#casablanca driver

[velvet4510]

IMPORTANT NOTES: So sorry I had to abbreviate Brando’s amazing On the Waterfront line on the third option - these darn poll entries have a word limit. The full line is this: “You don’t understand! I coulda had class! I coulda been a contender! I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am.”

The penultimate option is from All About Eve.

The final option is from Taxi Driver.

[thekylemeredith]

My guests this week on the Kyle Meredith With... podcast include Minnie Driver, Victoria Justice, Tami Stronach, & Greg Steinbruner

And on 91.9 WFPK, I'll be hanging with Rufus Wainwright, Cleopatra Coleman, Wallows, Ali Siddiq, & Queen's Roger Taylor!

Pic: The Casablanca piano

[i4oba]

nct dream as… !%# types of dates .. 🥣⋆☄︎. *. ⋆

[non-idol ver.! just so you know eheh]

✰ MARK — drive-in theater

it honestly came to mind pretty randomly, as you two got back from your last exam of the semester, driving mindlessly for about two hours — not because you didn’t know what you want to do, but because you two simply just enjoyed doing nothing??? but so many things at the same???

just listening to the mixtape you made for mark, singing so loud everyone could hear since the windows were rolled down too… you felt a sense of freedom? some kind of… relief from the burdens??? it was a pretty hectic exam season you two had to endure and since it was finally over.. you couldn’t keep your excitement low

looking at each other with love and adoration, exhaustion vanishing in the company of the other one — it honestly should be studied? how easy it is for you two to affect the other???

you stumbled upon the drive-in theater by accident, it wasn’t planned or anything, you just wanted to simply spend your night at mark’s place and call it a day, watch a movie on his laptop while cuddling and stuff

but when you spotted the sign you couldn’t help but exclaim, getting all excited over it, even slapping mark’s upper arm… poor boy winced and just said “hey, no need to kill the driver”

you didn’t even need to convince him honestly, he immediately agreed and there you were… not knowing what was actually screening, blindly finding a good spot you two can park and enjoy the movie

it would’ve slapped if it was some kind of slasher horror from the 80s… but it was casablanca

WHICH IS SO CLICHÉ I KNOW BUT it makes So much sense and honestly, it’s such a big game changer to see it like that. it’s like an opportunity you shouldn’t miss

mark got some popcorn and something to drink, to make the whole atmosphere even more “vibey”, as he said, and you two just.. turned off your minds and watched the movie

discussing it and everything, like FELLAS, that’s the right experience! that’s how you watch a movie!!! YOU GOTTA ANALYZE THE SHIT OUT OF IT!!!!!!! ahah

in the end, when almost everyone drove away from the theater, leaving you two here with like.. only 3 other cars, mark gave a kiss on your lips, as a way of celebrating it all. it was for a fleeting moment only, yet it was so sweet and full of emotions

it was a reward, of some sort.

✰ RENJUN — museum date

there was this new exhibition at the local fine arts museum so… it wasn’t even a question that you two would literally RUN (and get a good use of the student discount ahah, it’s a lifesaver!)

casually choosing some elegant clothes which, of course, had to be matching to a certain extent – people HAVE TO see that you guys are together, plus it would look so good on the pictures

you expected lot more of people since it was the first week of the grand opening but it wasn’t that crowded. Which is a good thing honestly, you hate it when it’s sooo full you cannot even move properly

it was an exhibition of some impressionist works by some of the most renowed painters, it was a must to not only look the best, but to prepare yourself for a long day of strolling around

you usually spend tons of time in museums anyways, but this also as part of a date??? the security would have to kick you out asap.. ahah

renjun immediately reached for your hands to hold, while walking around, looking at the beautiful paintings, talking about whatever came to mind – not just about art itself, topics changed so fast you couldn’t even realize it by the time it did

being in art school meant that renjun can sometimes tell you little fun facts and tips&tricks he had learnt in uni

sometimes it amazes how well informed he is and how he knows so many know-hows.. not like you weren’t aware, you absolutely knew he’s smart AND TALENTED, but still ahah

after a good… 3 hours or so? you two decided to end the date with a quick stop at the museum shop :DDD it’s a must honestly, you gotta buy every magnet and postcard you can… especially of such beautiful paintings???!!! you would be stupid if you left without Anything

so you two bought tons of stuff… even some things you can exchange, as if they were gifts for one another :,) ahhh…

you just have to print out that picture of you two, taken in front of that big painting of mesmerizing flowers: renjun kissing you softly, hands on your waist, eyes closed

✰ JENO — stargazing

you had been planning this for literal days before… you know, getting everything together, like those cool ass lamps in a jar bottle with the led stuff, blankets you bought from a nearby art shop?? which sold basically everything??? ahah

drinks and snacks too… you were honestly So Ready to go stargazing! :D

you were supposed to go to that rather tiny park of the town which is mostly empty. that’s why you decided on going there, avoid people and stuff, just the two of you, looking at the constellations >:( honestly it’s so romantic it makes me Cringe (i crave it)

but in the end, you two decided to stay at yours instead, since your parents left for the weekend anyways, which is just a bonus: it’s the two of you in the backyard with the vast sky full of stars

idyllic??? romantic??? adorable and unforgettable??????

All of the above

at first, you two just sat down on the swing bed your father recently bought at a random flea market he religiously visited every weekend :,)

but then, to use the blanket you brought outside (what a tiresome task ahah), you two laid down on the ground instead

the first constellation you spotted was the big dipper, exclaiming when you noticed it on the sky, gently shoving jeno���s shoulder, who was rather nonchalant at first

he then, of course matched your energy, and got super super excited, especially after noticing the ursa major :D he felt like he accomplished his life goal or something ahah (hes so stupid but in a cute way)

what the cherry on top was is his hands, reaching for yours, fingers intertwining, as your heart warmed up – you looked at him, his beautiful face, and noticed that adorable eyesmile of his

life felt good. you felt at home

✰ HAECHAN — restaurant hop

he fucking hates cooking lmfao he’s all like “yo girl i don’t think we should let Me get near that oven… we might burn up the whole house IJBOL” (he would definitely use ijbol irl)

so you were like…

hyuck, you literally don’t even have to come to the kitchen bro, i will cook… which happens most of the times when you decide to stay at home for dates

but this day!!! to spare you from the tiring task of cooking!!!!!!!! he said that you guys should try out restaurant hopping

you were confused as hell honestly, like wdym you want that, aren’t you a picky mf lmfao

but he said that he’s feeling adventurous and is pretty much lazy to go hiking or anything that a sane person would go for

and he felt hungry so it was like the best choice in his eyes – you were sick of spending most of your nights at his (shared…) apartment so you agreed after like… 5 secs of persuading

you wanted to plan out where you should go and maybe book a table at some restaurant but he was all like “honey, we should be spontaneous, go with the flow…”, so you did???? Ahah

the first restaurant was not even a restaurant, it was just the first street food stall you two stumbled upon, getting something for the both of you

you didn’t want to feel full so early so you chose something light (unlike hyuck who was sure he was “alright” but after like the second stop, he was dying because his stomach was hurting “So Badly”)

you ended the restaurant hop with a donut at one of the bakeries you usually go to – you know, to finish it off with something familiar??? now lemme just say, it was chaotic, because haechan could BARELY finish it and made it your problem, whining like a little girl after every bite

like you told him not to get the biggest, sweetest and greasiest one but he was sooo sure in himself, he said he’s got an extra stomach for desserts

well… was he wrong…….

you spent 1.5 hours there!!!!!! he took so much time LMFAOXJAJX they were closing already and he still hadn’t finished

so you tried to rush him and stuff but he turned his princess mode on ahah

but at least, on the way back to his place, he bought you tulips :) it was such a sweet gesture <3

not as sweet as his donut was…… (he almost threw up the next day cause he was feeling nauseous from the food)

✰ JAEMIN — picnic date

jaemin was so excited :( he literally couldn’t stop talking about it like.. that’s right dude!!!!!! we’re going on a date!!!!!! A PICNIC DATE!!!!!

he would literally live in the kitchen before the occasion so that he can cook&bake tons of things for you to eat :) he’s so… he’s so malewife

all you’re left to deal with is bringing the basket and checkered blanket, every other things are settled! they are in his hands, under his control :D

you two went to the park which is right next to the lake – you wanted to see swans while talking about anything and everything that came to mind (he literally compared your beauty to that of a swan… which made you almost tear up like BOY YOU DID NOT… argghhh)

it was a must to start it off with the most basic and cliché thing of everything: the chocolate covered strawberries, feeding each other all lovey-dovey, tooth rottingly sweet and stuff

everyone was possibly like “okay lemme just kms” when they spotted you two, all up on each other, legs all tangled together, stealing kisses from the other, while giggling so loudly

it was SOO so idyllic, almost like you two escaped from a romance movie, or a painting. it felt… perfect, in a way?

birds singing, the sun shining gently on your skin, while you could hear the laughter of the children running around, clouds in animal shapes

then the sun slowly setting, pinkish hues taking up the sky above, everything becoming quiet as time passes by

he hugs you tightly. tighter than ever, perhaps

✰ CHENLE — karaoke

if two weeks pass by without you and chenle going to a karaoke… Most probably it’s because you broke up or something

like girl ain’t no way you WON’T go to karaoke dates… nuh huh, impossible to even think of that ??? CHENLE, out of all people

that’s the least believable thing like i promise you!

like saturday night are for the gir- KARAOKE!!!!! :P that’s how it always goes, getting ready, putting on some casual clothes, maybe eating something quick before that, and then spending the entire time singing your lungs out

you don’t even have energy by the end of it, like it… seems impossible to even crawl back home :,)

but honestly it’s all worth it, comparing your score and stuff, seeing which one of you sings better

sometimes you just open instagram and do lives too, so that your followers can pick who they liked more

