight is their first worst ever so yeahh

Who does the shopping and the cooking? Steve does most of the shopping and they always make it a tradition to cook together. Especially when the kids come along, it becomes their family time.

Which one is more organized and prone to tidiness? Both of them. They aren’t liked OCD about it or anything. But they do like to keep their home nice and neat. And with Steve having been in the military, that type of structure is what he’s used to.

Who proposes? Steve and it’s the softest, most emotional thing ever. I think I’ve talked about it a couple of times, but the event is so them. Like, UGH I can’t wait to write it out!

Do they have joined Bachelor/Bachelorette parties or separate? So in a world that isn’t agnst ridden, yes they would have separate parties. But in my story, steve and jackie will get a “party” in a sense but it’s nothing like over the top.

Who is the best man/maid of honour? Any other groomsmen or bridesmaids? Okay so again, in a non-angst ridden world where the snap never happened, I can see Bucky & Sam being Steve’s Best Man. He would extend the offer to Tony who is more than happy to just be a viewer in the audience. And Jackie would have Sharon, Gabby, Natasha and Wanda in her bridal party. I think Sharon would be her maid of honor though.

Big Ceremony or Small? A big ceremony in the AU happy world but in my story there really isn’t a ceremony. It’s Steve and Jackie with a priest that’s been a family friend of her’s and maybe like two or three people in attendance.

Do they have a honeymoon? If so, where? Tony would pay for their honeymoon that would be on some tropical island that’s really peaceful. But their honeymoon in my story is Natasha taking care of Madison for the weekend and they get the house to themselves. John may or may not be conceived on this weekend *wink wink*

Do they have children? How many? We already know this. They have two amazing child whom they love and adore. These bundles of joy their entire world. Madison and John. I have been toying with the idea of another girl being born but I really like the family of four dynamic.

#answered #steckie #otp: it was fate #starkdnvers

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obibail · 5 years ago

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my main squeezes: Vince, Sam, and Vespa! + your Skyrim OC 👀👀👀👀👀👀🔍

fghjdfskj the boys!!!!!!

Vince

The only person to ever call Vince Vincent is his mother. And Rush that one time.

Speaks English, Spanish, French, Haitian Creole, Portuguese, and Arabic.

Was attending NYU for cinema studies. Loved loved loved cinematography studies and film theory. Wanted to be a director! Had actually written & directed two short films already and had been shooting two more that he hoped to premiere at a few local film festivals. Had to drop out of the program after the accident that cost him his left arm because of the medical expenses and the long hospital stays. To say he was crushed is,,,, an understatement.

Was in California having an experimental prosthetic arm fitted & attached when the bombs dropped. He’s told that he followed everyone else to the bunkers but he has no memory of it. The doctors assume it’s either shock or the anesthesia that was in his system when it all happened, but regardless he comes to in immense nerve pain and in a crowded hospital bunker underneath Los Angeles with no clue with the fuck is going on.

Actually knows Ghost, ran with the same group Ghost did in Baja California for two years. Ghost had a big hand in how constantly battered Vince was during those years, liked to goad Vince into worse and worse shit because Ghost wanted to see how far someone like Vince - who was one of the few people in their group with morals - could be pushed before he broke. Ghost got their answer, too, when Vince turns around and - in a nearly blind rage - kills two of their group just before a planned attack on a community of mostly non-combatants.

Lost his right leg in 2030, an infected bullet wound that they (in the middle of a medicine shortage after a brutal winter) didn’t have the means to treat. His eventual leg prosthetic was built based on close study of his arm. Connecting it alone puts him out of commission for almost two months.

Does actually,,,, steal rings off corpses sometimes. A habit he picked up while with Ghost’s crew, a kind of trophy-hunting activity that turned into an unconscious action because he did it so much. He’s got,,, a pretty substantial ring collection. He pretends he feels worse about it than he actually does because what use did a dead person have for jewelry anyway?

