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gretavanfleetlove · 1 year

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a spicy oneshot of lenny bruce x reader but the reader is a known comedienne

Can a Man Change His Mind?

Anon i must say, I like the way you think. Lenny Bruce x Fem!reader

Warnings- none?? Kissing I guess? Oh also guys tell me if you think this needs a part two becuuuuuuz I’m tempted to make one….

Request? Yes.

Summary: Reader is performing at a comedy club when her old friend Lenny Bruce stops by.

“Y/n!” I heard a voice shout from behind me. “Y/n! Finally.. I was wondering if you’d ever slow down.” They laughed

“Lenny?” I ask with a smile. “The one and only.” Was his reply. Definitely Lenny.

Taking my arm he led me through the crowded club to a dimly lit table. “Lenny, what are you doing here?” His answer was exactly what I’d expect. “Here to see you doll, why else?”

I scoffed at his particularly vague answer. “No… I mean what are you doing here?” Lenny hates or hated? So-called fancy comedy clubs. I know, says the man who got a gig at Carnegie Hall. But he dreads this place. Whether it’s because they wouldn’t take his jokes so lightly or because he thinks any where nice is full of pricks. “Ohh, oh I see, what am I doing here in this place specifically. Since you are such an extravagant comedienne why come here?”

Of course this being asked by Lenny was a rhetorical question. That didn’t stop my curiosity. I nodded with a flattered grin, waiting for the official answer. “I was just in the neighborhood .. I saw you were performing and didn’t have a good reason not to stop by.” He says quiet and slow, like he is every time he’s in a one on one conversation. “Yeah?” I question, It seems like every time I even speak to Lenny. As simple as this. Uncontrollable butterflies start to erupt inside of me. Every little compliment, even the facts he’s here to see me makes me smile like an idiot. “Yeah,” he says in a reassuring tone. “Although I was a bit offended you didn’t-” The fellow comedian was cut off by a young looking slim, tall, man.

“Please excuse me Ms. L/N. I’m sorry to interrupt but I was hoping to get an autograph?” He looked very awkward, continually looking back at a group of friends giggling and watching intensely.

“Oh my gosh. Of course!” I made myself turn my gaze away from Lenny. Writing my name on a newspaper “Y/N L/N AND LENNY BRUCE AFFAIR?” With my face in the middle of a skit as the cover. ‘Flattering picture! An even more flattering title!’ I sarcastically thought. “Thanks so much!” He exclaimed, giving a wink. Laughing to myself I looked back at Lenny. “I’m sorry Lenny what were you saying?” I asked. Having completely forgotten the topic of conversation. “People ask for your autograph now?” He asked more seriously than anything before.

“Well sometimes… that’s not a regular thing! No I guess he must’ve just seen me perform here before or something I don’t know but-” “Calm down!” Lenny stated in a more playful tone than the one before. “I wasn’t asking to call you out or something, it’s just incredible.”

A sigh of relief and embarrassment came from my chest, “Oh!” “You no that was a pretty interesting News headline, yeah?” The feeling of embarrassment hit again. I know I talk about Lenny a lot in skits. Wether it’s making fun of him or telling some story relevant to the joke. And hey maybe we’ve gone home together after a show once… or twice. But I know Lenny doesn’t want a relationship with me. “Friends with occasional benefits” he always said.

“ Interesting, you could say that….” I managed to choke out. Lenny laughed, “They’re not completely wrong, are they?” He asked with a cheeky smirk. “I wouldn’t call it an affair… persay.” I tried to keep my cool as he leaned in closer, making my breathe hitch. “Maybe not, but it’s definitely something.” He continued, leaning in closer. “Lenny, you’re the one who said that.. we were only friends, you know, better off that way?” He seemed to consider what I said, looking down, and back up at me. “Can a man change his mind?” Before I could come up with an answer he leaned in to kiss me. More gentle than any that he’d given me before. But before I could enjoy it I felt the flash of a camera hit us. “Lenny, we can't do this here.” I whispered. He answered quickly, “I know, come on.” Lenny ushered us through a near exit outside. It had just begun snowing. Falling and sticking on the city buildings and ground. Lenny walking quickly, still looked my outfit up and down. Black dress, black tights, and a light cardigan. “God, you’re gonna freeze out here.” He scolded, taking his suit jacket off and handing it to me. I thanked him, knowing he wouldn’t let me reject it. As a taxi cab drove by I quickly stuck out my hand and whistled. Lenny and I, freezing, hustled inside the cab. “Where to?” Asked the driver. Before I could answer at all, Lenny gave his address to the driver, and followed it with a wink to me. “I haven’t been here in awhile, you’ve changed a few things!” I admired his apartment, which definitely got a few upgrades over the past 8-9 months. He nodded “Yeah I’ve rearranged, even decorated.” I nodded whilst admiring the unfamiliar looking apartment.”Y/n?” Lenny asks at a quieter volume then he was speaking before. “Hm?” I hum in response “You never answered me. Earlier at the bar. When I asked if… a man can change his mind?” His eyes looked at me with a gleam of hope, along with underlying lust. My senses were overwhelmed by the apartment and Lenny’s longed for presence that it took me a moment to process what he had asked. “I think…” I started “that a man can change his mind.. if he really means it.” Without hesitation Lenny answered “He does.” “Is he sure?” “He is” “Then kiss me.” Lenny following the spontaneity of the previous interaction leaned in with a kiss. Less empty feeling than before. Now it felt full. It felt full of emotion and longing. The kiss deepened. “Bed.” He said sharply. Then picking me up, hooking my legs behind his back, without breaking the kiss he took us to his bed. “I love you.” He smiled, before showing his face into the crook of my neck.

