#lucky chinatown

[codienenotbrandie]

rather hav 1 real friend den b surrounded by 100 fakes ┐(´ー｀)┌

[ohmagoods]

EXTREME LUCK SPELL

EXTREME LUCK SPELL | Fix bad luck | Fortune Spell | Improve Destiny | Fast Money Wealth Millionaire Spell | Lucky Charm | Thailand Charm https://etsy.me/3vXooLr via

@etsy

[fleshfotomedia]

Chinatown | 1.27.24

[darshanan-blog]

Exploring San Francisco - Off the beaten path

Exploring #SanFrancisco off the beaten path - beyond #Lombard #GoldenGate & #Presidio

I write my blog like my diary and primarily for myself – so one day when I am old and perhaps not able to do much, I can at least see read about the exciting life I lived. Often then I write and forget to post the blog. I have many such blogs that I come across from time to time in my laptop. So this is one such older blog. It seems I forgot to post it and a few things may have changed or some…

[mishapwriter]

[summercomfort]

in my pursuit of ever-increasingly niche comics, I drew a 13 page comic about Tape v Hurley, a court case about Chinese-American school segregation in 1885. The rest of the pages are after the readmore, as well as on AO3 here. More obsure Chinese American court case comics are there, as well.

Historical Notes

Mary and Joseph Tape were not born in America, but their names and identities were very much formed in America. Joseph Tape was born Jeu Dip in Guangdong, China, immigrated the America when he was twelve, and spent his teenage years working as a house servant in an Irish household. Mary arrived in America at the age of eleven, and was found and raised as Mary McGladery in a Protestant orphanage as the only Chinese child amongst ~80 children. Both Mary and Jeu spent their formative years amongst White Christian families, so when Jeu Dip and Mary married in 1875, little wonder that Jeu picked the English name of Joseph Tape -- Joseph to match with Mary, and the German last name Tape as a nod to his former name of Dip.

The Tape family lived about 14 blocks outside of Chinatown, in a primarily white neighborhood. They dressed in Western clothing, spoke English at home, and Mamie grew up playing with non-Chinese kids. Naturally, they wanted their children to attend the local elementary school, a mere 3 blocks from their home. The principal, Ms. Hurley, denied her entrance, claiming that she was “filthy and diseased.” At the time, there was no public school option for Chinese children -- the 1870 state law stipulated separate schools for “African and Indian children” only, not Chinese. The Tape family, with the help of the Chinese Six Companies, their church, and the Chinese consulate, decided to sue, claiming that the 1880 California school code guaranteed everyone a right to public education and that this was a violation of the 14th Amendment.

They won.

But this was 1885, three years after the passage of the Chinese Exclusion Act and six years before Plessy v Ferguson. Regardless of what the California Supreme Court might decide, public sentiment was on the side of the San Francisco school district. Determined to keep out this “invasion of Mongol barbarism”, the California State Legislature passed a law permitting separate schools for Chinese children, which then allowed Principal Hurley to reject Mamie Tape once more.

While Mamie was rejected from the Spring Valley Elementary School for being Chinese, she also had a hard time fitting in to the Chinese public school. The Chinese merchants saw Western education as something primarily for boys. (Their girl children learned from their mothers at home.) Mamie, a girl dressed in Western clothes, would have stood out like a sore thumb. The final panel of the comic was based on a photo from three years later, and even then, Mamie was the only girl.

Places where I fudged the history: Frank, Mamie’s younger brother, was actually six years old and should have been more present in the comic, but I wante to keep the focus on Mamie and Mary. Also, Mamie had actually shown up to her first day of school in Western clothes. An earlier draft of the comic had a separate arc involving Mamie feeling rejected at school and Mary buying her some Chinese clothes, but that got too long and complicated.

Much of this was drawn from Mae Ngai’s book about the Tape family and their experiences as 2nd and 3rd generation Chinese Americans, titled “The Lucky Ones.”

----------

Here is Mary Tape's letter to the San Francisco School Board, 1885:

1769 Green Street. San Francisco, April 8, 1885. To the Board of Education - Dear Sirs: I see that you are going to make all sorts of excuses to keep my child out off the Public schools. Dear sirs, Will you please to tell me! Is it a disgrace to be Born a Chinese? Didn’t God make us all!!! What right have you to bar my children out of the school because she is a chinese Decend. They is no other worldly reason that you could keep her out, except that. I suppose, you all goes to churches on Sundays! Do you call that a Christian act to compell my little children to go so far to a school that is made in purpose for them. My children don’t dress like the other Chinese. They look just as phunny amongst them as the Chinese dress in Chinese look amongst you Caucasians. Besides, if I had any wish to send them to a chinese school I could have sent them two years ago without going to all this trouble. You have expended a lot of the Public money foolishly, all because ofa one poor little Child. Her playmates is all Caucasians ever since she could toddle around. If she is good enough to play with them! Then is she not good enough to be in the same room and studie with them? You had better come and see for yourselves. See if the Tape’s is not same as other Caucasians, except in features. It seems no matter how a Chinese may live and dress so long as you know they Chinese. Then they are hated as one. There is not any right or justice for them. You have seen my husband and child. You told him it wasn’t Mamie Tape you object to. If it were not Mamie Tape you object to, then why didn’t you let her attend the school nearest her home! Instead of first making one pre tense Then another pretense of some kind to keep her out? It seems to me Mr. Moulder has a grudge against this Eight-year-old Mamie Tape. I know they is no other child I mean Chinese child! care to go to your public Chinese school. May you Mr. Moulder, never be persecuted like the way you have persecuted little Mamie Tape. Mamie Tape will never attend any of the Chinese schools of your making! Never!!! I will let the world see sir What justice there is When it is govern by the Race prejudice men! Just because she is of the Chinese decend, not because she don’t dress like you because she does. Just because she is descended of Chinese parents I guess she is more of a American then a good many of you that is going to prewent her being Educated. Mrs. M. Tape

