#lansky&who

[riiov]

finally done with the october posting

here! have a corrupt politician

[taylorswift]

Sam Lansky has such a wondrous way with words, and I’ve loved reading his pieces for over a decade. If you’ve ever been around him, you know he’s just the best type of person: Curious. Interested. Hilarious. Intriguing and intrigued. I have tRuSt iSSueS when it comes to interviews but I couldn’t be happier that I did this one with him. I was blown away to see quotes from people I adore and admire like Stevie Nicks, Greta Gerwig, Shonda Rhimes, Phoebe Bridgers, Natalie Maines, Kenny Chesney, and Lucian Grainge. I was so happy he spoke to fans Madison and McCall who were so eloquent, loyal, and kind. I’m really reflecting on this year, and all the years that led up to it. Can’t say thank you enough times. 🥲

https://time.com/6342806/person-of-the-year-2023-taylor-swift/

[vintagelasvegas]

Frank Sinatra's debut at the Sands, October 1953. The partnership between Sinatra and the Sands would last 14 years. Attorney Harry Claiborne pushed Sinatra's request to buy a two percent interest in the casino to the Tax Commission.

“Federal authorities long assumed that Sinatra was merely holding his ownership shares in the Sands — which eventually grew to nine percent, making him the largest single owner after Freedman, Entratter, and casino manager Carl Cohen — for a mob investor, possibly Doc Stacher, Frank Costello, Gerardo Catena of Newark, New Jersey, or Meyer Lansky—perhaps even some combination of them all. Still, Sinatra was proud to be an owner of the Sands, and grew to consider the hotel’s success a sign of his own prowess as a businessman, even though he had little to do with casino operations. Dean Martin, who bought ten shares in '61, was the only other entertainer afforded this privilege.”

David G. Schwartz. At the Sands: The Casino That Shaped Classic Las Vegas, Brought the Rat Pack Together, and Went Out With a Bang.

Photo: Kodachrome, auctioned by Choctkeys in 2017.

[power-chords]

After ten years in the army, [Lansky's second son] moved to California and became a computer programmer. When he had a son of his own, he named him Meyer Lansky II, which upset the gangster. The idea was to fade into America, not brandish your name. Lansky's other son, Buddy, who was handicapped, remembered the old gangster's reaction. "Dad got mad," he told Robert Lacey in the book Little Man. "He thought it was not fair on the kid that he should have to live with that." For later generations, the life of the ghetto, the crime and violence, were just stories, something you forget before you hear. Why should they remember? In the story of the Jewish underworld nothing compares with the Italian dynasties, the Gottis, the Gallos. No one runs out to avenge a family name. That's the last thing the patriarch would want. Even the most violent of the gangsters saw themselves as good Jews, people of the Book. They went to temple on High Holy Days, thought of God when things went bad, had their sons circumcised and bar mitzvahed. [...] How did they square their criminal life with the life of the Bible? Well, like most people, they made a distinction: this is the life of the soul, this is the life of the body. Next year in Jerusalem. But this is how I live in the Diaspora. A lawyer asked [Abe] Reles how he dealt with the contradictions. "Do you have any regrets?" asked the lawyer. "This is the way I live," said Reles. "Do you believe there is a God?" asked the lawyer. "Yes, sir." "When did you start to believe in God?" "Always knew there was a God," said Reles. "You knew there was a God while you were doing these different killings?" "That is the way my life was mapped out," said Reles. "That was my profession." "Did you believe in God while you were killing Jake the Painter?" "I knew there was a God."

Vincent, without patronym, Collateral (2004), directed by Michael Mann; Excerpt from Rich Cohen's Tough Jews, first published 1998.

[likeafolkssong]

“Maybe this is the real Taylor Swift effect: That she gives people, many of them women, particularly girls, who have been conditioned to accept dismissal, gaslighting, and mistreatment from a society that treats their emotions as inconsequential, permission to believe that their interior lives matter. That for your heart to break, whether it's from being kicked off a tour or by the memory of a scarf still sitting in a drawer somewhere or because somebody else controls your life's work, is a valid wound, and no, you're not crazy for being upset about it, or for wanting your story to be told.”

~Sam Lansky, TIME Magazine, on Taylor Swift

[lobotomy-lady]

watching "woman of the hour" & I know I'm a misandrist & all but even if I put myself in the shoes of these normie ladies I just cannot understand why their inner sirens aren't going off the moment they lay eyes on this freak...I mean he looks like if you digitally spliced every white man on the sex offender registry into one tremendously off putting person (& that's before he opens his mouth). he's got the type of long hair that is a red flag in men y'know, like not the well kept legolas locks or the manly messy mid length battle worn aragorn but the thick type that quite frankly only looks good on native american men & not white dudes who use horse shampoo once a month & brush with a fork

oh & now hes fanboying about r*man p*lanski lol, filth recognizes filth I suppose

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Main Story: Part 4 - Act 16: Crossing Paths - Episode 1: The Final Baton Pass

Luciano: “Angelo’s a fine choice. Having a stingy partner is a pain in the ass.”

Lansky: “You’ll be fine as long as you don’t get stuck with a stubborn womanizer.”

Luciano: “Ahh? Who are you talkin’ about?”

Lansky: “No one in particular.”

Luciano: “You’re soundin’ awfully specific if you ask me.”