#marvelous mrs maisel fanfiction #lenny bruce #lenny bruce x reader #Lenny Bruce smut #Lenny Bruce imagine #miriam maisel #Anabelle writes sometimes #this has been a long time coming

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leavemeslowly · 11 months

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Lenny sees Midge’s breakthrough performance during a rerun of the Gordon Ford show. He lights a cigarette and raises his eyebrows seeing how Ford interviews her, and only later invites her to do a set. When she finishes, Lenny realises he completely forgot about his cigarette, and tears stream uncontrollably down his cheeks. He wipes them with his sleeve and smiles, looking at his Midge and her bright, expressive eyes filled with pride. Lenny thinks he is just one more fool among millions loving her now.

#now I can write whatever the fuck I want #tmmm #the marvelous mrs. maisel #midge maisel #Luke Kirby #Lenny Bruce #fanfiction #fan art #ff #imagine #prompt #writeblr #Amazon prime #tmmm s5 #midge x lenny

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variousqueerthings · 1 year

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heterosexuals really want to see lenny and midge get together

queers understand that it's all about susie and midge

#really like both characters -- not a fan of it clearly moving towards the romantic #the marvelous mrs. maisel #ah well i knew it was a heterosexual show #but it IS post-2018 it coulda been bolder...#it's that very heterosexual progression narratively -- a dude in and out inevitably becoming love interest because he is there consistently #any other dude is just filling in until the narrative decides that now is the time to get them together for good #meanwhile the lead's whole narrative up until a certain point (when the narrative has started shying away because the queerness has become #Too overt) has revolved in some way around someone of the same gender #already framed in terms of the domestic/building a life together #eventually this domesticity will be supplanted by a more acceptable het domesticity i imagine #we've seen it many a-time before and im sure we will again #ofc there's the extra weirdness of lenny bruce being based on... the real lenny bruce #you couldnt have gone for a fictional person? based off of lenny bruce?#holding out for midge to not end up with any guy i believe in you show!

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artsygirl0315 · 3 months

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I don't know why and I know it will never be canon but for some dumb reason I just love the idea of Father being shorter once his kids get older??

Like, He's definitely taller than them obviously even as teenagers but it's just so fking funny when I imagine him being shorter than his own 'kids' or at least three of them. And he gets so pissy about it.

Bruce and Constance are a given, They're still short but are considered to now be around Lenny and David's height when they were still kids.

#knd #kids next door #codename kids next door #codename knd #delightful children from down the lane #dcfdtl #knd father #father knd #drawing #art #knd teens #knd alessandra #knd lenny #knd david

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darloe · 4 months

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People don’t talk or theorize enough about Midge’s Carnegie set, especially since she canonically gets pulled off the stage for something that I didn’t quite catch in season 5 which was the worst season imaginable.

I like to imagine she just constantly and subtly references Lenny Bruce, like she’s all ‘oh, and I have this special friend, a dear friend of mine, blah blah..’ and the friend is Lenny Bruce but no one except Susie knows this.

Also, I love when authors redo Midge’s apology to Shy. The whole episode was just a disaster.

Before it’s her turn, Midge finds out she apparently took Moms Mabley’s spot and then she’s all anxious already because it’s the Apollo and Susie isn’t here so she gets this vague pep talk from Reggie and he’s like ‘talk about Shy, these are his people’ and because she’s desperate for laughs, it’s exactly what she does.

Her words are her own fault and her apology sucked, this is one of the instances that we see how she hates admitting when she’s wrong but I also sympathize with her because of what happens before she goes on the stage.

Let’s quickly talk about season 5. I knew Midge was going to be an absent and neglectful mom, she knew this as well. Because you can’t have everything, there’s always a sacrifice. But it still hurt to see, especially since in every season before, she references her kids a lot.

And Lenny? Don’t get me started. How old was Kitty when Lenny died? Fictionally, since Lenny’s Carnegie set in Midge Maisel is in a different timeline than the actual time Lenny went to Carnegie, I assume Kitty is a bit older? Maybe.

Anyways, if any writers could possibly make a fic where Midge acquires Kitty after his death and now has to take care of his kid while also balancing her rising career and then it ends up with her becoming closer to her actual kids (the ones that she distanced from due to her career) i would be eternally grateful.

I’ve read that one fic, and if you’re in the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel fandom on ao3, you would know what fic I’m talking about because it’s the largest fic there is in the fandom. That one, done by both of those authors? Absolutely gorgeous.

I especially loved how they explored Midge and Joel’s relationship and how it constantly affects Midge’s life.

(And if you just lived under a rock and don’t know what I’m talking about: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46657975)

- Darloe.

#midge x lenny #midge maisel #midgelenny #ao3 #personal rant #the marvelous mrs. maisel

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theycallme-thejackal · 1 year

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Hello dear jackal! I’ve got a prompt. Could you write one where Midge bumps into Declan Howell and she uses him to make Lenny jealous?