(it’s always chenle’s acc though like SO MANY people follows him, he’s like a celebrity… ahah!)

haechan always comes to watch and roasts the both of you, especially when it can be seen that chenle kisses you here and there

he types “EWWWW GET A ROOM FREAKS” and thinks he’s hilarious lmfao

you always start the date with a quick and energetic song, one that boost your energy up easily and then… honestly it depends on your mood

sometimes you gotta be in your moods and sing romantic ballads to each other, as if it’s a serenade

but then again, moods swing so quickly and you can end up in a rap battle too

you would totally eat him up tbh… and he knows it so well

he finishes the date off with the most cheesiest, lovely romantic song ever… like a confession said yet again, for the hundreth time

✰ JISUNG — amusement park

it wasn’t his idea honestly

it was all you coming up with it, because there was that one roller coaster you’d always been scared to go on

and since you haven’t visited ever since you had jisung… you thought MAYBEEEE (just maybe) it would be better with him

you can at least hold onto him and stuff

he wanted to eat before the ride though… you did not let him, of course, since you didn’t want him to throw up on you AHAH

but like, why did he came there RAVENOUS? duh … you’re gonna say goodbye to your guts on the ride girl what did you expect

but you know, the ride wasn’t even the part you enjoyed the most – it was good, of course, just not that… outstanding? i guess? it was alright… especially because you could hold jisung’s hand so tightly :,) it was honestly so adorable

they should’ve taken pictures of you like you’re sure you would’ve put it on the fridge or something

but after that, you went to the gift shop, to get those silly headbands!!!!! you got one that resembled a cat, and jisung got one with a hamster >:( it was adorbs

you two looked like those IT couples that you can always see in instagram, you know, holding hands, taking silly candid pictures and then eating sooo much food

FINALLY!!! thought jisung probably ahah you got so many sweets it was like you could feel your tooth decaying lmfao

at the end of the day, you two decided to try out the freshly opened photo booth which had been going viral for weeks

it was… an experience to say the least :,) but the pictures came out prettier than ever!!!! except for the one where jisung sneezed and you got all scared because he was Loud loud ahah

but the compensation was a fleeting kiss on your cheek! which was also captured on one of the pictures :)

[luuuucas]

What famous characters I see F1 drivers playing

Max Verstappen — Rick Deckard (Blade Runner)

Checo Pérez — Wolverine (X-Man)

Daniel Ricciardo —Jake Peralta (Brooklyn 99)

Yuki Tsunoda— Donnie Darko (Donnie Darko)

George Russell— James Bond (007)

Lewis Hamilton— Neo (The Matrix)

Oscar Piastri— Han Solo (Star wars)

Lando Norris— Marty McFly (Back to the future)

Fernando Alonso— Rocky Balboa (Rocky)

Lance Stroll— Ferris Bueller (Ferris Buller’s day off)

Nico Hulkenberg— Elliott Ness (The untouchables)

Kevin Magnussen— Ragnar (Vikings)

Charles Leclerc— Harry Potter (Harry Potter series)

Carlos Sainz— Patrick Bateman (American Psyco), Poe Dameron (Star Wars)

Alex Albon— Ian Malcom (Jurassic Park)

Logan Sargeant— Jessie Pinkman (Breaking Bad), Luke Skywalker (Star wars)

Pierre Gasly— Maximus (Gladiator)

Esteban Ocon— Ricky Blaine (Casablanca)

Zhou Guanyu— Travis Bickle (Taxi Driver)

Valtteri Bottas— Walter White (Breaking Bad)

[dailytomlinson]

Hollywood recap

Louis showed up wearing a Casablanca Laurel Casa Sport Polo Shirt

Opening: The Greatest

High In California is back in the house, setlist had the 23 songs total

Louis compliments a fan’s shirt

Louis comments on how much he likes in Miami (and makes sure he knows he’s not exactly *there* but it’s down the road)

Louis rejecting a shot offered by a fan: “ I can see you waving the shots. I’ve drank too much in the last 48 hours, I’m not going anywhere fucking near that, I’m afraid!”

Louis pointing out fans wearing avocado costumes / “You know I love ‘em”

Band had technical diffficulties during Out Of My System to which Louis said “We go again!”

Louis playing with a ball during OOMS

Sign: “Favorite F1 driver?” — Lando Norris

Closing: Silver Tongues

[deeloveskiss]

random kiss facts (correct me if im wrong on some of these, i read them from articles and interviews)

⭐️

•ace frehley was allergic to the silver face paint, since its ground up metal. he passed out with the makeup on after getting drunk one night and woke up with his eyes swollen shut

•during the shoot of kiss meets the phantom of the park, ace was extremely high through most of the movie as one of the guys on the set was a coke dealer

•paul switched his makeup from the starchild to the bandit for a short amount of time due to the star makeup being "asymmetrical" and "too feminine"

•gene actually wanted eddie van halen to be apart of kiss, but paul didnt have any interest in him joining, and ace and peter "were too busy making bad decisions about life"

•peter never actually "proposed" to lydia. he said he wanted to get married while they were watching romeo and juliet. she never received an engagement ring

•lydia helped peter make his costumes before kiss got signed with casablanca and his costumes were made professionally

•after ace created the kiss logo, paul revised it with a sharpie and a ruler. he did it by eye, so the two lightning bolts arent identical. the band chose not to change that after getting a record deal

•during a concert, ace grabbed ahold of a railing that wasn't grounded properly and got shocked. he ended up playing the rest of the show with no feeling in his hand. this also inspired the writing of the song "shock me"

•if one band member ended up getting an sti (which was very very common back in their groupie days), the whole band would get it because they stored their clothes together while on tour

•ace got kicked out of 2 highschools and dropped out of 1

•paul did not like gene when he first met him. he thought he was self centered and insulting

•on the cover of their debut album, ace sprayed his hair silver because he thought it looked cool. peters makeup was done professionally, which is why the cover is the only time he can be seen wearing it

•eric carrs real name is paul caravello. since there was already a paul in kiss, they had to come up with a stage name for him. he suggested that his stage name should be "rusty blade," before deciding on eric carr

•vinnies ankh warrior makeup was designed by paul

•before kiss, paul and ace worked as cab drivers, gene worked as a teacher and peter was always apart of bands

•eric carrs original makeup design was supposed to be a hawk, but he decided to change it to the fox design after paul said he looked like big bird

•in recent years, paul started wearing knee pads under his costume due to his knees being scar tissue from falling on stage

•paul also wears a fake nail over his index finger from it being worn down by playing guitar

•gene used to accidentally swallow some of the kerosene he used to spit fire, which caused him to eat burnt toast to neutralize the poisons before seeking medical treatment

•ace got involved in a cop chase at 90mph. he was eventually arrested and charged with drunk driving, reckless driving and leaving the scene of 3 accidents

•before the hth album shoot, ace got into a car crash after getting drunk and crashing into a telephone pole.

•during the hth shoot (the ones on the back of the album) paul got so drunk that gene locked him in a car until the shoot was over

•into the void is the only song on the psycho circus album where every member played

[missathlete31]

This interview is fascinating and really cements how hard Glen has worked to make it. He has lost out on so many jobs and yet still stayed in Hollywood and worked harder.

Throughout his early-to-mid twenties, Powell, who is now 35, found himself auditioning for – and ultimately losing out on – parts that went on to turbocharge the careers of his peers. In his eyes, he screwed up his audition to play Captain America. He came extremely, agonizingly close to playing Han Solo in Solo (Disney went with Alden Ehrenreich). “I can joke about it now,” he says, “[but] I blew that final audition.” Each time, it felt like he had missed his big chance. It was starting to feel as if the universe – and Hollywood – was laughing at him. It’s a uniquely torturous thing, Powell says, blowing an audition. One that stands out was losing out on 2015’s The Longest Ride to Scott Eastwood. “I remember Marty Bowen, who was the producer, just looking at me like, ‘Yeah, this is not going well.’”

“He’s a really positive guy,” Richard Linklater, who directed Powell in Everybody Wants Some!! and Hit Man, tells me. “He doesn’t hold grudges, or feel like the world’s against him. He’s just like, ‘OK, that didn’t work out. But, next time!’” “I’ve got a bingo board of roles I want to play,” Powell says. It’s a literal grid that he keeps in his house in LA. The board is not tied down to specific roles so much as flavours of characters he’d like to play. If he was playing bingo, he’d be up and down the aisles quite a bit. “Twister was on there. Top Gun was on there.”

“I’ve always wanted to play a senator or a president,” Powell says, standing in front of an exact replica of the Resolute desk from the Oval Office, built for the 1990s Michael Douglas romance The American President that later featured in The West Wing. (“No one talks about The American President,” says Powell, disapprovingly.) Other archetypes on the board include Patrick Bateman in American Psycho and Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver, an amalgam of which he feels he’ll hit in the A24 thriller Huntington, which is scheduled to shoot this summer. As we walk through the halls, Tom points out the Iron Throne toilet, inspired by Game of Thrones, which is exactly what it sounds like. Powell gets childishly excited by the piano from Casablanca. “Casablanca is on the board!”

From the GQ Interview

[mrs-lockley]

WIP Game

Tagged by the lovely @soft-girl-musings!

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Tagging: @v4mpires0ap @writefightandflightclub @wint3r-h3art @starryeyedstories @themarcusmoreno but only if you want to!

List of WIPs and their summaries are under the cut!

