#kimber west

[dustedmagazine]

Dinah — Dinah! (self-released)

Photo by Janet Kimber

Dinah Thorpe plays the saddest disco songs, her short, fluttering melodies beating against monolithic dance cadences. She murmurs, intensely, internally, in the wake of blast beats, the ghost in the machine. The artist, out of Toronto, recorded these 17 tracks at home, alone, during the pandemic, letting the thwack of snare, the surge of synths into her solitary compositions. These are spare, harrowing songs, hurling about in a dance macabre without ever raising the volume over a whisper.

Consider the scraped bare, “Oh that lightness,” with its irregular pattern of bass ukulele notes, its velvet black, fundamental silence underneath. Thorpe sings plaintively, her tone just breath with an edge of melody, the notes flickering like a lighter in gusty wind. “Joy is at issue here/oh that lightness in the chest,” she croons at the end of emotion, worn out by it, subdued. “If I’m lucky I will grow old/if we’re lucky we will grow old,” she adds, resolute but not confident about it. It’s a pandemic song, not because of its spare production, but because of the way it works out suffering on its own.

Other cuts boogie harder but no less obliquely, as in the brash, disco interval “crunch/empire” or the shadowy, organ flaring “hummingbird” with its slaps of percussion and slushy synthetic handclaps. Yet even at her danciest, Thorpe sounds like she’s praying; there’s a hushed communion with the authorities even in the syncopations.

These cuts sketch a few lines of narrative, but they’re more about conveying feeling than story. The one exception comes late in the album with “scadding,” a song about the west-end Toronto community center Scadding Courts, where homeless encampments were cleared in 2021. Against an ominous, near Shackleton-like backdrop of sub-bass and glitch, Thorpe intones dispassionately about the showdown:

 “Surrounded by evil, with weapons on its belt, we did what we could until we couldn’t/I keep thinking about this one tiny person/who clearly just needed a bit of help/if one were feeling hopeful, as if one might find power in it taking three armies to move her.”

It’s powerful because it’s so quiet, because it’s so restrained and because eruptive feeling pulses tangibly behind its minimalist calm. In a microcosm, that’s the appeal of these fragmentary, hallucinatory tracks, that they convey more, much more, than you’d anticipate with the very minimum of materials.

Jennifer Kelly

[jessicalprice]

Ethnic Reasoning in Early Christianity (1. Preface)

I often tell people that there's a book they should read on the subject of a particular discourse, but I doubt they do--after all, I rarely follow through when random people on the internet tell me to read a particular book.

So I'm going to break down and summarize Denise Kimber Buell's Why This New Race?: Ethnic Reasoning in Early Christianity, because I think it's a really important read in understanding Christian hegemony, Christianity's relationship to whiteness, and antisemitism in Christianity throughout its history.

But before I talk about Buell's book, I have a few prefatory remarks of my own.

Sorry, but the Book of Context is quite a tome.

"Fake" Christianity and the fall from grace

In particular, Buell challenges the narrative lurking behind so many contemporary discussions of Christian hegemony, white nationalism, Christian racism, etc. that there was some sort of original, "pure" Christianity and that modern Christianity's issues are due to corruption from this prelapsarian ideal.

Or put another way, Christianity doesn't just posit a human fall from grace. The meta-narrative offered--when Christians don't deny that Christians are doing horrible things--is that those people are following a distorted form of Christianity that has fallen away from its original benevolent form.

This is the reactive form of a long-standing trope in Christian culture (that is, basically the entire West) that equates Christianity with goodness. If you read American or British books prior to about 1990, they are replete with people saying things like, "it's the Christian thing to do," to reference performing some basic act of human decency.

"More Christian than most Christians"

It was also popular for some time--although thankfully, it seems to be fading (at least on social media, as Jews, Muslims, Hindus, and other members of non-Christian cultures push back) to state that a Jew or other non-Christian who'd performed some sort of exemplary act of compassion or said something wise was "more Christian than most Christians."

This accolade, while almost certainly well-intentioned, is actually deeply insulting. The implication is that this Jew, unlike almost all others of their kind, has managed to catch up to Christians in compassion, that the universal standard of compassion is Christianity, and that it is surprising and unusual that this non-Christian has managed to overcome the moral inferiority of their people to meet or even exceed the Christian standard.

These assertions of Christianity (or at least "true" Christianity) as the moral standard for humankind largely go unquestioned, as do basic antisemitic tropes like the idea that the problem with Christians behaving cruelly is that they're getting too much of their Christianity from the Old Testament and not enough from the New.

Quite to the contrary, people who are purportedly not (or no longer) Christian are usually the first in line to denounce whichever Republican politician is proposing starving children in the name of Jesus as a "fake Christian." Progressive Christians, still more invested in protecting Christianity's brand than actually cleaning their own house, are often just as loud.

This No True Scotsman-ing is preservation of Christian supremacy and hegemony, and deeply intertwined with the idea that there is a single, pure, original Christianity that was unquestionably benevolent.

There is no One True Christianity

But the truth of the matter is that it is impossible to wring any sort of single, consistent moral philosophy from the New Testament without ignoring parts of it.

Christians that most of us might perceive as wielding their Christianity in cruel or unjust ways usually aren't more ignorant of the text or history than Christians (or ex-Christians) who see "real" Christianity as simply "love your neighbor" and understand Jesus as a beatific, gentle pacifist.

Both of those groups have to ignore large swaths of the New Testament to get to their ideology, and interpret the same passages differently (a Christian attempting to use the law to relegate non-Christians to second-class citizen status or refuse aid to non-Christians can interpret passages commanding kindness as applying to people within the Christian community only with as much textual support as one insisting they apply to all humankind).

Christians you don't like aren't "fake." You just disagree with them about what Christianity should be.

But in the west, Christianity generally holds the unique status of demanding that it be judged only on what it states its ideal form is, and not on what it actually is.

No such largesse for non-Christian cultures

Jews generally don't try to claim that other Jews who engage in bad behavior aren't Jewish. Much as we might wish Jared Kushner and Stephen Miller weren't members of the tribe, and much as we might say that they are bad Jews, their bad behavior didn't trigger a flood of opinion pieces about how they're "fake" Jews. (Ivanka is a special case, but that's about anti-convert sentiment within some Jewish communities.)

Neither was there a flood of articles about how the 9/11 attackers were "fake" Muslims. The meta-debate in the US and much of Western Europe after 9/11, in fact, was about whether all Muslims were terrorists or terrorist sympathizers, as Michael Hobbes recently noted on an episode of Cancel Me, Daddy. He went back and did a survey of journalism in the wake of 9/11, and almost all the coverage, on the opinion page and in purportedly objective journalism (where it was generally presented in question form, or as simply "reporting" on a national debate) was about whether only some Muslims were bad, or whether it was the entire culture.

When there was pushback, it was almost always in terms of the views of the terrorists are not representative of what most Muslims think or feel, not they aren't actually Muslim.

The myth of Christian innocence

As my Twitter friend Chrissy Stroop continually hammers home, the "fake Christian" framing upholds "the myth of Christian innocence" and is harmful to everyone except practicing Christians. It gaslights both members of non-Christian cultures who have experienced centuries-long structural and institutional (as well as individual) harm at the hands of Christians, and former Christians who experienced individual abuse in their families and/or communities of origin.

To tell queer people who grew up in authoritarian Christianity, or Jews who are missing entire sections of their family trees due to Christian genocide, or Indigenous people taken from their families as children and abused in the name of Jesus, that they have not been harmed by Christianity, that it was a few bad actors and not the religion itself, that it was all a misunderstanding, is to be more interested in protecting Christianity's reputation than facing real human pain.

As Chrissy Stroop often says, Christianity is what Christians do. It does not deserve special status among human cultures in which it is judged only by its imagined ideal form, and not by its actual effects upon actual living humans.

How does this relate to this book?

All of this is context for what Buell does in her book, which shouldn't be radical, but unfortunately--due to the habit of taking Christianity at its word about what it is and what it was originally--is unusual at best.

Buell decides to investigate how early Christians understood their own identity, and not to simply accept the prevailing Christian understanding that "ethnicity and race were irrelevant to early Christians—an argument that has been used to accomplish important modern antiracist work yet relies on and perpetuates anti-Judaism in the process."

Scholarly work on Christianity, especially early Christianity, is a trip. Most of it, obviously, has been done by Christians, which--when it comes to studying antisemitism and other harms in Christian history and how they might come from Christianity itself--is leaving the fox in charge of the henhouse.

(This is a subject for a different post, but Christian academics often say the most deranged things about how first-century Judaism functioned and the relationship between first-century Jews and Christians. They cite sources, of course, but if you look up those sources, you find that they're citing other sources, and if you trace it back to the original source, it's usually some Victorian preacher just... making up something to fit his parable exegesis.)

If you challenge some of this Accepted Scholarly Consensus, you are often met with spluttering indignation and insistence that any challenge to it is a "fringe viewpoint" and not accepted by any "real" NT scholars. It's always fascinating how often "fringe" usually means "written by people who weren't Christian."

So anyway, Buell decided to do something that, if you're not invested in Christianity, seems pretty basic and non-controversial: she decides to look at how early Christians understood their own identity.

I revisit scholarship and early Christian texts that destabilize the prevailing view that Christian universalism can be understood as mutually exclusive with “particularity”—a split that is often correlated with the nonethnic/ ethnic binary... To understand the elusive but entrenched presence of race in contemporary scholarly models, we need to cultivate a prismatic vision that can reimagine the relevance of race and ethnicity to ancient articulations of Christianness in light of the continued political, social, ideological, and theological challenges posed by modern racism and anti-Judaism.

Prismatic vision

I want to dig into that concept of "prismatic vision" for a moment, because it's a beautiful metaphor.

To aim for diffraction in how one sees—to see prismatically—is to value the production of patterns of difference and to resist the “false choice between realism and relativism.”

One of the things I often struggle to get people from Christian backgrounds to understand about Judaism is that, in having a culture without centralized authority, in having a relationship to the text in which authority lies in the discussion itself and not in any one voice, Jews usually don't privilege the idea of some Objective Truth the way Christians do.

I'd say most of us probably believe there is objective truth out there, but we also understand that we can only perceive and understand it subjectively.

We might all be looking at the same star, but we're all standing in slightly different places on the planet.

"Moral relativism" was a big bogeyman for Christians in political discourse from about 10-20 years ago.

In the most basic sense, they have a point when it comes to constructing rules for a society. We do need some basic, agreed-upon rules to live together. (I don't think we need nearly as many as Christians seem to think we do, but I am absolutely in favor of having systems for addressing harm, for ensuring that people can get their basic needs met and have their personhood acknowledged and respected, etc.) In service of not having to negotiate absolutely everything about every single interaction we have with other humans, both rules and accepted norms are a useful shorthand and safeguard (which is a statement of general principle--obviously individual rules and norms can be bad or misused, entire systems can be corrupt or badly designed in the first place, etc.).