Pairing: Lenny Bruce & Midge Maisel Rated T Warnings: 5x01 Spoilers

Midge isn't one to intentionally toy with someone else's emotions, but there's a certain poetic justice to both Declan Howell and Lenny Bruce being in this particular bar on the same night.

She honestly can't deny there is a certain...attraction to the tortured artist sitting on the stool in front of her. She knows that if she asked him to take her to bed, he would. Immediately. And it would probably be great.

But the problem is that she's so fucking in love with Lenny that she can't imagine leaving this bar with anyone else.

Declan watches her as her eyes fall on the comic across the room, and then he turns to look. A dark chuckle passes his lips. "Lenny Bruce, eh?"

Midge nods, playing dumb. "Yes, that's Lenny Bruce," she replies, taking a sip of her martini and returning her gaze to the man before her. "You know him?"

He shrugs. "We run in...adjacent circles. Sometimes they meet."

"Ah," she breathes. "So you know him, but you don't know him."

"Precisely," Declan replies as he studies her. Part of her wonders if he's about to take out a pencil and start sketching on a napkin. Or maybe he has some paints and will begin using her face as a canvas.

Instead he chuckles softly. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

She denies it, but she took half a beat too long to do so. Declan dips his head disbelievingly. "So I suppose I will once again fail in attempting to convince you to come to bed with me."

Her gaze unintentionally flicks toward Lenny, just barely catching his eyes before he looks away, and Declan gives her a sad little smile. "In another life, perhaps," he comments as he stands. He kisses her cheek softly before stumbling further down the bar to get another drink.

She watches him go and then looks back at Lenny, nursing his bourbon and avoiding looking at her. She steels herself and makes her way to his table, leaning on the empty chair beside him. "Got tired of avoiding me?" She asks, cocking her head.

He looks up at her. "Who says I was avoiding you?"

Midge lifts her brows and shrugs as she pulls out the chair to sit. "The distinct lack of sneak attacks in recent months was a hint," she answers as she crosses her legs.

"Where'd Howell go?" He asks, not bothering to look away from her.

"Somewhere down the bar," she answers with a wave of her hand.

"You'll catch up with him later then?"

Midge rolls her eyes. "Maybe my parents were right," she says.

That confuses him, and his brows furrow intensely. "What?"

"Maybe you are an idiot off stage."

He gives her a little chuckle. "I can confirm that is absolutely true."

"I'm not with Declan Howell," she explains. "Just...an acquaintance."

"You looked awfully cozy up there."

She rolls her eyes again. "For fuck's sake, Lenny, you're the one who left town. And tried not to say goodbye, I might add."

"So?" He mutters petulantly.

"So you don't get to be jealous when I talk to other men," she snaps, moving back to her feet.

"I didn't - " He huffs a sigh as she pauses halfway out of her chair, and she sits back down. He takes a long drag from his cigarette. "I didn't leave to get away from you," he murmurs. "I just...needed to get away from New York. Go be with my kid. Get away from the cops."

"No cops in Los Angeles?"

"There are, but they like me better."

"Lenny..."

He cocks his head at her. "Midge..."

"I'm going to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly. No jokes, no deflecting, just...honesty." He nods slowly. "Are we ever going to get our shit together, or is this just...passing?"

There's only about an inch of space between their hands, and his fingertips brush against hers almost absently. "I...it's too late for me, Midge," he mutters. "I'm not...I'm not the man you're looking for."

"Bullshit."

"I'm not good enough for you, Midge!"

She looks at him for a long moment before sighing, "And you said I put you on a pedestal." He taps the ash from the end of his cigarette without saying anything. "So your answer is no, then. We're never going to get our shit together. It's going to be just one fucking incredible night - when you told me you loved me, by the way - and then...nothing."

His face flushes a little at that, and he ducks his head, muttering, "You weren't supposed to hear that."

"Well, I did. You want to take it back?" She asks primly.

His lips quirk in a similar way that they did that night at Dublin House - so similarly, in fact, that she half expects him to say you are lovely. "I don't want to take it back," he admits quietly.

"Good. Because I love you, too, you putz."

A soft breath of a chuckle passes his lips, and he shakes his head. "Midge, you're killing me," he groans, half joking.

"Would you rather I try a different tack? I can go find Declan." She jerks her thumb over her shoulder.

She has now intention of going home with Declan Howell. Even if Lenny pushes her away again, she's just...not interested in being with someone else. But her joke has him glowering, his eyes practically flashing green with jealousy, and she drops her hand again, letting it rest on top of his this time. "Let's try," she pleads. "Because I think...I think this could be it, Lenny."

His eyes grow teary in a similar way they did in that airport walkway six months ago. "Midge - "

Before he has the opportunity to protest further, she presses her lips desperately to his. Please, please stay with me.

He kisses her back almost immediately. Dropping the cigarette in favor of cupping her neck, he pulls her closer to him with such surprising strength that she tumbles from her own chair and into his lap.

The change in position in this rather busy bar has them both laughing quietly until it makes kissing near impossible. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and holds her body tightly against his as she tenderly strokes his hair. "I love you, Lenny," she whispers again. "I should have said it at the airport before you left. Or in your hotel room that night."

He doesn't let go or lift his head. He just inhales deeply against her skin. "I love you, Midge." She smiles and dips her head to kiss his temple.

