#Munich Cowboys

[benoits-neckerchieves]

Hey guys! Thank you to the 298 people who voted in my Daniel Craig poll, and an extra thank you to those who left comments / tags, it’s been really interesting for me! If you wanna know how it went, I’ve made a little graph :)

Note: commented / tagged answers that weren’t originally options have been added as their own category and deducted from the ‘other’ %. The remaining votes for ‘other’ were unspecified. You can see the poll here.

#i get a lot of joy out of things like this so thanks! #daniel craig #the girl with the dragon tattoo #the golden compass #logan lucky #movie review #letterboxd #cowboys & aliens #layer cake 2004 #james bond #007 #benoit blanc #knives out #glass onion #elizabeth 1998 #road to perdition #munich 2005 #enduring love 2004 #infamous 2006 #the mother 2003

[alwaysbethewest]

Kingsman 2 fic: Stay Close to Me

Happy @pedrostories Secret Santa day, y'all 💃 I was thrilled when I received my assignment and saw that I'd be writing for my sweet friend @iamskyereads 😁 Skye, I hope you have a merry Christmas and I hope this little story helps make it bright. (Okay a quick note: generally speaking I don't believe in apologizing for your writing, but I do feel like a small apology is merited here. Halfway through writing this fic I started to panic because I felt like I wasn't really meeting the brief of your prompt 😬 I started wondering if I should start over from scratch but I was already too far into it. I accidentally wrote you... a case fic???? With a smidgen of romance sprinkled in. I'm sorry! Despite my stress over that realization I did have a lot of fun writing this and I hope you will enjoy it anyway!)

Title: Stay Close to Me Pairing: Agent Whiskey (Jack Daniels)/f!Reader Rating: Teen Word Count: 5.3k Content/warnings: Fake/undercover marriage! Statesman casefic! A little romance, kissing, coarse language, very mild peril and hurt/comfort, and a splash of alcohol. Reader is a junior agent and has some muscle but otherwise no physical/age descriptions. As with any good Kingsman fic, my first step was to disregard half of canon, so this is either pre-movie or an AU. Unbetaed but thanks as ever to @fleetwoodmactshirt and @mourningbirds1 for their hand-holding ❤️ Please let me know if you spot any typos/mistakes.

The Statesman offices are housed in a sleek highrise in Midtown, a 40-minute commute from your tiny apartment. To anyone who asks, you work in the marketing department, and you’ve learned enough by now to drone on about synergistic strategies for diversifying market shares to bore anyone listening, but to those in the know, behind passcode-guarded doors, you’re Agent Violette, junior analyst for the private intelligence agency hidden behind the national whiskey brand.

For a secret spy job, your work is actually fairly routine. Most of your time is spent doing research and compiling intel for agents working out in the field. Occasionally your boss sends you into the field yourself—little baby excursions to get your feet wet—and you won’t pretend you haven’t enjoyed the thrill. But your desk job is comfortable, and satisfying, and you’ve got no complaints.

It’s Wednesday, and the only sign something out of the ordinary may be taking place is the note you find on your desk when you clock in. It takes only a little of your codebreaking expertise to interpret:

9:15 AM—mtg w/ Agt. C rm 806

Room 806 is a teleconference room furnished with a small table and a handful of chairs. One seat is occupied when you get there.

Agent Whiskey raises an eyebrow at you from under his cowboy hat. The accessory is so out of place in the urban streets of New York City that when you’d first met him you’d wondered if it was an affectation—a marketing ploy to signal the authenticity of the Kentucky bourbon your company sells on the side. But while you haven’t worked closely with him, you’d quickly learned it seems he’s just… like that.

He slides a folder towards you and you accept it as you take a seat and don your glasses.

“Any idea what this is about?” he asks.

You shake your head. Just as you open your mouth to speak, the comms switch on and Agent Champagne appears across the table before you, via the technological wonder that is your projection spectacles. More high-tech and more secure than Zoom, they’re one of the many things that sets Statesman apart from lesser spy agencies.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Whiskey straighten up slightly in his chair.

“Jack!” Agent Champagne greets him. “How was Munich?”

“All good, sir,” he drawls. “You’ll have the full report this afternoon.”

“Very good,” the older man rumbles. He turns his attention to you. “And Agent, uh—” His eyes shift down to the notes on his desk. “Agent Violette. Good to have you on board.”

You’ve worked at Statesman for three years, but you’re still too low on the org chart to have landed on the director’s radar before this. He says your code name like vie-oh-let instead of the French pronunciation you prefer, but there’s an affability to him that makes it go over easier.

“Thank you, sir.”

“So, California,” he says, diving into the brief. Whiskey opens his file folder and you follow suit. The top page features a short itinerary and a character profile that you quickly learn is a new undercover alias. Violet Davenport. You like the name. She sounds high society. Glancing over to Whiskey’s file, you spot his alias and your brows raise involuntarily.

Johnny Davenport.

Hm.

“Vineyard owner out there is concerned about a potential theft. He’s received some threats and needs a couple of bodies on the ground to sniff out the trouble,” Agent Champagne states.

“Theft of what, exactly?” Agent Whiskey asks.

“Wine. Money. The usual. He’s got his personal wine collection stored on the premises. You know the business—some of those bottles are worth a pretty penny. Mr. Peterson—that’s the client—says he has a list of suspects for you to look at.” Champ waves a hand, looking vaguely unimpressed. “Obviously you’ll have to use your own judgment on whether any of his theories check out.”

“Sir, I don’t understand why I’m being sent on such a simple assignment,” Whiskey says. “No disrespect,” he adds belatedly, glancing at you. You give him your politest go-along-to-get-along smile.

Champ looks like he’s torn between amusement or annoyance at Agent Whiskey’s attitude.

“Same reason for anything, Jack. Politics. This client has close connections in the state government over there. If we can solve this simple problem for him, it may just lead to more prestigious cases. Ones you’ll feel are worthy of your valuable time.”

Jack should look chastened, but he doesn’t. He does stop arguing, though.