Every moment is infinite

But when it comes to understanding the reality of something as fuzzy-edged and ambient as culture and viewpoint, there is no such thing as one objective truth that any of us can understand.

I was thinking about this as I paused for a moment on a corner during a walk yesterday. The intersection was in a quiet residential area, and I stood there and fell into a soft gaze, looking at the square of sidewalk I was standing on.

The air was chilly and damp, holding the scent of wet leaves, of the grass next to me, of someone smoking pot somewhere, of dog waste on someone's lawn, of a faint chemical sweetness that I think came from the school they were building about a half mile away, of the tar patching cracks in the street, of the laundry soap I use lingering between the fibers of my sweater, of the coffee smell from the coffee shop I'd been at clinging faintly to me, of the pile of fallen cedar needles across the street, of someone cooking onions somewhere, of the silly brave daffodil opening a blossom far too early in the lawn beside me, of the cut grass on that lawn, of the sap in the broken pine branch on the tree next to me and the wet bark of that tree, of... of... of...

And that was only the scents I noticed. That is only about what I could perceive of reality with a single sense.

I don't often fully open any of my senses that way--I have trouble ignoring stimuli as it is, and being overwhelmed by sensory input triggers my migraines. I spend most of my life doing my best to block out things. But every so often, when I'm somewhere relatively quiet, I drop that constant effort and just absorb. Not for long--while I was standing there, passively attentive rather than focused, the plane on the horizon became painfully loud--but just to stretch.

And then I closed all that up and pulled back into myself and thought about the things I couldn't perceive with my senses.

I did not know exactly when the houses that were around me were built, what the social and economic forces that willed them into being were. I don't know what the people inside them were doing at that moment, let alone all the social and personal context shaping their behavior and feelings and thoughts and thought-feelings.

I didn't know the billion-year history of each molecule of water creeping out in a dark aureole from the decaying leaf-litter on the edge of the sidewalk, or what the life of each leaf had been (some trees are functionally immortal, did you know? they call it phoenix regeneration). I didn't know the story of any of the pebbles embedded in the cement, what rock they had come from or where it had formed or through where it had traveled or how long it had been small. I didn't know when or by whom this square of sidewalk had been installed, how it had affected the area and the people who lived in it to have a sidewalk there, if there had been a street there before there was a sidewalk, if this was the original or a replacement.

Even if I narrowed my focus just to the square of sidewalk on which I stood, the truth of it was infinite. Merely what I could perceive with my own senses standing in that one spot and what background knowledge I have of things like the area the corner was in and how cement gets made and what streets do was too much to hold and synthesize. How much bigger, everything I didn't know and couldn't perceive?

We say there are as many Judaisms as there are Jews. But there are as many Christianities as there have been Christians and people who have ever interacted with Christians.

If there is any objective truth about it, it is made up of all the subjective experiences of it, and is beyond anyone's ability to comprehensively understand.

Which is why I find Buell's metaphor of "prismatic vision" so compelling: the idea of looking at a thing and seeing components of it and also knowing that there are parts of the spectrum that you can't see.

resist the “false choice between realism and relativism.”

Realism isn't the opposite of relativism, in these things--it's the sum total of all the relativisms. It's a point that may or may not exist, that we can only, hopefully, use as a direction to head in.

On to the Introduction.

[brookstonalmanac]

Birthdays 4.26

Beer Birthdays

John Toohey (1839)

Henry Hoerl (1854)

Five Favorite Birthdays

John James Audubon; ornithologist, artist (1785)

Count Basie; jazz bandleader, pianist (1904)

Carol Burnett; comedian, actor (1933)

Bruce Jay Friedman; writer (1930)

Ludwig Wittgenstein; Austrian/English philosopher (1889)

Famous Birthdays

Gracie Allen; comedian (1906)

Marcus Aurelius; Roman emperor (121 C.E.)

Joan Chen; actor (1961)

Eugene Delacroix; French artist (1798)

Duane Eddy; rock guitarist (1938)

Teddy Edwards; jazz saxophonist (1924)

Giancarlo Esposito; actor (1958)

Jimmy Giuffre; jazz clarinetist (1921)

Kevin James; actor (1965)

Kimber James; porn actor (1988)

Stana Katic; actor (1978)

Jet Li; actor, martial artist (1963)

Anita Loos; writer (1893)

Bernard Malamud; writer (1914)

Edward Shepherd Mead; writer (1914)

Muhammad; religious leader (571 C.E.)

Frederick Law Olmstead; architect (1822)

I.M. Pei; architect (1917)

Ma Rainey; blues singer (1886)

Thomas Reid; English philosopher (1710)

Charles Richter; geologist (1900)

Bobby Rydell; pop singer (1942)

Douglas Sirk; film director (1897)

Michael Smith; English chemist (1932)

Koo Stark; actor (1956)

Edmund Tarbell; artist (1862)

Channing Tatum; actor (1980)

Roger Taylor; rock drummer (1960)

Artemus Ward; writer (1834)

Morris West; writer (1916)

Maurice Williams; pop singer (1938)

[picolin]

untitled f*ck miss s**gon play

by Kimber Lee

dir. Roy Alexander Weise

2023年9月30日　Young Vic

USの劇作家キンバー・リーの2019年作品。プッチーニの『蝶々夫人』から1989年初演の『ミス・サイゴン』まで、延々と続く欧州・北米白人文化による極東・東南アジア女性に対する視線について、アジア系アメリカ人劇作家として脱解体を試みる風刺劇。夏にマンチェスター国際フェスティバルの一貫として、ロイヤル・エクスチェンジ劇場で上演された。演出は同劇場の共同芸術監督を務めていたロイ・アレクサンダー・ワイゼ。

美術はKhadija Raza。ロイヤル・エクスチェンジと同様の円形の囲み舞台を貫くように通路が通されている。中央に置かれる六角形を二つに割った大道具をさまざまに組み合わせて、極東/東南アジアのどこかの屋内を作るのを見るのは面白い。メタな構成のせいもあり場の度にステージスタッフが舞台上で舞台転換を行い、彼らもまたキャラクターのように見えてくる類の演出である。Joshua Pharoの照明はカラフルで楽しいが、それこそ『ミス・サイゴン』的な強いスポットライトがやや目につらい。

『蝶々夫人』が書かれた時代から現代に至るまで、極東/東南アジアの女性が舞台芸術で与えられる役割のワンパターンさに偏狭なWest Gazeを見出し、それに対していかに対峙するかというのを異なる時代と設定で何度も演じられる。ヒロインのキム（『となりのトトロ』のメイ・マック）は最初こそ受動的なままだったが、次第に自分を白人男や、それが体現するUS文化に差し出そうとする家族に対して疑問を持ち、反抗的に行動するようになっていく。現代設定の場において、おそらくUSへの第一世代移民と思われる母親（Lourdes Faberes）による、いかにしてモデルマイノリティとして生き抜いてきたか、なおかつシステムに従属することが最適解と語る長い独白があり、その後のキムの独白シーンが続く。この長さが重要なのはわかるのだが、それまでテンポよくパロディを重ねてきたのでどうしてもまだるっこしさを感じてしまう。USにおいて、非白人の作家の作品が多くの場合創作というよりもステイトメントそのものにならざるを得ない状況自体に彼の国の差別構造の厳しさを感じてしまう。

[gilgamis]

East Meets West -  Orlando Kimber / John Keliehor (1984)

[army-of-idiots]

[burlveneer-music]

Orlando Kimber & John (Jon) Keliehor - East Meets West (Bruton, 1984)

Keliehor’s 1984 release for Bruton stands as a fine Fourth World album, with none of the kitsch typical of library music “exotica” LPs.

A Bruton Classic - "Atmospheres ranging from busy industrial movement to mystical nebulous ambience via pacific native rhythms using exotic percussion, synthesizers and advanced studio techniques."

Side A: 00:00 - 1000 Yellow Bicycles 02:56 - Peking Station 05:10 - King Rama 07:09 - One Language 10:47 - Garuda 14:20 - Luminous Forces 1 16:44 - Luminous Forces 2 18:59 - Luminous Forces - Sting I 19:13 - Luminous Forces - Sting II Side B: 19:30 - Gagaku 23:08 - Mongolian Desert 27:02 - Heavenly Clouds 30:36 - Cloud Music 34:21 - Ice Palace 37:45 - Kyoto Gardens 39:33 - Haiku 40:55 - Potala Temple

[sunnysynthsunshine]

My Thoughts on the Saban/Toonmakers Moon pilot

Positives: 

banger theme song

some neat designs (the moon gliders, power ups, serenity and beryl’s outfits)

I liked the she-ra-esque approach they went for

the girls are pretty

the cast and crew looked like they had fun working on it 

Negatives:

very off-model animation

Usagi/Victoria isn’t a cry-baby and I liked that about her, it made her relatable, 

Usagi doesn’t have her trademark odango hair (her actress is pretty though)

Sailor Moon needs Tuxedo Mask’s rose to activate Moon Tiara Action, while in the anime she can do that on her own, the pilot implies that she needs her man to activate her power up

The Silver Millennium backstory: it’s not as tragic as it was depicted in the manga/anime 

some of the changes to the other sailor scouts were unnecessary tbh, 

(Sailor Mercury, while I like how her civilian form looks like Kimber from Jem, the other changes just don’t really fit her character, it’s fine if other people like her, but I’ll always see sailor mercury as blue haired Amy).

(Sailor Venus, while Minako is a bit air-headed, she still cares about fighting and saving the galaxy, balancing that with her love for showbiz and performing, her ToonMakers/Saban Moon counterpart sounds like she cares more about partying than fighting)

(Sailor Jupiter, is mostly fine, but that hair, I know in the video her actress said the wigs were badly made, but yeah, if her animated hair was similar to Hotaru’s (who has a similar style) it would’ve worked a bit better)

(Sailor Mars, is mostly fine, but I miss the hot headed and snarky attitude that her manga/anime self had, it’s like ToonMakers/Saban Moon has more Sailor Jupiter traits than Sailor Mars traits)

Luna.... why the colour change and it feels so different in this version, the pgsm version of Luna is more believable and she’s a plush toy!!

and finally while it is interesting that there’s these hidden “american remakes” of anime in the 90s if Saban/ToonMakers Moon had gotten greenlit we wouldn’t have gotten to see the original anime in all it’s glory, anime would’ve taken longer to get more popular in the west and the 90s anime was also a lot more feminist in it’s messages, while Saban/ToonMakers Moon was definitely diverse and experimental with some creative potential, over all I’m happy that we just got the dubbed anime in the end even if it had it’s own changes

that said...I am very happy that it was finally found and that the cast and crew that Raven interviewed sounded like they had a good time producing it, it’s interesting to see all the links that it had with other cartoons and animators at the time  like (Dan Povenmire, creator of Phineas and Ferb) and (Patricia Alice Albrecht, the late voice of Pizzazz from Jem and the holograms).