#maisel spoilers #midgelenny #midge x lenny #midgexlenny #tmmm fanfic #marvelous mrs. maisel fanfic #writing prompt #otp: more important than god #jackal fics #answers

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alixinwwonderland · 1 year

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(I had a TMMM-themed dream the other night, and the bit of dialogue in it stuck in my head until it turned into this. Enjoy?)

Despite that rather sweet apology from Sylvio, Midge still looks over her shoulder a little too often when she walks through Riverside Park. So, from time to time, when she wants to be completely and totally assured that a peaceful walk won’t be disrupted by a handsome former lover, she heads down to Washington Square Park instead.

It’s been working great, until today.

At first, Midge doesn’t quite believe what she’s seeing. The man on the bench just a few steps away looks tired, to be sure, but not in the way he looked that awful, awful night at that awful, awful club, with a stool covered in court documents and a set spiraling rapidly out of control. He still looks too thin, but not as frighteningly so. His hair is endearingly rumpled, curls outlined in the midday sun, and his jacket is discarded on the bench beside him, revealed rolled-up, also-rumpled white shirtsleeves — a particular brand of casual, relaxed intimacy that takes her back to a humid stroll on a Miami boardwalk.

But it can’t be him.

She’s read the headlines. She’s heard the gossip. She knows what’s been happening. She saw it firsthand. And besides, even if he were back in the city, what are the odds he’d be out in the middle of the day, sitting on a bench in the very same park where she is?

But they’ve always had an instinct for finding each other, haven’t they? No matter how big the place, the city, or the country, they wind up in the same rooms, as if someone secretly placed magnets beneath their skin so that they’d always be drawn to each other across any distance.

But it can’t be him.

But it is him. Lenny Bruce, back in New York, slouched on a bench in Washington Square Park, and Midge has a decision to make. And yet it’s not really a choice at all, is it?

As Midge approaches, she stops in her tracks as a small, blonde girl, who looks perhaps a year or so younger than Ethan, runs up to Lenny. He looks down from the book he’s reading, says something to her, then smoothes back her ponytail with a smile and sends her back off to where she’s playing with a few other children.

Midge debates turning back now, not wanting to intrude on a part of Lenny’s life that he has clearly worked very hard to keep away from everyone, her included. But she remembers the sheepish pride in his voice when he mentioned his daughter in that long, lonely terminal, and the glisten in his eyes. She realizes, then, what she hadn’t in that moment, having been so focused on her own shame from their last conversation (and so flustered from the way his gaze had flicked up and down her body when she approached, just like it had when he’d peeled a dress from her shoulders and gazed at her in her show corset and garters before following the path of his eyes with nimble, strong hands).

He’d been trying to show her that this was different. That she was different — someone he could talk to his daughter about, not rant defensively about being creatures of the night. And she’d just… brushed it off, tried to reset them to a casual place, without even acknowledging that the ship had sailed.

Besides, she’s still not convinced he’s real and not a figment of her exhausted imagination.

Faster than her brain can weigh the pros and cons, her feet are carrying her over to stand in front of him. He looks up from his book, and she can see the flicker of surprise cross his face. Before he can open his mouth to say anything, she’s reaching out, brushing her fingers against crisp, wrinkled cotton and feeling the solid warmth of his upper arm beneath it.

Lenny looks at her hand on his arm, then back at her.

“New form of greeting take hold since I was last here?” he asks.

“Well, you have been gone a while, you might have missed a few trends,” she replies, letting go now that she can be sure.

“You wanna sit?” He picks up his jacket and moves it into his lap. Midge hesitates for only a moment before sitting in the empty spot beside him. She folds her hands on her lap, the better to resist the urge to touch him again.

“So. Back in New York, I see,” she says.

“For a few weeks. I got a couple meetings. Couple of gigs that haven’t been canceled yet.” He shrugs. “Nothing like you, Mrs. Maisel. I see the TV bigwigs have finally picked up on what the rest of us knew years ago.”

“That hiring me could singlehandedly send their entire costuming department into overtime?” she quips. A half-smile plays at Lenny’s lips.

“That. And, that you’re too funny to be away from the spotlight too long.” He smiles for real at her, softly, in that way that Midge has learned over the years seems to be mostly reserved for her.

“Are we really doing this?” she asks. Lenny’s brow creases.

“Doing what, exactly?”

“This.” She waves her hands. “Small talk. How’s work, what’s new—”

“Who’s got gout?” Lenny offers, smirking behind his hand.

“Stop that.” Midge can’t help the smile that spreads across her own face, but she does her best to stay focused.

“I’ve heard about—”

“Ah, don’t believe everything you read in the papers,” Lenny quips, fumbling for a cigarette and lighting it. He offers Midge one, but she shakes her head. “Besides, you’ve got more important things to worry about.”

“Do I?” Midge asks, and there’s that look on his face again, the one that means she’s touched on something real and that big, beautiful, fast-paced brain of his is whirring like crazy to decide whether or not to brush her off.

He sighs, running his free hand over his face with a groan.

“Fine. What you are to the NBC costume department, I am to the entire legal industry. Prosecution and defense alike,” he says.

“Not the judges, too?”

