#but i think it was like... his jewishness was really watered down and rarely actually regarded

[shoezuki]

writing my final essay on the Beat Generation rn and that whole literary movement in america. and my essay topic is basically me arguing that bob kaufman Fucks and was the best beat. because tbh he was

but this also like. contains a lot of my distaste for the beat movement and that this course has really made me more.... like. i dont really like the beat movement much? i mean the biggest aspect of it, of the idea of freedom and no responsibility or consequences is somethin i dont like. most the other shit, bout sexual freedom and movement and anticapitalist n antimaterialist notions are all good. but the beats are just so inherently American. the underlying idea of freedom is SO inherently american in terms of like... the idea of it. its so very 'i can do whatever i want, whenever i want, and i dont care if it hurts other people because i value my freedom over the consequences or responsibilities i would be expected to assume.' its this idea of freedom in terms of absolute individuality and its far too self absorbed for me.

but another Issue i take w it was like. the movement was heavily inspired by black culture, and all about defying social norms and rejecting conformity. but there was still a major issue with norms in the movement itself or at least in terms of how media perceived it. like yes it was about liberty and freedom but also all the most well known beat writers are white dudes. many of them like kerouac held views of women as inherently lesser still.

and like. in that regard most of the most known beats who are like. THE beat writers. were kinda hypocrites. like kerouac didnt think women could write and when he met one woman who was a good writers he saw her as an exception. and with burroughs he was like, from an extremely wealthy family and was given an 'allowance' his whole life and never had to work and so his rejection of capitalism and the job market feels flat in that he can say all that from a place of privilege.

i mentioned it to my professor when we'd talk bout it but honestly the most authentic beats who didnt seem hypocritical or make the movement feel hypocritical to me were those who were marginalized and didnt have a choice in rejecting society. like allen ginsberg was one the Big Beats as well and to me he is the most Beat out of the main three of him and burroughs and kerouac. cuz ginsberg was an openly gay man in a long term relationship, he was jewish and lived on the fringes of 'acceptable' american society as an outlier.

it especially goes for bob kaufman. he was always left out of the beat movement and ignored and even in modern times doesnt really get the credit and recognition that he deserves. but holy fuck if anyone was ACTUALLY beat it was him! he was a black man with a jewish father. he created poetry without ever really writing it down besides on napkins and would 'perform' his poetry on streets and yelling out poems or sticking his head in peoples cars. he did not ever seek out publishing his work and he purposefully would confuse any publishers and would lie about himself and his life so even now some of the aspects of his biography is confusing. he wanted to be forgotten! he was never concerned with actually carrying on his work or creating it and there was something beautiful in that. he was constnatly accosted by police to the point that specific officers would harass and abuse him whenever they felt like it. he actually experienced a lot of the bullshit and hardships the beats rejected and criticised. many white beat writers chose to reject social norms, but he had no choice! theres something so much more authentic about the rejection of society when you by virtue of existing cant even exist within societal norms itself.

he was just. such an interesting dude. and the beat movement abandoned him because he was too far on the fringes of society that the public couldnt accept him. motherfucker wanted that, in a way, though. like he took back his silencing by silencing himself. he wasnt being forgotten or silenced or ostracized anymore, because he wanted to be forgotten.

[ithisatanytime]

Trey Skies - S O A R // B Y E 楽しむ (prod. doujinshi) [Yu Yu Hakusho AMV]

even if andrew tate wasnt a jewish fed (he absolutely is though) he is still a piece of shit for what he did to those women, im not feminist, but id fight his ass and you can tell him i said it, i saw his fights i wasnt impressed. hes dog shit, and i would bet my life, my actual life, that hes sucked a mans cock before and on multiple occasions to, his physiognomy his body language, everything, is among the worst i have ever seen and it all points toward deep sexual dysfunction beyond whats already known about him publicly. furthermore i find the recent “based muslims” push by the captured portions of internet media to be insulting, because while islam may revere christ more than jews, that really isnt saying much, but more, what is beautiful in islam? seriously what does islam have to over that christianity lacks? im not even looking for anything super convincing or even true, they dont offer any of the individual scriptures no one besides muslims knows a single quran quote by heart because it sucks, i havent read the whole thing but ive read a lot of it, and its just not inspired text obviously, there is nothing in there that comes from god that wasnt lifted wholesale from the bible. nonchristians around the world are influenced daily by the teachings of jesus christ, his message at the time was completely revolutionary, the primacy of love.

  even all of the rules that are suddenly appealing to westerners about women and such are already contained in the christian bible but with a thousand times more brevity, women are to dress a certain way and to be in quiet submission to their husbands, that about covers it dont you think? but the quran expands on this and everything, even directing muslims on which foot to step into the bathroom with and which foot to step out with, and which bare hand to wipe your ass with of course (not kidding at all thats in there) which is just like the jewish talmud which is like 40 bibles in length and rabbis will openly admit that pretty much none of them have read it all, the rare honest rabbis anyway, its filled with ugly mundane rules, rules of men, its pharisaical garbage. i dont want to just rale against islam, but im honestly insulted by the recruitment attempt. this would never be if christianity werent watered down and obfuscated by the likes of catholics and especially the so called jews, but everything based about islam is already present in Christianity as its presented in the bible. furthermore dont believe the lie that it was translated hundreds of times, the king james bible was translated only once into english from the original greek texts. and while im on the subject i have seen now several times the unbelievable cope that the bible passages forbidding men to lie with other men is a mistranslated and the original was a condemnation against pedophilia, absolutely fucking not, even if it were the condemnation against homosexuality is in both the old and new testament in multiple places, the sodom and gommorah story makes no sense in that context, nor does the condemnation against women lying with women. whats most telling about this insane cope is that its coming from people who dont call themselves christians in any sense, so ostensibly the bible is just like any other book, what should it matter to them what it says if its not divinely inspired? its because their own souls convict them

 there is no doubt in my mind that the god of the old testament made himself mainifest on earth as jesus christ and he died for our sins and was risen agian, i have no idea how close to orthodoxy that is and i dont care i read the book for myself and im close personal friends with the other.

[dukewilbury]

Drinking Alcoholics Under the Table

I was tailored made for alcoholism. My genetic makeup includes nearly all of the heavy-hitting drinking cultures - Russian, German, English, Scottish, American Indian. I have an alcohol tolerance reserved for Irish dockworkers. This is dangerous for a person with my brain. Addictive personalities rarely manifest themselves with sound financial planning and physical fitness. Instead, I got hooked on cigarettes and strong drink. Also self-destructive patterns of behavior, self-loathing, and anger. You know, the classics. Factor in that profound Catholic and Jewish guilt and you get a tattooed Sailor crawling across his bathroom floor at the 3 in the morning during the working week praying for his own death in between trips to the toilet bowl.

I know all the clichés and shitty jokes about drinking and alcohol. I know all the synonyms for drunk. I know how to make it, drink it, use and abuse it. I know every culture that has ever existed on this planet has figured out a way to intoxicate itself. Which makes sense when you think about it. The world is a better place with a drink in you. Jokes are funnier, music is better, and life isn't so rough. So yes, people get drunk. Even Muslims, who don't drink alcohol, often drink fermented honey. Intoxication, in one form or another, is global.

I started drinking in earnest because I had no idea who I was when I took my uniform off after work. That isn't an exaggeration. I never cultivated serious hobbies that I couldn't drink while pursuing. I never had a family of my own that required my full-time attention. I was a playboy. Utterly. Everyone who really knows me knows this is true. With no interests that don't include drinking, no sense of self, and an addictive personality, I was as sure of needing treatment as the Cleveland Browns are of missing the playoffs.

I drank everything... I once dehydrated myself so badly that after drinking three quarts of water I took a piss for the first time that day, five hours after I woke up, and it came out like rust. I once threw up at a stop sign on the way to work. I once threw up walking down the pier to my ship... at 6:30 in the morning. I've woken up in strange bedrooms, confused, and looking for the cat that shit in my mouth during the night. I've lied about my drinking and hid it. I got away with it for so long on active duty because I'm somewhat charming and on good days I'm kind of funny. People let things go more easily when you do that. Was I ever an alcoholic? I don't know, but I know I could sit at a table full of alcoholics and drink them under the table.

I learned a lot on the way to the wacko basket. I learned more in it and afterward. I learned I didn't have a problem; I had a solution I didn't like. I had to get honest with myself and that's a brutal conversation to have. I also learned I had my entire chain of command in my corner. That, more than anything, is the most important part of this piece. I know a lot of you reading this are on active duty, and I know a lot of you are scared about seeking help. So let me kick you the real deal for a bit.

After I admitted I was suicidal, and I got help for my whole host of issues, I never, NEVER, not once, got hit for my problem. I never took so much as a counseling chit for getting help. My evaluations made no mention of treatment. What I did get was 30 grand worth of in-patient treatment for free. No one looked down on me or thought me weak because I got help. I was treated with more decency than I've ever been treated with in my entire Navy career.

The Navy's Drug and Alcohol Program Advisors are actually there to help. You cannot go begging for help AND expect to get off the hook for a crime you already committed, but you can refer yourself BEFORE you're in deep shit and make progress. In making progress you may very well understand not only yourself but the world in which you live. You may gain a deeper sense of empathy, and believe me, empathy is one of the most powerful traits you can possibly possess. You become a better human being in the process.

The last salute comes for all of us in uniform. Once that uniform comes off for good you're just another person who was in the Navy once, and no one really cares how many medals you earned or how many people you lead. What's going to really matter, in those places between the flesh and the bone, the parts people will talk about when you finally pass away, is what kind of human being you were. My chain of command and friends supported me the whole ride through and forgave me for my sins when I finally had to courage to admit them. I learned a lot of lessons, some of which I've detailed, but none more important than this: we can all stand to be forgiven.

[moonknightly]

for the headcanons - what do you think they do to relax? and what are they boys' favourite foods?

ok but i think marc loves anything home-cooked that he gets to eat around an actual dining room table because it’s so rare that he gets that, i think that’s totally his initial answer when you ask him what his favorite food is but that’s so generic so you pressure him a little bit more and he finally admits that honestly??? it’s so simple but the sandwiches his mom made for him as a kid fuckin’ slap, she would always make the bread or bagels from scratch and he misses her shakshuka and potato latkes too and ughhhh

i think steven is totally the type of guy who throws together a soup and leaves it in the slow cooker all day, comes home with a fresh loaf of bread to have with it but like, fresh bread and fresh bread only. no crackers, no generic loaf you can find in any supermarket. only fresh bread from this little jewish bakery down the block because it’s comforting and nostalgic and he’s not really sure why but his soup is never complete without it

i don’t think marc really knows how to relax on his own, you’re usually there to help him and you’re definitely the perfect distraction in yourself if you know what i mean but i think every now and again you can find him with his nose buried in an old leather journal he carries around, pen scrawling across water damaged pages

steven reads. he reads and reads and reads and learns as many new things as he possibly can before he’s pulled away from his books again. i could also see him like, going to an animal shelter just to play with the cats for a little bit? idk???

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 3997 Warnings: mentions of cheating, mentions of death/loss

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira​​​ Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 1 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

A soft knock at pulls you away from the computer. Twisting your stiff head towards the door you smile, seeing Steve Rogers standing with a tray of coffee and a paper bag in hand marked with the logo of your favorite nearby restaurant.

“You’re a lifesaver!” you chuckled, though you meant every word as you invited Steve to sit at your desk for lunch.

Steve worked security for Stark Industries and you developed a close friendship in the years since you’ve been there. Though he was undeniably good looking, with the build of a Greek God and long lashes you were incredibly jealous of, you never saw Steve as anything other than the brother you never had.

At the time you met he was dating a girl from the building, Lillian Nguyen from accounting. You hadn’t seen much of her in person, just through the photos Steve showed you with adoration on his phone. When he began talking about looking for engagement rings you were thrilled but that excitement was replaced with anger and confusion when Steve found out Lillian was cheating on him.

He was extremely hurt and became guarded afterwards, not wanting to put himself out there again. His lack of socializing worked with your lack of a social life and on the rare occasion you had a moment free from school work Steve would often come over and hang out to binge watch shows you needed to catch up to on Netflix while you ate pizza.

The paper bag rustled as he pulled out a large sandwich, cup of soup and a salad, distributing napkins across the desk as he knows how much of a messy eater you can be. You grabbed the sandwich, tearing open the paper wrapping and sinking your teeth into it with a bite full of food too large for your mouth.

Steve laughed, as he stirred the broth of his soup. He’s witnessed you eating before, unapologetically shoveling food into your face especially when you were starving.

“You know the sandwich isn’t goin’ anywhere, right?” he joked.

Chewing a large mouthful, you grabbed a napkin to wipe the corner of your lips that you felt had a piece of food sticking to it.

“Steve,” you paused to take a sip of coffee, “I’m fucking starving. I ran out this morning and all I had here was a package of almonds that are not filling despite what you say.”

He asked the reason for your tardiness and you explained how you stayed at the cafe until closing to finish up your work, all because of your stupid neighbor.

“Have you tried talkin’ to him?”

You stared at Steve incredulously. “Haven’t gotten a chance. I gotta wait for the right moment. There’s no way I’m knocking on his door, not when he’s banging all of New York, who knows what I’d end up seeing.”

“D’ya want me to do it?”

It was in Steve’s nature to help and though you appreciated his offer you wanted to handle this yourself. You were the one that had to live next to the Music Man, it would be better to confront him alone.

“I understand,” he said, taking a swig from his water bottle. “You down to hang tonight?”

“Wish I could but before my time is sucked away by the next paper I really need to research where I could do my internship. I’m all registered for school but I need to submit the paperwork for where I’ll be doing my hours and I’m running out of time.”

“You should talk to my buddy Sam. Maybe he could get you in at the hospital.”

Sam was Steve’s friend from the gym. They’d work out together, turning everything into a friendly competition to see who could run faster or lift more. Sam was also a doctor in the emergency department of Metro-General so he might have connections. It was worth a shot so you asked Steve to text him. Still you planned on searching for more backups to be safe.

Before the hour was over Steve left to head back downstairs to the security desk and you continued your work for Ms. Hill. You had evolved to working closer with Ms. Hill, becoming more like an executive assistant to her and when necessary Ms. Potts.

In between coordinating a meeting your phone goes off with a text from Wanda, asking if she could see you over the weekend for brunch. Ironically, she ended up moving to the city after all. There was only so far she could go with her degree at home and with her mother’s blessing she came to New York to work for The Jewish Museum.

She lived in a trendy loft on Bleecker Street, decorated with her signature eclectic style. Woven rugs hung like tapestries on the wall, plants hanging down from macramé holders in front of the large windows. Her furniture was an odd mix of plush velvet tufted cushions and smooth leather arm chairs that somehow worked with the mid-century touches and industrial shelving.

Her apartment had more space which you envied, although you loved everything else about where you lived. The neighborhood was amazing, with great shops and a lot of different food options right at your doorstep. Everything was perfect, except your neighbor.

Responding to Wanda you let her know you could most likely make it depending on the workload you’d be getting from your Saturday class. You could not wait until that was over. Spending all day in a small, windowless room instead of enjoying the summer weekend made you miserable but you were close to the end, so, so close.

When the work day was over you went to meet Steve downstairs, walking over to the desk to say goodnight to the elderly security guard who’s been with the company since its inception.

“Any plans for the weekend Mr. Lee?”

The wiry white hairs that made up his mustache moved as he grinned. “Well, Joanie thinks my hair’s getting a bit long,” he smiled, running his fingers through his greyish-white strands. “She’ll have it trimmed before supper, I'm sure,” he laughed.

A smile graced your face whenever you listened to Mr. Lee, admiring the adoration he had for his wife. Steve has heard all of his stories more than once but he never tires of them either. Everyone loved Mr. Lee, especially Tony Stark, who continued to pay him a full time salary for the part time hours he worked.

The job was easy enough as he greeted visitors to Stark Industries, and signing them in to the building while Steve and some other employees did most of the security checks.

You and Steve bid Mr. Lee goodbye as you made your way to the subway. Steve didn’t live far from you and though he could have gotten off at a further stop he always walked with you to your building, partially to make sure you got home safely but also because he needed a distraction to get out of his head.

There were many times when you suggested he go out, not with the purpose of meeting someone but just to break up the monotony of his routine, but Steve lost his confidence after the breakup. For now, he didn’t want to be told what to do, he simply needed a friend and so you were there for him.

Wanda sat back against the chair beside the bistro table covered in shade. Her always changing hair color was light brown today, parting the silky strands perfectly down the middle. She was the definition of cool, despite the heat, wearing a loose scoop-necked tank top, slim ripped jeans and topped things off with a pair of motorcycle boots. Her neck was adorned with a few necklaces of varying lengths, one of which she never took off, a silver lightning bolt in honor of her late brother.

She and Pietro were twins with distinctly different personalities. Wanda was laid back, even as a child. She would actually stop to smell the roses that lined the garden of their backyard, whereas Pietro was always moving. He was an extraordinary multitasker that could not sit still.

Pietro had so many dreams, a full list of things he wanted to do in life but he was taken from the world too soon. Wanda wears the necklace as a reminder to live life to the fullest, knowing how quickly things can change.

Squeezing through the other tables to get to Wanda, you huff as you sit down and catch your breath, apologizing for being late.

“Wanda, I swear I’m going to kill him.”

“Who?”

“The fucking Music Man! I had to leave my own damn apartment again because of his stupid playing. Like, dude, could you not? You live in an apartment. Everyone hears you, everyone!”

Grabbing the glass of ice water you quickly drink most of it to soothe the dehydration of your mouth.

“And another thing, like does he not realize that we can all hear the girls he’s banging? Wanda, they’re so fucking loud. If they were still there right now I bet you could hear them from here.”

Wanda laughed at your accusation. “Oh, so they don’t stay the night? He’s a ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’ kinda guy?”

“I guess! I hear them leave, whining at his door as they’re begging to stay over. It’s so pathetic. What’s so great about this guy anyway?” you scoffed. “I wish he never moved here!”  

With a final humph you opened the menu, your anger dissipating as you read the descriptions for everything you wanted, mouth salivating as you tried to decide what to choose. Wanda opted for the frittata while you decided to take out your frustrations on yourself with delicious Challah French Toast.

Wanda’s eyes widened as she watched you drown your meal in syrup. You hummed in satisfaction as you took a bite.

“Hmm, it’s not as good as the kind your mom makes,” you said.

Wanda laughed, “Uh, yeah, because she never used a whole bottle of syrup. Geez Y/N can you taste anything other than sugar?”

“Shush Wan, let me enjoy myself here.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head at you. “Well, anyway, I wanted to tell you something exciting...” she sang, grinning widely. “Director Coulson asked me to curate an exhibit on prejudice told through Romani-Jewish art!”

“Wanda this is perfect! I’m so happy for you!” you beamed, getting up from your chair to wrap your arms around her in a proud hug.

“I know! I’m so excited. Mom’s gonna come up for the opening. I mean that’s a long time from now but fuck, I can’t wait!”

After finishing brunch you went back home to begin working on your final. It was a research paper that was worth half of your grade so you really needed to concentrate. And yet the moment the elevator doors opened to your floor you heard it, the sound of music flooding the halls coming from none other than the apartment next to yours.

Jamming your keys into the door with frustration you grunted, grabbing all the things you needed to do your work at the cafe. Your foot tapped impatiently as you waited for the elevator again. With your arms crossed over your chest you could feel your blood boiling beneath your skin, beating to the stupid rhythm of the stupid song that your stupid, inconsiderate neighbor wouldn’t stop playing.

The elevator dinged before the doors opened and you were like a bull, grunting and blowing puffs of air from your flaring nostrils as you were ready to charge into it. As the doors opened you stopped yourself from barreling into your neighbors that were inside.

“Whoa, Y/N!” Clint said, raising his hands up defensively, “Easy there.”

Clint lived on the floor above you along with his fiancée Natasha, whose arms were looped through his.

“Sorry guys,” you apologized. “Oh, wait.” Making your right hand into a fist you ran it across your chest in a few circular motions.

“Someone’s been practicing,” Natasha chimed in, signing her words along as she spoke to you.

Clint was partially deaf and though he used hearing aids he often signed, especially when he didn’t feel like talking to people, although you were one of the lucky ones he considered a friend. Still, you wanted to be able to communicate with him, even if he didn’t want to actually speak.

Clint was a history teacher who already tried to get you into his school for your internship but doubted you would be brought on board. There were apparently a lot of issues going on with the principal and Natasha surmised there was a big lawsuit in the works.

Natasha was an attorney, hoping to make partner at her current firm Nelson & Murdock. Clint never failed to praise her, nicknaming Natasha the Black Widow as he claimed watching her dismantle a witness was like watching a spider sink its venomous fangs into its prey.

“Where’re you guys off to?” you asked.

