#frankie loves johnny

[3080ti]

Frankie and Johnny (1991), dir. Garry Marshall

[mikeyswayy]

@oddvanilla THIS IS UR FUCKING FAULT GUYS DO NOT WATCH THIS MUSIC VIDEO PLEASE!!!!! !!!!! !!!

I DONT WANNA RELIVE THIS I DONT FUCKING WANNA 😭😭😭😭😭

JOHHNIE AT 6:20 IS LITERALLY ME

OH AND AT 7:05 OF THIS VID LOOK AT THE SIDE AND SEE MY CHEM LIVE ON SNL 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

LITERALLY ME WATCHING THAT MUSIC VID THO:

[serendipity-in-love]

Frankie and Johnny (1991)

[mangocharmer]

Al Pacino as Johnny - FRANKIE AND JOHNNY (1991)

[corpseflwr]

[sillystringsimpsons]

Doodle of older johnny and frankie :’)

interactions go a long way <3

[drc00l4tt4]

My Springfield Mafia Headcanon's part 2

[cherryfemm]

Anyone wanna make a hate club for this doll?

[friend-dogor]

actually wait in relation to the last post about ghibli and how it is aestheticized into bland and toothless images of comfort, it's got me thinking abt Ursula K Le Guin again

The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain. If you can’t lick ’em, join ’em. If it hurts, repeat it. But to praise despair is to condemn delight, to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else. We have almost lost hold; we can no longer describe a happy man, nor make any celebration of joy.

(from The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas, 1973, top of pg.2)

i think that the original post is guilty of this to a degree, seeking to refute the idiocy and simplicity of focusing on the "happy" themes of ghibli movies my instead shifting attention to the horrors and pains contained within the text—those which could be seen as intellectual, needing perhaps a more sophisticated understanding of environmentalism and geopolitics.

but, furthermore, i think i'm guilty of it even in trying to defend miyazaki's often returning narrative commitment to hope and environmentalism and anti-war sentiment and kindness—after the last tag, i wanted to add something about "i know that putting kindness above pursuit of power feels like a baby theme for babies" because it Does, to me. "be kind" is, like, the first and simplest rule most of us are taught as children, be kind, don't hit your brother, be kind, share, be kind.

i don't refer to this as one of his more challenging themes, of course, because why should i? we all know to be kind. of course, i refer only to topics of war and environmentalism and grief as challenging. kindness is simple!

(nevermind that one of the biggest challenges for myself and a lot of people i know is how to stop being cruel to oneself after decades of practice and learned examples and instead to learn to be kind and forgiving with one's own mistakes and failures and perceived flaws)

and i wonder two things: 1) is it possible that the self-aestheticization of miyazaki's movies (for example, the rapturous visual attention paid to food, the attention paid to soft chairs, pillows, small and pleasantly cluttered environments, with plenty of natural light, lush plantlife and endearing creatures) contribute to miyazaki's more "challenging" messages, and if so, that there's a degree of success in people remembering the thick-cut bacon and eggs on toast from Howl's Moving Castle before they think of Sophie Hatter's town on fire because of the king's war? Has Hayao Miyazaki succeeded in making war and destruction at once horrifying and banal, but a simple good breakfast fascinating and compelling? ——not to say that people who simplify the movie to Only the aesthetics are right. they still aren't. they exist in dialogue with the destruction and it's ridiculous to sever the two. but is it possible that the majority of people thinking first of the "cozy" elements of Studio Ghibli's work is not nonintellectual and reductive, but rather contributes to a larger point of attention?

2) i ought to find other examples of media which do not treat "happy" themes or "light" themes—(i struggle even to talk about the category i mean without dismissing it entirely as Simple, or mischaracterizing it. i mean things like kindness over power and compassion over fear, things like that) which do not treat the themes as childish or nonintellectual, but also do so without fetishizing violence and suffering as Special and More Deserving of Thought than Simple and Stupid Good Feelings so that i can kind of investigate this concept a little more

[kertchu]

Emotional Support Cuciollo

A short Johnny x Frankie fanfic.