“A little out of my price range,” he quips back, but there’s an exhaustion beneath it that worries her, as he takes another drag off his cigarette. “I hate California,” he admits, more quietly. “Too much sun, too warm, everyone is just sunshiney all the time. And the sand gets in your fucking shoes and it never gets out! Never! How the fuck is that possible?”

“Let it all out, honey,” Midge says, bridging the space between them to pat his shoulder sympathetically while stifling a giggle. He looks back up at her with a glare.

“This isn’t funny. I have found sand in places I cannot mention in polite company.”

Midge looks around dramatically.

“I don’t see any polite company here, do you?”

That earns a short, bursting, “ha!” out of Lenny, and a very bad smile.

“My mistake. Only the rabble-rousers and delinquents here,” he replies. Midge realizes she still has her hand resting on his shoulder, but neither of them seem to mind much.

“Seriously, Lenny,” she says, ducking her head to force him to meet her gaze. “What’s really going on? Are things better… or worse�� or?”

Lenny takes one more drag off his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray by his side of the bench. He can’t quite meet her eyes.

“Some things are worse,” he admits, thinking of the growing line of court cases with his name involved. “Some things got worse, but… might be getting better.” And that’s a memory he’d rather not share with her: the aches and the sweats and the roiling stomach and the sheer force of will to not seek out the very thing that would bring an end to the misery, but would also make all of that exact same misery be in vain.

(He would know — he’s been down this path before, and he’s always wound up right back at the starting line eventually).

Midge nods as if she understands. She doesn’t, not deeply, but she cares so much, and he adores her for it.

“And some things… some things are a little better,” he admits. His gaze pings away from his lap, and she follows his gaze to where the little blonde girl is playing, oblivious to anything except the toys and her new playmates.

“Is that—?”

Lenny grins, and oh the proud papa look suits him, Midge thinks.

“Yeah. Hey, Kit! C’mere!” he calls out. The girl — Kit — looks up and bounds over. Up close, Midge can see the resemblance. She might be fair and blonde, and her eye color is lighter than his, but there’s a spark of lively mischief there that she knows all too well, and a lilt to the way she carries herself that echoes her father’s lanky gait.

“Kitty, I want you to meet my friend. This is Midge,” he says. “Midge, meet Kitty.”

“Your name is pretty. And so’s your dress,” Kitty says, sticking her hand out to shake. Midge takes it with an amused smile.

“Thank you. It’s short for Miriam. My name, not my dress,” she jokes, and Kitty grins.

“My name is short for something too. Brandy Kathleen,” she declares proudly, and Midge bites back a grin as she sees Lenny squirm out of the corner of her eye.

“I think that’s very pretty too,” is all she says, solemn to this twinkly, wise little girl.

“Do we have to go now?” Kitty asks Lenny, who looks at his watch and grimaces.

“Actually … we do. Uh… where’s your sweater?” Lenny asks, looking around. Kitty points to a spot over where she was playing. “Well then, go get it.”

As Kitty bounds off, Lenny speaks quietly to Midge.

“It’s been a good day,” he says without taking his eyes off Kitty. “Lot of times, the kids aren’t allowed to play with her. They say her daddy says bad things and their parents won’t let them.” He places a humorous emphasis in the sentence, but the smile twisting his lips is far from genuine good humor. Midge’s heart just about cracks open.

“Lenny—” she starts, but Kitty’s reappearance cuts any conversation short. The little girl looks up at Midge.

“Do you want to come over for dinner? Daddy cooks!” she says enthusiastically.

Midge grins.

“Oh, does he?” she asks. “Let me guess … does he wear an apron while he does it?”

Kitty nods, beaming.

“It’s too short for him so it looks silly,” she confides, judgmental in that way only a child can be, and it takes all of Midge’s experience with her own children’s oddities to keep a straight face. “But it’s such a pretty blue.”

Midge looks up to meet Lenny’s gaze.

“A pretty blue, huh?” she says. “So that really is your favorite color, then?”

Lenny shrugs. “It is now.”

—

Dinner is, well. It’s strange. Not in a bad way, necessarily. Lenny’s apartment in the Village is simple and lived-in. He’s no Zelda in the kitchen, but who is, and frankly, he’s the only man of her acquaintance who can acquit himself around a stove and actually turn out something not just edible, but very tasty. She would have thought the presence of his daughter would make things more awkward, but, it turns out, Kitty is just the ticket to keeping things light and pleasant, smoothing over the lingering tensions with non-stop chatter and questions.

When Kitty is finally sent to her room for the night, Lenny gets up and wanders over to the sink to do the dishes. Wordlessly, Midge gets up, finds a dishtowel, and dries.

“What is this, Lenny?” she asks softly. “You leave — almost without saying goodbye. You get yourself into an awful mess. You push everyone away who wants to help you. And now… what, you just show up in New York like nothing has happened, like we can go back to sneak attacks and bantering at clubs?”

“Well, the latter might be a little difficult, given my status as persona non grata at so many fine establishments,” Lenny jokes, turning off the water as he hands the final plate to her. Midge sets the plate down, still wet.

“Lenny.”

The smile slides off his face as he turns to look at her, really look at her.

“Okay,” he says, giving her that tiny, tiny nod that means he’s serious. “Okay,” he repeats, sitting back down at the kitchen table and gesturing for her to do the same. “What do you want to know?”

And what doesn’t Midge want to know? She settles on the first thing that comes to mind.