American Sailor Moon could hypothetically work nowadays with how popular shows like Power Rangers and Voltron have become but they’d need the right cast and crew to make it actually work this time with animation that’s on model and details a bit more accurate to the source material.

links to Ray Mona’s videos on the subject:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SdYD5StqHxk

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0L67YFwnQCQ

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Illuminated (Mini-Series)

I’m procrastinating on grading and almost finished season one of Peaky Blinders. Please enjoy this smattering of feelings. 

After a long day, Ruth and Tommy strike up a conversation over a cigarette. Tommy's not planning to spill his guts and it helps that he doesn't have too--Ruth sees him.

Black!OC. One-Shot.

Transparent (Part 2) | Fervent (Part 3) | Reverent (Part 4) | Deliverance (Part 5/Finale)

__________________________________

If it weren’t for the streetlights, Tommy would lose her completely. But Ruth stands under the light, partially illuminated. Though the men from the bar are loud, Tommy listens to the way she exhales. He should’ve answered her question--about what he wanted--more honestly. But he did want power. He was sick of being under. He’d been under enough during the war and even before it. The war just made it more real. Tommy resolved to not be under even if it killed him.

 Though, what Tommy wanted was his sleep back, not bristling at a loud sound and having to shrug it off, not struggling. He wanted a semblance of peace, even if it was just sleep and everything else stayed the same. Peace was tough as a Peaky Blinder-in that there would always be a fight, a scheme, a shoulder to look over and a cap to swing. But that’s what he really wants back, something back of the old Tommy to make everything in the world feel right side up again. But power--power is easier. Power means keeping the world right side up for Tommy. It’s just not the full truth. And he’s not even sure he could admit that outloud. Not to Ruth. 

“I have a question. Just to make sure I’m hearing you right,” she asks. 

Tommy, lips pressing around the cigarette, nods. He’s not sure if she can even see it. Though he suspects he’s much more illuminated by the light than she is. 

“You want fear over love? To have your name strike the core of every man, woman, and child, to have them step out of your way and never into your embrace? You want the cold embrace of distance. You want to be a man that dies alone. You want power because it puts you away from everyone. What can be lost with distance if you don’t have or need anyone else. You’re just a boy still. You’re still scared but you’re not Arthur, you don’t drink yourself into a stupor. You’re not John who’s sense and youth still blind him. You’re Thomas fucking Shelbey a boy who went into war and a boy that came out of it. But a boy who’d killed and does death really make men out of us? Or does death and war make us realize how all of the rest of the world--those who haven’t fought--are still babies in comparison? You are fighting, still. It’s easier to say that you’re fighting a battle you picked now. But you cannot tell me you’re not stick of it--fighting.”

He pulls the cigarette from his lips. “Where’s your question in that whole spill? You said you had a question.”

“Do you want the shovels to stop?”

Tommy blinks. How had Ruth known about the sound that kept him up at night? He hadn’t told her. He hadn’t told anyone. And yet, Ruth knew. Like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west, even if it wasn’t always seen, it was known. And she knew. Tommy continues to stare at her--dark eyes and skin and she bores her stare back at him. He blinks again. 

A game of chess unfolds. He can tell her. He can let the thing that’s been burning his chest finally burst through. Or he can redirect. He can still hold it close to his chest. It would kill him--mentally before it would physically. And physically, he might be writing his death certificate with the guns, and the copper, and Kimber. But Tommy thought well on his toes and knew how to make a backup plan for the backup plan. 

He has no plan for this-- for someone to have sight on him and about him in ways that he thought he’d covered. “I think I’d kill again for them to stop.” 

It shocks even him as the sentence falls over his throat. He chalks it up to the night. The ways in which the street lights hardly light her skin and the reddish hue reflects back up into his eyes. It’s like a confessional--if Tommy still cared at all about religion. But he doesn’t mistake the way that the night feels like that screen he’d grown to hate as a child, only now it finds him a soft respite.

Ruth's seen what kind of person Tommy is even if he pretended like she didn’t. She’d known about the shovels that were chasing Tommy at night--when he wasn’t high, and when he was trying to get himself together the shovels were tapping away in the night. 

Ruth’s touch is soft on his bent elbow as she speaks, “I know the war cursed a lot of people and in different ways. I think it cursed you to always be a fighting man now.”

The orange glow of her cigarette falls before it’s covered by the shoe covering her foot. 

“You think there’s a powder trick for that?” Tommy asks. He means it as a joke but something in his voice is desperate to his own ears. 

“Someone once told me that religion is a foolish answer to a foolish question, but yet, they’re asking the foolish question anyway,” she laughs. 

The levity of the moment lingers and much like her cigarette, it falls slowly--but only if you watch it and quickly if you’re not paying attention. Tommy, flicking his gaze up from the cobblestone streets, looks over her head down into the parts of the city where the lights blink but only in pockets. There’s a darkness that settles in thickly and only the sparse few street lights help brighten anything enough to not be stumbling into houses and corners. 

“How’d you know about the shovels?” Tommy asks over her head. He doesn’t trust himself to look at her--to have her see him again. 

“You think women talk, but you’ve never been a woman in a room full of men before. They think I’m invisible. Suit shop is busy and when Thomas Shelby is your leading act, you have to come up and follow strong too.”

Tommy nods. Of course, the tailor shop. New suits were a luxury even Tommy couldn’t always afford. But the thing that helped was having the tailor shop on their books. “But I don’t talk--not about myself unless it’s business.”

Ruth laughs. “Tommy, the boys that fought alongside you talk--it provides them comfort. They talk to me because I’m not a wife. I’m not a sister. I’m not an aunt. I am a nobody to them, the blank slate. All I have to do is make sure I don’t prick them.”

He looks at her. The way she’s staring up at him even though he hasn’t spared her a glance until right now. “Prick Arthur though--next time he comes in.”

Ruth sees it--the quick quirk of his lips, but Tommy’s rearming himself. But she’d seen Tommy underneath the steel gaze. And that’s all she needed--she needed just a glimpse of the person behind the cap, the one that wandered too late at night in the streets. “Tommy, I hope you get some rest,” Ruth says, taking one step back. “Real rest.”

“At least let me make sure you get home safe. Pol will have my head if I don’t.”

“I’m only three blocks away,” Ruth returns. She’d purposefully chosen an apartment closer to the shop due to her long nights after the contract with Polly. She spent most of the day on orders for the regular folks and most of the evenings working on whatever the Blinders needed. 

Tommy takes a step forward, then another and the cigarette he’d been nursing falls to the ground too and is crushed under the step of Tommy’s boot. “Well, walk with me then,” he commands and starts down in the direction opposite of where Ruth knows his place is at. She’d previously dropped off a mended suit jacket to him one evening on Polly’s request. 

“You don’t stay in this direction,” Ruth states but turns anyway to follow him. 

“I have business this way.”

Ruth wants to ask what kind of business, but she doesn’t. The Shelby reputation proceeds them and though Ruth’s first introduction was through Polly, she doesn’t miss the looks from people when one of the brothers is around. 

Silence, outside of the click of Ruth’s heel, swallows the two of them. It’s not uncomfortable to Ruth, though she does find herself glancing up to Tommy’s locked jaw and the almost permanent furrow to his brows. It’s enough to almost make Ruth reach out and smooth her hands over the skin. The question bubbles--when was the last time someone touched you without the intent of causing harm?--but Ruth doesn’t ask. 

Ruth hooks the left at the end of the street though and Tommy’s turn is sharp on his heel. The snicker shakes her shoulders and Tommy watches her. “I’m sorry to have missed the joke.”

“Your turn,” Ruth answers. “Military sharp--not something I expect out of the cool Tommy.”

Tommy looks over his shoulder to the corner briefly. Had he really turned that sharply? “You know what they say about bad habits,” he returns, stuffing his hand in his pockets. 

Ruth nods at his statement. The silence settles back around them as they walk. But Tommy catches it, the way Ruth walks with her shoulders rolled back. She stares straight ahead, never looking down at her feet. She commands the sidewalk they are sharing. 

“Do you have a husband?” Tommy asks. 

“And if I do?”

“Then I would say the man that married you is smart and tough.”

“And if I don’t?” Ruth asks. 

“Then I would say you’ve lucked out and not married any cowards.”

Ruth nods, turning her head for a moment. “Then I’ve lucked out and not married any cowards.”

“Are you afraid? To be alone in a city like this? It’ll chew a girl like you up.”

Ruth doubts his fishing for John, though the rumor was that John was desperate to find a wife to help mother his children. Arthur can hardly rub two sticks together and no woman really wants to baby the town drunk. Maybe Tommy was really curious.  Though, she’d lived in the city for over a decade. She’s fine and will be until she either leaves or dies. “Are you saying you’re worried about me?”

Tommy slows as Ruth does and watches her fish out her key. He makes sure to keep himself a couple feet from her. He watches the way she leans into the stone of the building. She reminds Tommy of himself--the way she poses a question to fish for something deeper. But Tommy wishes he still had a gentleness in him. Ruth went out of her way to care for the sick in town when she wasn’t working for them. She got groceries for the elderly that had no kin and she was always more than willing to help a struggling mother. 

Tommy hadn’t forgotten his roots, but he was focused now on getting on top, he was focused on getting out from being under that he hadn’t really noticed the ways he was slipping away until he was staring at someone that saw him. Thus, he was forced to see himself. Ruth was holding a mirror up to Tommy and he’s sure if she had a real one, Tommy would not recognize the hollowness in his eyes. 

“I’m saying it would be awful to find a new tailor who does as good work as you,” Tommy returns. He smiles though, because Ruth will get it. 

“I’m sure it would be tough to fit in all the interviews in on a tough schedule like yours,” Ruth chuckles. She nods back towards the building. “This is me.”

Tommy nods. “This is you.”

“Thanks for making sure your best tailor made it home all in one piece.”

“Of course,” he nods. 

Ruth gets to her apartment on the second floor and manages to catch the receding figure of Tommy down the street. She watches him rounding the corner and then he disappears, the tails of his coat billowing behind him and then that fabric disappears too. She wonders if she hadn’t dropped off a finished piece for Harry at the Garrison, if she’d ever had a conversation like that with Tommy in her normal quarters, where she marked, lined, and pinned pieces to make or fix. 

But she cherishes the moment--the divide in the cosmos that allowed this rare form of Tommy to surface is not to be taken lightly. What if she hadn’t asked Tommy for a light? What if he hadn’t teased about her having a cigarette being a sore sight? What was it that Tommy really wanted and was looking for from her? 