Rush is the one who teaches him to shoot, a year or two after Vince joins his group. It comes to the group’s attention that Vince had never even held a gun prior to Rush - acting on a hunch - putting one in his hands one stupid hot California day and told him to go hog on some static targets. Vince missed pretty much every single one. Thankfully, his aim has gotten much better since then.

Vince feels conflicted about a number of things that he has done over the years but killing Ghost’s sociopath ass when they cross paths again in Hope County ain’t one of them.

Sam

Sam, good old midwestern boy that he is, legally cannot cuss.

He’s tall as hell but also thin as hell. He’s 6′6 at least but he’s also probably 145lbs soaking wet. A toothpick.

Nick calls him Sammy. (One time Nick slipped up and referred to the Judge as Sammy and everyone had a bad day about it.)

Sheriff Whitehorse is actually Sam’s godfather! Whitehorse and Sam’s dad (a retired sheriff from South Dakota) were really good friends & still kept in touch pretty regularly before the cult business started up bad in Hope Country. It’s Whitehorse that pulls the strings to get his anxious pothead veteran godson a position as a deputy. (Sam calls him uncle).

Sam is bisexual but how do you say very very repressed about it. Lots of religious-guilt-tinged self-hate because of growing up Catholic in the midwest and then in the south. Definitely had an “in love with my same gender best friend and very ashamed of it” phase.

Sam and John Seed actually ran in the same circles growing up, just at different times. John’s a few years older but they went to the same high school & John’s adopted parents and Sam’s mom were actually well-acquainted. As a teenager, Sam used to be invited to John’s parties & would go with friends and get a little too drunk (which John would them use as fun leverage against Sam’s fairly powerful mother).

On that subject, John was 100% Sam’s bougie weed man all through high school and later when he got out of the Air Force & was self medicating his PTSD.

Sam, realizing he played right into Joseph’s hands: You played me like a fiddle!Joseph: Oh no, Deputy. Fiddles are actually difficult to play. I played you like to cheap kazoo you are.

& some Judge stuff bc 💔💔: Sometimes he’ll disappear for hours on end and most of New Eden is just *solemnly* “he must be doing something very important” except instead of doing that he’s sleeping in the most secret, softest place he could find.

Has an adopted daughter, a little girl named Abigail who attached herself to him at the hip - because she was born mute and he is also mute and she thinks that’s neat, she’d never met anyone like herself before. She and the Judge make up their own version of sign language - that actually ends up being shared between a lot of the residents of New Eden, especially the scouts that the Judge trains.

Vespa

Card-carrying member of the billionaire boys club.

Corporate CEO mom who raised him in a very hands-off way because she was always too busy. Homeschooled, raised by nannies. A lot of his education came through the net, which he learned to navigate at a terribly young age while ignoring his tutors because they bored him.

Has a “rival” in Dare Aranya, his mother’s former protege and the person who (“allegedly”, but definitely) orchestrated her assassination and the woman who is currently CEO of Sasaki Industries and is the executor of Vespa’s mom’s will.

Even though his mother is assassinated when he is 16, he stays in Night City for a year after and blows through whatever bits of his inheritance he can get his hands on, on parties and drugs and vehicles and whatever else a traumatized teenager who saw his mom’s murder can spend money on. A spoiled disaster of a teenage party prince of the highest caliber. Ends up leaving Night City when his money suddenly dries up, syphoned off by Dare.

Bounces between countries and netspaces for years, never spending more than a few months in once place (aside from significant stays in Mumbai, Moscow, and Tokyo). Only returns to Night City after a botch job in Tokyo.

Is actually an Arasaka on his dad’s side, is the great grandnephew of Saburo Arasaka. He ends up staying with a branch of the Arasaka family in Tokyo until he fucks up a job for them while high and gets thrown out on his ass.

