#a girl is in a mobster esque family

[candiedspit]

when I was lucid

Tomas fucked like a girl. 

This was disappointing. I wanted him to wrap his muscles–pink, buoyant muscles–around me until I disappeared. I wanted to make use of my legs. But he mewled like a kitten and hardly touched me. 

Am I hurting you? He asked every few seconds. 

No, I said and said. 

A cigarette was still burning on the nightstand. The sunlight outside waned like a feeling. When he finished, he rolled off of me and I got up to get dressed. 

I’ve gotta go, I said, snagging my coat on. 

And left him with his vapors and dirty skin. 

There was a cab outside waiting for me. Life was like this, one magic act. I yawned and a man offered me champagne. Things appeared. I did my lipstick in the backseat, caught the driver looking at me in the rearview mirror. 

What? I asked, popping my lips. 

He didn’t say anything. I rolled my eyes. He left me at my family’s restaurant where I met the rest of the boogaloos. I entered through the back door, smelling of sex and strawberry perfume. I liked making scenes. Another reason Tomas disappointed me–no bruises to coat with foundation, no angered calls from my brothers. I’m the youngest in our family; the only girl, too. This allows me many advantages. Everyone treats me as though I’m made of glass. 

Where you been, dope? Nick asked. 

I had four older brothers and Nick was the closest to me in age. He had spent his recent twenty fifth birthday in the white gallows of Hawaii, dodging waterfalls. I was twenty years old. It was only the brothers there. Dad was working. I never knew what that meant, though there were hints. All that really mattered was his mood when he came home. Sometimes, he went to his office and drank. Nothing could stir him, his misery like a furnace heating the entire house. Other times, he came home bearing gifts, stories and quick cracks at everyone. He was a laser beam. I take after him in some respects. For example, my beautiful, long nose. And my green, slanted eyes. I’m also a natural depressive. Prone to fits, slamming doors, refusing to eat for days. Once, I told a shrink I feel like as empty as a clock. He told me everybody feels like that. 

Not like me, I told him. Not like me. 

I was with Tomas, I told Nick as I took a seat at the table. 

It was quiet. Robin, Frank and my oldest brother Jonathan fiddled with their fingers, sniffling. I made a face. 

What is this? I asked. A fucking funeral parlor? What’s going on?

Dad lost a bet, Jonathan said. A big one.

Shit, I said. What do we do?

Not you. Nick said. But we’ve got till this evening to get it sorted. 

I was never allowed out on any ventures. This upset me. I could handle anything the boys could. A little blood. A little guts. It didn’t bother me much. I had a strong stomach. 

There’s a cab coming for you, Robin said. Just stay at the house. 

Can’t we play a game first? I asked. I loved beating them at cards, the dimwits. 

No time, Jonathan said. 

I got up and grabbed a soda from the fridge before heading towards the door. 

Be safe, I said. 

Always. 

I never knew what time it was. It was probably around one in the morning when the boys came back with dad. I’d spent the afternoon watching TV with mom while she did my nails. Dad was furious, cursing anyone that came to mind; Mickey Mouse, God, Judy Dame. As Nick slinked upstairs, I caught his arm. His shirt was rimmed with what I knew was blood. 

Are you okay? I asked. 

He nodded. I kissed his cheek and let him go. 

I wasn’t in school. I filled my time with house parties, dungeons, anything that sparkled. That weekend, I was in the basement with Katie-Marie, a girl I’ve known since we were four. I didn’t have many friends. But I had good ones, the ones I had. Katie-Marie was wonderful to be around. I could tell her anything. Most of the time, I complained about Tomas. 

Let go of him, Katie-Marie said. He’s nothing but a pain. Not worth the time. 

I’m compelled, I said. There’s something about him I can’t get enough of. 

Katie-Marie did another line, I followed suit and laid back down on the couch, drank some soda. I often imagined burning my nose off; sulfur and love confessions. I listened to Katie-Marie sing along to some girl pop band until I felt as though someone had thrown me into the electric chair except I was innocent. All of my nerves were on high alert. I fluttered my eyes, seeing the faint image of a lamb on the ceiling. There was a cosmic rhinestone in the very center of my forehead. I could feel every one of my thoughts like arrows shot from the other side. I laughed and laughed, couldn’t tell when I wasn’t laughing. Katie-Marie kissed my cheek. I licked her palm. I began speaking. 

Are we not the damndest? Are we not the ones? I could drink my youth from a shot glass. It’s going to rain. I’m the first horse who realized he can run. And I’m running and I’m never stopping. I’m a cunt. I’m Daddy. He thinks he’s so big, I’m bigger. 

I looked over at Katie-Marie. 

He thinks he’s big but I’m bigger, I said over and over. 

I have this dream, I found myself telling Tomas. That dud, dull sparkler; magic amulet with no power within it. I didn’t like him. How many times could I rap at his door? A shift, I expected him to be someone else every time. The person I loved. And each time, it was only him in his boy shorts, grease king, cigarette burns in the blankets, ashtrays on the carpet, the scent of a life lived far too long. It had been four days since we’d seen each other; I’d spent the time crying, masturbating and crying, punching his number into the phone and then chickening out. He looked at me, rubbed my cheek with his bandaged thumb. 

What do you dream? He asked. 

I’m Christ at the table. And the skies are made of lace, there are gingerbread cookies, rugs made of skin, a thousand diamonds, an itch in my teeth. A cock between my hands. Psalms rising and falling beneath my eyelids. I am the son of God. I am going to be betrayed by the phony who loves me as the wind loves to tickle the trees. I am going to die for you. 

I pointed towards the ceiling. 

But for the moment, I am full of wine, singing drunk. And the colors explode. Someone is speaking. A beautiful woman with her breasts exposed. And I hear the sound of what comes next. I hear the crackle of electricity; lightning bolts, rashes of rain pissing from above. I hear a hundred languages, babbling over one another like threads in a wicker basket, streams of fish. I hear a thumping, a grinding, ecstatic horsepower. I see the black coughs of genocide. I see Americans on the street, hiding from a wall of ash. I see America. 

You’re insane, he said as though astonished. Absolutely insane. 