-

Tsumugi: …

Tsumugi: (This is the performance the Autumn Troupe has put on after receiving the baton from the Spring Troupe and Summer Troupe…)

Tsumugi: (I can feel their determination to surpass the passion of the troupes before them. It’s making my heart pound.)

Tsumugi: (This is the flaming hot baton we’re receiving from the Autumn Troupe.)

Tsumugi: (As the anchor, we will carry the baton they carried from the Spring and Summer troupes to the finish line, the best we can.)

Tsumugi: (This is our– the Winter Troupe’s duty.)

Tsumugi: (We have to– no, we want to surpass this performance that the Autumn Troupe put on as a result of breaking out of their shells. We also have to go one step further than the plays we’ve been putting on as the Winter Troupe so far…)

-

[Door knocking]

Tsuzuru: Tsukioka-san, is now a good time?

Tsumugi: Yeah, come in.

-

[Door opening]

Tsumugi: Is something wrong?

Tsuzuru: It’s about time for me to come up with a plot for the Winter Troupe’s play, so I’m going around to ask if you guys have any ideas.

Tsumugi: Unlike the other troupes, our debut performance seems like it’s a little harder to come up with a sequel to.

Tsuzuru: Right. I can’t just write about what happens after that ending… But I suppose there are lots of ways to go about it.

Tsumugi: There’s been a time when I wondered what would happen if Michael was reincarnated as a human.

Tsumugi: He’d reunite with Raphael, and I think it’d be nice if the two exchanged letters.

Tsuzuru: A reunion between Michael and Raphael… The way they were separated was pretty sad.

Tsuzuru: I think I can do something with that idea. I’ll go give it some more thought.

Tsuzuru: If you’ve got any other requests, feel free to tell me anytime.

Tsuzuru: Though, killing the actor called Tsumugi Tsukioka will be a bit difficult this time around.

Tsumugi: Haha, that’s true.

Tsumugi: But it’s exactly because I killed myself in order to perform as Lucifer that I think that…

Tsumugi: I can now return to my origins and make use of the strengths of the actor Tsumugi Tsukioka.

Tsumugi: We also have the nomination for the New Fleur Award to take into consideration this time, so we have to make sure we’ll be able to carry the baton to the finals.

Tsuzuru: Ever since we got 11th in 3Q, MANKAI Company’s been getting more attention.

Tsuzuru: I’ve gotta do my best with the script, too.

Tsumugi: That reminds me, are you working on the script for Towa-kun’s troupe?

Tsuzuru: I haven’t gotten to it yet, but I’ve been thinkin’ it’s about time I get started…

Tsumugi: Has he not gathered enough members yet?

Tsuzuru: It’s just the three of them at the moment, and they’re looking for a fourth. Towa seems to be in a hurry to find someone.

Tsumugi: I think he’s excited to act out your script. I understand how he feels.

Tsuzuru: I’d be happy if that was the case, but it seems he’s got some other deadline in mind…

-

momo has entered the chat momo: one more member has joined! one left to reach the goal! Kar: graaats Iv: good for you shiki: congrats! good luck with finding the last one! momo: it’d be nice if one of u guys would join thoughhh Kar: nahhh Iv: u just don’t give up 

-

Kureha: …

Kureha: (I often go to watch theater plays because of my father, so it’s not like I’m not interested. And putting on my own play does sound fun.)

Kureha: (Being on stage in front of an audience sounds natural for me, and I’ve even thought about going down that path too.)

Kureha: (But…)

Kureha: …

Kureha: And the idea of meeting momo in person is a little…

Kureha’s mom: Kureha, shouldn’t you be going to your job soon?

Kureha: Ah, yeah. I’m just getting ready to go.

previous episode (act 15) | masterpost | next episode

INSTE POST:

Guy-N

The Autumn Troupe's sequel was fantastic. It's a performance I'd want to watch again and again. And now, it's almost the Winter Troupe's turn. I hope you will all look forward to the day we can deliver our performance to you.

NOTES:

(1) the anchor leg is the final position in a relay race, it's typically given to the fastest and/or most experienced member of the team

[fishyishy]

A3! Translation - Settsu Banri SSR 【Autumn Troupe Performance Announcement】 「MANKAI Company Announces Sequel Performance ~Autumn Troupe~」 (1/3)

--------------------------

Juza: "Don't blame others"

Banri: "That should be my line"

Banri: Oi, Hyodo. I told you this the other day. You're saying this line too confrontational. I think it'd be better if it was delivered lighter here.

Juza: If it's lighter, the personality won't come across. On the contrary, you jus' brush things off too lightly.

Banri: Haaa? You bastard--- just think about it! You've gotta consider the flow and the relationships from the previous scene too---!

Juza: If you wanna talk about relationships! Then you're the one who should be thinking about them!

Taichi: You two sure are heating up again today! It's going like sparky sparky!

Azami: At this point, things like this just feel like a regular clashes.

Sakyo: For god's sake... Well, I guess it's good that they're getting enthusiastic about it.

Director: (That's true, even with that threatening exchange, it's just the two of them trying to seriously convey their clashing wills to each other)

Director: (In contrast, it's the Autumn Troupe's signature style that makes this relieving to watch)

Director: It's almost time to take a break. Let's take a short one.

Omi: Good work, everyone. The quiche is ready~.

Taichi: Omi-kun, nice timing!! We were just talking about taking a short break.