[angellesword]

Baggage l JJK (01)

Summary: Drowning in debt and blood, Jeon Jungkook knows he's better off alone, lest he brings people down with him.

But one drunken night changes everything.

In a blink of an eye, Jungkook found himself drowning not only in debt and blood, but also in dirty diapers and judgmental stares from you, a.k.a his long-lost love and the guardian of the son he didn't even know existed.

Genre and warnings: best friends to lovers, co-parenting, idiots in love, slow burn—really slow burn, mutual pining, angst, fluff, implied smut, kissing, minor character death, slight getting back together, OC cusses excessively so watch out

Pairing: dad!Jungkook x adoptive mom!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

→ Next Chapter (02)

***

You know it's New Year's Eve when people flock to Incheon's Chinatown. Some were rushing to buy gifts for their families and friends, while others ate in a fancy restaurant or watched fireworks and the famous lion dance.

As for Jungkook, he knew it was New Year's Eve when he could earn double. 

"I said I don't want to take a picture!" The loud wail of a little girl could be heard through the vast street of Chinatown. Many shoppers looked at the kid and her father with disdain. The child was crying hard, yet her father simply laughed it off, urging the child to take a picture with Jungkook or, rather, with Ronald McDonald.

Jungkook was wearing the infamous mascot costume of that red-haired clown of McDonald's.

"Come on, Wonyoung-ah. Just one picture, please?" Seokjin, the child's father, batted his eyelashes, acting cute. It worked on his partner Namjoon. Unfortunately, it didn't have much effect on Wonyoung.

"No! He's so ugly and scary!" Wonyoung stole a glance at Jungkook. The mascot looked so hideous that Wonyoung couldn't help but throw her ice cream at Jungkook.

"Wonyoung." Namjoon, who had been quiet all this time, grimaced when he saw Jungkook stilled—as if the ice cream that hit his chest also froze his heart.

Namjoon usually tolerated the young girl's brattiness, but seeing that Wonyoung crossed the line and even hurt someone older than her, Namjoon couldn't help but scold his daughter.

"Apologize to him." Namjoon tilted Wonyoung's shoulder, compelling her to face Jungkook, who was still rooted to the ground.

Jungkook had never liked kids. He thought they were annoying and full of shit. What happened today totally embarrassed him. Not to mention, many people witnessed the jarring scene.

"I don't want to! Why don't you listen to me! He's a bad clown! He scares people!" Wonyoung refused to look at the mascot. Honestly, Jungkook couldn't refute the kid's reason. He, too, was aware of how ridiculous he looked. Most of his co-workers went on vacation leave. No one was around to help him apply his Ronald McDonald makeup. He had to do it himself.

Jungkook had no talent when it came to makeup. He had accidentally put on too much white face paint—even his manager laughed at him. But despite feeling helpless, he still swallowed his pride and went out to entertain customers. It's just for one night. Someone who needed money to survive couldn't be picky with the little opportunity available.

Not everyone was lucky enough to throw away food like it was nothing. Wonyoung was a young heiress; throwing ice cream at Jungkook was considered throwing tantrums and not wasting food. They had money. They could buy people's silence.

That's precisely what happened. Namjoon was hellbent on making his daughter apologize, and after a long time of coaxing, Wonyoung finally (although reluctantly) managed to say she was sorry.

Namjoon apologized on behalf of his child, too. Conversely, Seokjin gave Jungkook some hush money after promising to 'discipline' Wonyoung at home.

Jungkook could only nod, once again forced to swallow his pride and accept the money offered to him. Poor people like him didn't only have fewer opportunities; they had no self-preservation either. He endured long hours of smiling as kids cried seeing his face. The brave ones were a little easy to deal with. They only clung to his legs, asking their guardians to take more pictures with him.

It was already late at night when the last customer bid him goodbye. Jungkook was exhausted; the cold winter wind made his body shiver. He was itching to go home.

"What happened to your costume?" The manager who laughed at Jungkook earlier couldn't laugh anymore, not when he knew it would cost the restaurant money to clean off the stain.

The chocolate ice cream thrown by Wonyoung heavily stained the costume. Jungkook explained what happened. Unfortunately, the manager only shook his head.