“I need a senior agent on the case. And Violet’s supervisor assures me she’s got the research and fieldwork skills to step up on this one. Your cover is a married couple on an anniversary trip, so I’m basically sending you on a paid vacation, here. There’s more information in the files you’ve got.”

Whiskey flips through the pages half-heartedly and gives a curt nod.

“Well!” Agent Champagne slaps his hands on the table decisively. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. Mazel tov!” With that he ends the transmission.

And that’s how you find yourself at the airport Friday morning with a diamond ring on your left hand and a disgruntled cowboy by your side.

The flight lands in San Francisco without incident, and Jack shifts into doting husband mode as you head to pick up the rental car the agency has reserved. He reaches for your suitcase to load it into the trunk.

“Let me get that for you, sweetheart.”

You give him a saccharine-sweet smile. “I’ve got it, hon.”

You lift the heavy bag with ease and watch his mouth purse for a second before he smiles back.

“I guess my baby’s stronger than she looks.”

The bored-looking attendant sees you off and Jack has you punch in the GPS destination while he eases into the busy freeway traffic. He’s a confident, slightly impatient driver, but you see him relax once you’re over the bridge and sailing smoothly north on Interstate 80.

“So what’s our game plan?” he asks as highway signs for Napa begin to appear, and you reach for your notebook and flip it open.

There’s only one bed.

You probably should have done the math on this as soon as Agent Champagne declared you a married couple, but in the whirlwind of arranging to leave town and the anxiety of stepping into your biggest field operation to date, it hadn’t occurred to you to worry about the precise nature of your accommodations.

Jack sets his bags down and flops onto the bed, letting the soles of his cowboy boots dangle off the end. It’s an exaggerated display of exhaustion, but you’re tired too after a seven-hour flight and another two hours in the car. His lanky body takes up the whole length of the bed and you try not to let your eyes linger as you contemplate the sleeping arrangements.

He picks up on your hesitation.

“This is where I’m supposed to do the gentlemanly thing and let you have the bed all to yourself, huh? Sorry, sister, not gonna happen.” His tone softens. “But I promise I don’t bite. There’s no reason we can’t share.”

The only couch in the room is a small, overstuffed loveseat that you can tell at a glance neither of you would enjoy reclining on for long. So you do the mature thing and agree to sleep with him.

Not like that.

Bill Peterson, the agency’s client, is one of those people who claim to be easygoing while in reality they exude nonstop nervous energy.

“I know exactly who it is,” he tells you in a hushed voice. You and Jack are in his office, under the guise of a private tour of the winery. Peterson has been going over what you already know from the file: that he has a high-value collection of wine held on the estate, as well as a hard drive storing what he’ll only describe as “sensitive” material; that he’s received several vague threats recently; and that with the hustle and bustle of harvest season upon them, he’s concerned his regular security won’t be sufficient to stop the would-be thieves.

“Oh?” you say. “Well, that will be very helpful, Mr. Peterson.”

“Okay,” he amends. “Maybe not exactly, but I can give you a list. Of suspects.”

“We’ve seen the list,” Jack tells him. “But what is it that makes you suspect these folks in particular?”

“They’re mostly other winery owners,” Peterson says. “Everyone on that list was present at a party I attended a few months ago where I—let slip some details about my collection. It was only after that the letters started.”

You and Jack exchange a glance. You’re both wondering if “let slip” isn’t code for “bragged loudly.”

“Is there a reason you haven’t gone to the police?” you ask. His eyes narrow.

“I value discretion,” he says tightly. “Anyway—I’m not sure they’d consider the threats actionable.”

“Can we see them?” Jack asks.

“Of course.” He retrieves a small stack from his desk drawer. You and Whiskey put your heads together to pore over them.

They’re all written by one person, in slanted, blocky handwriting.

YOU WILL PAY.

YOU WILL LOSE EVERYTHING.

YOUR EMPIRE WILL CRUMBLE.

WE WILL CRUSH YOU.

“Is there another one?” you check. “There are five envelopes but only four notes.”

Peterson hesitates, then shrugs and shakes his head. He’s lying, but you don’t push it.

“There is one other thing,” he says. “I keep seeing this blue truck—but it’s like he doesn’t want to be spotted. I see it slow down like he’s scoping out the place, but then he speeds off as soon as he sees I’ve noticed. I tried to get the license plate but it was covered in mud.” He scoffs. “We haven’t had any rain in months.”

Jack has him describe the vehicle and where he’s seen it, while you take notes.

“Alright, Mr. Peterson. We’ll be in touch if we have any other questions.”

“Thank you. Oh—here.” He hands you a pair of vouchers for a free wine tasting. “They come with the tour. One thing you should know about Napa—you’ll only really blend in if you’ve got a glass of wine in your hand.”

Jack’s code name is Whiskey for a reason. He’s a spirits man through and through and he doesn’t give the tasting room a second look, ushering you out to get back to your room to regroup. Admittedly, it’s only 10 AM, but you would have enjoyed a few sips of merlot. You’re craning your neck a little to look at the wine list posted by the door—just out of curiosity—when he startles you by taking your hand in his. You look at him. He’s staring ahead, holding your hand like it’s nothing as you walk side by side. Finally, your brain catches up and your nine credits of college acting classes kick in and you plaster a loving smile onto your face, leaning closer.

In the privacy of your little rented cottage, you pull out your notes again to review.

“Peterson is lying about something,” you start. Jack nods distractedly.

“Yeah—listen, before we get into that, I need to ask you. You jumped when I held your hand back there,” he observes.

You feel your face heat with embarrassment. He’s calling you out on your inexperience, the rookie agent who can’t even play-act for a simple assignment. You can do it, you know. Being undercover in the field is just still new to you. He could help you instead of being critical.

“Sorry—”

“It’s my opinion,” he says, with a slight frown, “that a man who doesn’t treat his wife a certain way is no man at all.”

You’re lost, suddenly. “Sorry?”

“What I’m askin’ is, do I have your permission to touch you like you’re my wife when other people are around?”

Oh.

Something about the way he’s worded it makes your stomach do a little flip.

“Oh. Yes. Touch me like…?” You swallow. “Like how, exactly?”