It was a Tuesday evening. I was at the restaurant with Nick, playing cards. The other boys were upstairs, running dishes, cleaning tables. Outside, I could hear the fantastic drip of rain. I beat Nick at cards for the third time in a row. 

You’re letting me win, I complained. 

He laughed. 

I’m really that bad, he said. That’s the truth. 

It got quiet as I got up to get another soda, one for me and one for him. I cracked open the can and sat back down. Nick was looking at me. 

Julia, he said. 

I looked at him. He never called me by my name. 

 Why don’t you get away from here? You could. Dad would pay for school, somewhere upstate. You could leave all this shit behind. It’s not good for you to be in the periphery of what we do. Why don’t you? 

I looked at his hands, a cross tattooed on his wrist. I loved him like a mother does, like a knife.

Why don't you go fuck yourself? I asked. And said nothing else.

I set up another card game. And let him win.

[cinemaocd]

Jenny's ongoing list of films watched 2024

January

RRR (2023)*

Peter's Friends (1992)*

The Lady Eve (1941)

How to Get a Head in Advertising (1988)*

High Fidelity (2000)

Frieda (1947)*

Oh...Rosalinda! (1955)

The Quick and the Dead (1995)*

The Barefoot Contessa (1954)*

The Life and Death of Col. Blimp (1943) Commentary Track (2012)*

Rhubarb (1951)*

The Birds (1963)*

House of Yes (1997)*

Cassandra Cat (1963)*

Foreign Correspondent (1940)

The Long Goodbye (1973)

Night of the Comet (1984)

The Day the Earth Caught Fire (1961)*

For Me and My Gal (1942)*

The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)

The Small, Back Room (1949)

House of Games (1987)

Water (1985)*

The Ballad of John and Yoko (2023)*

The Meaning of Life (1983)

Track 29 (1988)*

*New to me

Thoughts on the New to Me films:

New Year's Eve we watched RRR, a lot of fun, energetic, bright and action-packed. I enjoyed the way that little attention was given to the British characters. They were straight up villains in ill fitting ahistorical costumes, kind of like the way Indian/Asian characters are treated in Western films most of the time...$$$

New Year's Day we watched Peter's Friends, a drama/comedy from the early 90s starring all of the famous Cambridge Footlights. Big Chill-ish film set in a country house over the Christmas holidays. $$$

How to Get a Head in Advertising was weird and also really good. Had a similar vibe to Withnail and I (possibly because of Richard E. Grant, but also possibly the mixture of the surreal with the realistic). Quite stage-y in some ways but clever and savage in it's satire of life in the 80s. $$$

Frieda: Oh I loved this! Weird World War II melodrama about a German girl marrying a British boy and all the trouble it causes with his complex family situation. Such a stellar cast including the late, great Glynnis Johns. $$$$

The Quick and the Dead: I set my expectations quite low for this and was pleasantly surprised. I liked Sam Raimi's comic book-y take on gunfighters and esp. loved Sharon Stone's character. We love to see a female action hero with no love interest. A nice twist on the Man with no Name trope. Excellent cast as well with Russell Crowe, Gene Hackman, Roy Scheider and Woody Stroud in his final film. $$$

The Barefoot Contessa: Joseph Mankewitcz is one of the geniuses of old Hollywood but this ain't it, chief. Just kind of all of the place melodrama that makes no sense and relies too much on Ava Gardner looking amazing in technicolor in the South of France. A bit of a commentary on Grace Kelly who a few years earlier married minor royalty on the Riviera. Even Rossano Brazzi can't save this mess for me. $

Rhubarb: Two genres I usually kind of hate (family-friendly animal centered film, sports film) combined into one and it's actually a lot of fun. Ray Milland and a bunch of classic character actors as the baseball team (also Leonard Nemoy has a tiny part as a mobster) in this slight/ predictable romp. $$

The Birds: Woah, shit this was good. I should have known. Amazing tension created and Hitchcock just sells the surreal horror with lots of rear projection...so. much. rear. projection. $$$

House of Yes: How about House of NOPE. Ugh what a mess this was. Some good performances and intriguing story, but it was very stagey and I don't know why the 90s couldn't make a story about adult children and their parents without reducing everyone to cliches and stereotypes but this and Six Degrees of Separation are definitely guilty of that, but the latter is just a better film. $

Cassandra Cat: Takes a long time to get to the cat which given that this was a family film from the 60s might be a problem for some viewers, expecting a more cat-centric movie. Interesting riff on fairy tales from the Czech New Wave. Beautiful Demy-esque technicolor and settings make this 60s nonsense fly by. $$

The Day the Earth Caught Fire: 60s nuclear panic disaster film that really just shows the earth as it is now in the throws of global warming. Yikes. Thoughtfully written and well acted by a bunch of folks I'd never heard of. $$

For Me and My Gal: Directed by Busby Berkley and starring Gene Kelly and Judy Garland and set in the 1920s on the Vaudeville circuit, I was expecting a lot more fun, dancing, color, costumes etc. This is actually more of a black and white war time melodrama with some music shoved into it and the dancing is very rudimentary. (I think this is probably because Garland esp. at this stage wasn't in the same league with Gene Kelly and I think it would have been too noticable...). Filmed at the entry of America into WW2 this was quite a deliberate propaganda piece. $$

TLADOCB Commentary: I've watched this movie 20 times at least but the commentary really made me think about a bunch of things differently. Can't say I recommend unless you are fanatic though as it's obviously pieced together from interviews Michael Powell and Martin Scorcese $$

Water (1985): If you smoke the exact right strain of sativa and ignore some of the more dated aspects of this 80s comedy, that reads as if Local Hero were a Cheech and Chong film--this is a total classic. Irreverent Michael Caine just straight up breaking character the minute he turns into a guerilla fighter in the jungle and being far too competent and cool, and then snapping back to sweetly shy, inept British Civil Servant, finding he actually loves his hated backwater post (the invent Casara part Caribbean, part Devon Jurassic Coast) while having to actually do his job. Political satire and fully both barrels to Maggie Thatcher and Reagan. Good on em. Filmed in St. Lucia, the movie has a zany heart and little taste, hoovering up vast quantities of competent TV players from my youth: Herman Munster and Reginald Perrin to name but two. Awkward love story and some uneven acting from Valerie Perrin and Brenda Vaccaro. I enjoyed myself, heartily, anyway. $$$

The Ballad of John and Yoko: Technically a video essay with amazing production values (the licensing alone was epic) dragging together disparate topics around the central theme of women being blamed for bad things happening to infantalized male geniuses. Is it the most coherent argument? No. Does it absolutely tap into many unexpressed or implied ideas that have been floating around since me too? Absolutely. $$

Track 29: This was some of the worst casting I've ever seen in a film. When I think of Texas nurse who is into trains and spanking, I don't automatically think of comedian Sandra Bernhardt. When I think of an actress of that era who was old enough to play Gary Oldman's mother, I don't think of Theresa Russell who is the same age as Oldman and looked every bit as young as he did in the film. Maybe that was the point? I'm not sure. The story was weird, like a Southern Gothic melodrama/black comedy ala Flannery O'Connor, but there was something off about the whole thing.