“The last time I saw you … all was very much not well,” she says. Her voice is gentle, but firm, making it clear that there’s no joking out of this corner this time. Lenny ducks his head, nods again.

“I know,” he says, more quietly than Midge has ever heard him. “I never wanted you to…”

“But I did,” she replies. “And now I want to know… I don’t even know what to ask.”

Lenny fiddles with his hands for a moment, twisting the corner of the dish towel that Midge had still been holding when they sat down.

“If I’m clean?” he asks. Midge swallows, then nods. The words sound so harsh, but, she supposes, that’s appropriate for a harsh reality. After a moment, Lenny nods too.

“I am,” he offers. “Have been for… a little while. After… after that, I couldn’t… I wanted to just… disappear. I just wanted…”

“Hey.” Midge covers his hand with hers. “You don’t have to … if you don’t want.”

“No, no. It’s okay. You should… you should hear it. So you can make an… informed decision.”

“Informed decision? About what?”

Lenny pulls his hand out from under hers and bounds up, picking up the towel to hang up.

“Nothing. I, uh. I think I just…”

“Complete sentences, please,” Midge nudges.

“I just thought… if you wanted… and I definitely do… I thought…” He looks at her with those big, angst-filled eyes of his. “I thought… maybe I could call. This time. But I definitely misread the—”

And now Midge gets it.

“You didn’t misread,” she says, getting up to stand at eye level, or as close to it as they can get with their height difference. “You didn’t.”

“But I thought you said ... we didn’t do that,” he points out, and Midge winces.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I was just ... i was so embarrassed, Lenny. After Carnegie Hall. I thought ... I thought I could pretend nothing was different, but I was wrong, and I’m sorry. And now...”

She takes a deep breath — if he can do this, so can she.

“I was just confused because you made it sound like there was a decision that needed to be made. And if we’re talking about the same thing… that’s a decision that was made a long time ago.”

Midge Maisel has surprised Lenny time and time again. At this point, he should be surprised at being surprised. And yet, she always manages to catch him off guard with how matter-of-fact she is about caring. Lenny is used to people hiding their hearts, keeping them tucked away because caring is dangerous in this business, caring is what holds you back and gets you hurt. But Midge has always worn her caring like a badge of honor, and there’s something about it that makes him wish he could be that way too — and maybe he can, a little. If it’s her.

He realizes, a moment too late, that he’s gaping at her. She shrugs and smiles, a little self-conscious.

“When a guy gives you advice without laughing at you, bails you out of jail, takes you to a jazz club, offers to be sympathetic, talks you up to a wary crowd, and works for free just to give you one last chance… what’s a girl to do?” she asks gently.

“You make me sound like some knight in shining armor, Midge,” Lenny mutters bitterly. “Haven’t you learned by now?”

Midge shrugs again.

“Eh. Knights are overrated. I prefer cranks in trench coats.” That earns a laugh, huffing out in a breath as Lenny tilts his head down to meet Midge’s.

“Fuck, Midge. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he confesses. “I’m clean now, but I could fall off the wagon at any moment. I got enough court cases to keep the entire state bar of New York — and possibly multiple other states — employed for several months. I’m still living in California—”

“Which you hate. Sun, sand, Mickey Mouse,” Midge quickly points out, and he chuckles again.

“My point is, my life is a mess right now. There is a very, very high likelihood that I have peaked and it is all downhill from here. And you? You’re on your way up.” He snaps his fingers for emphasis. “The world is at your feet, and people are taking notice in the best possible ways. I’m not about to be the schmuck who drags you down. You’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.”

Then, there are cool hands on either side of his face.

“Have you considered the possibility that maybe the reason you’re feeling so weighed down is because you’re trying to carry it all yourself? Sisyphus, wasn’t it?” she asks.

“Without the fabulous hair,” Lenny quips back, echoing the last time he let the door crack open and let Midge see just how much it cost him to be Lenny Bruce. Her lips curve upward just slightly at the corners, and he knows she’s in the same memory he is.

“I don’t know about that, I like your hair,” she teases. She runs one of her hands up to tangle in his curls, and he can’t help letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment as he leans into her touch.

“I remember something of the sort,” he can’t resist saying, and he opens his eyes just in time to see a pretty flush color her cheeks at a different sort of memory.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Midge says, drawing back just an inch or two but not letting go. “I let you in. I stop running from being scared I’ll ruin everything good in my life by being too much. And in return, you let me in. As much or as little as you can manage. Long-distance phone calls, if that’s what you want. Business cards for lawyers, if that’s as much as you’ll allow. Help with moving, if that’s what you decide. But you give me a little bit of the load. I’m strong enough to take it, now.”

He should say no. He should kiss her forehead and thank her politely and send her on her way and then crawl out of her life again. But there’s a piece of him that thinks (that knows) she’s right, logically — things don’t feel so heavy when someone else is carrying a little of the weight.

So instead, he leans down, slowly, so she has plenty of time to change her mind. But she doesn’t, and his lips settle on hers. And it feels… right. It feels like something he’d like to experience over and over, night after night, until years of arrests or years of drug use or just the general human condition catch up to him.

“Yes,” he says, and the smile he gets against his lips in return feels like more trouble than the law ever gave him, and he cannot wait.