—————————————————

As Johnny Tightlips entered his home after a long day at his work of which he ain’t sayin’ nothin’ about. He was surprised to see his underling and unofficial boyfriend Frankie the squealer sitting in his apartment looking pretty worried about something.

Sure, it wasn’t unusual for Frankie to show up in Johnny’s home whenever he felt like spending time with his boyfriend. But what was unusual was the amount of distress clearly visible on Frankie’s face and through his body. It was way more intense than his normal nervous and skittish behavior so Johnny instantly knew something was up and he immediately became concerned for his partner.

“Oh… coniglietto what’s wrong?” Johnny asked.

“Oh! G-Gio! I uh, I-I’m worried about this thing where… uhh… well y’see I just… I-I… I… fuck…”

This wasn’t normal, usually Frankie didn’t have any trouble blabbing about pretty much anything, especially at the most inconvenient times. If he was having trouble with sharing what was troubling then this was serious.

Johnny walked over to the couch where his partner was sitting and sat down next to him. He wrapped one arm around his distressed lover in an attempt to reduce his anxiety and asked; “What’s wrong Frankie? You’re really not lookin’ too good here. Could ya’ tell me what’s wrong so we can work through it?”

Frankie responded with; “W-well so… basically I… u-uhm… s-so… basically… fuck, s-sorry Gio. I dunno what it is, It’s jus’ hard for me to talk now. I guess I feel way too scared or something.”

Seeing his partner in such clear distress, Johnny decided he needed to take action to try and comfort him and calm him down. He grabbed the little plush dog that he had gotten him for the times he age regressed and held it up to Frankie so that he could hold it himself.

Noticing the plush, Frankie looked up at Johnny and asked “huh? G-Gio… you givin’ him to me?”

Johnny didn’t say nothing; and honestly, there weren’t any words needed for Frankie to understand.

“I thought he was only for you?” Frankie said.

“Eh, who says he was only for me? ‘sides, ya clearly need cuciollo more than me right now” Johnny responded.

With that, Frankie took the dog from his lover’s hand and hugged it tightly close to him like his lover did when he regressed. He moved closer to Johnny so that they were physically touching and whispered: “T-Thank you Gio, I-I love ya’ so much.”

Johnny didn’t respond with any words, he simply wrapped his arms around his lover, bringing him into a tighter embrace. While in this position, Johnny rubbed his lover’s back and rocked him back and forth. They were so close that the capo could feel the beats of his soldato’s heart.

There they sat, two men loving each other. One man trying his best to comfort his partner. One becoming increasingly more relaxed while in the other’s arms. They stayed like this for a while until Frankie was sufficiently calm enough to want to leave their position.

“So…” Johnny asked, “are you feelin’ better now coniglietto?”

“Y-yeah, thank you for doing that, it really helped me a lot. So… you want me to tell ya what’s been troubling me?” Asked Frankie. The small nod that Johnny gave him made his answer clear.

——————————————————————

Later that night:

After working through Frankie’s problem as best they could, the two men had a nice tasty dinner and afterwards spent a calm relaxing evening together. At last, it came time for them to go to sleep.

As they lay in bed under the covers. Frankie realized he had yet to formally thank his boyfriend for helping him earlier that day.

“Hey, Gio?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for helpin’ me calm down earlier an’ lettin’ me hug your ‘cuciollo.’ It uhh… it really helped me. I feel really greatful that you’re with me with how hard life and being in the mafia is. Thank you Gio. From the bottom of my heart.” Whispered Frankie.

Johnny responded in the way that he always preferred, using actions in place of many words. He pulled his partner close to home so that their chests were touching one other. He used their new proximity to kiss his partner on the forehead, eliciting a giggle out of him.

As he pulled away, he noticed those two cowlicks he loved so much, and that were the whole reason for calling him “bunny”, sticking out from Frankie’s head. With a smile, he muttered: “I love you too, buonanotte coniglietto.”

And with that, the two mafia men drifted off to sleep.