[implalazz]

Fuck you I like making polls

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Good Business: Part 16

Fandom: Marvel (Mob AU)

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes is a ruthless mobster. He’s also referred to as Big Buck due to his towering strong frame as well as his round stomach. You’re the owner of a small diner, a place that Big Buck decides to visit. Based off this drabble.

A/N: uuuummmmm....do people still care about this story?

warning: violence

You’re sitting in the back of the cop car, leg bouncing while you wait for Steve to respond. 

You: SOS

You let out a breath of relief when Steve texts back:

Steve: what’s going on?

You: with the cops, not getting a good vibe. supposedly going to the station, but i don’t think we are.

Steve: what’s your location?

You immediately send him your location and you’re hoping to whatever almighty above that you’re not dying today.

__________________

Bucky’s phone is buzzing on his desk and he’s looking over some papers when he mindlessly answers it, “Hello?”

“We have a situation,” he hears Steve say in a very serious tone. 

Bucky immediately sits up straight on high alert, “Rumlow?”

“Maybe? Y/N texted me and told me she was being brought in by some officers, but she has a bad feeling. What do you want me to do?”

Bucky clenches his jaw and runs a hand over his beard, “Do you know where she is?”

“She sent me her location.”

“Good. Find her. Get her and bring her to one of the houses upstate. I’m gonna pack some stuff and head back,” he immediately grabs the papers he was looking over and stuffing them into files. He then took the files and tossed them into his desk drawer. 

“Buck, is this really a good idea?”

He pauses, thinking over his options, “At this point, I think I’m done playing nice with Rumlow, Steve. He’s messed with me, my business, my family, everyone I’ve ever cared about for too long. It’s time to show him who the real boss is.”

_______________

You’re not really surprised when you’re getting further and further away from the busy streets and population. Your palms are starting to get really sweaty and your heart is pounding in your ears. 

“We’re...not going to the station are we?” you manage to ask, but met with silence. 

Like a typical mob movie, you approach what looks like an abandoned building. When the car stops and the door flies open, you fight as much as you can to get away from these men, the uncertainty of your fate weighing down on you.

“What the fuck is going on?! Who are you guys?!”

“It’s in your best interest you stop fighting, sweetheart.” you look up to see a man in what looks like a knock off Dior suit. He’s tall, his hair slicked back and looks like bad news. 

“Who the fuck are you?” you spit out and the man smirks.

“Barnes never mentioned me, huh?” the man walks closer to you, one hand in his pocket, the other twirling a switchblade, “I’m Brock Rumlow, sweetheart, and I just wanna talk.”

“I don’t know where Bucky is! He broke up with me and I haven’t had contact with him since! So whatever macho bullshit is going on between the two of you has nothing to do with me!”

Rumlow chuckles with a shake of his head, “Oh, honey, as soon as you got involved with Barnes, it had everything to do with you. And since him and his family decided to run for the hills, you’re my next best bargaining chip.”

Using the handcuffs the officers carry, they handcuff your wrists behind your back and push you to follow Rumlow into the warehouse. 

The place was just as you expected. Dimly lit, a gross musty smell lingering in the air, and, of course, a single chair waiting in the middle.

“Jeez, dude, how many mob movies and shows have you watched? Really trying to be all big and tough and soprano-esque aren’t ya?” that comment earned you a slap to the face and you chuckle, looking up at the supposed cop that was to protect and serve citizens like you.

“My grandma hits better than you, my dude.”

SMACK!

“Damn, I can see why Barnes like you, sweetheart,” Rumlow states as he sharpens his switchblade, “You’ve got a fire to you, huh?”

“I’m also amazing with my hands. I can show you if you uncuff me,” you say with a sweet smile despite your cheek starting to swell from the blows you’ve taken. The cops snort and start to tie you to the chair with some rope. 

“So, sweetheart,” Brock runs his blade along your cheek and you wince when you feel the ridges slightly scrape along your skin, “let’s have a little fun, shall we?”

You have a mischievous look in your eyes when you smile and say, “Yes, let’s.” with that, you kick one of the cops that was tying your legs to the chair. The action causing Rumlow to stumble back and fall on his ass.

You took the opportunity to stomp onto his hand that reached for his blade, breaking the bones. He cried out in pain and the two dirty cops raced to you. Your hands were still cuffed behind your back, but that didn’t stop you from fighting. 

After Bucky had left you, you decided to take up self-defense classes, afraid something like this would happen. Looks like you were right. 

You give a roundhouse kick to one cop, knocking him out in an instant. The other cop grabbed for his gun, pulling it out, but only to have it kicked out of his hand. You then kick him in the gut making him fall back. That’s when you gave a blow to his face, hearing a crack. He didn’t move after this. 

You looked at Rumlow who clutched his hand in pain, anger in your eyes, “You messed with the wrong girl.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, sweet cheeks.” your ears perk at the familiar voice, your heart pounding. 

You turn to see Bucky, Steve, and the rest of the gang filing into the warehouse armed and dangerous. 

Rumlow chuckled, standing up, “You’re not gonna kill us, Barnes. It’s not fair, you guys against us three? That’s bad form.”

Bucky scoffed, “Bad form? You wanna talk bad form, Rumlow? Bad form is coming onto my territory and shooting my businesses up. Bad form is threatening to kill my family. Bad form is kidnapping the woman I love in order to get to me. I’m done with your shit, Rumlow. There’s only one king of Brooklyn and that’s me.”