"Nope, that can't be. It's your fault you didn't dodge. I'm gonna have to deduct the laundry fee from your salary."

Jungkook's hands balled into fists when he heard about the salary deduction. There was ringing in his ears, and as if that wasn't cruel enough, the manager added, "I'm not going to double your payment this day. Half of it goes to dry cleaning."

The strong urge to grab the manager's collar and slam him on the wall made Jungkook's hands twitch. Who even dry-cleans a fucking mascot costume? A whirlpool of profanities at the bottom of his heart threatened to swallow him whole. Jungkook wished he could just disappear from this world.

Logic sided with him in the end, though. Jungkook needed a job. He couldn't leave even if he wanted to because if he did, where would that leave those people to whom he owed money? He couldn't escape his responsibilities. Yes, it would be satisfying to smack the hell out of his manager, but after all that gratifying feeling came the consequences: he would lose his only source of income, face a civil case, and be forced to look for a new job.

The last one was the hardest thing to do. No one would want to hire someone like Jungkook. He was a failure, and almost all business industries knew about it.

For the third time tonight, Jungkook swallowed his pride. He held the crook of his manager's elbow and beamed, "Manager Bang, have mercy on your poor employee, would you? You promised to pay me double today."

Jungkook struggled to steady his voice. He swore he never cried, not even when losing millions of assets. But things were different now. Back then, he lost everything because of his own decisions. But today's case was different. He didn't ask any of this. He didn't ask that stupid brat to throw ice cream on him. None of these was his choice...because sadly, he only had one choice:

It was to beg. 

"Please? I-I need money. I need to..." Jungkook choked on his bitter spit. He shook his head. Never mind his needs, never mind his reason. It wasn't like others cared. He could only compromise, "What if I wash the costume instead? You don't have to pay at all."

Jungkook was so passionate about his proposal. He kept spouting nonsense. It was a pity, really. Even his manager couldn't bear looking at his face. It was such a cringe-worthy juxtaposition to see a happy clown almost crying.

"Okay, fine!" The manager cut Jungkook off. He had never seen someone desperately beg for money. It made him uncomfortable. "Do whatever you want. Just get out of my sight."

The manager shuddered again, but Jungkook smiled, almost kowtowing as he received his compensation.

"Thank you, Manager Bang!" Jungkook smiled at his manager before finally leaving the food chain. He didn't change his outfit, realizing that things were better off like this. It was winter, and he had no money to buy coats and boots. He had to make do with this clown costume.

With little compensation in hand, Jungkook walked around Chinatown, spending his transportation fee on food instead.

It was New Year's Eve, after all. He felt like he at least deserved to eat something delicious. Jungkook originally wanted to buy crabs but could only afford five sticks of chicken skewers and a bottle of the cheapest soju. 

Jungkook had low alcohol tolerance. It had been many years since he last drank, and the consequences of that night had been awful—so awful he decided to never drink again.

Tonight was the only night he'd break his promise. It was New Year's Eve. He had no one by his side; he could only rely on alcohol to give him warmth.

As expected, Jungkook's vision doubled after just a few sips of soju. He couldn't stop drinking, though. The alcohol burned his throat and stomach, but it was nothing compared to his bitterness as he looked at the building before him.

The Bighit building. 

Out of hundreds of restaurants and food stalls in Incheon, Jungkook had no idea why he chose to dine in a place where he would have a clear view of Bighit. He did so well trying to avoid going to this part of the city for years, so what changed tonight? Was the embarrassment he experienced earlier not enough?

Did he need to be reminded of the pain and humiliation he went through at the Bighit back then?

Or was it because he missed someone?   

Jungkook's heart throbbed just thinking about that someone. It had been long since they last saw each other. Things had changed already. Take Bighit as an example. It was called HYBE now.

Some people left, including him. But some things never changed. The building was still as magnificent as ever.

Jungkook felt nostalgic. He couldn't stop himself from walking toward HYBE. Years ago, he could go in and out of this building as he pleased.

Everyone would bow down and smile at him. What a pity that he could only stare at the façade of this company now.

Jungkook wasn't the same man years ago, but the alcohol clouded his mind. He felt as if nothing had changed. He thought he could stand outside the building, smiling like an idiot as he waved at an angry girl leaning against her car, a frown decorating her lips while rolling her eyes.

Jungkook smiled despite himself. How shameless of him to think about that girl? To think that he could drink alcohol and pretend like he could turn back time?

Oh, how he wished he could turn back time. He would do anything to see that girl roll her eyes again, to hear her scream one more time.

Jungkook laughed bitterly.

He missed the girl.

The snowflakes fell, followed by tears falling from his eyes. The tears he thought had frozen over time.

And then he heard the sound of the fireworks before seeing it illuminate the dark sky.

It's New Year.

He heard the sound of her voice before seeing her face-to-face.

"Jungkook."

The fireworks enveloped his ears, but it was nothing compared to his loud heartbeat.

Jungkook looked at the person who had just uttered his name.

Did time really freeze? Was this some kind of New Year miracle?