Has constant splitting headaches because of his bionic eyes - which are half the reason he self-medicates so heavily. Had to have them replaced and maintained constantly as a child because of natural human growth, which was always a terrifying experience for him, not helped at all by the sterile white rooms he would be taken to or the cool detachment of his doctors who did not work with children and were not paid for their bedside manner. It culminated in a scalding dislike for doctors and a refusal to go to them unless he is literally dying. Ripperdocs are equally, if not more, off limits.

Is notorious for turning off his hearing aids when he wants to focus better or when he is getting too sensory overloaded to function, frustrating everyone he has ever worked with.

He’s adamant his nickname is from the Italian word for “wasp” (as a riff off Dare’s last name, a phonetic spelling of araña, Spanish for spider. one time - while he was in Milan like the rich idiot he is - he heard about these wasps that kill spiders and he has a Justified Grudge against Dare so. wasp) and not from the scooter but he’s scooter boy forever now.

Jackie Welles, hefting Vespa “idiot bastard who spent all his money on drugs and passed out in the back room of a bar again” Sasaki over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes: god damn I wish you’d take care of yourself

I didn’t know if you meant Katja or Sylon but I’m gonna go with Sylon because I love him & bc he’s the more developed of the two rn 😬😬

Is some mix of Breton and Bosmer but no one really knows for sure because no one knows who his actual parents are. The ‘parents’ he was taken from were skooma addicts who had been hounding Khajiit merchants for weeks and were irresponsible to the point that a whole caravan of Khajiit, stressing out while watching this couple neglect their tiny child, collectively lost their minds and just went “listen here’s the stuff you want, don’t even pay us just give us the baby. give us the baby, please.” The caravan finds that couple again not two days later, dead in the desert, and no one is even surprised.

Amazing singing voice but doesn’t actually think he can sing at all. Will hum or sing absent-mindedly sometimes and get real surprised when he looks up to find people have come over to hear him better.

Doesn’t have time for destiny, just wants to steal.

Becomes a thieves’ guild merchant in Riften & moves his business into the Ragged Flagon when their reputation starts getting better. Is also a thief in the guild itself but legitimizes himself as a merchant in Riften by actually running legitimate goods (which helps Khajiit caravans a lot because they can’t trade in the cities but he can and he’s always happy to help the caravans he crosses paths with).

Being raised by Khajiit, Sylon had been taught from a young age not to rely on people and to only rely on his own talents and abilities & to be out for himself and only himself & he believes in this doctrine fully. That is, he believed in it up until the second he meets Karliah and Brynjolf and then he just *lays face down on the ground* “hmm maybe caring about others and wanting to have people that care about me is okay actually.”

Is definitely in love with Brynjolf but no one will ever get him to admit it, least of all Brynjolf.

Meets Katja after she catches him stealing a box of jewelry from her home in Dawnstar. Gets roped into a quest to kill giants with her as a form of recompense because she knows he’s the dragonborn and she’s pissed he isn’t living up to expectations. They end up becoming incredibly close friends whose favorite pastime is jointly roasting Kali, the stupidly naive exiled Redguard noble that Sylon saved from being assassinated one time and who Katja is now housing and feeding (and terrorizing).

Would adopt every orphan in Skyrim if given the option. Despite being fairly aloof and coming across as self-serving, he is shockingly doting and attentive to kids. Makes a name for himself in the cities as a friend of children and someone who will provide without asking for anything in return. Is the unofficial patron god of orphans and strays. And although he doesn’t ask it of them, they make a great information network for him & are happy to tell him everything they overhear in the cities that might be of interest to their thief dad.

#oc: vince mann #oc: sam kettering #oc: vespa #oc: sylon #thank you for indulging me i'm cryin' 💜💜💜#chuckhansen

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likethetailofacomet · 6 years ago

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Fluff Requests Part 2

Part two of @zaffrenotes requests for @pixelburied ‘s Fluff ABCs. All of these little drabbles take place after the events of LTLA- some just after, some much after. I had so much fun turning my answers into little looks at their love that I decided to finish the whole ABCs so if you think these are disgusting cute, look for the rest sometime this week!