With a single shot ringing through the warehouse, Brock Rumlow fell dead with a bullet right between his eyes.

Handing his gun off to Steve, Bucky rushed over to you, cupping your face and examining the damage that’s been done, “Oh, sweet cheeks,” he said somberly.

You shook his head, “It’s not that bad. I mean, check out the other guys,” you nodded to the unconcious dirty cops on the ground. 

“Yeah, about that, what the fuck?? Since when did you learn how to do that shit?”

You shrugged, “I had to be prepared. I’m not some damsel in distress, Barnes.”

Bucky snorted and kissed your head, “No you’re not, sweetheart.”

Steve approached you, jingling the keys to the handcuffs. He unlocked them and you rubbed your wrists, “Don’t know why you called me, Y/N. Looks like you handled yourself just fine.”

“You can never be too sure, Steve.”

He gave you a hug and kiss on the cheek, “Glad to see you’re okay.” then he looks at Bucky, “Now what?”

Bucky scratches at his beard and looks at the three bodies around him, “Get rid of the bodies and any evidence we were here. I’m gonna take Y/N to the hospital-”

“No,” you say with a shake of your head.

He gives you a stern, “Baby, you-”

“I’m fine, Bucky. They’ll heal,” you wrap your arms around his thick bicep, “I just wanna go home with you.”

He sees the desperation in your eyes and he agrees. He sees that you missed him and he missed you too. So how could he deny the chance to be with you again?

“Alright, sweet cheeks. I’ll take you home.” he removes his arm from your embrace, instead protectively wrapping it around your shoulders, “You’re gonna be okay now, baby.” he presses a soft kiss to your head and you both walk back to his car.

Good Business Taglist (CLOSED): @cametobuyplums @sergeantrosabellaswan @asadmarveltrashbag​ @youcanhaveyourspacecowboy​ @reniescarlett​ @j-the-smol-otter @buckysknifecollection @lowkeysebby @rinthehufflepuff @134340-cm @snoot-snoot-toot @seabassali1328 @bluebellhairpin @emzy106 @viarogers @feelmyroarrrr @vxidnik @jasura @jade-cheshire3303 @yknott81 @baliebay19 @jessieray98 @fandommemporiumm @iluvsumbucky @bucksandroses @lecoindenox @ylva-stark @booktease21 @nerdy-bookworm-1998 @cheyenne222222 @momobaby227

[hewolf]

provide  me  with  any  of  the  following  and  i  will  kiss  u.  any  pairing (  unless  specified  ).  discord  only. 💖

mumu  of  a  group  of  friends  who  grew  up  on  the  same  shitty  estate  (  top  boy  /  skins  esque  )  ;  think  of  all  the  possible  dynamics  :  lovers,  exes,  best  friends,  frenemies,  all  in  one  group  of  friends.

assasins  (  think  league  of  assasins  ..  maybe  there’s  an  assassin  school  ?   )

thieves  /  literal  partners  in  crime  (  bonus  points  for  constant  bickering  )

neighbour  aus,  especially  the  last  two 

this  dynamic 

let  me  have  my  merman  fantasy  with  these  aus m/m

i’m  a  foreign  exchange  student  and  i  was  assigned  to  live  with  you  and  your  family  for  a  year,  and  wowza,  you’re  super  cute

exes  !!!!!!

son  of  a  dangerous  and  feared  mobster  is  put  in  charge  of  managing  his  father’s  strip  club  and  falls  for  one  of  the  dancers. 

big  bad  mob  guy  put  in  charge  of  protecting  a  snarky  younger  girl  (  maybe  also  involved  w  organized  crime  in  some  way???  )  who  is  thoroughly  NOT  amused  by  the  fact  that  she  now  has  someone  following  her  around  all  the  time  trying  to  keep  her  in  check. 

[omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts]

A Silver Lining (Steve Rogers X WOC Reader) Mobster AU

Summary: A free-spirited, independent barista at New York’s Dream Bean Coffee Shop gets the surprise of her life when Steve Rogers, targeted by mobs across the country for knowing the whereabouts of the infamous Bucky Barnes, comes in during closing time, exhausted and in need of coffee and company. Sparks fly and glances are exchanged. But she’s a barista with more secrets than Steve ever bargained for. 

Author’s Note: I’M SO EXCITED TO WRITE THISSSSSSSSS!!! Sorry, too excited, but this series is going to be great and very cute so I hope you enjoy it and like it. I did a WOC reader because there are not NEARLY enough of these stories so I wanted to break that and write this. And I love Tony Stark, but I needed a villain, I’m sorry! Steve Rogers is HOT, a universal fact I’m going to exploit in this story. Sorry it’s short, but it’s an intro and the other parts will be longer, tell me if you want more ;)

Please leave feedback! It means the world to me!

Warnings: Fluff, sexual tension and slight angst

Word Count: 2355

FC: Tristin Mays

Y/N’s pulls her hair up, pinning it to the back of her head, messy curls falling by her face that she has to blow out of her eyes as she grabs a wet rag and wipe down the cappuccino machine, her playlist softly humming in the background. She sings along quietly with a small smile, moving around the kitchen with a bit of unease, having been working here for only a few weeks, almost a month. She misses Europe already, especially Paris, the small towns around it, visiting and volunteering at the shelters. She misses the city life, the culture, tanning her brown skin on its beaches, meeting new people, making connections. 

Now everything is just starting to get complicated.

Then the bell on the door rings.

A man walks in through the doors, looking around like an alien from another planet, visiting Earth for the first time, taking in everything. 

“Sir, I’m sorry but we’re closing-” she says hanging the rag over her bare shoulder, adjusting the strap of her gray tank top idly, not yet looking up until the man’s rosy, bright cheeks catch her eye, tired from a hard day of work.

Then she stops herself and examines him for a moment, even from this far away seeing the ridges of his muscles through his deep blue top, sporting an equally flattering pair of black jeans and sneakers, hiding his features with a baseball cap and a pair of dark sunglasses. She pinches her brow in confusion but he’s spiked her interest. She is the only one working a shift tonight, so what’s the harm in letting him come in?