“Just going out for some ice cream,” she replied.

Clint laughed. “Some ice cream? No, I’m going out to eat a lot of ice cream,” he chuckled, rubbing his eager stomach.

Natasha poked the small protrusion of his belly through his shirt. “Listen buddy, we’ve got a wedding to plan. Easy on the ice cream.” Natasha brought her full lips to his for a kiss they both smiled through, knowing she was teasing him.

“What about you Y/N?” Clint asked.

The elevator doors opened and you walked out with them, explaining how frustrating it’s been that you’ve had to leave for the cafe to do your work all because of the new neighbor.

“Oh the Guitar Hero?” Clint joked. “Yeah, we can hear him too. Well, actually…” he drifted off smirking.

“Clint takes his hearing aids out so no, he doesn’t hear him,” Natasha filled in the information that had you bursting out with laughter.

“Can you hear the women too?” you wondered, considering their apartment was right above his.

“Yeah, kind of, that’s more muffled though. It’s probably a lot worse for you.” Natasha grimaced, catching the way she didn’t mean the words to come out.

It was true though, sharing a wall with the man that made your string lights bounce with every thrust. The sound was bad enough and thankfully your headphones helped with that but every night you had to shut your eyes, hoping you would fall asleep before he was through with them.

You had to give it to the guy though, the man had stamina. Still, you wanted to kill him. At least you were friends with a lawyer...

The next few days have the same result, with you coming home dead tired from work, hoping you’d be able to stay home to work on your final to no avail. You tried using the headphones in your apartment but it didn’t help. The sound was mostly blocked out but your mind couldn’t focus on anything but the anger you held towards the neighbor, knowing he was playing that same song over and over again.

You might as well live in the cafe since you’ve practically paid them your rent in coffee and pastries over the last month. You were burning out quickly and Steve decided you needed a break, bringing over pizza and beer.

Opening up the box, you smiled, staring at the bubbling cheese.

“Ahh, pizza, my one true love,” you said, plating slices for you and Steve.

Your small table was always covered in textbooks, mail and other paperwork you needed to tend to, so you and Steve took your usual spots on the couch.

After working at Stark Industries for a few months you made enough money that allowed you to finally buy much needed furniture. You adored your light grey couch, adorned with blush colored throw pillows. You threw the fuzzy white blanket over the side of the couch, not serving much purpose during the summer months other than to look like it was naturally left on the cushion in a perfectly styled manner for display.

Pushing aside the candlesticks that sat on your coffee table, you set down actual coasters for the bottles Steve opened, not wanting to ruin the veneer of the grey wood top of your rustic coffee table. A small accent rug helped define the space you declared as the living room, despite having your bed within arm’s reach beside you.

Against the brick wall is your TV, sitting atop a modern white stand with shelves for storage you’ve packed to the brim. Beside it, a large antique floor mirror leans against the brick. It was as tall as Steve who helped bring it to your apartment after you found it at a flea market. However, the thing you cherished most was the artwork of the Brooklyn Bridge that hung above your couch, painted by Steve as a gift to you.

“So,” he said, chewing quickly to swallow the food in his mouth. “I talked to Sam. He said it would be cool for you to call him about the internship.”

“Oh yeah. You really think he could help or is this just a rouse to give him my number?” you half-joked.

Steve laughed deeply, wiping away a bit of oil the pizza leaked onto his chin. “Nah, it’s definitely about the internship but I wouldn’t put it past Sam if he tried to take you out. Lord knows he’s been on my case about it with you since I met ‘im.”

“Does he not think guys and girls can have a friendship without romance involved?”

“I can’t speak for him… probably not though.”

You laughed before getting up for another slice. You hoped Sam would be able to help with the internship, no strings attached. He didn’t seem like that type of guy anyway, and all of Steve’s friends were good people so you weren’t worried.

As the Music Man began his one man band you had to gradually increase the volume of your television; your anger rising with every click of the remote. It was no longer enjoyable to watch the action movie you and Steve put on, having to raise the volume for higher to hear the dialogue and scramble to lower the blasting noise of car screeching and explosions. When you couldn’t take it anymore you called it a night.

“Guess you haven’t spoken to him?” Steve asked the question he clearly knew the answer to.

“Soon,” you said hopefully, not knowing when the day might come.

As the sun began to rise on the early Saturday morning you were getting ready for class. With your closet open you debated on what to wear when you heard a voice from the other side of the wall.

“Hi ma… Things are good… and Dad…”

He must have been walking around the apartment as you heard most of the words.

“I know…Leaving now…”

You heard the undoing of his locks and the front door creaking open. Shit! Your first moment to speak to the Music Man alone and you’re standing in your underwear. There’s definitely no way you would approach him now. Instead you raced to the door to try and catch a glimpse of what he looked like but it was too late.

Huffing in frustration you continued to get dressed and within fifteen minutes you were ready to leave. The elevator dinged as you shut your door, inserting your key to turn the deadbolt, unaware of the form that was moving closer towards you, not until you heard the whistling of a familiar tune.

Your heart pounded furiously in your chest, as if that tune was part of a psychological experiment, like Pavlov’s dog but instead of salivating you wanted to punch something.

“Hey neighbor.”

The soft voice of the Music Man broke you from your vision of punching through your shared wall and destroying his instruments. With a calming inhale you turned around to face him.

“I’m Bucky.”

You didn’t respond, you couldn’t. The breath was stolen from your lungs as you stared directly into the kindest, bluest eyes you had ever seen. All the anger left your body, replaced by the softness of his pink lips that reminded you of flowers in full bloom.

He was tall and lean, but your eyes did not miss the bulge of his biceps that showed through his cotton t-shirt. In his hand was a coffee cup, gripped under his long fingers. His hair was dark and pulled back into a low sloppy bun, with a loose piece falling beside his smile.

His hand was extended towards you and you weren’t sure how long it had been. It felt like you were staring at him for hours, or was it only seconds. Did time really stop moving the moment you finally saw him? You broke yourself out of your trance to shake his hand and introduce yourself.

“It’s nice to meet you Y/N. I just moved in. Well not just, but not long ago,” Bucky said.

Yeah I know. I hear you every night. You remembered your frustration and tried to assemble the sentence in your head of how to confront him.

“You ever get coffee from the place on the corner?” he asked, gesturing to the cup in his hand. “The line was crazy long but worth it, it’s delicious.”

“Yeah, once or twice but I’m usually at the Grind House. They’re open late and that’s where I have to go to study because… uh…” you stammered for a moment, “...your guitar playing is too distracting.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, wondering why you felt uncomfortable when he was the one who was being a bad neighbor.

Bucky’s face dropped with guilt. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”

“It’s alright,” you lied, not knowing why you said that. Pulling more confidence out of midair you continued, “It’s just that the walls are so thin and I’m in school, well I work full time too, but I’ve just got a lot on my plate and honestly I’m not sure how much longer I can afford the coffee shop every night.”

You chuckled to lighten up the conversation, continuing to ramble before giving him a chance to speak. “So, um, if you wouldn’t mind, maybe you could practice during the day instead or weekends are mostly fine. I’m actually heading to class now so I’ll be gone all day.” Great, give him your whole schedule why don’t you.

With nerves getting the better of you, you turned on your heel quickly saying it was nice to meet him. Briskly making your way towards the elevator you pressed the button furiously in hopes it would get to your floor faster.

Once inside you let out a big sigh and waved your hand in front of your slightly sweaty, heated face. Bucky seemed like he genuinely wasn’t aware of the noise he was making, and the way you passive aggressively called him out on it made you feel like shit.

But what was worse was knowing there was a face, a drop dead gorgeous face that is responsible for making the women of New York scream in ecstasy every night. It was going to be very difficult to concentrate in class today.

Getting home later that afternoon you were anxious to make something to eat, but more anxious about Bucky, hoping you wouldn’t run into him again. As you opened your door your foot slid on something and as you looked down you saw a small envelope with your name written on it.

Inside was a $50 gift card to The Grind House with a little note. I’m truly sorry about the noise. –Bucky

Your mouth opened in shock at the realization that Bucky did this nice gesture for you, and worse, you were going to have to thank him.

PART 3

[beldaroot]

omg thank u for that bi richie list. i know majority of people either love/like gay richie, think it’s okay, or don’t care, but i need to get this off my chest even if it’s unpopular: i don’t fuck w gay richie AT ALL, i hate it sm honestly.

to me, it’s a painful reminder of what was ripped away from eddie and the missed opportunities w richie’s bi coding they could’ve used from the novel. i see gay richie and i go “that could’ve been eddie if the scriptwriters had possessed at least one brain cell. eddie deserved that” and my bitterness goes through the ROOF. it drives me crazy that andy literally admitted gay richie is a direct result of robbing eddie cause richie wasn’t angsty enough??? how did they miss the self loathing over his adhd, hiding behind masks, the fact that richie’s the only one who sees himself as the monster. hello??? and w/out eddie to rob from, they just think richie’s str8, cause bi people??? what’s that???? and we’re left w what’s essentially a watered down version of eddie’s gay coding in richie, when we could’ve had something so rich w both of their different queer stories in tact. ugh it’s rlly damn depressing that bi richie used to be everywhere and now it’s almost nonexistent :(

plus if u look at past scripts, u can easily see the writers have an annoying obsession w moving around important character traits/roles. mike and stan are the other ones who fall victim to it, two guesses as to why. starting w the dumpster fire that is the 2010 script, richie is gay and has the bj leper scene instead of eddie, mike and stan are out of the entire narrative, bill stays in derry as the librarian instead of mike. the 2015 script, stan is bill’s pet goldfish while richie is now jewish and still possesses eddie’s gay coding on top of that. and then ofc, u get to chap 1 and ben is the historian while mike gets paid dust. sickening. at least during that time u could fall back on the fandom, who was willing to restore what was taken away and add depth by looking towards the book. but that’s not the case anymore. and the story is finished in the movies so there’s less incentive to read or know the novel. the way everything played out is just so unfortunate.

ok, get that off your chest!! sorry this took so long to reply, i wanted to answer this appropriately because i feel a lot of your frustrations and can totally understand your opinions even if they are considered “unpopular” by fandom.

as someone who has read gay richie fics and enjoyed them i will say that i will always prefer bisexual richie. richie, in my mind, will always be bi because the bi subtext for him in the novel is so apparent. i know people think that we should be happy with any sort of gay representation in media, especially in the horror genre, since it's so rare, but it really does feel like people are just settling for the bare minimum. i mean, what good is gay rep if it isn't authentic to the original source, was robbed from and mixed with another character, and perpetrates stereotypes that gay men will always be either repressed, sad, dead, or never find happiness with who they love? this type of gay rep might have passed in the 80s, but in 2019? yeah, no let’s move on. 

i don't get how people still defend andy when he has explicitly stated that he didn't think richie had “enough” going on, so he just took from eddie. he pretty much said that richie was too simple as a character on his own, basically ignoring all the bi coding and all the incredible individualized characterization he has! maybe if richie was actually written well in the movie i wouldn't be complaining as much, but he was really reduced to sad, repressed gay who isn't ambitious enough to write his own jokes and will abandon his friends for his own selfish needs, WHICH IS LITERALLY THE OPPOSITE OF BOOK RICHIE?! and don’t get me started on how badly eddie was written, oof. eddieway... i hate how those bad and often switched characterizations bleed into fandom works because i’ll read a reddie fic and be like “that's... not richie” or “that's not eddie” or “why is richie doing that bc that's eddie's issue.” it’s just sad :(

and taking eddie's gay coding and giving it to richie is such a disservice to BOTH of them. i've said it before, but their sexualities and stories are connected and intertwined but they are NOT interchangeable! they are unique to the specific character. eddie’s sexuality cannot be removed from his storyline; it is absolutely vital to understand him as a character. the fears richie face and his personality and actions as a whole, imo, only make sense if he is bisexual. 

andy & co really thought they were being so big brained by making richie canonically gay and adding minor subtext about eddie’s sexuality when all they did was tarnish characterizations for a gay plot line that wasn’t even coherent. and what's the most frustrating is that andy obviously thought both eddie and richie were gay and in love but he just did such a bad job actually showing that!! if so many people came out of the movie thinking it was a one-sided romance, or were confused about r+e at the end, or the only true confirmation we have that “richie is gay” is from interviews done after the movie came out, then that's an issue and it's your fault you can't tell a story properly! i hated how fans previously said the story only seems bad because wb made him edit the gay stuff out, because that still doesn't explain how badly richie or eddie were written in the movie. it's bad gay rep objectively, and i know we’ll make fun of it as a joke or whatever, but it's actually so disappointing and very concerning that people are willing to settle and accept it. 

also, i've said it before, the book is not very good and has a shit ton of issues in it. i'm not asking people to read it if they don't want to or even like it if they do. but when book readers say the book had better characterizations since the movies did them so dirty, it isn't an attack, it’s just a fact? we've come to cherish certain characterizations from the book and we wish it was adapted properly and our characters were given justice. i find it so funny how movie stans were like “so you're going to defend sk's writing then?” and like..... no one is doing that, lol we literally hate that man (unlike your fave andy who is literally obsessed with him and made two movies that were practically bad fanfic of an already bad book lmao). 

and like you pointed out in the other scripts, it's like every writer did not comprehend the individual issues of each loser so they just thought it would be best to mix them around. it's really bizarre, especially when you see the racial implications and other forms of discrimination present in these god awful characterizations. i mean i know it's a big book and obviously you can't adapt every part of it, but it's so weird how when you're reading these scripts or watching these movies it feels like it's nothing like the book? it's totally fine if the writers want to make changes, modernize it, etc., but it's disappointing that these drastic changes make the losers not even seem like the losers! and you're right, after it 2017 we were willing to go back to the book as a source to fill in the parts that the movie missed, but i feel since it 2019 came out, people are less inclined to do that and think the movie is the only valid form of canon because it has actual gay rep. no canon is perfect so we've always picked and mixed together what aspects of canon we liked, but i feel like nowadays it ch2 will always be the main form people derive from and i think that's the most unfortunate thing about this whole situation :(

[fuckingthefictional]

Runaway Lovers

Pairing: Finn Shelby x reader

Warnings: Swearing, suggestions regarding to sex, crap writing?

Requested: yes, part two requested by @hamdehlesmis

A/N: for the part where Finn writes a letter, I’ve made it so the writing is more phonics based. Because I find it unrealistic to have a character who is illiterate to suddenly start reading and writing with the knowledge of perfect grammar and spelling.

Alfie Solomons was a name that struck cold fear into some on the toughest of men.

His cool and calculating gaze was enough to send uneasy chills up anyone’s spine.

He was a man who had red on his ledger and the mighty hand of God on his side.

To most he was a cold and calculating gang leader- with the proclivity of making violent, rash decisions that mainly benefited himself and anyone lucky enough to be considered a friend.

And most were not lucky enough to have that benefit.

Y/N Y/L/N was lucky to be considered a friend- more accurately she was a close relative of the Jewish gang leader.

Alfie’s Mother, was the sister of Y/N’s mother. The two women were close, but drifted apart after they were married to their respective husbands. Only to reunite during the Great War.

That was the first time Y/N had been in proper contact with her mothers side of the family- and thank God she continued to stay in contact with them.

Otherwise her and Finn would’ve been rendered homeless and well and truly fucked.

Y/N forced herself to drag her thoughts away from what would have been, and instead focused on the passing green pasteurs that sped past the train cars window.

The lack of pollution was obvious and made a huge difference. She was able to see the colours of the night sky, along with the scattered stars- such things that felt as if they didn’t exist in Small Heath.

Y/N felt a soft kiss on a stray patch of bare skin below her ear and at the top of her jawline. Finn.

“Stop stressing love, we’ll be okay.”

It was like he had read her mind, “‘m not stressing.” She mumbled into her palm.

“If you aren’t stressing then how come your leg is bouncing?” Finn chuckled as he pressed another kiss to her temple.

Y/N rolled her eyes. Of course he would pick up on the finer details, it was just another reason why she loved him.

It wasn’t long before the train pulled into Camden Town Station. The whole station seemed to be rather empty- apart from one man who seemed to be waiting for the trains arrival.

He was an older gentleman, who had a scraggly beard and clutched a cane. His face was partially covered from the hat that topped his head. But on his chest, he proudly bore a necklace that held the Star of David.

It was Alfie.

He had changed a lot, the pictures that Y/N had been shown of him depicted him to be younger, lacking a beard. But the face was the same.

“Y/N Y/L/N?” The older man addressed her, a slight smirk on his face, “My god ‘ow you’ve grown- I remember when you were a bloody babe.”

She turned to Finn, a soft smile gracing her features, “Love this is Alfie, my cousin.”

Both men shook hands, each of them sizing the other up.

“Thank you for letting us stay with you.” Finn nodded at the older man, “we really appreciate it.”

“‘S nothin’ alright?” Alfie boomed loudly, “any person whose a friend of our Y/N/N is a friend of mine- now let’s get your stuff back to my ‘Ouse ‘ey?”

The two teenagers followed the older man, out of the station, their hands interlocked- ready for this next chapter of their lives.

It was difficult not knowing what their future held. And what they would face in this grey part of their lives, but Finn and Y/N knew they were lucky.

Lucky to have a place to stay, lucky to be in London. And most of all: lucky to be with each other.

-

Two months later Y/N and Finn were still as strong as ever, and the pair of them had both gotten jobs in Camden Town.

Finn working down at the docks, where he loaded Alfie’s spirits into the boats that would travel across the Atlantic.

Finn had been clear with his girlfriend’s cousin that he wanted no part in the extremely illegal parts of the business. In other words he didn’t want to be a front runner, Finn was quite happy working behind the scenes or on the sidelines. Doing the smaller less risky jobs that helped boost business.

Thankfully Alfie has agreed with him, saying, “If I got you in trouble yeah, or you got fuckin’ hurt- then my cousin would have my balls hanging up above the fuckin’ fireplace.”

Y/N however had a different job role. As she helped run the books, Y/N had her mothers brains, math was her forte and not to mention her and Alfie were close, and her older cousin kept her well protected and safe.

Their jobs weren't particularly high paid and they’d told Alfie that they didn’t want special treatment when it came to their pay- either way they made enough to pay their part on rent at Alfie’s house (which usually meant paying for the food and occasionally the hot water bill).

But neither Finn or Y/N were disappointed, they were employed and bringing in an income. That was more than they’d done in small Heath.

“Y’know, I finally feel like I’m apart of something,” Finn mumbled as he kissed down Y/N’s bare back, “I finally feel wanted by others, that aren’t You, Ada or Pol.”

“Finn,” The girl sighed as she turned over to face him, “You have no idea how much purpose you bring to other people.” Y/N stroked his hair softly, feeling the bouncy curls slip between her finger tips, “Finn because of you, Alfie is finally reconnecting with his blood relatives- he said that if this hadn’t happened, then he was willing to give up on family. And by coming away from the life you had in Small Heath you’re making Ada feel better about her role as a big sister.”

Finn was in a semi state of shock, he had no idea he had made that much of an impact, “And you?” He asked.

“God Finn,” Y/N pressed her forehead to his, “ever since you pulled me back from that drunk driver, I knew that my life was going to be flipped upside down- that I was going to fall in love.” She licked her lips, “I can’t imagine my life without you- you’re my constant, my everything, the love of my life.”

The auburn haired boy pulled his girl close to his chest, peppering sweet kisses to her hairline, “I love you pretty girl.”

“And I you, Freckles.”

“D’you think we should come clean to Alfie- about my family I mean.” Finn chewed on his lips nervously.

Y/N sighed, “I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow, but for now my love we should get some sleep.”

-

Knock, knock, knock

It was one of those rare days that Alfie was working from home, Y/N had overheard his doctor telling Alfie that he needed to take it easy and rest more.

So of course Y/N forced him to stay at home. It was odd really, the pair had only reconnected a few months ago. But already it felt as if Alfie was coming into the older brother role in Y/N’s life, whereas she was the persuasive younger sister that Alfie never had growing up.

Their dynamic was one that many had never seen, there was constant teasing and banter between the two. And Y/N had been the only one to make demands from the big scary gang leader and live to tell the tale.

“Come in.” Alfie’s muffled voice came from behind the other side of the door.

As Y/N entered the office while balancing a tea tray on her arm, when she looked up she noticed her cousin sat at his desk with his specs on, Cyril layed down at his feet.

“Morning, Alf.” Y/N smiled warmly, “I’ve brought you some tea and biscuits.” She sat down opposite him, as he started across the desk accusingly.

“What do yer want aye?” Alfie squinted his eyes, “you only ever bring me stuff when yer tryna butter me up.”

“Well Is it working?” Y/N looked at her cousin as he poured himself a cup and necked down a biscuit.

“Depends that dunnit.” Alfie responded, raising his brow.