He gives you a steady look.

“Intimately.”

That’s fine. You’re fine with that.

“Right. That’s—” you nod, maybe a little too emphatically. “That’s okay.”

You look down, fingering the pages of your notebook again, trying to refocus on the more analytical side of the job, when another thought occurs to you.

“Are you going to kiss me?” you blurt.

“Shit, Violet, that’s part and parcel of it.”

“It’s Violette,” you tell him with a frown.

“Sorry.”

“Do you even know my real name?”

“Of course I do,” he says. You don’t push it but you also don’t know whether to believe him. He’s shown little interest in working with you this entire week.

Jack takes a step towards you.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he says. “So you don’t jump like a rabbit when I do it in public.”

You take a breath. Suck your bottom lip between your teeth involuntarily.

“Okay,” you tell him.

Your eyes fall shut as he leans in. You feel his fingers steadying your chin, tilting your face to meet his, and then his lips touching your mouth, light, tentative—teasing, your mind prompts, and the thought makes you feel flushed again. When you don’t shy away he presses closer and you’re not sure which of you is to blame when your lips part and his tongue brushes yours.

You were expecting it, so you don’t jump, but you feel a little trembly when he pulls away. He doesn’t step back right away—instead, his lips hover over your skin, mustache coarse against your soft cheek, as he tucks his mouth by your ear and quietly, intimately, says your name.

“So you think Peterson is lying,” he says, picking up the thread from before.

“Um,” you say, forcing your brain to switch back to work mode. Your whole body feels warm. “Yes. Don’t you think he seemed shady?”

Jack shrugs. “Call me jaded, I think most people are shady. But I agree with you. He lied about the missing letter. I fuckin’ hate when clients do that. What do you think about the blue truck he saw?”

“I think that could be something.”

You open your laptop and with a few keystrokes you’ve used a Statesman backdoor into the DMV system, where you enter the make, model, and color of the vehicle Peterson had described. There are no matching hits within Napa County, so you expand the search. It’s an unpopular color, so there are only a few dozen matches in the state. None of the owners’ names are on the list of suspects you’ve been given.

“He said he hasn’t seen it around town, only driving by his property. And we don’t know who owns it. So how do we find the car?” you wonder.

Jack is silent for a minute. You watch as a slow smile spreads across his face.

“I have an idea.”

This case originated at Statesman’s Kentucky headquarters, so Agent Ginger Ale is your tech liaison. It’s clear from their dynamic that she and Agent Whiskey have worked together before. Having her voice in your ear is a source of comfort as you carry out Jack’s great idea—which you’re not 100% sure you’re on board with.

“Don’t you need some kind of license to operate this?” you ask tentatively.

“Technically, on paper, he has one,” Ginger offers. “Well, Johnny Davenport does, anyway. As of twenty minutes ago.”

“It’s a balloon and a basket, how complicated could it be,” Jack grouses. This doesn’t exactly raise your confidence.

“Just don’t crash this one, Jack,” she pleads.

“This one?!”

He shakes his head. “You have one helicopter fail on you and they never let you live it down. Don’t listen to Ginger.”

To his credit, Jack pilots the hot air balloon much more smoothly than you’d expected, and after some time you feel yourself relaxing and enjoying the view. It’s early October and the landscape is a mix of green and brown from the last of the summer heat. Tidy rows of grape vines are bordered by houses and larger wineries, copses of trees, and fields dotted with grazing cows. Tiny workers move methodically among the vines, busy harvesting fruit to be pressed and fermented. Through it all, highways and winding roads run alongside the properties, and this is where you refocus your attention.

Ginger has programmed your binoculars to register any vehicles matching the description of the blue truck you’re seeking. You train the lenses on the backroads and driveways, looking for private hiding places it could be stashed.

The whole endeavor feels like a long shot, and you’re just on the verge of suggesting you give up and head back to base when the binocs let out a high-pitched beep of recognition, zooming in on your target.

“Holy shit,” you whisper. “I can’t believe this worked.”

“I told you it would,” Jack says, looking smug. “What is that place?”

Ginger has looked up the coordinates before you have a chance to do it yourself.

“It’s a winery… Double Loop Vineyards. Do you guys know that name?”

You recognize it immediately. The owner is one of the names on Bill Peterson’s list of suspects.

You and Jack exchange a look.

“Guess we’re goin’ wine tasting at Double Loop,” he says, and he turns to start your descent.

The tasting room at Double Loop Vineyards is a large, tastefully decorated space that looks like it was converted from an old barn. It’s all dark wood and ceiling beams, and a bar runs along the back and right side walls. When you and Jack step inside, you’re greeted by a tall young woman with a pixie haircut and striking cheekbones. She’s wearing a name tag that reads Eva.

You settle in front of her at the bar and she pulls out a pair of glasses and pours a splash of white into each to get you started. You take a sip and peruse the small menu on the bartop.

“She’ll have the red flight,” Jack says, “And I’ll just have a glass. Can you recommend me something… full-bodied?”

As he says it he palms your hip suggestively, pulling you to him a little closer. You laugh, mortified but amused despite yourself, and he shoots you a wink.

Eva takes it in stride. “I can offer you a cabernet sauvignon that’s got legs for days.”

“That’ll do me just fine, thank you.”

You’re the only visitors in the tasting room for the moment so you have her undivided attention. She’s skilled at making small talk to keep you charmed and at ease; eventually she asks something more personal.

“So I’m planning to propose to my girlfriend soon,” she tells you. “And I’m trying to figure out how to do it. I’m like crowdsourcing ideas. You two are such a cute couple—can I ask how you got engaged?”

You and Jack exchange a glance and you give him a sweet smile. “You tell it, honey.”

“Well,” he says, keeping his eyes on you for a long moment before he finally looks away to face Eva, “I knew I wanted to marry her, and I had this whole plan in mind. I wanted something special for my Violet so I was going to take her on a trip—my buddy has this little cabin on the most beautiful lake you’ve ever seen—and make her favorite dinner, and sit down with a glass of something nice. And then I was going to present her with this beautiful piece of hand-carved wood that spelled out, Will. You. Marry. Me.”