Current WIPs:

Reach for the Moon: Sabrina AU Pairing: Romantic Jake Lockley x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader, Platonic Steven Grant x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader, Unrequited/Platonic Marc Spector x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader To heal your broken heart and move on from your unrequited crush on Marc Spector, your family sends you to help establish your cousin's bakery in Singapore for two years. You return to New York as a more confident woman, but you find yourself picking up the pieces of your broken heart (again) after meeting Marc as he continues to heal from his divorce. Sensing the pain and heartbreak between you and Marc, Jake steps in to create some distance to help both of you heal, but things don't go according to plan. No Moon Knight AU.

We'll Always Have New York: Roman Holiday/Casablanca AU Pairing: Jake Lockley x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader Wanting to get out of California, you temporarily move to live with your aunt in New York to help take care of her after her fall. Not wanting you to spend your time looking after her, she suggests setting a blind date between you and one of her old coworkers, only for him to stand you up at the restaurant. Mortified and heartbroken, you seek refuge at a nearby coffee shop where you meet a taxicab driver, Jake Lockley. Takes place before the events of Moon Knight.

A Thousand Cuts Pairing: Marc Spector x WOC!Reader Heartbreak is something you and your friend, Marc Spector, are familiar with. After one night of drinking and tears, you and Marc make a promises to each other to never fall in love again, but you soon find yourself breaking that promise. But you'll be alright, it's just a thousand cuts

Your Roots in My Dreamland Pairing: Namor/K'uk'ulkan x Filipina (Kapampangan)Sirena!Fem!Reader Part 2 of Where the Spirit Meets the Bones. After reuniting with his Sirena, the King of Talokan returns to Asia's Pearl of the Orient to see her again, only to learn that his Sirena is not what she seems (aka her human backstory revealed).

As You Wish Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x WOC!Reader The three times Santiago almost tells you he loves you, and the one time you realize he was in love with you. Loosely based on the Princess Bride. Slight Triple Frontier AU where you are Yovanna's best friend and Santiago is her neighbor.

General ideas with no details (yet)

Once Upon a December, Hades & Persphone AU First Order!Poe Dameron Miguel O'Hara x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader

Untitled, Noir AU Jake Lockley x Femme Fatale!Reader

Where There is Love, There Will Be Light, Swan Lake AU Santiago "Pope" Garcia x WOC!Reader

Untitled, Hephaestus & Aphrodite AU Din Djarin x WOC!Reader

[gatheringfiki]

The following ficlet was written by @lazysaturdayonthebeach​ based on this photoset.

Britchell, Rating TBC

You might also be able to read this story on AO3.

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a comment either in replies or on AO3. :)

A Very Happy Christmas

---

Christmas Day was always spent at the Johnson family holiday barbecue. Hosting rotated, but Mikkel always manned the grill and Anders stocked the cooler and had some sides catered. Olaf usually brought his special cookies. Axl and Zeb brought cheap beer. Ty brought Dawn and cupcakes for dessert. Whatever current squabbles upset the brothers’ relationships were forgotten or at least ignored.

Christmas Eve belonged to Mitchell and Anders alone. Anders had made reservations at a 1930s themed restaurant atop a fine hotel in downtown Auckland. He also reserved a room for the night. None of the brothers would know where they were. They would turn off their phones so no one could interrupt them. Only Mikkel, as Ullr, would be able to find them if there was that big an emergency.

The whole evening almost ended before they left the apartment. Anders was chatting with the goldfish and feeding them for the evening when Mitchell walked out of the bedroom in a new burgundy suit. He stopped talking and just stared.

Mitchell smirked.

“John…”

“Nope! None of that. You have to wait.”

Anders almost cried.

John picked up both bags and headed for the door. If they kissed, the night would be over. Maybe a quick smooch in the car on the way to the hotel would be safe. Probably not. Best to wait until they went to bed.

The club was beautifully decorated in art deco style. Bold geometric designs and bright colors harmonized with chrome and ebony. Mitchell compared it to his memories while they dined. Both started with clams and scallops, eschewing the roasted asparagus. They sipped wine and held hands while awaiting their lamb with cabbage and parsnips. Mitchell suggested that it might be a little better with potatoes.

A band started playing while they awaited dessert: spiced pineapple for Anders and cheesecake for Mitchell. Their first song was Cheek to Cheek and was smoothly followed by How Deep Is the Ocean. Mitchell smiled dreamily during Night and Day.

While The Way You Look Tonight played, Anders checked his watch. They had half an hour before their Uber arrived for Midnight Mass. He started to suggest that they leave, but As Time Goes By, from Casablanca, started playing and he pulled Mitchell to the dance floor instead. They danced close and slow.

Anders' phone beeped just after the song ended, letting him know that their Uber was on the way to pick them up. He had turned it on, briefly, just for this necessity. He memorized the driver’s name and turned the phone back off. He whispered to Mitchell, paid the bill, and they walked out hand in hand.

In the Uber to St Paul’s College Chapel where Anders had found a traditional latin Mass. Still, Anders questioned taking a god to an important Catholic celebration.

Mitchell frowned at him, “Can any of you create something from nothing?”

“No.”

“Then maybe someone created you.”

Mass went as expected. Mitchell remembered all the old responses. Bragi helped Anders understand the language.

The same driver waited outside when Mass ended. They cuddled happily on the way back to the hotel. Perhaps in response to the generous tip Anders had added to the payment, the driver made a few detours so they could see Christmas lights and decorations displayed throughout the city.

Back in the hotel, Anders quickly divested Mitchell of the suit that had tormented him all evening. Mitchell kissed him with all the passion that they had been holding back since he emerged from the bedroom back at the apartment. The sex was desperate and quick. So much pent up anticipation and passion just refused to go slowly.

The aftermath was just the opposite. The two men relaxed, naked and sated, in the soft nest of their hotel bed. There was cuddling and slow kissing, talking and laughter. A second round of slow passionate love-making ensued.

Anders called for housekeeping to change the sheets while they took a long steamy shower.

Presents were exchanged.

Anders gave Mitchell a virgin cruise through New Zealand’s fjords. It was twelve nights from Auckland to Wellington to Timaru to Dunedin, where he hoped they would see the southern lights, around Dusky, Doubtful, and Milford Sounds, then on to Hobart, Melbourne, and Sydney. He whispered so softly that even with vampire hearing, Mitchell wasn’t sure he heard, “It could be a honeymoon if you want.” Anders would barely admit in public that they were a couple and here he was proposing .

Mitchell gave Anders a miniature that he had been sneaking off to pose for all year, and a yes.

He was terribly self-conscious about it, but he had hundreds of pictures of Anders. Anders loved it and was deeply touched, though he would never admit it to anyone else. Mitchell determined to get the same artist to do their wedding portrait.

They lay tangled together discussing wedding plans until sunrise. It was nearly six o’clock. They had time for a long nap before going to Mikkel’s at noon. Both turned their phones back on and made a last minute bet about who would wake them and when.

Dawn texted Mitchell five minutes later to ask how his proposal went. He replied with a happy face and “Shh.”

Anders mumbled about winning and snuggled closer, already asleep.

Mitchell kissed his fiancé’s forehead and whispered, “Happy Christmas.”

[averagejoesolomon]

WELCOME TO THE KIDS. God, we are not ready for this installment, I'm so serious. Matt and Rachel are going to kill us all. To say nothing of the upcoming spycraft and general ass-kickery. Thank you for reading this with me. If you're new here, you can read Full Circle in full on Ao3. Enjoy!

Chapter Two

Before Matt boards a plane to New York, he pastes an OTS-issued mustache to his upper lip and switches the passports in his backpack.

There are no direct flights from Washington DC to Moscow. The reasons for this span far and wide, but the most significant factor also happens to be the simplest—sheer distance. At nearly five-thousand miles as the crow flies, there ain’t a whole lot of civilian aircraft that can make the flight in one go, to say nothing of the fact that neither country is especially amicable to the idea of direct contact. As part of a global effort to reduce the friction between two nuclear superpowers, Morocco offers up its services as the geographical and political buffer between the two destinations, its liminal and atmospheric nightlife acting as the ideal backdrop for the world’s transfers, layovers, and delays.

The trip usually takes eighteen hours if flown straight through, but the gin joints can eat into a full day if given the chance. For his part, Matt’s latest trip takes thirty-seven hours.

But he can’t blame the bars this time around because he doesn’t stop in Morocco, and hasn’t since he picked up a Soviet tail in the CMN terminal last spring. For every US intelligence agent flying through Casablanca, there are five Russian officers waiting on the ground with direct orders to identify and apprehend incoming westerners. The behavior has become too predictable. The Soviets have become too prominent. As Joe puts it: an agent in Morocco is an agent in the grave.

So Matt begins with a trip to New York, then London, then Istanbul, where he switches passports again to fly to Dubai, so he can finally make his way up to Moscow. He survives off of complimentary peanuts and ginger ale, stopping only at the occasional newsstand for the latest local headlines and a fresh packet of M&Ms—one of the few candies sold consistently across international borders. Vigilant airport hours are balanced with the relative safety of the sky, and his only sleep happens alongside the low, rattling drone of jet engines in his ear.

By the time he lands in the Soviet Union, he’s already added a goatee and traded his honey blond hair for a bleached wig that more closely resembles his newly assumed Slavic heritage. After deboarding, he identifies the nearest bathroom to the gate and enters the last stall on the left. As instructed by his CO, he runs his fingers along the wall until he finds a ridge in the tile. He carefully peels back a damn near invisible panel, revealing the compartment Langley promised him. There’s a change of clothes. A pair of contacts. A note written on evapopaper: E ibvltn aely ldrm oor we uti I. The key to this particular skip code was already given to him in New York, which helps him decipher the message that a driver will meet him in Lot 2. Thank God he doesn’t need to hail a taxi.

