#Blue Jew Why Did You Get Pissed

[shelbystories]

Tommy Shelby - Ephialtes

Ephialtes: noun; [Ef-ee-al-tez] a nightmare. 

War seemed to follow Tommy wherever he went. Violence was not uncommon to the Shelby's, and every other day it seemed someone wanted to pick a fight with the Blinders. When they would learn to back down, Tommy knew not. The Jews, the Italians, not even the Russians had managed to overthrow them. Still, despite how used to this life he was, Tommy never got accustomed to the nights.

Nights for Tommy were long, rarely filled with any actual sleep. Instead, the war haunted him, flashbacks and memories trawling through his mind any time he thought he was relaxed. And being one who was far from able to vocalise his emotions well, he found it hard to talk about, so he didn't. Rather, Tommy chose to suffer through his nightmares alone. Emotions only made for enemy opportunity, and Tommy would not allow himself such a weakness.

That was until you came along.

Tommy, as reserved and reluctant as he had been, couldn't deny that he had grown to love you. Love never on the agenda where he was concerned, and Tommy had denied it fervently at first; it had taken Arthur's pushing for him to finally cave in and admit that, for the first time in his life, someone had properly worked their way into his heart.

You'd found work behind the bar in the Garrison whilst the boys were at war, your mother knowing their Aunt Polly quite well. She was happy to let you help, and soon you became a staple figure amongst the frequenters of the pub, able to pour a drink and entertain all the same. Business ran smoothly, and customers were happy, so they kept you around.

You'd first seen Tommy the day after they had come back, and to say you found him handsome was an understatement. You had seen his blue eyes, soft yet hardened all at once. There was a man in there, under the façade he chose to present, and part of you wanted to get to know that man.

"Careful with that one, love," Polly had leant over and whispered to you. "He's not your normal kind of man."

Sending her an incredulous look, your reply gave you away, spoken in a tone that said every word was a lie. Not your intention, in your head it had sounded very defiant and strong.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

A lie it surely was, and Polly knew it a mile off. She had simply laughed, shaken her head, and turned her attention back to her cigarette. Despite your claims, your eyes had drifted back to the man in question, who's own eyes were on you, a soft glance your way. He made no move to smile at you, but you swore his eyes lit up that little bit more. Polly was right, he wasn't your normal type of man, Tommy Shelby. But, the heart wants what it wants.

That was just over a year ago, now. A year later and you were by Tommy's side. The family had welcomed you with warmth, happy that he had finally found someone to put his trust in and to love. Arthur joked that you'd made Tommy too soft, and John would bully you for one thing or another. All in good faith, of course, you knew that should any harm come to you, they would back you up without question. Finn adored you, too, you'd sit with him for hours and talk about anything and everything; usually it was when the boys had kicked him out of the back room of the pub whilst they had a meeting. On the times you'd met Ada, she had also seemed to take to you, loving how you would play with Karl when she had business with Tommy. A couple of times since, she had offered you to walk with her and Karl through the park.

They were family, and you couldn't have been happier or luckier to have the lot of them in your life.

Tommy currently lay awake again, eyes staring wide at the ceiling once more. Beside him, your sleeping form had lay, breathing evenly. It brought some comfort to him. In the small light from outside, your face was lit with a soft glow, and Tommy stared for a while. You looked like an angel, and to him you were. Tommy never did know why you stuck around, or why you had chosen him, but he was thankful nonetheless that he had you. You had stuck by him through the good, the bad, and the very rock bottom, something he would neither expect nor wish from anyone. He didn't know how you did it, how you managed to cope with him at his best, let alone his worst.

He had leant over and ran his hand over your face, twirling a small piece of your hair in his hand, not wanting to wake you. Sighing, Tommy stood, only now realising he was sweating. Walking to the mirror, he stared at his reflection. Eyes reddened and skin glistening, he took a deep breath.

"Fuck," he spoke low to himself, voice hushed. Head in his hands, he tried to shake off his mood.

You'd rolled over ever so slightly and realised there was no one there. Your subconscious woke you with slight panic; such a life meant you never knew whether Tommy was simply taking a piss or he'd been kidnapped. You noticed him stood near the wall and a part of you relaxed. His form was hunched over ever so slightly, and in that moment, you knew. Standing, your feet padded over to him, his body remaining facing the wall. Your arms wrapped themselves around his waist and you buried your head into his back, feeling the tense muscles he was holding relax slightly.

"Hello," you said softly, leaving a small kiss between his shoulder blades. "Nightmares?"

Tommy didn't have to say anything, and you nodded to yourself. Taking his hands, you moved yourself in front of him to look up at the man you loved. One hand cupped his face, and Tommy placed his forehead against yours.

"Would you like to talk about it, love?" you enquired, the hand that rested on his cheek now holding the back of his head. Again, Tommy didn't speak, instead choosing to bury his face into the crook of your neck. Such vulnerability was something Tommy couldn't stand showing, but he needed you in that moment.

"Let's get back in bed."

Taking his hand once more, you led him back to the bed and climbed in, Tommy hesitant for a second or two. You opened your arms, and he crawled in beside you as you wrapped the cover over your forms. Tommy lay into your side, head facing the ceiling as you ran one hand through his hair. Glancing up at you, his eyes shone as he spoke, barely above a whisper.

"Thank you, Y/N, I apologise if I woke you."

You giggled slightly, and his face turned a little confused.

"You and your priorities, Tommy," you said, placing a kiss on his forehead and smiling down at him. "You know I hate it when you thank me for things like this, I don't need a thanks. We'll get through this together, won't we?"

"Yeah," his voice lower, suggesting he was finally tiring. "Yeah we will."

A shift in the bed, and Tommy was curled against you, arms draped over your waist and legs entwined messily with your own. A few moments later, and you felt his body relax. Looking down, you saw his eyes, those beautiful eyes that had drawn you in at the start, had closed and his breathing had evened itself out. Rest had overtaken him.

"I love you, Thomas Shelby."

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Blue Eyes Part 30

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 30: Tommy receives a letter from a dead man. 

       “Mr. Shelby, this was delivered to you.” Tommy’s assistant at the House of Commons set the envelope down on his desk.

           “Thank you.” He set his pen down for a moment and picked up the letter. It did appear addressed to him although the penmanship was very unkempt and blotted. Either way, Tommy opened the envelope.

           Inside was a very brief letter written in the same scrawling handwriting with several errors in spelling and grammar, almost as if a child had written it.

           Dear Tom,

Try an stay awy from black horrses. Rmind El ta feed Cril n Antea.

           Alfe

           It was utterly puzzling, to say the least. Tommy was holding what seemed to be the drugged-up stream of consciousness of a man who was supposed to be dead. If the letter was coherent, he would’ve assumed it had been sent before Alfie was shot. However, it wasn’t only the disjointed writing that proved that theory wrong. Up in the top right corner, no matter how much pain medication he was on, Alfie still managed to scribble out the correct date.

           Three days after he was supposedly gunned down.

           It took Tommy a moment and he wondered if he was mistaken. The idea seemed so outlandish but he had some sort of evidence.

           So, he picked up the telephone to find out where his sister was.

~~~~~~~~~~~

           To Ella’s dismay, it didn’t take Tommy long to find her. She wasn’t surprised when she heard his voice on the other end of the line, but she was disappointed.

           “Packing for America, then?”

           “Are you taking that tone with me while I’m grieving?” She retorted.

           Tommy leaned back in his desk chair and removed his glasses. “About that. I realized I never offered my help in assisting with the burial.”

           “Well, Jews have their own customs. They’re not like Travelers, they’ve got different ways of doing it.” She replied. The phone call had come out of the blue. Ella had returned to her room at the inn after walking the dogs to visit Alfie at the hospital. She brought them back and planned on returning to him once Cyril and Anthea were settled. Tommy caught her with one foot out the door.

           “Right.” He nodded. “Does that include addressing a barely readable letter to their brother-in-law?”

           Ella froze in place. Alfie was starting to slowly be weaned off the medication. He hadn’t mentioned anything about contacting Tommy, in fact, they both agreed that they’d lay low. At least until things were properly sorted and there wasn’t an evil anti-Semite threatening them.

           But she hadn’t been there by his bedside every second of every day. “I don’t know what you mean…”

           “I just received a letter from your deceased husband warning me about black horses and asking me to remind you to feed your dogs.”

           “I’m not sure what he meant, but I’m sure he sent it before he passed.” Ella clung onto the lie. The veil of falsehood was all she had to protect her husband as he lay vulnerable in a hospital bed. Absolutely no one could know.

           “Does he date his letters for the future?” Tommy inquired, clearly not buying what his sister was trying to sell him. He’d bought the tears but he liked cold hard facts.

           “Must’ve been a mistake.”

           He rolled his eyes. After all, he only had himself to blame for teaching her how to be such a damn good liar. “Where is he, Ella?”

           Silence.

           “My husband is dead.” There was no telling who was listening to Tommy’s calls in the Commons. Even if she was going to admit the truth to him, it wouldn’t be over the telephone. “But if you’d like to say goodbye to me before I leave for America, you’re welcome to do so. I would ask Polly of my whereabouts.” She wasn’t even willing to divulge her location just in case Mosley decided she was a loose end that needed taking care of.

           Tommy glanced at the phone and began to pick up on what his sister was implying. “Alright. I’ll talk to her.” He said. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything about Alfie. I misread the date on the letter. His fours look like nines. It wasn’t fair of me to confront you while you’re grieving.”

           Ella could hear when Tommy was lying to her. He was playing a part over the line just like she was. “Alright, come soon then, I’ll be leaving within the next week and I don’t want to miss you.”

           “I’ll come as soon as I can.”

~~~~~~~~~~

           Tommy consulted with Polly who didn’t know Alfie was alive but did know Ella was still in England. She was in Southampton, still giving off the impression that she was leaving the country.

           He arrived at the small inn and met Ella at the door.

           “Where is he?” He asked the same question but with the intention that he was going to get the truth this time.

           “The hospital.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

           Tommy ran a hand over his face. “Why…why?” He asked. “Why did you lie to everyone? Ollie said…then you told me…”

           “What was I supposed to do, aye?” She snapped. “Let it get out that Mosley’s men missed the mark? They’d be storming the hospital room within hours. And they wouldn’t leave him alive the second time around.”

           It was a valid point that Tommy couldn’t refute. He sighed. “How is he?”

           “He’s making slow improvements.” She admitted quietly. “He’s blind in the left eye now. The stitches will heal but they’re worried about damage to his brain. He’s always complaining about pain if he hasn’t had medication. Said his head hurts.” She swallowed, her brow wrinkling. “But at least he’s alive. That’s all I can thank God for now.”

           “I’m sorry, El.” Tommy pulled his sister into a hug. “I really am, I just…”

           “Who’s doing it?” She asked, her voice muffled into his shirt.

           “Who’s doing what?”

           “Who’s killing this son of a bitch?” She pulled away. “Because I want to do it.”

           “I already recruited someone. I need you to stay as far away from this as you can.” Tommy replied firmly.        

           “That man tried to murder my husband solely because of his religion.”      

           “And if he finds out that you want to kill him then he could put hits out on our entire family.” He interrupted. “And if you killed him, the police would lock you up.”

           Ella looked disgruntled but dropped the matter. It was true that she didn’t want to worsen matters. She just wanted a little revenge. “Fine.”

           “Are you going to go see him now?”

           “Alfie? Yeah, I was just about to leave.” She nodded. “Do you want to come see him?”

           “I need to discuss plans with him.”

           “Plans? No, no, no, Alfie is not a part of this anymore. It’s over, Tom. He’s dead to everyone except you and me and that’s how it’s going to stay.”

           “I need his help for this to go through…”

           “No!” She shouted. “You keep pressing and pressing and I’ve had enough. He is in the hospital, nearly off his rocker because of the drugs they’ve had to keep him on because of how much pain he’s in! I could’ve lost him, Tommy, another centimeter and he would’ve been taken from me.”

           Tommy didn’t know what to say. At the end of the day, he knew that Ella didn’t control Alfie’s decisions. But it was rare that Alfie would disagree with her to agree with Tommy instead. Still, he knew he needed men from the Jewish community to cause a stir at the rally. And Alfie was the only way to ensure that.

           “Can I at least talk to him?” He asked.