Or was the alcohol still messing with his brain, making him believe that he was still the Jungkook from the past? The Jungkook could see the girl, also known as you, any time he wanted.

Jungkook blinked, chuckling.

It was absurd.

How drunk was he to see your car again parked in front of Bighit?

Jungkook was drunk, but the image in front of him wasn't a fragment of his imagination.

You were really here to pick Jungkook up.

Just like before.

***

NEW JJK ONESHOT HERE

→ Next Chapter (02)

This fic is originally a soukoku fic which I'm posting/revamping as a JJK one (I don't know, man. I feel like I have to change the characters to eradicate my writer's block. This fic has been on hiatus for many years. This will probably have 8 chapters in total. (I've written 4/8 already, so stay tuned!) This is also for those few readers who never fail to message me, asking if I will be writing more JJK fics. Here you go, I guess? Hehehe

I appreciate COMMENTS the most <33 I love you, guys. Thanks for reading.

[cruciatusforeplay]

Map Of Whickber Street (Good Omens Soho around the bookshop)

I had a lot of fun watching the entire series again and working out where all the shops were in relation to one another. Some of these are mentioned in canon, some are just shown. I've taken some liberties with scale and the like. It wasn't clear which of these streets is Whickber Street, but I suppose there must be some mystery left in the world.

I'm adding some photo references and some more information about the various shops below the cut. If you can make out any more names, I'd love to know.

It's possible the deli is also part of Francesco's as they're both Italian, but there is a front door by the awning that could lead to the restaurant (not an unusual set up for Soho). Francesco's awning is the victim of Crowley's rainstorm.

Between Francesco's and Give Me Coffee is a shop selling formal menswear that I couldn't make out the name of.

Next to that is the coffee shop, Arnold's (the musical instruments shop), Marguerite's (the French restaurant), and newsagency (the news agents). We get a lovely shot of them from the upstairs of the bookshop (newsagents just barely visible).

Opposite them, we obviously have the bookshop itself and down from that, the record shop (which is called The Small Back Room, presumably in reference to having started at the back of Aziraphale's bookshop). The record shop is the orange shop you can see below. (There's also a clearer view of the newsagents).

The shop one down from the record shop is currently a question mark, but it does have a very bold colour scheme, and at one point we are a candelabra and a piece of fabric in the window display. I can't make out the name of this one either.

Opposite the bookshop we have the pub, the Dirty Donkey, whose front door is also the lift to heaven when summoned. Next to the pub is the doorway that leads you to the brothel (I picked the colour on the map from the new model friendly hands sign on the door), and next to that is Will Goldstone's Magic Shop. The magic shop, bookshop and the pub can also be seen in 1941 London flashbacks. Opposite the magic shop and next to the bookshop is another unknown shop. My gut says it sells lighting or maybe more general electrics, but I couldn't get a good enough shot to really see it.

At the end of this street we can see the Lucky Snake which I believe is a Chinese Restaurant, and just to the left we can glimpse a yellow shop, that I suspect is the herbalist that we see mentioned on Aziraphale's list of local businesses. Soho and Chinatown are geographical neighbours, and it's not uncommon to see Chinese herbalist or health shops in Soho. The red lanterns from the Lucky Snake continue down over the yellow shop, which is what gave me the impression it might be the herbalist.

Directly across the crossroads from the bookshop we have a fruit and vegetable market, that has a flower stand on the corner. That's where the tomatoes roll from when Gabe is walking through naked. (The veggies are obscured in the shot below, but we do see them in general)

If we follow the road between the flower market and the newsagents, I've extrapolated that the stage entrance to The Windmill (the theatre that we see in 1941) is there. We get a moderately clear view of it during the flashback, and the Windmill is a real place (to my knowledge it's somewhere between a burlesque club and a strip club these days), so I figured it would still be standing here too. We get the briefest of glimpses of the stage door still standing in modern London.

If you care for real world geography, then The Windmill's main entrance is on Great Windmill Street, right off Shaftesbury Avenue, on the corner of Archer Street.

I could not for the life of me find Brown's World of Carpets anywhere. Maybe he's not even actually a local business. He seems the type to fake it.

Here's a view of the area from heaven.

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Hi there! I was wondering if I could request a scenario for Identity V? Specifically for Norton? I love the way you write for him!

Okay so, it’s safe to say that since Norton and Fools Gold are basically the same person, they feel the same way about things, including people. What if the reader (female or gender neutral) discovers Norton’s feelings toward them after having a match against Fools Gold and confronts him about it? Like rather than chair the reader, FG acts possessive toward them and teases them? Confrontation with Norton could end in fluff or NSFW, up to you!

Thank you!

Fool's Gold be normal challenge part 2 lol but im mad i lost my idea midway (curse u adhd!)

Rated Mature | Warning: relationship -in psychologist voice-

With how long you have been running your chest is starting to hurt, which does not help the limited places to run are getting smaller and smaller. Luckily, the map is Chinatown and there are plenty of places to hide. Not so lucky, as the hunter is well aware of those places. Not a rare map to be placed in but frequent as the Arms Factory or Sacred Heart Hospital. 