!!! V- Vanity, what is something that they are proud of in each other? was also requested, but my answer contains spoilers for the LTLA finale and the follow up series The Broken Bits, so that answer will be re-worked into the full alphabet later this week !!!

M – Movies (What kinds of movies do they watch together? Is it a regular Netflix ritual?)

(3 Months after LTLA)

“Berkley,” Drake grumbled as she fussed with the pillows and blankets. His frown was etched deep into his face and his eyes were full of disdain for his confinement, but Claire could tell based on his posture that he was in more discomfort than he was letting on. “I’m not made of glass, you know,” his point was shattered like the glass he said he wasn’t when he winced at the slight movement of lowering his left arm over the top of the blanket that she had just spread over both of their laps.

She shot him a look out of the corner of her eye and he sighed as his expression softened to one of resignation. “What was that you said?” she asked him, smirking as she kissed his cheek. He’d recently started rehabilitation on his shoulder, having been cleared earlier that week by his cardio specialist, and he was sore. Achingly sore, and Claire knew it was because he was working as hard as his therapists would let him work so that he could get back to life as he liked to live it- actively an on his own terms. He was frustrated that the limited exercises they had given him were causing him so much difficulty, and Claire felt like she was constantly reminding him how little time 3 months actually is; how little time it’s been since his surgeries, and that he had screws and hardware in his shoulder. “You’re made of flesh and bone, Drake, not brick and mortar. It takes time to heal the right way; you don’t want to hurt yourself and prolong the process, do you?”

He’d groan and roll his eyes but he knew she was right- he was just a terrible patient and always had been. He pulled her closer with his good arm and reminded himself that just last month he hadn’t even been able to do that, to hold her, because it would put too much stress on the repaired joints and arteries in his opposite shoulder, back and chest. Progress, however small is still progress, his therapist would say when he’d get annoyed that he couldn’t lift something more than 5 pounds. But this wasn’t small progress, this was huge. Getting to feel her body next to his, to be able to squeeze her tightly to him, to hold her while they slept, that wasn’t small progress as far as he was concerned. Those were giant leaps.

“Okay, so, what movie did you choose?” Claire asked as she picked up the remote on the couch next to them. It was finally starting to feel normal again, this life they started building together during the social season, having him there on the couch, doing something so normal as having a movie night. She looked up at him as he released his squeeze a bit, settling back into a more comfortable position for both of them.

“Press play and you’ll find out,” he said, but she didn’t have to to know that he had chosen the John Wayne classic, True Grit- they had once shared their favorite movies to watch when they were feeling sick or under the weather. Claire’s was Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and this was Drake’s. She knew it was because he had precious few memories of time spent with his father, but that one of those memories was watching old Cowboy movies together. He’d told her how he’d sit on his father’s knee and Jackson would explain the things Drake didn’t understand, and tell him not to tell his mother when there were scenes that maybe he shouldn’t have seen. She knew this one was their favorite together because the good guys win out and John Wayne’s character makes it to the end. Apropos for his current situation. She smiled up at her cowboy and pressed play, and the two of them snuggled in for their first “date night” since the attacks, Drake whispering his favorite lines under his breath and Claire feeling her heart burst each time he did.

P – Pizza (What is their favorite food to eat together?)

(10 years post LTLA)

“Shhhh! Eli, we have to be quiet, it’s a surprise. You know what surprise means,” Jacqueline was helping her four year old brother down the stairs, one little hand clutching tightly to his sister’s, the other wiping sleep from his eyes and hair from his face.

He nodded, yawning, and whispered, “Yeah. It means we gonna say ‘surprise, Momma and Papa!” he took his free hand, finger splayed, and waved it excitedly in the air.