“Never mind, I can keep it open a little longer,” she turns around to get some mugs and turn on the cappuccino machine once again. Her voice with that signature French lilt she’s acquired over the years of growing up there, and going back for school, luring him in like a siren.

He walks himself over to sit on one of the stools, and she starts to fear that he’ll break the weak, wooden chair. He sits up in the seat, the rickety sound it makes when he leans back not willing to give Y/N’s anxiety riddled nerves a break. Then he looks at her, guilt filled eyes and a furrowed, serious brow, something clearly weighing on him, forehead wrinkled in unease and worry. She would wonder if the man has ever smiled if not for his laugh lines and crinkled eyes, reminders of happier times. 

“I’m sorry to... inconvenience you, Miss, this place was the first I saw and I-” he starts, taking off his sunglasses and hat now that he’s inside, exhausted, until Y/N interrupts.

“You’re fine,” she looks up at him from across the counter, lifting an eyebrow when he continues to stare until his eyes are drawn to the ceiling, not wanting to scare her off while he admires her curls and warm, brown eyes.

“I could use the company anyway,” she half smiles, drawing a weak smile from him. Hm… so he does smile...

“Tell me your name,” her eyes flick to him and he meets her gaze timidly, shy despite his muscular frame and jock esque appearance, he’s not as cocky as she’d think him out to be. When someone looks this good, they usually know it, and perhaps he’s aware, but he doesn’t seem to make a show of it. And now that she’s up close and personal with the stranger, she realizes how attractive he is, strong jaw, bright eyes, blonde hair, the kind of handsome you see on television screens and magazine covers, the kind you associate with athletic models.

His smile is soft and calm, like his eyes, green with flecks of gold and sapphire. If his personality is as complex as those eyes, she’s sure to have an interesting time trying to unravel the mystery of him. If fate wills them in each other’s lives once again.

He speaks gently as if he’s afraid the glass bubble that’s formed around the two of them will shatter if he raises his voice above a whisper, saying quietly in slight disbelief, “Y-you don’t know who I am?”

She laughs, cleaning off cake crumbs from the counter, “Should I?”

He considers the question for a moment, maybe it’ll be nice not having someone know who he is, basing what they think they know about him from the media. He’s normal here, as normal as he can get, with a pretty girl in a quaint New York coffee shop at ten at night, wanted and being hunted down by almost every mob in the country.  

Yes, normal.

“Not at all,” he finally says. 

She smiles, “I’m Y/N,” she replies coolly.

“Nice to meet you, doll,” he says while her back is turned to him, her eyes widening slightly at the old-fashioned pet name. She smiles softly, glad he can’t feel the heat that’s blossomed in her face, hidden beneath her skin.

“Doll,” she repeats sweetly, absentmindedly cleaning a dish on the counter to pass the time. “Don’t hear that a lot now, do you?”

“Oh, I apologize, Miss, I didn’t-” his face blooms into every shade of scarlet, tinging even the tips of his ears pink.

She turns and grins warmly, holding back a laugh at his flustered state, sliding him a mug of black coffee, sugar packets and cream beside it, “No need to be sorry, Hercules, I’m not complaining,” they lock eyes for just a second, fingers brushing when she passes the mug to him, electricity sparking between her warm skin to his. He chuckles at the nickname she’s given him, equally as adorable, and from seeing the blush in his cheeks, she knows the name will stick. 

“So what brings you here? This late?” she asks, leaning against the counter with her arms folded over the surface, holding her head up.

“Bad day,” he pinches his eyebrows together when he looks back at her. “Nothing you’d want to hear about.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing... but if you don’t want to talk about it, even though I am a great listener,” she teases with a small smile that brings one out in him as well, grateful for her kindness, even if he isn’t sure he really deserves it. Not that she thinks she does either. 

“We can discuss... anything else,” she offers after a pause.

The corner of his lips turn up in amusement, hands warming up on the hot mug, he looks up, “Really? Anything?”

She brightens with a soft laugh, proud she’s gotten him in better spirits, lips quirking, “Within reason.”

“Where are you from?” he asks politely, curious because of her fluttery accent, slight but still detectable, velvet off her tongue.

“I lived in France until I was three then moved to New York until I went back to Europe for art school and stayed in Paris with family, coming back here only a couple weeks ago,” she scrubs down the counter before tossing the rag into the sink, untying the apron from around her curved waist, skinny jeans clinging to her skin. His eyes wander shamefully when her back is turned. 

“And you haven’t been checking up on the media or network television since?” he asks, which explains why she doesn’t know of him, something that is honestly a relief for him.

“Not really, I went to a lot of places to volunteer and stay with no internet, but I didn’t mind. You could say I kind of live under a rock. But, what about you, Hercules? What’s your story?”

He shakes his head with a light smile, “Nothing interesting.”

She snorts, “I highly doubt that.”

“My life is chaotic... at times,” he says, running a hand through his blonde hair and ruffling it a bit, taking a drink of his coffee. “But it’s nothing out of the ordinary. I promise.”

She eyes him for a moment, not buying what he’s saying but deciding to let him off the hook with the promise of finding out later. She doesn’t want to scare him off so soon, not when she’s actually starting to like him. She turns around to grab the pot again to give him a refill before turning back around to pour it in the mug, finding him already looking at her. She catches this with an amused smile and he looks away sheepishly like a young man with a crush all over again.

“More?” she asks him and he nods hastily, caught off guard by her eye contact, she is quite assertive, he believes, he can tell already she’s a force to be reckon with. 

“Yes, thank you,” he sips the coffee, warming himself up and enjoying the heat in contrast from the winter air outside these doors. Steve never wants to leave.

“Tell me about when you were a teen, were you the nerdy type, the jock, the scholar, the rebel... the goth?” she leans forward over the counter, looking at him excitedly, eyes lit up when she grins.

He turns away with a rosy smile and endearing laugh, before looking back at her, trying to keep his composure together now that she’s so close to him, exploring every inch of her face. Wondering what it would be like to kiss that smug smirk off her face.

How cliche.

“If you can believe it, I was a bit of a nerd,” he half smiles.

“The hot ones usually are,” she thinks out loud boldly, causing him to stumble over his words and his cheeks to burn. “It’s a classic John Hughes stereotype, the handsome, sweet jock who also happens to be wicked smart. I see it in all his films.”