#midge maisel #lenny bruce #midgelenny #the marvelous mrs. maisel #tmmm #tmmmfic #midgelenny fic #tv: the marvelous mrs maisel #ship: you're still staring #ch: midge maisel #ch: lenny bruce #mine

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thedrkjstr · 2 months

Text

Introducing myself to the Tumblr community (I want friends, damn (y si hablas español, también)):

Name: Call me Lenny, "Nilsen" is for... You'll see below ↓

He/Him/Bat (haha)

Movies/Series: American Psycho, The Freedom Writers, How They Became Cult Leaders, Pursuit Of Happiness, Gifted Hands, House MD., The Equalizer (I love Denzel Washington), RANGO, Jurassic Park/Jurassic World, TWD, TLOU, The Purgue, LEGION (I love this one), Doctor Who, The Office, Hannibal, Train To Busan, US, Sweet Home, Alice In Borderland, Sweet Tooth, Arcane, Sherlock, Sandman. Those kind of stuff.

SPECIAL INTERESTS

Arctic Monkeys, Imagine Dragons, Shayfer James (I LITERALLY worship this man), Eminem, Gwen Stefani, Black Eyed Peas, Elvis, Frank Sinatra, Waltzin, Kali Uchis, Doja Cat. I like those the most.

Writing, poetry, drawing stuff (included porn and i'm not afraid to admit it aghh).

Outlast (all of them), Identity V, The Last Of Us, The Quarry, Lurking For Love. I don't play too much.

I also like Vita Carnis, The Smile Tapes, The Painter, and Mandela Catalogue. My favs (please don't bully me).

I believe in myself (satanist).

FAV TCC TOPICS:

Des Nilsen, Zødiac, Jack The Ripper, my Columbine bois Dylan and Eric, Theodore Kaczynski, Bruce McArthur, Harold Shipman, Charlie Manson, Emil Kemper, Fritz Haarmann (ow boi). And basically all about that.

P.d.: I'm weird as FUCK.

Let's be friends :)

#left hand path #truecrimecommunity #looking for friends #introducing myself #introductory post #i am cringe but i am free

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theresawritesstuff · 10 months

Note

On my knees begging for a response letter from Lenny per your most recent prompt

p.s. Wanted to let you know how appreciated and admired your work is—Guess Who’s Coming to Yom Kippur is an all time favorite

Thank you so much! ❤️❤️❤️ I've had so much fun writing these crazy lovebirds. Guess Who's Coming to Yom Kippur was my first go at writing for the Maisel fandom and it has been so touching hearing how many people it's resonated with. I've loved writing it every step of the way. I think I originally came up with the vague idea while watching season 3? After I caught up on season 4 I finally decided to take the dive. And here we are! Just goes to show it's never to late to write the fic. It's becoming a series because I fell in love with the story and the more I write, the more I discover yet to tell.

And now, by popular demand, let's here from Lenny...

Dear Midge,

No gout here out west as far as I'm aware. It's a big state, so there's probably some poor schmuck stuck with it out there but the Bruce family abode remains unscathed.

It's nice to hear from you. I dig the pink stationary. Is it lightly scented? Or am I imagining things? Quite possible. I've been thinking about you too.

California is okay. Still adjusting to the amount of sunshine and phony smiles, still can't find a decent deli, but Kitty is here and she's great. That's my daughter's name, by the way. I don't know if your delicate headwear would fit over my ego bloated cranium but I'm sure she would love to add to her dress up collection. We've been raiding my mother's limited stash in the meantime.

There's no one else who's turned my head. I'm starting to think no one else ever could. It's like my nose became a compass that fateful rainy night we shared the back of that cop car, with you as my true north.

Perhaps that's how we always seem to find each other.

As much as I'm sure the neighbors would love the show, the streaking is unnecessary. You've always had my attention. I've been captivated by you from the very start. Since you saw through my bullshit and asked me point blank if I loved it.

If you simply must be naked, I am powerless to stop you. All I ask is a chance at a private audience.

I've often considered the calculation of time zones well into the night as well, if I'm being honest, but well… maybe we can revisit that another time.

I wouldn't mind seeing you behind Gordon's desk, but I'd much rather you get paid for it. Or have your own desk, better yet.

I'm proud of you for keeping at it. It's not an easy game, this comedy shit. And television is a whole other ball field. All the censors and meddling producers. Audiences across America to play to instead of the folks right in front of you. But I still believe you can do anything you set your mind to. Just keep looking for that spotlight. You'll know it when you see it.

As for the thank yous of your letter, it was always my pleasure. Lending a hand, an ear, a shoulder, the coat off your back… It's what you do for the ones you love.

You know…I've always been partial to blue but between that negligee and the shades of your eyes it's cemented its place as my favorite color. And the night at the Mayflower… I want you to know you were always worth the wait.

If you do ever find yourself with a ticket to the west coast, perhaps we could find ourselves in another someday.

I've still got the legal stuff, and now the kid stuff, and some of my other stuff…but I'm trying to figure it out. Be someone worthy of worshiping your show corset. Or the dentist corset. Do you have a corset reserved for air travel? I'd be interested to find out, if you'll let me.

I can't make you any promises. God knows you deserve so much more than I can offer. But a part of me holds out hope all the same, selfish as it may be.

Give Peluso my regards.

Yours. Always.