“Well I have some news,” Y/N started fidgeting with her hands, “Some news you might not take too well.”

“Fuckin’ hell- you’re not up the bloody duff are yer?”

The teenager promptly felt herself choke on her own spit, “What?” She shouted, her eyes as round as saucers, “No!” Y/N attempted to recompose herself, “Look What I was trying to get at is that Finn belongs to a family that weren’t good to him, he ran away from his old life after his brother tried to force us apart. And we talked last night about finally coming clean to you Alf, because we appreciate all you’ve done for us and we don’t feel like we’re being truthful and-“

“Y/N!” Alfie cut off her ranted speech, “I know that Finn is a Shelby.” He stated simply, “Do you really think I don’t do background checks on my workers Y/N/N?”

“And you’re okay with him?” Y/N was still in a state of shock,

“Well,” Alfie leant forwards, “ma always taught us to not judge a book by the pissin’ cover aye? Sometimes that shit also includes certain family names.” He paused, pondering what to say next, “Look I kept an eye out for the lad in the first few weeks yous stayed ���ere, in case there was some spyin’ goin’ on. But there wasn’t, it was just a lovestruck boy who’s willin’ to do anythin’ to make ‘is girl happy. So as far as I’m concerned Y/N/N, he’s a new branch in the Solomons family.”

Y/N could feel happy tears brimming in her eyes, she finally saw what Finn meant. She felt like she mattered, like she had purpose for the first time in a very long time.

-

Two months. It had been two months since Finn had just up and left. Tommy didn't think that his youngest sibling what actually hold to his word- he didn't think that Finn of all people would actually quit the family buisness and leave small heath. 

And with all of that considered, Tommy didn't know where the fuck Finn had gone. And that was a first in Tommy’s experience- he didn't know something. 

It was incredibly frustrating and not to mention Polly was in bits since Finn had just gone missing in action. It wasn't hard to see that there was a soft spot in his aunts heart for the youngest Shelby.

He’d had men search every major city in Britain, knowing Finn couldn’t have strayed too far off the beaten path.

The youngest Shelby never was one for spontaneity, he was too much like his mother for that- he liked to have a plan set out in front of him.

But what made the situation all the more complicated was the war Tommy had made on Sabini, if Finn was in London then there was a large chance that he was in danger.

Tommy didn’t want more blood on his hands, he didn’t know if he could handle more blood on his hands.

-

Dear Pol,

This leter wil onlie be short, but its a leter non the less. All you need to no is that I am safe and happie, and hav started a new life for myself. If you want to meet, then go to Ada’s on Saterday and i will meet you there.

Lots of luv and take care,

Finn

P.S- Y/N is teeching me to reed and rite, it is a work in progres- but I am lerning!

Polly grinned at the letter in front of her, it was most definitely her nephew. Despite it being in letter form, his mannerisms and language hasn’t changed.

The older woman could feel her heart swell with pride for her youngest nephew, deep down Polly knew that the Blinder lifestyle wasn’t for him.

Finn was like Ada in that way- he followed his heart. And his heart has chosen a different path than his brothers.

Polly set the letter down on her desk as she pondered what her next course of action would be, obviously she was going to Ada’s to meet her nephew on the Saturday.

However she was met with the dilemma of how she could get it past Tommy.

One one hand, Tommy was the patriarch of the family- Polly knew that she was practically obligated to tell her older nephew her plans and whereabouts.

But on the other hand, Finn was safe. He was free from a dangerous life, he was happy and he had started a new path.

And that was more than anything Tommy could offer the lad. Polly knew that Finn valued his freedom and happiness over all the money in the world.

Pulling out a cigarette, Polly fiddled with the small stick of tobacco. After igniting it, she took a deep inhale, allowing the smoke to fill her lungs.

Every piece of her heart and soul was telling her to keep Finn safe. Maybe that was just the mother hen in Polly- but she was certain on one thing.

Thomas Shelby was going to learn to live with his actions and consequences of his words, because Polly had no intention of saying a word about Finn’s whereabouts.

Peaky blinders taglist:

@simonsbluee

[honey-dewey]

Random Dewey Finn headcanons (?) I came up with while eating my breakfast

Before Dewey wanted to be a big rock star, he wanted to be an astronaut. 

His aunt gave him his first guitar for his 10th birthday, thus sparking his love of rock music. 

One of the major reasons he never quit music was because of that aunt. She passed away early, and was constantly the only member of his family that truly believed in him. 

Dewey’s mum was kind of absent, so he was raised primarily by his dad. 

Dewey and Ned met on the first day of high school, and were inseparable for all four years. 

Despite both of them liking both, Dewey likes Star Wars more, while New prefers Star Trek. They have debates of epic proportion over which of these preferences is better. Dewey somehow always wins. 

One of the reasons Ned let Dewey live with him is because Dewey is an amazing cook. He never eats what he makes though. 

His specialty is breakfast foods

While he may be an amazing home cook, he’s an even better baker. 

Dewey is highly sensitive to textures, especially food and fabrics. 

Because of this, he rarely tries new foods, sticking to a decently firm schedule. (He really likes hard boiled eggs) 

It’s also why he likes sweater vests. The actual sweater doesn’t touch his skin, but he can rub his hands up and down the knit when he gets overwhelmed. 

He’s also sensitive to criticism. Along with that, he cries easily. 

After the whole School of Rock incident, Dewey did some quick online classes on teaching. When a music teacher position at Horace Green opened up, he was the first one contacted to fill it. 

During SoR shows, Dewey has a tendency to get very hyped, and this eventually leads to a collapse, usually on the bus ride home. It happened once on stage, where he just went still and quiet all of a sudden and then began to panic. 

All of his kids know exactly what to do during his collapses. 

They made him (yes made him) a stress doll. It weighs about twenty pounds and looks like a panda. They lay it across Dewey’s chest and let him lie down on a blanket. The kids then surround him to make a protective barrier. It’s a very effective method. 

It took almost thirty years for Dewey to get diagnosed with mild autism, anxiety, ADD, and seasonal depression. His mother was a firm believer that mental illness was a hoax. 

He did try and take medication for it, right when he started teaching full-time. It made him nauseous and tired and so unlike himself that he quit after three months, a decision that was fully backed by his students. 

He eventually did go back and get a new prescription for his ADD. It works surprisingly well and doesn’t make him act any less like himself. 

This isn’t even a Headcanon. It’s straight up actual canon from the Broadway.com Stick it to the Man video! Dewey stims! He knocks his wrists together and does the raptor hands! (I don’t think his hands were truly by his side at any point during the entire show) He taps his feet and shakes his hands! His facial expressions are always on 10 and he scronches his face when he’s excited! His head go bop! He’s a stimming Boi!

Also have you ever seen a neurotypical person dress like that? Ever? Nope. Sweater vests and jeans and sneakers (that look like heelys) is not a neurotypical outfit. 

Dewey doesn’t like rainy weather, nor does he like the cold bite of winter. He has a heater and a happy light in his classroom for rainy and/or cold days. 

His favorite season is fall. He really really likes to step on leaves and hear that satisfying crunch. 

Dewey also has a weakened immune system, and is pretty vigilant about his health. He takes vitamins and vitamin D supplements, and yet always ends up with some kind of illness in winter. Despite this, he refuses to get any kind of flu shot. 

Dewey’s list of phobias includes: needles, heights, clowns, and the dark. 

He’s dead terrified of the dentist. Ned has to practically drag him every time. It’s not even that he has poor dental hygiene or has actual odontophobia, he just hates the experience. The combination of strong smells and uncomfortable touches and horrible noises overwhelms him so much. 

For much of the same reasons as his hatred of the dentist, Dewey dreads getting his hair cut. Social interaction mixed with weird feelings on his surprisingly sensitive head and the constant background noise and the hair spray-y smell make it an experience Dewey’s hated since childhood. Now, Ned usually cuts Dewey’s hair because he’s really not picky about how it looks, and Ned knows exactly how to go about the job without causing Dewey to hyperventilate and cry. 

He uses a night light! It’s the fun kind that projects stars on the ceiling. 

Dewey is the king of field trips. He’s always just as eager as the kids to go, and he loves to learn niche facts. His favorite field trip location is the aquarium. 

Dewey quit drinking after his 23rd birthday, when he blacked out and woke up in some random girl’s bed. She promised they didn’t do it, but ever since then, he’s terrified it’ll happen again. 

Speaking of which, Dewey’s a virgin. 

Once, one of Dewey’s female students came to him and said an older man was following her to and from school every day. Dewey was later suspended from work for a week for punching a man and putting him in the hospital. Once they knew why, the school board unanimously decided not to punish him. 

Dewey absolutely insists all of his kids call him Dewey and not Mr. Finn. 

He’s the most supportive teacher in the entire school. He’s got name tags on every desk with each kid’s preferred name and pronouns. When Billy comes out as non-binary, he makes the pronoun switch immediately and puts a beautiful stained glass-esque progress pride flag in one of his windows. 

Someone hatefully vandalized said pride art project and Dewey actually cried. His kids all banded together to make a new one. 

Sometimes, the kids purposefully ask Dewey to sing certain things because his voice gets so damn tender and beautiful, as opposed to the usual bombastic singing they’re used to. (Think like. Some of the 35MM songs) 

Dewey has a routine with his drinks throughout the day. Two cups of coffee in the morning, one at home and one at work. One water bottle before lunch and one after lunch. A Gatorade or some other fitness drink after school, usually during band practice to make up for how sweaty he gets. And one cup of lavender citrus tea with extra honey after dinner. 

He broke his only water bottle about four months into teaching full-time and started to use a plastic one every day. Ned decided that wouldn’t do, and got him a Mandalorian water bottle. Dewey loves it to bits. 

Dewey doesn’t celebrate any one version of a holiday. He’s equal opportunity for any and all holidays, but he grew up Jewish. That doesn’t stop him from helping Ned put up his Christmas tree every year. Nor does it stop him from celebrating Yule with his online friends. 

Despite being Jewish and mainly celebrating their holidays, Dewey loves Christmas music and starts playing it as soon as he can. The kids dare him to hit those ridiculous Mariah Carey high notes in All I Want For Christmas. He does it. 

He also once sang ‘Little Drummer Boy’ to his kids the day before holiday break. He only played his guitar softly and by the time he was done, each and every kid was fast asleep. (He played Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer as well) 

Dewey absolutely collects soft blankets. He has four halloween ones, two Tim Burton ones (a Beetlejuice and a Corpse Bride), eight winter holiday blankets, and three miscellaneous. He brought them all into class once and built a blanket fort to teach his kids about ancient civilization. 

Speaking of which, his teaching methods are unorthodox at best, and at worst downright crazy. But he always teaches and he always makes it memorable. His class has the highest test scores in the school. 

Dewey usually teaches using music or hands on activities. He plays soft background music during every class no matter the circumstances, and said screw the building’s lights and uses primarily lamps and strings of Christmas lights. 

He also kind of forgets that he teaches essentially middle school, and he swears every so often when he’s super passionate. Like when he taught the kids about the US Presidents and called Andrew Jackson a racist bitch and Richard Nixon a lying bastard. 

After getting bullied throughout all of high school, Dewey came to terms with what his body looked like, and now he really doesn’t care. (He did have a lot of fun smashing the scale his mother got him for his birthday once) 

Dewey was supposed to teach his kids about mental illness for a suicide prevention thing the school did, but got about halfway through before he had a breakdown and the kids declared the rest of the day a bust. They watched cute animated movies instead of learning for the rest of the school day. 

Speaking of animated movies, Dewey really loves Studio Ghibli. 

The first time one of his kids called him ‘Dad’ he cried. Then they kept doing it and now he’s had to accept that he’s basically a father to about 30 11-year-olds. 

If you ask any kid in the school who their favorite teacher is, they will not hesitate to answer ‘Mr. Finn.’ Even if they aren’t in his class, he’s their favorite. 

Dewey’s classroom is always open for lunch. It’s quiet and calm, usually with a movie going in the background. 

He also stays after school for about an hour every day, helping kids with homework. He hates math with a passion but that didn’t stop him from trying to figure out Katie’s math homework with her. 

Even at home, Dewey cannot stand the quiet. He either has his headphones on or the radio going. Silence just isn’t an option. 

Dewey once got pneumonia and tried to come in to work anyway. The kids made him go home. He didn’t really put up much of a fight. 

The first instrument Dewey ever learned to play was the piano. He started to learn when he was super young, and that was how he learned how to read music. His kids didn’t even know he knew how to play until they walked in on him practicing one day. 

Dewey says ‘fuck gender roles’ and wears the girl’s skirts to a few SoR concerts. He likes the way it makes his legs look. 

Some jerk parents constantly tried to get Dewey in trouble for months because they didn’t like him and thought he wasn’t ‘high class’ enough for their kid’s education. Dewey was so stunned when they showed up during one of his classes that he couldn’t speak and just started to cry. Said student stood up and called their parents out. Two days later, those parents were off the school board. 

Meanwhile, on the other end of the spectrum, Dewey found out a new kid he’d received was being abused at home because they weren’t getting high enough grades and he yelled at the kid’s parents in front of all the other staff members. 

Essentially, Dewey can’t defend himself at all, but will not hesitate to protect his kids. 

Dewey has said multiple times he would die for his kids. He’s always 100% serious, especially during lockdown drills. 

Once, the school had a lockdown that wasn’t a drill, and Dewey managed to keep his entire class silent and calm while mentally preparing himself to lay his life down for his kids. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. 

Dewey’s also said he’d seriously consider adopting any of the kids if their at-home situation was that bad. 

When he finally could, Dewey moved out of Ned’s house and into his own cramped loft apartment. He’s in love with the apartment, even though it’s tiny and kinda smells. 

Dewey has almost no concept of volume control. He’s slightly deaf from constantly doing very loud shows and sometimes shouts because he thinks that’s a normal speaking volume. 

As one of, if not the actual, youngest teachers at the school, Dewey is universally adored by the rest of the staff. It took a while for all of them to get on board with him, but now they all really like him. 

Dewey’s favorite fruit is pomegranate. There’s just something super cathartic about cutting into a pomegranate and slowly de-seeding it. Plus, it tastes super good. But he only likes them if he can de-seed them himself. 

One of the ways Dewey grounds himself is by pressing things to his mouth. He usually just puts his hand up on his face or the end of a pen in his mouth, but whenever he has a blanket, one corner is up against his lips. The same goes for stuffed animals. They’re always against his face. Most of the time, he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. 

[medicifm]

*  not  me  actually  writing  an  intro  the  night  before  like  i  always  mean  to  😳  hennyway  hey  biddies  ,  i'm  chloe  ,  im  in  the  snowy  part  of  pst  ,  &  i  use  she / her  pns  .  i’ve  been  . . . . . . .  scouring  the  tags  for  an  rp  like  this  so  im  so  excited  to  bring  this  newish  muse  of  mine  here  !   im  here to  do  the  honours  of  introducing  my  himbo - on - the outside , manipulative - shit - on - the - inside  . . .  oscar  🤡

(  twenty  three , cis  man , he / him  ) ✉ ― hey  babes , have  you  met  OSCAR  MEDICI ?  they’re  working  here  as  THE  HEAD  CHEF  AT  LORENZO’S ,  a  few  villas  down  from  where  you’re  staying  .  you  might  hear  them  singing  ALRIGHTY  APHRODITE  BY  PEACH  PIT  playing  from  their  villa  ,  it’s  their  favourite  song  .  yes  ,  they  hear  that  they  look  like  JACK  GILINSKY  a  lot  ,  actually  -  it’s  really  uncanny  .  their  friends  back  home  in  SYDNEY , AUSTRALIA  say  that  if  they  were  on  a  tv  show  ,  their  trope  would  be  THE  WOLF  IN  SHEEP’S  CLOTHING  ,  how  funny  is  that  ? ✎ chloe , 22 , she/her , pst

𝐢  .

pinterest  |  wanted  plots  |  

𝐢𝐢  .

name  :  oscar  gabriel  medici

age  :  twenty  three

dob ��/  sign  :  december  4th  ,  1997  /  sagittarius  sun  ,  leo  moon  ,  libra  rising 

pob  :  sydney , australia

gender / pronouns  :  cis  man  &  he / him / his

career :  head  chef  at  lorenzo’s  ,  full - time  heathen  ,  professional  disappointment  for  mothers  everywhere  .

drinking / drugs / smoking :  yes / more  often  than  he’d  admit / never .  

religion  :  jewish  background  ,  currently  non - practicing .

physical  :  jack  gilinsky  fc ,  dark  brown / black  longish  curls  (  reference  )  ,  dark  brown  eyes  ,  canon  jack  g’s  tattoos  ,  no  piercings  ,  6′2″  ,  175  lbs  ,  lean  but  strong  .  tattoos  a  la  canon!jack  ,  pearly  white  smile  that  he  may  . . .  or  may  not  . . .   use  crest  3D  white  strips  weekly  to  maintain  .  lots  of  burns  &  scars  from  kitchen  mishaps  on  his  hands  &  arms  .

traits  :  hard - working  ,  flighty  ,  intelligent  ,  hedonistic  ,  charismatic  ,  intense  ,  volatile  ,  

other  :  speaks  weird  french  (  aussie  accent  tings  )  ,  tans  easily  but  wears  sunscreen  nonetheless  ,  works  hard  parties  harder  ,  can’t  read  a  lick  of  french  but  spends  a  lot  of  his  free  time  with  a  coffee  &  a  new  paperback  ,  has  a  bit  of  an  internal  vendetta  against  rich  people  (  for  no  real  reason  ,  he  just  doesn’t  like  most  of  them  )  ,  has  ins  with  a  bunch  the  local  farmers  &  visits  them  weekly  ,  pretends  he  isn’t  lowkey  addicted  to  nicotine  administered  via  a  puff  bar  ,  liquor  of  preference  is  tequila  or  red  wine  ,  drives  a  lil  vespa  around  town  for  the  gag  of  it  (  loves  seeing  it  haphazardly  parked  amongst  a  bunch  of  luxury  cars  )  ,  

character  inspo  :  jess  mariano  (  gilmore  girls  )  , gordon  ramsey  🤡 ,  patrick verona ( 10 things i hate about you ) , ferris bueller ( ferris bueller’s day off ) , han solo ( star wars ) .