Omi: Ah, that makes me glad. Please eat some quiche to replenish your power.

Juza: ......Kay. Thank you for this meal.

Azami: .......Delicious.

Director: Yup, it really is! It's super delicious.

Banri: Today's snack feels more elaborate, doesn't it?

Omi: Haha, you could tell? I put a bit more effort into the pie crust and filling than usual.

Taichi: It's suuperr delicious~! Eating it definitely gives me a lot of feel good energy!!

Sakyo: Dewey's role this time is more specific, but it's helpful having his support in various training sessions in ways like this.

Omi: No, no. I'm having fun doing this too. I'm happy to be helpful in areas other than acting as well.

Omi: Oh yeah, now that I think about it, we also need some photos of the rehearsal studio for our Inste promotion.

Omi: I'll take a picture of us eating quiche during our break. Juza, Azami, time for a picture~.

*camera clicks*

Sakyo: In addition to filming it, once part of the stage set is complete, they'll probably be filming a promotional video on the theater's stage.

Juza: Spring and Summer Troupe did that too.

Director: Yeah, I talked to Tetsuro-san about that the other day.

Director: We decided to shoot at Luciano and Lansky's Jack of All Trades office set, which is the first to be completed.

Banri: Is this their 2-person office that'll become their new base of operations after leaving the Capone family?

Juza: I'm really looking forward to performing there.

Banri: .....That's right.

------------------

I next

[jujumin-translates]

🍁 Picaresque Returns (First Half) Scout Card Details

🍡 SSR 【A Puff of Cigarette Smoke】 Juza Hyodo

Lead Skill - Smiley-Playful Mode

Adlib Skill - Light the Fire Yourself

Backstage - BE.MINE ver.JUZA

“From that very first day when I stood on stage as Lansky, all the way up until now, I’ve continued to act. And I’m still gonna do my very own play today too.”

🛹 SSR 【Setting Off From the Birdcage】 Taichi Nanao

Lead Skill - A Sky View With You

Adlib Skill - Everyone’s Member

Backstage - BE.MINE ver.TAICHI

“I wanna show everyone how much I’ve grown, just like I wanna show a whole new side of Benjamin in the sequel!”

🐺 SSR 【A Secretly Maneuvering Shadow】 Omi Fushimi

Lead Skill - Special Seat Escort

Adlib Skill - The Only Person You Can Trust is Yourself

Backstage - BE.MINE ver.OMI

“I also want to put on a play where I can compete with the speed of everyone’s growth. Besides, I can’t lose to the impact of a villain.”

🍡 SR 【Premonition of Budding】 Juza Hyodo

Lead Skill - An Untrustworthy Worthy Opponent

Adlib Skill - You Can’t Undo this Path

Backstage - Please Ticket: From Juza

“I think that every time I hit a new wall, I’ve gotta keep tryin’ ‘n strugglin’ ‘cause that’s what’s essential for me to change.”

🛹 SR 【Premonition of Budding】 Taichi Nanao

Lead Skill - Exchanging a Fist of Words

Adlib Skill - Full Speed to Timelimit!

Backstage - Please Ticket: From Taichi

“I’m anxious, but I’ve been able to overcome everything so far, so I’ve got enough courage to try new things!”

🐺 SR 【Premonition of Budding】 Omi Fushimi

Lead Skill - Catching Words and Fists

Adlib Skill - Friends Who Can Unite

Backstage - Please Ticket: From Omi

“I think what I need is not just action, but to challenge myself and have the desire to get something new out of it.”

[deke-rivers-1957]

Elvis History

Shoutout to @leopardandstuds for this interview! It's amazing that we have someone who was alive during the 50s and managed to capture Elvis just before he became a superstar.

I highly recommend giving it a like and spreading it around. This channel does a lot of amazing work preserving Elvis history. They've managed to interview several key figures in Elvis' life and the Elvis fandom. If you're interested in the lives of Hal Lansky, Lowell Hays cousin Billy Smith's son Joey, and other remarkable people subscribe.

Tagging: @vintagepresley, @ash-omalley, @atleastpleasetelephone, @burnthheparaphilia, @bigdaddyelvislover, @cattcb, @claire-elvisgirl, @dilfelvis, @daffieapple, @devilsflowerr, @elvisabutler, @elvisxsposts @feydfuckernation, @gayforelvis, @hooked-on-elvis, @i-r-i-n-a-a, @jaqueline19997, @kiankiwi, @kaiistheguy, @lett-them-eatt-cake, @lovininapinkcadillac, @msamarican, @pledgingmylovee, @smokeymountainboy, @your-nanas-house and anyone else who finds this.

Please reblog if you do see this.

[racefortheironthrone]

Never experienced much gimmickry bank robberies when I've lived in Rio de Janeiro and Johannesburg it was more hearing about muggings, break-ins or carjackings, but those cities felt a bit Gotham City-esque in answering the question of "with so much crime why would anybody ever chose to live in Gotham City" more than New York.

Certainly, places with extreme levels of inequality tend to see a lot of "muggings, break-ins or car-jacking" (a fair bit of kidnapping for ransom too).