The night seems to have had an affect, Ruth was sure, wouldn’t bleed into the morning. She’d been soft to Tommy, but not naive and she was glad to be drop his bucket to remind him that not everything had to be a fight or a scheme. 

Ruth’s usually the first to the shop--a symptom of her own inability to sleep too well at night thanks to those phantom cries. But at the door is another figure. She knows the cap on the head anywhere and she widens her stride. She isn’t late for any appointment but that doesn't mean the business of the night doesn't demand the urgency of the day. A couple feet away the figure turns their head and she can see more clearly who it is--Tommy. 

She holds his gaze and nods. “Good morning.”

He returns the gesture. “Morning.”

Ruth works quickly to unlock the shop doors and when the gears click, she pushes the door open for Tommy to enter first. 

He waves for her to go, “Ladies first.”

Ruth steps in without word but pauses at the coat rack to take his coat. Tommy continues past her deep into the shop. The windows let it in a good amount of light and he can see where the platform is and walks to the edge it--right on the edge of being under and over. One step up and he could be over, standing in the spot where everyone does in this place to ensure that Ruth gets proper measure without over sacrificing her own back. 

Tommy chooses to say under. Off the platform. “I wanted to make sure you’d make it in alright,” he states looking at Ruth. 

“I’m in one piece,” Ruth returns. “What about you? You’re not hiding pieces of you, are you?”

“Not yet today, anyway,” he says shaking his head. Ruth still stands near the door, though she does slip out of her coat. “I also wanted to say thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“Thank you,” Tommy confirms, stepping towards her now. Ruth finally puts her coat up on the stand. Tommy stops hardly a foot from her. He can see now the depth to her brown eyes. “Thank you for wishing me real rest. I can’t say I got any. Those shovels. But I still appreciate it. And to say to you more directly, power is the easy answer.”

Ruth sees that the rest wasn’t good--she sees it all the time on his face. “Don’t we all love the easy way out.”

“I heard you had a husband.”

“Go talking to your aunt Polly before coming here?” Ruth asks. 

“I heard he left you.”

“It’s like you said, I lucked out.”

“I know that he was a stupid man to leave you behind.”

“I was once a stupid girl to care for him, his mistress, and their baby while I was still married to him. He brought her home not too long before she was due to give birth.”

Tommy watches the tick of her jaw. There it is--the true emotion underneath it all. She was angry and if it’s true--which he had no reason to doubt--then Ruth had every right to be angry. “Men are dogs, aren’t we?”

Ruth tsks, “Not listening are we? That’s the easy answer.” Tommy watches her, the way she leans into the desk. Her gaze is unsteady as she gazes out of the window. “I can’t have children, body’s not suited for it.”

“So you’re angry at yourself.”

“I’m angry at a lot of things.”

Tommy exhales a tuft of laughter. “Don’t we love the easy way out.”

Ruth finally looks back up to Tommy. She watches his gaze fall from her eyes to lower on his face. The talk had meant more than she’d known and Ruth is partially grateful. But she knows what Tommy’s look means. His back faces the window--the world can only see her. Ruth wonders if he’s worried. But Tommy didn’t really seem like the type to express that outwardly.

 Ruth and Tommy are staring at each other and Tommy’s not closing in. Ruth doesn’t move, but the gravity between them shakes, like it’s waiting for one of them to close in. It’s like they’re both begging each other to give in first, but too stubborn to cave themselves. Ruth hadn’t been blind to Tommy’s looks. He was attractive, but she had no means to get her business mixed with her pleasure. Though, in some ways, if Tommy was taking the risk it had to be worth it.  

“You don’t want to do this,” Ruth says. She can’t tell if she’s saying it for Tommy or for herself. 

“I thought you knew me, Ruth. Am I a man to do anything I don’t want?”

“You’re a man that’s used to getting his way,” Ruth returns. She tries to make it dismissive, but she can’t help her tiny smile. 

Tommy shrugs, grinning a little. “Maybe I’m a man cursed to always be fighting and knows how to fight for the things he wants. After work, you’ll go to the Garrison. I’ll ask you for a smoke this time.”

“Hard to ask me for a smoke if you’re always hidden away in that room.”

“I promise for you--I’ll be right there at the bar, Ruth.”

 Tommy almost catches her hand as she stands up and he pushes towards the door. Their fingers just barely brush over each other as Tommy steps out of the door and into the gloomy autumn day. It’s so fast Ruth’s not sure if he meant to do it, but when she watches him out of the window, heading deeper into the city, she sees the way he flexes his fingers. Like he’d had them curled and swung at firm bone, but no--all he’d done is barely touch her. 

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme Chapter 22

Thomas X Reader

Word Count: 1823

Summary: We’re getting the band back together. 

by @adventuresintooblivion

Y/N huffed a stray curl out of her face as she walked down the street. She’d been hunting Thomas down for days trying to get a hold of him, to warn him. Hell, at this point she’d considered sending a note. But he needed to know that the possibility of a gang war was on the horizon.

It was one of the few times Y/N had visited the Shelby home. She’d mainly avoided the place up until now, letting Thomas and the others have a sanctuary. Everyone needed one. But today the streets were buzzing with activity. Runners made their way back and forth between illicit sales, the horse tracks, and the books that Thomas kept locked up so tightly.

Once inside the volume only increased as it was captured by thin walls. It wasn’t the business, however, that made the whole affair so wild. It was a handful of unexpected visitors. 

Beneath the chalkboard in the back of the room Aunt Pol stood grasping Ada as if it were the last time she was ever going to see the girl. Beside her stood her husband grinning like he was a priest witnessing the Lord rise again himself.

“Is that Freddie-fucking-Thorne I see? What happened to you getting got by the coppers?” Y/N gasped in feigned astonishment.

Freddie whipped around, his jaw falling slack as he took in the sight before him, “Y/N? Is that really you?”

She closed the distance between them quickly, “Oh, don’t tell me no one mentioned I was around. I’ve been here for months.”

In half a breath Freddie swept her up into his arms, “No, I was told all about you. I guess I never really let myself believe it until I’d laid eyes on you myself.” 

Y/N choked out a laugh as she waved in a feeble attempt to return the crushing hug. “Ada, a little help?”

Ada’s laugh rang out like a bell as she lightly placed her hand on Freddie’s shoulder, “Put her down, love. I’d like to say ‘hi’ as well.”

Freddie roughly let down the woman, letting her gasp for breath as Ada wrapped her arms around Y/N, careful to balance the baby in her other arm. 

“Fucking Christ man you’re trying to kill me all over again. And you didn’t answer my question,” Y/N coughed as she returned Ada’s embrace. Freddie bounced on his heels, the excitement too much for him to contain.

He blurted out, “Danny got me out. He’s around here somewhere. I see you met My Wife.” His hand made a small flourish in Ada’s direction as if to show her off.

“Yeah, I see you’ve even gotten her a ring and everything.” Y/N lifted Ada’s left hand and gave it a soft squeeze. A smile split across Ada’s face, making her almost glow in the dim light. “I knew there was a proper man in there somewhere. Had to bash that over Thomas’ skull a few times before he’d listen.”

Freddie froze, “You vouched for me? To Tommy?”

“Of course I did. The Freddie that watched my back in the trenches never would’ve left the woman he loved behind. Thomas just got too caught up in the business of it all.” Y/N shrugged.

Aunt Pol caught her eye, tears were trickling down her cheeks as she smiled like the whole world was right for once. It was only temporary. Even as they all spoke they knew that. Yet, when life is as short and cruel as it is, you knew to take what you could get.

“So, how come I haven’t heard about you getting engaged?” Freddie coughed uncomfortably. He reached for Y/N’s left hand, inspecting it as if it held all the answers. “Cause when Ada told me you were back, I just knew that’s what you came back for.”

“Freddie…” Y/N warned.

Ada cast a glance back towards Aunt Pol. “Yeah, you said she came back for Tommy didn’t you?”

 “It was a joke you’d hear them making all the time. Honestly, if things had gone right you’d probably be looking at a real Mrs. Thomas Shelby right now.” Freddie teased.

Y/N thunked Freddie on his sternum, her eyes narrowed as he doubled over. “Thanks. Share that with everyone. Please. Continue.” 

“Alright. Alright. But seriously, You two aren’t getting married? I thought he’d be ecstatic to see you,” he said as he righted himself.

She shrugged, hoping the movement showed him just how uncomfortable she was. “He’s got a thing for a barmaid at the moment. And you know how I am, second place really isn’t my style. Besides, we’re not on the best of terms right now.”

Aunt Pol stepped forward to place her hand on the back on Y/N arm, “While I knew Thomas liked you, I didn’t realize it had gotten so far. We’ll talk about this later.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Y/N shot Freddie a look that could kill. 

They were interrupted by the door bursting open. One of the many men who worked for the Peaky Blinders stumbled in gasping.

“They’ve got him! The Rothschilds have Tommy!”

The air left Y/N’s lungs all in a rush. That was a name she prayed to never hear again. The whole room stood still. Violence raised her bloody crown whenever the Rothschilds marched and every man, woman and child knew it. And now they had Tommy. It was Arthur who broke the silence.

“Out with it man! What happened?”

The man fumbled forward until he collapsed into a chair, shaking his head. “We were on our way to meet Kimber’s boys. We had to cross the bridges to get there cause Kimber was at some fancy party and we got jumped. I swear there were at least ten of them. Beat the shit out of us and tossed Tommy in a carriage when he couldn’t get up anymore. It was bad, Arthur.”

Aunt Pol was visibly trembling as she reached out for the man, “How do you know it was the Rothschilds? Tell me, there is a fraction of a chance that you were wrong.”

He shook his head, “It was them Ma’am. The carriage they brought, it was a beat up old thing but it was painted in their colors. And...And I saw him. Sid, himself showed.”

Arthur glanced around wildly, “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go get Tommy.” He grabbed his coat and began running for the door.

“Arthur, STOP.” It was Y/N. “They let this man go. They let him go so he would tell us. Sid knows everyone here would die for Tommy, without question. If you run off like you plan to, you’ll just be running into whatever he’s got set up waiting for you.”

“Then what the fuck do you think we should do then, Miss Knows Everything.” His face was steadily turning a brighter shade of red.

But Aunt Pol simply collapsed. She grabbed for a chair as she went down, the resounding crash caught Arthur’s attention as his fists clenched and unclenched. He rushed forward, encircled her in his arms as sobs ripped through her chest, “NO! No. No. No. No. My boy!”

Arthur stared down at her bewildered, “Aunt Pol, We could go after him. We could-”

“No! She… She’s right. Either they’ll kill him or they’ll make him watch as we try to save him. The Peaky Blinders will be slaughtered.”

John paced back and forth, “I know we’re outnumbered, but it’s Tommy. We can’t just give up.”

Freddie ran his fingers through his hair, “I know I’m not a part of the gang scene, but didn’t these guys almost wipe out Kimber’s gang before he got a hold of the race tracks?”