He drops the note into the toilet bowl and watches it melt from the edges inward. After changing into the provided outfit, he silently shreds his old travel clothes to be discarded in various trash cans on his way to the parking lot. Finally, he pops both contacts in, replaces the panel, and flushes the toilet in case anyone is listening. When he approaches the sink to wash his hands, unfamiliar blue eyes blink back at him from where his own brown eyes ought to be.

Between the sporadic sleep and the changing time zones, he has no idea what the local time is, but the dark sky narrows his possibilities to either very late or very early. The weight of travel saturates every muscle, every joint, every step, but he can’t afford to turn off his senses and slip lazily into the night—not in Moscow. Never in Moscow. After five consecutive flights in less than two days, the hard part has only just begun.

The Soviet Union has always been dangerous to western agents, but the capital has only gotten more hostile in Matt’s time as an operative. Last summer alone, ten US informants were executed in the city, including two of Matt’s most reliable contacts. In the following winter, a handful of Russian specialists left Langley for a field mission and didn’t come home. The last time Matt was here, he met with a Circle informant named Omar who offered to talk in exchange for medication not available in Russia, but easily acquired at a US pharmacy with a forged prescription. Omar is dead now, too, and Matt suspects an assassin finished him off before the illness did. These days, Moscow is a loaded spring trap ready to snap at the slightest tick in the wrong direction, deadly enough that even a skilled Pavement Artist stands to don a disguise or two.

Despite the ocean between them, Joe’s voice rings through Matt’s head. It’s always strongest in Moscow, imploring him to pay attention. Notice things. This is the sort of place where it’s best to lean into strengths, so Matt jumps in with the rest of the red-eyed passengers as the mob progresses through customs, down to baggage claim, and toward ground transportation. From his pace to his posture, he strives to put on a seamless Soviet appearance.

When he reaches the lot, he identifies a license plate number he was instructed to memorize, then enters the backseat of the boxy beige Lada. The driver doesn’t look back when he says, “Nice weather we’re having, yes?” in the sort of thick, Russian dialect that only natives can pull off.

Matt replies in his own practiced Russian. “I hear rain is imminent,” he says. “But I seem to have forgotten my umbrella at home.”

Satisfied with the exchange, the driver shifts gears and squeezes out of his parking spot, working his way toward the main city. By now, Matt knows the streets of Moscow as well as he knows the streets of Hay Springs, so he pays close attention to the route, just in case the driver has been compromised in the past forty-eight hours. The two of them do not speak, wary of bugs. They do not exchange glances, wary of pinprick cameras sewn into buttons. Instead, they embrace their existence as total strangers, not eager to leave any impression of an alliance.

This suits Matt just fine. That is, until seventeen minutes later, when the driver takes a right-hand turn away from the city center, then another.

In this business, in this part of the world, two right turns are a surefire signal to any veteran agent that something significant is about to happen, though it’s impossible to predict whether he’s looking at a positive or negative outcome until the moment actually passes. That’s probably why Joe’s voice is in Matt’s head again, anticipating the worst and providing Matt with escape plans. 

The sidewalks look reasonably empty, easy enough to run.

The rear doors appear to be unlocked from the inside. 

If the doors are jammed shut from the outside, Matt’s shoe has an iron wedge embedded in the rubber heel, which will help him kick through the window.

The driver isn’t armed, but if he makes a move for the glove box, Matt’s best option is to choke him from behind.

The little Lada pulls up to an alleyway tucked between high-rise apartments and a seemingly abandoned liquor store. There are no streetlights. No witnesses. The driver shifts the car into park and says, “You exit now.”

Risk assessment is a key component of any covert decision and, in that moment, Matt senses some serious risk waiting for him at the other end of that alleyway. At the same time, he also senses an even greater risk if he overstays his welcome with this native Russian driver who, by the way, has about a hundred extra pounds on him. Matt doesn’t need to be told twice. Hands up, he slowly exits the vehicle and prepares himself for the next piece of this rapidly evolving Moscow puzzle.

The instant Matt kicks the door shut and slings his bag back onto his shoulder, the Lada’s engine grinds into full gear with a squeal of the tires. He has officially run out of CIA instructions, but the good news is that he doesn’t have any time to doubt himself before his next priority makes itself apparent. The bad news is that his next priority should probably be to get away from the knife that was just pressed against his side.

The pointed end of the blade pokes along the muscle just above his hip. It hasn’t cut through his shirt yet, but one wrong move could change that and much more. “This is a nice surprise,” Matt says, sticking with Russian in a rushed attempt to keep his cover intact. “Where are we going?”

The answering Russian is good—excellent, even—but it has the subtle lilt of someone who learned it as a secondary language. “Is that all it takes to best you? One knife to the ribs and you roll over completely?” It’s a woman’s voice, and one of the few commonalities between the CIA and the KGB is the rarity of female agents among their ranks. Plus, the hold on the knife is petite and graceful, belonging to someone who was taught to fence before she was taught to fight. Matt decides he’s not up against a Soviet agent, but this ain’t a friend either. Not yet.

Joe’s voice is telling him to fight, but Matt’s curious enough to say, “In my experience, the person with the knife usually gets to make all the rules.” He continues with Russian, hoping that the woman will respond in kind and give him a chance to identify the accent layered below. “And, by the way, if you’re aiming for my ribs, you’re about two inches too low.”

She doesn’t disappoint. British accent, maybe. Or Australian. It really is impressively subtle. “Bold thing to say to someone with a knife to your side,” she says. “Remarks like that could get you killed.”

Matt huffs. “Maybe one day, but not today.”

She twists the knife a little deeper, pricking a hole in his shirt. “And what makes you so certain?”

“Because if you were going to kill me, ma’am,” he says, “I’d already be dead.”

This is a bit of a risky gamble. Few things make one human want to kill another more than spite, and Matt’s gone ahead and welcomed it with open arms. His mama always did say he had a real way about him, when it came to tempting fate. Thankfully, this particular bet seems to pay off as the knife finally falls away from his torso. The woman grabs him by the back of his collar instead, pulling him deeper into the alleyway. “You’ve taken all the fun out of it,” she says with a sigh. “Come with me. And don’t ever call me ma’am—that much will get you killed.”

This is a joke. He thinks. And jokes are awfully promising in a place like Moscow. 

At the end of the alleyway, another car sits idling. No headlights. No plate lights. Matt can’t know for sure, but he reckons the brake lights are probably cut, too. In the presence of a car designed for a perfect covert getaway, Matt recognizes this moment for what it is—not an attack, but an escape. A high-tech game of keepaway.

In this particular instance, Matt is not an agent. Rather, he’s an asset in need of transportation, and he’s just met his new driver. When this stranger opens the rear door and shoves him inside, Matt knows that she’s putting on a show for potential onlookers. When she says, “Stay down,” he understands that his silhouette can’t be seen driving through the city. It is not enough to blend in—not when he could have a tail leftover from travel, not when the customs office could have bugged his backpack, not when a patrolman might recognize him from another visit into the city and assign a car to follow close behind. Agents have been known to disappear between an airport and a safe house, which means Matt is only safe if he becomes completely invisible. It’s the sort of thing that can only be accomplished with careful timing, meticulous planning, and an appreciation for redundancy, after redundancy, after redundancy.

In other words, this plan has Rachel Cameron written all over it.

He’s managed to avoid the thought for the past thirty-seven hours—and, frankly, for the entire two years before that—but the idea of being in the same city as Rachel after such a long time away has him wishing for a knife to his side instead. Knife wounds, at least, are an isolated pain with one clear source. They can be cleaned and stitched up. Bandaged and healed. This business with Rachel pings around all of his insides, taking turns with his stomach, his heart, his throat, his lungs. Rancid regret rots his brain and radiates down to every last muscle. Laying alone in the back of a stranger’s car, staring up at the velvet interior, Matt gets caught in a loop of all the things he wishes he’d said sooner.

He didn’t expect it to all stop.

He never should have made her cry.

He didn’t think it would last this long.

He lies, sometimes. He’s sorry he has to lie.

He’s doing good, good, good as often as he can.

Matt has always meant to say these things to her, but the longer they went without, the harder it got to call. Now it feels like too much time has passed to say any of it—like apologizing will only serve as a bitter reminder of just how deeply they tore into one another. Like acknowledging it will only reopen scars that have only just started to heal over.

The longer they drive, the more Rachel’s proximity presses down on his chest, squeezing him into the seat. He knows he ought to count the seconds. Track the turns. Try to get some sense of where they’re headed. But Rachel Cameron fills every last available space in his thoughts and, God almighty, she would lecture him straight to high heaven if she knew how distracted he was.

Once he’s fully worked himself up into a tightly wound ball of unspoken mistakes, the tires hit a gravel drive. The car takes an awfully long route over bumpy back roads and heavily forested hills, which is especially impressive given the lack of headlights, before it finally slows to a stop. His driver turns to the backseat, moonlight catching on the curve of her cheek, an icy white steak against smooth dark skin. “Congratulations on surviving your trip,” she says, and Matt thinks it might be an American southern drawl hiding beneath her Russian, with the way her vowels drawl. “You may leave. Your bag, however, must stay until morning.”

Matt sits upright, his silhouette visible to the night once more. “Sure thing,” he answers. “It’s like I said—the lady with the knife gets to make the rules.”

This earns him a subtle tick of the stranger’s lips. Matt latches onto the near smile and vows to turn into a broad, toothy grin sooner rather than later. But in the meantime, he’ll settle for the semi-charmed side-eye she casts his way, just before she opens the driver door. “Bloody Hell,” she says as she exits, finally switching to English. “She was right about you.”