And we have to understand that when superhero comics were invented in the U.S, the U.S was just starting to come out of a major crime wave that had begun during Prohibition that saw the birth of organized crime and the gangster alike. The largely Jewish creators many of whom from the Lower East Side were very familiar with New York City underworld figures like Arnold Rothstein, Bugsy Siegel, Lucky Luciano, Meyer Lansky, and knew these guys basically owned City Hall and the NYPD - this, not fascism, is at the heart of the vigilante tradition in American comic books.

Likewise, creators and readers throughout the United States would have been very familiar with the bank robbers and kidnappers like the Barker Gang or Bonnie and Clyde or Pretty Boy Floyd or John Dillinger, because these people were national celebrities thanks to the newsreels and the radio. A huge amount of the political capital that J. Edgar Hoover would rely on to corrupt the U.S government for the next forty years was won in the "G-Men's" war against these "Public Enemies." (Notably, Hoover did virtually nothing to solve the other problem of organized crime and refused to accept the existence of the mafia well into the 50s.)

So as with so much else, the image of urban crime in superhero comics is the memory of working-class Jewish writers and artists of the hoodlums who terrorized their neighborhoods while the government did nothing to protect people.

[saintmurd0ck]

moth to a flame

masterlist

pairing: charlie "lucky" luciano x f!reader

summary: time, space and even circumstance aren't enough to separate the two of you. and when you do eventually reunite, the plans are set into motion in the best way.

warnings: yearning, charlie luciano's pretty mouth, alcohol, cigarettes, kissing, m!receiving oral, unprotected p in v, creampie, all the good things

a/n: based off of that one scene in s1 ep6 (iykyk) that i cannot get out of my mind. dedicated to @murdock-and-the-sea for getting me caught up in this bullshit 💗

glossary: dolcezza = sweetheart

There was always something wondrous about Charlie’s girl.

The exclusivity, the lack of labels for whatever that relationship became never mattered. Because even on days where things took a turn at every second, when sleep — or life — was never guaranteed, she was the kind of solid permanence that’d ease his mind. And, in almost all cases, make him hard, but that’s a story for a little later.

Lucky Luciano, they called him. He earned that goddamn nickname, but it was ironic, because it only really stuck when you were around. It wasn’t clear as to how you made this happen, or if it was some kind of recurring fluke, but you just had that effect on him: the kind where all of a sudden his operations would go down without a hitch, where law enforcement happened to look the other way rather than come knocking at his door. His pockets would become heavier, his enemies would come crawling out of the woodwork, and things just worked out. Even Lansky agreed — you were good for business, and Charlie’s spirits. 

As much as you were a tether in his life, the fractal patterns began to fall into place. Simply put: you’d go through the motions, things would get rocky, and then you’d pull away. It wasn’t that being with him was bad for you, per se, but rather a constant whirlwind of emotion, with so much left to the unknown. You never knew if he’d come home that night, because he was probably out doing Rothstein’s bidding three cities away, or, and this scared you most of all, if he’d realise the true power he possessed deep within. He had the makings of a great leader; an orchestrator, a divine influence, rather than a foot soldier. Charlie wasn’t made to be muscle, or a gunman in some boss’ grand scheme. You knew that when push came to shove, he’d one day call the shots. You were terrified of being left in the dust — stranded, abandoned — with nothing but a broken heart and feelings for a man who would have the world at his fingertips.

And, to your consternation, you couldn’t actually figure out what kept you coming back for more. 

You weren’t sure if what you had was love; at least, it wasn’t the kind you’d read about in books, or heard discussed in hushed tones amongst your innocent friends. You weren’t even in it for the money, the status, or the protection he could provide. That had always seemed so trivial to you.

Maybe it was the sex. It definitely wasn’t solely sex, because Charlie did make you laugh, and make you feel all the things you thought were supposed to happen when it came to courting. It was consistently the best sex you’d ever had, and he made sure you knew it. Your pleasure became his native language, and even so, he grew impossibly more fluent as time passed on.

It’s like he could read you; not the superficial mask you put on every single day, but through to the molten core underneath. It was the same the other way around. Charlie had Meyer, the perfect partner-in-crime, but only you understood his motivations. His intentions. His desires. Charlie could be safe around you; perhaps the only person with which he could let his guard down.

You could forget about sleeping with anyone else; you wished they were Charlie anyway. Sure, it made you feel like you were a bad person, but no-one compared. Nobody made you feel as good as Charlie Luciano. Whatever it was, you could never get him out of your mind. That was an impossible task, one that with the mightiest of efforts was still rendered futile. 

Hell, he didn’t even have to tell you where he was, because somehow, you’ve always found your way back to each other. 

And tonight was no exception.

Somewhere along the grapevine, you’d heard that he was back in Atlantic City, and all it took was one well-placed telephone call to confirm what you’d already known.

So when you find yourself traversing the halls of the Traymore Hotel, the door to the Executive Suite looming larger with every step, your decision is made in a split-second. There isn’t more to contemplate or to consider. You’re sure of it, the same way you’re sure that if you hold a flame to the end of a cigarette, it’ll catch alight. 

It’s clear now that neither of you are going anywhere anytime soon; at least, not from each other. Life with Charlie would be wildly unpredictable, and involve more running for cover than you wanted to admit, but saying he’s irresistible is an understatement in itself. That, and the fact that you’ve proven your worths to each other more times than you can count. There’s no need for deliberation. Not when you’ve got him, right in your grasp.

Your palms turn clammy at the first instance of the door swinging open, and you feel your eyes tear away from the opulence of the hotel — diving from the ornate wall trims and plush red carpets to settle on him instead.