John nodded, “Yeah, he pays them to leave him alone. They have a whole army of people.”

Aunt Pol’s sobs stuttered to a halt as she rounded on Y/N. “They’ve got an army and we need a miracle. You, you’re the impossible girl.”

Apparently the idiotic moniker had been making the rounds, Y/N sighed heavily as she silently cursed that random Lee.

“Pol, I know I’m pretty stubborn but the Rothschilds?” Y/N shook her head. “It’d take weeks of planning and if we go after Tommy we’d have to leave NOW.”

“I know who you are. Tommy told me. You smuggled priceless goods while in the army. You came back from the dead. You walk on two legs while your spine is held together by sinew and sheer will. You know where that monster is taking my nephew. Now get out there and. Bring. Him. Back.” She spat the order at Y/N.

Arthur stared up at her in quiet astonishment, “Well, I guess you’re in charge of this one, mate.”

Y/N’s mouth set into a thin line. Gears began turning in her head about what she knew, the memories flooding forth unbidden as she relived her childhood. The carriages, the beating, the lone survivor. It all rang a bell. 

She began to pace, “It’s too risky to have this war in Birmingham with that new Inspector sniffing at our heels. They’d have to take him out of the city to ambush us properly.”

Freddie glanced at her, “Which means we need to get Tommy before they leave the city.”

She nodded, “Their carriages are also altered. They have better maneuverability than anything coming out of a factory. Not to mention they’re skinnier so they can fit down roads most cars won’t be able to.”

“How do you know all this?” Ada asked, bouncing her child gently to calm him in light of all the noise. 

Y/N let out a nervous chuckle, “You’ll find out tonight if I get back.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed, “I thought you just said we couldn’t go after him.”

“The entirety of the Peaky Blinders can’t. But maybe, just maybe, a smaller team could get this done.” Y/N glanced around. “Hey Freddie, are you up for an adventure?”

He saluted her, “For you and Tommy? Always.”

Y/N glanced at Ada, who answered with a silent nod, before asking, “Isn’t one of you Shelby’s a gunner?”

John stepped forward, “That’d be me. They handed me most of the big guns but I remember how to work a proper sniper rifle if that’s what you need.”

Her fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm as Y/N’s mind grasped at straws. A vague plan was forming at the edges of her mind, knitting itself together into something that could possibly work. 

“Alright. No, the big guns are exactly what we need right now. John, Freddie, meet me at the corner by the West Bridge.”

“You’ve actually got a plan?” John asked hopefully.

Y/N grimaced, “I’ve got something. I wouldn’t quite call it a plan yet, but come on boys. Let’s go get Tommy back.”

[j-r-macready]

USS West Virginia off the coast of Georgia. by Official U.S. Navy Page Via Flickr: KINGS BAY, Ga. (Jan. 11, 2010) The Ohio-class ballistic-missile submarine USS West Virginia (SSBN 736) departs Naval Submarine Base Kings Bay, Ga. West Virginia is scheduled for an engineering refueling overhaul at Norfolk Naval Shipyard in Portsmouth, Va., next month. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication 1st Class James Kimber/Released)

[brookstonalmanac]

Birthdays 4.26

Beer Birthdays

John Toohey (1839)

Henry Hoerl (1854)

Five Favorite Birthdays

John James Audubon; ornithologist, artist (1785)

Count Basie; jazz bandleader, pianist (1904)

Carol Burnett; comedian, actor (1933)

Bruce Jay Friedman; writer (1930)

Ludwig Wittgenstein; Austrian/English philosopher (1889)

Famous Birthdays

Gracie Allen; comedian (1906)

Marcus Aurelius; Roman emperor (121 C.E.)

Joan Chen; actor (1961)

Eugene Delacroix; French artist (1798)

Duane Eddy; rock guitarist (1938)

Teddy Edwards; jazz saxophonist (1924)

Giancarlo Esposito; actor (1958)

Jimmy Giuffre; jazz clarinetist (1921)

Kevin James; actor (1965)

Kimber James; porn actor (1988)

Stana Katic; actor (1978)

Jet Li; actor, martial artist (1963)

Anita Loos; writer (1893)

Bernard Malamud; writer (1914)

Edward Shepherd Mead; writer (1914)

Muhammad; religious leader (571 C.E.)

Frederick Law Olmstead; architect (1822)

I.M. Pei; architect (1917)

Ma Rainey; blues singer (1886)

Thomas Reid; English philosopher (1710)

Charles Richter; geologist (1900)

Bobby Rydell; pop singer (1942)

Douglas Sirk; film director (1897)

Michael Smith; English chemist (1932)

Koo Stark; actor (1956)

Edmund Tarbell; artist (1862)

Channing Tatum; actor (1980)

Roger Taylor; rock drummer (1960)

Artemus Ward; writer (1834)

Morris West; writer (1916)

Maurice Williams; pop singer (1938)

[favefandomimagines]

Everything Happens For A Reason (t.h.)

Summary: Tom asks you, his bartender at the pub he owns, to accompany him to his next deal.

AN: since i’ve been into Peaky Blinders and got inspired by Thomas and Grace’s arrangement in season one when they go to meet Billy Kimber at the races AND this is my first time ever writing anything Mob!Tom related soo go easy on me please! xx

It was no secret that every man who worked for Tom found you attractive. That’s why Tom hired you to begin with. You were a pretty face and pretty face’s were easy to tell secrets to. Every man who stepped foot in the pub, always ended up telling the pretty bartender everything. 

And you would report back to Tom if it was something you saw as worthy of him knowing. He obviously thanked you and then sent you on your way. It never escalated beyond that. Though parties wanted it to go beyond that but there were the obvious risks. 

Until one day, as you were preparing to open, Tom and Harrison stepped inside. Wearing their expensive Yves Saint Laurent suits and Rolexes adorning their wrists, perspectively.

“We don’t open for another fifteen minutes.” You told them, as you were wiping down the counter. “Last time I checked I owned the joint. I can come in whenever I please.” Tom replied. “And last time I checked, when you hired me, you said I can run this place.” You rebutted. 

Tom chuckled lightly as he walked up to the bar and rested his elbows atop it. “I need you this evening. I have someone covering for you tonight.” He said.

You furrowed your eyebrows and set the rag down in the sink. “What do you need me for?” You asked. “I need you to accompany me to a meeting. One of the other bosses I’m meeting with, he tends to say more when there’s a woman present.” Tom explained. 

You looked from Tom to Harrison and then back to Tom. “Oh so I’m just your arm candy for the evening? Let me guess, you’re going to have me play the typical dumb bombshell and have me compliment him, stare seductively at him so he’ll tell you everything? Why not just ask the girls you bring in here every weekend?” You snapped. 

Harrison laughed dryly, causing Tom to glare back at him. “She’s good.” Harrison added. “Come on, love. Just one night. I need your help.” Tom said. You looked at him for a moment before a smirk crept on to your face. 

“The great Tom Holland needs my help? Wow what an honor it is.” You said sarcastically. “Y/N,” He started. “Well, what do I get in return for helping the infamous and greatly feared Mr. Holland?” You asked. 

Tom clenched and unclenched his jaw and crossed his arms across his chest. “Anything you want. You name it. Clothes, shoes, jewelry, I don’t fucking care, just name your price.” He told you, losing his patience. “I don’t want materialistic things, Tom.” You started. 

“I want Thursday’s off. If you spent any time out here instead of in your private room, you’d know that weekends suck. They’re busy and everyone thinks that if they tip me enough, I’ll blow them. So, give me Thursday’s off for a little me time and I’ll come.” You explained. 

“You really are a thorn in my side.” Tom muttered. “A thorn in your side that gives you information. Information that’s made you the biggest and baddest mob boss in London.” You commented. 

He was quiet for a moment. Contemplating taking the risk of you being gone even for just one day. Truth was, he really did need you. In more ways than one. He for one, enjoyed your company. You were a spitfire and sassy and it was a change of pace for him. Another was, since you were so attractive, people were instantly taken with you. 

Tom also liked to know where you were at all times. Since meeting you, he himself was taken with you. You made him feel things he thought he buried when he became head of the family. So he liked to keep tabs on you to keep you safe.

“Fine. Thursday’s off.” He finally said. You smiled triumphantly and walked around to the other side and stood in front of the two men. “What am I supposed to wear then?” You asked. 

“I had something sent over for you.” Tom said, taking his leave from the pub. “Oh and uh, wear that perfume you wear on Sunday’s. It’s one of my favorites.” He added before leaving for good, Harrison smirking behind him. 

You watched the two men leave, heart pounding in your ears, before going back to opening the pub. 

Tom and Harrison got in the black Audi parked outside, Harrison wearing a smart ass smirk on his face. “What are you smiling at?” Tom asked as they drove. “You’re in love with her.” Harrison answered. “What? In love with Y/N?” He questioned. “Yes. The way you look at her, the way you don’t want to let her out of your sight on Thursday’s. Oh and let’s not mention the attention to detail you have when it comes to the perfume she wears.” Harrison explained. 

“I’m not in love with Y/N.” Tom rebutted, the word ‘love’ sounding weird coming from his mouth. “Yes you do. I’m your best friend, I know you better than you know yourself.” Harrison said. 

Tom was silent, his grip tightening around the steering wheel. “Even if I was, it’s too dangerous.” He said. Harrison rolled his eyes but decided to drop the subject, knowing he was getting nowhere with his friend, 

__

When you were allowed to leave to get yourself ready, you arrived back home and saw a garment bag hanging on the closet door in your entry way. You didn’t want to know how Tom had keys to your apartment but you weren’t all that surprised. 

You grabbed it off the door and took it to your room. Unzipping it, you quickly noticed the lack of straps on the black dress. You took it out of the garment bag and noticed the short length. Included with the Saint Laurent dress, was a black Louis Vuitton bag and black Christian Louboutin heels, the obnoxious red bottoms sticking out like sore thumbs.

You sighed and grabbed all of the provided things and started to get yourself ready. You curled your hair loosely and kept it down and did your makeup somewhat naturally. 

Once you were dressed, you sprayed the perfume on your neck and wrists and stared at yourself in the mirror. Your attention instantly went to the diamond necklace that hung from your neck. You definitely looked like one of the girls Tom and his lackeys would bring back to the pub. 

Definitely undermined your self-esteem. 

Tom arrived at your apartment and decided to go up to your door instead of making you walk out to him. It felt like it was the gentlemanly thing to do.

He knocked on your door and heard you shuffle around a bit before opening the door. He went slack jawed when he saw you. Standing there in the little black dress he gave you, your hair done and the necklace sitting around your neck.

“Earth to Tom?” You spoke, waving your hand in front of his face. Tom blinked a few times, being brought back down to reality. “You look absolutely beautiful.” He said.