Jacqueline nodded. She was taking charge of this mission, and she’d been planning it for weeks- since she was made aware that their parents’ anniversary was coming up, and she was taking it more seriously than most 8 year olds took anything. In that way and countless others, she was just like her father- determined, independent and driven. But she was also very much like her mother- patient, loyal and full of love, so she helped her brother up onto a step stool next to where Cecelia was already mixing a bowl of dry ingredients for pancakes. Jacqueline had left Celia with the task of pouring all the ingredients that Jacq had measured before going to get their brother, and was pleased that her little sister had managed to get most of it in the bowl, only wearing some flour on her cheek.

“Hi Eli,” Celia said without taking her focus from the bowl, and Elijah waved, another yawn sneaking out as he flattened both his palms against the counter. “Jackie, I wanna help Celie,” he said, looking at his project manager pleadingly.

Jacqueline was ready for this request, passing him a bowl of chocolate chips. “Here, Eli, can you make piles of ten chocolate chips? Papa says ten is the perfect number for perfect pancakes.” She said the last bit with certainty and pride, having helped Drake make pancakes on plenty of Sunday mornings. Elijah nodded determinedly and set to work.

Jacqueline handled the actual cooking portion of the meal, Claire having let her start to cook just last month despite her young age. She was exceedingly careful and since comfort food and baking love into everything was so important in the Walker house, it seemed inevitable that Jacqueline would develop an interest in cooking. She developed an interest in everything she tried. Cecelia and Elijah busied themselves with picking some flowers out of the flower beds in the back yard, and once everything was done, Jacqueline carefully loaded a tray with two plates stacked high with chocolate chip pancakes, the flowers, and two cups of juice. Cecelia and Elijah walked ahead of her and knocked on the door to their parents’ room, Elijah stifling excited giggles, Cecelia smiling ear to ear, and Jacqueline staring at the orange juice, begging it not to spill.

. . . . . .

They’d been awake, laying in the morning light and trailing kisses and fingertips over each other’s exposed skin. “Happy anniversary, Berkley,” Drake mumbled, his lips next to her ear before he nipped at the lobe and used his hand to turn her face to his. He looked into her eyes and it was like walking into that bar in New York all over again as it hit him in the chest how much he loved this woman.

She smiled lazily, reaching up for his face and tracing his eyebrows. “Happy anniversary, Drake,” she said dreamily before he leaned in to give her a slow kiss that stole the air right from her lungs. The knock came as they broke apart and her eyes sparkled. His did too. “Time to see what their surprise was all about,” she said. The kids had thought that they were being very secretive, but they’d have a lot to learn if they were ever looking for a career in espionage.

“Come on in,” Drake called towards the door, dropping one more kiss to his wife’s nose before they did.

“SURPRISE!” Elijah jumped inside the room and flung himself at his parents. He’d completely forgotten the pancakes, too excited for the ‘surprise’. Drake caught him and situated him in his lap with a chuckle.

“Hey, Eli,” he said, ruffling his own hair on his son’s head. “Hey my gorgeous girls,” he beamed as his daughters entered the room, Cecelia carefully spotting her sister as Jacqueline gingerly set the tray down on Claire’s lap. Claire leaned in and kissed both girls’ cheeks before pinching and kissing Eli’s as well.

“Happy anniversary!” the kids said in a sing song chorus, all extremely proud of what they’d pulled off.

“Oh, goodness!” Claire clapped her hands together, a wide eyed expression on her face. “Thank you, rascals!” she gushed over how perfectly the pancakes had come out as Drake set Elijah in between himself and Claire to let the girls climb up on his lap for their hugs.

The five of them lounged the morning away, eating pancakes in bed, and it was the best anniversary that the Walkers had had so far. “Ten years,” Claire said looking over to her husband, his mouth full of pancakes and a smudge of chocolate on his face. “Ten years and staying late to close the bar that night was still the best decision I’ve ever made.”