He pauses to take a sip of his cab while Eva says, “Aww,” and looks at you like, what a sweet partner you have.

“Now the thing is,” he continues, warming up to the story, “as Violet can tell you herself, I have never carved a single thing in my life. And somehow, like a dumbass, I was convinced I could make this plaque and do it perfectly. But it looked just awful. And it was taking me so long trying to get it right I could tell she was starting to wonder if I was stringing her along.”

You shake your head in protest and he laughs. “You were! You’d look at me like, why has this fool not married me yet.”

Eva laughs, too. “So what happened?”

Jack lets out an aggrieved sigh. “What happened was, I caught the flu. Just the most dog-sick, pathetic man, all sweaty with fever and miserable to boot. And Violet never hesitated, she bundled me up and cooked me soup and tolerated my whining and she’d read me to sleep when my eyes couldn’t even focus on the TV. And somewhere in the middle of all that, I thought, I need to hold on to this woman forever, and I asked her right then and there.”

His voice cracks a little on the last sentence and you’re shocked to realize your own eyes are damp with tears. You’re not sure which part, or how much, but something in that story sounded true and it’s left you with a strange sense of heartache. You lift his hand to your mouth and press a kiss across his knuckles, watching his face soften.

“Okay,” Eva says. “So I guess I’ll add ‘get the flu’ to my list of ideas.”

“I don’t recommend it,” Jack tells her, “but I don’t not recommend it.”

As you finish your flight and Eva rings up a couple of bottles you’ve chosen to purchase—you’re not sure if these classify as company expenses, but you enjoyed them enough you’ll pay out of pocket if you must—she asks where else in the wine country you’ve been to so far.

“We spent some time at the winery right next to the place we’re staying—actually, we got to meet the owner there, what was his name, baby?”

You keep your tone casual, but you watch her face as you reply. “Bill Peterson, I think it was?”

Eva’s expression falters, just for a moment, before she recovers and plasters on a polite smile. “They’ve got a great pinot noir over there.”

“Not as good as these,” you tell her, just to see her smile turn genuine.

A tour group walks in just then so you take your leave and step outside into the late afternoon sunshine. When Jack takes your hand this time you let him, and you don’t mind it.

The blue truck is parked out back. You walk along the side of the building, just a pair of happy tourists slightly buzzed on red wine out to take in the view, until you get close enough to make note of the license plate. Back in your own car, you run a search on it and identify the owner: a young man named Lucas Trent. The address on the registration is in Paso Robles, a town 250 miles south of here, but you do some digging and find he’s a vineyard worker at Double Loop.

“So what’s the connection to Peterson?” Jack wonders.

“Look at this.” You point at the screen and he squints. “He’s only been at Double Loop for six months. Before that—”

“He worked for Peterson,” Jack finishes. “So he’s mad about getting fired and wants to get back at his old boss.”

“Maybe,” you say, frowning. “We don’t really know yet. But it’s a theory.”

“It’s a good theory,” he insists.

The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, mulling it over.

“Tell me this, rookie,” he says. “You ever been on a stakeout?”

On your first ever stakeout that evening, you quickly learn a few things:

Stakeouts are cold. Stakeouts are boring. And rental cars are not designed to accommodate them.

You shift uncomfortably for the fifth time in twenty minutes.

“How do we even know he’ll show up tonight?” you ask. In the quiet of the night you keep your voice hushed.

“Call it intuition,” Jack says. You can tell he hates sitting still this long, too, but he’s clearly built up a tolerance for it over the years, because he’s not wriggling around nearly as much as you.

“Can I ask you something?”

He grunts an assent.

“That story about how you proposed—how did you come up with that?”

He pauses.

“I just—made it up,” he says.

“I thought it seemed…” you start. He gives you a sidelong glance. “Never mind. You’re a good improviser.”

After a minute, he says, “I was engaged once. A long time ago.”

“Oh.” You bite your cheek, holding back your questions.

“She died,” he adds. Your heart drops.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Of course,” you say, helplessly.

Never in your life have you been more grateful to see a criminal approaching than when you see the familiar shape of Lucas Trent’s blue truck appear down the road.

“Ha,” Jack says, looking a little less glum. “What’d I tell you. Intuition never fails me.”

You take deep, silent breaths, trying to control your fast-beating heart as you creep behind Jack to follow Lucas inside the building. He’s got a key to Peterson’s winery; he must have stolen it before he left the job, you think. He heads down the hall, past Peterson’s office, and disappears behind a door.

Jack motions for you to wait a moment, listening intently outside the door. You hear nothing but the quiet thump of Lucas’s footsteps, growing fainter until there’s only silence, and finally Jack eases open the door. You’re faced with a short flight of stairs heading down into a cellar. The two of you tiptoe down the stairs.

You nearly bump into Jack at the bottom when he stops dead in his tracks, still hidden in the shadows. Peering around him, you see that Lucas isn’t alone in the room. Bill Peterson is here, too, standing next to a small wooden desk.

“What the fuck do you want?” Bill demands. Lucas stares at him sullenly. “You came here to steal from me, didn’t you? You didn’t think I’d be down here.”

“I just want what’s mine,” the young man growls. “You’re the thief, not me.”

Lucas steps further into the room, toward the back wall. The space is filled with racks of carefully preserved wine bottles—Peterson’s precious collection, you register—and a pile of empty wooden barrels, stacked two high.

“Those bottles are insured,” Peterson calls after him. “You’ll get caught if you try to sell them.”

Lucas says nothing, just continues walking until he reaches the wall. At the back of the cellar, he pushes aside a tapestry to reveal a combination safe embedded in the wall. He glances over his shoulder with a smirk, and punches in the code.

“How the fuck do you know that number?” Peterson roars, finally scared. He rushes past the racks of wine, suddenly worthless compared to whatever is on the flash drive Lucas has just retrieved from the safe. When they start to tussle over it, Jack finally steps in.

“Hey!” he yells, striding into the light. The men look over, startled, and then Peterson looks relieved. He lets go of Lucas, seemingly confident that his hired security will take care of the situation, and retreats to stand next to Jack.