“Really? I feel like one of those girls you always bring around.” You said, pulling the bottom of the dress down to try and cover your thighs. “Trust me, Y/N, you could never be one of those girls.” Tom said, offering you his arm.

His comment stunned you but you took his arm anyways. You were curious as to where the meeting was going to be held but apart of your job description was not being told anything.

After a few moments, the car pulled up to a stately looking mansion. Definitely a step up from your one bedroom apartment in the middle of London.

Tom got out first and walked around to your side to help you out.

“This is-“ You started before he cut you off. “Small.” He said. “Small? Are you kidding?” You questioned. “This is bigger than my entire apartment building.” You added.

It was obvious you weren’t used to the lavish lifestyle so all Tom could do was laugh at you. The two of you walked up the steps of the house and waited patiently for the double doors to open.

“Mr. Holland. He’s expecting you.” A large man said once the doors were opened. “I sure hope so.” Tom commented.

You felt Tom tense up a bit as you walked through the hallway and you didn’t know why.

You were led into a large dining room and you were so busy admiring the baroque style decor, you didn’t notice the man walking towards you and Tom.

“Mr. Holland. It’s a pleasure.” The man started, shaking Tom’s free hand. “And who’s this lovely lady?” He added. “Y/N. She’s with me.” Tom answered for you.

The man looked at you like he was a lion and you were the prey. Tom saw the look and held onto your waist tightly, trying to get the point across to the man that you were his.

“Shall we get started?” Tom questioned. “Ah, yes. Please sit.” The man said. Tom led you to your chair, next to his and pulled it out for you.

You never knew Tom could be such a gentleman but you figured it was for appearances. He had to keep up the charade that the two of you were ‘together.’ 

“So, Mr. Smith, let’s just cut to the chase. You’ve lost your foothold here in London. You have no resources, your men are corrupt. You’re a sitting duck.” Tom started. “And what makes you think I’m a sitting duck?” Mr. Smith asked.

“Because you arranged a meeting with me, of all people, and have no security present. Probably because your men have made deals with other powerful families. Information for money. Leaving you helpless.” Tom said. “Let me give you some of my men, in exchange for your territory in the West End.” He added.

Mr. Smith leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. Glaring at Tom before his eyes landed on you. If it were possible to squirm out of your own body, you would have. You’d rather be anywhere else than under the vile man’s gaze. 

Tom noticed him looking at you, far longer than he was comfortable with. He looked over at you before back to Mr. Smith. He could sense your discomfort and rested his hand on your thigh to try to put you at ease. 

“I’ll make the deal with you. On one condition.” Mr. Smith started. Tom sighed impatiently and glared at the man across from him, choosing to entertain whatever he had to say. 

Mr. Smith leaned closer to Tom but not close enough so you couldn’t hear. “I’ll make the deal, if you give me her for two hours. I’m quite intrigued to see what a woman like her can do.” He added.

Just hearing how he was speaking about you, made Tom see red. “Did the words ‘she’s with me’ not make it clear to you that she’s mine?” Tom snapped. “Oh come on, Tom. You have a million other whores like her. What’s so special about this one?” Mr. Smith said. 

Your jaw dropped at his words and Tom slammed his fists down on the table and drew his gun, pointing it at the man across from him. 

Before Mr. Smith ever saw it coming, Tom pulled the trigger and shot him straight in the head. His body falling from the chair and on to the floor with a loud thud.

“Oh my god!” You yelled, standing up from your seat. “We’re leaving, let’s go.” Tom said as he grabbed your hand. “Tom, what the hell did you just do?” You questioned.

He didn’t reply to your question and just kept dragging you back to the car. He wasn’t worried about security because he paid off all of the men that were supposed to protect Mr. Smith. 

“Can you please, for the love of god, answer my fucking question?” You snapped, pulling your hand from his causing him to stop. “You said this was a meeting! You never said you were going to murder someone right in front of me!” You yelled.

You were basically scarred for life seeing the blood pooling around Mr. Smith’s head before Tom pulled you out of the room. The image of brain matter splattered across the lavish curtains permanently stained into your mind.

“There was no meeting, Y/N! This was always the outcome. I thought I could get more from him before I had to kill him but then he was saying those awful things about you, I couldn’t take it anymore.” Tom explained. 

You ran your hand through your hair as tears began to well up in your eyes. You were scared, traumatized and you didn’t know what was going to happen to you if the small handful of Smith’s loyal followers were to find out you were a witness. Would they use you to get to Tom? Would Tom even care if they killed you in an act of revenge? Your imagination was turning against you.

Tom saw the look on your face and could tell you were scared. “Y/N,” He started. You looked up at him and he saw the couple of tears that rolled down your cheeks. 

He stepped towards you and placed a hand gently on your cheek, though you slightly moved away from him. And that action didn’t go unnoticed by him. He never wanted you to be scared of him and yet you were. 

“I know you’re scared. The last thing I wanted was to do that in front of you. You’re too good for a world like this. You’re too good for me.” He said. 

You were silent for a moment, looking at him to find a trace of him lying to you. When you didn’t find it, you nodded your head and looked back down at your feet. 

Tom placed his hand on your back to guide you back to the car. 

The way back to the city was silence. Absolute silence. You didn’t speak nor did you want to. And Tom didn’t know what to say. He knew he shouldn’t have killed a man in front of you but he let his anger get the best of him. 

Hearing another man speak about you as if you were an object set him off. But he was no saint in that category. He brought you to this meeting as just a pretty face, which he never should have done in the first place. 

You were dropped off at your apartment and quickly got out of the car. Not wanting to look at or speak to Tom.

“Y/N,” Tom started but stopped short when he saw you weren’t going to speak to him.

He sighed as he watched you step inside without even a second glance in his direction. He didn’t want you to carry the burden he had been carrying for years. But there you were; carrying what you shouldn’t have to. 

__

Tom had gone almost a month without seeing you. He tried to avoid you as he best he could, not coming into the pub unless he needed to. And favored it on Thursdays when you weren’t working. 

You had grown rather angry because he didn’t even try to apologize for exposing you to such a traumatic event. You had nightmares for days, only seeing a bullet go through someone’s skull and the blood all over the floor. And yet Tom didn’t even say the measly words ‘I’m sorry.’ 

It was Tuesday night, a usually casual night for you and Tom snuck past you and into the back room of the pub. You knew he was there because you saw Harrison a few times as you were getting people their drinks. 

Harrison stopped at the bar to get another drink for himself when you stopped in front of him.

“Why has he been hiding out in the back all night?” You asked the right hand man. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He lied. “Harrison.” You said. 

He looked up at you and sighed. You always knew how to read him well. “He knows that there’s nothing he can do that can make you forget what you saw.” Harrison answered. “Look, I know this is the terrifying mob boss we’re talking about but all I wanted, was for him to care. Does he?” You told him. 

Harrison was quiet, not wanting to answer for Tom but he wanted to tell you how much Tom cared about you but he knew it wasn’t his place to say.

“I know he’s not supposed to care about people, considering they usually end up dead or betraying him, but as stupid as it sounds, I thought he cared about me.” You added. 

Before you could continue your conversation, another customer was trying to get your attention. You gave Harrison a sad look before walking away from him. Harrison felt bad for you. You were a nice girl and he knew Tom had feelings for you but clearly, he didn’t know how to handle that. 

Harrison returned to the back room and sat across from Tom. Tom could tell something was off about his best friend and furrowed his eyebrows at him. “What’s wrong with you?” He asked. 

“Y/N.” Harrison answered. Tom tensed up just from hearing your name and he had no clue why Harrison was bringing you up. “What about her?” Tom questioned. “For some unknown reason, she has feelings for you. God knows why but she does. And she just wants you to care.” Harrison explained. 

“She knows who I am. She knows what I do, hell she knows that better than anyone. She’s expecting too much from me.” Tom rebutted. “Maybe. But this is your chance to leave your work at the door. You’d be able to go home to her and leave the business out of it.” Harrison said. “But because of what I do, she’d never be safe. There will always be a target on her back and I can’t do that to her.” Tom told his best friend. “With you is the safest place she could be. Who’d be crazy enough to go after Tom Holland’s girl?” Harrison quickly replied. 

Harrison got back to his work as Tom sat in his chair thinking about what Harrison had told him. He wanted to be with you, it was obvious. But the last thing he wanted was to put you in harms way. But having a job at his bar was also putting a target on your back if anyone were to find out he was the owner. 

A few hours later, there wasn’t a single person left in the pub. Except for Tom and Harrison still sitting in the backroom. Tom’s cowardice starting to agitate you. You were wiping down the counter, getting ready to close for the night when you heard the door open. 

You assumed it was Harrison again and didn’t bother to turn around to talk to him. “Y/N?” You heard. You froze momentarily before turning around. There stood Tom, in all his clean cut glory. You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned against the back counter and the two of you just looked at each other. 

“Can we talk?” Tom asked. “Now you want to talk? After avoiding me for a month?” You rebutted. Tom sighed and walk towards the counter, getting a sense of deja vu.

“I’m sorry for what you had to witness at that meeting. The plan was to get the information, have you go out to the car while I took care of him. I never intended for how it actually happened. I didn’t want you to see that but, Y/N, being around me means you’re going to be exposed to things like that.” He told you. “So I’ve been told.” You muttered. 

Tom walked behind the bar and took your hand in his slowly, afraid you’ll flinch away from him again. “Y/N, I love you, okay? You have intrigued me since the day you started working for me. You don’t hide from me and you aren’t afraid of me. You even like to challenge me 99% of the time which gets on my nerves but I wouldn’t have it any other way. And I’m hoping you feel the same.” Tom confessed. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you looked at your hand in his. “I do feel the same way. I know I probably shouldn’t because of what you do but I can’t really help it.” You replied. 

“I just need you to stay safe.” Tom muttered. “Tom, you can’t control what does and doesn’t happen to me. It’s just how things are meant to be. Like me getting this job for example. We were meant to meet each other.” You explained.

“Do you really believe that everything happens for a reason?” He asked. “Yes, I do.” You said. “And I think you need to start living by that philosophy, Mr. Holland.” you teased. Tom scoffed lightly as he looked down at you. “I guess you’ll have to show me how.” He said. 

You smiled up at him and nodded your head. “I guess I will.” You replied. Tom smiled down at you before he leaned in slowly and kissed you softly. It was something to both of you had been waiting for since your second month working at the bar. And it was everything you hoped it would be and more. 

[keyofjetwolf]

GIFTENING Bonus Rounds

For each category, I included a “bonus round” question. YOU GUYS KILLED IT. I loved all the answers, but listed below are some of my particular favourites.

Haruka Tenoh is trapped in the wrong anime! Which would you have her visit next?