“John Hughes?” he inquires and her jaw drops.

“Have you never heard of John Hughes?” she says in playful shock.

“The name sounds familiar and I know he’s a director, but I’ve never seen his movies,” he admits and he winces for impact at her frown.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,” she rolls her eyes. “Maybe that’s why you were brought here today.”

“To bring me coffee?”

“No, for me to enlighten you.”

He grins, “I was pretty skinny, too. I didn’t have many friends growing up.”

She looks him over, “You’re kidding.”

He shakes his head slowly, “I’m not. I was never a ladies’ man, I’m still not, really, my pal Bucky is a lot better at that sort of thing than I am,” he says vulnerably, an air of uncertainty in the way he speaks, but all he finds on her face is disbelief, hesitant in believing the man before her is not good with women.

Bucky. She knows that name, but she decides against asking any further, looking up at him, “I don’t believe that.”

“Again, doll, it’s true,” he smiles slightly, casting his eyes downward before looking back up.

She purses her lips and shakes her head, locking eyes with him, but at the same time, her heart has dropped to the pit of her stomach, “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Hercules?”

“I’d like to think so,” he takes a sip of his coffee, lips curling over the edge of his mug, emerald eyes brightening with fervor. “It makes things more interesting.”

She smiles thoughtfully, hops up on the counter, and finishes off her coffee, “I suppose. But not all surprises are the wanted kind.”

“Then get them from someone you trust.”

She looks down at her legs dangling off the counter, crossing them over one another, “In this world, you can’t trust anyone.”

He chooses his next words wisely, knowing he might come to regret this, falling into her brown eyes and not resurfacing, fallen in her carefully set trap, “I trust you.”

She looks up, eyes slightly flaring, a warring conflict with her heart and her mind, “Don’t. You don’t even know me,” she laughs, but it’s humorless and dry, wiry.

“It doesn’t matter,” he meets her eyes. “You’ve shown more compassion to me in one night than anyone has in my entire life.”

She attempts to hold back a smile, a wry laugh escaping her lips, “You’re cute,  Hercules, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told...” he shares her hesitant smile and looks up at the clock in the corner of the cafe, rising from his seat. “But I should be leaving, it’s late.”

“Yeah, it is,” she agrees and follows to where his eyes lay on the hands of the clock, grabbing her things while he walks to the door.

“I’ll see you around, doll,” he shoots her a sly wink, slipping his cap back on. 

She rolls her eyes, “Not a ladies’ man, my ass,” she mumbles under her breath, watching him leave, the last sound she hears being his booming laughter echoing from outside. 

Her phone buzzes in her pocket and her heart sinks knowing who’s on the other end, before reluctantly answering the call, “Yeah, Tony?”

He chuckles at her dull tone, “Nice to hear your lovely voice, too, Y/N. Did you learn anything about your target?”

“How did you know he’d be here?” she tucks hair behind her ear as she looks out the cafe window, watching him leave down the sidewalk, wearing a smile she can see from here, guilt gripping her chest.

“You know I have eyes everywhere, sweetheart, and you’re not answering the question.”

“He mentioned Bucky once, said they were friends, but that’s all I got right now, and I thought we agreed you don’t call me when I’m out in public anymore.”

He whistles, “Is that how you talk to your boss, huh, kid?” he says, the smirk evident in his tone before dulling into a frown. “Watch your tongue or I’ll get someone to cut it out. Do your job, Y/N, there’s no backing out now.”

Her eyes dart to the door, biting down on her lip while she tightens her grip on her burner phone, “Yes, sir,” pressing the end button, dropping the phone on the floor and smashing it under her boot.

[hollow-transient]

Triple Decker Dreams

I had fallen asleep around 10:30 or 11PM because I was real tired and hoped I would sleep through the night but instead I, again, wake up around 1:30AM and become unable to return to sleep. But after a few hours I fall back asleep around 5:20AM and wouldn't wake up again until 8AM. During these hours of sleep I had 3 weird dreams. Its gonna be a long one.

The first one was a Simpsons based dream, which is weird because I don't even watch The Simpsons. It was about Bart trying to find a safe place to be because there was some weird disease going around the town that looked like it made reality start to fall apart. All throughout this I (as some sort of separate entity) feel kind of gross and like I'm blowing my nose and swallowing mucus. Bart goes running and running until he finds an underground tunnel area and meets up with the bus driver dude, who explains that because of all of his smoking this place is safe. Bart then stupidly pokes around while the guy is trying to explain things and accidentally rips open a wall that leads into a casino-like area and lets all the "bad air" in. As the bus driver screams Bart tries to hide in a bathroom but it doesn't work and so he soon starts running down a suburb street at night and then theres a "jumpcut" to the dinner table in the Simpsons' home and "I'm" looking at Marge standing up and making something but its implied all the rest of the family (except maybe Bart) are all there. Then the characters start to say "Remember. This dream is a closed loop." and they repeat "This dream is a closed loop." over and over and they start looking at their hands and then I was apparently an entity there because I look down and see my own hands as things start to distort and I get real nauseous from the mucus swallowing and the visual effect.

I don't remember if I woke up anytime during that dream and this next one because of the nauseous feeling.

Dream 2 has me turn into a young Asian girl and for some reason I'm trying to sneak into some Nintendo "Research Facility" with the help of some Asian scientist dude. After I accidentally trip a weird alarm by trying to disable it we go into an elevator and end up at some parking lot structure that has no cars but a bunch of scattered elevators and walls all over the place. We're trying to find the right elevator and at what point my supposed girl best friend is also there but then disappears somewhere. The scientist dude and I spend a lot of time trying to find the right elevator and avoid the one we came in but now we're getting kind of lost, eventually he finds the one and we go in but theres another one of the weird alarm systems in place and I try to disable it again but I fail again but I manage to turn it off afterwards by luck so we just take the elevator anyways and end up where we were going to go and rush on through. Then the scientist dude disappears and the girl best friend is there and I tell her how to turn off the elevator's alarm and she says she already knew and I just go "Oh thats good." and not realize this was supposed to be a hint I guess that the scientist dude had been my girl best friend in disguise this whole time. We make our way through but instead of a Nintendo facility it looks more like some weird old-fashioned army boot camp. We hear guards coming, even though nobody came when I kept tripping alarms there are apparently patrols in the area and we end up hiding beneath one of the barracks or whatever and cover ourselves with a blanket we find, that I did not like having to do and worried about spiders and fleas. The patrols come buy and its just some young dude (and then sometimes another one?) and he's just being obnoxious and pretending he didn't hear anything as he tries to see underneath the barracks to find us but can't and gets directed elsewhere by some other guy who appears.