𝐢𝐢𝐢  .

oscar’s  arrival  was  as  unwanted  to  his  parents  as  could  be  :  a  father  whose  tendencies  leaned  towards  alcoholism  &  abusing  whoever  was  in  arms  reach  ,  a  mother  whose  life  was  more  or  less  spent  at  the  nursing  home  she  worked  as  a  nurse  at  ,  evading  home  .  he  became  a  self - inflicted  loner  ,  preferring  to  do  literally  the  exact  opposite  of  what  was  expected  or  wanted  from  him  .  he  had  a  few  friends  he  ran  with  ,  but  watching  them  all  go  off  &  study  or  prepare  for  university  solidified  in  oscar’s  mind  that  the  non - traditional  route  was  for  him  .  growing  up  by  the  water  ,  oscar  always  felt  more  drawn  to  skip  school  &  head  to  the  beach  than  he  did  obeying  his  parents  wishes  .   

one  of  his  solaces  was  his  grandfather  ,  gabriel  ,  who  owned  an  italian  restaurant  in  a  beach  town  north  of  sydney  .  whenever  the  weather  was bad  &  oscar  felt  like  ditching  class  ,  he’d  head  over  to  his  nono’s  restaurant  where  his  ass  would  be  put  to  work  as  soon  as  he  set  eyes  on  the  restaurant  .  it  was  tough  work  ,  but  challenging  in  a  way  that  fanned  the  flames  in  oscar’s  heart  ,  rather  than  dimming  them  .  by  the  time  he was  a  teenager  he  was  working  in  the  restaurant  everyday  after  school  , an  agreement  between  him  &  his  grandfather  framed  on  the  back  wall  that  stated  that  as  long  as  oscar  kept  from  flunking  out  ,  he  was  allowed  to  spend  as  little  or  as  much  time  in  the  kitchen  as  he  pleased .  

his  absolute  defiance  of  anything  traditional  &  following  the  rules  made  him  unpopular  with  adults  ,  but  lowkey  cool  with  the  girls  .  by  the  time  he  was  sixteen  ,  he  was  losing  his  focus  on  the  restaurant  &  his  grades  &  spending  more  &  more  time  chasing  after  girls  .  his  nono  tried  to  get oscar  to  come  back  &  focus  ,  but  as  always  ,  anything  he’s  asked  to  do  quickly  becomes  the  thing  he’s  running  from  the  most  .

tw  :  death  ,  cancer  .  around  his  eighteenth  birthday  ,  his  grandfather  suddenly  fell  ill  with  a  rare  form  of  cancer  that  took  his  life  six  weeks  after  diagnosis  ,  which  rocked  oscar’s  world  .  he  felt  overwhelming  guilt  that  he  hadn’t  spent  more  time  with  his  grandfather  ,  which  manifested  itself  as  oscar  dropping  out  of  school  a  year  shy  of  graduation  to  commit  himself  fully  to  perfecting  his  grandfather’s  techniques  ,  learning  all  of  his  recipes  (  read  :  pouring  over  dozens  of  handwritten  cookbooks )  in  some  failed  attempt  to  get  back  some  time  with  him  .  oscar  hadn’t  been  close  with  his  parents  in  years  ,  more  or  less  seeing  them  as  wardens  of  a  prison  he  wanted  nothing  to  do  with  .  his  grandfather’s  will  left  him  the  deed  to  the  restaurant  ,  with  an  ask  that  oscar  would  promise  to  act  on  whatever  he  felt  called  towards  ,  rather  than  doing  what  others  expected  of  him  .  to  be  candid  ,  this  whole  situation  crushed  him  .

eventually  ,  he  decided  he’d  had  enough  of  the  stifling  community  he’d  grown  up  in  .  he  sold  the  restaurant  to  one  of  the  regulars  ,  a  wealthy  man  who  he’d  come  to  acknowledge  as  somewhat  of  an  uncle  ;  a  safe  pair  of  hands  who  would  treat  his grandfather’s  legacy  with  as  much  passion  &  respect  as  oscar  himself  would  .  so  he  packed  a  bag  ,  texted  his  mom  that  he  was  going  traveling  ,  &  got  on  a  flight  that  evening  .  he  traveled  all  around  -  first  through  central  america  ,  then  through  europe  ,  throughout  asia  &  africa  ,  &  spent  a  few  months  driving  a  van  across  the  continental  united  states  &  canada  for  fun  . 

eventually  ,  he  started  getting  low - ish  on  money  ,  &  decided  to  settle  in  one  of  his  favourite  places  he’d  visited  :  southern  france  .  he  arrived  in  early  2018  ,  taking  on  whatever  menial  tasks  he  could  while  learning  french  until  he  got  a  position  as  a  line  cook  in  an  italian  restaurant  .  a  few  years  later  ,  he’s  made  his  way  up  to  filling  the  head  chef  position  ,  an  honour  he  takes  with  pride  .  he’s  implemented  many  of  his  own  recipes  while  using  flavours  he’s  learned  from  his  travels  ,  with  ingredients  straight  from  local  farmers  .  he’s  earned  the  restaurant  a  two michelin  star  rating  ,  &  is  constantly  striving  for  more  to  get  that  last  star  (  both  for  his  own  ego  as  well  as  a  secret  debt  to  his  grandfather  )  .

𝐢𝐯  .

ok  but  that  vid  where  gordon  puts  two  pieces  of  bread  on  someone’s  head  &  calls  them  an  idiot  sandwich  ?  that’s  oscar  .  intense  as  fuck  in  the  kitchen  ,  &  best  nobody  catch  an  attitude  about  it  bc  he  will  not  hesitate  to  hand  them  their  ass  on  a  silver  platter  .

another  gordon  reference  :  you  know  how  he’s  the  spawn  of  satan with  adults  ,  but  the  sweetest  ,  most  helpul  guy  with  children  ?  that’s  oscar  with  his  staff  vs  people  he  wants  something  from  .  whether  its  to  sleep  with  them  (  usually  his  first  instinct  to  be  fair  )  ,  their  money  or  clout  ,  or  to  get  into  some  wild  adventure  some  random  resort  staff  wouldn’t  dream  of  getting  into  ,  he  can  turn  on  the  charm  whenever  needed  .

can  go  from  absolutely  demoralizing  someone  in  the  kitchen  to  stepping  out  into  the  lounge  to  schmooze  with  his  friends  or  cougars  who  leave  phat  tips  in  0.2  seconds  .  the  speed  at  which  his  mood  can  completely  180  is  one  of  the  seven  world  wonders  (  last  i  checked  )  .

his  love  language  is  absolutely  acts  of  service  .  catch  him  actually  falling  in  love  once  in  a  blue  moon  &  making  it  his  mission  to  cook  her  extravagant  meals  everyday  .  

the  wolf  in  sheep’s  clothing  label  epitomizes  his  nice  ,  helpful  ,  charismatic  exterior  ,  while  ulterior  motives  &  disdain  for  those  who  grew  up  with  more  money  than  he  did  lurk  beneath  the  surface  . 

he  can  be  MEAN  when  someone  fucks  him  over  or  pushes  him  farther  than  he  wants  -  isn’t  afraid  to  go  for  the  low  blows  or  send  someone  home  with  an  identity  crisis  if  it  protects  himself  .

lowkey  alcoholic  but  he’s  not  ready  for  that  conversation  yet  .  he  sees  it  more  as  perks  of  the  location  &  atmosphere  he’s  found  himself  in  .

also  lowkey  falls  in  love  HARD  ,  like  this  man  is  a  closeted  romantic  but  self - sabotages  all  potential  relationships  before  they  can  get  to  that  point  out  of  fear  he’ll  be  unable  to  live  life  of  his  own  volition  (  takes  a  flaky  philophobic  sagittarius  to  know  a  flaky  philophobic  sagittarius  🤡  )  .  has  probably  only  had  a  few  real  relationships  besides  flings  bc  he’s  afraid  .

𝐯  .

check  out  my  wanted  plots  tag  listed  here  ,  as  well  as  my  pinterest  wanted  plots  board  here  .  here   are  some  other  suggestions  hehe  :

best  friend  /  ride  or  die  :  someone  who  knows  about  his  past  ,  keeps  him  grounded  when  he’s  lk  spiraling  &  wants  to  drop  everything  &  flee  to  some  far  flung  corner  of  the  earth  .

actual  relationship  :  it  was  fast - burn  with  deep  feelings  (  not  them  thinking  they’re  soulmates  after  dating  for  a  month  . . .  pete  &  ariana  type  beat  )  but  completely  unrealistic  .  they  have  their  own  life  ,  he’s  pretty  much  tied  to  the  restaurant  ,  not  to  mention  his  lack  of  sharing  anything  about  his  childhood / life  back  home  .  they  loved  &  cared  for  each  other  ,  but  crashed  &  burned  fairly  quickly  because  of  how  idealistic  it  was  .  they  can  either  be  on  bad  or  good  terms  now  .

hateship  with  sexual  tension  😈

summer  flings  !!

fake  boyfriend  :  he  shows  up  on  her  arm  to  her  family’s  events  where  she’s  expected  to  have  a  partner  .  it’s  not  a  real  relationship  ,  but  her  parents  don’t  need  to  know  that  .  he  plays  the  part  &  satisfies  her  parents  beyond  the  bare  minimum  ,  &  in  return  she  invites  him  to  parties  ,  takes  him  out  on  her  family’s  yacht  ,  etc  etc  .  we  luv  some  symbiosis  

i  can  always  use  more  fwbs  hehehe

squad  :  a  group  of  people  who  do  everything  together  ,  have  a  chaotic  group  chat  ,  have  nicknames  for  one  another  ,  are  utd  on  each  other’s  sex  lives  ,  party  all  night  then  show  up  to  brunch  hungover  together  .  

cat  &  mouse  :  someone  he’s  pursuing  who  isn’t  quite  giving  in  ,  &  vice  versa  .  maybe  it’s  been  going  on  a  few  years  ,  everytime  they’re  in  st  tropez  they  have  this  weird  lil  flirtationship  thing  goin  on  until  she  leaves  ,  they  forget  about  one  another  ,  then  pick  it  right  back  up  when  she  returns  .

confidant  :  preferably  someone  from  a  working  class  background  who  understands  his  plight  of  being  a  worker  amongst  people  who  expect  to  be  waited  on  .

enemies  :  they  don’t  like  his  attitude  ,  &  he  doesn’t  like  them  in  return  .  lots  of  eye  rolls  ,  shit  talking  ,  &  tension  between  their  mutual  friends  .

we’re  sleeping  together  but  we  shouldn’t  be  but  that’s  half  the  fun :  for  whatever  reason  they  became  friends  ,  starting  hooking  up  despite  it  not  being  a  good  idea  (  read  :  he’s  exes  with  one  of  her  friends  ,  her  parents  want  her  focused  on  career  ,  they’re  part  of  the  same  friend  group  ,  etc )  . . . but  now  they  can’t  stop  .  lots  of  stolen  glances  across  rooms  ,  squeezing  past  one  another  in  a  crowded  club  just  close  enough  for  a  quick  touch  to  the  back  ,  quietly  leaving  one  another’s  places  the  morning  after  &  playing  dumb  to  anyone  who  asks  . 

[aion-rsa]

The 25 Best SNL Holiday Sketches

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The holidays are a special time around 30 Rock. While tourists flock to see the towering Christmas tree, the Saturday Night Live writers room is busy thinking of holiday sketches you’ll reminisce about as you put up the stockings for years to come. Some of SNL’s all-time great sketches illustrate the best of the holiday spirit or lack thereof as show’s biggest stars often shined the brightest just before the New Year. 

From unlikely Santas to unorthodox gift-giving, we’re looking at 25 of our favorite Saturday Night Live holiday sketches. We’ll be going in chronological order here. There is a big dose of modern stuff in there, but what can I say? The show might be more miss than hit these days, but they really hit it out of the park year after year with the Christmas sketches.

Santi-Wrap (1976)

Very early in the show’s run, we get this classic where an adult woman (Laraine Newman) is all about sitting on Santa’s lap like when she was a little kid. The initial laugh is that before sitting down, she puts pieces of toilet paper on Santa’s leg for protection, like one would do in a public bathroom. Dan Aykroyd, her companion on this trip, seems shocked by this. Not that she’s trying to protect herself from germs, but because she’s not going far enough!

Suddenly, it turns out to be a commercial for Santi-Wrap, a festive and plasticky take on toilet seat covers. Not only do those two sell the product concept so well, but John Belushi as the mall Santa pushes it further by coming off as a complete disaster of a man who is probably riddled with disease.

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One of the show’s all-time best line deliveries is Belushi’s drunken, “Ho ho ho…” which has both defiant gusto and the sense that he’s seconds away from vomiting all over himself.

Mr. Robinson’s Christmas (1984)

Saturday Night Live has been a stepping stone to superstardom ever since Chevy Chase became a household name during its first season. In the 80s, Eddie Murphy’s recurring roles on SNL helped raise his profile as he eventually became one of, if not the biggest star of the decade. It was around Christmas time when Murphy’s spin on Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood became one of the sketches that came to define his tenure at Studio 8H.

Mr. Robinson’s neighborhood isn’t quite as nice as Mister Rogers’ but at Christmas time you have to make the best with what you have. Mr. Robinson was able to do that with a chunk of lettuce and a headless doll and Murphy was able to make the most of every opportunity he had on SNL.

It’s a Wonderful Life: The Lost Ending (1986)

If you’ve seen the 1946 American Christmas classic It’s A Wonderful Life, odds are you’ve been inspired by its heart-warming ending. Thanks to SNL and host William Shatner, we now have footage of the “fabled” lost ending to Frank Capra’s Christmas epic and it’s anything but heartwarming. Rather than end the film with everyone coming to George Bailey’s aid in his time of need and celebrating his lifetime of selflessness and kindness, it decides to give Mr. Potter a fate more explicit than being doomed to failure and loneliness. Phil Hartman pops in as Uncle Billy and not only remembers what happened to the missing money, but knows exactly who has it!

Dana Carvey makes the sketch as a George Bailey hell-bent on revenge. It just wouldn’t be Christmas without seeing him give Mr. Potter a beat down alongside his bloodthirsty loved ones.

Master Thespian Plays Santa Claus (1987)

Jon Lovitz’s characters were usually very hammy by design. Whether he was a pathological liar or the Devil himself, he always went to 11. One of his better recurring characters was Master Thespian, a scene-chewing Shakespearean actor who takes himself and his roles far too seriously.

In this installment, he would be playing the role of a mall Santa Claus.

Thespian doesn’t seem to have heard of Santa, but he’s down for the part. Finding out that there’s no actual script, he improvises and figures out the character via making mistakes and getting scolded by the Macy’s manager (played by Phil Hartman, choosing to base his performance on Frank Nelson because why not). To his surprise, Santa Claus actually LIKES children! These are notes a performer needs to know, man!

Seeing him play off the kids and Hartman is a blast. Speaking of which, one of the better gags is a fart joke that somehow proves how great an actor Master Thespian truly is. THANK YOUUUUUU!

Hanukkah Harry (1989)

Santa Claus (Phil Hartman) is violently ill with the flu, so it seems Christmas might be cancelled. Luckily, there is one man capable of fulfilling his obligations through the same kind of holiday magic. Hanukkah Harry (Jon Lovitz), Santa’s Jewish counterpart, is called in to help.

At its core, it’s a lengthy sketch about Jewish jokes and how lame Hanukkah is outside of it lasting eight days. Springing off of that, it actually makes for a really good, if a little touching, holiday story. There are definite laughs in there, but what was created to be a parody hits a little too close and becomes a genuine gem celebrating both holidays and the spirit of togetherness.

“On Moishe! On Herschel! On Schlomo!”

Motivational Santa (1993)

What started as a pep talk for troubled teens turned into Chris Farley’s iconic recurring character. Matt Foley, the thrice-divorced, sweaty, overweight man who lived in a van down by the river, crashed into our living rooms in 1993 and remained a fixture on SNL until Farley was fired from the show in 1995.

Sometimes a sketch is so successful that the writers are almost forced to bring one or more of its characters around again and Matt Foley was no exception. In one of the funnier times Matt Foley returned, he was hired to spread Christmas cheer as a motivational mall Santa, offering up this gem:

“‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the van Your ol’ buddy Matt fell asleep on the can. His children were nestled two time zones away, With his first wife and her husband, in sunny L.A. Matt woke up and realized with a chill and a quiver That he was living in a van down by the river!“

Though many of the same jokes and physical gags are recycled, Farley’s effort, from the painfully high pitch of his voice to crashing down the chimney, earns the Motivational Santa a place in SNL Christmas lore. 

Adam Sandler’s Hanukkah Song (1994)

Yes, we’ve heard Adam Sandler’s “The Hanukkah Song” a million times over, but we shouldn’t let that cloud our judgement. It’s one of the first clips that pops into your head when you think “SNL Holiday Sketches” and it will go down as a landmark moment when the history of “Weekend Update” is written 200 years from now. Sandler didn’t use his time to evoke images of being a Jew at Christmas, rather he chose to praise the Festival of Lights and name-drop all the famous people who celebrate it. Since debuting the song in 1994, Sandler’s updated it for his comedy albums and standup routine and given Jewish kids something other than “The Dreidel Song” to belt during during the holidays. Sandler’s clever, original moment is about as influential as it gets for any not-ready-for-prime time player.

It did lead to the movie Eight Crazy Nights, so it isn’t free from sin.

TV Funhouse: Fun with Real Audio (1997)

It’s rare for SNL to get poignant, but here’s a fantastic example. In this animated short, Jesus Christ returns to Earth and spends the first opening minutes being ignored and shoved into the background for disagreeing with televangelists who use his name to line their pockets with donations or to justify their hatred of homosexuals. These bits are, of course, animated over actual audio of said real life sociopaths. Jesus is able to give them their just desserts with his divine magic, but it bums him out.

Walking the city streets, unnoticed by the public at large, Jesus watches Christmas-themed TV through a store window and is disappointed with what he sees. That is, until he comes across Linus’ speech at the end of A Charlie Brown Christmas and we get a final moment that’s adorable, uplifting, and pretty hilarious.

NPR’S Delicious Dish: Schweddy Balls (1998)

The dry, NPR-host banter between Ana Gasteyer’s Margaret Jo McCullen — who cheerfully admits that she leaves tap water and rice out for Santa because “Christmas foods really wreak havoc on the ol’ digestive system” — and Molly Shannon’s Teri Rialto as they discuss delectable Yuletide “balls” with Alec Baldwin’s Pete Schweddy is a can’t-miss skit. The trio makes monotone an art form, while remaining dedicated to the naivety of the characters involved. (In response to Alec Baldwin’s, “But the thing I most like to bring out this time of year are my balls,” their faces barely twitch.) It’s double entendre at its finest, and never fails to leave me in stitches.

Pete Schweddy returned in another episode where he introduced the women to his hotdogs, but having them show so much interest in putting his wiener in their mouths was a little too easy a joke to pull off.

I Wish It Was Christmas Today (2000-the heat death of the universe)

On one December episode, there was a short segment of Horatio Sanz, Jimmy Fallon, Chris Kattan, and Tracy Morgan playing a catchy, albeit incredibly stupid song about Christmas being on the way. Sanz played a skinny guitar while singing, Fallon occasionally pressed an elephant noise button on the keyboard, Kattan held the keyboard while shaking his head, and Morgan danced with a look on his face like he got dragged on stage against his will. It was silly and would have probably been forgotten soon after.

Instead, they returned a week later and insisted on playing it again despite being explicitly told not to. Soon they would start playing it during non-December months to show Christmas’ superiority over other holidays. After Simon Cowell insulted the group, he sheepishly agreed that he wanted to join them and broke out some maracas. One year, when Sanz was the only one left in the cast, he replaced his buddies with Fozzie Bear, Gonzo, and Animal while Kermit the Frog danced in a way that you have to wonder if a Muppet is capable of snorting coke.

The song still gets brought out now and then, usually on Fallon’s show. It’s even been covered by Julian Casablancas and Cheap Trick of all people!

They did sing a completely different Christmas song one time, but nobody cared.

Glengarry Glen Elf: Christmas Motivation (2005)

Alec Baldwin seems to be the go-to host for classic Christmas sketches. Playing on his iconic Glengarry Glen Ross character Blake, Baldwin (in a way) reprises the role as 615-year-old “elf from the home office” sent to straighten out the subpar work of Santa’s elves. There couldn’t have been a more perfect break in character than when Baldwin says “Always Be Closing” instead of “Always Be Cobbling” as scripted. It’s a slip-up that makes for a perfect holiday sketch, full of deep-bellied laughs. 

TV Funhouse: Christmastime for the Jews (2005)

Not only is the witty “Christmas for the Jews” written by comedy legend Robert Smigel, but it’s sung by David Letterman’s Christmas angel Darlene Love. In “Christmas for the Jews,” the characters see “Fiddler on the Roof,” grab an early dinner, and enjoy dreamland Daily Show reruns. It’s an intriguing and catchy look at the other side of the Christmas season, complete with a very Rankin-Bass animation style.

Digital Short: Dick in a Box (2006)

Justin Timberlake is one of the most entertaining, versatile hosts that SNL has been gifted. A member of their prestigious Five-Timers Club, “Dick in a Box” is Timberlake’s most memorable sketch, filled with skeevy, disgusting come-ons from Andy Samberg and Timberlake, which has been viewed just millions and millions of times. In 2006, Timberlake had already impressed critics and viewers alike with his acting range in Alpha Dog, but his comedic turns on SNL solidified him as an actor. Timberlake has done a lot of impressive things in his time as an entertainer, but there are few more enjoyable (or laughable) than “Dick in a Box.”

These two R&B weirdos would return later on to sleep with each other’s moms as reciprocated Mother’s Day presents and later swear that being in a two-guy/one-girl three-way isn’t considered gay.

John Malkovich Reads ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas (2008)

As quipped by the man himself, no one emits Christmas spirit quite like John Malkovich. This admission yields the self-reflexive irony of Malkovich reading “The Night Before Christmas” to the children of SNL’s staff. Malkovich, pausing during his reading of the holiday classic, asks the children about the suicide rate rising during the holidays, talking about how shooting a home invader in California is “perfectly legal,” musing about how the tonnage of Santa’s sleigh and reindeer would (scientifically speaking) burst into flames, how in Portugal their version of Saint Nicholas steals children’s toes, as well as reciting the gem: “You know what they say about hopes; they’re what we cling to when reality has left us nothing else.” If you’re in a lighthearted Christmas mood, Malkovich’s monologue is certainly one to enjoy.

Stefon on Holiday Travel (2010)

Bill Hader was highly respected for his versatility and range during his time at SNL, but it was his improvisational skills that turned a Weekend Update bit into a must-see recurring segment. Stefon, likely the defining character for SNL during the 2010s thus far, informed New Yorkers and tourists alike of the city’s hottest nightclubs – with Hader almost always breaking down in laughter as his cue cards were frequently changed from the rehearsal to throw him off.

Stefon knew how to get weird and you can imagine he’d save some fun things for the a “classic New York holiday.” Make sure to check out the Lower, Lower East Side dump hosted by Tranderson Cooper or find a club with the right amount of Puerto Rican Screeches or Gay Aladdins. Just don’t run over the Human Parking Cones.