           “You can talk to him for as long as you want. But under no circumstances will you put his life back in danger.” She jabbed a finger at him before starting to walk off.

~~~~~~~~~~~

           Alfie wondered if he was starting to see things now. His dose of morphine had been decreased but it still affected him. Still, he’d yet to have hallucinations.

           “Tommy?”

           “Hello, Alfie.” The Blinder walked in and took a seat. “I was hoping to talk to you about something.”

           “Hang on,” Alfie looked to his wife for clarification, “I thought I were s’posed to be dead to you.”

           “You wrote me a letter, Alfie.”

           “Did I?”

           Ella frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes, you did.”

           “Well, fuck, m’sorry for what I did while I was on drugs. I were shot by a fucking cunt, weren’t I?” Alfie grumbled. “What’d I write to you about then?” He asked.

           “You told me to stay away from black horses,” Tommy replied.

           “Oh, right, right…see I’ve been having dreams, mate. Dreams, yeah, ‘bout you with a horse. Big black horse out in a field, right, and you said goodbye. Then, bang.” Alfie folded his hands over his stomach. “What’d you reckon that is then, Tom, aye?”

           “I would say it’s the drugs talking,” Tommy replied coolly.

           “What’d you want to talk ‘bout then?” Alfie asked.

           Ella perched on the edge of the hospital bed. She wasn’t going to leave and let Tommy talk Alfie into doing something silly. She had a feeling her husband might be pissed off enough to be talked into getting some revenge. Hypocrisy at its finest, as far as she was concerned.

           “I’m in need of some of your men. There needs to be a disruption at the rally Mosley’s speaking at. I need a distraction.” Tommy explained short and simple.

           Alfie pondered the idea. “Right, how much then?”

           “How much? Alfie, people need to think you’ve passed. You cannot get yourself involved in this again!” Ella exclaimed in disbelief. “You were nearly killed and now you want to put another target on your back?”

           “No, love, what I want is for this fucker to be killed. So if Tommy needs some of me men, then he can pay for that privilege.”

           “It’s never enough for you two, aye? You can be shot a million times over but as long as you fucking survive, you’ll keep at it. When will you learn? Because I’m fucking sick of this!” She snapped and stood up to leave.

           “El, Ella, c’mon!” Alfie groaned as she slammed the door behind her.

           Tommy sat quietly for a moment. “You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, Alfie.” He reminded him.

           “I fucking know that.” He muttered in response. “But I ain’t just gonna sit ‘round doing nothing, am I? You need men, that’s fine. People are bound to find out ‘bout my survival anyway. Long as the right people don’t know then that’s fine. But you’re gonna need to offer me something in return.”

           “I’ll offer each man twenty pounds,” Tommy suggested.

           “Nah, mate, I want protection for Ella. Twenty-four-seven. From good fighters with good aims. ‘Cause if I do this for you, and it gets out that by God’s good grace that I’m still alive, he’ll be after her. Don’t fucking care if he offs me. But I’ll be damned if he even goes near her, right?

           Tommy nodded. “Alright. I can do that.” He stood up to shake his brother-in-law’s hand.

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Masterpost

PB Masterlist

[thepaperpanda]

Sharing Is Caring|| Tommy Shelby x Reader x Alfie Solomons

Summary: You're having double life, one is by Tommy Shelby's side, one by Alfie Solomons. What will happen if they'll find it out one day eventually?

Warnings: none

Words: 2503

Authors: Cass & Rouge

Tommy growled annoyed at bedsheets shifting next to him, it was still early. Too early. Too early even for waking up but he forced himself to open one eye.

His blue orb scanned the figure that still stood next to bed.

"You are up already? And leaving, love?," He asked with his voice still husky because of the sleep. "This is kinda rude, you know? Sneaking out."

You smiled at his words, him being awoken didn't stop you from packing your stuff to leather, black bag that was overhanging by your right shoulder. "The sun hasn't yet dawn, Thomas, you can sleep a little still," you told him, turning to face your boyfriend. You leant down and touched his temple with your soft lips. "I have some things to do and unfortunately, the day has only twenty four hours."

Tommy chuckled and slowly sat up only to leave the bed second later.

His arms wrapped around your thin waist, pulling you closer to his still naked chest. Tommy nuzzled to your hair, inhailing their scent before letting out a sigh.

"You know, love? It's getting really suspicious and what really fucking bother me is fact that my woman try to sneak out of the bed like some kind of whore," last word was nothing but a soft growl, all he wanted was to emphasize what he was having in mind.

You stroked his cheeks with your hands and shook your head like you'd be saying 'no'.

"I understand, love, but you know that I am busy with leading my shop," you explained and slipped out of his arms.

"I can understand that my work can take whole days but a fucking dress shop? Really? I have feeling you are fucking with me now and not in a good way, love," Tommy said with a frown.

"Love, could those eyes of mine ever lie to you?," You looked at him briefly as you left his bedroom and went downstairs, where you took your thick, black coat off the hanger and put it over your shoulders. "I wouldn't lie to you, ever," your voice was sweet and tender, maybe a little too emotions could be heard in it.

Tommy walked downstairs after you, thinking deeply. He didn't like this at all and it wasn't the first time you were running away like that.

You turned to him and walked closer, your hand touched his cheek.

"I love you, remember this," you informed him tenderly before you left.

The morning was rather chilly, wind blew strongly ruffling your locks of your hair.

That day you were walking pretty fast along the street, your heels tapped the sidewalk rhythmically.

After some time, you turned down a side street and almost started running. Finally, you reached the little house with red door and small squared windows in a lead frame that were framed with simple platbands and had an unary sun blind.

You got up porch steps and knocked to the door few times.

The door opened.

Alfie looked at you as he crossed arms over his chest covered with white, crumpled shirt.

"Oh, would you look at that! Fucking princess decided to fucking show up. What? You quit whoring around and decided to come back home, huh?," He said looking down on you with a frown.

You cocked your brows at him. "Yes, Alfie, I'm glad to see you, too," you scoffed and leant against door frame. "I couldn't come earlier. I was busy with my business. May I come in?"

"Yes, yes, I heard it all before. Your fucking business, always fucking out, fucking bullshit," Alfie muttered and walked back to living room, leaving door opened for you.

You smiled to yourself, it was already a good sign that he let you in.

Solomons' house was full of extraordinary things gathered everywhere around.

You followed him to the living room, taking coat off during the way there.

"How have you been, Alfie?," You asked sweetly approaching him and nuzzling to his wide back.

Alfie moved away.

"How do you fucking think? Alone, woman. You fucking just left without a word, pet," man growled and moved to pour himself a drink. "Fucking whore," Alfie said before finished his glass in one big gulp.

You let out a sigh and took a seat on his couch, crossing legs nicely.

It was common behaviour for Alfie Solomons, he was pretty good at cursing and disparaging people.

"Alfie, please, don't behave like a spoil brat who's had his rattle taken away," you used the softest of soft tones you could have made. "We're both adults, you know that I also have my business that needs to be run professionally," you added making sure your dress moved a little up your thighs so your legs were nicely exposed.

Alfie laughed loudly and looked at you.

"You? Business? If you meant whoring around, then you're not wrong, pet," he growled and looked at you. "Guess what, miss? I was getting fucking tired of you sneaking out, so in the end I sent my boys after you. You spent two hours at your stupid, little hole you call the shop and then you got where? Ah, right! To Shelby's house. Was a good, old Tommy Shelby buying a dress from you? Whole fucking night?!," Alfie roared and grabbed you by wrist, pulling you up back on your feet. "You think it's a smart move to fuck with me in that way?!"

His words made your blood freeze. You swallowed saliva and licked lips before you spoke aloud. "Why did you have to do this, Solomons? It was a perfect scheme and you had to fucking destroy it because of your fucking jealousy?!," You pulled hand out of his grasp and went to the window to peek outside.

"Fucking why?! You dare to ask my fucking why?!," He growled and pulled you closer to him, his hands grasped both of your cheeks. "Because the woman that I love fucks this gypsy trush behind my fucking back and treat our bed like a fucking hotel."

You let out a deep, sad sigh and tried to hold tears back.

"I'm so sorry, Alfie... I just... I've met him when you were making businesses with him last year. Few weeks ago we met again, and, I can't explain it... He was charming... You were angry all the time, busy all the time, you were using me only to fulfill your lust and needs!," You said openly, your body shivered.

"You don't fucking sit in my head, woman! You have no idea what I'm thinking about!," He yelled at you. "I worked to make sure you have everything you ever fucking needed but sure! It's simply better to go fuck someone else!," Alfe muttered, letting go of your face.

"Alfie...," You whispered as tear strolled down your cheek. "Please... Forgive me... Please, love."

"Go to that gypsy psycho, go ahead. Doors are there," he said simply, pointing on the door, then he filled his glass again and sat at the armchair to drink its content.

You lowered your head, it was pointless to argue with him and try to explain yourself when he was pissed like a ravenous pack of hounds. You put your coat on , tightening its flaps around yourself and left his house without a word.

-----------

Tommy was getting annoyed without you, he hated when you were gone and he was forced to stay alone.

He decided to do the most logical thing possible, to pay you a visit.

-----------

Tommy's hand gently banged on your door as soon as he was in front of them, after few knocks he waited for you to open.

In the meantime he lighted his cigarette up.

You shifted a curtain aside and peeked out of the window, as soon as you spotted familiar figure at your door, you let out a loud sigh and went downstairs to open them.

"What are you doing here, Tommy?," You asked trying your best to keep voice clear and strong.

Tommy looked at you with a frown.

"You cried," man said bluntly before wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you inside. There was no point in hiding something like this from him, he knew all of this too well. "What's wrong, love?," Tommy asked as his gloved hand gently caressed your cheek.

"Please, don't, Tommy," you asked quietly as you shifted away from him, moving to the living room where you flopped onto the couch. "I've... I've done something bad... Really, really bad and no, Tommy, you can't do anything about this..."

You bursted in tears, they were rolling down your cheeks like little pearls.

He watched you, helpess. Letting out a quiet sigh he started to undress himself from the coat. Soon, he joined you on the couch, his arms wrapped around you just like at the morning.

"Love? What happened? I will pull you out from any troubles, you know this," Tommy said before his hand found your smaller one and grasped it gently.

"You won't pull me out of troubles, Tommy. I'm the fucking trouble myself," you cursed in harsh voice, rubbing your temples. "Listen, there's something you need to know about me. I wasn't fully honest with you that day when you asked me if I have someone."

Tommy looked at you completely puzzled.

Suddenly the door bursted open and Alfie walked inside. He was holding bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand.

"Okay, love! You were right, I shouldn't behave like crazy bastard I am, so I came to apolo....," Alfie said loudly and walked to living room only to witness you wrapped in Shelby's arms. "Oh, am I bothering? I see you fucking decided to make up your fucking mind," Alfie snorted viciously, throwing bouquet on the floor.

Tommy looked deeply unimpressed.

"What the fuck you want, Solomons, eh?," He growled, protectivly tightening his arms around your waist. "Haven't you fucking heard about knocking to lady's door?"

"Oh, just fucking shut up. I would knock if she would be a lady, but she is just a whore!," Alfie barked back.

You were looking at them both, moving your glance from one to another. You got up quickly and screamed, using all of your strength.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, BOTH OF YOU!"

Tommy was ready to rip Alfie's throat out for you.

"Why?! Look at this fucking Jew, who the fuck he thinks he is to simply burst in here?," He growled.

"This 'fucking Jew' is as close to her as you, gypsy fucker," Alfie stated simply, taking his hat off.

"What the fuck is this maniac talking about, Y/N?," Tommy asked.

"Tommy, he's my partner. Both, in business and in life," you explained shortly as you lowered your head. "I am so sorry. So sorry. Apologies are necessary to both of you. I was leading double life. I couldn't have decided which one of you is better for me. You both are amazing men, you both have something that turns me on..."

"What?! How could you do this?!," Tommy growled surprised and grabbed your hand. "One cock really wasn't enough for you?!"

Alfie grabbed Tommy and easily pulled him away.

"Wo-ho there. No need to be physical, Thomas. Come on now, we need to talk," Alfie asked coldly.

Tommy, still with raging anger inside him, gave a brief nod to Alfie and followed him outside.

You fought with burning need to follow men but eventually you decided to stay home and wait for them to return.

--------

After half an hour or maybe even longer, both men returned. One of them knocked on the door and they both waited.

You opened the door and shifted aside so they could enter.

Both man walked inside.

"So," Alfie began.

"We talked," Tommy finished and looked at Alfie "And we came to some conclusions."

"If you can't chose between us two...," Alfie said and looked back at Tommy.

"We will share," other man finished simply with a sigh.

You blinked and covered your half-opened mouth with curled palm. You sat heavily on the couch, glaring at both of men in disbelief. "I think my ears have tricked me, what did you say?

"We are going to share you," Tommy repeated.

"We will be in relationship that takes three of us together," Alfie shrugged, rubbing his long beard.

"And you have agreed on this, Alfie?," You couldn't believe on what you've heard. "I mean, how do you even imagine this?"

Alfie shrugged once again.

"I would do whatever I could to make my angel happy, so I am even capable to get some agreement with Shelby if it comes to you."

"We'll do everything to make you happy. You're important to both of us after all, isn't it true, dear friend?," Tommy stated as his glance moved from your figure to Alfie.

"Uhm, yea, your happiness is priceless, Y/N, innit, Tommy?," Alfie cocked his brow and massaged his scar.

You watched them with mouth hung open.

"You really want to give it a shout, Tommy?," You asked him as you got up and moved closer to him, playing nervously with hems of your dress.

Tommy looked at you and nodded.

"If this will make you happy, then I am more than eager to try. I just hate to see you crying."

"Would you look at that? Good, old Thomas fucking Shelby is going soft for a woman," Alfie laughed harshly.

"But I am also willing to break this fucker's nose," Tommy growled, throwing mean glance at Alfie.

"Oh, yeah, again? Ain't it enough for you that you almost got me killed?!," Solomons pointed out, crossing hands behind his back and tilting his head.

"Gentlemen, easy," you tried to calm both man down. "Alfie, I know how possessive you might get, are you sure you'll take it?," You asked as your glance moved to rest on his steel blue eyes.

Alfie looked at you and nodded.

"I will. I will do whatever I can, sweetheart. Only to make you happy."

"I don't know how to thank you, both of you!," Another wave of tears streamed down your cheeks. "I don't want you two to kill each other just because of me and my lack of decisiveness. I'll share my time equally to both of you," you assured them with a little smile.

Both men looked at each other and nodded.

"Sounds good to me," Tommy agreed and soft smile crept onto his face.

"We have a smart girl," Alfie said proudly and Tommy cringed softly at these words, cold shiver ran along his spine.

"So, I think we have something to celebrate," you grinned at them and wiped your tears away while going to the kitchen. You grabbed three glasses and returned to the living room. Soon, glasses were poured with whiskey. You handled one to Tommy and one to Alfie. "To us," you toasted.

Both men raised their glasses up as well.

"To us," they said in unity.

Pandies🐼: @imidarogerson @grossograsso @thewildgardensstuff @leven-and-ashley @la-verdura @bearded-steve-rogers @sebbystan-plantlover​ @atuckyismylife @krispyjellyfishzombie @personality-within @haseki-huricihan​ @choppedgardenwhispers​ @vroobelek​ @lattimelka​ @chris-beamz​ @hidden-secrets69​ @purepearls​ @volcanoxxx​ @kastrup-sofie​ @mikkal-akasaki​ @withoutashadowofhope​ @radbluebirdeagle​ @marvel-fan-site​ @smutloversblog​ @buquete​ @super-psycho-love69​ @tanglesss​ @peter-sommer​ @baysidewest​ @vegemania​ @philip-stan​ @chodiusmmm​ @subwaystunnel​ @tykorclint​ @dagger-dragger​ @kurant​ @nothing-can-least-forever​ @oxfordkipem​ @deliciousbouquet90​ @tuptuptup​ @hellenna80​ @karina-marina9​ @latimeriaaa​ @bratko​ @wurld89​ @scott-evans​ @kiss-me-rouge​ @ovonel-espaniol​ @dancing-tacco​ @ratugadhi​ @white-tiger-shangrila​ @axn69​ @eternal-life-awaits​ @mrs-laura-harmon​ @artsy-inside​ @gleeeeees​ @darkllaama​ @jatut​ @agawux​ @fuzzy-tigrrr​ @jrjohnsson2​  @maaargoshaaa​ @dontgetmewrongman​ @einexx​ @nwmtagsb​ @anini71 @secretlygrantaire @kyloren-supreme-ben @infinity-stones-seeker @thehappyspider @wings4life  @huxyluxy @dontbeafraidchild @misafiryanki @electronicpatrolcollective @thisismysecrethappyplace @aulika @hidden-secrets69 @a-happy-wolf @creative-seahorse @biologyforliving​

[confessinbouthanson]

“ an open letter to everyone about zac

i just found out about this a few days ago, i have looked at the twitter account that posted screenshots, i have been to the reddit. and i feel like i must still be missing something? nowhere did i see anything like  f**k n******s /jews/trans people ect. i saw a lot of republican support and gun humor…that were posted on his PRIVATE ACCOUNTS .         there WILL be people in this world who do out and do and say things that offend YOU. be an adult and move on. dont stalk, shame, harass or start an online rampage on 3 websites causing the person involved to turn off comments and his wife to straight up leave. who do YOU people think you are? you think you have the right to do that because youve been a ‘fan’ since '97 so your entitled to bash him?   because hes a celebrity? hes  still human he has the right to privacy and makes mistakes.if your so offended they didnt post blm or anything like that guess what alot of other celebrities and bands didnt eaither. some people dont want to post anything about it because its very controversial and last i checked hanson is not about contravercy. zac stated the bitter truth him posting blm will not stop it from happening again, just like celebrities donating money wont stop it. the way this generation of kids are raised will and so will changing laws .thats it.          he didnt makes those memes he reposted them. they have been on the internet forever alot of other people reposted them too. again most of what i saw was gun humor and republican support ect.  not for everyone. some people are die hard republicans and will vote for the candidate   JUST because they want their party to win, does not matter who it is or what they stand for. you cant just say oh hes a trump supporter so hes racist. you sound so ignorant. people want to twist things and make things much bigger than they are.if i missed a post saying n******rs and je*s /tans gays ect suck and need to die or anything along those lines please share id love to see. and all of you saying how can kate put up with him ect and how their first few years were shaky, post proof of that too.  how the hell would you know what goes on behind closed doors?do you live with them?  even if they did have a rough start, every relationship has growing pains esp when you are young.    everyone who is a 'fanson’ should already know   blues, jazz motown-mostly black artists were huge influence on hanson. they have worked with many black aritsts.  just like anyone who is a 'fanson’ should know they  are DEVOUT greek  orthodox christians. ie: very very oldschool stream of Christianity that follows the OLD testiment, basic Christianity follows the new testimate ie: living through the example of jesus , jesus loves everyone gay straight black white ect  look into it, the believes ect. its their right to live that way if thats what they choose to do, alot of religions do look down on gays trans ect and truely belive you will go to hell for it    because the way  the testimate is written and translated. very duggar esq. some strains of that dont even allow the women to wear pants  and you can only eat certain foods on certain days ect.  again if thats his beliefs thats his beliefs.not everyone supports those lifestyles just because the internet popularized them. hell mainstream tv was sill making stereotype jokes about gays up until like 6 years ago. i saw no uproar online about celebrities that follow kabballah (the red bracelets) no half of you dont even know what that REALLY is,  no you just wear the bracelet because its trendy and your fav celeb  wears it.  im  not even gonna sit here and be all like 'well he is from oklahoma and alot of people are biggots there'  because guess what? its like that everywhere. ive lived all over the country and it is like that in small towns and large citys. north south east west. and kate posting things on her ig about not supporting planned parenthood,  well although they do offer many medical services they also preform abortions.  again religious  and republican people have a very big issue with that. and shes from ga so maybe she had family that were confederate soldiers which is why she said save the flag.                               im not saying this is right or not disgusting, im saying there are all kinds of people in the world and you CAN NOT hate, harass, bully ect someone because they dont believe the same stuff you do. it does not matter they are a celebrity   dont even go there with them having a 'responsibility’ the ONLY thing they are responsible for is what made them famous-making music. you guys went out of your way to stalk him and invade his privacy, you had a certain image of him in your minds and put him on a pedestal and when he proved it to be wrong, now your pissed off. you all need to grow the fuck up. what are you gonna go through life bashing everyone that does not  drop their beliefs for whats socially popular? posting memes does not mean hes a straight up ass in person to people that are black, gay, trans, fat ect. actions speak louder than words. i dont care for the movie american hisotry x  because most of it is very racist and violent, but the MESSAGE of the movie  shows that a person can be involved in a group, live a certain way, believe certain things to the point where the inflict DEATH on someone and tattoo their entire body with racist tattoos,  but then change  their lives and be remorseful once they break free. its like a drug addict. if you hang around the same group of people, do not change your contact info, no matter how hard your desperately want to get sober, you wont. because you need to change your lifestyle . it is absolutely no secret that walker and diana dictate all those kids lives, everything about them, including who they married. the guys and the girls. walker worked with natalies  family member, not directly but they were contacts, they met  they had similar  beliefes, and had $$$$$  kates family also has $$$$$$  so does everyone elce that married into that family . unless your rich and have similar lifestyle you never had a chance girls. youd have to be preapproved by mom and dad. dont you think its odd zac never had a girlfriend that was  the friend of one of his brothers? marrion , kate and another girl who im not even gonna mention because honestly none of you know who she is anyway lol.

it takes all kinds of people in this world. if you like their music you like their music. half the celebrities musicians youlook up to and admire have EXTREMELY different lives behind closed doors and because you dont know about it its fine.  what they do at the end of the day  in private is up to them . just like what you do is up to you are you people prefect? i doubt it.”

[stellar-alley]

Everfalls

•Chapter 3•

This is based off of the artwork by oceanteeeth on Instagram! Also shout out to my Beta super.rose.cosplays!

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

(Summary: Eddie's first day at Derry High and he has a pretty eventful day.)

~

(Note: Okay so, this is gonna sound weird, but it needs to happen. So yes Eddie just came to Derry and doesn't know much about human life, but he's gonna go to school. And that's the thing, I have no clue how to set up a scene where he finds out about highschool and decides to go. So I'm just gonna say it now, Eddie knows what school is and how to act cause obviously they had schools in The All Lands, but now he's just going to human highschool cause he knows he can't just.... not go to school. I hope this makes sense! So yeah, when Monday rolls around Eddie gets up and gets ready to head to school)

 Monday morning Richie had some time to spare before homeroom which he spent chain-smoking with Beverly. She's one of Richie's long time friends who also happens to be his smoking buddy. The two sat in their usual spot under the bleachers by the football field which gave them a good view of the student parking lot as they people watched. They blew smoke clouds into the sky and talked about whatever came to mind.