At this point I'm starting to wake up so my dream gets more effected by "reality" and I end up stuck under the barracks and start to panic a bit but my girl best friend gets out and says she'll try to find a way to get me out. She leaves and I start to relax a bit and try to wiggle my way out. I am basically awake but as a faint memory I have tells me the girl apparently does get out but is dirty, scratched, and bleeding all over and has massive wooden "splinters" stuck to her ripped open bleeding elbows but its not a scene of horror or pain just aggravation that the best girl friend couldn't come help sooner.

I wake up for a few minutes kind of wondering whats going on and still feeling gross from the Simpsons dream but then fall asleep again shortly after.

The final dream is the weirdest because I end up this familiar dinner party with my family and its at this sort of half-indoor half-outdoor barn-like building. And almost immediately this dream version of me (as I am now finally myself in a dream) seems to recognize that this is a repeat of a dream I've had before and knows what is going down (In actuality I can't remember if I've even had this dream before), and knows that the whole thing is a dream but still decides to treat it as if its actually happening for some reason. I go to some side part because I know I'm supposed to save "the Queen's dog", whoever this queen is, from a bunch of mobsters in the area who are at the dinner party as well for some reason and are trying to get the dog too because their boss wants it and is claiming its her dog. When I get to the side area where the dog is, stuck on a rafter way high above, I look around and see a lot of jackets folded up and placed on a table. Assuming its the jackets of all the visitors I just sort of think for a moment and go "Nah fuck this." and a mobster comes in and starts to pull out his gun to threaten me and I guess the entire thing was supposed to turn into some action movie-esque scene where I fight off mobsters and run away with the dog but instead I tell him "No don't worry about it, I'm not getting the dog. Look at those jackets. Even if only half of them belong to you guys thats like, 20 people here alone, and thats TOO many people and I'm not fighting every single person here just to get the dog." and all the while I'm having these flashbacks to the people I would have fought, including some random "secret weapon" dude who was strapped to a chair and struggling like a wild animal in a hidden green/blue room and looked insane as fuck. So I go back into the main room to my family and basically tell my dad the entire plot synopsis of what the dream was supposed to be and how there are mobsters and I was supposed to go get a dog and they would fight me as a desperate attempt to gain favor from their mob boss, and how I was then going to go into a car and drive away (even though I don't have a driver's license) until eventually calling in a favor from some dude who was a taxi driver I guess and looking vaguely like a younger Rich Evans and he'd change into a superhero suit and reluctantly help me transport the dog but be happy while doing it.

Afterwards I start waking up again but not before there is a sort of "jumpcut" again to a gray-sky early morning suburban neighborhood that I've never been in but apparently live at in this dream. I go out shirtless for some reason for a run (not a job, specifically a slow run) down the street near the confines of the neighborhood that just sort of starts to turn into some other setting briefly but then gives up and fades away. All the while I'm doing this I think I'm having some weird stupid bullshit monologue about the dream I'm having and the other dreams I had. Talking about how the mob won't get me now and even if they tried they wouldn't be able to do anything to me and how I've lived this life or something. As I turn around to return a pot with three orange and weirdly orb-shaped flowers, almost looking out of a video game, start bouncing in my general direction and the flowers start to pop off and go away until its just the pod and some vines but I pick up the pot anyways and the vines sort of "attack" my hands and then my hands get sticky and hurt a little bit because of these orange tufts on them now. I continue with the monologue of nonsense as I get to my house but instead of a normal house its also kind of like a trailer home and I pass my mom coming out of it looking like she's in a trance and about to go monologue as well I guess but I hurry in and go to the bathroom and instead of using the sink I go into one of those walk-in showers and just rinse my hands off in there.

And then I woke up.

[gibelwho]

Two Tales of the Bronx

How does one determine the material that would be a good fit for a musical adaptation? If a range of topics, such as America’s founding fathers to re-creating animated movies to adapting comic book characters can be done - why not take a mobster flick set in the 1960s and pull that onstage with some big Broadway numbers? As it turns out, some material translates better onscreen than onstage and A Bronx Tale (1993) is an example of an excellent film that becomes confounding on the Broadway musical stage (although the story did begin as a one man play, written and performed by Chazz Palminteri in an off-Broadway theater). Despite that fact, Robert De Niro’s directorial debut stands on its own merit as a compelling portrait of a young man growing up in New York City amongst mobsters, racial tensions between neighborhoods, and bursts of reckless violence. 

While sitting on the stoop of his Bronx apartment building as a nine year old, young Calogero (Francis Capra) witnesses the local mobster Sonny (Chazz Palminteri) commit murder during a street altercation in broad daylight. Having been enamored with the man’s charm and rule of the neighborhood, the young boy does not identify the man to the police. Sonny takes a liking to the kid, nicknaming him “C” and giving him small jobs to earn money, much to the chagrin of his working-class and honest-to-a-fault father (Robert Di Nero). Flashforward to C’s late teenage years (Lillo Brancato, Jr.), and he is ensconced in the fringes of Sonny’s world of the Italian New York Mafia. C meets a young Black girl named Jane (Taral Hicks) and is instantly smitten, despite the cultural and racial tensions between Italian-Americans and the Black neighborhoods. He arranges a date and borrows Sonny's fancy car to make a good impression, but their budding attraction breaks down after members of C’s gang beat up a group of Black cyclists, including Jane’s brother. After tense arguments with Jane, his father (who doesn’t approve of his dating an African-American), and with Sonny, C joins his friends who are seeking to cause more destruction in the Black neighborhood, planning on destroying Black businesses with homemade Molotov cocktails. Sonny intervenes and demands C leaves their company, effectively saving his life as the attack is turned against them and the gang is killed. C makes up with Jane and returns to the local bar to thank Sonny in person, when the relative of the man Sonny murdered many years ago returns to seek vengeance, killing the local Mafia king on his own turf. Distraught over Sonny’s death, C is shocked to find his father attending Sonny’s casket to pay his respects, and he reflects upon the lessons he learned from his two fathers.