Stefon would return with more Christmastime insight three years later, where he’d discuss a club called [loud Tauntaun noises], founded by Jewish cartoon character Menorah the Explorer.

Under-Underground Crunkmas Karnival (2010)

Good God, I wish there were more Under-Underground Records sketches. As a parody of the Gathering of the Juggalos, we’d regularly see DJ Supersoak (Jason Sudeikis) and Lil Blaster (Nasim Pedrad) excitedly talk up huge concert events that are needlessly violent and inexplicable in their randomness. For instance, there’s the Crunkmas Karnival, which features such musical acts as Dump, Boys II Dicks, Scrotum Fire, and…Third Eye Blind for some reason.

It’s just a bunch of loud humor that goes back and forth between being stupidly hardcore and being meekly out of left field. Yes, you can go check out a “dong tug-of-war,” but you can also see a special 2D screening of the Owls of Ga’hoole or meet Spaceballs star Pizza the Hut. Not to mention the return of their most fondly remembered running gag, the endless undying and dying of Ass Dan.

This Christmas-based event will take place in February. Sounds about right.

Ornaments (2011)

Every now and then, SNL will do a sketch towards the end of the show where the guest will talk about whichever holiday is coming up and awkwardly go into one of the aspects of it, such as Easter eggs or Halloween candy. In this instance, it’s Steve Buscemi unloading a box of Christmas ornaments and commenting on each one. All the while, Kristen Wiig plays Sheila, his girlfriend who appears to be more than a little off and doesn’t quite grasp tree decorating.

Buscemi’s descriptions range from delightful non-humor to outlandish and disturbing. He might make an intentionally lame joke about one ornament before holding up another and matter-of-factly letting you know that, “I put this one up my butt.”

And somehow he’s still the straight man in this bit.

You’re a Rat Bastard Charlie Brown (2012)

This sketch is centered on Bill Hader playing Al Pacino, playing Charlie Brown. The rest of the cast turns out bang-up impressions as well: Jason Sudeikis playing Philip Seymour Hoffman playing Pigpen, Kate McKinnon as Edie Falco playing Lucy (as Charlie Brown’s drug peddling therapist, causing a holiday-blues Charlie to say, “Oh yeah…I want something to take me sky high!”), Martin Short playing Larry David playing Linus, Taran Killam doing Michael Keaton as Schroeder, and Cecily Strong as Fran Drescher as Charlie Brown’s mother, all performed in front of a baffled childhood audience.

For anyone who grew up watching Charlie Brown and Co., watching Bill Hader/Al Pacino/Charlie Brown unleash the expletive-laden “You’re gonna hold that f***ing football?!” towards Kate McKinnion/Edie Falco/Lucy, and saying, “Ow, you bitch!” after she pulls it away is absolutely to die for.

Jebidiah Atkinson on Holiday Movies (2013)

For a time, Taran Killam played Jebidiah Atkinson, a Weekend Update character based on how an old newspaper editorial was discovered that panned Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. Atkinson, somehow still alive, would appear and read review snippets about other big speeches he hated.

One of his return appearances had him discuss holiday specials and movies. Every single one of them he hates. Every single one of them gets roasted. His vicious energy is so over-the-top that the good jokes land and the bad jokes still get a laugh from the misplaced confidence. Over these several minutes, he screams about how much of a depressing bore A Charlie Brown Christmas is, how the Grinch stole a half hour of his life, and how every time they play It’s a Wonderful Life, an angel blows its brains out.

This one is admittedly a bit dated with its biggest joke, where his distaste for Snoopy is so great that he wishes Family Guy killed him off instead of Brian. The horror from the audience still makes it worth it.

St. Joseph’s Christmas Mass Spectacular (2014)

Ah, Christmas Mass. The drum solo for every childhood during Christmas time. It’s uncomfortable and especially boring. Ergo, liven it up by framing it as a big, in-your-face event via what amounts to a monster truck rally commercial!

It’s a brilliant use of contrast. Take an event that is so mundane with so many familiar and shared experiences and treat it like it’s some extreme thing. The familiarity of the pastor making corny jokes that get the most minor of laughs is treated like a once-in-a-lifetime event. It shines a light on the weird tics of the prominent people you see at church and feels amazingly universal.

The SNL cast is fantastic here, but the MVP is Cecily Strong as the middle-age woman who is way into doing a reading in the loudest, most overly articulate speaking voice possible.

Sump’N Claus (2014)

Getting gifts from Santa Claus is great and all, but when you grow up, you realize how hard it truly is to be nice all year round. Luckily, there’s an alternative. Introduced via an extremely catchy song, we meet Sump’n Claus (Keenan Thompson), a pimp-like offshoot of Santa who not only used to work for St. Nick, but also appears to have some dirt on him.

Sump’n Claus sings several verses about people who have had breakdowns and would be thrown onto the naughty list. Sump’n Claus doesn’t care about that. You be you. Every December, he’ll still be there to hand you an envelope full of twenties and fifties. He’s the holiday mascot for adults, basically.

One of the highlights is how he mentions that Santa is not your friend as friends don’t watch you while you’re sleeping.

The Christmas Candle (2016)

Christmas has been saved by many different things: ghosts who see through time, an angel trying to earn his wings, a reindeer’s glowing nose, New Yorkers singing “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” and so on. Then again, sometimes you need a savior for something with lower stakes.

In the form of a mid-1990s all ladies group that gives me kind of a Celine Dion vibe, we’re given a wonderful song that starts with the tale of a woman who had to get a coworker a gift for Secret Santa. She found an old peach candle in her closet and just gave her that. The second verse is a similar situation where not only is a peach candle given as a throwaway gift to an acquaintance, but it’s THE SAME candle. Yes, somehow this one peach candle is re-gifted across the globe through latter December by women and gay men who couldn’t be bothered to put thought into their presents.

Truly a miracle.

First Impression (2018)

Beck Bennett plays a guy about to finally meet his girlfriend’s (Melissa Villaseñor) parents and he’s nervous as hell. She assures him that he’ll be fine, but he really wants to impress them. Sure enough, he tries to impress them in the weirdest way by hiding somewhere in the house and speaking in a high-pitched voice in order to dare them to find him. Her parents (Jason Momoa and Heidi Gardner) are notably confused, as is she.

It’s already a strange and silly bit, but Jason Momoa shifts it into gear by suddenly being COMPLETELY into it. Removing his jacket with purpose, Momoa excitedly starts searching the house for this guy. The fact that Momoa is playing an overweight 60-year-old man is enough of a novelty, but he brings this oddball zest to the role as he starts to literally tear the home to pieces in order to get a look at his daughter’s elusive boyfriend.

The boyfriend’s plans here are both overly complicated and half-baked, culminating in an ending that’s as happy as it’s inexplicable and off-putting.

North Pole News Report (2019)

When Eddie Murphy returned to SNL, there was much fanfare. A completely solid episode, it admittedly spent too much of its runtime revisiting his old recurring classics like Mr. Robinson, Gumby, and Velvet Jones. The final sketch of the night goes full blast with his manic energy as he plays an elf eyewitness on the elf news, screaming bloody murder about a horrible tragedy. Mikey Day is reporter Donny Chestnut, looking at the destruction of a toy factory. As he tries to make heads or tails of what’s going on, Murphy bursts onto the scene, screaming about a polar bear attacking the elves and eating them like Skittles. And just screaming in general.

The best line comes from the elf (who keeps declaring, “IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT MY NAME IS!”) bringing over one of the survivors, and noting that, “This white, teenage elf girl ran out here, straight up to me – a black elf in sweatpants – and asked me to keep her safe. That’s how bad it is!” Despite this elf being right about the situation, Donny Chestnut keeps trying to sideline him for being increasingly erratic about Santa’s potential role in the slaughter and what it means for Christmas. Even as he trips over some of his lines, Eddie Murphy is so damn precious here.

AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!

December to Remember Car Commercial (2020)

It might be in bad form to include a sketch from this very year, but man, this joke is not only long overdue, but the acting is top notch. Heidi Gardner’s barely repressed rage is something special.

You’ve seen the commercial a million times. It’s Christmas morning and someone reveals a brand new car to a loved one. As part of Lexus’ December to Remember, Beck Bennett reveals a brand new Lexus with a giant bow to his wife (Gardner) and their son (Timothée Chalamet). What initially appears as shock turns out to be fury and confusion over what is a selfish and short-sighted decision. Buying a car is a huge deal and isn’t something you don’t tell your significant other. More than that, Bennett’s character hasn’t been employed for about a year and a half and has no way of affording such a thing. The thread is pulled away, unraveling both how much of an idiot he is and how doomed their family life happens to be.

Then neighbor Mikey Day shows up and it hits another level. Beck Bennett is the expert at playing guys with misplaced confidence who haven’t come close to thinking things through.

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[bookswritinghappiness]

Title: Recommended for You • Author: Laura Silverman • Number of Pages: 272 • Rating: 4/5 Published: September 1, 2020 • Read: August 8, 2020 - August 17, 2020

Official Description: To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before meets You’ve Got Mail in this charming and hilarious rom-com following two teen booksellers whose rivalry is taken to the next level as they compete for the top bookseller bonus. Shoshanna Greenberg loves working at Once Upon, her favorite local bookstore. And with her moms fighting at home and her beloved car teetering on the brink of death, the store has become a welcome escape. When her boss announces a holiday bonus to the person who sells the most books, Shoshanna sees an opportunity to at least fix her car, if none of her other problems. The only person standing in her way? New hire Jake Kaplan. Jake is an affront to everything Shoshanna stands for. He doesn’t even read! But somehow his sales start to rival hers. Jake may be cute (really cute), and he may be an eligible Jewish single (hard to find south of Atlanta), but he’s also the enemy, and Shoshanna is ready to take him down. But as the competition intensifies, Jake and Shoshanna grow closer and realize they might be more on the same page than either expects…

Author Bio: Laura Silverman is an author and editor currently living in Brooklyn, New York. She earned her MFA in writing for children at the New School. Her books include Girl Out of Water, You Asked for Perfect, It’s a Whole Spiel, and Recommended for You. Girl Out of Water was a Junior Library Guild Selection. You can contact Laura on Twitter @LJSilverman1 or through her website LauraSilvermanWrites.com.

My Review: I received a digital ARC of this book from Simon and Schuster as part of my participation in this blog tour in exchange for an honest review.

I found out about Recommended for You a few months ago, and when I saw the description and the words “rom-com,” “teen booksellers,” and “Jewish,” I immediately was beyond excited for this book, and that excitement only intensified when I was invited to be a part of this blog tour and got to read the book early!! I rarely get the opportunity to read rom-coms about two Jewish characters, so the fact that this book even exists means the absolute world to me.

I’ve never worked at a bookstore myself but I’ve always thought it would be at least a little bit fun, so I loved living vicariously through Shoshanna and her job at Once Upon. Seeing her get a little too excited about her favorite books (relatable) and then have a moment of “what do you mean you don’t read?!” when she finds out that Jake doesn’t read for fun (also relatable) was such a perfect introduction to her character and her relationship with Jake. Enemies to lovers has been one of my favorite tropes since I read Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston earlier this year, so following Shoshanna as she hate-crushes on Jake while competing with him for the prize money was such a blast. Speaking of Jake, Jake is such a Nice Jewish Boy (or as my friends and I say, NJB), and he’s such a wonderful love interest. I won’t spoil anything, of course, but the baking scenes with him and Shoshanna were some of my favorites.

I think my favorite thing about this book is how casual all of the representation in this book is. There’s the obvious one, of course, and the one that’s the most relatable to me: the Jewish representation! Reading a book set in the wintertime with a main character that talks about her excitement for dreidels and latkes instead of Christmas lights and candy canes meant the world to me. And not only does she talk about Hanukkah, the phrase “oy vey” (along with other Yiddish words and phrases) shows up multiple times in her internal narration and in her dialogue, and she even refers to herself as a Nice Jewish Girl (which is an actual phrase my friends and I use)! A lot of Shoshanna’s character feels so true to my own life, which I don’t take for granted, nor do I take for granted the fact that there are multiple Jewish characters in this book. Authentic Jewish main characters (and characters in general) are rare in media overall and especially so in YA novels, and I hope that I’ll see more Jewish representation like this in the future. But I’m not just talking about the Jewish representation. Multiple significant supporting characters in this book are members of the LGBT+ community, including Shoshanna’s parents, and their identities are treated with respect and are just a small part of these characters’ personalities. Myra, the owner of the bookstore where Shoshanna works, uses a power wheelchair, and her character’s role in the story has nothing to do with that particular part of her life. Daniel, Shoshanna’s “work husband” as she calls him, is Black, and just happens to be Black; it’s an important aspect of his character, but not the only one. All of the representation in the book is written this way, and it’s so lovely to see.

Honestly, my only objection while reading this book involved Shoshanna’s motivation behind a pivotal decision she makes involving one of her friends. I’m not going to go into detail in order to avoid spoilers, but I felt that her thought process behind it was a bit of a stretch.

Overall, though, Recommended for You feels like a heartwarming Hallmark Christmas movie in book form, or at least what I imagine Hallmark Christmas movies are like — I’ve never actually seen one! If they are anything like this book, though, I definitely should marathon them all this holiday season. In all seriousness, Recommended for You had me smiling like an idiot the entire time I was reading, just like all of my favorite rom-com books and movies do. I absolutely loved reading this book, and I highly recommend you all check out it now that it’s finally published : )

Recommended for You on Goodreads This Review on Goodreads My Goodreads

Laura Silverman’s Website Laura Silverman’s Twitter

[caspianhayes]

                            CASPIAN ALEXANDER LEVI HAYES.

FULL NAME:  Caspian Alexander Levi Hayes. NICKNAMES(S):  Cas. AGE:  28. DATE OF BIRTH:  November 20th, 1991. PLACE OF BIRTH:  Chicago, Illinois. CURRENT LOCATION:  Red Ridge, Nevada. ETHNICITY:  White. GENDER:  Cis male. PRONOUNS:  He/him/his. SEXUAL ORIENTATION:  Pansexual. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:  Panromantic. RELIGION:  Atheist, raised half Jewish, half nondenominational Christian. OCCUPATION:  Bartender at Violet. EDUCATION LEVEL:  Bachelor’s Degree in business from the University of California, Los Angeles. EXTRACURRICULAR:  Swimming, baseball. LIVING ARRANGEMENTS:  Has a studio apartment near the north side of Red Ridge, lots of windows, usually relatively messy. SPEAKING VOICE AND ACCENT:  Speaks smoothly & calmly, a very standard midwestern accent that’s barely noticeable. It’s very easy to listen to him speak.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE, ETC.

FACECLAIM:  David Corenswet. HAIR COLOR AND STYLE:  Brown, curly, very well taken care of. It looks just as silky as it feels. Typically kept short, has grown out once in his life, and didn’t like the way it looked then. COMPLEXION:  Pale, warmer undertones. EYE COLOR:  Blue. EYESIGHT:  15/20 vision - what the average person sees from 15 feet away, Caspian can see from 20. He won’t be needing glasses anytime soon. HEIGHT:  6’3” WEIGHT:  174 lbs. BODY AND BUILD:  Muscular, but not as muscular as he used to be. He retains his biceps and pecs, but has given up on ab workouts, aside from the occasional one once in a blue moon. TATTOOS:   None, with no plans on getting any. PIERCINGS:  None, no plans on getting any. CLOTHING STYLE:  Cas’ wardrobe leans casual. Dark jeans and t-shirts are his everyday apparel. He only dresses more formal for work because he has to. When it’s cooler outside, he’ll go for a sweater before a sweatshirt. He still wears white Converse, has a beat up old leather jacket that he got in high school, and doesn’t like jewelry on his wrists or fingers.   DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS:  Almost unnaturally blue eyes, his dark curls, and a smile that lights up a room. A sniffle that’s almost always there. SIGNATURE SCENT:  Whiskey, leather, vanilla, and cashmere.

HEALTH.

MENTAL DISORDER(S):  Anxiety. Fear of abandonment and failure. ADHD. PHYSICAL DISORDER(S):  None. ALLERGIES:  None. SLEEPING HABITS:  Caspian has nightmares most nights. He doesn’t go to sleep until the sun starts to rise most mornings, thanks to the fact that Violet doesn’t close until well into the night and he has to stay after closing to help clean up before he goes home. It takes him a while to fall asleep,  but, once he does, he usually isn’t asleep very long. His nightmares startle him awake. It’s rare that he gets a total of six hours combined any given night. EATING HABITS:  He tries to take care of himself where he can in regards to his food. His breakfast most morning is a smoothie and some eggs, he’ll spend the extra money for organic fruits and vegetables. While he does take care of himself most of the time, there are those times where he sits down with a whole pizza and a pint of ice cream and finishes it all, though. When he’s high, he rarely eats, which is why breakfast is so important to him. SOCIABILITY:  He is an extrovert through and through. That’s part of the reason he thoroughly enjoys his time at the bar - socialization. He’s a very smooth talker and a very good listener, which is likely why people typically find it easy to trust him. The cocaine makes him even more sociable. BODY TEMPERATURE:  Naturally warmer, he gets cold very easily. That’s part of the reason he likes the desert so much. ADDICTIONS:  Cocaine. DRUG USE:  Frequently. At least once a day. ALCOHOL USE:  Semi-frequently. Likely drinks one glass of whiskey whenever he’s on shift, but otherwise rarely touches alcohol. Outside of work, when he does drink, it’s likely watching a football or baseball game.

PERSONALITY.

POSITIVE TRAITS:  Loyal, hardworking, charming, resourceful, charismatic. NEGATIVE TRAITS:  Anxious, sly, liar, secretive, stubborn. LIKES:  Cocaine. The Chicago Cubs, dogs, cashmere sweaters, traveling, warm weather, swimming pools. DISLIKES:  The cold, rough textured clothing, grating voices, loneliness, the sound of someone chewing with their mouth open. FEARS: Abandonment, loneliness, never being good enough. Failure. Death. HABITS:  Cocaine, cutting his nails frequently, smoothies with breakfast, fiddling with a necklace or other small things. ASTROLOGY:  Scorpio sun, Taurus moon, Scorpio rising. PERSONALITY TYPE:  ESFP. MORAL ALIGNMENT:  Chaotic neutral. HOGWARTS HOUSE:  Slytherin. ELEMENT:  Water. PRIMARY VICE:  Lust. PRIMARY VIRTUE:  Diligence. WEATHER: Sunny day, no clouds in the sky. Somehow, still a chance of rain. COLOR:  White and red // light blue. MUSIC:  Doesn’t listen to much music. MOVIE:  Inglourious Basterds (2009, dir. Quentin Tarantino). SPORT:  Baseball. BEVERAGE:  Kale and banana smoothie / Arnold Palmer. FOOD:  Scrambled eggs with cheese, broccoli, cupcakes, raspberries, peaches. ANIMAL:  Dogs of all varieties. SEASON:  Late spring, early summer.

FAMILY, RELATIONSHIPS, ETC.

MOTHER:  Amy Hayes. FATHER:  Stephen Hayes. SIGNIFICANT OTHER:  None. SIBLING(S):  One older sibling, 33+. CHILDREN:  None. PET(S):  None.

PROMPT.

Routine.

Who would’ve thought that Cas would end up here, of all places? Certainly not his family, certainly not anyone from his past. He doubted that anyone actually needed a business degree to bartend at the Violet, or to bartend anywhere, really. He doubted that anyone would think to find him there, which was part of the reason he enjoyed being there in the first place. That was the point of running away from the past, no? To escape it? Nights at the Violet were indulgent, and that was Caspian’s favorite part of it all.

Indulgence. Sweet indulgence. To start his shift after a hit of the best coke he could get his hands on was a feeling of near-euphoria after a morning of restlessness and anxiety. He could feel that paranoia and constant worry wash away as he walked the length of the bar, ears tuned in to everything happening around him. That was the thing about Violet; people talked. And when people talked, Caspian heard. They may have thought that he wasn’t listening, that he was just there to do his job and go home. But that wasn’t the truth. He knew about the man at the third stool and how he’d been cheating on his wife for the past three months. He knew about the woman at the seventh who owed Valencia more money than she had in her bank account, and, despite that, continued to turn to Violet every night for the comfort of a glass of gin. He knew the high-rollers with their hands dirty, knew the secrets of the civilians who simply wanted to live life without Valencia’s influence, knew those who feared Rorschach and what his arrival may mean. And it was almost as euphoric to him as the coke was. Almost.

HEADCANONS.

He grew up in the shadow of his older sibling. He always hated it - always hated never feeling good enough for his parents. No matter what he did, it wasn’t enough. Not when he made the varsity swim team and baseball team as a freshman in high school, not when he was given a swim scholarship to UCLA for college, not when he worked his ass off to get good grades despite his involvement in two sports.