Smoking isn't a new pastime for Richie, he started a couple of years ago when his father told him about how Ancestors couldn't get human illnesses. That's why Richie never got sick or had the flu and would never get cancer. At first, Went and Maggie were opposed to the idea since they thought it made Richie look bad, but the two caved as they knew it was better for Richie to be smoking in the bathroom rather than starting fights outback and clawing some punk to death. Smoking had also become a way for the young pup to calm his nerves when life got to be too much. If he was on the verge of losing his grip on his other side he'd start smoking, which would slowly calm the wolf inside of him.

"So Rich, how was your weekend?" Beverly Marsh, one of the most badass, hardcore people Richie knows. She lives her life on her terms, after her father's mysterious death, she was legally adopted by her aunt. Beverly then proceeded to convince her super cool aunt to let her stay in her apartment on her own, and somehow she succeeded.

The werewolf shrugged, "You know, same old same old. Read comics, watched TV, read comics while watching tv". Thinking about the weekend brought up the memory of the vomiting, and what that meant for the full moon. He had 20 days before his first shift, and usually, a wolf would be excited, just waiting to finally 'wolf out'. But not this pup. Richie was worried, he'd never done anything like this before and he was nervous. The visual of the full moon hanging low in the sky prompted Richie to close his eyes and take a long drag.

Then there was that feeling again. Just like the one from Saturday afternoon when he was reading comics and suddenly felt like looking out the window. Just as he finished his drag, Richie's eyes fluttered open, immediately his gaze fell on an unfamiliar face. Richie abruptly began coughing harshly.

"Woah Richie, what's up?" Bev placed her hand on his back and patted it a couple of times.

Richie forced himself to look up again. This time the wolf's eyes were met with a pair of golden Bambi eyes, wide with curiosity. The boy was staring up at the big school building that stood before him then smiled softly down at the paper in his hand. He wore a black beanie but that didn't hide the chocolate brown locks that shined under the warm light of the morning sun. Richie couldn't stop the way his heart skipped a beat at the sight of this earth angel.

"Who's the new kid?" He croaked in between coughs.

Bev urgently looked up to see who he was talking about, she shook her head and turned back to her friend. She quickly reached into her backpack and grabbed her water bottle, slapped it into Richie's hand and forced him to drink. Thankfully, he stopped coughing. "Better?" She asked.

Richie nodded, "Better" he confirmed. When he went to look at the new kid again, he had disappeared.

Shit

 ~

Eddie was excited to start highschool. There was something about this new start at a new school that made him feel like he was finally living his life on his terms. The young Ancestor walked up the main pathway towards the school and fished his packet of forms out from his bag. He began to scan his papers, wondering where he needed to go first but there was a sudden burst of coughs that drew his gaze away from his papers.

Eddie looked up and saw a guy sat under a set of bleachers, frantically coughing. He wore a dark red beanie on his head which covered black messy curls. Eddie didn't get to examine the rest of the boy or even go ask if he was okay, because someone had just walked up to him and began talking.

"Hey are you Eddie?" A female voice asked from beside him.

Eddie had to pry his eyes off of the boy under the bleachers and realized he hadn't even heard what she’d said. He only responded with, "Hm?".

Her smile didn't falter, "You're Eddie, right?" She repeated.

"Yes! That's me" Eddie returned the smile.

"Great, my name is Alley. The office told me that you needed someone to shadow for your first day. We have the same schedule, so you'll be my shadow today" She informed Eddie. Basically she was going to show Eddie around and take him to all her classes, which was a plus because they had them all together.

Alley was a little bit taller than Eddie. Soft caramel brown curls that fell just past her shoulders and matching brown eyes. She wore a red and black flannel with a tye-dye t-shirt underneath that had the phases of the moon on it, ripped jeans and vans. It was different from Eddie's style, but he liked it.

For his first day, the bunny carefully chose an outfit from the clothes he'd brought. A pair of grey-blue jeans and a loose jean button up with the sleeves rolled up. Oh! And his father's beanie of course.

"Great," Eddie said happily and followed Alley into the school.

First, she led him to the office where he signed off on the last of his papers and got the last of the supplies he needed. Next was homeroom, which was biology. Then math, and lunch. Alley insisted that he join her at her normal table which consisted of her friends Regan and Cece. Reagan was a redhead with a subtle southern accent whilst Cece had short brown hair and wore a red flannel matching with Alley. Eddie couldn't tell if it was intentional or not, but nonetheless, they were nice girls and welcomed him with open arms.

Once lunch was over, Alley and Eddie were walking side by side in the hallway on their way to English when Alley unexpectedly grabbed Eddie by the hand and pulled him off into a side hallway. She put her finger to her lips in an attempt to get him to stay quiet. The boy watched as a group of guys walked through the halls, there were four of them, and it didn't look like Alley was the only one who tried to stay out of their way.

So Eddie stayed quiet, and spoke once they were out of earshot, "Who was that?".

"That's Henry Bowers and his goons" She groaned, "Sorry about that. Henry and my brother have some weird beef, so now he has it out for me too or whatever" Alley rolled her eyes. Then motioned for Eddie to continue following her through the halls.

"That sucks" Eddie looked over at the worried look that Alley wore.

"Hmm, yeah. Just don't get on his bad side, please" Alley advised before she turned towards the door to their English class.

The atmosphere shifted when they stepped inside the classroom. From a tense and steady hallway to a laughter filled classroom. Somebody had obviously told a joke or something because most of the kids were laughing if not giggling/smirking.

Eddie's eyes fell on the boy who was laughing the loudest. His smile lit up the entire room, his laugh was loud but true, real, and heartwarming. The edges of Eddie's lips threatened to make his smile bigger than it already was, but he resisted the urge to laugh along with them. Instead he followed Alley to a couple of open seats near the window. He took the seat behind her and got his binders out and placed them neatly on his desk.

The laughter in the room slowly began to die down. Eddie glanced over at the laughing boy, still giggling and poking at his bigger friend, but looked away soon after and focused on the notebooks in front of him. Eddie glanced again when he fully stopped laughing, even though he wasn't laughing, his face still glowed. Even if he wasn't smiling he still gave off that positive energy that caused Eddie to smile down at his notes. 

Richie noticed Eddie as well. He was a little busy laughing his ass off at his own joke to go introduce himself when the new boy first entered the classroom, and he'd been sitting down for a little while now. Richie came to the conclusion that it'd be weird if he did go now. So he opted to keep the conversation up with his friends, and just keep an eye on the new kid. He'd caught the new kid doing the same, which caused him to smirk to himself.

"Okay okay, guys if I laugh anymore I'm gonna piss myself" Richie giggled.

"Why do you insist on calling it piss? Please just say pee" Stan rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Urination Station?" Ben suggested with raised eyebrows. Surprisingly, Stan actually cracked up at the suggestion.

The ones who sat around Richie were Ben Hanscom and Stanley Uris.

Ben Hanscom is a bigger kid, that goes for his heart as well. That kid is caring and thoughtful as hell. Then there's Stan The Man Uris, he's a Jew, which basically means he killed Jesus. Kidding. (He made that joke in the book, don't @ me) but seriously, Stan is one of the real ones. He's my ride or die.

Their little laugh session was cut short when their English teacher, Mr Brock, walked into the room. He was fairly tall and well built, he had dark brown hair and bright blue eyes, which matched his blue button up. "Hello ladies and gentlemen. Today we're gonna be starting 1984, by George Orwell. But before that, we do have a new student. Eddie? Do you mind standing?".

Eddie nodded, quietly stood up and gave the class a quick wave, “Hello".

"Guys, this is Eddie Kaspbrak. Make him feel at home, alright? Eddie, welcome to my English class" he smiled over at his student, Eddie quickly sat back down, his cheeks a little bit darker than before.

The class went fairly well, aside from the time when Mr Brock requested for Eddie to read a passage from 1984 out loud, and he stumbled over literally every third word. It was mildly embarrassing but he got over it quickly.

The rest of the day was good! Since the school is already 2 months into the second semester I have a stack of homework to catch up on. That's okay though! At least now I have my own thing to keep me busy. After English, I had history, which was for sure a challenge since the things we learn back home about human history is very different from what humans teach... 

Overall my day was going pretty well! Then it took a turn...

The final bell had rung, Eddie and Alley grabbed their bags from their lockers and began to make their way out of the school. Eddie vaguely explained where he lived, without giving too much detail since he knew she wouldn't know where his house was anyway since it was, ya know, invisible to everyone except him. On the plus side, they walked the same way home! Yes Alley's house was only 2 minutes from the school and they'd split off pretty quickly but it was nice to know he didn't have to walk the entire way alone. She even showed him how to go through the back gate of the school, so they'd miss all of the foot traffic at the front of the school.

The two friends were walking behind the school, no one else in sight, as all of the students fled the school as soon as possible. They turned the corner to walk towards the back gate and spotted Henry Bowers and his goons, they leaned up against the school's exterior wall. Henry had a mullet and a raggy tank top on, and he was with a kid with bleach blonde hair who looked like he was going to join the army, and a bigger guy with a baseball cap who stood beside the tallest of the four, he was lanky with black shaggy hair. Eddie's stomach turned as he thought about what would happen if they started something...

Just as the two were about to peacefully walk past the four boys, Henry stepped in front of them. He glared at Alley, "Red, better tell your fucking brother to get me my damn money or else-".

"You'll eat him alive?" She finished, "Yeah I know". Alley hadn't stopped walking, neither had Eddie. But just as they were about to walk around Henry, he stuck his foot out. Alley fell face-first to the pavement.

"Don't talk back to me, bitch" Henry leaned down and growled at her.

The Ancestor's eyes were as wide as saucers as he stepped in, "Hey come on we don't wanna start anything" Eddie pleaded.

"Was I talking to you? Fucking fairy. Jesus, this town just keeps getting more fucked with all of these fags-", Eddie didn't think, he just... Punched Henry. Right in the face. The bully stumbled backwards, suddenly all of his goons were up and behind him as if they were awaiting a command to attack. The tall lanky one grabbed Henry's shoulder before he fell. Henry shook his hand off before he returned his attention to Eddie and Alley, who was now back on her feet.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know that fags could be tough asses" He snarled and glanced at the guys behind him, "looks like we better show these bastards whos the boss around here". 

Henry took a step forward, pulled his fist back and was just about to throw a punch at Eddie, when a rock hit him in the back of the head. If he wasn't mad before, not Henry looked pissed. "What the fu-" He turned and roared at whoever was behind him when another rock hit his stomach. He gripped the area that was hit as pain exploded in his stomach.

"I don't think you wanna do that" A voice called out. Eddie's eyes snapped up to whoever was talking. His gaze was greeted by the beanie boy from English, the one who was manically coughing under the bleachers.

Henry was about to command the attack, go full-on and beat the living shit out of the boy, but something caught his eye. A cop car was parked at the edge of the school's property. Henry knew his father was watching, he had to stand down, or else he'd risk a much harder beating from his own father.

"Scatter, regroup tomorrow" Henry commanded instead, defeat tinted his voice. Patrik, Victor and Belch hesitated only for a moment before doing as their leader said, and they left. But Henry waited for a minute or two with an emotionless face.

"Go" Eddie gave his own demand to Alley, she nodded, as she didn't need any more scrapes and bruises. So she left.

Henry glanced at the cop car and noticed that his father wasn't looking at them, so he took his chance. Richie was curious about what Henry kept glancing at, he tilted his head momentarily to look behind him. He didn't notice Henry pick up one of the rocks he'd been hit with, nor did he notice him pull back in preparation to throw it.

Eddie's heart stopped when he watched Henry pelt the boy, in the head with the rock. Then everything stopped altogether when he fell to the ground on impact.

"Suck on that" Henry smirked before he bolted, worried that his father had seen him.

The Ancestor stood there in shock, unsure of what to do. The boy was still on the ground when Eddie rushed to his side.

"Holy shit a-are you okay?" His words were rushed, kinda like his thoughts. Eddie rapidly began to scan the boy who laid before him. He wasn't responding, which was bad, but Eddie could see his chest rise and fall as he breathed, which was good. "Please, please wake up" He begged as he examined the damage that Henry had done. He had to try to focus on the mission at hand, helping his classmate, he had to ignore his sharp jawline and his cute black curls- not now Eddie, jesus, not now-

He was hit just above his eyebrow, close to his hairline. The rock left cuts and scratches on the poor boy's pretty face. He had been wearing glasses, but Eddie was more focused on the blood coming from the boy's head. Eddie also noticed that the boy's beanie still remained on his head. He hesitated, not wanting to take the hat off, but he needed to get a clear view of the scrap. So before he could think about it anymore, he winced and slid the beanie off the boy's head.

"Shit" Eddie gasped at what laid before him. His ears weren't normal, they weren't human. Perched on top of his head, hidden deep within the forest of curls, were a pair of wolf ears. They were covered in black fur, similar to his hair, and they were pointed, like wolf ears.

Okay Eddie, calm down. He has wolf ears, is he a hybrid? a werewolf?

The questions began to eat away at him.

STOP IT! Okay, you need to focus. He's hurt, focus on that. Ask questions later. Freak out later.

Eddie looked away, took a deep breath then moved his hands to hover over the scraped area. He pushed his worries down and began to put all of his focus into the damage done to this cute boy's forehead.

Magic was common amongst Ancestors, it came easier to some, while others didn’t have any at all. Eddie was lucky, he had a good grasp over his abilities. He had a small range of powers but he mainly used his abilities to heal.  So that’s what he did. The bunny moved his hands to hover over the wound and he watched as little white wisps of magic began to seep from his palms.

Word Count: 3030

Thank you guys so much for checking out my new chapter! I hope you all enjoyed, if you did be sure to leave a like and comment, and re blog! If you guys want me to make some type of tag list so you’ll get updates every time I update then comment and I can add you! 

Don’t forget to go check out my masterlist to see all my other projects.

I will see you all next week with the next chapter, but until then

So Long and Goodnight This is based off of the artwork by oceanteeeth on Instagram! Also shout out to my Beta super.rose.cosplays!•Chapter 2•

[joemuggs]

Pirate Material: Still Original

Saw some discussion of The Streets’s early work, and went to see if this article was still online - it’s not because the Vice brand partnership vertical (I’m sorry) that it was originally written for is gone. So here you go again!

I don't hold with the insidious theory that making brilliant art is a young man's game – or, in the words of Sickboy in Trainspotting, that “you have it, then you lose it”. It's a trope that's been with us since the beginning of rock'n'roll, dammit since the romantic poets, that idea that inspiration is intrinsically tied up with the energy of youth, that great works come like a bolt from the blue and artists are best off dying young1 rather than chasing round in ever-decreasing circles trying to relight your creative fire the rest of your sorry life. But it's clearly rubbish, a denial of craft and labour, put about by fantasists and advertisers and used as justification by those with a vested interest in keeping us emotionally immature and by the worst kind of poseurs for their ghastly Peter Pan antics.

Every so often, though, something I see or hear will make me think again – will make me have a flickering moment of belief in the essential white light of youthful creativity. And 'Original Pirate Material' is one of those things. I mean, have you heard it recently? Really heard it? Played it loud from the beginning, given it your full attention, let that utterly insane opening salvo of 'Turn the Page', 'Has it Come to This' and 'Let's Push Things Forward' work their magic on you? It's arm-hair raising stuff, it really is. The false hierarchies and dreary consensus of best-ever lists is another of those things I don't hold with, but yeah this really, really deserved to be on all those best-of-the-2000s lists, and I will gladly fight its corner against the Arctic Monkeys, Dizzee, Radiohead, Outkast, whatever you care to bring in fact.

Like almost all the best music, I didn't really get it at first. It was tinny-sounding and clattery, where I was used to dance music's oomph; I couldn't work out what Skinner's roaming accent was getting at as he slipped and slid across the rhythms, in and out of ordinary conversational cadence, lurching from sublime to ridiculous within single phrases. It was intriguing right enough, but it was impossible to shake the idea that it was all a bit contrived, an indie-weakened version of soundsystem/MC culture, or even more naggingly the idea that it was a wind-up, that this music was taking the piss out of all of us. Lines nicked from 'Gladiator' and talk about his Reeboks? Be serious. And then I had the epiphany.

The scene couldn't have been set better, really. I was out in Amsterdam for eight days on my first ever magazine feature assignment – to cover a conference on Amazon shamanic practice AND a High Times convention. I'd been hanging out with psychonauts, ravers, witch doctors2 and Dutch farmers, and experienced the best that ancient cultures and modern science had to offer; I was in a terrific mood as I was finally doing the job I'd always wanted to, and had been able to utter the immortal phrase “can I claim my ritual on expenses3, please?” on the phone to the Face magazine office. So when someone mentioned “that new band The Streets are playing the Melkweg” I was pretty much up for it.

The DJ beforehand, a Dutchman called Big Head, was playing what was generally known as “breakstep”, a kind of funky uncle to dubstep, and I liked it so much I bought his mix CD4. The Streets were very late coming on, but the crowd were raving and so was I, so who cared? When they did crash onto the stage, though, Skinner immediately and repeatedly asking the crowd if anyone had any cocaine, it was a glorious disruption of the groove, their sound spiky and awkward, and from the beginning I loved it. I don't remember a lot about the band except there was an ex-member of the Senseless Things5 on bass, and that Skinner and his co-vocalist spent a lot of the set pushing, shoving and trying to trip one another up.

And that's when it clicked into place: yes, this was a piss-take, but it was a deadly serious piss-take. This child-like 24-year-old was not just meandering between voices, themes and levels of seriousness, he was embodying every single one of them. He was a shaman too6. What was chaos and what was control became impossible to discern7. The only time I could remember seeing elemental clowning like this before on a stage was the Happy Mondays back in 1990, but I also recognised the spirit of so many loony rave urchins I'd been bamboozled and bantered at and had lighters stolen by over the years8, the never-ending babble of these Shakespearean monkeys, possessed by the endless power of the English language to spin out shaggy dog stories, to make jokes of the most serious matters and suddenly turn jokes deathly serious. The films that were projected as back stories to each of the tracks matched the quotidian urban subject matter of those songs – but they, like the lyrics and the music, revealed something so much more primal beneath. And still you could dance, laugh, drink and carouse to it.

Which is why, when I listen to 'Original Pirate Material' now, I don't hear “bloke poetry” or grittiness or mundanity or social realism any of those other things that are inevitably reeled out. I hear constant windows in to the most profound and abstracted of human instincts and experiences: vertigo, jealousy, transition, glory, loss, innocence and so much more. Just listen to the sudden swerves from domestic detail to dizzying generality in 'It's Too Late' or the affirmation and melancholy in 'Weak Become Heroes': these are about so, so much more than losing a girl or doing a pill9. They're about being human. Only years later did I start realising that Skinner was writing in a great English language tradition going a millennium back to Beowulf and taking in Sterne, Carroll, Lear, Pound, Spike Milligan, Ivor Cutler, Mark E Smith and Roots Manuva10, gibbering gobshites and bullshit artists, holy fools who could skip wildly into parts of our psyches where angels fear to tread.

He could never top this, could he? None of this is to dismiss Skinner's later work – he has on occasion made some glorious music and told some great tales since, and especially on 'Computers and Blues' when he turned full circle back to some of his early themes and freeform lyricism he showed he was tapped into the same wellspring – but 'Original Pirate Material' had it all. Everything afterwards, whether it's his narratives of modern life and celebrity, or his more philosophical turns, couldn't help but be self-conscious, trying to impose more structure onto what he had already expressed so perfectly in its rants, sketches, jokes and asides. This isn't about drugs, it's not about  “authenticity”11, and it's not really about youth as such – others have tapped into this very British, very mongrel method of accessing the ways of the human mind from very different places and perspectives – but for Skinner it was all tied into a particular openness to everything that comes with being a hungry young man with his eyes (very) wide open.

--

1 See the infamous “27 Club”, much discussed when Amy Winehouse carked it, and so called because it's the number of times anyone who takes it seriously deserves to have their face walloped with a cricket bat.

2 To be precise, a shaman from the Shuar tribe of Ecuador who played the Jew's harp.

3 Yes, bloggers, these were the days when journalists got paid expenses. They were decadent times, the early 00s.

4 In fact it is sitting on my desk right now, and it still sounds good.

5 You think nonsense genre names like “Post Dubstep” or indeed “Breakstep” are silly? Back in the 90s, The Senseless things were lumped, along with Mega City 4 and Silverfish into a genre called Fraggle Rock. Seriously.

6 No Jew's harp though, just a microphone.

7 You want to know how giddy with the brilliance of it all I was feeling at that moment? My brain flashed up the image of Stockard Channing going “chaos... control... chaos... control... you like?” to Will Smith as Donald Sutherland spun a double-sided Kandinsky in 'Six Degress of Separation'. And what? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BjwiachXkjc

8 One routine about fake vs real Nike caps that managed to weave in and out of between-song patter for almost the entire set was such archetypal rave bollocks that you'd swear you'd heard it before from someone who was about to do you out of a tenner at some party on a hillside.

9 They're about those things too, though.

10 Peter Ackroyd's 'Albion: the Origins of the English Imagination' is the book you need on this topic, although admittedly he doesn't get right the way through to Roots Manuva.

11 There's no such thing.

[docholligay]

Im Kino

nonfiction Patreon release for you! 

Want to support my releases? Thank you! Patreon –  Ko-fi

I go to Holocaust movies alone.

Mostly I tell people that I don’t watch Holocaust movies, that I don’t go to Holocaust exhibits, because I am not the target market. I don’t need to be reminded that the Holocaust happened, I don’t need to remember that human beings were murdered because they had the misfortune of being born the scapegoat, masterminding the world from their tailors’ benches and lawyers’ offices, as if we found the cunning to run the world but had not yet figured out to convince people we were human.

But I do go, sometimes. And I go alone.

It isn’t even a matter of not wanting to go with goyim--it’s true that I don’t watch Jewish movies with them, that I never trust them to understand and I am unwilling to be their Virgil in the Inferno that is the layers of Jewish thought and ethics and culture, some circles so intangible to me that I am not certain I have the words to explain what they misunderstand. It’s true that I hate they way they look over at me every five minutes as if to gauge my reaction, as if to see if they are experiencing it enough. It’s true that I won’t let them mine my pain for their clarity, and It’s true that I get tired of how lapsed Christians never really lapse in their hearts, the same as a Jew can only wish to stop being one. We are always a part of the things that built us, even if we hate them.

Maybe this is why Jews are comfortable hating God as they walk into temple.

Bold of him to assume it’s even about him.

But no, I don’t watch Holocaust movies with other Jews either. In this, I am as solitary as an oyster, to steal the wisdom of Charles Dickens, and that feels right. I have long taken my pain and my irritation and tried to turn it into something beautiful, even as I tell myself it’s alright to let it sit. Its alright to let sand be sand.