British. Damn. Matt should have trusted his gut.

Wait. 

He bolts out of the backseat and jogs to catch up. “Right about me?” he echoes, falling back into his own American English. “Who was right about me—right about what?”

The Brit’s stride is incredibly long, and would probably be better suited to a runway than barely-used backwoods paths overgrown with weeds. Matt has to quicken his own pace just to keep up with her. “Never you mind,” she says. “This way.”

“Doesn’t seem right,” he tries, “that you get inside info on me when I don’t even know your name—”

“This way,” she says again. “Surely I don’t have to remind you, of all people, that Moscow’s trees have ears.”

Matt has spent a significant portion of his career listening to conversations picked up by precisely placed bugs exactly like the ones she speaks of now. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her the surrounding trees probably aren’t bugged—at least not in the way she expects. The Soviets wouldn’t go to the trouble of tagging each individual tree, only to have an opposing agent uncover them within an hour of arrival. The birds, foxes, and deer, however, are worth a second glance. 

Either way, she’s right. The forest is no place for introductions. Instead, he follows as she hikes toward a tiny cabin tucked between one hillside and another. It appears perfectly plain on the outside, built from cedar logs and a tin roof. Shrubs and pines surround the perimeter, and Matt knows from experience that these are probably prickly and unpleasant, making it difficult for any unwelcome guests to get too close. The curtains are drawn. The chimney is without smoke. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say no one was home. 

They cover their tracks as they go, wordless right up until they reach the door. Mind split in the dozens of different directions demanded by good countersurveillance, Matt forgets to be nervous until the last minute, when the Brit knocks in a unique, four-rap pattern, then opens the door. The cabin’s light flashes into the nighttime forest, so they waste no time stepping inside. 

A new voice greets them. Then again, this voice ain’t really new. Not to him. He’d know this particular voice anywhere, even if he spent years, decades, centuries away. “Grace?”

Rachel Cameron waits for them just inside, seated at a small dining table at the center of a small kitchen. Rachel Cameron has lists, and blueprints, and notes scattered all across the tabletop, the chairs, the linoleum, splayed across kitchen countertops, and taped to cabinets, and stuck to the refrigerator with little black magnets. Rachel Cameron scans one stack of papers with the pencil in her right hand, then another with a highlighter in her left. Rachel Cameron looks up. Rachel Cameron meets his gaze. Rachel Cameron sighs.

Genius. He’s always known the word applied to her, though it strikes him anew. Rachel’s brilliance is better experienced in small doses, when he can slowly acclimate himself to the raw appreciation of it. The last two years have robbed him of his resilience and it’s like he’s seeing her for the very first time all over again.

Except it only takes a single moment for all of their history to come rushing back, filling the room from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, until there’s no more space for words, or gestures, or glances. Rachel looks away first, eyes falling back to a set of blueprints, and Matt follows her lead.

Thankfully, their companion cuts through the silence without a trace of discomfort. “Found your boy,” she says, kicking off her shoes. “He’s cheeky, this one.”

Matt starts to protest with “Oh, I ain’t—” at the same time Rachel says, “He’s not my—”

They both stop, and wait, and wait some more. Neither of them meet the other’s eyes. When enough excruciating seconds have passed, Rachel starts again, and Matt lets her. “Thank you for picking him up,” she says. “I know you were eager to stay in tonight, but—”

“But we aren’t taking any chances with this op,” the Brit finishes. “Understood. Really, Rachel. Though I will say, I was a bit surprised at how easily this one came along with a complete stranger.”

It is as if all of Rachel’s years of etiquette training hit her at once. She brings her fingers to her forehead, suddenly remembering. “Ah, yes, sorry. You haven’t been introduced yet.”

“Not unless you count my putting a knife into his side,” she says.

Matt clears his throat, finally finding his words. “In this business, that’s sometimes the only introduction we get.”

The Brit smiles again. It’s still not the full grin he’s looking for, but it’s closer. “Quite right.”

Rachel studies the pair of them, analyzing something Matt can’t see. She squints back and forth between them, her face twisting into something sour, as though she’s not sure she likes what she’s looking at. “Right,” she says, slowly. Then, clears her throat. “Right, well, anyway. Grace, this is Matthew Morgan. Matthew, this is Grace Harris—”

“Baxter,” Grace cuts in.

“Right,” says Rachel, squeezing her eyes shut, remembering again. Matt’s not sure he’s ever seen Rachel forget anything, and he takes note of the fact that she’s gone and forgotten twice in a sixty-second span. A data point he’ll save for later. “Grace Baxter.”

Grace Baxter holds out her hand to shake, meeting Matt with a far firmer grip than he’s expecting. He feels a couple of knuckles pop in his own hand, and resists the urge to call out. “It’s so great to finally meet you,” she says. 

That’s an awfully interesting choice of words. “Finally?” says Matt.

Grace does not elaborate. “My husband is around as well, but he’s being a good little agent and sleeping off his jet lag while it’s still dark.”

Matt, who hasn’t had more than two hours of consecutive sleep since DC, can’t quite hide the longing in his reply. “Smart man.”

“Outrageously so. It’s infuriating, really,” Grace agrees. “You’ll see him at breakfast tomorrow, but in the meantime we should all probably join him. The last thing we need is four exhausted agents trying to run an op in Moscow.”

Matt has about a million more questions for Grace Baxter, but none of them form quite right in his head. A fog fills his brain, clouding all of his better thoughts, and he reckons Grace is probably right. He’s useless to Rachel like this, and she’ll be the first to call him on it. “Sounds like a plan to me,” he says. “Do you think we ought to run it by the boss, first?”

Grace risks a glance toward Rachel, who has already returned to one of her blueprints. With Rachel’s attention occupied, Matt steals this chance to take her in. Her clothes are worn with travel and her shoulders slump with a need for sleep. Some of her curls have escaped the denim scrunchie holding back the bulk of her hair, falling into her face, and Matt remembers all at once that Rachel never did know how to stop, once she got started.

“Good luck,” Grace scoffs. “I’ve been trying to get her to sleep for hours. Maybe you can talk some sense into her. She’s been planning since the moment she walked in.”

Matt ain’t got any sense that Rachel doesn’t already have ten times over, and he doesn’t dare pretend otherwise. Thankfully, Rachel recognizes this and provides an answer of her own. “I’ve been planning for the past three months,” she corrects, just as she circles something on the page. “I just wanted to get some last-minute changes down before bed.”

Grace turns back to Matt. “You see? Hopeless,” she says. “You two may do what you please, but I intend to get some sleep. Pulling off a fake kidnapping at the edge of Moscow is exhausting work, you know.”

With this, she sends a playful jab into Matt’s side. Only problem is, Grace’s idea of a playful jab is most people’s idea of a full-on elbow to the ribs, and Matt has to catch his breath afterward. It takes all of his might not to let out an unmanly yelp in front of these two women. “Right,” he gasps. “See you in the morning.”

“Thanks again, Grace,” Rachel calls, not looking up from her writing.

With a wave of her fingers, Grace disappears behind one of the two available doors and shuts it with a twist of the lock. Matt realizes too late that her absence leaves just him and Rachel. Alone. Together.

This silence just won’t do.

“Flights good?” he asks.

“Yes,” she answers, scribbling away.

“Abby okay?”

Scribble, scribble. “Yes.”

“You okay?”

Scribble, scribble. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason.” This is worse than the silence, actually. Out of questions and energy stores depleted, Matt decides that his only remaining move is one that has been employed by desperate agents for centuries—a retreat. “Listen, I think I might join the others and try to get some sleep. Unless you need me?”

Scribble, scribble. “Not yet.”

“Great,” he says. “Just point me to my bed and I’ll be on my way.”

Rachel’s pencil freezes mid-sentence. This is Matt’s first clue that something is horribly wrong, followed by the fact that her eyes finally meet his and this time, she doesn’t look away. “No.”

“Um.” Retreat, retreat, retreat. “Okay? I guess I can find it—”

But Rachel is already up, dashing through the sliver of a living room that hosts a single chair, a coffee table, and a throw blanket. When she reaches the second available door in the cabin, blood drains from her already pale face, turning it to an alarming, ashen white. Her voice is hollow and distant when she squeaks out a soft, “No, no, no.”

When it comes to Rachel, Matt is woefully out of practice, but it doesn’t take an expert to see the panic, and Rachel’s panic ain’t built the same way everyone else’s is. The sight of Rachel out of sorts is enough to get Matt’s heart really, truly racing. “Rachel, what are you—?”

She flicks on the light, and when Matt steps up behind her, he’s met with an instant understanding of the situation. “There’s only one other bed,” she says, spinning to face him as she explains. “Abby and I usually share. I booked the safe house when it was going to be the two of us, but between the hospital, and the flights, and coordinating our assets…” Sometimes Matt wonders how loud the inside of her head must be. He suspects she doesn’t realize when her words dissolve between inner and outer monologue. It takes some deciphering to understand her complete thoughts from start to finish. “I forgot. I’m so sorry, I forgot to account for the beds when I switched agents, I’ll take the couch.”

By couch, he supposes she means the ancient loveseat tucked away at the end of the bed. The leather cushions are scratched and cracked, and the silver shine of a spring peeks out from beneath the quilt laid across its back. A grease stain rests along the arm where agents have laid their heads for years and years before. Throughout his travels, Matt has seen more than his fair share of uncomfortable furniture and this one has serious potential to rank among the worst, but this is Rachel’s third strike at forgetfulness when she’s usually a home run hitter. She needs to sleep, and sleep well, and it simply won’t do, for her to sleep on that old thing. “I’ll take the couch.”