I want her to earth shake Kyubey out of existence, please and thank you

My bride is a mermaid. She can relate. :P

i think she would THRIVE in bodacious space pirates. gay teenage space pirates whose job is to dress up, be Dramatic, and rob the wealthy??? that shit is RIGHT up her alley

Hamtaro

Princess Tutu - where the world is finally as dramatic as her

PGSM (and Michiru is trapped with her, for REASONS)

Pokemon because everyone deserves to be happy

Any moe-style series so hijinks can ensue at her being baffled by everyone's ages

1960's Speed Racer

is is this a captcha or something i missed oh god

Free! so she can be indifferent to all the hot men and slightly uncomfortable because she still can't swim. 

Stick Haruka in a Gundam!

Dump her in Pretear or one of the Precures! It would be hilarious! She's never in the genre she wants to be!

Revolutionary Girl Utena, so she can be offended by misuse of roses.

Initial D, she will out-drive and out-drift all those guys and steal all their girls.

Evangelion. I would feel bad to watch her suffer, but it would be so, so funny for her to be the comparatively most normal person around.

Yakitake Japan! SO SHE CAN HAVE A SNACK OF DELICIOUS RIDICULOUS BREAD BEFORE THE NEXT INTERDIMENSIONAL ANIME STORM WHISKS HER AWAY.

The Holograms or the Misfits? DISCUSS

Holograms

both? both. BOTH IS GOOD

misfits bc Evil Ladies Hot

Steven and the stevens

Misfits.  How dare you make us try to think about anything in our lives.

Both, you mad fool. Those combined songs were the best.

The Misfits, their songs are better

The Misgrams: A group of girls who form a singing telegram start up company, but constantly deliver the telegrams to the wrong people.

kimber & stormer

Neither. Limp Lizards all the way. BROKEN GLASS.

I do not know what these things are

Misfits because guitar motorcycle

The Isle of Misfit Holograms

Holograms is just arguably better

I mean, I’m told the Misfits’ songs are better, but my true answer is the band Kimber and Stormer made in that big gay episode you liveblogged (checks) almost four years ago.

I've no idea what these words mean and I hope this does not make me TOO uncool.

this is about jem, right? right?? im hip i swear

Misfits, because Jasper is a member apparently

I don't know from Jem, but I mean...I certainly prefer holographic material to Glenn Danzig? So I guess there's your answer ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The Stingers

LIMP LIZARDS FOREVER

Senshi Band

You can make me liveblog a full series of any show you want! You also hate me. What do you have me watch?

Pick a GoT rip-off, any GoT rip-off

The Bachelor?

The Bachelor :(

depends on how much i hate you, but....probably the bachelor. quantity AND lack of quality

Critical role, it would take forever

If I were a horrible person who sought only malice?  Big Bang Theory.  Entire series.

Toddlers and Tiaras

The Mandalorian - Disney would come after you and kill keyofjetwolf just as dead as keyofnik.  We would all be very sad, you would have to go through a second round of restoring things to a new tumblr account, and your organizational heart would weep over adding yet another hosting site out of chronological order.

You are liveblogging Eva, and must discuss in full detail Shinji's emotional state at all times.

Hannity & Colmes

The Kardashians. And all of their spin offs. *kisses*

The price is right

the bachelor

Probably something with lots of romance and no friendships. Soap operas are like that, right? My college roommate used to watch General Young Light Restless Hospital of Our Lives (which one had Like and Laura?) And it was torture.

One Piece, because it's over 900 episodes so you could maybe do 10% before you die, also you will hate how the women are treated most of the time.

Fushigi Yuugi. Not only do you hate it but it also comes with you squirming when you admit to watching the whole thing. ;) 

Plus belle la vie. It's an ongoing French soap opera that has been airing five days a week since 2004, they're nearing their 4000th episode and there's no end in sight. Imagine all those hours upon hours submerged in French drama, mwahahaha!!

The Bachelor.  Or the Bachelorette, maybe - more straight dudes in that.

The Young and the Restless - IT IS THE LIVEBLOG THAT NEVER ENDS. IT WOULD OUTLAST THE INTERNET.

The entirety of the Bachelor franchise.

You can only play one game for the rest of your life. Which game would it be and why?

Kingdom Hearts Complete Collection. A) I love them. B) I beat the system and get like 10 games instead of one.

Gemcraft. This game actually takes a lifetime to finish.

Hatoful Boyfriend. It is the best game ever created. Feel it in your heart.

that's a mean question and you can't make me answer it

Pathfinder, which you could play for the rest of your life and still never finish.

Civ VI , so I can rule the world without leaving my house.

I am legitimately perturbed by this question and refuse to answer it.

Pokemon Go. I would have nothing else, but I would catch them all.

The Elder Scrolls Skyrim: I'll never run out of side-quests.

Mass Effect--it's the only way I'll get full completion. 

The dinosaur game on Chrome when the internet doesn't connect because my life is monotonous and it's a welcome relief. 

Stardew Valley. Peaceful farmer life and turning my children into doves when I'm bored with them.

Crabs Adjust Humidity

Oh my! A number of things come to mind, not one of them fit for print. Just, you know...*gestures vaguely* sex shit. 

I can't even stick to the ones I play now.

This is the worst of all possible things and I refuse to answer. 

Monopoly, I hate myself :(

Probably Minecraft! I haven't gotten into it because I know if I start I will NEVER STOP. Who would do things like build a hundred foot tall statue of Mako-chan? A-THAT'D BE ME.

the game. Of LIFE! *shrug emoji*

I don't believe I'll tell you, because I AM a salty little fish and it was HARD to cut that 11th choice off my vote.

Holligay and I are going to be the leads in a new buddy film. What's the premise? How does it end?

Be gay do crimes. Thelma and Louise. Duh. :P

I have no idea but only just surviving disaster is how it ends.

You break down in a small town during a roadtrip- your stay is full of hijinks and ends with you teaching the townsfolk the true meaning of friendship.

Doctor Holligay, Esquire, PhD, renowned Jewish femme of many talents, is assigned one Operative Jet Wolf as her bodyguard on a foreign diplomatic mission/vacation/culinary tour of the world ("same difference, shut up, narrator"). One problem: Operative Wolf needs a bodyguard herself, as the good doctor discovers when in one night her toilet is destroyed ("IT WAS A SECURITY THREAT") and Operative Wolf nearly breaks a leg falling down a small set of stairs ("THEY PUT A CLIFF OUTSIDE THE DOOR"). Worldwide shenanigans ensue as Holligay and Operative Wolf learn the true meaning of friendship, and also how to take care of themselves... by taking care of each other.

I’m not sure about the premise, but DEFINITELY it ends in murder.

Someone posted a major spoiler during one of your liveblogs. The two of you track them down seeking revenge. It turns out it was the original creator of the series trying to stop you. For some reason Holligay is a CGI badger.

It's clearly a buddy cop movie, and like all good buddy cop movies, it ends with Doc almost dying, and you saving her, and slapping her wound in the hospital as the credits roll.

It ends as it began: with Holligay roasting you.

A straight detective and her lesbian partner have to solve the case of the missing cinnamon buns.  It ends with nobody getting the guy OR the girl and you drive off into the sunset together, perps behind bars sans cinnamon buns.

I don't know what it's about but I know it will be the only movie that ever existed. 

Holligay is the lesbian chief of staff to you somehow being elected President and she's basically running the country while you're the charming face of the administration

Nerd and cowgirl meet at a bar, justifyingly murder some gross dude, go on the run from the law and have a life-changing road trip, on the way Nazis are punched

carrying a delicate object through a forest after your helicopter goes down

Thelma and Louise, but instead of dying, your deaths are clearly faked and you live on a ranch in Montana with your respective spouses and animals. One time a cop comes by the restaurant/bar you joint own with Doc and says, "You look familiar." Doc, in perfect lesbian, answers, "Jet's just got that criminal look, on account of how much she'd love to steal my cheesecake recipe. More pie?"

Queer Eye with a Straight Goy. The two of you do the show but in your own special ways.

Doc Holligay is the wild-west no-nonsense sheriff. Jet Wolf is the all-fun cyberpunk cop from the future. They punch nazis and argue about food. It ends as a tv series ala B99.

Your lives are already a buddy film, don’t get greedy.

Hands and socks.  You know how it ends.

See Grumpy Old Men for details.  How does it end?  Badly.

I can't imagine the premise, but I'm pretty sure the planet explodes.

A Coen Bros film. It ends poorly.

Wait? You're not already living this now? 

REI HINO

REI HINO

Sure. Why not?

HINO REI

<3<3<3<3

REI HINO!

Rei who? ;)

REI HINOOOOOOOOO

Plush Is being hugged by Zoisite in your banner.

MINAKO AINO

MAKOTO KINO

The best

SOCKS

MICHIRU KAIOH

It's time tooo.... REI! THAT! HINO!

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(THE REAL ONE)

Isn't how you spell Makoto Kino!

THE REAL ONE™

obviously

IS NOT A RHINO

In conclusion: Rei Hino

Rei Hino is giving this Giftening finger guns

BEAUTIFUL, STUNNING, SHOW-STOPPING, TALENTED, AMAZING, WONDERFUL

Hot stuff, lights my fire, blazes it regularly. I am out of fire jokes.

PASSION FLAME, SAILOR MARS

These hot feelings are C'EEEEEST LAAAAA VIIIIIIE c'mon rei-chan why aren't you singing along

IS THE BEST (I know who I'm talking to)

Ara!

DID DOCTOR HOLLIGAY PHD NOMINATE THE OPTION OF TALKING ABOUT MICHIRU KAIOH FOR 6 HOURS!!

If Hot Pocket were to plan One Last Heist, what do you think would be his objective? What would be Mina's role in his master plan?

Master Hot Pocket seeks BREAD. His friend and loyal companion, Mina-pup, acts as a distraction, as he has learned the humans are easily distracted by cute. While she does her sworn duty as Best Friend and Cutest Goodest Girl, probably with lolling tongue and glee at all the pets she receives, he picks the locks on the newly childproofed pantry, and Master Howard H. Pocket FEASTS AS NO CAT HAS BEFORE.

Every bag of flour in Montana; Mina runs distraction with her adorable puppy eyes

Open every container, leave none unmarked. Mina is the lookout who greets whoever comes and is completely ineffective at her job.

TAKE ALL THE FLOUR. Do it straight from the source: FlourCo Inc. What does a 10-pound cat do with eighty thousand tons of flour? If you can't figure that out, there's a reason he's the brains of this outfit. Mina would obviously be the bumbling lovable distraction to security or other people.

Bread.  Mina is The Face who provides distraction to the Keepers of the Bread by walking up to them and being herself.  Mina has absolutely no idea that Hot Pocket is using her in this manner because Hot Pocket is that Machiavellian, but Mina is a pocket full of sunshine in canine form and probably would just be happy to help out.