But here I am again, writing about why I don’t let anyone come with me, thinking I can make it poetic. Sometimes hermit crabs make their shells from trash, you know. They’re adaptable.

The movie was about Jews who hid in Berlin, after it was declared free of Jews. People who hid who they were and who passed through the streets brushing shoulders with goyim who maybe didn’t want them to die but maybe didn’t care if they lived.

My throat caught three times. I am a Montanan as much as I am a Jew, and so I choked it back, and I looked away from the screen, and I ate the genocide of a family I should have known but that the Germans shot into a ditch, and that salt tore into my throat.

I just took a drink.

I was the only Jew in the room, and I know this because there are only fifty or sixty of us in the city, and there were maybe forty people in the theater, and the quick math I did in my head made me silently thankful that I wouldn’t have to deal with the spectre of talking to someone about my feelings. Out of our fifty or sixty, only fifteen or less of us are Fievel goes West Jews. Only fifteen of us know to pray in Hebrew and shut up in English, and have no trouble with these two truths.

I’ve known the guy who sells tickets behind the counter since I was twelve years old. He looks at me with a sense of pity and tells me he hears this movie is wonderful, and I hate him instantly. I don’t watch Jewish movies with goyim. Except when I’m outnumbered in a tiny one room art theater where the tickets and the popcorn and the screen are all run by the same guy, who knows I’m a Jew and for one miserable second I think he’s going to ask me to say something. He gets a line forming. I’m lucky.

What should I say? What could i say that would not be laying out the loss of fifty percent of the Jewish population like a goddamn breakfast buffet, so people can take what they want and feel satisfied, so they can leave the rest and never think about it?

Judaism teaches us that anger is useless and worse, that you must turn it into love and into action. That you should learn that so well that you should have to feign anger when someone trespasses. Y’Israel doesn’t mean “struggles with God’ for nothing. I’ve never gotten there. All I do is burn with a white-hot heat as the woman on screen dyes her hair blonde. All I do, as Cioma fakes a passport, is look around at the goyim in the crowd, and wonder how many of them would turn me in for a free year of Amazon Prime. The stakes in my head become losing their jobs, and I wonder instead how many wouldn’t.

I hate them all. But I say nothing, because anger is useless, and because you pray in hebrew but shut up in English, and because I couldn’t even answer the cries of whoever it was that was machine gunned into the dirt, a language I don’t speak and world I don’t know, but one that grabs at my ankles, like a hound from hell, since I was six years old.

The men are outside, smoking, after Berlin falls. A Russian soldier comes to shoot them, and they yell, over and over, that they aren’t Germans, they’re Jews, that Germany would never let them be both and so they are Jews.

The soldier doesn’t believe them. Hitler killed all the Jews, he says, his gun cocked and pointed and full of fury. But he has a moment. Where God pins him and he believes.

“Say the Shema.” He says.

The movie explains it for the forty nine other people in the room, but I know instantly, it wouldn't matter if they had never set foot in temple since their bris, they would know the shema, our prayer, our central call and the thing that should be on your lips as you die, and they do. They recite it beautifully and perfectly.

The Russian soldier nearly sobs. I bite my tongue and take a drink.

He was a Jew, too, serving in the Russian Army. He believed Hitler had done it, killed every German Jew, but here were two men reciting the Shema and living. Two Jews, if nothing else, had fought through all the years of war to live, and so we were not done yet.

They cast him well. His blue eyes are like mine, and I recognize the rage in them as he pointed his gun.

I go to Holocaust movies alone, because you never point a gun at anything you don’t want to kill.

I slip out as soon as the movie ends, when the lights are barely up. There’s a voice echoing in my head, one that says I have a responsibility to everyone who didn’t make it. I’ve never hidden. Maybe that’s the benefit of living in a place with almost no Jews. I fought for every point of that star my entire life, and I refuse to give an inch.

There’s a Nazi resurgence in the west. From Portland to Pierre, there’s flyers and threats and decisions to be made. My great grandmother said that if you are where people want to kill you, don’t be there. But she wasn’t a Montanan. She moved here from the present day Ukraine, and she was that until the day she died, whatever else she tried to be. We are always a part of the things that built us, however much we hate them.

I press against the door, and go out into the street and the grey and the coming night, the thoughts of a family with no papers and no chance to run on my mind.

The cold wind hits me in a staccato beat the way I imagine the bullets hit their bodies. But I’m a Montanan as much as I’m a Jew. I’m a grizzly bear with a tallit draped across my shoulders. I feel the bullets.

All it does is piss me off

[pointlesstrashyexistence]

Any idea why my reblog wouldn't go through? Since I obliterated every single point you made, you ought to read it. The reply I posted tagged you instead.

No idea. As far as I know I haven’t blocked you and I don’t know what post you are talking about since I haven’t been tagged in anything.

Never mind. I realized that you were in fact were a racist and I blocked you’re other account so you got bitter and tried to argue using information that is innacurate. And if anybody would like to know the other account of this person, it is thoughtsandreplies.

So I’m going to go over each statement the person made with the exception of what originally began this, Immersion (Piss Jesus). Art is a very personal experience, but how you interpret art does not give you the right to use it as an excuse for racism.

So 1) No one is actually saying that Lincoln was a racist. They’re arguing whether or not the depiction of the Black man in the Emancipation Memorial, a real former slave named Archer Alexander is racist and if it should be taken down because of that. This specific instance is not about the white man involved, but the black man being represented and if his representation as someone physically and what could be taken as symbolically lower than a white man is degrading. This is a complex issues that even two of his descendants are have opposing opinions on. Muhammad Ali was a direct descendant of this man and his third cousin, Keith Winstaed, and his oldest daughter, actress Maryum Ali, have opposing opinions. Winstaed is in favor of keeping it because he is more focused on the historical context, that the sculpture of Alexander was meant to be seen as empowering because has broken his chains and beginning to rise. However, Ali is viewing with the eyes of someone living in the 21st century who expects better representation for minority communities that have historically been vilified in art, literature, television, and politics. She believes the statue is degrading and offensive because even if Alexander’s chains are broken, he is still below Lincoln, a white man, and is in a position that can be interpreted as him bowing to him. As I said before, art is personal and both people have valid interpretations of this piece. This is not the same as tearing down statues of actual racists. We put up statues of people to honor them, but we must be able to recognize that we can no longer honor people who were legitimately horrible. I don’t see any statues of Hitler in Germany so what’s your excuse for why you want to keep up sculptures of racists?

2) off the bat I could tell you were a racist who hasn’t bothered to examine their words and actions by referring to the Black Lives Matter Movement as a “historically illiterate mob”. Most of the people in the movement are black so I can assume you are perpetuating the stereotype that black people can’t read which is enforced by the fact that it was illegal for slaves to be literate and black and brown communities have historically and continue to receive less funding for their schools, which leads to lower quality books and teachers, which leads to students who have difficulty in their studies, which leads to students who have lower grades, which leads to black and brown communities being forced to accept work at lower paying jobs, which leads to black and brown parents that are not able to spend time with their children in order to make enough money for food, water, electricity, and housing, which leads to kids who don’t receive the attention they need, which leads to students who are being taught by these same lower standard teacher with old outdated books, which leads to students being frustrated over not being at the level of their studies that they should be but are unable to seek outside help because of a lack of tutors and familial help, which leads to students who “act out” because they were not able to develop the emotional tools necessary to monitor behavior and are then forced into prisons by teachers who have called the police on them, which leads to another lack of education because the U.S. prison system does not want to rehabilitate prisoners and help them become better people, it just wants to find a way to legally continue slavery.

3) It does not matter if someone had doubts about whether or not someone had doubts over their racial superiority. What matters is that they still willingly continued to be a part of that system that benefitted them because it was more convenient to not do anything. Also, nice job on conveniently leaving out the fact that Jefferson was known to have raped his slaves and produced multiple children with slaves, but still did not bothering freeing any of his slaves.

4) Don’t bother bringing up almost any of the other founding fathers also since they were also slave owners perpetuating the system because it helped them make money. And don’t try to excuse it by claiming that it was just accepted at the time. Abolitionism was a thing during that time. Even when Columbus began raping and pilaging, there were people who knew what he was doing was bad. There is writing about how people already knew Columbus was fucking insane and even Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand of Spain, you know, the ones who started the Spanish Inquisition, was so disgusted by rumors about Columbus that they had him investigated and took away his titles when they found out about what was happening. They’re not off the hook though because they were still, you know, the reason for why many Saphardic Jews were imprisoned, killed, and forced to run away.

5) No, I don’t use the word “racist” too lightly, you’re standards for what count as racist just don’t include enough things that are racist.

6) Black people live in fear because they have historically and systemically have had legitimate reasons to, not because I’m calling out things that have been blatantly racist.

7) Yes there has been property damage. Yes there are people who are going to use these events as an excuse to do whatever they want. That will always be a part of protesting. But don’t act like cops aren’t doing this same thing, intentionally planting themselves in protests and then creating violence or causing property damage in order to give other cops a reason to attack protestors. If you know enough, you can spot them based on whose wearing shoes that can be run in or heavy combat boots, whose wearing nondescript clothes that you can see protective gear under, and who is wearing the “color of the day”, a tactic cops have used in order to disguise themselves among protestors but signal that they are cops to other cops by wearing matching accessories like armbands, headbands, or wristbands.

8) Funny how you don’t want to bring up the fact that these are populations with large black and brown communities that are usually overpoliced. Also, just because someone is a Democrat does not make them a liberal. The only reason I’m in preference of Democrats is because of the multiple marginalized communities that will hold them accountable for anything they do.

9) Not every single time a black person is killed is it because of racism. That “black-on-Black crime” people like to bring up? That’s not racism, that’s just the fact that people in close proximity to each other are more likely to kill each other and there are still heavily legally segregated parts of America due to wealth disparity. That example you brought up about a black cop killing a black man? That’s not racism. That a person knowing that they are untouchable because of the power that they have because the only good cops are cops that have quit. If you haven’t quit or been fired, you are likely a member of the blue wall of silence that refuses to condemn offices who intentionally act violently knowing that they will not be punished. Also, let’s not forget that people can also be prejudiced against people in their race or ethnicity because of the shade of their skin and the socio-economic class.

10) When have you seen any white man being bashed for having a black wife or being a “big brother” to black children? Often the only people who have problems with black women getting married to white men are black men who feel like they own black women and then claim they are “betraying their race” when they seek love from men in other races and ethnicities, but expect black women to stay silent as they chase after snow bunnies who fetishize mixed children. The only other case I could think of would be racists not wanting races to mix. And the “big brother” thing? The only reason I could think of would be complaints about wanting more black men to be “big brothers” because white men just cannot relate to the experiences of being a black child.

11) You conveniently left out that despite being one of the smallest racial communities in the U.S., black people are also the most policed, and will get arrested for things cops would let a white man go with like weed charges. Look no further than lovely white wonderbread comedien John Mulaney saying in his second comedy special “the comeback kid” “it’s (weed) always been legal silly goose”. This means that they have a disproportionate amount of black people in their records because if black people only make up 13% of people in the entire nation, they should only make up about 13% of all crime to, but they make up more because policemen have quotas to fill for how many people they arrest in order to receive more funding, and its easier with a racist system backing you up to arrest Black than white people.

12) Again, people in close proximity to each other are more likely to kill each other than people who do not know each other and people who live far from each other. Also, it’s the ultra extremists who really want to abolish the police. I still think we need a protective system, but we need it to work for the common people, not corporations and politicians. I think that every district should use the same system as wealthy white neighborhoods, where anyone who wants to be a policeman must be assigned a position in the neighborhood they are from because anything they do wrong will make them accountable to their neighbors, family, and friends. Also I believe that all cops should undergo mandatory psychological evaluations every 3-6 months, especially cops who have worked on extremely traumatic cases. I also believe that the U.S. should require at least 3 years of school for anyone wanting to become a cop because no one is actually able to learn the law, learn to enforce it through peaceful means unless in dire circumstances, and care for the wounded, mentally ill, physically disabled, or anyone mentally impaired by drugs and alcohol in 6 months.

13) Another example of how this person is racist because they are actually suggesting that we enforce racial discrimination and black poverty. Also, if you want to bring up gangs, the biggest gang in the U.S is police force using propaganda that promotes the idea of “belonging” and economic stability in order to entice people who do not feel like they belong wherever they are, and then giving them a gun and badge that basically means “kill whoever you want because we will cover it up for you”.

14) Unless a woman feels like she is able to provide a stable enough home environment for her and her child, NO ONE WILLINGLY CHOOSES TO BE A SINGLE MOTHER! Single motherhood is caused by multiple events. A woman was impregnated by someone who left her, a couple with a child divorced because of legitimate reasons because divorce is a long and financially exhausting process, a woman was raped and decided to keep the child, and woman was raped and forced to give birth because she lives in a state that limits women’s healthcare, which includes abortion.

15) Fatherless homes do not equate to a rise in criminal culture. If that were the case, all wlw couples and single mothers would raise criminals. Do you know what does equate to criminal culture though? Teaching people that they are superior to someone else because of their race, gender, ethnicity, religion, or sexuality and then promoting violent behaviors in that child.

16) Black families were never more intact during slavery than after slavery. Slaveowners and slavetraders intentionally worked together to make money and create a lack of unity among slaves by selling individual families members to different regions. One of the first things that former slaves did after they were freed was go out and find their stolen family members.

17) I can’t say anything about economics since I don’t have much knowledge about the economic system before the New Deal. However I will say that this is the only valid point you have made. Politicians have historically tried to get as many black votes as possible when they realized what a reliable voting community they were and then never actually done much to help the black community. However this is a very general statement.

18) How is group called Black Lives Matter that is focused on gaining racial equality attempting to sow discord in a nation by basically say “can you stop targeting us just because you’re racist and don’t like the color of my skin”.

19) How is a group asking for racial equality a lie? Are you really going to deny racism when we have seen shootings, lynchings, and people getting run over by cars all within the last month and a half?

20) WTF IS A LIE ABOUT A CHANT THAT MEANS “I HAVE NO WEAPONS, DO NOT KILL ME”

[phoenixmakeswords]

Dented Ch. 3--AU

Finally thought of a name for the AU.

“Why haven’t you answered my texts? Do you not want me anymore?” I ask carefully. Just asking hurts. I forgot this much pain was possible.

“What? Kristoff, of course I want you. You’re my son. I just got your texts five seconds ago. Remember I was going on that camping trip? I told you about it at the restaurant. And that I wouldn’t have cell service.”

“I feel like a dumbass.”

“I still love you. Come in. You’re not okay. What’s going on?” She leads me from the entry hall to the spacious pale blue living room.

“Besides Regan being horrible? I went to a party on Friday. Clare’s girlfriend was having at her lake house. Anyway, it happened again.” My face twists into a grimace as I sink onto the matching blue sectional. It’s much softer and more plush than mine.

“What’d Regan do? Who was it?”

I show her the text reluctantly. It gives me a little time to dredge up the courage to tell her about the party.

“I was really drunk. Blackout drunk. Clare told me today he was blond and she thought his name might be James. I remember doing shots with Clare and then I woke up in a bed.”

“Did Clare know? Did anyone try to help you?”

“Yeah, she knew. Apparently, I could be heard over the music. Nobody did anything that I know of.”

“How’re you doing with this?”

“Oh, I'm peachy. I lashed out at the one guy I actually trust. I'm cutting class because I don’t want to look at Clare right now. Things are just fabulous. Oh, and I'm not sleeping and I'm really depressed. Can’t get better.”

“Have you thought about getting help? I believe you, Kristoff. I hope you know that. I'm sorry you’re suffering.”

“Yeah, telling a stranger about this sounds great.”

“Kristoff.”

“I might be leaving the bakery.”

“I thought you loved it.”

“I sorta slept with a guy’s brother and he’s being a jerk to me about it.”

“Were you a couple?” She sounds more excited than I expected by the possibility of me having a boyfriend.

“No. Just a hookup.”

“You know that’s not safe. Are you using protection at least?”

“If they don’t wanna use a condom, I don’t sleep with them. That’s like the only rule I have.”

“At least you’re being smart.”

“How was the camping trip?” I don’t want to discuss my sex life.

“It was good. There’s something really important I need to talk to you about.”

“You found a fae village in the woods.” I smirk teasingly at her. She’s my best friend. That might make me a mama’s boy. I don’t care.

“No. I met a guy. He’s really sweet. He asked me to dinner for this Friday.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s sweet. He’s genuine. He has kids of his own. He’s very respectful.”

“Does he work?”

“He’s a video game designer.”

“How’d you meet him? Was he a client?”

“His sister is my best friend. He came on the trip with us. The poor thing, he was the only man there. We started talking and we just…clicked.”

“You didn’t sleep with him, did you?” The idea fills me with horror.

“Kristoff!”

“Now you know how I felt.”

“You’re a brat. If you need to not be alone, you know you can stay here.”

“I know. Ransom’s been staying since it happened. He sleeps in the guest room. And he keeps making me breakfast.”

“Do you like him?”

“Does it matter? I'm so fu—screwed-up. I mean, yeah, we slept together before it happened.”

“You deserve to be happy, sweetie. I know that’s hard for you to believe. But you do.”

“If it hadn’t happened, he was gonna ask me out.” I sigh softly.

“And? How do you feel about that?”

“You sound like a therapist. It would’ve been nice. I mean, he’s a great person. He’s hot. He’s smart.”

“Is he still interested?”

“I think so.”

“Are you interested?”

I nod slowly. He’s someone I would like to date. Someone I could maybe be with.

“He sounds like a good guy. He might be good for you,” she tells me gently.

“He is a good guy. He deserves better than a mess like me.”

The depression has become a physical weight in my chest. What happened and the fact I don’t deserve to be happy or in a stable, healthy relationship don’t help any. I am worthless.

“Alright, you have me really worried. Kristoff, are you thinking about killing yourself?”

“I'm not quite there yet.”

“Bu you’re still really bad?”

“Yeah. I don’t get like this.”

“I know. If you need to check in somewhere, I’ll take you. You have my support.”

“I don’t want to. I don’t wanna be hospitalized. I don’t wanna start therapy. I just wanna get through this crap on my own and go on with my life.” I rub my fingers absently over my phoenix tattoo. It was the first piece of ink I got. And it’s the most meaningful. Because phoenixes rise from the ashes. No matter what I face, I'm able to bounce back eventually. Right now, I need that reminder.

“I hate to tell you this, but you’re not Superman. There’s no shame in getting help.”

“I know that.”

I don’t want to need help. I know how society sees people who have mental health issues. And I don’t want them to see me that way. Ransom comes over after his shift tonight. He has a black duffel bag with him this time. Anger flickers in his jade eyes, despite his friendly smile.

“If you don’t wanna babysit me, it’s fine,” I assure him quickly.

“You’re not the problem. I like you. I met your sister.”

“How’d that go? Regan’s a nightmare, isn’t she?”

“You’re nothing alike. We’ve already butted heads.”

“So, they hired her?”

“Don’t threaten me like that. Did you know your sister doesn’t like Jews?” An edge slips into his low voice. I don’t like the distrust in his green eyes.

“No. Ransom, if I had, I would’ve told you.”

“Riley told her off. I know she’s your family and everything, but she was an utter bitch to me.”

“That would be Regan. Are you okay?” I touch his forearm gently. The sleeve of his black hoodie is soft.

“I'm irritated with her. I'm more worried about you.” He smiles gently.

“You still like me? I'm sorry she was nasty.”

“You’re not racist. You okay? I’ve dealt with it a lot.”

I shake my head quietly. I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve talked about it enough today.

“What do you need? We can go do something. Or watch movies or whatever will help,” he murmurs gently.

“I'm sorry. You don’t have to stay.”

“You’re my friend. You’re in crisis. I'm not abandoning you.”

I didn’t think he’d want to stay. I know it’s inconvenient. A hassle. Which means I am. But here he is.

“Thanks.”

“How was class? Did anything interesting happen?” He sounds so genuinely interested it surprises me. Guys don’t do that.

“I walked out. Clare and I got into it and I didn’t want to look at her.” I sigh shakily. I feel like all I do anymore is break down. So much for ��masculinity.’

“You cut class? You never do that. What happened?”

“She knew what happened. Everyone knew. And nobody tried to help me. She blamed me. I didn’t hear from her all weekend either.”

“I thought she was your friend.”

“Yeah, so did I.”

“For what it’s worth, I believe you. And it’s really crappy that they did nothing.”

“Thanks. How’d you meet my sister?”

“I did a tattoo for her. A simple rose she picked out of the book. Took twenty minutes. She argued with me about the aftercare. Called me a stupid kike. That was when Riley stepped in.” He rakes a hand through his hair.

“She should’ve never done that. You’re not stupid. And she should’ve never called you a slur. I'm sorry.”

“I didn’t get a tip. Because my people are ‘money hungry penny-pinching misers.’” He toys with his blue Star of David necklace. I’ve noticed he does this when he’s upset.

“How much was the tattoo?”

“Forty. It’s not a money thing, Kris. It’s the fact she played the anti-Semitic card. The fact she used my race as the reason to not give me a tip, not my work.”

“I knew you were tryin’ to get a new car. That’s why I asked. I'm sorry.”

“You’re not giving me the tip your sister should’ve. I don’t take handouts or pity.”

“I wasn’t tryin’ to piss you off. I'm sorry, Ransom. I was tryin’ to be nice.”

“Were you? Or were you trying to be my ‘rescuer’?”

“Yeah, I was! I thought you’d be happy that I was tryin’ to make up for her.” I flinch at the sound of my own raised voice.

“I stand on my own feet. By my own merit.” He sounds just as angry as I am.

“I don’t wanna fight with you.” I don’t have the energy. I’ve spent it on fighting the battle raging inside my head.