“No it’s my mistake, I should—”

“Rachel,” he says, and his hands fall to her shoulders out of habit. Out of familiarity. “I’m sorry, but there just ain’t no way I’m letting you take the couch.” She’s looking up at him with big, brown eyes. They’re glassy, and tired, and he spares Rachel her dignity by ignoring the twinge of tears sneaking into either corner. “She may be all the way in Nebraska now, but there’s no quicker way to get Joy Morgan to Moscow than if I let you sleep on that couch.”

She shakes her head. “Matthew—”

“I’m telling you,” he tries again. “My mama can sense that sorta thing, and believe me when I say she’ll shake down the entire agency to find this cabin and knock me six ways from Sunday, right upside my head.”

“You’re worried that your mother will intimidate CIA agents into disclosing the location of one of their most heavily protected safe houses?”

“You’ve never seen my mama when there’s a matter of chivalry at stake.”

“Matthew, I—” she interrupts herself, this time, freezing when she meets his gaze. “Your eyes,” she says, studying the intimate features of his face. “Your eyes are blue.”

This is outright nonsense, and even more proof that she needs to sleep. That is, until he remembers the light blue contacts. He blinks, as though he might be able to get rid of the color, because everything artificial seems so ridiculous now that he’s in the presence of someone who knows him to his core. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, sorry.”

With that, she studies him more deeply, and he notices the faint lines that have started to form where her eyebrows always furrow, the freckles she’s accumulated along her cheekbones with years of missions spent in the sun, the ease with which her lips fall into a tight, even line. Her eyes bounce between each of his, debating her next words before she finally says, “Why are you apologizing?”

Matt’s breath catches, and he knows this is it. The opening he’s been waiting for. But it’s late, and they’re tired, and they both smell like planes, and airports, and taxis. So despite the desperate words trying to crawl from his heart to his mouth, he settles on something softer. “I think we both know I’ve got plenty to apologize for,” he says, finally letting his hands fall. “But I think we both know this ain’t the time to do it.”

Genius. She’s always been smarter than him in more ways than he can count, and this moment is no exception. She’s smart enough to know that they both need clearer heads. That they both need a moment of quiet. That morning will come and they’ll both be better for it, and that tonight is no place for their usual fights. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about the bed,” she says, barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t—”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“I know you aren’t.”

“I’m so tired.”

She has this way of taking small words and making them feel big. Of making them span years, when they shouldn’t last more than a second or two. Rachel isn’t tired, so much as she’s exhausted, and burned out, and lonely, and weighed down—and she manages to convey all of this by simply shaking her head, and folding her face into her hands, and standing in front of him with all of the humility in the world.

He has this way of feeling her when she most needs it, in a way that no one else seems to be able to. Of hearing those great big words tied up in all of her small ones, and trying his best to say the right thing in response. “Let’s get some sleep, then,” he says, as though it’s the simplest thing in the world. “We’ll get some sleep, and when you wake up, you can tell me exactly what all of those crazy kitchen plans mean.”

Despite herself, she laughs. It's a pitiful, mangled thing, but it still counts. “They’re not as crazy as they look.”

And Matt can’t hold back a smile. “Well thank God for that, because they look…” he tries to find a word, but this is much like everything else Rachel does, in that it defies explanation. “I mean, seriously, Rachel, you’ve gone full Doc Brown in there.”

She shoves him, gently, and Matt makes a show of clasping at his chest in faux hurt. “They’ll make more sense in the morning,” she tells him.

“Everything will make more sense in the morning,” he assures her.

And she believes him. “Okay,” she says.

“Okay,” he says.

That’s enough for them, for tonight, for now. It’s all they need. And maybe tomorrow will be bitter and hard at the center of Moscow, working an op that Rachel has given her whole heart to, but right now is easy and safe. Right now, they’re old friends who need each other more than they knew. 

Rachel finds his eyes again, and sighs something that sounds like relief and regret mixed together. “At least let me ease some of my guilt by hunting down a truly outrageous number of blankets on your behalf.”

Matt looks back to the loveseat and knows in his gut that there will not be enough room for more than one blanket. There is barely enough room for Matt, as is. Even so, he smiles at her. “Rachel Cameron,” he says. “I’ll always take any blanket you hand me.”

[bu1410]

Good morning TUMBLR - March 6th - 2024

''Mr. Plant has owed me a shoe since July 5, 1971."

Ch. VI - 1976 Summer Holidays - Spain and Morocco.

Strait of Gibraltar - Or, as Homer (The Greek poet, not Simpson) named in his Oddissey the '' Pillars of Hercules''.

View of Ceuta, a Spanish enclave on Morocco's territory.

View of Rabat, Capital of Morocco.

Casablanca - King Hassan II Mosque.

Hunphrey Bogart in front of the Hollywood's reconstruction of famous Casablanca Rick's Cafe'.

Benidorm - Spain.

Salvador Dali' Museum - Figueres - Spain

Another year has passed, and finally summer is here again! This time, needless to say, the destinations are obviously Spain and than Marrakech ('' Marrakech Express'' an Oscar prize Italian movie by Director Gabriele Salvatores has been just released and so we are even more keen to go there). Our vehicle this year is none other than a Renault R4 (obviously second hand). A service car from Gianluigi's mechanical workshop. Before each departure, as a must, we go for lunch: this time in an old restaurant ''the Parasoou'' where they cook the real Milanese schnitzel (elephant ear) It's midday, the streets are filled with those 10 minutes of excitement that create workers and employees returning home for lunch. On the Muggio' - Taccona road a guy with a Vespa 50 doesn't respect the red light and hits us! The scooter rider literally flying beyond the R4, without a helmet (not yet compulsory at the time), causing a large lump with his head on the upper part of car's roof. My immediate though was:

God forbid!! We just covered 2.7 km of the 5,300 km that await us and we have already had an accident!! Nice way to start a trip, even if we are not at fault for what happened. Once the paperwork for reporting the accident have been completed, we set off again and reach the restaurant finally eat the huge ''Milanese steak''. Few memories of the outward journey, everything goes quite well, up to Narbonne, where the Autoroute du Midi (Highway of the South) ends. While we are stopped at the toll booth, a girl suddenly appears out of nowhere and asks me in Spanish where we are headed.  ''At the moment for Barcelona, I reply.  ''Bueno vale'' and in no time she reappears with a friend in tow, opens the back door, literally throws a bulky piece of luggage inside and gets into the car, with a numbers of ''Muchas Gracias … Muchas Gracias!!'' In short, it is 11.00 PM on a July's evening, and we are headed to Spain via the state road to Jonquera, and two noisy Spanish girls from a holiday in Mexico have ''self-loaded''into our car. The girls, we discover after a few minutes from their talk, are ''Communists'' and immediately afterwards they begin to sing revolutionary songs which they say they learned in Mexico. It is true that Francisco Franco has been dead since the previous year, but in Spain Francoist sentiments are still very much alive, especially among the ''la Guardia Civil''. Meanwhile we noticed that a kind of 'train''queue'' had formed behind us, made up of 4 or 5 cars, which apparently are tailin us. Between the girls' ramshackle songs, the darkness, and the contradictory French road signs (with that perennial ''Toutes Directions''' which normally leads nowhere) after several kilometers we end up in a dead-end street!! We stop and get out from the car, immediately joined by the other cars drivers, which turn out to be driven by Italians!! Some of them shouting at me like:

AND NOW!!??

And now what?? I answer  We were following you, it seemed to us that you knew the way to Spain!! Says someone who got out of a Pegeout with Florence license plate.  And no, first of all I don't know the direction! And then who told you to follow me?? To make a long story short, we retraced our steps, and took the state road again, but a new mistake was lurking: after a few kilometers we realized - despite the pitch darkness - that we were on the road that leads to Carcassonne, and therefore in a northerly direction, completely wrong, Spain being to the West!! Another discussion with the ''chasing' Italians and then finally, with the help of a petrol station guy we got back on the right path to La Jonquera! Meantime Gianluigi was catechising the girls:  Soon we will be at the France-Spain border, a place full of police and Guardia Civil – no revolutionary songs, no slogans against Franco!! UNDERSTOOD!??  Girls: ''sI ....te entiendo como no......'' Luckily the girls keep their promise, and apart from a thorough check of their luggage (they are coming from Mexico, police's dogs smell something…) at the border everything turned out well. We spent through Barcelona, and we drop off the two girls near their home, in a suburban neighborhood of the city, and than we continue to Calella del Mar, where we decided to stop. After a restful sleep and a day spent relaxing in a chiringuito on the beach, in the evening we had dinner in one of those Spanish restaurants with two entrances, the main one on a narrow street, and the other on the opposite side. The Ladies who own the place - two elderly sisters - made up a spectacular paella, and serve local rosé wine: a tasty dinner that costs us just few pesetas. The next morning we set off early, we want to get at least as far as the Costa del Sol, about 800 km south of Barcelona.

In 1976 the Autopista del Mediterraneo ended in Alicante, after which it began a tortuous route over the Sierra – passing through Albacete (the city of knives), Jaen, Lorca, Baza, Guadix, Granada and then Malaga. The alternative was to go through Almeria, and then the coastal road through Motril and than Malaga – but this variant was even longer and more complicated. In any case, we managed to get to Torremolinos for the evening, not bad considering we were traveling in a second hand R4. We stayed overnight in a hotel on the road to Benalmadena, and the next afternoon we set off for Algeciras.