“Get that back from him,” he tells him. Jack gives him a long, unimpressed look, and then turns his focus on Lucas, who’s starting to look slightly panicky now that he’s outnumbered.

“Listen, son. This will all go a lot easier if you just put that back where you found it and walk out of here with me.”

“You don’t understand,” Lucas protests. “He’s stealing from everyone. This is the proof.”

Peterson shifts on his feet, looking guilty. “Bullshit,” he says. “You resent me for being the boss, but I’ve worked for every penny I’ve got.”

Lucas lets out a humorless, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, you work real hard. You must break a sweat making copies of your accounts so you can lie about the numbers. I bet you have blisters on your hands from shortchanging your workers.”

Jack makes a mistake here—he takes his eyes off the suspect to look at Mr. Peterson in a new light, trying to gauge which of them is telling the truth. And in that split second, to your horror, Lucas hurtles forward and shoves the stacked wine barrels, hard, knocking both Jack and Peterson onto the ground.

You make a mistake, too, and he gets on your case about it afterwards. You let Lucas slip past you in your rush to reach Jack’s side. He looks dazed and angry and his legs are trapped under the hundred-pound barrel. Gathering your strength, you lift it off of him and set it upright, then fall to your knees to check him over.

“Jack! Are you alright?” You feel carefully along his legs, then gently at the back of his head, running your fingers over his scalp to check for bumps or bleeding.

“I’m okay,” he mutters. “I didn’t hit my head.” But he winces as you help him up, and he’s moving a little gingerly when he takes a step. “Might’ve tweaked my ankle,” he admits.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Peterson yells. “You let that little shit get away with my property.”

“Let me ask you this, Mr. Peterson,” Jack growls. “Was it true what he said, about the double accounts?”

“I don’t see how that matters,” he insists angrily. “I hired you to do a job, and I expected a lot better.”

“I’ll tell you why it matters,” Jack tells him. “I don’t work for people who lie to me. Consider the contract dissolved. You can get your ‘property’ back on your own.”

“Actually, you got lucky, Mr. Peterson,” you call back over your shoulder as you help Jack walk over to the stairs. “If we had gotten our hands on that drive, we would have been obligated to turn it over to the IRS. Statesman has connections in the government, too, you know.”

And with that, you leave him sputtering and pale, alone with his precious wine.

It’s 3 AM when you get back to the room. Jack’s ankle isn’t broken, just twisted. You’d made him wait in the car while you stopped at a 24-hour convenience store to get ice on the way, so now you get him tucked into bed with his foot elevated and a baggie of ice draped over his ankle. He’s clearly still peeved over how things went down with Peterson, but he also looks amused watching you play nursemaid for him.

“You know, I’ve been hurt a hell of a lot worse than this before,” he tells you. “I can take care of myself.”

You give him an unimpressed look. “Getting badly injured isn’t the brag you think it is,” you counter. “And… you shouldn’t have to take care of it alone. That’s what I’m here for. I know you think I’m just a rookie, but—for this job, we’re partners, right?”

He’s silent for a beat, but then he nods.

Jack is still awake and waiting for you when you return from the bathroom in your pajamas. As you climb into your side of the bed, he says, “I don’t think you’re just a rookie. You did a good job on this case.”

The room is dark but there’s moonlight streaming in through the window, casting a beam of light across his face on the pillow. He’s looking at you. You look back.

“Thank you,” you tell him finally.

“Thanks for the ice,” he returns. He lets out a sigh as his eyes drift shut, and as you follow suit you feel his hand reach out and intertwine with yours.

“G’night, Violet,” he murmurs.

“Goodnight, Johnny.”

He laughs, and you grin in the dark, and you hold on tight.

#pedrostories #pedrostoriesgift23 #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #pedro pascal #kingsman fanfiction #my fic #fanfiction

[stylesnews]

Harry with a cowboy hat in Munich, night I - 17/05

#denizashouse #harry styles #munich123 #may23 #lot23

[howardhawkshollywoodannex]

Daniel Craig as Jake Lonergan in Cowboys and Aliens (2011). Dan was born in Cheshire, England, and has 70 acting credits 1992-2022. His entries among my best 1001 are Elizabeth, Infamous, Casino Royale, Skyfall, and Knives Out.

His other notable credits include an episode of The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles, Lara Croft: Tomb Raider, Road to Perdition, Layer Cake, Munich, The Golden Compass, Quantum of Solace, Defiance, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Spectre, Star Wars: Episode VII - The Force Awakens (as a storm trooper), Logan Lucky, No Time to Die, and Glass Onion.

#daniel craig #cowboys and aliens

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Without John Williams, bikes don't fly and neither do brooms in Quidditch matches nor do men in red capes. There is no Force, dinosaurs do not walk the earth. We do not wonder, we do not weep, we do not believe.

- Steven Spielberg, AFI Lifetime Achievement Award speech for John Williams

The collaboration between John Williams and Steven Spielberg is probably the longest and most successful artistic relationship between a director and a composer in the history of cinema. The duo is synonymous of what means having a fruitful, honest and profound association between two people making films together. Calendar year 2022 marks the 50th anniversary of the very first encounter between Spielberg and Williams, which happened when the director was in preparation of his first feature film, The Sugarland Express; after being impressed by Williams’ work for such films as The Reivers and The Cowboys, the director decided he was the type of composer he was looking for. The rest, as the saying goes, is history.

Their roster includes some of the most successful and everlasting movies in the history of cinema: Jaws, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Raiders of the Lost Ark, E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial, Jurassic Park, but also such highly acclaimed dramas as Schindler’s List, Saving Private Ryan, Munich and Lincoln, and most recently The Fablemans. The variety and diversity of their collaboration is balanced by a unified artistic vision that always celebrates humanity, finding the perfect synergy and constant inspiration in the work of each other and letting each other to be part of their own respective worlds. “John is my musical rewrite artist,” said Steven Spielberg, while Williams spoke of Spielberg as someone who “loves music, it is such a pleasure working with him. He comes in and I play him a theme, he is always very positive and enjoys it.”