Hot Pocket knows that no mammal of the floor believes in flour anymore. It went away a long time ago. It doesn't exist. But what he also knows is that they're wrong. A lack of opposable thumbs won't hide the truth from him. He'll find the stash, and when he does, he'll stick his paw in it. Mina, with her limited climbing skills, will lick its remains from his claw and prove his discovery. As well as provide a warm place to curl up on for the aftermath of their adventure.

His goal is to sample every edible thing he can get his teeth on. Mina pulls triple duty as step stool, distraction, and scape goat

The Silver Crystal. Mina would play the role of Sailor V.

He is getting ALL THE FLOUR. Mina is a lovable distraction.

Looting all the carbs in the pantry. mina is distraction.

mina's role would be the "dopey" but talented best friend who it looks like HP is going to betray for the sake of the plan but then it all comes together when HP mounts a dramatic rescue. i dunno i'm still in film mode from that last one.

The Holy Bread Locked Within the Cupboard.  Mina would be the distraction, but she'd forget what she was supposed to be distracting from and end up leading you to him.

I am the Void. I am the Night. I am the Darkness with no hope of dawn. The Flour trembles before me in it's bleached fluffiness. It shall not escape my chaos, which will descend upon it like the Terrors of the Deep, claws and teeth and gnashing. It will howl at my claws. It will scream for my teeth, sharp and white, stars in the night of my fur. I shall tend and tear and -- Dammit, Dog-thing! How am I supposed to be terrible and terrifying with you wagging your tail and panting at me!? Oh, you found a good warm sunbeam? I guess I can stalk stuff later. I am the Void. I shall absorb the Sun's light and warmth and bring it into my Darkness where it cannot escape...

I'm new here and don't know all the complex lore of Jetwolf(fairly sure Mina is dog), so I'm going to assume that Hot Pocket is an actual hot pocket and his heist is robbing Fort Knox using Mina as his loyal stead/get away car. Then he explodes a microwave or something.

i lik the bred

Mina as the distraction while he takes one last tastes of EVERYTHING 

objective--stealing more chips; Mina--surprise betrayal 

The scene: Mama Jet's pantry The Objective: the bag of cake flour Aunt Doc made Mama Jet buy but she's never used Mina: confused but excited escape vehicle and/or scapegoat

RAIDING THE KING ARTHUR FLOUR FACTORY. Mina is of course adorable and keeps everyone's attention while Hot Pocket swan dives into the flour like Uncle Scrooge

Hot Pocket would definitely try to steal a monument, Carmen SanDiego style. Mina, of course, is the multi-talented and super cute face of the operation.

I have no idea who Hot Pocket is

HP would try to scale the tallest building in the world. Not to steal anything, just to be up there. Mina would be the adorable diversion.

It would be to get whatever food you've left on the counter. Preferably bread. He would tell Mina that he'll give her some of she acts as a distraction. She's a good dog so she does. He's a cat so she gets no food.

Truly, truly, THE GIFTENING winner is us all.

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Series: La Munenca del Barrio

Warnings: NSFW, Blood, violence, smut, strong language, and drug use

Rocio Cruz lives in a Brooklyn block best known for its vibrant and ignored community. What she always ignored though was the underground scene in the borough, the evils that lay in it and its people. That all comes to an end when she’s introduced to those things she ignored.

Chapter 8: Coronao Now

Series Masterlist

It’d been over a month since the incident, Rocio’s face was better now but she’d gained a  small cut by her right eyebrow. Steve swore he liked it though, he said it made her look tough. With her now living at both his homes, she’d became more subjected to meeting people in the crime world. One of which was a nice girl who’d worked for Steve for years. She’d began teaching Rocio how to shoot, when they spent time together. It was a nice way to let out pent up anger and learning a skill she’d never think of having. On one of the shooting lessons, Nat gifted Rocio a kimber classic carry elite, to say that she was shocked was an understatement, “thank’s Nat, it’s pretty.” She admired the gun for a moment before Nat broke her out of the trance, “better hide it away well, remember Steve has no idea about this Careful with it too, it’s got the safety on but it’s still loaded.” She nodded carefully placing in it her purse. 

Another person who Rocio had the ‘pleasure’ to get to know better was Bucky. Turns out he was more than just snorting snow. He was the business guy, as he explained one night at dinner, “see Steve is mostly morals and muscle. Me though, I’m the guy with the wits.” Rubio just rolled his eyes at the comments his brother was saying. Anyways, that led to a bargain scheme. Bucky made a good ‘business deal’ in California with some new kid who was supposed to be taking over his uncle.

Long story short, he wanted Steve to go with him as a back up in case the deal got dicey. Apparently, the kid was known to be both a playboy and an asshole, so it was better not to take a risk. Of course, the fucking trial was in a week. However, Barnes made it a big deal that they would only be on the west coast for the weekend. Rubio being Rubio though, he was not going to leave his munenca alone in Brooklyn while her mom might still wanna take another swing at her.

So now Rocio was packing for warmer weather. She wasn’t even concerned about the whole thing. Her mind was drifting to her siblings who she’d seen a couple of times now through this whole thing. They knew about their dad coming home soon, and they were excited. Marco even smiled at the idea which made Rocio feel better. Her fear about him hating the world wasn’t going to be entirely true. It did break her heart a bit when he admitted to seeing what their mom did to her. 

She didn’t notice that her eyes were beginning to swell up with tears. She didn’t even notice Steve coming into the room, “que tienes munenca?” His voice was gentle, as he pulled her body into a tight hug. Trying as best to compose herself she shook her head, “nothing. estoy bien. I was just umm...thinking about my siblings and the whole trial thing again.” She responded, he nodded. “Listen, this is probably a good thing then. Us going away for a bit, it’ll be a mini vacation.” His reasoning was solid for the most part. He wished he could do more like guarantee her that everything was gonna be solved but hell even his own victories came at some expense.

They met Barnes on the jet. The thing about him that was interesting to Rocio was that he was dating Nat. It was interesting because she was Russian, so they were just known as that around where she grew up, los rusos. People were terrified of them because they got the messy work done. Knowing him now, she realized he was actually very nice. It was odd but it kept her mind busy instead of thinking about the fact that she was on a flying death machine.

It was around three in the afternoon when they got to the beach house in California. Exploring around the grounds they finally reached their room, “listen guys there’s gonna be a party we’ve gotta attend tonight.” Bucky saw Steve’s eye roll, “i’ll make it up to ya pal, it’s just a little welcoming party it’ll be fine.” It was not a little welcoming party. It was a mansion party that led to a private beach. 

Steve’s grip around Rocio’s waist got tighter, “I don’t want you to go too far from me munenca.” The place was like a fuckin night club, they were led to a table by on the second floor of the mansion. There Bucky and some kid waited for the pair, “guys this Tim, he’s the ‘investor’ for the business deal here. His uncle owns the state practically,” the whole time he was talking the guy’s eyes were practically undressing Rocio. She rolled her eyes, to most of these guys she was practically a toy. 

Tim cut him off eventually, “thank you very much for that introduction but I think your friends here are very bored.” He went to shake Steve’s hand, “Steve Rogers, a very well known name around here and you must be Rocio Cruz, your dad’s name is legend, loyalty is hard to come by today.” He said kissing the back of her hand. He wasn’t ugly or anything but she knew Steve would be mad as hell now. Tim’s eyes were still wandering on her, “if you need anything let my men know, there are drinks going around too. Please, enjoy yourselves and welcome to California.” He left after that, Steve looked over at his girl, annoyance and jealousy very clearly on his face.

From where they sat, they had a good view of the dance floor downstairs. That’s when she recognized a familiar face, it was Wanda. The two had met briefly once before. Her husband Vis, was both an informant and consultant for Steve. The two made eye contact, Rocio waved for her to come upstairs. They hugged as soon as they were next to each other, “what are you doing here?” She asked Rocio, “business trip.” Wanda nodded, “hey Steve, could I take her for a bit?” He looked over at her, she had those big doll eyes, sighing he agreed.

He watched from upstairs as they started dancing to some fast paced song. Bucky had a cigar now, another thank you gift from Tim, “wanna go have some fun downstairs?” Steve shrugged, “why not.”  It’d been such a long time since Rocio had been to a club or even danced, she was thankful for Wanda in this moment. It was hot on the dance floor but drinks were being given and pretty soon the alcohol was making her forget the sweat that was forming on her body. She felt hands on her waist turning her head around she saw Steve, “you’re a tease munenca, mejor nos vamos?” She giggled continuing to dance, her hips now grinding against him. Wanda winked at her, as she danced with Bucky. Another quirk, two words. Open. Relationships. Sure the two had significant others but that didn’t matter. Steve wasn’t like that at all though, and Rocio was relieved for that.

Who would’ve thought that boring Steve would be a good dancer but he was. It was getting intense and the hazy look of lust was in their eyes. “Wanda could you come with me to the bathroom?” She looked at Steve then, “we can leave after.” He nodded his eyes still fully blown, he kissed her before she headed off. The girls were giggling messes as they went to the restroom, “so you’re gonna get with Barnes tonight?” She asked her as they fixed themselves up a bit. “Maybe, why not. He looks good tonight,” Rocio shook her head, “traviesa.” They walked back out, and what a coincidence, Tim was just about to enter when they exited.

His smug smile made her annoyed, “ladies. Would either of you like to play in a little snow?” Wanda answered before Rocio could, “no we’re actually heading out.” He nodded, “in that case, could I talk to Cruz for a moment?” She looked over at Rocio who looked confused, “about?” He still had that stupid smile on his face, “nothing bad, I promise.” It was better not to piss him off, she assumed, “Wanda wait here?” The girl nodded as the two walked off a bit out of hearing range from where she was waiting.

She waited for him to speak, “so Rogers calls you munenca? That’s a doll right?” What a bunch of bullshit, “is that why you pulled me aside? So you could try to hit on me?” Maybe it was the liquor but she was not in the mood, she started to walk away. His hand gripped her wrist, “I wanted to say that with everything going on, it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to have a back up plan. Trust me that old man won’t be there forever. That old money is nothing compared for what I have here. Also, if I wanted to I already would’ve fucked you.” The only thing that could be heard was the sound of the slap she gave him. “You’re disgusting.” She started walking away, “trust me you’ll be begging me soon.” She rolled her eyes still walking, “tu no entiendes? Fuck you.” Wanda could see the anger basically giving off on her.

The car ride was quiet, Bucky didn’t care though he was still trying to get his night’s worth. Steve was about to ask her what happened when she said quietly, “en la casa.” So he waited til they got to the house. The deviants left quickly to Barnes’ room while Rocio and Steve stayed downstairs for a bit. He heard the whole story, she was concerned with how calm he was until he stood up from his seat, “I’m going to kill him.” She shot up, “remember Bucky has business with him.” He looked at her, “munenca you’re right but he’s still going to die. I’m still going to kill him,” his voice was so calm. So much for a getaway