The Hayes family is big in the financial planning world. If you don’t know a thing about that, you probably won’t know who they are, but his mother has been on covers of industry magazines and interviewed for finance TV shows before. She and his father co-own their own company.

He started partying in high school to try to let off some steam after games and dances. He only increased his partying in college. This was when he first tried cocaine. The partying got heavier and heavier, and, eventually, he lost his scholarship. That’s when he started bartending - he didn’t want his parents to know that he lost the scholarship, so he had to pay his own way through the rest of school. This was also when he cut contact with his family.

He likes it when people talk to him as if he was a brick wall, not absorbing any of their information. But he keeps that dirt in his brain - after all, who knows when he’s going to need it?

He was a good cook, once upon a time. Now, he doesn’t really have the incentive to be one, especially since he works through what most people would consider “dinner time”.

He’s pretty good at poker, but he’d never go into the casino to play. That’s too formal for him.

He wouldn’t refer to himself as a cocaine addict - just a man who likes cocaine. He figures he could stop at any time he wants to.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

SUPPLIER: he's got a drug addiction; he needs drugs. this is probably someone within valencia who provides him with his fix - someone he pays either with information or money.

MUTUAL DISLIKE: this person doesn't like him for whatever reason. maybe he owes them money. maybe he's made a promise he didn't keep. whatever the reason is, cas doesn't like them, either. they're greeted with distaste.

FRIENDS: obviously everyone needs friends. these people may or may not know about cas' addiction problems, and, if they do know, he still won't admit to having an addiction problem.

PAST HOOKUP: any gender ! he does have a tendency to sleep around solely for praise and validation that he feels like he's been missing in his life thus far. don't be mad if he doesn't call you back.

BOSS: this is someone in Valencia, as Violet is owned by them. Cas probably doesn't know too much about them/their involvement in the organization, they probably aren't too close because he's wary of them more than anything.

WARY: this person knows that something's going on with Cas. May or may not suspect the cocaine addiction, probably someone on the side of the law, recognizing that Caspian isn't getting by on his own.

OWED DEBT: Cas owes this person something, whether it be because they provided him with coke or because his car broke down and he needed help fixing it - whatever the reason, he's in debt, and he can't repay it yet. Valencia or not !

OLDER SIBLING: this is the big one ; see the main.

[mintjamsblog]

Gold (by MintJam)

Peaky Blinders fic: Tommy x Alfie

Read on A03

This is a “missing chapter” from earlier in my AU. The “first time” Tommy spends the night with Alfie. NSFW. If you’re new to my AU you may want to read Sideways first, but you don’t have to.

Summary:

“Fuck off,” Tommy snarls with venom in his voice.

“S’my fuckin’ house, mate, I’m not going anywhere. You wanna fuck off then you fuck off. Put your precious little suit back on and trot straight out that door.” Alfie nods towards the bedroom doorway. "Cause what is it, hmm? You scared of getting fucked or scared of liking it?"

Gold

The gymnasium was Alfie’s idea, and it was a good one, if he does say so himself. It’s neutral ground, metaphorically speaking (physically it’s on the edge of Camden town, but that was always going to be unavoidable given they’re here to watch one of Alfie’s fighters). The man currently sparring in the ring right in front of them is putting on a good show and Tommy does seem more relaxed than usual ... if by relaxed you mean shoulders just slightly less square and hands in the pockets of his long black coat. It's a start. The point of being here, because Alfie does always have a point, is that it’s unrelated to any of their current business dealings, which makes it a neutral topic of conversation, and as close to leisure as men like them ever get. Besides, Alfie thinks that Tommy would genuinely enjoy running a fighter so it's a pleasant diversion. (True, he can think of even more pleasant diversions, but he’s working up to that.)

It’s the first time Tommy’s been to London in several weeks and Alfie can’t deny that a certain element of anticipation has been, well, bothering him. Not vexing him, not weighing him down, just there, at the back of his mind. The few meetings they’ve had since that day at Arrow House have been awkward … laden with tension and, more often than not, unnecessary bystanders. Tommy had brought Arthur along to the first meeting for fuck’s sake; like he needed a bloody bodyguard! It would've made Alfie laugh if he hadn't spent every second of the meeting thinking about the noises Tommy makes when you tell him he's not allowed to come yet. After the second meeting Alfie’d managed to get him up against a wall, albeit briefly, but the way Tommy had desperately returned the kiss (at least until John had barged in) gave Alfie reason enough to anticipate there would be a third time. Which there had been. And a fourth. So yeah, he thinks it's safe to assume a certain element of interest on both sides now.

It’s not like Alfie’s some smitten schoolgirl. Far from it, he’s spent the last twenty years of his life taking his fucks where he can get them and rarely in the same place twice. It's unavoidable when you're a man of his particular tastes, but quite frankly he's never been interested in anything more, too busy and selfish to care. But Thomas Shelby is different, there's no denying that, in another league entirely. Alfie can't help it if he just fucking wants him. For starters, it should be illegal to look that bloody good all the time. But it's more than that, so much more.  He's one of very few men that Alfie would consider his equal. In fact, if pressed, he couldn't name a single other one, and that is something, right?  Tommy is wiley and ruthless and recklessly ambitious, and yet it's all undercut by this well-hidden streak of vulnerability – like a seam of gold in a wall of rock just waiting to be mined. And it's that seam, that precious vein that Alfie covets; he wants to take a pickaxe to that hard exterior and lay Tommy Shelby open.

He’s staring at the man now, standing out like a sore thumb in the seedy gym, looking immaculate and graceful and right on the fucking edge. It's not surprising given the shit he's involved in, Russians and government agencies crawling all over him, but the fact that Alfie can see it, well that's fucking dangerous. That is what gets people killed. And he very nearly was killed, wasn't he? That priest came far too fucking close and Tommy might be pretending he's fine, but it quite clearly isn't true. Alfie could see it that day at Arrow House and he can see it now - a weariness, a fragility barely hidden by Tommy's hard stares and fixed expressions. The rest of the world might not care to notice, but Alfie's more perceptive than most.

“How many hours have you slept in the last week?” he asks. It’s a strange thing to bring up in the middle of a discussion about match-fixing, probably, but Tommy is familiar enough with Alfie’s non sequiturs not to be thrown off balance. It's a sign of how well they know each other, even if it is quite annoying actually.

“More than any man in my line of work deserves to,” Tommy replies smoothly.

“Three, four hours a night?” Alfie continues, genuinely intrigued.

Tommy snorts gently and a strange smile twitches at the corner of his mouth as he reaches into his pocket for cigarettes, a small tell that shows he's playing for time. Fuck, less then that Alfie surmises. “It’s the price we pay for the lives we lead, eh?” Tommy says, once his cigarette is lit and he’s blowing smoke into the air above him.

“May very well be,” Alfie says, because he’s no stranger to the nightmares, but he’d bet good money that he manages better than Tommy.  “You wanna sleep tonight?” he asks, voice low and deliberate, because fuck it, there's no point beating around the bush. He knows Tommy has business in town tomorrow, and Tommy knows he knows. He is achingly aware that this is a very careful dance, that he may be the one leading with his feet but it’s up to Tommy whether he follows. He can see the way Tommy is looking at him intently, trying to read the true meaning behind his words, like it wasn't bloody obvious enough. His back has straightened and he hasn't answered, but then again, he hasn’t looked away either.

“I bet you ten pounds I can make you sleep better than you have in months, mate,” Alfie pushes.

“Is that right?” Tommy asks, staring straight ahead as if focused entirely on the fight. When the bell rings to signal the end of the round he exhales a slow cloud of smoke. "You're lucky I'm a gambling man," he says, before dropping his cigarette on the floor and stubbing it out slowly with the ball of his foot.  Alfie looks down at the gleaming black boot; he hasn't even smoked half of it he notes, before following Tommy towards the exit. He can't quite believe it was that easy.

____

An hour later they are standing in Alfie’s bedroom, fully dressed, kissing heatedly, when Tommy breaks away. “You have indoor plumbing?" he asks.

"It's Camden, not bloody Cairo. Of course I've got indoor fuckin' plumbing.”

"Good. I need a shower.”

“Sure, right,” Alfie says, slightly thrown but trying not to show it. Tommy's already stripping off his tie and his jacket. “Go ahead, first door on the left. Towels on the shelf.” Indoor plumbing...patronising git. It might not be a mansion, but it's a nice enough townhouse whatever Lord fucking Shelby might think. It’s got everything Alfie wants and that’s all that matters, innit, because no one other than himself and his maid ever sets foot in the place. Sure he might attend the odd dinner or religious celebration, because he's well known in the Jewish community and he has a certain profile to maintain, but he never hosts. Never lets people in. Until today that is. So this is strange, yeah, uncomfortable if he really analyses it. Makes him wonder why he didn't just drive to a hotel actually … but then he does a lot of questionable things where Tommy’ Shelby’s involved.

He can hear the water running on the other side of the wall as he bends down to take off his shoes and socks. He really shouldn't be surprised that Tommy would want to be as immaculate when naked as he is when dressed, it's just a shame that it's interrupted the flow of things just when they where warming up so nicely. Alfie strips down to his trousers and sits atop the bedclothes to wait, picking up the book on his bedside table to keep his mind occupied. He must actually succeed in concentrating on it briefly, because when the door handle turns a few minutes later he is momentarily startled. Then he’s momentarily stunned, because the sight of Tommy walking towards him, water dripping from his hair, white towel tucked around his slim waist … well it’s too perfect to be real. He looks like some sort of classical painting … or a marble sculpture ... all sharp angles and smooth planes. The things he wants to do to Tommy will send him straight to fucking hell without a doubt – which is a price he is absolutely willing to pay – ten times over if needs be.

Tommy strolls cautiously towards the side of the bed, eyes clearly scanning Alfie's torso. It's unnerving having someone look at him like this, having someone dare look at him at all. But that’s just one of the things that makes Tommy special isn’t it? The way he’s too brave for his own fuckin’ good; never afraid to look, to stare, to glare right into your black soul.  Alfie grabs him, has to, yanks him by the wrist and straight onto the bed in a move so fast and forceful that Tommy gasps. Then Alfie rolls him straight onto his back and lies on top, forearms boxing his head in on either side.  

"Fuuuuck," he breathes, when he’s settled, eyes roaming shamelessly over Tommy’s face, his neck, his chest. Tommy’ features have shifted from shocked to mildly amused, no doubt by the flagrant desire in Alfie's eyes. Smug bastard, Alfie thinks, although he can hardly blame the man. When you look like Tommy Shelby you're bound to become accustomed to a certain level of appreciation, to a degree of attention. Well, he's got Alfie's attention alright, and he's gonna have it all fucking night.

The moment weighs heavily on Alfie, because having Tommy here in his house, in his room, in his bed … is signifcant. No getting away from it. But whether Tommy thinks it’s significant … well, that is an entirely different matter. The impassive mask he wears gives Alfie precious little clue as to whether he sees this a big deal or a quick fuck or a frivolous mistake. What he does see, because his well-honed powers of observation have not deserted him entirely, is impatience. Tommy is impatient to get on with …. whatever it is he thinks they have come here to get on with. And thatwon’t do. Alfie is not going to have this moment wrecked by haste. And so he traces his fingers lightly through Tommy’s dark, wet hair, hovering hesitantly over his lips. “Slowly…” he warns, looking him straight in the eyes. “Fucking slowly.” Then he presses his lips over Tommy’s, opening his mouth until their tongues meet tentatively, teasing and licking with unusual and gratifying softness. He can’t help but groan at the heat and the intimacy, a low rumble in his chest that echos in the quiet of his room and is matched with a sigh from Tommy. No one is watching, no one is waiting and the rest of the night is theirs.

This level of intimacy is something Alfie hasn’t felt often in his life, the closeness of skin against skin, the warmth, the feel of Tommy's hands resting lightly on his bare shoulders. It’s just not allowed to men of his persuasion – more used to taking pleasure in hurried snatches, in alleys or theatres or certain clubs – almost always with their clothes on. Alfie drinks it in, wants to lick and suck every inch of pale, freckled flesh, to feel those muscles flex and roll beneath the skin, to take his time and draw more sounds from Tommy's swollen lips. To make him fucking dissolve.

It's dangerous how much he’s letting his guard down, how much he wants this. His body starts rocking on pure instinct, slowly but definitely, in a casual imitation of fucking. Maybe it’s that movement that does it, or the promise behind it, but he feels Tommy tense beneath him, put his chin to his chest and break the kiss to look down at the hips grinding against him.  

“What?” Alfie says, lifting his head, as if it weren't fucking obvious that Tommy is overthinking this. Not entirely comfortable with the idea of it, he guesses, although his body is responding just fine. Alfie presses his forehead hard against Tommy's, forcing his head back onto the pillow. "It's all fine," he whispers, staring at him.

“Thought I was here to sleep,” Tommy says, voice like factory smoke.

“Oh don’t worry, you will,” Alfie says, grinding his hips harder. “I’ll make sure of that.” He feels Tommy push against him, hands braced against his chest as if to force him up or off. It's futile, Alfie is stronger, heavier and has all the leverage in his current position, but if Tommy wants to feel like he's resisting then fine, he can go with that. He lets his full weight fall onto the smaller man laid out beneath him and leans down to kiss his neck, biting into his shoulder in a greedy gesture that’s none-too-gentle. Tommy grunts at the weight and the sharp pain and Alfie just licks over the teeth marks and chuckles; it's not a malicious laugh, he’s just delighted to be here, but it infuriates Tommy nonetheless. The next thing Alfie knows there's a knee jabbed between his legs. It doesn't quite hit its target full force, restricted by the towel still wrapped around Tommy’s hips, but fucking hell, that is a step too far, innit? His hand flies up on pure impulse to grip the slender throat, no thought as to the context. "That's how you want to play it, hmm?" he says, glaring furiously as Tommy's face flushes in his grasp. Alfie's angry, genuinely angry, because a bit of resistance is charming enough but a knee in the crown jewels is not. He wedges his own knee between Tommy's thighs, where it most definitely will not miss its target, and presses up hard enough to be threatening.

"Here's how this is gonna work," he starts, voice low and slow. "You are going to listen to me, and you are going to get what you came here for. Hmm. You can even pretend you don't want it if that satisfies some deep-seated prejudices ... some latent Catholic guilt. But you knee me in the fucking balls again and I will not be responsible for my actions. Got it?" Tommy’s eyes are wide and defiant but his body is achingly still; because even he is not stupid enough to argue when he’s trapped between a hand on his throat and a knee on his groin. They glare at each other for several long seconds, each trying to read the other one's mind, but Alfie doesn't miss the way Tommy's pupils widen. Yeah, he wants this.

“You need to relinquish some of that control. Let me take care of you. I'll make you sleep like a baby Thomas,” he says, with absolute certainty, slowly releasing the pressure from his grip, feeling Tommy's chest rise as he inhales deeply but remains otherwise rigidly still. The air in the room feels static, as though even the walls are listening. “But first," he snarls, "first I am gonna pick you apart, mate. From the inside out. Piece by fucking piece…”

He leans down to kiss Tommy’s collarbone, nipping along the thin skin. “And you are gonna hate me for it,” he growls darkly, directly into Tommy’s ear, “and you are gonna beg me for more.”

He licks a line up Tommy's neck, feeling his adam's apple move as he swallows slowly. "I don't beg," he says.

“That's what you think, sweetheart.”

“Fuck off,” Tommy snarls, and the venom in his voice is momentarily startling. Alfie pauses and pulls back.

“S’my fuckin’ house, mate, I’m not going anywhere. You wanna fuck off then you fuck off. Put your precious little suit back on and trot straight out that door.” Alfie nods towards the hallway. "What is it eh? You scared of getting fucked? Or scared of liking it?"

Tommy's eyes blaze, he tries to sit up, to shunt against the weight above him, but Alfie just grabs both of his wrists and forces them down above his head. He clamps his knees either side of Tommy’s hips and chuckles at the ease with which he has him pinned.“Or maybe both, hmm?” he says, glaring through dark eyes. “I don't think you really want to go anywhere, do you Tommy? I think you wanna switch that clever head off and let me show you things. Let me wreck you."

He doesn’t even wait for a reaction, just reaches for the tie that's strewn on the other side of the bed and starts fastening it to the headboard – because if Tommy needs help to surrender to this then Alfie is more than happy to oblige. “Hands up,” he says gruffly, preparing for a fight. To his surprise Tommy obeys with nothing more than a slow blink and a deep sigh, as if he’s just made some slightly irksome concession for the sake of a business deal, not offered himself prostrate to a gangster with a reputation for insanity. Alfie’s surprised he doesn’t throw in an eye-roll to boot.  And if he can't quite believe what he is being gifted, then he keeps that thought to himself. “I am gonna make you feel so good, Tommy,” he says, meaning every damn word, as he trails kisses down his chest. "You won’t regret this.”

“I already am," Tommy replies, “you arrogant fuck.”

"Hmmm. Arrogance is in fact one if my better qualities," Alfie mumbles distractedly, because he’s now busy letting his mouth explore the skin that’s stretched out beneath him: the tattoos, the freckles, the scattered scars. He pinches gently at the hardening nipples and smiles when Tommy gasps. He must have done something good or right in his life to deserve the way those blue, blue eyes are looking at him now, wide and wary and filled with need.

He lets his tongue trail down Tommy's abdomen, opening the white towel still tucked around his middle and groans aloud at the sight that greets him – hard and heavy and right fucking there – begging to be touched. He wraps both hands around that slender waist, letting them slide down to rest on his pelvis, stroking the delicate bones with his thumbs before lifting his hips from the bed and wrapping his mouth around that glorious cock. He laps and sucks like a starving man until Tommy moans obscenely.

"Oh fucking hell, the things I'm gonna do to you…" Alfie breathes as he lets Tommy’s body fall back onto the mattress.

"Show me," Tommy says huskily, panting through wetted lips.

“Bend your knees,” is all Alfie says, and Tommy responds immediately.

“If I knew your obedience was that easy to buy I’d have sucked your cock long ago,” Alfie hums, placing one hand on the back of Tommy’s thigh and pushing his leg up and out of the way.

"If I'd known it'd feel like that, I might have let you."

Alfie uses the newfound space to cup Tommy’s balls, stroking them gently before wetting one thumb with spit and rubbing it along the smooth skin of his perineum. He lets it slide up and down for or moment or two before pressing firmly enough to make Tommy inhale sharply and thrust his hips. Yeah, ok, he likes that.  So Alfie keeps doing it, teasing and rubbing until Tommy’s breaths are deep and shaky, again on the cusp of a moan. Things work out absolutely fine for the next few minutes, Alfie makes himself comfortable, seated between Tommy’s thighs, uses his tongue and his fingers to draw small sounds from the man in his mouth who’s definitely starting to relax. But then he presses his thumb a bit lower – rubs over that tight little hole – and everything fucking stops. Tommy's hips stop, his moans stop, his fucking breathing stops. And so Alfie stops, let's the cock drop out of his mouth and just looks up at Tommy who has closed his eyes and tightened up all over.

"S'all good," he says tenderly, "just trust me."

“Jesus, shut the fuck up,” Tommy gasps, “of course I don’t fucking trust you.”

“Bit late to realise that now, mate. Is that why you've clammed up tighter than a miser's moneybox?”

"S'fine... I'm fine,” Tommy says, voice settling, composure returning.

"That ain't exactly the message I’m getting…"

"M'fine, " Tommy repeats with more gravity. "S'just ..."

Alfie takes a deep breath and decides there’s no point in leaving this elephant in the room. “You've never slept with a man. I know. I’m not a total fuckin’ idiot.”

Tommy looks up at him deadpan, pouting with his bottom lip. “Wasn’t gonna say that.”

“No?” Alfie says, wondering if somehow he’s got this incredibly wrong.

“Was gonna say I’ve never slept with an insane, bearded Jew.”

The tension cracks for a moment as they both snigger nervously, a genuine smile crossing Tommy’s face, but when Alfie presses teasingly at the tight hole he tenses once again. It’s less than before, but even so...

“Seriously, are you tellin' me no woman's ever done this …" Alfie says, pressing gently, before Tommy cuts him off.

“…Jesus fucking Christ, Alfie. Do we have to talk about it?"

“No, no, but I do have to tell you that you have been visiting the wrong whores, mate," Alfie says, unable to keep another smile from his lips. So he gets to be the first to cross this particular threshold? Tonight just keeps getting better. He reaches into his bedside drawer for oil, conscious that his every move is being watched as he sits back to slick his fingers. “Lucky for you that I am the right type of whore,” he says as he holds one finger poised over Tommy’s entrance, circling gently with just the tip, not pushing, not probing, just savouring the weight of anticipation.  