Photo: Steven Spielberg and John Williams in the late 1970s.

#spieberg #steven spielberg #quote #john williams #williams #film composer #composer #cinema #movies #film #music #soundtrack #artist #american #icon #culture

[georgy1915]

Dean Cokinos (born c. 1968) is an American football coach. He has held assistant coaching or head coaching positions with UMass Boston, Austin Peay, West Alabama, Noris Rams, Munich Cowboys, Wilkes-Barre/Scranton Pioneers, San Angelo Stampede, Nashville Kats, Tennessee Valley Vipers, Alabama Vipers, Georgia Force, Alabama Hammers, New Orleans VooDoo, Tampa Bay Storm, Washington Valor, and the Berlin Rebels.

College career

Cokinos attended University of Massachusetts Boston, where he was a running back for the Beacons.[1] He was a college teammate of Pat Sperduto, whom he later served under in Nashville.t

#adult human female #gender critical #gendercritical #gendie #lgb #moid #moid moment #radfem #radical feminists do interact #terf #ywnbaw #trans women are men #trans men are women #trans cult #trans exclusionary radical feminist #moids #terf safe #tehm #terfsafe #terfblr #radical feminism #radical feminist safe #rad feminism #radical feminist #radicalfeminist #radblr #moid receipts #tra receipts #gendie receipts

[meliswiftie13]

this post for my eras tour info!!!

this is going to be my first time seeing taylor and i am so excited. Actually i bought ticket for berlin lover fest but because of the pandemic it cancelled. In 2024 i am going to see her after 13 years ✨🥺

My first show is Amsterdam night one (04.07.2024) and i will be there with my two close friends. We will fly from Turkey just to see taylor!!! Our tickets in general admission entrance hehehehe i am so happy that i got the floor but i know that it is not that close to taylor but whatever, there is no bad tickets in eras tour!!!

My second show is Munich night two (28.07.2024) this time i will be alone at the concert. In the first place, i got scared but hopefully i can meet lots of new people and i am so happy that it will be only me and my younger version who started to love taylor in the first place. If you see me please come and say hi!!! My seating place is block b3 row 40 seat9!!!!

I am so excited to see taylor and hear and scream all the songs which made me who i am today. I started to make friendships bracelets and bought pink cowboy boot! As I mentioned before please come and say hi!! This is going to be my first experience in another country and taylor’s concert so I would like to live all the great experiences ✨

See you soon @taylorswift , love you ♥️

#taylor swift #melsays #meliswiftie13 #eras tour #taylorlurking #taylor nation

[misfitwashere]

Beware the Weak Man

Thoughts from the Munich Security Conference

TIMOTHY SNYDER

FEB 22

Who is the weak man?  You shall know him by his itinerary.  The weak man knows that Ukraine is what matters, so he goes to Texas.  The weak man of Congress buys some casual clothes, has a staffer write a speech about the border, and recites it word-for-word.  A real invasion is replaced by a pretend one.  The weak man invites us to fear phantoms rather than face issues. 

House Speaker Mike Johnson did this, as did other American legislators seeking excuses not to help Ukraine.  While I was in Munich, Elon Musk put on a cowboy hat and took his turn.  In fall 2022, when Ukraine might have won the war, Musk cut the Ukrainians off from Starlink.  Rather than going to Ukraine and learning, he made a profoundly bad decision on the basis of personal fear. 

The Munich Security Conference is a place where people get together to take action.  Unlike Johnson and Musk, Senator J.D. Vance was at least present.  But he was there to demotivate.  Invited to meet Ukrainian president Volodymyr Zelens’kyi, Vance made his excuses.  Rather than looking a courageous man in the eye, he retreated to his hotel room and searched for "dolphin" and "women" on the internet.

At a meeting I attended, Danish Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen announced that her country would donate its entire stock of artillery shells to Ukraine. Vance stood outside the building and said that we should give up.  He told the leaders of a democracy (but not to their faces) to give up territory.  If the Ukrainians followed his advice, the chain of events would be similar to what happened the last time fascism was appeased in Munich: the collapse of faith in order, and a world war.

Ukraine could win, if Americans would help; but our weak men have cut off the weapons.  Musk spreads Russian propaganda.  Vance amplifies Russian foreign policy.  Trump follows Putin’s wishes.  Johnson maneuvers for months to block a vote on aid to Ukraine.  And so the Ukrainians, fighting for their lives, run out of artillery shells, and must withdraw from losses from Avdiivka. 

The weak man kills because he lacks the energy to act and consumes the energy of others.  He scorns those who struggle with real danger, and want them to fail and die. 

The problem is not masculinity.  Radek Sikorski, the foreign minister of Poland, is a man’s man from central casting: good looks, deep voice, firm stare, bad jokes.  When not in office, he was raising money for pickup trucks and driving them to the front.  At Munich, plenty of competent men were at work: such as Czech President Petr Pavel, a former general, who has been searching the world for artillery shells to send to Ukraine.  The problem is brittle masculinity, the male form of weakness that substitutes mendacious prattle for necessary action. 

Instead of aiding Ukraine, the weak men of Congress have dedicated months to a long series of lies that have wasted the energy and good faith of others.  First Johnson said that he wanted to protect the border and would pass aid for Ukraine if it was connected to a border bill; then, when presented with exactly this solution, he rejected it.  When aid for Ukraine was then separated from the border issue in another bill, he rejected that too, on the grounds that the border was not mentioned.  The weak men of Congress want inaction both at the border and in Ukraine.  They only mention the one to explain why they are not acting on the other.

After this parade, Johnson called to House of Representatives to recess.  But Johnson himself is not on vacation.  He has to put on a tie and abase himself before Trump in Florida.  In the photograph Johnson posted, Trump lacks the strength to raise his thumb.  Trump submits to Putin, and encourages Russia to attack American allies. 

And Putin, in his turn, is all fear.  He kills opponents because he fears that a younger generation might do better.  He attacks Ukraine because he cannot stand the thought of democracy in Russia.  The submission chain that runs through Johnson and Trump to Putin ends in a vacuum. 