Algeciras is a Spanish city of over 120,000 inhabitants in the province of Cadiz, in the autonomous community of Andalusia. The city is located at the southern end of the Iberian Peninsula, in the Bay of Gibraltar (or Algeciras) in front of the Rock of Gibraltar. Its name derives from the Arabic Al-Jazīra al-Khadrā "the green island", imposed in 711 by the first Arab conquerors who landed on the peninsula. We chose to ferry to Ceuta - a Spanish enclave in Moroccan territory - for two reasons:

The crossing lasts 2 hours instead of 3 hours of Algeciras - Tangier one.  The disembarkation operations in Ceuta are much quicker than in Tangier, because the border with Morocco in Ceuta is located about 2 kilometers from the city, not immediately upon disembarkation as in Tangier.

Very quiet cruising, calm sea, very pleasant temperature, we will remember this on the way back…… After disembarking, we quickly reach the border with Morocco, where we manage to complete the transit operations in half an hour. And we immediately realize that the hour saved on the ferry is nothing compared to the long and difficult 110 km to reach Tangier. Suggestion: if you have to continue towards the East, along the Mediterranean coast of Morocco, it is best to ferry to Ceuta. If, however, your destination is southern Morocco, it is much better to ferry from Algeciras to Tangier. It is now evening when we reach Tangier, and we checked in last year's hotel, Les Almohades. The old valet is still there, who recognizes us and starts one of his usual tirades in 3 different languages:  Maroc is a great country ……Algeria nada…….  Au Maroc le melon…. kabirrrrr…. Algeria nada……  Hitler criminal…….Mussolini….pas trops……. As usual we leave the next morning, around midday. The state road towards the South is good, it runs along the Atlantic and passes through Asilah, Larache, Kenitra and obviously a myriad of smaller towns. For this reason the average speed cannot be high, as the road is populated by cars, buses, carts pulled by donkeys, scooters and pedestrians. We been passing through the beauty of the Foret de la Mamora, before Rabat; I believe one of the largest forests of cork trees in the world. The state road crosses it from North to South, and it is here that we manage to avoid an accident that could have had serious consequences. A cart dragged by a donkey, just before I was overtaking it, and when we were not even 20 meters away, suddenly the animal escapes the ''fellah's'' control who is driving it, and starts crossing the road from right to left! When I try to overtake him on the right, he comes to the right! When I try to avoid him on the left, he comes on the left! Now very close, I attempt a desperate maneuver: I go up the embankment at the side of the road, like a flyover on the Monza circuit, and I manage to avoid the beast by a hair's breadth! DONE IT!

Soon later we arrive in Sale', the so-called twin city of Rabat . After crossing the Ouadi Bou Regreg bridge, Rabat appears to us as an elegant city, with beautiful tree-lined avenues. We visit the mausoleum of King Mohammed V, which is located on the square of the Hassan Tower and dominates the mouth of the Ouadi Bou Regreg. The mausoleum contains the tomb of Muhammad V of Morocco and now also of his sons Moulay Abdellah and Hassan II. It was built between 1961 and 1971, in ten years of work in which 400 craftsmen participated. The architecture of the mausoleum is due to the Vietnamese architect Eric Vo Toan, and is based on the classic Arab-Andalusian style according to traditional Moroccan art - a true wonderful monument. We then continue to Casablanca, which is only 90 km away by motorway. Once we arrive, we head to a seafront hotel, directly on the beach. It was than we realize that we arrived in Morocco in the middle of Ramadan, the period in which Muslims abstain from eating and drinking during daylight hours. Everything has slowed down, the shops, bars and restaurants are closed during the day, and reopen only after the cannon shot that signals of ''Ifhtar'' (Evening prayer). We manage to spend somewhat boring days between the beach and the hotel. During one of this lazy afternoons, Gianluigi has run out of cigarettes, so he left the beach in his bathing suit, looking for a tobacco shop, even though I told him that he won't find any open.

I'll wait for you at the hotel, I toldl him.

Evening came and my friend still hasn't shown up, and I'm starting to be worry: maybe something has happened to him..... With the help of the reception's guy, we make a few phone calls: hospitals, and then the police station. And from there they confirm that yes, a foreigner (Italian) was arrested while walking on the Corniche in a swimsuit!! I immediately took a taxi and run to the police station, where the cops explain:

''Your friend has committed a serious act of indecency, especially now that we are in the month of Ramadan''!! Using all my negotiating skills, I try to soften the position of the Surete' Nationale agent. And at the end of an endless talk, I finally manage to convince the cops that

''It was a mistake, he didn't know it was forbidden to walk in sunbath outside the beach, we do this in Italy all the time! But above all he didn't want to offend anyone''. Ok, deal! The crime, instead of being punished with seven days in prison, been transformed into a simple fine: 2,500 Moroccan Dirhams (about 220 USD of today). Meantime I was telling Gianluigi to stay calm, I return to the hotel to get the money - then finally, after an exhausting drafting of the PV (Proces verbal), signatures and countersignatures, Gianluigi (during all this time he was in the cage, but alone) is released!! The inconvenience of the arrest, combined with the Ramadan time, ruined our feeling a bit. The next day we decide to leave Casablanca and heading to Marrakesh. We manage to get to Settat, a modern city about 90 km South of Casa'. Settat is a city which, thanks to the fact that it was the birthplace of a very powerful then Moroccan Minister of the Interior, has enjoyed an unusual development in the rather difficult landscape of Morocco. Large tree-lined avenues, well-kept public gardens, modern government buildings with a touch of traditional Arab architecture. All this gives the city a respectable and pleasant air. It is in Settat that we stop to decide what to do: continue (the further we go towards the interior of the country the hotter it will be) or retrace our steps and leave for Spain? The second hypothesis wins, and we make a U-turn: Casablanca, and then via Rabat, Kenitra and then Tangier: this time, mindful of the experience of the outward journey, we want to avoid unnecessary kilometers to reach Ceuta. We had a quiet evening in Tangier: a walk of the Kasbah (truly magnificent) and after dinner at the ''Valencia'' restaurant we go to bed quite early: tomorrow morning we intend to take one of the first ferries to Algeciras.

The strait crossin Tangier – Algeciras it takes about 3 hours, and in that August, with calm seas and bright sun it was a real pleasure. We therefore found ourselves returning to Spain earlier than expected, due to the fact that Morocco, ''closed for Ramadan'', had made us opt for a return to Europe.

BENIDORM It was decided not to stop in the Costa del Sol, but to continue to the Costa Blanca. The rest of the holiday was without too many problems and facts to report. That year I met some girls from Northern Europe, including a blonde Belgian girl. She told me that her father was the owner of a furniture factory (look…) and that after graduating in accounting she had decided to work in her father's company. And then she realized – horror! - that the employees MUST BE PAID EVERY 15 DAYS!! A LOT OF MONEY went from dad's bank account to those of workers and employees! How strange, perhaps Monique thought that the employees lived on PURE OXYGEN???!! or that they could shop for free at the supermarket…or rather that someone else (the State?) was subsidizing them to pay for their living. For the first time we moved to Benidorm, near Alicante. A sea resort 500 km closer to Italy compare to Costa del Sol. Costa Blanca sea is undoubtedly beautiful, the city and the surroundings are very liveable. We found a cozy apartment ina a complex on Rincon del Loix, a hilly area immediately east of Benidorm, from where we overlooked the bay. The residence, in Andalusian style, was managed by a Swiss couple. During the day we could walk down to the coves below the residence, where the water was transparent, and there wasn't the crowds of Benidorm's main beaches. And so, between swimming, relaxing, bocadillos, feasting on mussels and drinking sangria para todos at the ''Al Vapor'' restaurant in Calpe (overlooking the Penon) as well as nights at Sunset club, unfortunately the day to return home inevitably arrived...... We left Benidorm with the usual ''corazon dripping with tears''. In the afternoon we stopped in a place called Xativa in one of those shady bars along the interstate road, the ones with the awning made of Coca Cola caps. Excellent bocadillos ''cagnas'' (cerveza on tap) and then off again towards East. Having arrived near Valencia, after about 60 km, Gianluigi realizes that something is missing: he no longer has the bag that he always hang around his neck, where he keeps his passport and wallet!!

Where did you lose it? Or forgotten? I said.....

Mmmm....guess in the bar of Xativa… 60 km ago… '' He answered

So.....nothing to do except U-turn, hoping to at least find the passport in the bar where we stopped. We arrive with our hearts in our mouths in front of the bar area, we enter and the bartender, truly a man of few words, bends down under the counter and hands us Gianluigi's purse!! Where nothing was missing! And so we leave the bar followed by the "hasta l'huego" of the phlegmatic dueño. The journey back to Italy continued without a hitch, a short stop in Figueras to visit the Dali Museum: the Dalí Theater and Museum is a museum dedicated to the great surrealist painter in his hometown of Figueres, Catalonia, Spain. The museum receives more than 1 million visitors a year.

I want my museum to be a single block, a labyrinth, a large surrealist object. It will be a totally theatrical museum. People who come to see it will leave with the feeling of having had a theatrical dream - Salvador Dali '

It is a unique and unforgettable experience – the Great Genius is buried in a crypt, below the stage.

Afterwards it was just boring kilometres, with the usual signs on French roads and motorways advertising sites as ''historic'' even simple villages where perhaps Napoleon only stopped to urinate or to eat his raclette.......