“Me either. And you didn’t need me arguing while you’re already feeling bad. Which makes me an ass. I owe you an apology for that. I'm sorry.”

“Forgiven. Thank you for staying.”

“You’re welcome. And I'm not being nice to you just so we can hook up again when you’re okay.”

“I wouldn’t hate you if you were.”

I wish that wasn’t true. I wish I would be angry with him if he was using me. But I can’t do that. Ransom’s sleeping soundly on the couch when I get up. He’s even more adorable asleep. I envy his easy sleep.

I start breakfast, even though I don’t feel much like eating. I don’t feel like going to work or class either, but I have to.

“Good morning. Did you get any sleep?” Ransom says, startling me.

“A couple hours.”

“You look exhausted.”

“I am. I'm gonna send my teachers a text and explain what’s going on.”

I know I can’t avoid Clare forever. I shouldn’t have to. She should’ve believed me and been on my side. But she wasn’t. We’ve known each other since we were fourteen. I mean, I used to go to her family’s holidays because Regan and I fought so much. Clare’s pretty much family to me.

“Good idea. Any way you can take your classes online?” He looks perfectly at home in my kitchen with one of my mugs clutched in his slender hands. I wish the thought didn’t make my stomach twinge. I’ve never had hope for a picket fence of my own.

“I’ll ask.”

I dread going to work almost as much as dealing with Clare. Maybe more.

“Text me on break?” he asks hopefully.

I agree easily. By the end of my shift, I'm ready to quit. Eight hours of being sexually harassed does my fragile mental health zero favors. My boss knows. She doesn’t care.

I don’t tell Ransom over text. I don’t want to upset him. If I tell him at all, it’ll be face-to-face.

I have a text from him, inviting me to dinner. He’s clarified that it’s not a date, which I appreciate. I agree easily.

Maybe if I wasn’t such a broken mess, I’d ask him out. Maybe if I thought he could like me more than for just sex. Maybe if I wasn’t so scared. But I am.

[hethrewmyheartinthecut]

THE PHOENIX WILL RISE  (2/?)

<< ALFIE x TOMMY. SCI-FI. PAIN. >>

twelve days before.

“Dad, I’m hungry,” Charlie whimpered. A few years ago, Tommy could have just told him that it would be over soon, but at all of eleven years old, Charlie was too smart for that now.

Tommy looked at his watch and found it entirely unforgiving. He longed to get up out of those awful low theater seats, walk out of the building, and take a cab to the White Pony, but he knew it was not to be. He could picture the perfect meal in his mind, could nearly smell it. Simple but good, a fish pie, some beer, and Charlie getting exactly the same...well, not beer. Tommy had started drinking already at that age, but he had a feeling that Grace wouldn’t approve of it, and he found it difficult to argue with his wife now that she was dead.

“Dad.”

“I know. Here, read the program.” Tommy handed over the program in all its pink and black glory. New Birmingham Tenth District Elementary School Aishe Day Performance, it said in overwrought curlicue letters on the front page. Clearly some teacher had repressed years of creative instincts only to unleash them all on a piece of paper whose sole purpose was to list the names of children that everybody already knew were there. “Tell me which families make the biggest showing. Rank them.”

Charlie squinted at it. “Rank them how?”

“Whichever family you think has the most power over the production.”

The dark-haired woman sitting to him shook her head. “Jesus, Tommy.”

Tommy said nothing. It was always only a matter of time before Esme found some fault with his parenting, and he had found that the best way to deal with it was just to ignore her. If he was making a life-threatening mistake she’d escalate to shouting, which is the point at which he’d stop ignoring her. In the meantime he liked to think he got on pretty well.

The game he’d devised had Charlie engaged for a good five minutes. “Is it a trick question?” Charlie finally asked, looking up from the rows of names.

“No.”

“Do you have an answer in your head?”

“Yes,” Tommy lied.

“Hm.” Charlie went back to studying the list of names with such intensity that Tommy regretted making the game up at all. Charlie had what Tommy called his mother’s determination and what Polly called his father’s bloodymindedness. Perhaps Charlie would have a better time if he were more like these other children, easily pleased with a friendly compliment or a rubber ball. But no, his great love was tackling challenges as small as a wooden puzzle and as large as a draft horse, and Tommy found some small measure of comfort in that, in knowing that he wasn’t alone in the restless turnings of his mind. It was selfish, but he liked that he could look at Charlie, with his brown bangs a little too long and his tiny forehead screwed up in thought, and understand the rhythm of how his mind was feeling out the problem.

Some time later—would they never start the fucking show?—Charlie looked up and grinned. “I have it.”

“Go on, then,” said Tommy. He tried not to smile too wide, thought it was a little idiotic to appear that indulgent in public, but fuck he loved the way Charlie’s blue eyes would light up when he smelled victory.

“The Markowitz family has the most children in the show, with thirteen. But only Solly and Miriam can act, so most of them are things like Viridian soldiers, because it doesn’t take any talent to wear green and hold guns and look evil. They don’t have the most power out of the production.”

“All right,” said Tommy, who was already enjoying this immensely.

“We have a decent showing, mostly because Katie got the role of Aishe, but also because Jimmy got to be an evil Viridian politician, and yell about how the Jews and the gypsies are fomenting a culture of crime and blah blah blah in the valley.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. John Junior, affectionately known as Jimmy, had his father’s smile and his mother’s spirits, and was about as far from a politician as anyone could be, even if you excluded his youth.

“He’s really good. You’ll see. But ultimately, I think the Amiel family has the most power over the production, as you said.”

“Family of prodigies, is it?”

“No. But Mr. Amiel is the principal, so he could cancel the whole show before it’s begun. Power.” Charlie grinned up at him, and Tommy grinned back before he could catch himself.

Esme reached over and hit him on the shoulder. Before he could object, she gestured behind them, to the theater’s main entrance.

Tommy turned, and all his satisfaction melted away. He swore. “He doesn’t even have children.”

“Guess we know why the show’s late,” Esme murmured, as they both watched Alfie Solomons saunter down the central aisle. “Couldn’t start without him.”

“I tried to convince the school board to stop taking his donations, last term.”

“And they laughed in your face?”

“Something like that.”

“Should we be worried?”

“No. Half the City Council’s children are in this fucking play. If he does pull anything, it’ll be nothing short of a coup.”

“Are we quite sure he’s not about to try to overthrow the government?”

“We’re sure there’s nothing we can do to stop him now.”

Charlie darted out of his seat, but Tommy’s reflexes had been perfected long ago, and he collared his son almost without looking.

“No,” Tommy said.

“I wouldn’t even talk to him! I’d just pick his pockets.”

“He’s eaten smaller boys than you for breakfast.”

“Really?”

“No, but don’t go stealing from Alfie Solomons without a grand plan.”

“Simplest plans are the best. It’s when you get complicated that you get fucked.”

“Don’t go quoting Aunt Pol to me.” Tommy plopped his son back down in the little theater chair.

Charlie sighed. “Will the play at least start now?”

“I think so.”

And sure enough, immediately after Alfie had politely evicted someone from the front row and settled himself down, the lights dimmed.

Alfie had made all his rivals stew in their boredom for an extra twenty minutes with some of their kids whining beside them and some of their kids probably pissing themselves from stage fright. Tommy had to hand it to him; even for an international arms dealer, was a whole new level of particularly petty assholery.

Once the curtain lifted, though, Tommy’s annoyance melted away. It was genuinely hilarious to see all the three and four year olds lined up, wobbly and blinking in the stage lights, trying to remember the appropriate words and motions to some song and dance about Death Mountain. Not that the song called it that, of course; to be politically correct, the school had dutifully stuck to the rebrand, and the song, thanking Mount Ilia for making the valley a good place to grow various different crops. Notably, it did not mention that the way that Death Mountain had done that was by exploding in a cloud of volcanic ash and destroying everything in the valley below, including all its previous inhabitants. But maybe that wasn’t age-appropriate.

Somewhere in between the verse about grain and the verse about apples, Oliver, Esme and John’s youngest, got tired of the dancing and decided to sit down. Very neatly, cross-legged, he spent the rest of the song singing heartily, but not even trying to make the right motions with his arms. Occasionally he swiped his curly brown hair out of his eyes with one pudgy little hand, but that was it, despite the silent gesticulating of his young teacher, who was clearly trying to motion him to get up. When the song ended, most of the kids filed out, but Oliver stayed sitting, so the poor woman had to get up on stage and pick Oliver up to make way for the next scene. From far down the Shelby row, Arthur laughed so hard over it he sounded nearly hysterical.

Then came the prime attraction, the Aishe Day reenactment. A rather impressive number of students dressed in green, red, and yellow, and representing armies from Viridian, West Celas, and Erles, milled about on the stage shouting and brandishing some of the most unconvincing gun replicas Tommy had ever seen. Among them was Karl, who as one of the oldest Shelbys, had participated in more Aishe Days than he cared to remember and appeared bored out of his mind. Tommy didn’t blame him; at that age, he had spent most historical reenactments in a similarly sullen state.

Finally, the Viridians “won”, represented by all the red and yellow wearing students dropping dramatically down onto the stage, and a handful of the students wearing green ripped off their green shirts to reveal blue or orange below, apparently representing the Jewish and Romani people that had fled afterwards. Tommy was getting bored again. Last year’s play had had much better production values.

But then came Jimmy, all dressed in green. Even frowning, he still reminded Tommy of a much younger John, especially considering the way he gestured with great enthusiasm as he gave his speech. At first, said speech was standard fare about how the Viridians couldn’t trust New Birmingham and all those Jews and gypsies and their illegal buildings and the way that criminals were fleeing from law abiding countries to blah blah blah, but as he really got into it, Jimmy began to get extemporaneous, and pretty soon he was bellowing improvised political invective with a viciousness, filth, and speed which frankly impressed his uncle very much.

He glanced down at Charlie to see how Charlie was taking this. Far from being disturbed by his cousin’s unexpected aptitude for mimicking one of the most renowned racists of recent history, Charlie appeared completely enthralled by the way that Jimmy was getting away with saying things that otherwise Esme would have washed his mouth out for.

Esme noticed it, too. When Jimmy was finally waved off the stage by a red-faced teacher, she leaned over.

“Hey.” She tapped Charlie on the shoulder. “If you weren’t homeschooled, you could be up there right now. Tell your dad to enroll you next year.”

Tommy didn’t even look away from the stage. “Fuck off, Esme.”

“Bite me, Tommy.”

“Fuck off, Aunt Esme.”

“Oi!” said Tommy.

“Sorry,” Charlie muttered.

Esme raised one eyebrow, but nobody could withstand a solid fifteen seconds of Charlie giving them the puppy eyes. She relented, mussing his hair. “You really are your father’s son.”

“You lot, shut up,” Polly whisper-hissed. “Katie’s on soon.”

That Katie was, and for all the chaos and embarrassment that previous Shelbys had caused the most important school performance of the year, John’s daughter more than made up for it. From the moment she stepped on the stage, all eyes were on her. Despite the truly awful props and set, her determined gray eyes miraculously lifted Aishe’s story out of the ridiculous and into the captivating. Read on a page, her little opening monologue about how worried she was about her family back home in New Birmingham would have come across as trite, but the way she delivered it, it reminded Tommy of his first few nights away from home, trying to fall asleep in the barracks and missing Arthur’s familiar snore.

The beats of the story were familiar to everyone: how Aishe had stolen some of the most important weapons research from under the nose of her employer; how she had brought them to New Birmingham; how, at the age of only twenty-three, she had flown to the top of Mount Ilia, deposited the pulse technology that blanketed the valley in a protective signal-blocking shield, keeping New Birmingham safe from the Viridian threat. With her plane thus disabled, she tried to descend the mountain on foot, and died in the attempt. When the boy who played the radio operator tried to contact her and received no response, Tommy could actually feel his throat tighten up. Fucking hell, an emotion. Who knew that thirteen-year-old Katie could do something to him that getting shot in the arm couldn’t even manage anymore?

When the curtain went down, most of the audience was still stunned, but Arthur, never one for hesitation, immediately began clapping.

“On your feet!” he roared, and there came the standing ovation.

As the applause eventually died down, Tommy felt Charlie tugging at his sleeve. He bent down, a little worried that his son would actually demand to attend school after all. But no.

“Can we eat now, Dad?”

“Yes,” said Tommy, a split second before Principal Amiel took the stage.

Amiel was a rather slight, balding man with the thinnest of wire reading glasses, hardly imposing, but his voice, when he spoke, held a surprising amount of authority, low and grave and measured. “Thank you, everyone, for coming today to share in the celebration of our city and its history.”

A few parents began to sneak out the back door, evidently wishing to skip the patriotic speech and get their children.

In response, Amiel raised his voice, just a little. “I would especially like to thank our guest, Mr. Solomons, for supporting our school in so many ways.”

Jesus Christ. Tommy could hear Esme make a noise of disgust, and for once, the two of them were in agreement. Amiel had always been a brown noser, but this time he was so far up Alfie’s ass that he must have been bumping into Alfie’s fucking liver with his forehead.

“This year, he has blessed our school not only with his general support, but also with scholarships for a number of students, some based on need and some on particular gifts. Tonight, we would like to highlight one of these students by inviting the winner of the Alfie Solomons Patriotism In Writing Essay Contest to read their piece. Miriam, will you please come to the stage.”

A girl of about fifteen, with two long braids, walked slowly down the center aisle, blushing furiously. There were multiple papers clutched in her hand. Multiple sheets of paper.

Tommy was going to kill him. That was simply what he was going to have to do.

“Dad,” said Charlie. “Food.”

“I know,” Tommy said grimly. “I know.”

When the girl began to read what was essentially a policy paper, Tommy’s eyes just about rolled into the back of his head. There was no originality to it; it was just the common argument for sending the army to remove the pulse technology from the top of Death Mountain. Blah blah blah, wireless technology was the future, blah blah blah, falling behind other countries, blah blah blah, an economic necessity, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Couldn’t Alfie have picked something entertaining, at least? Though, from the Cheshire grin he wore, he clearly was entertained well enough.

The speech dragged on, and Tommy imagined Arthur in his less-than-sober days, who would probably have leapt up and started shouting only two sentences into this speech. If we get rid of the pulse, every other country can fly over us and bomb us into fucking rubble, he’d say. Probably wave his arms a little too. Maybe point. Arthur did love pointing at people for emphasis. But of course you don’t care about that, do you, Mr. Solomons? You don’t give a shit about soldiers like me, hell, you’d love a fucking war, arms dealer like you. Make a fortune out of it! You fucker. Spittle flying, more likely than not.

Tommy amused himself with wondering who would win in a fight. Alfie had a weight advantage, but he had the bum leg. Same height, and they were both, to put it delicately, mental. He decided that if he were laying odds, he’d make them damn near 50/50, probably favoring Alfie. Alfie had the edge of quicker thinking, not to mention a clearly sadistic streak, if this endless speech was anything to go by.

Far down the row, there was a stirring, and he looked over. A boy with the recognizable gray cap of a mail runner had passed Polly a letter. WAs this some new policy he’d not been informed of? He’d heard of immediate deliveries to people’s houses at nighttime, but this was something else. Polly’s face as she read the letter made his stomach drop. There was a moment of pure dismay, and then the mask slid into place. They were in public, and he could not reach over, grab her, and ask, but in his head he went through all the people that could be dead. It wasn’t a child, wouldn’t be, not with that reaction. Uncle Charlie, maybe? Johnny Dogs?

Polly handed the letter down to Esme, then got up and started to leave the theater, just as Principal Amiel suddenly interrupted the girl on stage.

“I apologize,” he said, “but there is something important I feel we must speak about. Please have a seat, Miriam.” There was a faint tremor in his voice, though he spoke far more quickly than he usually did. The girl gladly fled the stage. Amiel gripped the microphone tighter.

“On this day, of all days,” he said, “We must think on the nature of our city.”

Esme was reading the letter now and she was worse than Polly at keeping a stone face; the fear was there. Up in the front row, Alfie was reading a letter too. Tommy hadn’t seen who passed it to him, but fuck. Fuck.

“Less than seventy years old,” Amiel went on, “In the shadow of Mount Ilia, poorer than the surrounding countries, created by all the people not wanted elsewhere. And yet we are not fragile. New Birmingham will remain for generations to come for the same reason that it has survived thus far: because we are a people familiar with sacrifice.”

Tommy could taste the bitterness of adrenaline, and he hadn’t even seen a fucking gun yet.

“Because, when the moment comes, we can work as one to save ourselves. Because Aishe alone could not have done it without the thousands of troops, some veterans and some conscripts, who fought on the ground even as the pulse shielded the sky. Because we fight together.”

Esme had tangled one hand in John’s hair, John had no idea what was happening, but they were kissing passionately and Tommy couldn’t stand it anymore. He snatched the letter out of her hand.

“If we can keep our heads,” Amiel said urgently, “if we can think in a crisis, if we—”

The sirens went off. The theater erupted.

“KEEP YOUR FUCKING HEADS.” That was Alfie, roaring into the microphone. He had bounded up onto the stage and snatched it from Amiel’s hands. “Stay fucking seated. You’re not children. We’ve been drilled on this. Half of you are in the fucking army, so try and fucking act like it.”

The crowd settled somewhat, such was the power of the man’s voice.

“Troop transport should be here shortly, and we’ll all get our marching orders then. For now, stay in your fucking seats. The last thing we need is some kid trampled.”

Kids, Jesus. Tommy crouched down and put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Charlie met him with an intolerably familiar look. He had his mother’s green eyes, and they were now looking at Tommy with pride trying to cover up the fear. “Are we gonna die, Dad?” he said. “I can take it if we are. I just want to know.”

“No. No, you’re going to be fine.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.” And God he was his mother’s son, he truly was, all the more because looking at him, Tommy couldn’t bear to lie, not like this.

“I love you, all right?” His son’s eyes had begun to fill with tears. “Look at me. Charlie, I—”

“Orders from the Commander: all soldiers in transport, special troops included, guard reserves included.” Tommy looked up. Alfie had another letter in his hand, was reading it out. “Transport is out front, doesn’t matter which company you’re in, we’ll all get sorted at the base.” There was a sudden surge of movement in the school theater seats. “Oi!” Alfie bellowed. “I want to see some orderly fucking exits.”

All around them was a press of bodies, motion, a thousand voices. Tommy had to raise his voice to be heard.

“I have to go. Be good for Linda and Arthur, all right?”

Charlie grabbed his sleeve. “Dad, wait.”

“I have to go. Come on, here.” There was nothing else he could do; he lifted Charlie wholesale and handed him over to Arthur.

“I’ve got him, don’t worry,” Arthur said gruffly. “Kill a couple of em for me, will you?”

Tommy tore himself away, tried and failed to ignore Charlie yelling “Dad!” after him.

He pushed his way into the aisle, which had swelled with dozens, maybe hundreds of other people, other soldiers, and fuck it was strange to think of them that way when some of them were still in stiff ties or high heels but they were and this was it. Polly he couldn’t see in the crowd, but John and Esme were just ahead of him, holding hands, John not paying any attention to where he was going, but letting her steer him as he leaned over and half-shouted into her ear. The expression on John’s face cut through the panic enough to make Tommy’s chest ache. Esme was in their one and only armored tank division, would be first on the front line. John was in the infantry.

Outside the school was pure chaos. A few dark cars with their own sirens blaring sped away, likely taking city councilmen, dignitaries, advisors, maybe even Polly to meet with the mayor, but on the whole it was massive, monstrous dark troop transport units, and people piling into them like sardines into a can. In the shuffle, John lost sight of Tommy and Esme. Not that it would matter, he tried to tell himself. If it was to be a fucking war, they’d all get split. None of them were in the same division, and yet—

The flow of people took him into one of the transport units, and he fumbled with the letter in his hand. It was hard to read in the press of people all around him, but the message on it was simple.

CLASSIFIED

To: City Council, Commander’s Advisors, Division Leaders

From: City Commander, Mayor

Mount Ilia, Code Orange. Eruption expected in fifteen (15) days. Capitol ASAP.

“Oi!” a familiar voice said.

Tommy looked up into the bearded face of Alfie Solomons.

“Where’d you get that?” He was peering down at the paper, and before Tommy could react, had snatched it away and was tearing it to pieces.

Tommy let it go. Better that then have another soldier read it and panic.

“Fucking hell, you Shelbys you do share and share alike, don’t you. Classified materials and all.”

The door closed behind them, and in the ensuing darkness, Tommy could feel the unit begin to move, the press of bodies round him the only thing keeping him up.

“You’re reserves, is it, Alfie?”

“Fuck no. Army. Where’d you think I got the fucking limp from?”

In the hubbub of voices, Tommy felt sure he could still hear Charlie calling after him. He closed his eyes, tried to focus. “Army? Impossible.”

“Better believe it, mate.”

“If you were in the Army, you’d never let the lot of us hear the end of your great fucking sacrifices.”

This would set off Arthur’s PTSD, Tommy was fucking sure of it. Linda would have that handled, maybe, but then there was Charlie for her to take care of and all of John and Esme’s kids, not to mention Linda and Arthur’s own and none of their houses had enough beds for that and—

Alfie’s voice was right in his ear, murmuring something. Something about war, and often, and don’t.

Tommy shivered. Even if Linda did manage to sort all those things out, the best would be to get the children out and soon. Did Polly still have contacts with Erlesian smugglers? She had to, the last deal had been less than two years ago. But then Polly was likely in the Capitol now and lost to everything but strategy. There was no way Linda had the connections to smuggle that many children across the border. And Ada, where was Ada when the sirens went off? Was Karl’s school doing an Aishe Day celebration then, or had they maybe done it in the morning, and if they had, where was Freddie—

“Oi.” That was Alfie, much louder now. The unit hit a bump in the road, jolted, and his beard scraped at Tommy’s cheek.

Tommy flinched away. “What?”

“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you. What are you?”

“I’m fine,” Tommy said through his teeth.

“No, what’s your rank?”

“Sergeant Major.”

“Then I outrank you.”

“Congratulations,” Tommy snarled.

“Pull it together, Shelby. That’s an order from a superior officer. Look at me.” Tommy did, but in the darkness, there wasn’t much to see. Suddenly, one big hand grabbed him by the collar, pulled him in. “We’re going to need every last soldier. Last I checked, you were a soldier. Yeah? So pull it the fuck together.” Alfie released him with a pat to the shoulder, or maybe it was a slap.

“Yeah,” Tommy got out. He hated that it was coming from Alfie, but the man was right, of course he was. He’d done this before. Breathing, that was the key. Breathing, and thinking through the parts of a handgun. Simple, methodical. How he would clean it. How he would take it apart, and put it back together. Metal only, no people. Metal only…

Eventually, his stomach settled. He felt he had to prove that it had. “Alfie, about that scholarship speech.”

“You liked that? I wrote it myself.”

“I hope, from the bottom of my fucking heart, that you die slow.”

Alfie laughed. He seemed to shrink from Alfie Solomons down to a man when he laughed. It was the way he laughed, too loud and too big and too long. Too too much. Maybe Tommy wasn’t the only one in the conversation who had to count out his breathing.

“You too, Shelby,” Alfie said. “You too.”

.

.

.

the other chapters: on tumblr • on ao3

lmk if you want to be added to the tag list or removed from it:

@twistedrunes, @transtommyshelby, @pure-bastard-extract, @whentommymetalfie, @darkandstormyslash, @toyhto, @birminghamblinders, @clearblue99, @mafaldaz