The danger is that this vacuum will consume our democracy.  The weak man runs from danger by running for office.  Not strong enough to believe in law or to live by it, the weak man breaks laws and then tries to break law itself.  Putin wants to die in his bed.  And so we will soon have another fake Russian presidential election.  Trump wants to pardon himself or otherwise avoid prosecution for all the crimes he seems to know he has committed.  For the weak man, fear is everything, and fear must also become everything for us.

On the first day of the Munich Security Conference, the news arrived that Alexei Navalny, the foremost Russian oppositionist, had been killed in Russian prison. Navalny was known for his courage.  He had returned to Russia after Russian authorities poisoned him. After his poisoning, but before he returned to Russia, he telephoned the Russian secret police, impersonated one of its officers, and elicited the truth about what happened.  He was also courageous enough to be a friend to his friends and a father to his children.

Weak men therefore find Navalny unbearable.  Putin cannot say his name.  Nor can Musk -- and the social media platform he owns suspended the account of Navalny’s widow.  Trump claimed that Navalny died to show how much Trump suffers.  Navalny committed no crimes, but drew attention to those of oligarchs.  Trump is a wannabe oligarch who says that, should he become president again, he will round up and imprison his political opponents.  He wants to be able to do with all Americans what Putin did to Navalny.  And, like Putin, he will claim to be the victim as he does so.  The weak man always says that he is the victim.

One way the weak man kills is by broadcasting his fears.  Putin might or might not have given a direct order to kill Navalny.  More likely it was an indirect suggestion, picked up by other weak men.  On January 6th, 2021, Trump used language other weak men understood.  He now uses the internet to encourage violence against elected representatives, prosecutors, and judges.  He prepares for a second coup attempt.

Munich is a city full of resonances for a historian.  Hitler’s first coup attempt took place here.  After his second one, the one that succeeded after an election, he let others understand what he wanted done.  Like Putin, and for that matter like Trump, he made his general wishes known, and let others turn them into fearful acts.  And so institutions changed, and society altered, and life became fear.

Americans don’t tend to learn from foreign examples or from the past.  We don’t recognize a politics of fear, which makes us vulnerable to it.  We assume that any action they take from personal fear must be justified.  And so we normalize fear, and spread it, and institutionalize it. 

The Republican Party is becoming a party of fear, in which Republicans fear other Republicans, fear their constituents, and fear Trump, which means fearing Russia.  Republicans enter the submission chain that binds them to Trump, and to Putin, and then rationalize what they have done.  From the position, actual cooperation with actual Russians no longer seems to be a problem, as we have just seen in the attempt to impeach Biden with the help of Russian lies, and for that matter in a series of events going back a decade.

Americans beyond the cult of MAGA submit in a different way.  They decide that the weak man is the strong man, and thereby make it so.  They instruct us, absurdly, that the war in Ukraine or the work of democracy makes us "fatigued."  If we think that labor and courage are bad things, we are conceding the point — and our democracy — to the weak man.  But the work itself is invigorating, and is the example of those doing the work.

American newspapers instruct us that Biden is old.  If he’s old (goes the thinking), he must be weak; and if he is weak, then we are permitted to give up.  But Biden is not weak.  He is not running away from prison, or from anything else.  He does not act from fear.  He gets work done.  His record is one of the strongest in the history of the American presidency.  And he went to Ukraine with zero military protection.  That was courageous.  No other president has ever done that. 

In Munich I thought of the Ukrainian writer Stanislav Aseyev, whom I last saw in Kyiv.  He survived a Russian torture camp, tracked down his own persecutor, and wrote a book about it.  Aseyev is now at the front in the Ukrainian army.  He doesn’t like being in a bunker, because it reminds him of his cell.  I saw another Ukrainian soldier I know at the conference.  The last time I talked to him he had his right pants leg tied below the amputation.  This time he had a prosthesis.  He stood and spoke of the “spirit of freedom.” 

It is absurd, in such a world, where so much is at stake, where so much is to be won, to speak of our “fatigue” either with the struggle in Ukraine or the struggle for our own democracy.  Doing so is the prologue to a story of weakness, which ends with the victory of the weak man.  When we fall in line behind the fearful, when we forget the “spirit of freedom,” we help the weak men create a politics of fear.  When we obey in advance, we invite the weak man to take power over our souls, which then means power over our politics.

In 2024, a year of war and a year of elections, a year that will test decency and democracy, the weak man wants to see his fear in our eyes.  We will need the courage to admire the courageous, and to say something that might feel risky.  For example: we believe in our values, and we believe in our strength.  Ukraine can win this war, Biden can win this election, and democracy can thrive.

#timothy snyder #ukraine #russia is a terrorist state #American politics #I want to scream!

[a-froger-epic]

Hey Ana, do you know how Freddie hurt/broke his leg? I keep seeing that picture of him in the cast with the cowboy hat on

He didn't ever break his leg, I don't think, but he hurt his leg while in Munich (according to Phoebe, he tried to lift somebody up at a bar, as he occasionally would do, to prove his strength lol, and that time he miscalculated and hurt his leg) and he once injured his leg during a concert in 1984, at the end of Hammer to Fall. I'm not actually sure when the picture you mention is from.

#ask response

[benoits-neckerchieves]

Feel free to explain why in the comments or reblog with ur favourite scenes or whatever

#really interested to see what ppl will say #choices roughly based on letterboxd and rotten tomatoes #daniel craig #james bond #007 #benoit blanc #knives out #glass onion #the girl with the dragon tattoo #logan lucky #layer cake #cowboys and aliens #road to perdition #the golden compass #letterboxd #rotten tomatoes #imdb #movie review #movie poll #movie ratings

[homey-comb]

I've been having reoccuring dreams lately about the FMA (2003) anime. I pop in my DVDs like usual, but the plot changes halfway through. Two agents (a gruff, dark-haired man and a blond guy) protect Ed and Al from an encounter with the homonculi while getting on the train. From that point on, the anime shifts to this Cowboy Bebop/Durarara!!-like undercover plot that feels like it was scrapped or old content. I was surprised most of all because at the midpoint of the series Ed and Al end up in Munich, going back and forth between worlds with them separated or together.