S – Soft (Something one of them did that turned the other into absolute mush)

(a l m o s t 3 years after LTLA)

Claire woke up from the nap she hadn’t meant to take- “I’ll just lay down for five minutes,” she’d told Drake as he kissed her nose and nodded, knowing full and well that she needed much longer than that. Her hair was still damp from the shower and now sticking to the side of her face and neck. She blinked the sleep from her eyes and sat up inhaling deeply through her nose. She checked the time on the bedside clock and knew that Jacqueline would probably be waking up at any moment. She stretched and pulled her robe tight around herself and wandered down stairs to the nursery. As she got closer she heard something that absolutely melted her from the inside out. She crept closer to the door and peeked in through the slight crack from where it was open, and saw Drake, big hulking man that he was, cradling their two month old daughter in his arms. The look in his eyes was awe, adoration. It was the look that a man gets when he turns from just a man into a papa. But it wasn’t the way he was looking at their newborn girl that was melting her. It was the song that was drifting out of the room. It was the song that her own father used to sing to her and Brielle, and she’d never taught it to Drake, which meant he had learned it only by listening to Claire singing it to Jacqueline during midnight feedings when she thought he’d been asleep.

“Ah, ah, Papa’s love, Papa’s little turtle dove, I love you, yes I do, and m y little baby loves me too,” his deep voice was soft and calm as he rocked Jacqueline in time with the song, her little fists opening and closing as her tiny eyes slipped closed. Claire stood in the hallway, watching through the crack until Drake laid the tiny bundle back down in her bassinet.

X – X (Something they hate about the other)

(5 years after LTLA)

“Come on,” Olivia said, rolling her eyes and taking a long sip of her cider. It was a bright and sunny day and the Apple Festival was in full swing. Jacqueline was running around with Liam’s son and Olivia’s twins, all around the same age, with Maxwell herding them all like an Australian Shepherd- he was actually pretending to be a dog, barking at the kids on all fours as S’mores bounced around his hands, tail wagging excitedly. “You’ve been married three years now. There has to be something you hate about each other.”

Drake looked at Claire and scrunched his nose up. “I hate when her feet are stinky after she goes for a run,” he softened his crinkled face and kissed her nose as she feigned offense.

“And I hate when he tells me my feet are stinky after a run,” she laughed as Olivia rolled her eyes again.

“So not what I meant. I was looking for something real here, you know?” She scoffed but they knew she was only playing around with them- knew that Olivia had actually become one of their biggest supporters. “You two are just gross, come on, gimme something,” she said smirking.

Claire’s eye caught a glimmer of mischief and Drake saw it, a smile climbing up his face as he knew his wife was about to mess with Olivia. “Fine,” she said, letting her face fall into a serious frown that took every ounce of fight in her not to break into a grin. “You wanna know what I hate about Drake?” Olivia sat forward and nodded attentively. “I hate his big dumb combat boots and the way he reads my mind,” she dissolved into tipsy giggles as she recited the poem from the movie Ten Things I Hate About You Olivia scoffing and choosing to head off towards where Liam and the others were.

Claire leaned in to Drake as they watched Jackie climb on Max’s back, S’mores jumping and putting his paws up on Max’s shoulders to try to reach his little human. “But I don’t hate you, not even a little bit, not even at all,” she grinned and he kissed her and tasted the apples on her tongue.

. . . . .

tagging: @zaffrenotes @ooo-barff-ooo @brightpinkpeppercorn @sleepwalkingelite @jovialyouthmusic @mind-reader1 @agent-bossypants @andy-loves-corgis @drakewalkerrosenberg @akrenich @nekkidmolerat @indiacater @gardeningourmet @thequeenofcronuts @mfackenthal @mkatschoicesblog @drakewalkerisreal @jlouise88 @drakesensworld @stopforamoment @gibbles82 @iplaydrake

#drake x claire #drake x mc #drake walker #claire berkley #walker and berkley #the walkers #fill it with love #fluff abc #trr #the royal romance #ltla #the broken bits #these two #i swear #they are the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed

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