[fapangel]

SO what do you what will happen now with the whole fake Bomer guy supposedly be a trump supporter? Do you think the blue wave will restart or is it too little to late?

The most significantrevelation of the mail-bomber incident was that the Republicanmainstream – not the usual fringe kooks, but the levelheaded,respected commentators – immediately suspected it to be amanufactured “October Surprise.”

Some of those knee-jerktweets have since been deleted, likelyfor the same reason that I was more alarmed that I could entertain a“false flag” theory in the first place than I was by the possible“false flag” itself. Embracing asinine conspiracy theoriesis, to me, a hallmark of left-wing agitprop, an indelible impressionfrom my formative Bush-era youth when ~Halliburton~ and~Bush’s cabinet of puppeteers who have Jewish last names~was unceasingly invoked in anypolitical argument. And yet, despite knowing theoverwhelming odds of a lone lunatic being the perp (as indeed theywere) and my own decades-old biases against conspiracy theories, Istill found myselfmuttering dubiously.

Iwasn’t alone in that impression – the NewYork Times picked up on it too, and as is their wont managed todisclose their unique myopia as well. In their effort to equate allright-wing media to Alex “Lizardman Chemtrails” Jones’s usualconspiracytainment bullshit, theydrop this revealing paragraph:

Mr.Jones has been largely pushed tothe fringes of the internet — kicked off Twitter, Facebook and adozen other services — and his cries for attention now seem mostlypitiful. (This week, he was filmed yellingat a pile of manure outsidea rally for President Trump in Texas.) Buthis spirit lives on in the larger universe of pro-Trump media, whichhas fused the conspiratorial grandeur of Infowars with an unshakablefaith in Mr. Trump’s righteousness.

Theyautomatically equate media exposure of an idea with how manyviewers believe the idea. The thesis of the article lies inthese two sentences; Alex Jones has been silenced, but the moremainstream right-wing media has picked up his ideas, and that’s whythey’re still alive.

Thisalone speaks volumes about the media’s worldview, but to reallydrive it home see thisarticle wherein the reporter blames Trump’s attacks on themedia for their plummeting popularity, as if the Great PresidentialPumpkin can sway millions of Americans into hating themainstream media via his eldritch mind-control rays. This is why theyspeak of “an unshakable faith in Mr. Trump’s righteousness-”leftists view the world in terms of stupid mobs and the influentialdemagogues that sway and lead them. They simply cannot comprehendthat their own actions have shattered the public’s trust in them,despite the problem long predating Trump (one of my Journalism 101professors cited trust polling that consistently put Journalistsbelow used car salesmen back in 2007!) They find it easier tobelieve that their vast media empires’ combined megaphone is beingdrowned out by RumpleTrumpskien pied piping on his magical racistdogwhistle than to admit that people might think for themselves longenough to call them out on their egregious lies.

Thisdovetails nicely with recent revelations thatthe FBI leaked information to the press, then cited said “reporting”to the Justice Dept. as justification for further investigations,including FISA wiretapping warrants. Whilethe media’s lunacy is frequently amusing – reporters leaningdramatically into nonexistent wind, CNN’sfit over a panel truck blocking their stalker peephole in the hedge,or going bugfuck insane because Trumphad dinner without informing the media – nobody’s laughinganymore. And it’s precisely because of the growing understandingamong the populace of how the media has wantonly abused its power toaid the abuse of Federal power to nullify the results of a democraticelection.As Ian Miles Cheong said; “if the media can lie about somethingas insignificant as a koipond feeding ceremony, what else are they lying about?”

Well,now we know – and the people don’t seem amused.

I’vecovered the media’s worldview and demonstrable myopia before; Iaddress it in this instance to show thatthe media simply cannot adapt their message. Indeed,the NYT article on fringe-to-mainstream cites the mocking/pol/ “suspicious devices” meme without apparentunderstanding of how it undermines their implicit assumptions mereparagraphs prior of deplatforming speakers equalingthe silencing of their ideas. Theleft-wing “mobs and demagogues” is more than theory to them; it’show they organize – which is why John Oliver’s sick Friday nightburns are being repeated ad nauseam on Facebook by early Saturdaymorning. Theleft truly cannotmeme;it’s simply how they function. So when RumpleTrumpskien needles themedia into talking All About Themselves instead of the issues at handyetagain, iteffectively makes the mediathe issue at hand – and given that pollingconsistently shows that many Democrats are coming to distrust themedia of late, that’s not a strong issue for the DNC.Conversely, right-wingers will be shitposting the latest dank memeswith or without Alex Jones’s Twitterfeed, comehellor Maxine Waters.

Thusly,I conclude the mail bomber incident won’t have a significant impacton the electoral map – notjust because of widespread cynicism engendered by constant mediafalsehoods, but also because the structural problems that producedsuch alsocripple the media’s ability to exploit such incidents. In fact, themedia’s incredible blindness makes them likely to harmthe left-wing’s cause by doubling down on narratives that wereasinine the first time around. There is no bad news for the DNC thatthe media’s mental illness cannot make worse. Takethe latest example of thesynagogue shooter thatturnedout to be a Trump-hater who thought POTUSwas controlled Jews. Theusual hate-mongeringWaPo crowd actuallydug up the “star-shapedbackground graphic in a campaign ad” gem that was laughablelunacy beforeTrumpmoved the US embassy to Jerusalem and made defending Israel in the UNa cornerstone of US foreign policy. Thisis placed at the topofthe article, as if it’s a powerful and convincing lead-in to thelong-winded paranoid rambling of “troll armies” motivated by theusual mystic ~coded signals~ mentioned later on. Eventhe more sober-sounding takes likethis NYT hit-piece must open by blaming Trump for the crimes ofTrump-supporters andTrump-haters,which obliges the author to afascinating attempt in pissing up a rope without getting wet.

Itnaturally follows, then, that breathless media polling reports citing85% and upwards chances of a “blue wave” retaking the House areabout as trustworthy as similar polling in 2016. Even Nate Silver’smuch-vaunted “538” polling agency has come under prettypointed criticism for the number of times they’ve shrugged offsimilar “80%” predictions that haven’t come to pass – froma Harvard professor, no less. Furthermore,midterm elections are different in many ways – local issues oftenhave people more fired up (read, pissed off,) especially regardinggubernatorial elections. Since midterms are traditionally very lowturnout, a popular gubernatorial candidate can have a huge impact on“down-ballot” races – i.e. people show up to vote for thegovernor, and vote straight party ticket for alltheother candidates, US House included. In short, the polls mean jackdiddly squat, soeveryone’s simply reporting what they want (if you don’t believeme, look no further than Fox News’s reportinga nail-biting dead heat currently, then thisSeptember 22ndarticle on how dismissing “blue wave” rhetoric as the bullshit itis could suppress the Republican vote via overconfidence.A “dead heat” narrative is the safest way to turn out votes; norisk of overconfidence or hopelessness keeping people away from thepolls.) Soto evaluate the potentials, we must turn to the murkiest of allpolitical-forecastingcrystal balls - “energy levels.”

There’sbeen multiple media-exacerbated own-goals for the left in thatregard, most notably the mind-blowingly vicious smear campaignagainstJustice Kavanaugh that only managed to rile the right wing via sheeroutrage even more than the left. I could roll this one around fora while – talking about the surprising pluralities (note therelatively high numbers of Democrats and low numbers of Republicans“Very Angry” over Kavanaugh’s suffering; a surprisinglycenter-right plurality,) or how big the Republican benefit really was(Republicans being moderately more outraged than Democrats amounts toa low gain if Democrats enteredthe fray with high outrage already; but it’s likely that manyRepublicans who didn’t care at all before are outraged now).Butthere’s a larger factor to contend with – the historical realitythat the party controlling the Executive usually loses seats in theHouse in midterm elections. It happens with regularity for the samereason PoliSci101 shows you a “standardized plot” of Presidential approvalratings over time – human nature. Whoever’s in charge gets blamedfor everything bad, simply enough – so even popular Presidents willshed a few seats in the mid-terms. Combine this with the importanceof turnout in midterm elections and the oft-lamented anti-Trumpobsession on the left, and everything seems to point to Democratsbeing more motivated.

However,I’m not so sure they are.

Youtuber“Aydin Paladin,” an advanced psych student who usually talksabout psychology in a political context, did a video 11 months agotitled “LeftistLethargy and Low Energy,” specifically addressing how aconstant state of horror and outrage at every single damn Trump tweethas the inevitable consequence of emotional burnout. One cannot stayoutraged forever. At some point, you simply stop caring. Onecould debate Ayadin’s point that the left was demonstrablyhittingthis point a year ago, or posit that they’ve had time to recover –but I personally believe the lethargy lingers. Myevidence? A quick jaunt through the New York Times’ editorial page:

*A Halloween op-ed about Trump literally being worse than the fuckingbogeyman (“WhenNightmares Are Real” by Jennifer Finney Boylan,)

*An article begging Democrats not to take a usually-safe votingdemographic for granted, Native Americans

*An article on “how to turn people into voters,” featuring a modelspecific to “black Southerners,” who are a safe Democraticdemographic – but only when they actually turn up to vote,

*Andmost tellingly, an article titled“You’redisillusioned. That’sfine. Vote anyway.”

Blindand narcissistic they may be, but I trust the media to know their owntribe – and theiroutlookon the base’s revolutionary fervor looks rather dim. Once again themedia’s endless talent for own-goals is apparent. The continuingdemonizingof Trump as theworst nightmare ever onlyensures that a choir that tired of the preaching a year ago willremain so. The struggle to get black voters to actually turn out isan old and ongoing one, but pissed-off Native Americans isn’t justElizabethWarren’s fault – it was mostly the media that accepted her DNAtest showing some squillionth of a percent of native DNA asvindication,andthen gallopedover to Trump to triumphantly flaunt it at him, giving him a goldenopportunity to mock it on national TV – on their own live networkbroadcasts, even.

You’llnote that the point regarding the media’s self-sabotage of theleft-wing movement was made many paragraphs ago, but it continues torear its awful head as a salient factor in almost every exampleillustrating any otherpoint in this article – this is how pervasive it is.

There’smore to Democratic lethargy than the media pissing off key left-wingDemographics in western states with important House races, however –there’s also the overall lack of a message. Instead of coalescingon a single one, Democrats appear to be taking a local-issuesapproach, which is rather awkward given they – and the media –have spent the last two years making absolutelyeverything aboutTrump. They’re stillmaking everything about Trump (e.g.synagogue shooter) even now,inthe eleventh hour. Thenthere’s the notable and growing strain between old-schoolblue-collar union Democrats and the “progressive wing” (viz.privileged wealthy white socialists) whichdivides their messaging on the economy – especially tellingconsidering the record-low unemployment and rapidlyrising wages. (It’s hard to tell people they’re living inObama’s economy whenyou were telling them it was Trump’s climate a few months ago.)

Andof course, the cherry on this shitstorm sundae is the latest greatestmigrant caravan advancing through Mexico – seven thousandstrong, originally – which took Trump’s single greatest electionissue and slam-dunked it in the middle of the debate again. Thecaravan is significant because it tangiblyprovesTrump’s long-standing point regarding immigration problems, and isexactly the kind of thing a big wall would hinder – awall Trump can’t build if he can’t get a funding bill through theHouse.

Insum, the left still lacks a coherent message, is still desensitizingtheir electorate with constant panicked screeching, is frequentlypissing off their own key constituencies with their ham-handedagitprop, and are helping to suppress their own vote by portraying anelection that’s all but won. Meanwhile the Republicans have aPresident who’s actually delivered on many of his promises, has agreat recent event to showcase how delivering on the rest rides onthis next election, and, in general, have optimism.Somethingabout Kanye West’s recent visit to the White House stood out to me– he saidhe had nothing against Hillary’s campaign slogan, but when he puton a MAGA hat, he “felt like Superman.”

“Feltlike Superman.” That’s a sentiment of empowerment.Obamaunderstood the power of positive messaging – it’show “Hope and Change” swept him into office in his first term.Democratsthis year simply don’t.

Ican’t call it either way. But I cantell you that anyone who thinks this election is all over but for thecounting isnuts. The battle lines of 2016 have only been dug deeper, and thesimple truths of human nature make for an uphill fight – but by thesame token, Democrats have badly misplayed the hands they have, arecompletely incapable of real self-reflection on any significantscale, and Trump’s been President for two years with realsuccesses, with the much-ballyhooed Trumpocolypse yet to descend.

Insofaras I can call anything, I’d say this election is going to be close.I’d tell you to go out and vote, especiallyif you don’t want to see the party encouraging mob intimidation andstoking racial hatred controlling the House – which they’ll useto launch endless sham investigations of Trump long after Mueller’scharade finally gives up the ghost, in addition to impeaching himjust for the hell of it. If Trump loses the House he- and his agenda- will be a lame-duck for the next two years, because any seriousbill needs to be passed by both House and Senate.

Onceagain, everything is on the line.

I’mnot sick of winning yet.

[skeletonscribbles]

I love your writing. Here's a Reddie prompt for you if you have a sec: "wow Eds, you have no idea how much I think about you at night." Do with that what you will ;)

Thank you anon - you’re too kind! This prompt turned into something decidedly less R rated than at least I was anticipating - I hope you enjoy my little blip of a jealous Richie piece anyway!

GreenWord Count - ~1700

Richie Tozier wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling.

He liked to think that he was a pretty agreeable fellow, all in all - always reliable for a couple of good chucks by way of sex jokes (not that he had any experience with sex itself; in fact, thinking about it for too long made him feel sort of hot and funny, so usually he elected just to laugh it off and move on)…

…so when he saw Eddie Kaspbrak climb on to Bill Denbrough’s shoulders to play chicken down at the quarry, why didn’t he feel like cracking wise?

He wasn’t angry about Eddie and Bill teaming up, per se. The other six people splashing around in the water with him were his best friends in the whole world; he loved them wholly and unconditionally and would never be angry with any of them, ever…even if Eddie had refused to partner with him for chicken earlier on, citing “germs”. No, he wasn’t mad about that. He couldn’t even blame him - it had probably been like two and a half days since his last shower. (He considered himself above such things - and besides, it wasn’t like he was the only unwashed miscreant at the arcade every day.)

He wasn’t sad, either. He knew sad pretty well - it washed over him every so often like an ocean wave, without purpose or form. His mother said that he’d inherited it from her, that she had it too…and that it always passed, no matter how bad it got. So far, she’d been right…but this wasn’t that. It was too sharp a feeling to be that.

His best guess for the feeling was ‘uncomfortable’. He wasn’t uncomfortable very often, but sometimes when Eddie looked at him, his skin vibrated with…something like what he was feeling now, so it was probably safe to chalk the whole thing up to discomfort.

But why the hell would he feel like that about a perfectly normal chicken fight? He hadn’t felt weird when Stan had climbed up on Bill’s shoulders earlier. He’d felt other things: the look on Bill’s ruby red face had been good for a laugh, and Stan’s ultimate loss to Beverly on Ben’s shoulders had been incredibly satisfying, but this…this was…

Richie was ripped from his reverie by a shriek and a splash; Bev had triumphed again. Eddie had been knocked backwards into the water. Bill was quick to try and help him back up, and Eddie clung to him, gasping for breath in a way that indicated that he’d need his inhaler soon.

Sure enough, as soon as Eddie was situated enough to control his motor functions, he was out of the water like a shot, wheezing exaggeratedly. Bill followed, hot on his heels, and the gross feeling in Richie’s chest grew more pronounced. He watched them walk away, feeling confused and disoriented.

“Earth to Idiot.” Stan came out of the blue, rolling his eyes and shoving Richie’s arm roughly. “You’re too quiet. What are you plotting?”

“Who, me?” Richie put on his best nonchalant face. “Just thinking about Eddie’s mom.”

“His mom, huh?” Stan was, as always, unimpressed. He looked at Richie with an expression that suggested that Richie was missing some big important point.

“Or yours, whichever, take your pick.” Richie laughed nervously. “I’ve been through ‘em all.”

Stan tutted, shaking his head. “Your birth was the first and last time you’re ever going to touch a vagina, dumbshit.

That statement made Richie nervous for reasons he didn’t understand. “What kind of blasphemy–”

“Richie.” Stan’s face was completely serious, and Richie couldn’t help but shiver in looking back at him. “I’ve known you for fuck knows how long…too long, definitely. Believe me when I say that I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Stanley, old chap, you’re not making a lick of sense,” Richie tried, breaking out his trusty British accent and feeling very small.

Stan looked away. “Okay, maybe you still don’t know, whatever. Just…don’t wallow. Go talk to Eddie.”

Richie blinked back at Stan. “What?”

“Go. Talk. To. Eddie.” Stan shoved his arm one more time, and then turned and started pushing towards where Mike was waiting by the shore. “And stop staring at Bill like he killed your dog. Jesus.”

“You’re Jewish,” Richie pointed out.

“Jesus was a Jew,” Stan retorted neatly, not looking back.

Richie weighed his options. On the one hand, he kind of wanted to piss off Stan by doing the exact opposite of the thing that Stan had suggested. (It was a frequent strategy of Richie’s, and for good reason - it got a rise out of Stan every time.) On the other…well, he wanted this fucking feeling to go away, didn’t he?

He pushed his way out of the water and on to the shore, where Bill was holding an aspirator to Eddie’s mouth.

Richie frowned at the sight of Bill kneeling by Eddie. It didn’t seem fair that Bill got to monopolize all of Eddie’s time and space. The two of them were seemingly attached at the hip. Eddie’s love for Bill was obvious and all-consuming; he followed their ginger beanpole of a leader around like a puppy. If he didn’t know better, Richie would say that Eddie was in love with Bill.

An image surfaced in Richie’s mind, unbidden, of Eddie and Bill engaged in a kiss. He pushed it out as quickly as it came, disgusted at himself for thinking it…and upset that it had made the feeling in his chest increase tenfold. Eddie and Big Bill could do what they wanted - it wasn’t any of Richie’s business or concern.

(Except that…it kind of felt like it was.)

“You okay, Eds?” Richie asked, swallowing his negative thoughts and strolling over to Eddie’s crouched form.

Eddie sat up stiffly. “Just peachy. Obviously.”

Richie put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Just a concerned pal here, Eddie my love. No need to go all she-wolf on me.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie mumbled, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to disappear.

Bill looked between the two of them with the same knowing expression that Stan had worn earlier. “Yeah, I’m g-gonna go…Richie, make sure Eddie keeps b-b-breathing?”

“You can count on me,” Richie saluted, feeling a strange sort of relief at the thought of Bill leaving. Eddie, strangely, did not protest Bill’s departure - he just slumped back down, clutching his inhaler weakly.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Bill said, getting to his feet and heading in the direction of Ben, who had procured a picnic basket and was handing out sandwiches to their other friends. “I’m stuh-starved.”

As soon as Bill left, Richie found himself wanting him back. Without Bill, the energy between he and Eddie had turned…strange.

“What is he leaving us to?” Eddie asked after a minute, looking nervous.

“I’m sure he just wanted to give me a minute alone with my dear Spaghetti,” Richie said, reaching out to pinch Eddie’s cheeks out of habit. “Since he’s usually the one who gets you, I’d say it’s only fair.”

Eddie ducked out of reach of Richie’s offending hands, scowling. “What do you mean, he gets me?”

Richie shrugged, trying not to let the bitter feeling he was harboring seep into his words. “You and Big Bill are like…Bert and Ernie or some shit. Always together.”

Eddie stared back at him. “Bill’s my best friend.”

“And mine,” Richie agreed, “but the difference is that I don’t have an obvious boner for him.”

As soon as the words left Richie’s mouth, he wished that he could take them back…but it was too, too late for that. Eddie’s eyes had gone huge, and his face was on its way to turning bright tomato red.

“Excuse me?”

Richie pressed on, despite the fact that he could all but feel himself digging his own grave. “Oh, you know…when he does something cool, and you give him the face like you’re hoping that he’s gonna bust out a ‘wow, Eds, you have no idea how much I think about you at night’–”

“Bill doesn’t call me Eds,” Eddie cut in, and of all the things Richie was expecting him to say, that definitely didn’t crack the top ten.

“So what?” Richie asked, shaken and a little embarrassed. “Isn’t that more of a reason for you to fuck him?”

The thought of Bill and Eddie being…intimate together was a pervasive and terrible one. Richie felt the impact of it in his stomach, and bit down on his lip in an attempt to distract himself from whatever bullshit was going on in his midsection.

Eddie wrinkled his nose. “Gross. Bill’s like my big brother.”

And just like that, like air coming out of a balloon, the monster in Richie’s chest retreated, and he could breathe again.

“Good,” he said unthinkingly. “Good.”

“Good?” Eddie quirked an eyebrow, amused.

“Uh.” Richie, for once, was at a loss for words. “Uh. Because then, my, uh, relationship with your mom…”

“Cut the crap, Richie,” Eddie said, a little half-smile on his face. He was beautiful that way, Richie thought. He was beautiful every way.

Richie realized in that moment that the monster that had been clawing its way through his chest was distinctively green-eyed.

“Have you been thinking about me at night?” Eddie continued, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Richie shook his head in abject shock. “Eddie, if you could shut the fuck up for like five seconds please, this is a lot to process–”

Eddie laughed happily and reached out to tug at Richie’s wrist. He urged him down a little closer, and placed a sweet, soft kiss just to the left of Richie’s mouth.

There was a new feeling in Richie’s chest, now - something warm and explosive.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Eddie whispered, and slid past him to join their friends in eating.

Richie followed, cataloguing the warmth pooling in his stomach to try and identify later .

—-

(It turned out to be joy.)

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Blue Eyes Part 10

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 10: Tommy visits Alfie, Charlie is taken.

           Alfie’s fingers drummed impatiently on his desk. He was itching to just get the meeting with Tommy over with. He’d suffered enough as far as he was concerned. Seeing Ella cry, being the reason for her tears. Unbearable. But his hands were tied, what else could he reasonably do?

           Still, Tommy was prolonging the visit. Taking his time walking to Alfie’s office, sitting down, adjusting his tie pin (pretentious ass), and painstakingly lighting a cigarette.

           Alfie stifled a groan in the back of his throat and rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s safe, what?” His patience was wearing unbelievably thin. Another five seconds and he was sure he would start doling out well-deserved threats.

           “You made my sister cry,” Tommy informed him as if he didn’t already know.

           The man narrowed his eyes. “I did? Me? I’m the one who made her cry? You sure ‘bout that, mate?” He hissed.

           It was infuriating that nothing he could ever do would disturb the Brummie. He simply raised an eyebrow and watched the end of his cigarette slowly burn away. “What can I do to make you change your mind about my proposition?”

           “Proposition.” Alfie laughed bitterly and toyed with a pen to keep his hands busy. “Tommy, you’ve been ‘round the block before. Surely you must know that a woman doesn’t want to be offered up as a token for loyalty. So what you can do, right, is take back your words and leave me be on the matter. Sound good?” When he didn’t get an immediate answer, he switched subjects. “You’re here to talk business, meeting the Russians tonight. I must urge you to inquire about Faberge eggs. You can toss ‘bout diamonds and sapphires or whatever, yeah, but that’s the real prize, innit? With a couple of fine pieces and an egg, you’ll easily get your fill of forty grand.” What came across as helpful was simply Alfie setting up the opening stages of his own plan.

           Tommy nodded and looked interested in the possibility. “I can do that. They’re tricky but perhaps you’ll be able to persuade them a little further.”

           He crossed his arms over his chest and grunted in agreement. “Whatever I can do, mate.”