#ill draw what i can remember soon #fullmetal alchemist #fma 2003 #edward elric #alphonse elric

[dan6085]

Here are the top 20 sports stadiums in the world, in no particular order, along with their details, usages, seating capacity, and significance:

1. Wembley Stadium (London, UK) - A multi-purpose stadium that hosts football (soccer) matches, NFL games, and major concerts. It has a seating capacity of 90,000 and is known for its iconic arch.

2. Camp Nou (Barcelona, Spain) - The largest football stadium in Europe and home to FC Barcelona. It has a seating capacity of 99,354 and is known for its impressive atmosphere.

3. AT&T Stadium (Arlington, Texas, USA) - Home to the Dallas Cowboys of the NFL, this stadium features a retractable roof and a seating capacity of 80,000. It is known for its state-of-the-art technology and amenities.

4. Madison Square Garden (New York, USA) - A multi-purpose indoor arena that hosts basketball, ice hockey, concerts, and other events. It has a seating capacity of 20,789 and is known for its historic significance and iconic events.

5. Allianz Arena (Munich, Germany) - Home to FC Bayern Munich, this stadium has a seating capacity of 75,000 and is known for its unique design and illuminated exterior.

6. Sydney Cricket Ground (Sydney, Australia) - A multi-purpose stadium that hosts cricket, Australian rules football, rugby, and major concerts. It has a seating capacity of 48,601 and is known for its historic significance and beautiful setting.

7. Yankee Stadium (New York, USA) - Home to the New York Yankees of Major League Baseball, this stadium has a seating capacity of 47,309 and is known for its historic significance and modern amenities.

8. Maracanã Stadium (Rio de Janeiro, Brazil) - A legendary football stadium that has hosted two FIFA World Cup Finals and numerous other major events. It has a seating capacity of 78,838 and is known for its passionate fans and vibrant atmosphere.

9. Estadio Azteca (Mexico City, Mexico) - Home to the Mexican national football team, this stadium has a seating capacity of 87,523 and is known for its historic significance and passionate fans.

10. Melbourne Cricket Ground (Melbourne, Australia) - A multi-purpose stadium that hosts cricket, Australian rules football, rugby, and major concerts. It has a seating capacity of 100,024 and is known for its historic significance and beautiful setting.

11. Old Trafford (Manchester, UK) - Home to Manchester United, this stadium has a seating capacity of 75,731 and is known for its historic significance and passionate fans.

12. Estadio Santiago Bernabéu (Madrid, Spain) - Home to Real Madrid, this stadium has a seating capacity of 81,044 and is known for its modern amenities and iconic history.

13. Stade de France (Paris, France) - A multi-purpose stadium that hosts football, rugby, and major concerts. It has a seating capacity of 80,698 and is known for its modern design and iconic status.

14. Estádio do Maracanã (Rio de Janeiro, Brazil) - A legendary football stadium that has hosted two FIFA World Cup Finals and numerous other major events. It has a seating capacity of 78,838 and is known for its passionate fans and vibrant atmosphere.

15. O2 Arena (London, UK) - A multi-purpose indoor arena that hosts concerts, basketball, and other events. It has a seating capacity of 20,000 and is known for its state-of-the-art technology and amenities.

16. Fenway Park (Boston, USA) - Home to the Boston Red Sox of Major League Baseball, this stadium has a seating capacity of 37,731 and is known for its historic significance and passionate fans.

17. Twickenham Stadium (London, UK) - Home to the England national rugby team, this stadium has a seating capacity of 82,000 and is known for its electric atmosphere and historic significance.

18. Emirates Stadium (London, UK) - Home to Arsenal FC, this stadium has a seating capacity of 60,260 and is known for its modern design and passionate fans.

19. Staples Center/Crypto.com Arena (Los Angeles, USA) - A multi-purpose indoor arena that hosts basketball, ice hockey, and major concerts. It has a seating capacity of 19,067 and is known for its state-of-the-art technology and amenities.

20. Estadio Monumental (Buenos Aires, Argentina) - Home to River Plate, this stadium has a seating capacity of 72,738 and is known for its passionate fans and electric atmosphere. It has hosted numerous major events, including the 1978 FIFA World Cup Final.

[deadlinecom]

[towersfootball]

Ya nos "amenazó" a principios de semana con más fotos y aquí está. #Repost @riptide981 with @repostsaveapp ・・・ Una de #TowersPorElMundo (aunque la cami se ve poco). Una tarde de #FútbolAmericano en #Múnich. Me he venido a ver el @munichcowboys II - @muenchen_rangers de la segunda división alemana. /cc @towersfootball (at Dantestadion Munich Cowboys) https://www.instagram.com/p/CgXGYvgMYGi/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#repost #towersporelmundo #fútbolamericano #múnich

[perezrobertson8]

Saint Laurent Bags For Girls

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The monogram end offers this bag a minimalistic aesthetic and is perfect for anybody in search of a more understated designer purse. For his summer time 1967 assortment, Saint Laurent created an Africa-inspired collection, creating gowns with supplies like raffia, straw and wooden beads. In 1960, Saint Laurent was drafted into the army, which is claimed to have taken a toll on the designer’s psychological well being. Saint Laurent’s stint solely lasted through coaching camp, and he ended up being hospitalized after a psychological breakdown. It was whereas in the hospital that he discovered he wouldn't be returning as Dior’s head designer and that Marc Bohan would take his place.

#saint laurent replica #saint laurent bag replica #yves saint laurent bags replica

[butterflydragon14]

Been binge watching Daniel Craig movies and so far every single one I thought was gonna be a cute rom com or fun action adventure has turned into a psychological thriller. I’m not complaining just… holy shit

#daniel craig #007 james bond #james bond movies #girl with a dragon tattoo I’m looking at u #oh let’s not forget road to perdition #Sylvia!! #defiance #<<<<< what a movie tho #no I don’t read summaries just jump straight into it #ok I knew what to expect for defiance but the rest #layer cake!! sort of #ok that movies fun #Munich #omg #if anyone knows where to stream cowboys & aliens pls lemme know