The corner of his mouth quirks to the side as he looks you up and down, his gaze pinned to the woollen coat belted tightly across your waist, as if he knows exactly what you’re trying to conceal. You’ve missed that stare. His stoic, almost-arrogant posture. The genteel expressions masking the white-hot fury beneath. 

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, sweetheart.” 

You breathe, willing your muscles to relax, doing your best to find your footing despite the fact that there is no way to calm your racing heart. Charlie has always made you weak at the knees, and it shows. “You’re back.”

“Yeah,” he nods slowly, taking a sip of amber liquid from the glass he’s been holding in his hand. “Ongoing business with that Darmody fella. You know the one.”

You swallow dryly, running your tongue along your teeth. “Are you here to stay a while?”

“I dunno. That depends, don’t it?” He arches a thick eyebrow.

“Hm?” 

He downs the last of the whiskey, setting the glass down on the hallway entrance table, before taking a step towards you. Soon he’s so close that you can see the crease in his brow, the hint of stubble along his jaw. He cocks his head to the side as he approaches, letting his tongue flick out to wet his lips. “I’ll be here s’long as I need to. And when I go back to New York, I want you to come with.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t know exactly what you were expecting, but this is playing out far better than you could’ve envisioned. “You mean it?”

Charlie lets out a soft chuckle, thoroughly amused at the genuine surprise lining your features. “‘Course I do. And don’t you start talkin’ about it bein’ a bad idea.”

You smile furtively, feeling a warmth spread outwards from the centre of your chest. Out of all the things you’ve experienced in this life, one facet — one person — has always made sense, in its own way. “Wherever you go, I’ll go.”

Time seems to stand still for a moment. At your admission, your agreement, a glint appears in his hazel eyes — the kind that doesn’t need words to explain, but is communicated far better through actions. Biting down on his grin, and caring not to break eye contact, Charlie Luciano does as he has always done, and throws caution to the wind. 

His lips crash onto yours before you can think twice, his hands moving to cup your jaw, to tangle themselves in your hair. He steers you into the entryway table, impervious to the sound of it thumping against the wall, or the ornaments that get bumped out of the way. Gentleness is not an option right now, because you can’t get enough of him either. Not the faint scent of cigarettes and gunpowder, not the feeling of his solid body melding to yours. He closes whatever gap remains between the two of you as you slip your tongue into his mouth, relishing in the alcohol still coating his tastebuds. 

It feels good to kiss him. To be right here, where he is. 

Charlie nudges your chin upwards, trailing his kisses along the curve of your jaw to nip at your pulse. He moves with purpose, intending to touch every inch of bare skin that he can see, but he stops at your collarbone, stepping back with a smouldering look that promises nothing but trouble. 

“Say uh… you got somethin’ for me?” he smirks, hooking a finger into the knot you’ve tied at your waist.  

It’s the heat searing your face that tells all. 

He leans in to kiss you as he undoes the knot, deftly working to pull it apart. When the fabric goes slack, he doesn’t stop himself from yanking your coat open and pushing it off your shoulders. You wiggle out of it, letting the material fall into a crumpled heap on the floor. 

Charlie blows his breath out, surveying you like his life depends on it. “Dolcezza,” he grits, blinking at your naked body, save for a pair of lacy thigh high stockings. You sit back on your hands — as far as the shallow width of the table will let you — and spread your legs, moving your hips slowly until his eyes go glassy.

He sputters and shakes his head, moving right back to press his lips on yours. “You know,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb against the base of your neck, “I ain’t never met a broad as naughty as you.”

“Aw,” you croon, grabbing a hold of his vest and tugging him closer, “but you like it, don’t you?”

He groans into your mouth as you wrap your legs around his waist, allowing his hands to slide under your ass so he can hoist you up. It only takes him a few strides before he sets you down on the bed, climbing on top of you, bracketing your head with his forearms. His mouth doesn’t leave yours, and although he knows your body begs for release, to be touched anywhere else but this, he savours the sensation of your lips, of your body squirming underneath. Charlie isn’t a stranger to pleasure, but to savour it, to take his time, is a scarce luxury. 

You see the opportunity when Charlie relaxes his shoulders and releases the duvet crumpled in his fist. Using your hips for leverage, you roll on top of him, hissing as his erection makes contact with your pussy. Bracing your knees on either side of him, you lean forwards, leaving open-mouthed kisses along his neck as you unbutton his vest, and then the shirt underneath. He sits up, reaching to grip your thighs, taking a moment to flash you a playful grin while you get to work slipping his tie off, his vest, shirt and suspenders joining the pile of clothing on the ground shortly after. 

He grunts when your lips brush the hollow at the base of his neck, and the sound alone coils the tightness in your stomach to breaking point. You need him to fuck you, bad, but there’s no way you’re letting it happen before you take him in your mouth first. 

As you leap off of him and point to his slacks, it becomes a wordless exchange. It’s the careful tracking of your lust-blown pupils towards the outline of his cock, straining against the fabric, the pursing of his lips as you lean over him, naked and insistent. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him, at the thought of how he’s going to feel inside you, and Charlie must be thinking the same, because it spurs you both into action. His slacks are gone before you can count to five, and along with them go your stockings, which he helps to remove while his teeth scrape your inner thighs. 