           But apparently, the Blinder wasn’t done with the previous issue. “So you have no intention of marrying my sister.”

           Alfie nearly blew a gasket. “You fucking Birmingham folk don’t ever let go of things, do ya?” He snapped.

           Calmly, Tommy tapped a bit of ash off his cigarette and cleared his throat. “It’s a simple question, Mr. Solomons.”

           “Don’t think it’s any of your business, mate. Never has and frankly, it never will.” He growled. “That’s my decision, innit?”

           “I’ll take that as a no then.”

           “Fuck off.”

           Tommy took one last drag before standing up. “Just trying to clarify, Alfie.” He buttoned his coat and flicked the cigarette into the ashtray on the desk that was really only used by him whenever he visited. “I’ve got other alliances I can make. You think our kin should stay with our kin. Since Ella isn’t Jewish and you’re so adamant about that, I s’pose it’s only fair to uphold our own roots. I’ve got inquiries from a family of Travelers.”

           Alfie’s hand slowly went to his waistband where his pistol was tucked away. Anger in his blood started to rise to a boiling point. His fingers curled around the pistol, ready to pull it out on the Blinder for what seemed like the hundredth time. It was a miracle Tommy wasn’t already riddled with bullets so late in their business relationship.

           “They’re worse than we are. You’d think we were the poshest folk you’ve ever seen if you met them.” Tommy continued to bait Alfie, taunt him and get him to the point of no return. Get him to realize that Ella wasn’t to be toyed with and her brother wouldn’t tolerate this game Alfie was playing with her. “Savages, really. But they’re effective, aye? An alliance with them would give me enough power to start taking more areas. Maybe areas a little closer to Camden.”

           “Tommy, I swear to whatever fucking pagan being you believe in, I’m going to blow your brains all over this fucking office.” Alfie’s face was starting to go red with rage and he was ready to pull out his pistol. Of course, he knew the man was just trying to rile him up. Manipulate him into doing his bidding. Ride or die, that’s how they both operated. But Alfie also knew that Tommy was ruthless enough to go through with what he was threatening. He’d made an alliance with the Lees by marrying John off. He very well could do the same to Ella. And Alfie would lose her for good. It made his heart compress painfully at the thought.

           Tommy put a hand in his pocket and retrieved something. He approached Alfie’s desk and dropped the small item. “That was the ring my father gave my mother.” He explained in a steady voice, fully aware that Alfie was armed and angry enough to do exactly what he threatened. “I’ll leave it with you for a week. After that week, if you haven’t made your decision, I’ll return and I’ll take it back. Rest assured, Mr. Solomons, after that, the ring will go to someone else who won’t wait.”

           Alfie’s jaw clenched. “I can’t fucking wait to spit on your grave.” He snarled viciously.

           “Neither can I, Alfie,” Tommy responded without skipping a beat and took his leave.

           Alfie loosened his grip on his gun and heaved out an exasperated sigh. He eyed the ring sitting on the desk near the ashtray where Tommy’s still smoking cigarette sat. For a moment, he didn’t even want to touch the thing, convinced it had some gypsy curse on it. But curiosity got the better of him and he picked up the piece of jewelry. It was a simple gold ring that needed a good polishing. Mounted was a round cut topaz stone that was small enough for him to scoff at. No wife of his would wear something so modest.

           But that wasn’t why Tommy gave it to him. It was the sentiment behind the gem that would mean more to Ella.

           Alfie turned the ring around in his fingers for a little bit, his mind racing. What would he do if he learned Ella had been pawned off to some gypsy clan? God was truly testing him. The only woman he ever loved just happened to be the sister of the most infuriating man to ever grace the planet. Just his luck.

           He grumbled a few obscenities under his breath and tucked the ring into his pocket.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           It was always a strange phenomenon seeing the Shelby Company at work. Socialites mixing with folk who grew up in the slums. Some could say it was possible to move up in the world. To step into another social class and fit right in. Some disagreed. Just because you put on a nice outfit and some gold didn’t make you anything different. You were still the person you were born as just dressed to the nines.

           But Ella thought her brother looked like he fit right in. As he stood in front of the group gathered for the opening of Grace’s foundation, he didn’t look out of place. Even with a Brummie accent, he spoke with the esteem of a businessman. Because that’s what he was. It didn’t matter what he did to make his company rise from the dirt, he conducted business. They all did, to a certain extent. And if Tommy’s predictions were sound, they’d be a legitimate company. Still, the suspicion and fear would linger, there was no denying that. Whispers would continue to float around about how the Shelbys grasped the reins of power.

           After he spoke in front of the gathered crowd, Tommy slipped out of the room. Ella stood and excused herself to Ada who was sitting beside her. She followed her brother out into the hall.

           He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and eyes fixed on the photograph of his wife. Grace’s serene expression surrounded by wreaths and garlands of flowers. Some of her favorites when she was still alive.

           Ella went to stand beside her brother, touching his shoulder to alert him of her presence. “Doing alright?” She could imagine it was an emotional day for him. He would see the production of his wife’s dream without her there beside him. On top of the added stress of everything else going on.

           He nodded solemnly, his eyes never moving from Grace.

           “Mum’s ring is missing.” There wasn’t concern or anxiety. Ella had a sneaking suspicion of where it had gone. Only her siblings and Polly knew that she kept the family heirloom in her jewelry box. “I couldn’t find it when I was putting on my earrings this morning.”

           “I know,” Tommy answered. “I took it.”

           She glanced over at him, hoping for more of an explanation than he offered. But she wouldn’t get the chance to ask any follow-up questions.

           “The absence of my invitation for this event was obviously an oversight on your part, Mr. Shelby.” The thick Irish accent was unfamiliar to Ella, but Tommy appeared to be well acquainted with it. His jaw immediately clenched as he turned around.

           Ella did the same and saw the priest standing in the hallway. Something about the man gave her a sinking feeling in her gut. Based on Tommy’s reaction, she could assume this was the man that they planned to kill. A man of the cloth.

           “Ah, Miss Shelby, I don’t believe we’ve met.” Father Hughes smiled with malice in his eyes.

           Tommy subtly placed himself in front of his sister, taking a step forward to place her behind his shoulder.

           “The woman who fell in love with the Jew.”

           Ella was unsure how this man had managed to stay alive so long. He’d pissed off the wrong people too many times. People like him didn’t last long when it came to the Peaky Blinders. But she had a feeling there was a reason Tommy was waiting. All it took was the right moment. And certainly in the middle of a social event opening an orphanage in broad daylight was not the right moment.

           But what really sent a chill down her spine was how he seemed to know everything. Things that the average passerby didn’t. He knew about Alfie.

           “Go to the reception, El,” Tommy said quietly.

           “Tom…” She was uneasy about leaving him alone with the priest.

           “I’ll be right there, go.” Her brother replied firmly.

           Reluctantly, Ella nodded and made her way down the hall to find her family. As she passed, Hughes gave her a sickeningly smug smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Ella couldn’t shake the bad feeling she got from Father Hughes. She stayed close to her family to feel safe, bouncing back and forth when the conversation bored her.

           Ada sighed and tried to soothe Charlie who was fussing loudly. She rocked him back and forth. “He doesn’t want to play with Karl after he took his train.” She shook her head.          

           Ella smiled. “So much like Tommy. Never satisfied when things don’t go his way.” She agreed and tried to hush her nephew to no avail.

           “I know, love, you want dad? Here we go, let’s find him.” Ada decided and headed over to her brother to pass Charlie off.

           Ella lingered by the table with pastries and finger sandwiches but she didn’t have much of an appetite. Her mind was like a switch, flipping from one worry to another. Why did Tommy take their mother’s ring from her jewelry box? What had he talked to the priest about?

           When Ada returned, the sister’s chatted about nonsense. Ella tried to get her mind off her anxiety and hoped she was simply overreacting. But the bad feeling turned into something all too real.

           Tommy walked over to them. “Where’s Charles?” He asked with a confused look.

           Ada frowned. “I gave him to you.”

           “Where is he?” Tommy demanded again.

           “He was just here.” Ella felt immediate panic spark in her chest, rising to her throat. “Where could he have gone?”

           Tommy rushed over from family member to family member asking the same question. And within seconds, madness ensued. The Blinders were scattered about, searching the building and running outside to find the missing boy. Ella felt dizzy as she ran through the halls of the new building, trying every door, which was firmly locked.

           “Charlie?!” She shouted, her voice following her through the vast hallways.

           “El!” Ada’s heels clicked across the smooth floor. “They’ve taken him, they took him into a car.”

           “No, they…he was right there!” Ella was shaking with fear. The threat was so close, maybe none of them even realized. The entire time, they had enemies breathing down the back of their neck. If they could simply snatch a toddler in a crowded room with his father right there, then there was no telling what else they could or would do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

           The rain sounded like pebbles against the window. It was mildly soothing but the night was heightened by anticipation and fear. Polly gently stroked Ella’s hair as they waited in the betting shop.

           Tommy entered like a storm. Dripping from the rain and with a silent fury that filled the room. “Where’s Linda?” He demanded.

           “With Esme.”

           “Esme’s water broke.” John entered from the back door still wearing his coat and hat.

           “I need to know who spoke.” Tommy’s eyes passed from each of his family members in the room. “Our enemies know everything. Everything. I need to know who spoke about business outside.” His voice became more insistent and his steely expression turned paranoid. “I need to know who spoke and who they spoke to, now.”

           Arthur tried to step in but Tommy was already too far gone. The man looked from person to person, his face still stained by the rain.

           “Your wife, Arthur? Or Esme getting cash for cocaine. And you two.” Tommy turned to his sisters. “Back in the family, aye? Out of the blue.”

           Ella’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’d let something like this happen?” She challenged.

           “If anyone has talked about the tunnel to anyone else, I need to know this second!” Tommy snapped.

           She stood and gave him a disappointed glare. “I’m not going to sit around and let you speak to me like this. Not after everything you’ve done to this family.” She could sympathize with her brother. He lost his only son, the only thing of Grace he had left. But somewhere along the line, he’d found himself in that position because of his own choices. Ella left the betting shop and retreated upstairs to her room.

           Tommy looked to the doorway where she disappeared. There was someone else. Someone else who knew. Not only that, it was someone who held that damn egg.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Ella spent the night in her room, curled up in bed under the quilts. The rain continued until the morning, leaving a fog over Birmingham. The first thought upon seeing the daylight filtering in through the lace windows was about her nephew’s safety. There wasn’t much more she could do other than pray he was okay.

           It was hardly seven in the morning when there was a brief knock at the door and the knob turning.

           “El, get up.” Tommy entered a second later.

           “I’m still sleeping.” She said even though she was staring at the opposite wall while lying on her side.

           “It wasn’t a request. I need you in the car, now.” He looked disheveled, most likely he didn’t sleep at all that night.

           “I’m not doing any of your dirty work, Tom. Not after the way you spoke to everyone last night.” She made no effort to get up.

           “Ella, fucking get up and be downstairs in two minutes.” He ordered in the voice she used to fear. The voice that used to let her know that she was in trouble. Maybe for telling fortunes at school, biting John’s arm, or hiding from him when they were called inside for dinner at dusk. He had been an authority figure in her life ever since she could remember. But she’d gotten sick of it. Fed up with his complex.

           She sighed heavily and sat up. “I’m only doing this because of Charlie, not because of the way you’re acting now.” She made sure that was clear before he left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Tommy parked outside of a large warehouse that Ella was unfamiliar with. She was sat in the backseat while Michael sat in the passenger seat. Neither of them cared to explain what they were doing there.

           “Wait here,” Tommy ordered firmly and stepped out of the car.

           Ella let out a frustrated sigh. “So he’s just brought us along to make us wait outside?” She lamented to her cousin.

           Michael shrugged and made himself busy by loading his pistol with bullets. “He has a plan.”

           “Yeah, always seems to have some sort of plan.” Ella decided she wasn’t going to just sit in the car and went to step out.

           Michael turned around in the front seat. “He doesn’t want us to…”

           “I’ll be fine.” She cut him off and shut the door behind her. Tucking her pistol in her holster tucked under her fur-lined coat, she made her way into the warehouse.

           Her entrance caused a pause in the conversation. But she was the most surprised when she saw Alfie standing a little bit away from her brother. His blue eyes watched her with a hint of apprehension, unsure what her reaction would be to him.

           Tommy was the first to speak. “Ella, I told you to wait in the car-”

           She didn’t listen and began walking straight for Alfie. The man beside the Jewish gangster tensed up a bit at her fast approach. But Alfie waved him off and let her step right into his space.

           Without a word, she reached into his heavy, black overcoat. Searching his inside pockets until she found what she was looking for. Her mother’s ring.

           Alfie almost looked guilty. Guilty for having it. Guilty for keeping it, instead of giving it back to Tommy. Guilty for holding onto the physical hope that he could still have Ella.

           She held it up to his face. Her lower lip trembled but her eyes didn’t dare move from his. “Why’d he give this to you?” Her voice shook. Everything continued to pack on, putting more and more weight on her shoulders and making her more and more confused. The push and pull was agonizing and she was going to end it.          

           “Ella,” Tommy spoke firmly, trying to get her away from Alfie.

           “Answer me.” She ignored her brother unaware that he had drawn his gun.

           Alfie noticed the pistol. “Go back to the car.” He spoke gently but wanted to get her out of the way.

           “Why did he give this to you?” Ella shouted. Her words echoed through the large warehouse and caused a few birds to spook off their perches.

           The space went silent for a moment, and then Tommy cocked his gun. The metallic clicking sound was too familiar to Ella. Initially, it used to mark the thrill of the hunt. Getting ready to claim a prize after tracking it patiently through the woods. Now it meant death. Retaliation. Fear. Power.

           Ella turned around but didn’t move out of the way. Standing in front of Alfie, she glared at her brother. “Tell me.”

           “Ella, move.” Tommy’s hand didn’t lower but she noticed it was shaking ever so slightly.

           “Why did you give this to him?” She repeated herself.

           “It was a mistake. You can take it back.” Tommy looked past her, over her shoulder at the gangster. “It’s not his to give anymore.”

           “Why?”

           “He left the richest name off the list.” Her brother answered, his eyes were cold.

           “What are you…”

           Tommy’s anger was palpable as he continued to point the gun forward. “He made a deal with the Oddfellows. Told them about the tunnel, told them about the deal with the Soviets.”

           Ella froze for what felt like hours. She didn’t want to turn around and face the man she loved. The man who had held her heart in his hands while he went behind her back. “No…” The word came out long and sounded foreign to even herself. Finally, she faced Alfie again. “You did this?”

           The man was facing two worlds colliding together. Two different faces of his self. The brash, unapologetic, ruthless gangster and the man who found the one person on the planet who saw his vulnerable side. “Things you don’t understand…”

           “Tell me what I don’t understand!” Ella snapped. She was beyond the point of acting patient and listening to the men in her life speak. It was her turn. She’d waited long enough. “Everyone ‘round here thinks I don’t fucking understand anything. So, please, fucking enlighten me. Tell me what I don’t understand!”

           “I told you he couldn’t be trusted,” Tommy spoke up.

           Ella just laughed sarcastically. “And yet you were willing to marry me off to him.” She snarled and pointed at Alfie. “You proud? Proud of what you’ve done? The damage you’ve caused. They’ve got my nephew and we don’t know if he’s even still alive!”

           Alfie couldn’t keep a neutral face. He had no idea about Charlie, no idea what the Oddfellows were up to. But in his anger and humiliation for being lied to, he chose to make a deal.

           Ella closed her fingers around her mother’s ring and walked towards her brother. “Nothing but a pawn to you lot. Isn’t that right, pral?” She gave Tommy a scathing look. “Are we all just pawns? Charlie too? Moving your little pieces ‘cross the board while you stay safe, protected by your soldiers?” She yelled. “Are you both proud? Proud of what you have? Guess what. In the end, when we’ve all died ‘cause of you, you can be comforted by your money. All ‘lone in an empty house, satisfied that you won. Never caring about the people who loved you!”            

           “I didn’t know about Charlie,” Alfie replied honestly. “But if your brother wants to fucking kill me now then let him do it. Step aside and let him. But don’t you fucking dare tell me that I never loved you. Were ready to give you that ring because Tommy were threatening to pass you off to someone else. And I’ll be damned if I let him use you.”

           “If you loved me you never would’ve gone against my family!” Ella matched his volume and clenched her hands into fists. The topaz gem on the ring digging into her palm as her knuckles whitened. “You wouldn’t have put an innocent little boy in danger!”

           “Then step aside, let him shoot me!” Alfie stepped towards her, his cane slamming down onto the concrete. “That’d solve your problems, love. Once ol’ Alfie Solomons is dead and gone, you won’t have any more fucking issues. You can go off with your family and forget ‘bout me. Let me pay for me fucking sins, step aside.”

           Everything inside of Ella became so wound up the more he spoke. Her entire body trembled from all the immense pressure pressing down on her heart. “That’d solve your problems.”

           “I never stopped loving you!” Alfie barked over her voice. “Not once, even when I made this deal. And I fucking hated myself ‘cause of it. The world ain’t built for us, love, no matter what.” He pointed his cane at Tommy. “He’s always going to want to do away with me, won’t he? Even if we were married, he’d want me gone. So better off he does it now.”

           Tommy lowered his gun. “Stand down, Alfie.” He muttered and tucked his gun away. “Michael,”

           Ella hadn’t noticed their cousin had run into the warehouse once he heard all the shouting.

           “Go and tell Moss, it’s Palmer.” The Blinder instructed. “Ella, get back in the car.”

           She took one more look at Alfie. Her body ached from the emotional toll he’d caused her. Despite it all, she still yearned for the past days when things had been so simple between them. When they were in love and it didn’t cause such a fuss. Now she felt like she’d been stretched so thin.

           “I’m sorry.” He mumbled quietly so Tommy wouldn’t hear. “I wish it could work. But I’m being realistic, love. You’re better off without me.”

           He pushed her away with his words. Most likely it was his intention all along whether he realized it or not. With him, Ella would know nothing but friction. She wouldn’t know peace. And as much pain, as it caused him, he would rather see her walk away than suffer beside him. It didn’t matter how in love they were. What mattered was how the odds were stacked against them from the very beginning.

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[kantuck]

'None of us are free, if one of us are chained.'

'None of us are free, if one of us are chained.' By Kantuck Nadie Nata-akon Sunday, 11/20/18-s.09 --

The world? The world is not interested in us. Today, everything is possible, even the crematoria... Elie Wiesel, Night

The march was long, and tiring, but finally into a clearing we started seeing, or rather we started /smelling/. How can I describe the intense /stink/ of decay and rot. It was August 2113, and it was hot; 35c hot. Only the micro refrigeration units in our suits kept us cool enough to walk the eight kilometers. But gods it was like a foul cloud that slammed into us. It was all we could do to walk to where it was, and to stand outside the barbed wire. In a massive heap, was hundreds of bodies, rotting there in the sun. Vultures were still fighting over the scraps, with ditches full of putrid liquid just standing there like a fowl swamp.

Our leader "Sargent bull" the toughest and most loyal to his troops Sargent leaned against a tree, nearly passing out. What could I do? A private in this rag-tag Dirty Dozen? I checked the safely on my rail gun, flicked it on with a whine of power building up, and took point. We'd been told this camp was crawling with traps but it looked deserted. Lord knows, the company had spent a great deal of money camouflaging this entire area. But thanks to a 10-year-old martian boy who found the flaw that all the grownups overlooked. The power needed to holo-camouflage such large areas release a /lot of energy/ which is easily detectable from space. Guess he shouldn't have put that on the hypernet, since they found his body on Lucus Planum a week later; a bolt though his head. Once Bull recovered, he set off two robots, to scan the perimeter for to check for anything nasty -- other than the mass of decay. Guess we came into the wrong area, that must be the grave site.

Around us, aside from the piles of bodies was barbed and razor wire, on tall poles. A steady 'click' told us it was electrified. So couldn't get through there yet. There were rows and rows of wooden barracks. Neatly lined one after another. I saw a tall smokestack, build with bricks, and white smoke was pouring from it. I knew they had to be burning something but what? It was too hot to burn for heat, can't be documents. Then I started to notice that it was snowing...a revulsion ran though me, as that wasn't snow, but ash. I could tell it was from the smokestack, and it hit me finally what was burning...

Then there was movement.

Uplifts; hundreds of them slowly staggering out of the barracks. But they didn't look right. Some de-furred, some living skeletons. Infections pitting their bodies and some were coughing. Tails held down, with sunken eyes on tipped down muzzles. Deer like Cervinoids, Caniniods, from the loyal dogs, the giant equine Equinoids, all 3 species of the sims, even the feline Jaguarines and the wolf Lupiods. They gathered at the fence, not touching it but close enough telling us they want to meet us. Finally, Bull gave us the signal, that we could advance, "Go on, you grunts. Help 'em out. We gotta job to do. Move it, move it!" he barked.

Even after we opened the gate the uplifts just looked at us like it was another day. No one advanced to us or tried to leave. Those living skeletons just stared. I guess we were nose blind for many was covered in shit, and piss and yet we didn't smell 'em. But we could see and hear. Some of them were starting to assemble around us. Just staring. Finally, one Jaguarine shuffled up to me and asked, "what are you doing here?"He tilted his head, sniffing at me."Your not the guards."

I pointed to an insignia. A blue moon "We're here to get you out."

He growled at me, showing dangerous teeth and I leveled my rail at him amiss the sound of dozens of other rail guns powering up. "Back off," I said firmly.

He did, still growling but turning away. He wasn't in any mood for a fight. Finally a caniniod walked up and put his dirty paw on me as he asked "Leave?" with a tail started to wag cautiously, "We're going away?"

I dropped my gun down, knowing caniniods." Yeah, we're getting you out of here. This insanity is over."

"Leave?" he asked again. His ears perked up a bit, a tilt of the head.

He obviously couldn't believe, he was going away.

"Leaving"? He whined softly. Then he came up closer and put his arms around me. "Take me away?" his whines grew stronger.

I felt him shiver and shake. I couldn't help but to hug him lightly. "It's ok. We're going away. We're taking everyone home."

For 20 minutes we had to assure each one, that was going to happen. The sarge ordered in the trucks in and after an hour they started climbing on the trucks. Nurses, vets, all started helping the worse cases. I helped carry out dozens. One Chim reached up with his paw and wiped away the tears of regret and shame. When I looked down at him, I saw him mutter "thank you." Slowly they started to understand what I told the caniniod. "It was over."