—————————————————

Character traits taken from @sillystringsimpsons’s au: “The Good Ones”. He’s the one who is responsible for getting me into them in the first place. Love ya dude :D

[purelypacino]

[rolkstone]

I think that a sick frankie being doted on by a seemingly uncaring johnny would cure me... like here ya freakin idiot eat this soup. not because I care about you because I need my soldiers in good health you sick sucker (hes in love).... do you understand the vision BAHAHA

[mikeyswayy]

JOHNNIE MENTIONS MY CHEM!!!!!

HELP @oddvanilla

@oddvanilla 'S REACTION TO THAT:

[serendipity-in-love]

Frankie and Johnny (1991)

[danidoesathing]

Vide Noir + Strange Trails

[sillystringsimpsons]

Pic unrelated. I just think they're cute here. Lol.

SOMETHING IS WRONG.

A short fanfic set in The Good Ones [AU], featuring Johnny and Frankie.

STORY BELOW CUT!

"Something is wrong."

As he speaks, his leg taps incessantly beneath the dining table: little creaks and the rhythmic scuff of his socks against the linoleum punctuating the syllables and iambs in his anxious words.

"Somethin's always wrong with yous," I mutter. My words are muffled as I lazily press a chunk of bread, drowned to limpness with pumpkin soup, into the pocket my right cheek. "What's the matter, coniglio? Jeez, is it the bread? Sorry, baby, I know you ain't a fan of them baked-in olives, but it's all the bodega had out when I got there-"

"Gio, damnit! I ain't a frigging toddler, I can stomach some damn olives!"

...Jesus.

I like his skittishness. I know it sounds a little patronising, but it's endearing to me; the constant fidgeting and wriggling is as much a part of him as the borrowed trace-scent of my cologne in the crook of his neck and the way he gets little crow's feet by his eyes when he smiles. But this, right now, is more than his day-to-day restlessness: he's cagey today: more so than normal. I can see it in the way his eyes dart frantically around the room, the way those dilated pupils can never quite seem to sit in one place, caught in that same little loop of endless motion as his squirming lower half.

"...Sorry."

As soon as he breaks the silence, I realise I've been absentmindedly holding my breath in - as if, if I had let it go, some inappropriate response to his seemingly unprovoked outburst would have slipped out with it. But he's taken the weight of the reply off my shoulders, leaving me with nothing to do but give a barely audible, shaky out-breath after I choke down the food still in my mouth with an unwittingly stilted swallow.

"I... I, uh, don't apologise, Frankie," is all I manage to offer, at first. "I shouldn't 'a cut you off like that. My foul, alright?"

"No, Johnny, it ain't your fault, babe, I just... I just-"

Ironically, he's never been very good at expressing himself: it's no real surprise that the words he wants to get lost at the tip of his tongue, leaving him with nothing but stutters and frustrated little grunts - and once he's run out of those, all he has left to give is a big, defeated groan as he buries his face into his hands.

"It's just... Things have been good."

That confession, meek and padded by the hum of his lips against his calloused palms, is the absolute last thing I expected to hear.

"Good?"

"Too good," he whines, still refusing to look me in the eyes. "Everything is too damn good, and I feel like somethin' awful is about to happen. I can't freaking relax, Gio, I feel like- Damnit, I don't know, it feels like my brain is full 'a fluid, and- And my head is going to explode- Or somethin'-!"

"What, like, a fever? Frankie, if you got a fever-"

"No, no, it's metaphor-ismical, or freakin'- Whatever you call it! I just... It feels like there are a million bees inside my skull, Johnny. Does that make sense?"

No, not really. The bees, at least: I can't particularly envision something like that, I've never been all that good at creative thinking - or whatever the ability to picture insects in your head is called.

But, what does make sense is the look in his eyes as he raises his gaze: only slightly, just enough to meet my own.

There's a frenetic, anxious energy there, one that I've seen time, and time again: in the eyes of the lanky, up-town sixteen-year-old who'd ride past my shop on his bike a suspicious amount of times every day, in the eyes of the point of contention sat across from me at one too many impromptu meetings of DiMaggio's inner circle, in the eyes of the disgraced caporegime reluctantly settling into his new place among the ranks of my crew...

In the eyes of the man sat opposite me.

I give my best attempt at a sympathetic smile.

"Yeah. It does."