"Eyes on me," he says calmly, when the air has settled again. But Tommy is looking steadfastly up at the headboard, his breaths so shallow they're silent. Yeah, there it is alright, that vulnerability, that seam of glorious gold. It makes Alfie want to turn him inside out, to decimate the hard layers and expose that valuable ore.  He pulls one pale leg up and over his own – pushing the other down into the mattress, then pauses to take in this picture of surrender: Tommy’s arms tied together above his head, thighs splayed out wide. If Alfie dies tomorrow he'll be a happy man just to have seen this he thinks. When Tommy looks back at him through those long, dark lashes his eyes say it all; he’s exposed, defenceless and nervous as hell; like a fox in a trap just waiting to be found.

"Look at me. Relax,” Alfie says placing his left hand flat across Tommy’s stomach, holding him still, grounding him with his warm, firm touch. Tommy boldy holds his gaze, head tilted up as Alfie finally pushes one finger into him in a slow, smooth movement. Tommy flinches and clenches and slowly exhales, but can’t stop his eyes rolling back in his head as his barriers are forcefully breached. Alfie is utterly mesmerised, his lust-fucked brain can hardly process that Tommy has allowed him this. When he starts to move he does so gently, reverently…just slides his finger out and back in again…lets Tommy ease into the feeling. Fuck, Alfie thinks, he hardly recognises himself. “Shhh, s’all good. Just relax,” he whispers, unable to take his eyes off that one finger fucking into Tommy, so hot and slick and amazingly tight. The mere idea of what it'll feel like to actually fuck him makes him swallow and groan out loud.

Tommy just closes his eyes and accepts the gentle movements, muscles fluttering endearingly as he tries to follow that one simple instruction. To relax. After a few minutes Alfie dares to push further, to explore and curl and tentatively seek out that sensitive bundle of nerves. When he finds it he rubs at it steadily until he's rewarded with a throaty groan.

"Good?" he asks, unnecessarily, because the way Tommy’s starting to move says it all.

“Yes," Tommy says, “it’s good…" but his words are swallowed in a loud groan as Alfie presses down on his stomach and pushes in with a second finger.

“Jesus…fuck…” Tommy moans, and the note of panic in his voice makes Alfie groan sinfully. Soon he's curling both fingers, searching again for the specific spot that he knows will unravel Tommy from the inside. He strokes slowly, firmly, using the pads of his fingers in an even, regular motion. It's tighter and harder to manoeuvre than one finger, but he wants it to feel more intense. Tommy is looking at the ceiling, trying to keep the frown from his face.

"Just relax, it'll ease, it'll be worth it,” Alfie says, trying to soothe him or reassure him. “Listen to me, switch off that brain.”  

Tommy hums quietly in response, his face already softening as he adjusts to the feelings, the fullness, the motion inside. Alfie’s not so much fucking into him now, focused more on those little strokes and pretty soon Tommy’s hips roll gently, pushing back against the fingers. Alfie knows when he’s found just the right rhythm because his mouth drops open wide.

“Oh,” he gasps, “oh… oh fuck…oh fuck.” And that’s it, they settle into a pattern, punctuated by Tommy’s increasingly guttural sounds.

There’s no doubt his body is responding to the unfamiliar pleasure, the liquid trickling down the side of his cock is impossible to miss. And oh how slowly Alfie is going to coax it out of him, until he's a delicious, desperate mess.  He presses firmly onto the now engorged gland, eliciting a loud, shaky, “ahhh,” before Tommy starts panting heavily and Alfie decides to relent. He does it again, harder this time, until Tommy's knees lift up and he lets out a pained cry. He looks at Alfie wide-eyed, horrified and yet, somehow, strangely trusting. It sends a wave of blood straight to Alfie's groin.

“Touch me,” Tommy whispers after several minutes of the same.

“Your cock?” Alfie asks

“Yes," he says urgently, “God, yes…” words dissolving into a moan.

“I don’t think I need to, mate, because this,” Alfie says, stroking his prostate firmly, “this is working just fine. It must be, look how hard you are. Looks almost painful. Look how much you’re leaking.” Tommy lets out a long, strangled groan and looks longingly towards his engorged cock. He pulls at the ties round his wrists and whines in frustration.

”Yeah, and those pretty noises you're making ... there's gonna be a lot more of those before we're done."  Alfie can see the intensity building, how he’s slowly succumbing, giving in to the ungraspable pleasure. But he wants more…he wants Tommy squirming with it…desperate…unable to control his cries.

Tommy grits his teeth and hisses, thrusting his cock into the air in a futile search for the friction that Alfie is refusing to provide.

"You may as well save your energy. There’s nothing to rub against."

“Alfie, just fucking…”

“Just, what?” Alfie interrupts

“Just touch me,” he says as his head flops back down heavily onto the bed.

“The only place I'm touching you darling, is right here," Alfie says, emphasising the last two words with two hard, deliberate strokes inside. Tommy bucks in response and lets out a shaky breath.

“My cock…just touch my cock,” he pleads.

“But it’s gonna be so much better like this, having it stroked out of you, slowly. So much more shameful," Alfie continues, unsure whether it's the filthy words or the fingers in his arse that are getting to Tommy most. He doesn't know and doesn't care. The result is the same: Tommy's composure is starting to crumble, his tongue is loosening, his movements are increasingly erratic. He looks glorious. Alfie strokes his free hand down one milk-white hip and coos softly to tell him just that. Tommy shudders hard under the touch, whimpering and moaning with increasing abandon.

Alfie knows this is sweet agony; a feeling like nothing else, all consuming and yet almost impossible to capture or pin down. He has no impulse to be cruel about it, possessive maybe, but not cruel. He can’t deny a certain desire to ruin Tommy for anyone else… to lead him down this slow, agonising route to a level of pleasure he’s never known. To fucking own him.  

A continuous line of glassy fluid is now connecting Tommy’s cock to his stomach and running off his hip onto the towel. Alfie's fingers never stop. He watches Tommy’s fists clenching and releasing, his hips moving erratically and places a hand on his pelvis to hold him, "still," he says softly, "stay still. Just feel it." Tommy stops thrusting his hips, lets out another high-pitched moan. "That's it, that's better," Alfie says, utterly enthralled. Tommy's eyes have glazed over, like he's going someplace else.

“You're gonna come for me. Like this, Tommy,” he says, “I'm gonna press it out of you drip by beautiful drip."

“No,” Tommy pants.

“You want me to stop?

“Yes! No... Jesus…fucking…Christ…” he whines, his voice so high it's unrecognisable.

And fuck, Alfie is struggling to maintain his own composure because Tommy is increasingly desperate - flushed and sweating, hips writhing, cock leaking … he looks like a fucking wet dream. Alfie wonders if he’ll ever be able to look at Tommy in a suit again or whether he’ll always just picture him like this – a filthy, wanton mess.

It doesn’t even matter that he's not getting anything out of this himself. Because he knows he could push into that hot, tight arse right now and damn well take his pleasure – it’s not like that thought hasn’t crossed his mind. It’s just that he wouldn't stop what he's doing now if you paid him ten thousand pounds, not when he has Tommy laid open beneath him, stripped back, abandoned, revealed.

“Please,” Tommy pants, drawing Alfie out of his thoughts, "fucking please…”

Alfie just smiles, unable to resist gloating. “And you said you wouldn’t beg…”

"I can't fucking come like this..."

Another few minutes of relentless attention and Tommy is trembling all over; his legs are quivering, his voice is shaking, he seems barely in control. Alfie's fingers ache and his back is sore and when the grandfather clock chimes in the hallway he realises how long they’ve been here. But he's not going to stop, not going to slow down until Tommy has fallen apart. He is nothing if not relentless, not when Tommy's the prize.

He is paying wrapt attention, as if studying an exotic specimen, trying to catalogue every sound and expression and reaction that Tommy allows to escape. He is arching and mewling and gasping ... mouth hanging open, body leaking instinctively, no trace of the usual veneer.

Tommy's sounds become even less controlled, a series of high-pitched, continuous cries. His voice, when he dares to use it, is barely a whimper, gasping the same few words, "I can't, Alfie ... I can't."

"Shhhh," Alfie murmurs sympathetically, "and yes. You can."

“Please, fuck! You bastard,” he whines when Alfie speeds things up. His face is bright red, arms straining, eyelids fluttering.

“S’not my fault you’re so fucking responsive, now, is it mate?”

“I can’t, Alfie, I fucking can’t…” he says, “fucking, fuck…please...”

"Such a desperate little thing," Alfie says, voice low and undeniably smug. Tommy looks shocked and strained and furious, like he'd do anything to get his release. He's forgotten himself entirely as the liquid still seeps from his cock. Who’d have thought it wouldn’t take a pickaxe to break him apart, just two carefully aimed fingers.

"Please, I can't," Tommy repeats, and he sounds like he could cry. Fucking hell...

"Please," he gasps, as Alfie continues to work his fingers, "please just fucking touch me. Or untie me. Or touch me."

"Your poor little cock needs to learn that it does not need to be in a mouth or a hand or a cunt," Alfie chides as he curls and strokes mercilessly.

“You’re the cunt,” Tommy snarls, which only makes the fingers on his prostate work faster and harder and firmer, until he is gasping, shouting, “don’t, it hurts, fucking don’t...” so of course Alfie most assuredly does, until Tommy is whining shamelessly, hips rolling against nothing, a high pitched wail in his throat and fucking hell…he is coming ... loudly, unashamedly, curling onto his side as if he's trying to escape it. One leg kicks weakly at Alfie whilst the same relentless stream of pearlescent liquid trickles out of him. There's no ejaculation, no sudden rush and his cock stays achingly hard. Alfie can feel Tommy's muscles spasming around his fingers in long waves that make him thrash and groan. It seems to go on and fucking on until he almost feels sorry for him.

"Stop, just fucking stop for Christ's sake..." Tommy gasps, he's curled into the foetal position, or as close to it as he can get with his hands above his head. The thing is, Alfie has moved with him, is kneeling above him, fingers still very much in position and working that same spot. Because when he said he wanted to pick Tommy apart he fucking meant it. He smooths Tommy's hair, shushes him gently, waits for the panting to subside – although his fingers never relent. "Again, Tommy," he whispers, voice calm but stern, and within twenty seconds Tommy jolts and cries out as he writhes through a second, drawn-out orgasm, cursing beneath his breath. He looks breathtaking, enduring every drop of exquisite suffering that Alfie doles out.

"Stop...stop," Tommy says when he realises Alfie is still going, still working at him, giving him no time to recover, just pressing and circling relentlessly until he is once again a trembling wreck, pleading with him incessantly, "enough...please...you can't...I can't..." barely breathing between the words. Alfie growls wickedly as he strokes a third sluggish orgasm from Tommy’s exhausted body, watching him shudder and spasm and curl up as the room is filled with a continuous, high-pitched whine. The noise only stops when finally, Alfie pulls his aching hand away. Tommy almost cries with relief. He lies there wide-eyed and shaking, totally overwraught, gasping and twitching as he tries to catch his breath. Alfie kicks off his trousers and crawls over to place a kiss to his head. "My hands..." Tommy whispers so quietly Alfie barely hears him.

"Yeah, yeah, hands," Alfie says, straddling his hips as he leans up to the headboard to untie him. Tommy's head lolls languidly to the side. He looks shattered, mottled and blotchy and drenched in sweat. His gaze is strangely vacant and he won't look Alfie in the eye. Fuck. He's just had three intense orgasms but he looks fucking upset, chest heaving, breaths stuttering in a way that sounds dangerously close to tears. Apprehension pools in Alfie's stomach, fear that he's fucked this up, gone too far. He rubs the wrists he’s just untied and leans down to kiss the dark, damp hair. Tommy jerks away from his lips.

"Look at me," Alfie says, quietly. Tommy rolls his head round slowly to stare up with worryingly blank eyes. It's as though he's withdrawn, disengaged himself entirely. The way he's sprawled out on his back he looks lifeless, spent.

"Tommy, you with me? S'alright," he mutters, as if saying it out loud will make it true. Alfie's heart sinks, realisation slowly dawning that it might be far easier to pick Tommy apart than it is to put him back together. That he might not appreciate having been laid so bare. "You were fucking perfectTommy," he says, stroking at his hair, moving it out of his face. He's aware that Tommy's cock is still a hard line, unbelievably, jabbing Alfie's conscience as much as his hip. He leans down to grasp it, hand slipping in the abundance of precum, as he strokes it gently once, twice. Tommy doesn't even react to the touch, just whispers, "enough."

"You want me to stop?" Alfie asks.

"What do you fucking think?" he spits. Shit. He's pissed. Upset and pissed. Alfie flounders for a moment, unsure how to fix this, how to redress the balance, because yes, he wanted to push Tommy, but not to push him away. The risk of him fucking off permanently is suddenly very real and absolutely not bloody happening. He cannot fathom losing this … whatever it is … cannot let this beautiful, brave, vulnerable man go. He’ll do anything to make this right, anything.

His response is completely instinctual ... his body doesn't even engage with his head ... before he can think himself out of it he lifts his hips, hovers over Tommy and pushes back firmly onto his hot, wet hardness. He screw his eyes shut, fucking has to, he hasn't done this in years and it’s, well, it's a lot...fuckin' hurts if the truth be told.  He grunts and grits his teeth, holding very, very still until he can bring himself to sink down lower, to take in the full length. He hears Tommy exhale deeply beneath him, but he can't look, can't move, can't think – oblivious to anything other than the burning fullness in his arse and how much he needs to relax, breathe through it, suck it up. Fuck.  If this is what he does around Tommy, he's doomed isn't he?  Totally fucking doomed. His eyes are still closed when he feels hands move to his hips, gripping him gently, just resting there, warm and soft, not even willing him to move. A gravelly voice rasps, "Alfie."

"Yeah, alright move, fuckin move," he snarls after a minute or so, unable to believe what he’s doing. Tommy holds him down as he rocks up gently and finally Alfie opens his eyes to look. Thank fuck. Tommy looks present. "Yeah, you're back now, aintcha?" Alfie says without malice, because it's impossible to feel anything other than supremely fucking blessed right now.  Tommy looks bloody obscene - dark-eyed and hungry and, frankly, amazed.

"Thought I didn't need my cock in anything, eh?" he rasps.

"Yeah, well change of plan. Don't get used to it," Alfie says. "This ain't happening again, alright? Not like this. Next time it is very definitely gonna be my cock in your arse, mate. Just so we’re clear." God, he needs to stop thinking about that, he's going to last about 30 seconds at this rate. With that thought he braces his arms against Tommy's chest and starts moving, fucking himself down carefully to start with, but then with more serious intent. He watches every reaction on Tommy's face as he hovers right on the edge of losing it – for the fourth time that night. And fucking hell does Tommy lose it, gripping Alfie's hips hard as he thrusts up selfishly into him, grunting shamelessly with the effort. The look of dark desire on his beautiful face as he abandons himself again is, well, biblical. Alfie feels the hot spurts fill him and grabs his own cock to follow immediately over the edge.

Afterwards, he lies where he falls, slumped heavily over Tommy’s trembling body, breathing into his neck. He can't move himself, can't quite process what the hell just happened, how he's ended up letting Tommy fuck him...to make Tommy feel good. Not that he doesn't feel good himself. Fuck, he feels amazing - loose and sated and strangely fucked open in a way he'll remember for days. Tommy's hands are holding his upper arms, smoothing gently over his skin a handful of times before slowly falling still. It feels warm, quiet. Nice. By the time he eventually rolls off, grabbing the towel to clean himself, Tommy is a boneless sprawl in the bed. Alfie half shoves, half rolls him over to one side, pulling a blanket over his shoulders, but would swear he's already asleep. He lies behind him, wondering how close is too close, daring a hand on his bicep, a kiss to his shoulder before he closes his eyes and lets sleep swallow him too. He's fucked, he thinks as he drifts into darkness. Metaphorically and literally fucked.

[reimenaashelyee]

History for Granted, or When a Marginal Voice Tackles The Main Text

My thoughts about being a marginalised creator who chose to make a graphic novel on a historical figure in the dominant Western canon. About why I didn't choose a lesser-known history instead. About why, either way, it is not a loss to POC representation

Reposted from my official blog, where I keep all my long-form thoughts.

Some of you may know I write historical fiction. Some of you may also know I’ve been chipping away on an Alexander the Great graphic novel.

My role as a historical graphic novelist has been stewing in the back of my mind for a while now. Actually, the stewing began when I first thought of The Carpet Merchant of Konstantiniyya, but I already know my insights from that project. Be actively thoughtful. Be self aware of how your own biases and societal context influence your storytelling. Recognise the people before and around you. Use your power to bring up voices. Understand that the work of being a responsible author lasts beyond the final page of your story.

Such is the case for Alexander, The Servant and The Water of Life. What I have learnt from TCM still carries over, thank goodness.

However, since last November, I realised that Alexander is a different kettle of fish. I already knew this early on: the mindboggling breadth and scope of research material, the baggage carried by the subject, and the newness of everything. While TCM focused on a narrow historical context (Ottoman era Istanbulite migrates to Georgian era England), and had the advantage of me knowing the lead character for years prior (Zeynel, my precious nerd son…), Alexander was from scratch. I didn’t know just how many Alexander Romances I really needed to read. I didn’t know much about ancient Greek anything. I didn’t know an atom about Alexander the Great himself – really, it was zilch.

Which means my responsibilities this time have a somewhat different character. A different edge.

I don’t write historical fiction about royalties or the elite. The most I have ever been interested in is a well-to-do merchant. Even then, my merchant would have an uncommon edge; he is with the common people. That’s where my interests lie: in the common people. The ordinary people outside of the court who go about their daily ordinary lives and daily ordinary struggles. The ups and downs and ins and outs of aristocrats and royals don’t excite me as much.

Then why Alexander? Honestly, he’s an exception.

Not because he’s suddenly a royal that interests me. Seriously, no royal will ever interest me enough to make a GN out of their life, based on their biography alone. (Though King James of the King James Bible and the secret tunnel to his boyfriend make a convincing petition) Alexander came to me in a roundabout way. A trick. He fooled me to exception by showing me his resume: Macedonian king, prophecised Egyptian pharoah, Persian king, son of a god, Jewish convert, Christian hero, Muslim prophet. And he showed me how many different cultures have absorbed him into their folk mythology over 2000 years. Even as the world changed and his body laid somewhere in Egypt, his shade travelled the world. He’s the only secular figure with similar cultural-legendary reach as Jesus. King Arthur can’t claim that. Heck, even Odysseus can’t claim that. Oh, how could I have resisted? This is exactly what I am all about.

This is all Alexander by the way.

The common people’s Alexander. The story of how different places have appropriated and localised him over time. Gave him different faces. Gave him slightly different names. Gave him quests and adventures and stories that had absolutely nothing to do with ancient Greece. Made him the believer of a pantheon into a believer of a singular God.

What brought me here is this literal embodiment of world literature. But he’s not an epic. He’s popular legend. And he doesn’t belong to any one culture or time or place. He’s everywhere.

But like I said, this kettle of fish is different.

Alexander the Great is not exactly the most obscure of histories. He’s a military idol. A national figurehead. He was a man. He was from ancient Greece. He’s claimed as a “heritage of the Western (read: white) world”, an excuse for why conquest is the legacy of the white, Western man. This is Alexander’s baggage, as I call it.

As a woman of colour (WOC) author from the global south, I’m aware of my (small, individual amount of) power to bring up unheard of histories. Unseen biographies of little known people. A glimpse into outside cultures and voices that Western-dominated media and education gloss over like wallpaper. I could have written about Puteri Gunung Ledang, or May 13th 1969, or the history of how my family came to Malaysia sometime during the Xinhai Revolution. I have no obligation to write about Alexander, because until last November, he was seriously a cultural nobody to me. I have no stake in the furthering the hegemony of Western history.

And I think, maybe not owning that stake is why it’s necessary.

Just as important as minorities writing about little known histories, minorities should write about the histories that are taken for granted. Because of our unique experiences with the consequences of colonialism, slavery, violence, discrimination, dehumanisation, etc, we look at history differently. It’s not about who wins or who loses. It’s about who is missing, who is harmed, what is lost…the gaps made by what was edited out.

With those glasses on, history taken for granted – if not already thoroughly given a critical cleansing – is shown to be what it really is: a history that isn’t as well-known as we thought. (and that’s okay)

I won’t be alone in saying I had no clue Alexander belonged to nobody and everybody (because everyone in the old world has an Alexander). For a long time, Western white history was gatekept, using the reasoning that whatever they claimed had an easy connect-the-dots relationship to their present day (even though I always knew that claim was oversimplified, anti-intellectual thinking). But, all of these things are simply whitewashed facades. The truth is that, like Greco-Roman everything, like Norse history, like Christian destiny, they are more complex, more diverse, more ambiguous, than what these facades can contain.