With a dash upstairs and your legs give out, your chest burns but your heart does not stop racing as the hunter is still nearby.

You have been tunnel-hunted before by hunters, never for a reason-- Sometimes. However, you have never felt like a mouse in a game of cat and mouse, there is a teasing nature and you hate it. Fool’s Gold can be mean but he is no Ithaqua or Ripper, still for him to get seemingly off on you running away— His laugh loud— Worries you. The costume he has on does not help as he looks like a demon from the seven hells ready to claim your soul!

“Sparky, where are you~!” In a sing-song voice as he comes up the stairs. You go still, your dark costume is to your advantage as you hide behind a mannequin. The heavy footsteps have you holding your breath as you emerge from the stairway. His eyes looked around, his intimidating height towering above everything. He turns in your direction, golden stylized pickaxe but then lowers it as he hears a cipher pop.

“I will be back for you later.”

You have experienced fear but the rush of it never gets easier.

The hunter throws his weapon before using the magnetism to pull himself out of the opening in the store. You dash immediately out the other way refusing to just pray he forgets you.

He does not, he waits for you to be rebirthed by Embalmer's casket. You stumble out still hurt but alive, Fool's Gold leaning against a wall cleaning the caked-on blood on his hand, his pickaxe nowhere in sight.

“Sparky.”

“Only Norton calls me that.” Getting ready to book it.

“I am Norton.” Stepping forward, “Better than that brat.” You step to the side.

“No, you are some fucked ‘what if’.”

Fool's Gold stands at his full height, his one eye glowing almost brighter in this dark area, “Careful, sparky, I can let you escape through the dungeon if you behave.”

“I will hit you.” That makes him laugh, “I have one fuse left, we can go together.” Because you are not above being crazy.

“That I do not doubt,” Closer but you stand firm, “But you used all your tools. Too bad it didn't help that prison rat.” When you actually attempt to hit him, he is careful not to use his solid hand. His deformed hand holds you in place, the magnetism holding it together is used to keep you on the table as you try thrashing about. “You could've left him alone!”

“Yeah? Maybe you should've let me have you.” Standing over you, “Kiting me only pissed me off.” It is true the time he had you in his sights you made your business to be annoying. He scares you! Like right now. Being pinned down on a table with him between your legs. His solid hand traces your face.

“He didn't mark you.” Spoken when he yanks down your top to expose your neck and part of your chest. The marks on your skin are always from Norton, friends with benefits arrangement.

“What, you plan on doing it for him?” Playing fearless but you are fearful, this is the darker part of Norton. The demon everyone tries to hide made manifest, Norton hates it— Hates him.

“Why else do you think I have you here and not bleeding you out.” As if he would waste his time bleeding out anyone, maybe himself but that work he does not feel like bothering with. “Are you going to fight me?”

You weigh your options, “Mess around and find out, sport.”

His grin is wide, His teeth look sharp, and your inner masochist is excited.

He let you go via the dungeon, your legs hurt and you know your chest and neck must look like a mess. Easy to hide until you find Norton in your room waiting. He hates it when you have matches with his counterpart, especially the tunnel-hunting you most of the time.

“(Name).” Standing up the moment you entered, he put down the charm you made him on the bed where he was sitting.

“We should talk.”

Talking usually with Norton means he has to sit and listen and consider things, you only inform him so he has time to process and return to you. However, given the things Fool's Gold— Other Norton—was open about. Details are murky as he is not exactly like Norton, but the raw feelings are there, all laid bare because he refuses to standby and let his other self be an idiot.

The conversation is long, but no tears, and a few awkward silences but it ends with an understanding. Sex does not happen, Norton learning the ability to be grateful does not mean sex. Plus, the prospector is conflicted about how his other self thinks he has the right to touch you.

“I mean he is you?”

“I don't care! You're mine.”

“Oh, can you say that again for me, sport?”

[ithirealdice]

A gorgeous special commission I got to do. 🥰

Made for a DM who’s trying to help revitalize Chinatown in his city by running Chinese mythology-inspired D&D games. He asked me to make a set based on lucky colours and themes.

[okaydiscount]

was lookin thru the cosmetics section of the wiki and thought it'd be fun to draw some of my favorite items on there :)

for those wondering, the cosmetics are-

soldier's: captain's cocktails, fancy dress uniform, lucky shot, lieutenant bites, coldfront curbstompers

pyro's: pyro in chinatown, water waders, hot huraches, burning bandana, cauterizer's caudal appendage(some of these are painted w/ waterlogged lab coat)

[blueberryproton]

They came to have some curry rice over rice, with me to the very enjoyable ‘lucky creations’ in Chinatown (SF)🙌🏼🤌

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🍚🍚🍚🍚🍚🍚

[bookoftheironfist]

Please take a moment out of your day to check out this incredible 80s-style Iron Fist fan film created by @sky-liam! Sky very generously shared with me the inspiration behind the film, as well as insight into the filming process, fight choreography, and thematic sensibilities:

"As a former martial arts champion, I wanted to show authentic Kung Fu techniques (we were lucky to get an action coordinator who's worked on Chinese martial arts movies). I have a background in Shaolin Kung Fu and competitive Wushu, training and competing for many years, and living in China for a year-and-a-half as well (majoring in Chinese language in college). Going back to some of the original issues of Iron Fist, what really grabbed me was how Danny has trained so long with one goal in mind, and then feels completely lost when he isn't able to complete his revenge on Harold Meachum. I felt like this story was something that anyone could connect to, because so many of us have had that moment where we finished school, or got a 'good' job, and then realized that attaining that single-minded goal didn't actually satisfy us, and we were still searching for something. I also connected with moments from Iron Fist: The Living Weapon when Danny was practicing Kung Fu almost like a drug to keep himself sane. And I connected it to the idea of all those things we do without even thinking because they've become a part of how we define ourselves."

(Behind-the-scenes photos, courtesy of @sky-liam)

"What was most important to me was this sense of [Danny] not being compatible to the world around him; being the Living Weapon but having no target to aim at after Meachum died. Martial arts and fighting becomes a drug to stay above water instead of a means to preserve life. I started Shaolin Kung Fu as a kid and eventually studied Mandarin in college and lived and trained in China for a year-and-a-half, competing in tournaments and working in Kung Fu films there. I wanted to make sure Danny used techniques from actual Shaolin forms (similar to the kind of stuff he'd learn from the monks in K'un-Lun) and also spoke some of the language he picked up while living there. "I knew our fight director, Alfred Hsing, from the Wushu competition scene, and he had also trained in Beijing and worked with Jet Li for several years. He used a lot of 'in-camera editing' in his choreography - that is, setting up short sequences of the fight that were designed to be shot from a specific angle, thus highlighting the best stuff while eliminating wasted camera setups. Of course he also played a version of Steel Serpent in the final fight with Colleen and Danny. "Kara Wang, who played Colleen Wing (and not long after went on to shoot 'Top Gun: Maverick') trained for about three months to complete her fight scene. Our other actors were former athletes with martial arts experience and we also rehearsed choreography for several weeks before shooting. We were able to get many locations for free (the parking garage, the apartment, and the plaza in Monterey Park that doubled for Chinatown) through business and personal connections. "The original short film was about 15 minutes long, and had a lot of voiceover that gave an insight into Danny's inner monologue. We made a few changes to the costumes and events (such as Danny wearing clothes he bought off the rack after coming back to the States, Meachum dying from a drug overdose), which was similar to what was done for the 80s and 90s Marvel adaptations where certain details would be changed for budgetary reasons. In the end, there were some issues with some of the footage in the narrative scenes of the film, so I decided to recut it like a VHS trailer from the 1980s or early 90s would be. "My goal in the end was to highlight some of the grittier story elements of Danny Rand, and to show Iron Fist doing some legit Kung Fu. I hope fans of the character can enjoy it!"

A huge thank you to Sky for sharing this amazing project!

[beasiannow]

Lucky Cat Indeed!

In their latest act of extreme trickery, a rouge group of chaotic Taoist magicians has empowered a collection of "Chinese Lucky Cat" statues, including "Lightning Tiger Dao." The results? See below:

Spread throughout tourist gift shows in Singapore, Hong Kong, and various Chinatowns in America and Canada, the cat bestows a different sort of luck. Remaking the person nearest to them when they activate into a 100% Chinese version of themselves.

So that Jimmy Smith though he was giving his girl friend as cute will present of a lucky cat statue to his girlfriend Laura Fields

What he was really doing was giving himself the chance to get to know her as Xiang Li Fang.

Renée Taylor, while visiting Hong Kong, thought that a Lucky Cat was just the souvenir to bring home to Montana. "Maybe it'll help me visit again soon." she thought.

Ren Liu Tian instead found she would be looking for a place to live in the city instead. To say nothing about now needing a whole new passport and a need to relearn English.

Hanna Field thought the little shop in Chinatown was the cutest, most quant thing she had ever seen.

As Yu Ming Han, a new employee of the shop, it became a lot less quant and turned into just someplace where she worked.

One of the more interesting bits of their Taoist Chaos magic happens when Desiree and Bill Costello take a short rest as one of the Lightning Tiger Lucky Cats acted up.

So that after a dizzy moment, they became Deng Cai and Bill Costello. So that before most of their meals had come via Grub Hub deliveries, then became home cooked better-than-Chinese restaurant dinners.

[nonagesimus]

Hiii for ur birthday prompts can you do something to do with Batman!Dick

thank uuuuu ana, enjoy!!

(AO3 link)

Maybe one day, Dick thinks for the umpteenth time, putting on the batsuit won’t feel like dressing up in his dad’s clothes.

It's funny, knowing the batsuit so well. Dick has seen every iteration of it; he's known every piece of padding, every trick to make the shoulders broader, the silhouette more intimidating. Still, on Bruce the façade never seemed to matter. On him it all seems painfully obvious. The lifts in the boots, the thick armour at the ribs, the arc of the cape. He looks like a kid in one of those stupid foam muscle-suit Halloween costumes.