It feels like a dance; not something rehearsed, but a rhythm that falls into place in the most organic way. He leans against the bedpost with a hand wrapped around his cock, ever-aware of the precum gathering at the tip and the fact that you seem to be salivating already. You press yourself to him, leaving lingering kisses down from his neck to his torso, fingers trailing themselves in the dark curls that lead towards what you want the most. 

His hand reaches to squeeze your breasts, to swipe his thumb over your nipples, grunting in tandem with the moan you leave on his skin. You kneel before him, tracing patterns on his thighs with your tongue, working your way up until your mouth seals over his cock. He bites down on his lip as you start to move, his gold signet ring cool on your scalp when he cards his fingers in your hair. His eyes widen, almost uncomprehending at just how good you look with his length disappearing past your lips. 

Flattening a palm on his hip, you begin to increase the depth of your strokes, feeling the tip of him hit the back of your throat with a delicious ease. The grip in your hair tightens as you alternate the pressure, swapping between pressing your tongue against the sensitive underside and featherlight swirls on the head. His cock is heavy on your tongue in the best way, and with what your mouth can’t fit, your hand makes up for in synchronicity. Though your focus remains on his pleasure, you feel the heat of Charlie’s gaze burning down to your core. Despite his fluttering eyelids and the groans that grow in volume and frequency, he can’t tear away.

He’s always loved watching his girl work.

He feels a smug sense of satisfaction seeing you unable to fully wrap your fingers around his shaft, and at the fact that you’re so willing to spend this time making him feel good. It’s not that he doesn’t want to do the same for you — in fact, he’s dying to taste you, to lap you up with his tongue until you’re flooding his face with your arousal. It’s just that you were always the one to walk away first, so by having you here, choosing him and pleasing him without forethought… it feels as if it’s properly cemented the positions you now hold in each other’s lives, and what you’ve agreed to tonight.

“C’mere,” he rasps, breaking the string of saliva connecting himself to you, hauling you up to your feet. He plants his hand on your waist, driving you backwards into the bed, letting out a single taunting chuckle before knocking your knees apart with his leg. He stares at you, a wild and untapped look in his eyes, free from restraint. 

A mix of awe and undulating want runs through you, chilling you from your head to the base of your spine. “Are you gonna do something, Charlie? Or are you gonna make me wait all night?”

He raises his eyebrows at you, straightening at your comment. “You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

A grin splits your face. “Prove me wrong.”

Charlie drags his hand up your folds, as if he’s marking his territory, an unruly smirk dancing across his lips at the wetness he finds there. He’s purposely stringing you along now, delaying his own gratification just enough to see your guard drop.

He sees you, wanting to retort, your mouth parting to form the words, but before you can say anything, think anything, he leans down and buries himself inside you with one sharp thrust. Cradling your head with his arm, he shudders into your body, growling at the sensation of you stretching out around him. He moves at a steady pace, his hands finding their place in your hair as if they’ve never left. 

“Charlie,” you whimper, squeezing around him, eyes rolling back in delirium because his cock feels so goddamn good. 

“Yeah,” he groans. “Wasn’t such a bad idea, huh,” he adds, whispering it down by your ear. “Showin’ up, like this.”

Your fingernails latch onto his back, and you wrap your legs around his waist in response. The sound of your moans echo throughout the spacious room, his far more audible than yours as he turns you to putty. Each stroke drives into that spot inside of you, punctuating your thoughts until you’re all-consumed, with him and only him on your mind. You’re not drifting off; you’re present in this moment, aware of not just how he feels for you, but of how good your pussy is for him. 

Tipping your head backwards, you press your lips to his, running your tongue along his bottom lip before slipping it inside his mouth. He runs a hand along your collarbone, palm resting at the base of your neck, deepening the kiss with every subsequent snap of his hips. It doesn’t take you long to raise your hips to match every thrust, or for your fingers to fumble in his curls — needing to grip his hair tightly, if only to bring him closer to you. 

Charlie’s eyes squeeze shut, his body tensing at how tight you are, how you feel like you were made for him. It’s obscene; the sound of him sliding in and out of your cunt, knowing that each movement is designated to bring you both closer to the edge. 

You yank his head back as you cum around his cock, surging upwards to bury your face in the crook of his neck. His groan reverberates through your chest, abs tightening against your stomach, and you lay panting despite the fact that he keeps going; a man on a mission to get you to unravel as many times as possible before he gives into himself. 

You find your release a few more times, with his mouth roving along the contours of your face down to the sensitive spot by your shoulder, before he pulls out and flips you onto your stomach. 

“On your hands and knees,” he commands, his voice gruff yet as smooth as molten honey. 

You catch yourself flashing him an insolent smile, but your body does as he says, your hands finding the brass metal railing at the foot of the bed. Like the good girl you are, you stick your ass up in the air, shuffling backwards until you find stability. The mattress dips as he climbs on, and you sneak a peek behind you, swallowing a moan at his ruffled hair, the brows furrowed in concentration, the sweat beginning to shine on his chest. Your pussy throbs at the absence of him, from that fullness you’ve grown deviously accustomed to.

He meets your eyes, the corners of his lips tugging upwards, and guides himself into you. His hips jerk uncontrollably as he’s enveloped by your heat, unable to contain the dulcet moans spilling from his lips. He fucks you with languid strokes, hinging forwards to plant kisses down your spine, all blissed out yet with so much more to give. 