[detruines]

is that DUA LIPA? oh, no, that’s JACQUELINE “JACKIE” GRIMALDI, a TWENTY-NINE year old ASPIRING F1 DRIVER who uses SHE/HER pronouns. they currently live in PROVIDENCIA B&B IN CASABLANCA, and the character they identify with most is SHANK FROM RALPH BREAKS THE INTERNET. hopefully they find their own little paradise here in el país de los poetas!

statistics

full name: jacqueline rose grimaldi nickname(s): jackie, kiki date of birth: august 22nd, 1994 age: 29 years old hometown: cambridge, england commune: providencia b&b, casablanca sexuality: bisexual occupation: aspiring f1 driver

tldr

the only kid in the family. she's spoiled rotten since day one, although most of her parents' affection come in the form of material things. grew up with nannies and while her parents were usually busy working, they went on family vacations during summer/winter so she has good relationship with them for most part. she's got the freedom to do whatever she wants and was never pressured to do well in school or things like that, but she did go into all kinds of classes growing up. it was her cousin charlie that made her get into racing ⸻ they both shared an interest in cars, so the idea wasn't all that impulsive. her parents thought it would just be a phase at first, as all things were with her, but this is the one thing that she could see herself doing for the rest of her life. they agreed to fund her races if she went to college and get a degree, and so she did. it's been 5 years since she actively races and she recently got her fia super license so that's exciting! she's definitely passionate about her career, but knows when to take some time for herself when she needs it. a self care queen indeed! personality wise she's very chill. a free spirit through and through. a little bit of a troublemaker but wouldn't do something illegal unless you're up for it??? loves to be around people, but also enjoys her own company just as much. doesn't usually flaunt her wealth, but is always "let me buy you something" or "it's okay that's on me". her love language is physical touch and quality time.

biography

born and raised in cambridge. as the only child in the family, jackie was spoiled rotten since day one, although most of her parents' affection came in the form of material things. she grew up with nannies for the most part, but the grimaldis would go on family vacations during summer and winter, which was the only time jackie got to see her parents and bond with them. they were not super affectionate or anything ⸻ she learned early on that it was just the way it was, the grimaldis were always busy with their own things. with little to no interest in academics, jackie was enrolled into all sorts of classes so she could find her own thing.

she was never pressured to do well in school or things like that, which prompted her to be very laid back as a person. for some time jackie struggled with finding her own thing, but she was always eager to try something new. her parents were never strict with her, so she had the total freedom to do what she wanted to, and most often than not they were supportive of her interests.

a jack(ie) of all trades, if you will! her interests were usually short-lived, for that she's quick to jump from one thing to another once she got bored of doing a certain thing. jackie played different sports growing up, but the one that stuck with her for the longest time was tennis. there was a time where she believed she would turn it into a career, but alas, she ended up getting bored of it eventually and decided to try something new. that was how her interest shifted towards car racing when she was in high school.

it was her cousin charlie who helped spark that interest. they bonded over their love for cars, so the idea wasn't something that came to her out of the blue. her parents thought it was just a phase at first, as all things were with her, and yet it was the only thing she could see herself doing for the rest of her life. it's a dangerous sport, sure, but that's what jackie liked about racing. it made her enjoy living on the edge and god, how she loved the thrill!

her parents agreed to fund her races if she went to college and so she did. initially she didn't even want to go to college, but it wasn't because she was bad with studies or anything. in fact, jackie was actually smart. she's just not interested in school, as she would very much rather play sports or engage in social clubs than have to sit through long hours lecture, which she found to be very tedious.

still, jackie went to university of pennsylvania and got a degree in business administration before she started racing professionally, just like her parents suggested. it had been 5 years since then and she just recently got her fia super license, which was something she had been working hard for! her next goal is to race in the grand pix, obviously. jackie didn't get that much luck in securing a seat for this season, but there's always hope that she would make it next year. as much as she's passionate about her career, she's not in a rush to reach her goal. well, sin prisa pero sin pausa, right?

[darkfictionjude]

Happy Halloween!

(For those who celebrate!)

I have nothing special written for this occasion but let me tell you what the Crown + ROs + the siblings have dressed up as in the years before.

MC: very uninspired — a ghost. Literally a white sheet with eye holes. Or even more sad — a pine-cone. Due to this depressing state of affairs on Halloween ‘89 Nia made them dress up as Freddy Krueger.

Imre: to the surprise of no one he spent most of the 70s and all of the 80s as Indiana Jones. Thanks once again to Nia she managed to get him to agree to dress up as Rick Blaine from Casablanca from ‘90-‘92 and in ‘93 as Vito Corleone.

Nia: now she will never be caught dead wearing a costume two years in row. She’s done it all: princess, pirate, witch, fairy, Shirley temple, Andie Walsh from Pretty in pink, Sandy from Grease, Madonna, Cher, Tina Turner and in ‘93 she went as Morticia.

Lorcan: everyone always thought he was wearing a costume but those are literally his clothes. With the satanic panic of the 80s people did think he was dressed up as a devil worshipper. He did dress up as Marty Mcfly in like ‘91.

Salvatore: he was the type of dress up as all the gangsters, Michael, Tony, jimmy Conway from goodfellas. After dressing up as Travis bickle from taxi driver his mother only ever allowed him to dress up as a businessman.

Orla: whatever popular female movie character of that year was that’s what she dressed up as. Claire from the breakfast club, Ellen ripley, Lydia deetz, Princess Leia, sally from when Harry met sally, Sarah Connor, Lorraine mcfly.

Percival: he would just throw on a wig, get a band t-shirt and say he was whatever rockstar come to his head at that moment whether he looked like them or not — iggy pop, Jim Morrison, mick jagger, Freddie, Bowie, what-have-you.

Enjoy the night 💜

[aimersproduction]

Uncover Hollywood’s Secrets: Top 10 Iconic Movie Scenes Using ADR

Have you ever watched a movie and been completely captivated by the perfect delivery of a line? It might surprise you to learn that many famous movie moments were actually recorded later in a studio using a process called ADR, or Automated Dialogue Replacement. This technique helps fix audio issues and improve dialogue clarity. 

Here are top ten iconic movie scenes where ADR played a crucial role.

1. “You’re gonna need a bigger boat” from Jaws

This famous line, said by the character Quint after seeing the shark, was originally hard to understand when filmed. Actor Robert Shaw re-recorded it in a studio, giving us the clear and memorable line we all know today.

2. “I’m walking here!” from Midnight Cowboy

Dustin Hoffman’s improvised line became legendary, but the street noise made it hard to hear during filming. Hoffman re-recorded it in a studio to make sure his iconic shout was crystal clear.

3. “You had me at ‘hello'” from Jerry Maguire

Renee Zellweger’s heartfelt line was re-recorded in a studio to perfect its emotional impact, making it one of the most romantic moments in film history.

4. The Lobby Shootout in The Matrix

During this intense action scene, Keanu Reeves’ dialogue was mostly re-recorded in a studio. The noise from special effects and stunts made on-set audio unusable, so ADR ensured every line was perfectly clear.

5. “They’re he-ere…” from Poltergeist

Heather O’Rourke’s spooky line was enhanced in post-production with ADR and sound effects, making it even more chilling.

6. “Show me the money!” from Jerry Maguire

Cuba Gooding Jr.’s famous line was re-recorded to capture his energetic delivery more clearly, ensuring it became a pop culture phenomenon.

7. “Keep the change” from Taxi Driver

Robert De Niro’s line in the diner scene was re-recorded to add extra menace and clarity, enhancing the film’s tense atmosphere.

8. “That’ll do, pig” from Babe

James Cromwell’s gentle line to Babe was re-recorded to capture the warmth and sincerity needed for this touching moment.

9. “You’re killing me, Smalls!” from The Sandlot

This funny line was re-recorded by the young actors to ensure it was clearly heard over the noise of their game, making it one of the film’s most memorable quotes.

10. “Here’s looking at you, kid” from Casablanca

Humphrey Bogart’s famous farewell line was enhanced using ADR, making it richer and more impactful than the original on-set recording.

Conclusion

ADR is a hidden gem in filmmaking, allowing directors to fix audio issues and perfect performances. Next time you watch a movie and hear a perfectly delivered line, remember it might have been thanks to the magic of ADR. This technique ensures the dialogue we love is as clear and impactful as possible, making good movies great and unforgettable moments truly iconic. At Aimers Production, we understand the importance of flawless audio and are dedicated to bringing the magic of ADR to every project.

[mrs-lockley]

!!! tell the people more about We'll Always Have New York? 😗

Ohoho gladly 🤭

So I've had this idea brewing for a while and my love for Roman Holiday and Casablanca spurred it. It started with the idea that you get stood up on a date, so you immediately call for a taxi with the idea of telling the driver to take you wherever to get your mind off it, and lo and behold, your driver is Jake! When he finds out you're new to New York, he offers to show you around.

I started writing it but it didn't feel right to me, it felt like it was missing something. But based on my hcs that Jake likes vintage, I thought back on the Old Hollywood movies I like and realized Roman Holiday and Casablanca would be fitting, so I changed it a bit that instead of going into a taxi, you go to a coffee shop. You're short on change, but Jake is the one standing in line behind you and offers to pay for your drink, and in return, asks you to keep him company while he's on break. He drops you off at your aunt's place and offers to show you around New York, but you decline the first time. But you end up running into him again and with some coaxing from your aunt, you figure, why not? I had this idea that when he does pick you up to show you New York, you ask him, "are you sure it's okay?" To which he answers, "I'm calling it a holiday" like how Gregory Peck's character told Audrey Hepburn that he's taking a holiday in the movie.

Plus the title!! Definitely Casablanca. So this takes place before Moon Knight- Jake tells the reader that he has two brothers, and one of them needs help in London and he needs to leave. The reader also tells him that she needs to go back to California, but is worried about what this means for them and their relationship. Jake smiles and comforts her by telling her, "we'll always have New York," which is based on the scene in Casablanca where Rick tells Ilsa to leave and comforts her saying, "we'll always have Paris."