"Grayson," comes sharply through the air, interrupting his train of thought. "We're behind schedule."

They're not. Insofar as they have a schedule, they're right on time. Still. It's a Robin's job to boss Batman round a bit. Dick had nearly a decade of being the bosser, it serves him right to be on the other side of it now.

"Alright," he says. "You know the route for today?"

"Tt." The kid's standing at attention by the batmobile. Too serious to do anything so base as to lean. "C-Alpha to B-Theta. It's Friday."

Dick hums approvingly, rounding to the driver's side. Fridays are busy, usually. It'll be good. Give him a chance to get lost in the work of it.

Especially since they haven’t had much in the way of real Rogue activity going on. It should hopefully just be muggings and burglaries, and simple things like that. A busy—but easy—night wavers like a dream in front of him as he starts the car and pulls into the tunnel that’ll lead them up from the Bunker. In the passenger side, Damian sits tense and ready. Maybe everything on Dick’s shoulder’s is too heavy, but they can still have a good day.

So, of course, they haven’t even reached their starting point for the night before the police radio starts filling up with something about Killer Croc tearing up Newtown with an angle towards Burnley, and they have to swing north. If anything, Damian’s more eager. Dick’s just tired.

Still. He has to muster up some enthusiasm for the kid.

“I think this is gonna be a whole crock of trouble, don’t you?”

“Tt.”

He grins, pulls into a parking space. Car alarms are blaring in the distance; it’s not too difficult to figure out what direction to head.

“Maybe a roaring good time.”

“Stop.”

“Whaddaya say we scale that apartment building so we can we can get a better look at what’s going on?”

“You’re a disgrace.”

But Damian does lead the way to the top of the apartment building. They get there right in time to watch Croc toss a motorcycle clear twenty feet down the road.

And that’s just the beginning.

They tranq Croc and wait around until a proper retrieval squad with heavy-duty restraints show up to cart him off. Then there’s a shootout in Chinatown with The Lucky Dragons and The Triad. Then a hold up at a 7-11, which feels like it was going to be a return to a normal night, but it turns out to just be a teenager who needs a little talking down, and Dick ends up paying for the groceries he was trying to steal, and letting him know where a good food bank was, while Damian—spoiling for more of a fight—fumes.

“This isn’t what Batman should be,” he says, once they’re back on the rooftops, tone stiff and disapproving.

“Why?” Dick asks, mildly.

There’s still a bit of a division between the idea of Batman and the reality, with Damian. It hasn’t helped that Bruce is—Well. It just means that Dick is failing to live up to what Batman should be. Now that Bruce is gone, Damian doesn’t have to confront Bruce not being what he expected anymore. He can blame it all on Dick. Maybe that idea isn’t fair. The kid’s doing fine. He’s just still adjusting.

“We fight crime,” Damian says.

“Eh,” Dick shrugs. “I like to think of it as we help people.”

Damian scoffs but doesn’t comment more. Really, on the leaderboard of Batman’s Legacy fights, it ranks pretty low.

Part of him wants to counter, to push. To ask about Robin, since he had to have bit more authority on that. Instead he takes them the long way to get back on-route, through all the up and down on the edge of Old Gotham and the Diamond District. Maybe it was just adrenaline and exertion making Damian breathless at the end of the run, but Dick can dream it’s exhilaration too. And that was close enough to talking about it.

He’s about to call it for the night when there’s another call—Upper East Side, this time, a classic mob bar shootout—and when the clean up’s finally done, Dick says, “Maybe Batman stands for overworking yourself, actually.”

Damian sniffs and says, “You simply lack conditioning,” but he’s drooping.

“We can work on it together,” Dick says, dryly. “It’s still time to head back.”

On the drive, Damian falls victim to the time-honoured Robin tradition of falling asleep in the batmobile. He’s subtle enough about it that Dick almost doesn’t notice; just his arms folded, his chin tipping down towards his chest. Dick doesn’t know what he looked like when he fell asleep in the car as a kid. He’d just come to getting scooped out of the seat, barely wake up enough to change out of the suit and shower. Tim he got to carry himself a few times. Kid would sleep through it and they’d end up having to take him all the way upstairs. Jason he only saw it happen once—He’d been talking and Bruce had slowly started to modulate the volume of their conversation down. It’d clicked, and Dick had looked over to see Jason slumped against the door, heavily enough that he’d wondered how they were going to get him out of there—Maybe he could hold the kid up and Bruce could open the door?—but Bruce had pulled into the Cave and Jason had woken up at the sound of the hand brake, blinking to full awareness and acting like nothing had happened.

Dick spends the whole drive back wondering what Damian will do. And what he should do; even if Damian is the stay asleep no matter what’s happening kind of kid, Dick doesn’t think he’d especially want to be carried all the way up to the penthouse. It doesn’t matter because he ends up being more like Jason. Dick pulls the batmobile into it’s space and turns the engine off and Damian opens the door and climbs out so smoothly Dick wouldn’t have known he’d been asleep if he hadn’t seen it.