Robert De Niro has had a towering career as an actor, solidified by a partnership with the great Martin Scorsese, one that had often tackled the topic of Mafia life. Therefore, it was no surprise that his first undertaking as a director would also examine the subject of a young man growing up on the streets of New York City amongst the influence of the mob. His directing choices are economical, forgoing flashy sequences for clarity, and giving the space to his actors to deliver upon their scenes. Doubling his duties on the shoot, De Niro also takes on the role of C’s father Lorenzo, who struggles to carve out a relationship with his son in competition with the more suave and rich figure of Sonny. De Niro’s highlight of the film is the scene where he returns the money that C has earned by doing odd jobs for Sonny, standing up to the local mob leader and attempting to draw a line for his son that he is never able to truly enforce as C grows up enamored with Sonny and mob life. De Niro is able to deliver on both the vision of the movie as the director, and infuse C’s father with faults, humanity, and the best intentions of a protective father.

The theme of masculinity is the driving force behind the film’s narrative, and the competing examples of the two figures in C’s life that attempt to guide his transition from a youth to a man. His father’s stern disavowal of the mob life, preaching to his son about the virtues of hard work, honest wages, and keeping out of trouble are the righteous path of a father, but difficult for C as a youth to understand the larger forces that his father is fighting. His stature is also diminished when he displays disapproval of his son dating a Black woman, infusing his character with faults that were prevalent at the time. Sonny, on the other hand, is a local mobster, a murderer, and would choose fear over love to keep his subordinates in line - but he also has a genuine care and love for C, supporting his desire to date Jane and telling him not to let his father, his friends, or society tell him otherwise. Sonny constantly tells the teenage C to not follow in his footsteps, adamantly conveying that his choices should not be C’s future; “Don't do what I do. This is my life. This is not for you.” He is constantly pulling him out of dangerous situations with his degenerate friends - youths that one imagines could someday be in Sonny’s employ, but with whom he doesn’t want C associating. Despite his surroundings and friend group, the actor who portrays the teenage C retains the youthful and innocent aura captured in the younger actor’s portrayal as well. The two father figures in C’s life are both flawed men, but who have the best of intentions for the young man, a realization he comes to after seeing his father pay respects to Sonny after his death. 

The opening sequences of the film sets up the coming of age story of a boy surrounded by the influence of his honest father and his mobster father figure, therefore the insertion in the second half that focuses on racial relations and the inevitable tensions was quite the turn of expectations. The first scene where C and Jane meet and walk together is a delicate dance of embarrassed crush energy, tentatively trying to understand each other’s intentions, direct flirting, and making plans for spending more time together; however, once they get into Jane’s neighborhood, they suddenly realize that they can’t complete their walk together. C is chased out of the neighborhood by the stares and postering of the young Black men on the street, and direct violence happens in the Italian neighborhood when Black kids on their bicycles are attacked. The forces up against the potential couple are starkly defined, as both struggle with the disapproval of their families, friends, and the violence that has broken out within their neighborhoods. They fight against those prejudices and can’t help but be drawn to each other; one wonders how they fare after the credits roll and the tensions rage on through the 1960s.

The film opens on a night view of New York City, with a lush and tight vocal harmony crooning in the background, a slow-burning doo wop about the streets of the Bronx, which sets both the scene and context for the movie - declaring the “streets of the Bronx is where I want to be” and firmly entrenching the film with the sounds of the Black cultural music of the era. Although focusing on the growth of an Italian-American boy, there are no Godfather-esque themes gracing this soundtrack; rather, the mix of Motwon, doo wop, and Jimi Hendrix (with the occasional Dean Martin classic thrown in for good measure) paint the film’s soundscape. Perhaps it was the integral nature of the film’s music that inspired the Broadway musical, or perhaps writer Chazz Palminteri’s desire to bring his story back to the stage in a new format, but the musical opened in 2016 at the Longacre Theatre. With a book by Palminteri, co-directing credit with De Niro, and a score written by Alan Menken and lyrics by Glenn Slater, the show began a national tour in 2018 and soon came to Los Angeles, where we saw it at the Pantages Theatre.

At the outset, I must crow my musical theater bonafides. I performed regularly in musicals during my youth, we have yearly subscriptions to theater and attend even more ad hoc performances, and I’m systematically working alphabetically through all musicals from A to Z. In short, I really love musicals. This musical, however, never fully mastered the tone of shifting from serious dramatic moments to belting a big Broadway tune. While the musical score attempted to pull in elements of the doo wop from the film, Menken couldn’t resist shifting to more traditional Broadway numbers and therefore lost the feeling captured in the original film. Unfortunately, the lyrics were also pretty basic at best and eye rolling at worst. For example “hey Lorenzo, we should talk / I’m his father, so take a walk.” or “She likes the pepperoni, she isn’t fit for matrimony.” There were some highlights, specifically the movement of the sets as they  flowed around the stage to create compelling visual shapes. The sequence where Sonny’s crew is introduced is incredibly creative staging - each member would stand up straight, lit by a bright white light and camera clicking sound, and turn to the right with the sound repeated, all to mimic the effect of a mug shot. Additionally, the choreography and dancing were excellent (lots of cool flipping!), but none of these elements saved the musical from the disastrous tone management where a dramatic scene almost...took a break for a bright musical interlude and a less than inspiring song. Finally, the closing act took a lot of plot shortcuts and produced chaos onstage; if I hadn’t just seen the movie, I would have had an extremely difficult time following the narrative of what was going on. 

Overall, Chazz Palminteri has found many formats and expressions in order to tell his semi-autobiographical tale of him growing up in the Bronx. From my viewings, the film version was the most successful of those interpretations, featuring wonderful performances by Palminteri, De Niro, and a young Francis Capra. The music element, while so successful at setting the tone of the film, was the weakest element of the stage production. The direct confrontation of racial issues in the early 1960s was a narrative surprise, but gave the story much more depth than just exploring the dueling father figures in C’s life. Ultimately, the film reminds us to take the best lessons from our parental figures and that the saddest thing in life is wasted talent.