“Fuck,” you grit, your knuckles going white from squeezing the railing. With the way your back is arched, and the sharp angle of his thrusts that grow more forceful by the second, it’s a wonder you’re able to function at all. He fucks you like he means it, as if to make up for all the lost time, for all the incidences when he thought it was going to be the last time he was inside you. 

A growl escapes from somewhere deep in Charlie’s chest as he picks up the pace, unrelentless in the way he’s driving into you. He grips your waist with both hands, fingers digging into your soft skin, frenetically crazed because all he wants to do is lose himself in you over and over and over again. 

You clench around him, utterly incoherent at the snug fit of his cock, and the way he has you balancing on a tightrope; ready to fall over at any given point in time. In combination with the haphazardly strewn sheets, the bed begins to rattle, smacking loudly against the back wall. Frankly, you couldn’t care any less, because Charlie’s hitting so deep it takes all of your effort not to scream, not to wake the entire hotel. 

Your moans turn breathier, higher in pitch, as your muscles begin to tighten again, your next orgasm building in exponential waves. The string of noise turns to a repetition of his name, and pleas for him to go with you when you cum. With every grunt, his cock drags along your walls faster, harder. Charlie hisses through his teeth, his movements becoming erratic, surrendering control of his rhythm to the sheer desire of filling you up. 

He wraps a thick forearm around your stomach, driving both down onto the bed. He manages a few more strokes, sinking his teeth into your shoulder, before exploding into you with a cry half-muffled by your skin. He takes you with him, of course, and your pussy is a vice that milks him for every last drop he has to give. He bottoms out, panting as he fucks his cum into you, the new position dangerously euphoric.  

You both remain there for a moment, content and satisfied with each other’s presence, shivering despite Charlie’s hot forehead pressed to your back. He slides out of you with a final grunt, reaching backwards for the silver cigarette case perched on the nightstand. It doesn’t take him long to light it, or to lay next to you with the cigarette clamped delicately between his teeth.

He takes a drag as he props himself up on his elbow, and you lean in to kiss him — first on the temple, then on the mouth, being careful to let him exhale first. “So, New York City, huh? Where are we going to live?”

Charlie’s eyes sweep over your body, and he breaks out into a roguish grin. “Eh, we’ll find somewhere. Close to business, to A.R.” He pauses to kiss you. “What about you?”

You scoff. “What about me? You know I’ll support you, wherever you need to be.”

“You’re too nice f’your own good sometimes.”

“Oh?” You narrow your eyes, tilting your head to the side. “S’that so? ‘Cause I could give you hell, if I wanted to.”

The challenge in his tone pools between your legs. “Yeah?” 

He puts out the cigarette in an instant so he can focus on dragging a hand up your side, stopping only when he gets to your breasts. Charlie moves closer, planting another chaste kiss to your lips. 

“‘Sides,” you continue, “I don’t think it matters what I do.” You don’t try to bite down on the mischievous grin spreading across your face. “Not when I’ve got all the luck I need.”

[faustiandevil]

So I watched All Through the Night (1942) again, because it’s someone’s birthday, and also because it’s been a while and the most I remember from that movie was that it was gangsters vs. nazis (and yes Peter played a nazi, but I still stand by that my dick could fix him, I could fix Pepi, jot that down), which did actually happen in real life, except there was a small teensy little thing that the movie doesn’t seem to really mention or even hint at. The gangsters that attacked the American Volksbund members were Jewish.

Now I’m currently reading Michael Benson’s “Gangsters vs. Nazis: How Jewish Mobsters Battled Nazis in WW2 Era America”, which is another reason why I wanted to rewatch the movie, and while I’m only halfway through the book, the only instance I’ve read about non-Jewish people taking part in the attacks was in Newark and even then it was poor working class men, who got laid off from the factories and sympathized with their Jewish neighbors knowing very well that they were also living in the slums and not controlling the banks from behind the scenes as the right-wingers likes to claim. It’s even more baffling considering that in Minnesota for instance the banks even refused to hire Jewish people. Kind of hard to control something from the inside when you can’t even work there.

The movie also takes place in New York, where Meyer Lansky with the blessings of Judge Perlman and Rabbi Stephen Wise (I would like to mention that Wise was born in Budapest, but as he was a Zionist I refuse to acknowledge him as a Hungarian) was literally beating the shit out of the nazis. Lansky also refused to take outsider help, and to quote the man himself: "I am a Jew, and I feel for the Jews in Europe who are suffering. They are my brothers.", so why the movie couldn’t have hinted at that. I feel like the argument can be made that they are just “gamblers” and not gangsters, but come on man, we all know who were behind the gambling joints, these guys needed something else to bring in the money after Prohibition ended. Or that they are Jewish, you just gotta squint real hard… But why cast Mr. Hardboiled Detective Bogus in the main role then, when you actually have people who have had to run from the nazi threat. There are Jews and queers in the cast fucking use them. I feel it’s a missed opportunity not to have had a switcheroo with the casting list and have Conrad Veidt and Peter Lorre in the good guy gangster/gambler roles. Imagine how ecstatic they’ve would been to beat up nazis even if acting is just making faces and play pretend.

Anyway this is my galaxy-brain hot take on the movie.