I kept thinking "They're not human. Why are we here, risking our lives for them?" But when I looked into their eyes. The caniniod especially after all he endured he /still came up to a human, wanting nothing more than comfort./ I could see it. I knew it.

I remember something I read as a child, "The only reason for this treatment was that they were Jews." Yes, they weren't human. They were something we created, gave life too, /but by god they were   people/ and don't we fight for that?

In the days and months, The civil war continued. For the uplifts, all could be done was liberating them from camps, personal and familial slavery. But the war of emancipation had just started.

The end

[4blood-orange]

Elias, my AI Dungeon run with my dad (so far)

The Ballad of Elias

You are Elias Birnbaum, a Warrior Jew, a Veteran of France. It is year 1111. You are somewhere in Eastern Europe. You are trying to get safely back home to your village "Lingnon" in the south of France. You awake at dawn in a cave. You are supprised that you are in a cave. You don't remember how or why you slept in the cave. You have no idea where you are and what time it is. The cave has a small opening which leads into another one. you stand up, put your sword belt on, and walk towards the small opening leading to another cave which is glowing. The light coming from this cave is brighter than the sun shining directly on you! you look inside the second cave with your special telescope and see, on the floor of the cave, a chest with yellow light pouring out from the seams.

You go back and forth for hours about whether or not you should go into the second cave.

The second cave is tempting, but going there may put you in danger. It may be a trap. You draw you whip and proceed into the cave.

You wake up outside the cave, hanging upside down from a branch by your ankle. Your skin is burnt and you are missing some fingernails.

The cave has been abandoned for years. you draw your sword and cut yourself free. you grab your healing balm and apply it to your wounds.

You walk around the cave taking note of the traps that have been laid out in this cave system. You see a large pitfall and several hanging webs. you turn around and leave the cave with your new knowledge about traps.

You see some footprints in the sand which lead up to a tree. You climb the tree and swing into a thick branch.

You jump down from the branch and walk towards a large opening. You walk into the opening and see, sitting in the corner, a young woman who seems to be crying. She says to you

"Hello, my name is Talia. What's yours?"

You say "My name is Elias, how can I help you?"

"Can you get me out of here?" she asks. You look at her and see that she is stuck in a cage which is hanging from a dead cave tree by a small piece of rope. you grab your sword and cut the rope holding the cage, and you carry her to safety.

You sit Talia down on a nearby rock and examine the cage. It's made of 3 wooden planks bolted together.

"Can you fix this?" she asks. say "no, let's get out of here" and start walking away.

Talia runs up to you, upset and angry.

"How can you just leave me here to die! I can't move from this spot!" she cries. you ask Talia if she's bound to the cave by a spell. Talia says no, that she fell in a forest outside of her village when she was little and got caught in the cave.

"It's been years, but I know the way out, follow me" you follow Talia as she guides you along the way out of the cave. You eventually see a small opening in the ground and you all walk out of the cave.

Talia asks "What's your plan now Elias?

> You say "I'm going to bring you with me on my quest to Lingnon, my home village, in the south of France. You will be treated as family there." Talia is overjoyed by this answer. You hug her and say "Thank you for rescuing me"

> You give her your spare dagger, and the two of you head west across the holy roman empire. Talia and you make it to the village of Selig. There are shops and taverns and board here. you walk into a cabinet shop and say to the owner "i am a very talented carpenter, do you have any work?" The owner says "No, but we can fix that" and pulls you into the backroom. He punches you in the face 3 times and breaks your jaw. Talia bursts into the backroom and knocks the shop owner out with one punch. You look at her lovingly. You both head to the tavern and drink for a few hours. You ask the barman "Is it true what they say about you?" "What's that?" he asks.

> You say "I hear you have a map of secret paths to France. I am on a quest to Lingnon in the south of France." "I do" You pay the bar a few gold coins and take the map from him. You study the map with Talia and notice that there is a shortcut that will save a lot of time getting to France, but it involves great danger. You show the map to Talia and she is impressed by the route. You both head to the tavern and drink for a few more hours. You purchase two horses in the morning and head out on the dangerous path to France. You know that the Count of Paris is hiring people for a dangerous mission in France. You need to get to the meeting before anyone else does. You ride for 3 days until you get to the gates of Paris. You discuss with Talia and decide against taking the Count of Paris' dangerous mission. You head into Paris looking for replenishment before the final and most dangerous leg of your journey. You enter the foreigner's shop and peruse the coffee beans. You are approached by an attractive, but intimidating man. He has a swarthy appearance, wears a cloak and a conical hat and smells of goats. He asks "Are you looking for work?"

> You say "I am a skilled carpenter and magician. What kind of work do you have in mind?" "I am looking for two people" he says mysteriously.

> You say "I have a party of two. But the job must be brief as we are on our own quest to another place." "The Count of Paris has a mission for you." You look at Talia and she looks at you. They say nothing more and lead you to a coach. You ask the attractive, but intimidating man what his name is. "Monsieur Jakob. I am the coach driver for Count Renaud of Paris."

You ask him what the pay is for this mission. "One thousand gold coins" he says. You look at Talia and she looks at you. You know that the money is good, but the job is dangerous. You ask Monsieur Jakob what the dangerous nature of the job is. "The Count's son is in prison. You will have to break him out." You think about this dangerous task. Talia is nervous. You ask Jakob where the prison is and what room The Count's son is in. "It's just down the street. The first floor room on the right." "Thank you, I can count on a thousand gold coins, correct?" "Yes, that will be fine." You and Talia get into the coach. On the coach ride, you ask Jakob for half up front and the rest when the job is done. "No. The Count will pay you when the job is done."

> You nod. "OK, when do we leave?" you say. "Right away. I have two horses ready to go." You nod and get in the coach with Talia. You sit next to her. you ask Jakob why the Count's son is in prison. "It is a long story. You need to free the boy." "How long has he been in there?" you ask. "Two years." you say that this mission will be easy because you are a magician and you will have your friend Talia to help you. You reassure Talia, who nods, then smiles, but is still clearly nervous. you tell her "Don't worry baby" and kiss her. She puts her arms around you. You get a knock on the door, and the driver says "Let's go." You, Talia, and Jakob walk up to the entrance of the prison. It is in the basement of a Charts Cathedral. You ask "Where are the cells?" "The cells are down another hallway, second on the right." you walk down the hallway and begin peaking into the cells. You find the boy in the first cell on the right. The cell smells like piss and rotten eggs. The boy looks terrible, like he has not eaten or had a bath in months. You try to talk to him, but he is too far gone. You attempt to open the cell door, but it is locked. You run back to the group and tell the others "I can't open the cell door." Jakob looks exasperated and says "We need to find another way in." Talia says "I've got an idea." She takes out her dagger and inserts it in the lock to pick it. The rest of you watch in awe. She pulls out the dagger and the door opens. You and Talia walk in the room, kneel down and try to talk to the boy. He is sleeping. You shake him and ask "Can you hear me?" The boy does not wake up. You notice that his lips are blue. You put your finger to his lips and try to wake him up. You put your healing balm on the boys heart, attempting to resuscitate him. The boy opens his eyes and looks at you. He is terrified, but you say "It's ok, it's ok." You ask him his name. The boy tells you it is "Alexander". you pick him and carry him out of the prison. You walk up the stairs and put him in Talia's waiting arms. Talia asks you what you are going to do with him. You reply "Take him back to his home, of course." You bring Alexander back to the coach and get in with the party. Jakob thanks you, saying he owes you a life. You nod in agreement and ask Jakob if he can pay you. Jakob looks shocked and asks you how much.

You say "The boy is an escaped prisoner, he cannot stay in this town. Give the boy to us and we will see him safely to the south of France in the town of Lingnon. We do also require the 1000 gold promised to us from before the mission began." Jakob immediately hands over the gold and says "Thank you, thank you. Go then, and good luck with the remaining missions." You reply "Thank you" You, Talia, and Alexander exit France heading south towards Lingnon. You enter the village of Lingnon. The children of the village come out to greet you, yelling "King Elias! Welcome back! Did you bring us presents?" You look at Alexander and laugh. "You're not a king, you're a prince." He says jokingly.

You begin handing out one gold coin to each child who greeted you.

You say to the children "Bring this home for your families. It will help keep them from starving." The children run off to tell their parents.

You, Talia and Alexander enter the tavern in the center of the village. You see your friend Daniel who nods in your direction. Daniel says "boy do i have a story to tell you!" You reply "And I to you"

Epilogue:

You, Talia, Alexander and Daniel head to the back room of the Tavern. There are five more men there, all ex-soldiers. You greet them all.

The first man says "I was a soldier for the King. I fought in the Hundred Year War." The second man says "I was a soldier for the Count. I fought in the Hundred Year War." The third man says "I was a soldier for the Pope. I fought in the Hundred Year War." The fourth man says "I was a soldier for the Empire. I fought in the Hundred Year War." The fifth man says "I was a soldier for no one. I took part in the War of the Flags." He points to his eyes "These here were burned during the war."

> You say "Men, you have been greatly brave and courageous. But after my journey, i have a new way of living in these lands. " You continue "These men must no longer worry about fighting in wars, or from what country they will come to attack them. The King should make a law that would prevent this." The men all agree and nod. you give each solider a gold coin and say, as you leave, "there is a new paradigm coming, a new paradigm of peace" You exit the tavern and head home with Daniel.

You and Daniel head to a secret room after a hospitable dinner.

You have a smoke and relax. "Tomorrow, we will begin our preparations for the reveal." You say to Daniel.

Soon you fall asleep as well. you dream: a strange dream of a man standing over you. You feel like this is your real destiny. The man in the dream leans down and whispers in your ear "You have been given a great power. You must use it wisely." Another character (B) comes out of the fog and wakes you up. You have been asleep for two hours. "It's time to wake up." He says. You and Daniel get up. You head to the secret room. The room is all black with candles on each of the 4 walls. There are 2 regal looking chairs in the middle of the room either side of a small table which has a mosaic pattern inlaid into the table. You and Daniel take a seat. A small man enters the room dressed in a black robe with a silver star on the front. The man takes out a teapot from under his robe and fills two cups for you and Daniel. He hands you a box with green tea. He bows, lingers on your eyes for a moment, then leaves the room. "That was Father Tylir. He is our tea supplier." Says Daniel. "He's also our go between with the king and church. You say "Daniel, there's something of the utmost importance that i must tell you and show you" Daniel's eyes widen. You continue "Father Tylir brought us this box of green tea. Now we will see the importance" You show Daniel the box. Daniel says "i have something to show you too Elias. Something I've been puzzling over since you left this village." Daniel takes out a black velvet bag with something inside. As he puts it on the table you can hear the weight of it. Your eyes open in wonder at the sight of the bag. You slowly and deliberately reach into your satchel and pull a black velvet back out as well. You place it on the table. As you put it on the table you can hear the weight of it. Daniel is taken aback. Daniel says "could it be? what i have been puzzling over all this time. Could it be that you had the missing piece?" Daniel says "Elias, A few days after you left there was a streak of light shone across the sky that only I saw. I followed where it seemed the light had landed. I found my way to it through the woods. As I approached it it continued to emanate a strange light. I reached my hand out to feel it, and it was not hot at all. My hand was drawn towards the center and I found the metallic puzzle piece that is in this black velvet bag." Elias replies "Daniel, a few days after I left there was a fissure that opened up in the road that swallowed my horse and I in an instant. We fell and fell for what seemed like hours. We landed in a field of poppies. The sun shone down from the fissure above. The sun formed a shaft of light upon a fresh mound of dirt in the poppy field. I reached into the mound and found a black velvet bag with a metallic puzzle piece. As soon as it was in my hand the poppies grew hundreds of feet tall. I had to leave my horse behind to scale the giant poppy's stalks." you ask daniel to give you his puzzle piece to put together. Daniel says "its simple Elias. You have it." You ask "who is the king of England?" Daniel answers "King Henry 111" you look in your hand and see that both pieces are already in your hands. You put them together and they transform into a telescope. you do an arcana check on the telescope to discover its magical powers, which are: The Telescope can reveal the future and the past. You look through the telescope to see what is beyond its lens. You can see into the past. You see your mysterious friend, Talia, in a large stone room with others. They appear to be holding her down on a red stone altar. We see Talia hypnotizing her captors to not sacrifice her. They then, confused, put her in the cage we found her in. The past disappears.

> You turn to Daniel and say "Go find Talia, we need to talk to her about what I've seen in this telescope that can see the future and past." Daniel says "very well." and leaves. You are alone. You drink some ale to relax. Before you know it, it is noon. You go wake up the sleepy Alexander to help you search for Daniel and Talia.

You pick up the bag sitting on the floor and put its contents into your satchel.You say to Alexander "Wake up, Alexander, we need to find Daniel and Talia"

> You as you shake Alexander awake, a spell tome falls from his arms to the floor. He sleepily picks it up. When he notices you staring at the tome, he hides it in his sheets. He says "good morning, Elias" You say "you know, I think one of these days I'm going to have to punish you." Alexander says "the feeling is not mutual Elias, but if you must, make my bed"

> You ask Alexander "I didn't know you studied any spells, how could you have kept a spell tome in prison? What does the spell tome do?" Alexander says "good question, Elias, I don't know, but you can see it for yourself" You look at the cover. It is entitled "True Name Polymorph Other."

> You stare at the cover, for some reason you think of Talia. You grab Alexander and head back to find Daniel and Talia. You quickly leave the tavern. You look around and then follow your nose to some sewer cover where you find Daniel and Talia having a conversation through the cover of a large garbage dumpster. You open the cover and yell "Hey guys, where the hell have you been! Daniel, I sent you out this morning to find Talia, It's noon!" Daniel looks at the dumpster and says "oh, you're here, good, we were just finishing up". You say to the party (Alexander, Daniel, Talia) "We will need to take up arms, the four of us. There's a force that has followed us from the capital. I believe they are hunting you down, Alexander. Alexander, what did you do to land yourself in prison? Why are King Of France's forces pursuing us?" Daniel and Talia get off the dumpster. Alexander tells us how he ended up in prison "in our haste to escape the capital, I believe I took the blame for something I didn't do. It sucks, but sadly prison is quite common among my class in Arxad.

> You say "What is the crime they falsely accused you of, alexander?" Alexander says "I was accused of using sorcery against the king. But I was just practicing my Poly-morph spell, I didn't cause any harm to anyone! I swear!"

Talia says "There's something I haven't told you...I'm a good friend of the king's. I mean, sort of." You interrupt her. "But if the king's your friend, then why the hell are his forces hunting us all down?! Talia says "he wanted more from me than I was willing to give him. He wasn't used to people telling him no." Talia "His ardor for me turned into a malignant thing. He turned to a madman in pursuit of me." She turns her forearm to reveal the mark of the King's magician's court. She is tracked the same as Alexander.

Talia laughs bitterly. You say to the party "Daniel and I have been apart a long time, but now that we have met again, we have discovered that we have a mutually connect object. This has given us a new magical tool." You hold up the telescope to the party. "This can see the past and the future." You hand the telescope to Talia. As she gazes at it, it begins to vibrate and change shape." The telescope begins to glow. In Talia's hands, it turns into a crystal brush. Talia is amazed and says "The object is reacting to and amplifying my powers." You say to the Talia "I saw your past in the telescope, why didn't you tell me you knew hypnosis?"

Talia says "I'm sorry, it didn't come up. What did you see?" Elias says "I saw your past, hypnotizing the men at the alter to avoid being sacrificed. Now the tool is in your hands, and the enemies approach. What will you do with this new power" You turn to Daniel and Alexander. "The two of you seem like the cautious type. What do you think about this new discovery?" Daniel says "I'm no magician, so I can't say".

[kuriquinn]

may piss off some people here, but that’s not the intention

Warning: talk of racism/white privilege, discrimination, current issues, etc, so if you don’t feel like reading or want to filter it out, feel free to skip

May be wading into dangerous waters here, but everyone is entitled to their opinion, right? And I really dislike people using the wrong terms as a means of bolstering their arguments or stirring up trouble... (I’m the type to chew out my students for misusing and making light of the the word “triggered”, accusing one another of “assaulting” one another or calling empowered teenaged girls “feminazis”)

So there have been a bunch of posts showing up on my dash lately (and I don’t know what’s with the sudden influx, but okay) suggesting white people are inherently racist even when they try not to be.

I take great issue with this premise, based mostly on the confusion of the idea of racism with the idea of white privilege. 

I don’t think anyone is inherently racist, whether you’re black, white, brown, etc.; especially as racism alludes to prejudice, discrimination or antagonism directed against someone of a different based on the belief that one’s own race is superior. An individual first has to understand the concept of race to be racist.

Now, a person can be raised to be racist based on their parents, community or society’s values/messages, but it really depends on all of those factors.

Yes, I am white. Yes, I grew up in a predominantly white neighborhood, but most of my friends from daycare to university etc came from every different culture, race and background imaginable. I didn’t even understand the idea of race existed until I was about three and asked one of the boy’s in my class why his skin was black and him, not knowing the answer, said “just because”.

And we went back to playing mega blocks.

Even then, the idea of race never entered into it. I accepted the explanation and just went on living my life. I felt no antagonism toward my friends of different skin colour, nor a belief that I was better because I happened to be white, have blond hair and blue eyes. I was more concerned with who was wearing the pink dress-up gown and how long it would before it was my turn to wear it.

When I asked my mother the question later that day, she didn’t give me any explanation having to do with race or people being better or worse, she explained about melanin and how it affects people who live closer to the equator/with more sun (but in words a three year old could understand, obviously) and that was the reason for the different skin colours.

Looking back on that conversation today, I find my mother’s response an interesting one, considering she was raised in an Irish-Catholic background in Newfoundland. Now, I’m fiercely proud of my Irish heritage, but I’m also the first one to admit that the Irish can be some of the most discriminatory sods on the planet. Yet instead of regurgitating back the explanations she had been taught by her parents back on the Rock, most of which offered some racist/religious/social darwinist explanation for why anyone who wasn’t white and catholic was going to hell, she gave me a factual, science based explanation that made sense and didn’t alter any type of world view. In my mind, the world was just more interesting now: people could be different colours, just like they could speak different languages and be good/bad at certain activites--cool.

Now, that thought right there? That’s not racism. It is an example of white privilege though.

See, I had the luxury of believing the world was a harmonious real-life example of the “It’s A Small World” ride at Disney, where every person gets along and is treated equal no matter what they look like/what god they worship/where they come from. My friend Daniel whom I had asked about his skin colour no doubt had a different outlook on the world, one which I definitely could not have understood then (and even today will never truly understand because I am not nor will I ever be a black male).

I continued playing with my diverse group of friends, learned to read using books that featured characters of every colour (admittedly, there weren’t as many back then, but they did exist) and watched tv shows/movies with casts that were becoming more and more diverse than anything my parents had ever seen growing up. Mine was the generation that grew up on Sesame Street, Barney and Friends, Magic School Bus, Reading Rainbow, Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers, Family Ties and the Cosbys. This was natural to me, and the idea of an all-white cast was strange to me even then.

Admittedly, some of the subject matter went over my head with regards to racial issues, but these shows were foundations of my childhood and eventually I started to understand: especially when shows like Fresh Prince of Bel-Air dealt with matters like racial profiling, interracial relationships, stereotypes, etc.

It wasn’t until I reached Grade 5 that I started to understand that things like discrimination really existed and weren’t going anywhere any time soon, whether it’s religious/cultural (my mother took me to see Anne Frank the play to start explaining the Holocaust to me) or the existence of the LGBT community.

Again, that’s my privilege showing. If I were a person of colour, or a discriminated religious minority, I would have already known about this, but I was sheltered as a kid even if I was precocious and wanted to learn about everything.

It’s in Grade 6 that I finally learned about racism and everything it touches. We studied American history, slavery, the civil rights movement, read newspaper articles and watched newcasts of events which were happening. I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea of racism because to me, on a fundamental level, it makes absolutely no sense. It’s idiotic. And yet, it shapes our history, our societal experiences, our access to jobs, education, the way people treat us. Some days I still can’t fathom that human beings are so small-minded that they let skin colour and different beliefs dictate how they will treat another person.

Part of my experiences learning about the persecution of people of colour, of Jews and members of the LGBT community led me to develop an interest in history to figure out where that sort of thing comes from. Even today I’m one of the first people to speak out against those who are ignorant to the struggles of the indigenous peoples in North America, defend the rights of Muslims to their beliefs (living in Quebec, there’s a controversy going on right now trying to limit how Muslims dress in public), be understanding of the cultural differences many of my Asian students face when they start living here... I get into arguments with my German/Austrian grandparents trying to explain to them why their views (which they learned living in Nazi occupied Europe) make absolutely no sense.

None of this makes me a saint, of course. Anyone who walks around pretending their shit don’t stink is an idiot. 

I accept that my whiteness gives me a certain privilege, that there are certain experiences I will never undergo because of that whiteness. Just as there are certain doors that are open to me which might not be open to someone of colour who the same qualifications, because we are part of a racist society whether we like it or not. But I have never in my life looked at someone, zeroed in on a particular fault, and decided, it’s caused by their blackness/asianness/nativeness/etc in the face of my whiteness.

To reduce a person’s predisposition to be racist to the colour of their skin is a racist action in and of itself. It’s important to know the difference between racism and privilege because while they are related, they are most definitely not the same thing.