“You did good today,” he says, as they make their way to the showers.

“Of course,” Damian says, “I’m in peak condition.”

Dick thinks about doing a lot of things. Damian’s still reluctant about what he considers childish, but they’re running at a rate of maybe three out of five times being interested in post-patrol ice cream now that they’ve figured out what kinds of flavours he likes. Dick could suggest they do something tomorrow, which they’d at least get to sleep before. The cape feels like it’s dragging his shoulders down, boots heavy every time he takes a step. Maybe, he thinks, Batman just means doing what you’re able when you’re able.

He ruffles Damian’s hair and says, “Wash up and get some rest, ok?”

Damian says, “You don’t need to micromanage,” but he doesn’t push the hand away that hard.

Dick heads to his own shower, takes off the batsuit, tries to pretend the weight isn’t still there.

[marlo-noni]

Thank you @cynosurus for asking if I've ever written about my Mandarin learning journey, because I haven't, and I have stuff to say about it!

So, why and how did this middle-aged white lady learn Chinese? Here's the first part of that story, which focuses on why and how I started, and gets pretty introspective.

First of all, I was born and raised in the suburbs of Vancouver, Canada, and I've lived in Vancouver proper since 2003. We have a very large Chinese-Canadian population. As of 2009, about 30% of people in Vancouver have some Chinese ancestry.

I've always been really into languages. In my first year of university, I studied Latin, and the grammar was so difficult that I wasn't motivated to continue studying a dead language.

So in my second year, in 1999, I started studying Mandarin. I thought (1) it would be a challenge, (2) it's a very useful language to know in Vancouver, (3) I grew up around a lot of overt anti-Asian racism and wanted to combat that, and (4) I wanted to learn more about the Chinese culture that was always around me but that I knew practically nothing about. It also helped that my grandmother, always a free thinker, had been practicing tai chi since 1980 (the year I was born), and my grandparents went on a trip to China in the mid-90s and came back with interesting photos and stories.

I think it also must have been in the zeitgeist in the 90s that Asian culture was cool, and white people wanted to appropriate it. I was certainly into J-pop and anime by then, and I actually wore a qipao to grad (Canadian equivalent of senior prom) that I bought in Chinatown. If you've seen or read Scott Pilgrim, which takes place in Toronto (which also has a very large Chinese population) in the 90s, that gives you a bit of an idea of white Canadians' relationship with Chinese-Canadians at that time.

I say all this just to make it clear that although very few white people in my community studied Chinese back then, and one of the reasons I started studying it was anti-racism, I wasn't some galaxy-brained politically pure being. I had good intentions, but I still lived in that time and did a lot of the same ignorant stuff other white people did. I had Chinese friends, but I cringe when I think of some of the things I said to them and did back then. It has been a decades-long learning process for me.

I'm also very lucky that my university (the University of British Columbia, aka UBC) has an extremely robust Asian Studies program. My Chinese* classes were very intensive - 2 hours long, 4 times a week, with language labs on top of that (I can't remember anymore how long). We got 6 credits per semester instead of 3 because it was double the coursework and class time of a regular class. Because I intended to minor in Chinese, I also took Asian Studies classes, including a general overview of Asian history (2 semesters long), modern Chinese literature in translation, and early Chinese dynastic history.

I studied Chinese in university for 3 years. UBC had two Chinese language streams - one for "non-heritage" speakers, and one for "heritage speakers". They interviewed all the students beforehand to decide which stream we should be in. Being in the non-heritage stream made it nearly impossible to minor or major in Chinese, simply because it takes so long to learn. I would estimate we were only at HSK 2, approaching HSK 3, by the time my third year was done. But the fourth year, the last year, placed all the heritage and non-heritage students together, and the fourth-year classes were reading Chinese literature. One girl in my class, who'd lived in Taiwan before and was the best student in our class, went to speak with a fourth-year professor to ask if she could take his class because she wanted to minor in Chinese. He basically told her it would be impossible. I can understand the university's dilemma, though. I don't know how they teach it now - if they've ever come up with a solution. I think now there are probably more non-heritage students who studied Mandarin in high school. That simply wasn't an option when I was growing up.

The other thing is that I wasn't a great student in university, because I hadn't yet been diagnosed with depression and wouldn't be until my 5th year (I was also working part-time, so I did fewer classes and attended for an extra year). University was slowly making my mental illness worse until I finally had a breakdown in my final year. So my first year of studying Chinese, I got pretty good grades, but by my third year (fourth year of being in university), I was getting C+'s.

So by the time I was done university, I'd say I was at about HSK 2 level, and it was time for me to start working. From then on, any Chinese study I did would be self-study, and like many people's hobbies, my interest waxed and waned over time. More on that in future posts.

(*)at that time, UBC didn't teach Cantonese, even though the vast majority of the Chinese diaspora in Vancouver spoke it. I think that's been historically true for most West Coast cities in North America, although that has been changing. So the only option at that time was Mandarin. Also, we learned simplified characters.