[meyerlansky]

EYYYYYYYY your writing is amazing and i didn’t realize you were the one who made that gifset also if you were in the speakeasy circa 2011-2013 we might know each other because i am also a meyer lansky fan so anyway thanks for being an all-around amazing person sending all my love. fly like an angel don’t die like one.

hehehe THANK YOU 🖤🖤🖤 i'm glad you enjoyed the fic, that one's Close To My Heart for reasons and i legit giggled and kicked my feet a bit seeing it mentioned in the gifset tags XD

!!!!! SPEAKEASY 4EVR TEAM NY 5EVR 🎉 2013 was my entry date so we might've had some overlap! i think my url was thevaleofarryn before littlelansky and then this one a few years later

[tanzderalfred]

I think Tanz der Vampire fans should appreciate Sharon Tate a bit more…she originated Sarah guys! Obviously I’m not going to speak about r*man p*lanski outside of my Sharon Tate info dumps because…obviously- like I get he created the original film nd shit but he’s an awful person so no credit to him lololol :3

So yall should really appreciate Sharon Tate more- it suprises me how lots of TDV fans don’t know who she is??? Like she was so iconic??? The first ever Sarah Chagal???

[spevvy]

One of my occasionally-visited special interests (fellow autistic followers will totally get this—yknow the ones you keep in the locker and bust out when you're feeling a particular kind of way or you're getting the dopamine itch for the nostalgia of an era you never experienced and frankly would never want to experience??) is the history of the Mafia. Pretty sure I picked this one up from my Dad who was a murder mystery/western aficionado through and through but had that little tiny part of him that bloody loved a gangster film (no pun intended). Anyway I've been bingeing Boardwalk Empire the last few days and I've fallen down the rabbit hole again...

Gotta preface this by saying my nerves alone would never let me be around that whole scene in real life, let alone back in the day during the bootlegging and all that lot. I have no hidden desire to be a gangster's moll or anywhere in that kinda circle, not even especially from a morality perspective, just from a "my guys I don't wanna be sitting around my house fretting about who's gonna kill me in horrible ways" perspective. I just find the entire premise both fascinating and unintentionally hilarious.

The thing I find most fascinating about the Mafia is how absolutely absurd it is, and frankly the absurdity of it all is probably how it took the best part of 100 years before anyone properly unmasked them to the world. I mean really.

There are a massive bunch of these utterly amoral human beings who commit UNSPEAKABLY HEINOUS crimes and they've all got nicknames like "Lucky" and "Needle Nose" and "Bugsy" and "Babyface". MEYER LANSKY WAS CALLED "THE BRAIN", IF THEY HAD A GUY IN THE GANG CALLED "PINKY" THEN THEY WOULD BE A LITERAL CARTOON.

When they go to war with other families, the wars are called completely incongruous things like "The Slot Machine War" and "The Porn War". This just sounds like a falling out between a group of teenagers over what they should spend their pooled allowance on.

Also who was the first one who was like "yknow what, lads, if we're gonna get anywhere as criminal overlords, we've got to get ourselves ORGANISED. Crime is nothing without a decent hierarchy system—just look at the Church!! #satire" Just the very term organised crime feels like a complete misnomer. "We're gonna get into extortion and racketeering and prostitution and bootlegging but HEAVEN HELP YOU IF YOU MISFILE ANYTHING OR WRITE SOMETHING IN THE WRONG DIARY SLOT!!! A GOOD CRIME IS AN ORGANISED CRIME!!!!!" This is the best argument for the initial Mafia bosses being neurodivergent I can possibly imagine.

And the most unequivocally nonsense thing about it all is that, up until the 50s, the Mafia was like a ghost story, nobody really knew for sure that it existed, it was as much mythology and folklore as real actual evidence of its existence. But then when it came out that it was a thing, the entire US government kinda went "meh yknow what, just leave em, it'd be too much effort to get rid of the lot of em at once. Just yknow, stamp hard on some bits so we look like we're making an effort"—and now EVERYONE KNOWS WHO THEY ARE!!! Everyone knows what the families are called, who's in charge, names and faces and everything, who does what, and they're all just like "lol yeah we're the Mafia you can't catch us teeheehee" and they still all have ridiculous nicknames like Jaws and Fingers. They have videogames and books and TV documentaries about themselves and everything, the brazen DNGAF-ery is absolutely astonishing.

Like legit if you wrote this out as a fictional story of a load of destitute (potentially ND, don't forget you need the creativity, attention to detail and organisational skills of the neurodivergent community to get this thing off the ground!) immigrants hopping a ship to a country on the other side of the world, who end up ostensibly taking over the entire national government and law enforcement with absolutely no fear of retribution or capture and the guys in charge are a bunch of little old men smoking cigars on the golf course calling each other Bug Eyes and Smiler—and in some sort of peculiar way, no matter what horrific things they do, they never really come across as the bad guys but just as some loveable rogues keeping one step ahead of the law... well. NGL but it would sound COMPLETELY LUDICROUS, nobody in their right mind would publish it.

It's unbelievable. It's genius. It's like rubbernecking a car crash, you don't wanna know but you can't help but gawp. I mean seriously, fair play lads. You're all completely dreadful, but you do it with pizzazz. Meanwhile, I can't even be a little bit cold to someone who is actively being rude to me without losing sleep for a week because of the levels of guilt involved in case everyone hates me. 👀🤦🏻‍♀️