Just working with Alexander through the framework of the Alexander Romance already blows up general misconceptions about history: that history was a bubble, homogenous and separated from each other (“Egyptian history” “Chinese history” “Roman history”, “Christian world”, “Muslim world” “East”, “West”), rarely interacting and influencing.

And looking at Alexander’s actual biography says a lot about how open the world already was in his time. He was king of three empires. His pre-Hellenistic world was multicultural and diverse. It wasn’t all white marble statues. It was, like what reality is, painted technicolour marble statues.

The Victorian era archeologists who whitewashed those statues stripped off more than just the colour. They took off knowledge.

After a lot of thinking, I feel like I’m in a good place to make a GN about Alexander and the Alexander Romance.

It’s not a confidence thing, though tbh, I believe that as a WOC creator from the global south I cannot afford to doubt myself. It’s more about the position I am in and the new perspective I can offer about a historical-legendary figure taken for granted. And there’s my endless well of passion for multicolour histories. Alongside my desire to decolonialise everything.

It’s not a loss that I have chosen to work on a history taken for granted. Historical GNs are still dominated by the white Western cis-male perspective, both in subject and authorship. To be clear, I wouldn’t consider that particular perspective wrong or lesser on its own. My only qualm is when that perspective becomes the majority perspective, or worst the only perspective, which is given to an audience. I always think about this TED Talk by Chimamanda Adichie, about the Danger of a Single Story:

Me being here, telling an entirely different story, is a statement by itself.

Even then, I shouldn’t need to justify my choice. Whether it’s to a person who tells me I shouldn’t pursue Alexander because he’s a part of the dominant narrative, or to another person who tells me that as a minority creator I must adhere to my social responsibility (responsibility demanded by whom?) to tell little known histories or stories. Again, in my case, I think it’s not a loss which way I go, Alexander or not, because whatever I write is going to be a different story.

I think the only loss is when there aren’t still yet more marginalised authors to take on both the little known histories and histories taken for granted. The project of diversifying storytelling is not demanding the few marginalised voices to choose the correct, exotic, culturally-representative dish they had to bring to the potluck, but making the table wider, inviting more voices, so that, by author’s choice, any dish can be present and enjoyed by everyone.

My choice in whatever story I desire to write, as long as it doesn’t bring harm and intolerance and it undergoes the necessary self-interrogation, should be a choice that is already given. If white, Western authors can have this freedom, why not everyone else? Why must minority voices be defaulted to never having this good faith at the start?

Is it not enough that we already suffer from a lack of representation and a lack of self-esteem? Must our hands be tied even tighter, to be told that even our own voice cannot be trusted, because that trust has been abused over and over by the dominant voice?

Every new voice that is encouraged to speak is one more step towards making the table bigger.

This is one of my responsibilities of being a (historical) graphic novelist. I am here to encourage, and to make the table bigger. I am here to say, oh look, this particular history is exciting too, see how weird and creative and large the world already was.

And for Alexander GN in particular, it’s about showing that we have shared a historical-literary figure. That Alexander (and his baggage) isn’t immune to criticism. That by bringing him back the way I’m planning to, I’m no longer just talking about Alexander of Macedon. I am talking about Sikandar. I am talking about Alisaunder. I am talking about the Alexander conceptualised by Nizami, by Arrian, by Joseph Flavius, by every hand who has ever written and drew their own Alexander.*

Already, is that not a hundred different stories? * despite the fact all of these voices were male…well that’s gonna change

There will be time for me to write of lesser-known histories, if I feel the calling. Maybe I won’t ever. (I did tell myself The Carpet Merchant was the last historical GN I’ll ever do in forever…here I am. Nothing is predicted.) And if I’m not compelled, again, that is not a loss.

I am not the only one with a voice.

[motiveandthemeans]

When Dan met Abbey

He’d met her at a random lunch meeting on the Affordable Care Act he’d been forced to attend. She was the arguably the youngest (his junior by at least five years), and the most beautiful woman in the room. Probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Abigail Holland, RN, MSN, CEN. Blonde hair, blue eyes, long legs, the strangest accent he’d ever heard. Not quite southern, not quite west coast Cali girl. She’d been brought in as an expert on primary care deficiencies and for some reason the Senator Feinstein insisted Dan go in her stead, despite health policy being 100% not his area of expertise or interest.

Everyone noticed her pillowy lips but Dan had noticed her smile, the way she tried not to appear intimidated, surrounded by politicians and political players alike. She was clearly out of her comfort zone as well. He didn’t miss the once over McDonough had given her, how it disgusted him a married man could be so blatantly attracted to someone else.

They’d been inadvertently sent to the background of the meeting, clearly not the key note speakers at this particular luncheon.

“Is it always like this?” She asked quietly.

He chuckled. “Yeah, pretty much. I’m usually sitting against the wall though so this is new for me too.”

She smiled, grateful for companionship. “I’m Abbey. You’re Dan Jones. You work for Senator Feinstein, don’t you?”

He gave her a quizzical look. “How did you know? Is it that obvious?”

She laughed and he felt his heart skip a beat. “No, no. I just...I saw you in her office a couple of months ago. Just in passing.”

“Really?” He couldn’t think of a scenario how he could not have noticed her. “Do you know the Senator?”

“Her granddaughter and I were college roommates. We spent many spring breaks at their house in San Fransisco.” Abbey said. “She and my father were on a couple of committees together when she was in the house.”

“You’re Dad is Dr. Benjamin Holland?” He sputtered. “The director of the NIH?”

“Yep.” She said awkwardly.

“I didn’t know he had a daughter.”

She shrugged. “Four boys ahead of me so, it’s not like it’s all that important. Also I’m a nurse, not an MD, so it’s a stain upon the family name to be sure.”

Dan smirked. “Because you’re the ones actually bedside and know what’s going on with the patient?”

She looked at him, shocked.

“My mom was a nurse.” He clarified.

Her powder blue eyes lit up when grinned. “She must be awful proud of you, making it big in D.C.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m making it big, but yes. She’s your typical Jewish mother. Anytime the Senator makes a big move, she’ll say ‘My son did so and so...’”

“Don’t be too humble now, D.C. is cut throat. People might think you have morals.” Abbey said with faux disgust on her face.

“Not a fan of politicians, are you?”

“I have a healthy enough tolerance.” She countered with a wry smirk.

Dan couldn’t help the smile Abigail brought to his face and was going to tell her so when he was interrupted by McDonough calling an end to the luncheon. He lost her through the crowd, heart sinking at the idea he’d have to find some asinine way of contacting her when he felt something slip into his hands. It was a napkin and it had Abbey’s number on it.

She grinned over her shoulder as she walked away, he smiled back.

He’d agonized over how long to wait to call her, it’d been years since he’d dated, well out of the convoluted dating scene of D.C. it was early, almost six thirty in the evening when he finally dialed her number.

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d call me.” She teased. “Hello, Dan.”

“I’d give you some bullshit excuse about being busy with work and not worrying about seeming too interested, but I get the impression lying to you wouldn’t go down so well.” He grinned. “Hey, Abby”

“Am I that easy to read?” She asked with a laugh. “What are you up to?”

“Working, to be honest.” He said dryly. “You?”

“About to leave for work, actually. They’re short tonight and it’s my turn to pull call.” She answered.

“Sorry, do you need to-“

“No, I have a while till I need to clock in. I live around the corner from GW.” She said. “Is it getting late for you?”

“No, technically I’m supposed to be off work and enjoying the weekend but well...”

“Duty calls?” She mused.

“Yeah.” He chuckled breathlessly. “Something like that. Do you work tomorrow night?”

“No. I’m off till Tuesday after tonight, thank the gods.”

“Let’s have a drink.” Dan wondered if he sounded as casual as he hoped he did.

“Alright, when and where?”

“Old Ebbits, eight o’ clock?”

“Sure.” He could hear the smile in her voice and he wonder if she could hear his too.

—

She wore black slacks that accentuated her slim waist and a black lace top he could make a tell tale sight of her bra through, such as was the style for women these days. Christ she made his mouth water.

“Dan.” She greeted, her make up was light, natural. Her blonde hair fell in waves to her back. He wore his nicest jeans and button down. Naturally, people gave them strange looks. He knew she was out of his league, but she didn’t seem to care.

“Hendricks and Tonic, please.” She said to the bartender when asked what she wanted.

“Hungry?” Dan asked.

“Nah, I already ate.” She shrugged. “You?”

“No, I actually remembered to eat today.”

Abby grinned. “It’s a rare day I get to eat lunch, too. Much to my mother’s dismay. All five children grown and out of the house and she can’t seem to kick the habit of ensuring we’re all fed.”

“My mom still sends me care packages like I’m a college freshman.” He joked.

“That’s sweet.” Abby took a sip of her drink. “What kind of nurse is she?”

“Labor and delivery.” He answered.

Abby made a face. “That was my least favorite in school. I passed out in my first delivery. And naturally the OBGYN was buddies with my father so, that was a fun congressional Christmas party.”

Dan winced. “I can only imagine.”

“You never told me what it is you do for the senator.” She said.

“I’m basically a liaison for her intelligence committee.”

“And that’s about all you can tell me, isn’t it?” She ventured.

“You do know your D.C., don’t you?”

She smiled. “So what do you do for fun? Since work is clearly a subject we must steer clear of.”

“It doesn’t bother you I can’t talk about it?” He asked.

“Why should it? Anybody who asks you to jeopardize your position is no friend, Dan. I’d hoped you know that by now.” Abby replied. “Also, we are more than our job designations. For instance, I love to bake, but I’m terrible at making cakes.”

Dan laughed. “Really? Is that a thing?”

“Hey, don’t mock till you’ve had my key lime pie. It’ll make you forget cake is even a thing.”

She grinned.

Dan sipped his whiskey. “I run five miles every morning.”

“I swim.” She replied. “I love the ocean. I was born in Hawaii and lived there till I was 12 while my Dad was in the navy.”

“Never been.”

“You should go sometime.” She joked.

“Yeah, it’s on the bucket list.” Dan smirked. “I grew up outside of Pittsburgh.”

“Steeler Nation?” She rose her brows.

“Of course.”

“My father is a die hard Steelers fan.” She said.

They carried on back and forth, laughing and lightly teasing. Regalling childhood stories of growing up with four older brothers and a single mom in Pittsburgh. Abbey wasn’t what he initially expected, she’d had a job all through public high school, bought her own car, worked during the summers in college. Her father paid for her BSN from Chapel Hill, but she went on for her masters of nursing directly after graduating. She was 27 and head charge nurse of one the most prestigious hospitals in the nation. Dan made a perfect score on his SAT and took a full ride to Elizabethtown, earning his masters from John’s Hopkins and his post doc from Harvard. He grew up Jewish, but only attended temple on high holy days and definitely did not keep kosher. His father had died in a car accident when he was three and his mom remarried a nice guy when he was in college. David owned a landscaping company and treated his mom like she was gold so Dan couldn’t complain.

“Walk me home?” She asked. “But just so you know I won’t be inviting you up for coffee. I do have my standards, Dr. Jones.”

“I expect no less, Miss Holland.”

She lived four blocks from the bar in a nice neighborhood, clearly her salary out ranged his, not that it bothered him. They laughed and joked more, especially when he made a pop culture reference she didn’t understand.

“Hey! You’ve got like five years on me!” Abbey joked defensively.

“Almost seven, actually.” He looked down into her smiling eyes when she came to a halt in front of her townhome. “Nice place.”

“My brother, Anders, owns it, he rents it to me cheap.” She shrugged. “Well, cheap for D.C. anyway. And he lets me keep Frog.”

Dan gave her an incredulous expression. “Frog?”

She grinned. “My cat.”

“You have a cat named Frog?”

“Are you gonna kiss me or what-“

Before she could finish the sentence, he swooped in and kissed her. Gently at first, then as Abby leaned into it Dan wound his arms around her deepened the kiss. She tasted like tonic and cherries and he thought he’d died and gone to heaven at how soft her lips actually were. They were both a bit breathless when they broke apart.

“What are you doing Sunday?” She asked.

“Working, though I could be persuaded otherwise.” He chided.

“Come over for dinner.” She said. “I’ll make you something, however there will not be sex for you in lieu of dessert.”

“How can a man refuse such an offer.” He laughed. “Should I bring anything?”

“Frog is kind of mean. A cat toy would not go amiss.”

“Ever think it’s because you named him Frog?” Dan joked, brushing her cheek with his thumb.

Abby rolled her eyes benignly. “Everyone says that!”

Dan kisses her gently once more. “Goodnight, Abby.”

“Good night, Dan.” She smiled, unlocking her door and disappearing from sight.

As he hailed a cab, Dan couldn’t get rid of the grin stuck on his face.

[projectclockwurk]

The Woods Outside Lethe: Part 1

[WARNING: Some Gore]

Deputy Horowitz answered the phone that morning. He knew everybody in the small town of Miller’s Creek; he knew what they sounded like too, so when the voice on the other end of the line spoke he was confused as he’d never heard the man before.

The man introduced himself as Elder Victor Walker and he said that they needed to come down to Lethe. No more details were given before the phone was hung up.

Horowitz had heard about Lethe before but didn’t know much about it and didn’t really ask when the Sheriff told him not to worry about the place because they may never even go down there. Horowitz should have asked after it, he knew that, but when he had become Deputy he was young and still kind of shy and when Sheriff Grady told him not to worry about Lethe, he had listened and never really thought about the place again until now.

He got up from his desk a minute after the call ended and crossed the small space from there to the Sheriff’s office. They were the only two in the small and somewhat cramped building.

Miller’s Creek was a small little fishing town and nothing happened there really except for some property damage or petty theft from some of the local bored youth. Two officers of the law were good enough to keep order and it had been good enough for the better part of a hundred and fifty years. It wasn’t about to change anytime soon either.

Horowitz rapped his knuckles on the metal doorframe more out of courtesy than an actual need to announce his presence. Grady looked up at him, a dark eyebrow raised in question.

Sheriff Grady was only thirteen years older than Horowitz. The man had taken over as Sheriff when he was thirty and had been running things for the last fifteen years. His looks were something of an enigma. At times he looked no older than Horowitz himself and at others he looked far older than his forty-five years.

Sometimes Horowitz wondered if he’d end up the same when he took over as Sheriff, and he knew he would when Grady retired. That’s just how it was there. When one Sheriff retired, their Deputy would take over and then a new Deputy would come along sometime and continue the cycle.

Nobody was interested in breaking this tradition. Nobody was ever interested in breaking tradition in Miller’s Creek. The people and their town were as stagnant as water.

“I got an interesting call,” Horowitz began, “from the Elder of Lethe. He wants us to go there.”

“Color me surprised. It must be one hell of an emergency.”

“Why’s that?” Horowitz asked, taking the opportunity to dig for more information.

“The people of Lethe live in a small, closed off village community that’s back in like…I don’t know, the seventeen hundreds, eighteen hundreds? No clue, I’ve never been good at history but anyway, they live back like it’s the old days. They aren’t Amish or nothing; they’re just a community of people who decided to never follow the march of technology and the only person who ever leaves is the Elder and only when it’s absolutely necessary. The Elder has a phone in his home to call us but rarely does. Some Sheriffs have gone their whole careers never going to the village so if he’s asking us to come down it must be some serious shit.” Grady had explained all this as he pulled his jacket on and got his gun and holster.

“Just to be sure, everyone in Lethe knows about the modern world, right?”

“Oh yeah, they’re aware of what lies outside their community but nobody ever leaves. Disillusioned with the modern world or just how they’ve been raised, I guess. I don’t know, I don’t ask questions. All I know is that Lethe has been the same since it was founded,” Grady said. “Now go get your things and we’ll hit the road.”

The Sheriff’s Station sat on a long strip of road with nothing close by for miles. It sat in between Miller’s Creek and Lethe, each place the same distance away from the station. The drive took ten minutes both ways. Ten minutes was enough time to question Grady more.

“Have you ever been to Lethe before?”

“Twice, actually,” Grady replied.

“Twice? Didn’t you say they rarely call?”

“They do. There was a weird year back when I was a Deputy. We were called twice in a week for two different robberies. We never found anything though and it never happened again. The former Sheriff, Sheriff Gibbs, thought it was one of the locals though they all denied it. Still don’t know what it was all about.”

“What did they take?”

“Some heirlooms and such from Elder Walker and one of the older ladies in the village…I think she passed away a few years ago actually,” Grady said. “Lethe tends to send us a letter when somebody has passed away.”

“What are the people like?”

“They seem a bit strange but I can’t say if they’re good or bad. Haven’t really spoken to anyone but Elder Walker. Just don’t worry about them. We’re gonna go do our job and probably never see them again. Okay?”

“Okay.”

They fell into silence then and neither spoke again until Grady pulled the jeep over to the side of the road at the top of a path that led down a steep hill and curved in a wide arch to the left. The woods – which formed a half-circle around the area – cut off the view of the rest of the trail.

“Now we walk.”

“Walk?”

“Yep,” Grady said as he exited the car. “The Lethe people already hate seeing us modern folk in there, seeing a car will only make them more upset.”

“Alright,” Horowitz responded, opening his own door and stepping out. He made sure his phone was tucked into his pocket before closing it. He’d record some witness testimonies with it if they allowed him. He doubted it given what he had heard but just in case he wanted it on him.

Grady locked the doors and then they began their trek to Lethe.

The walk took another ten minutes and when they arrived, a man who Horowitz assumed to be Elder Walker was waiting for them by the gate into the village.

Lethe was open entirely on one side to flat land but it was surrounded, on three sides, by the woods. The village itself really did look like something out of the nineteenth century with the quaint little wooden homes all clustered close together and a large church that served as the spearhead to the layout the homes formed. There were even chickens and pigs ambling about and the clothes Elder Walker wore looked so authentic. It was as if the whole village had time travelled into the twenty-first century.

“Mornin’, Elder Walker,” Grady greeted.

“Good morning, Mister Grady,” Elder Walker said in turn before his eyes darted to Horowitz. His gaze was rather intense.

“This is my Deputy, Gabriel Horowitz.”

“Nice to meet you, Elder Walker,” Horowitz replied.

“You as well,” Elder Walker said before opening the gate and ushering the two inside. “Follow me now, please.”

The man led them to a paddock. It was very open and no barn was in sight but that didn’t matter because what met their eyes made Horowitz stop dead in his tracks.

“You called us out cause some dead cattle?” Grady asked.

“Something is killing them.”

“Yeah, Elder, probably a wolf,” Grady said with a shake of his head.

“I have seen wolves slaughter our livestock before,” Elder Walker said.

“Maybe it’s some kids from Miller’s Creek. It may seem odd but there are a lot of sadistic kids in this world that pull this shit, sometimes just cause they’re bored, and we have many bored kids up in Miller’s. I wouldn’t put it past some of them to do this. Just a few months ago some little shit spray painted Swastikas all over Horowitz’s property.”

“Yeah, that was nice to wake up to on the second day of Hanukah,” Horowitz grumbled. He was the only Jewish individual living in Miller’s Creek so he was quite a prime target for little bastards who thought they would look cool to their friends if they went around doing anti-Semitic bullshit.

“You are Jewish?” Elder Walker inquired, staring at him with that intense gaze of his.

“Uh…yeah,” Horowitz said. “Not exactly a great one though, haven’t even been in a synagogue since my bar mitzvah.”

Elder Walker hummed and turned back to Grady.

“As I said, something is killing our cattle. If you do not believe me, go and take a look for yourself.”

Grady didn’t hold back his sigh that clearly said he didn’t want to but he would.

“Come on, Horowitz.”

They climbed the fence into the paddock. Horowitz counted ten among the ten cattle and noticed now that none of them seemed to bare any wounds. Didn’t seem to but they did as he saw when they came around the one closest to the fence.

Its belly had been ripped open. Not cut but ripped in an exceedingly crude and disturbing manner. The skin was torn up around the edges and the cow’s organs were spilling onto the ground, the grass a deep red where it should be a vibrant green. It stank like nothing that Horowitz had ever smelled before.

Grady swore as he knelt down to get a better view.

There was more.

Mud coated the cow’s organs and large globs of it were inside the body itself. There was even a line of it clinging to the outer bit of flesh where it had been ripped. Sticks were impaled into the various organs and, Horowitz noted, some of them were even poking out the cow’s back. How he and Grady hadn’t seen them before he didn’t know but then again, the sticks were so fine and dark they’d be easy to miss against the large black spots dotting the cow’s hide if nobody was looking for them and they certainly hadn’t been looking.

“What the fuck,” Grady breathed. He looked up at Horowitz and then to Elder Walker who was standing just outside the paddock looking at them with a grim expression. Grady looked back down at the cow. “What the fuck did this?”

Horowitz was not sure he wanted to know and while he stood there, speechless, looking down at Grady and the poor cow, he saw a figure in his peripheral vision moving amongst the trees.