Lenny

#midge x lenny #midgelenny #tmmm fic #Follow up ficlet #Love letters

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gretavanfleetlove · 2 years

Text

Imagine… you finally crack Lenny’s shell and are having a conversation with him.

#lenny bruce x reader #lenny bruce #marvelous mrs maisel #gif not mine #im trying #this gif imagine thing #gif imagine

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shitslikethis · 1 year

Text

i can’t believe i waited so long to watch marvelous mrs. maisel …….. you were all pitching it like “it’s about women in comedy” …….. bitch this show is written by the gilmore girls lady so it has like an 8 season slow burn happening in the background……… for some reason i’m watching sue sylvester rant at the man from the princess bride….. last season there was zachary levi and now he’s gone and i shit you not they never explain this…… paris geller is still here…….how was NONE OF THIS in the pitch….. i can’t trust anyone these days…….. imagine what else i missed bcus of this unreliable recommendation system…….. the writers strike can go forever i love you all…….. don’t even get me started on the dad…… plus she’s EATING UP THIS STAIRCASE MOMENT my god……. fuckin lenny bruce

#marvelous mrs maisel #the marvelous mrs. maisel #mrs maisel #sue sylvester #cary elwes #jane lynch #zachary levi #wga strike #writers strike #abe weissman #rose weissman #lenny bruce

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kjack89 · 1 year

Text

A Continual State of Ambivalence

For @handahbear, for my 10 year anniversary/4k followers giveaway, who requested a sequel to my kinda-sorta Mrs. Maisel/Lenny Bruce AU, The Only Honest Art Form (tumblr | AO3). Hope you enjoy!

1950s comedian AU, E/R, developing relationship.

If there was one thing that Enjolras was known for, it was his tenacity.

Which was why he found himself yet again making his way down the few stairs that led to probably the most unexpected of his recent haunts: the comedy club where Grantaire performed.

This time, though, he came prepared, a dollar-fifty already in his hand and a tight smile already on his face as he pushed the door open. But while he was again greeted by the pile of coats and unlit cigar that made up Grantaire’s manager, Éponine, there was no sight of the man himself, an unfamiliar, and distinctly less funny, comedian on stage.

“A buck fifty—” Éponine started, breaking off when she saw it was Enjolras. “Oh. It’s you.”

“It’s me,” Enjolras confirmed.

“Back again.”

Enjolras frowned. He hardly thought that the two times he’d been to the club since his first visit merited the tone she used when she said ‘again’. “Yes,” he said, with slight impatience.

She didn’t seem to notice though, just chewing on her cigar almost contemplatively. “He’s not on tonight,” she offered finally, and it took a lot of effort for Enjolras to not roll his eyes.

“I kind of put that together myself, thanks,” he said, trying not to sound as disappointed as he felt.

Evidently not very successfully, since Éponine took the cigar out of her mouth to remark coolly, “Yeah, yet you still show up here to sit on that barstool and order two beers that you don’t drink in hopes that he might pop up.”

Enjolras felt himself flush, just slightly. “So?”

“So,” Éponine said, stressing the single syllable, “there’s an easier way.”

“Like what?”

Éponine gave him an almost pitying look. “Like asking me when the next time is that he’s performing here.”

Enjolras’s flush deepened. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Éponine echoed, with just a slight mocking bite. “Which won’t be for awhile, by the way.” Enjolras felt inexplicably stricken by that, and something of that must have shown on his face, as Éponine added, “He’s on the road. Performing in Florida at the moment.”

Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “Florida?” he repeated.

Éponine arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, state at the southern end of the country, juts out into the ocean? Smart kid like you, figured you might have heard of it.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together. “I’ve heard of it, thanks,” he said shortly. “I just can’t imagine Grantaire in Florida.”

“You met him once and you think you’ve got him all figured out?” Éponine asked with dry amusement.

Enjolras wasn’t entirely convinced that anyone had Grantaire figured out, and shook his head. “Of course not.”

“Good,” she said. “Because he’d hate to think he was without an air of mystery.

Well, that Enjolras had at least figured out after only one meeting. He chose not to mention that, though, instead asking, “So when is he back?”

Éponine shrugged. “Dunno,” she said. “Depends on how well the tour goes.”

Enjolras hadn’t expected much more than that, and so jerked a nod even as he started turning back towards the door. “Ok, well—”

“You got a number?” Éponine asked abruptly, and Enjolras paused.

“Sorry?”

“A phone number,” Éponine said. “You are familiar with the concept of a phone, right?”

Enjolras turned back to fully face her. “You really think I’m stupid, don’t you?”

For the first time all night, Éponine grinned. “I think you’d have to be to keep trying to get Grantaire to come to one of your little activist meetings,” she said, and Enjolras blinked, surprised that Grantaire had told her what they had briefly discussed during their first, and thus far only, meeting. “But all things considered, no, if anything you’re smarter than most of the idiots who try to meet up with Grantaire after a show.”

Enjolras was so taken aback by the unexpected almost-compliment that he just stared at her blankly for a moment before she cleared her throat and said pointedly, “So about that phone number…”

“Right,” Enjolras said quickly, flushing again, and he patted his pockets for a pen. Éponine let him flounder for a moment before holding out one for him, and he grabbed it, now performing the same search for a piece of paper. “And you’ll call when he’s back in town?”

“Something like that, anyway,” Éponine said, saving him once again by handing him a matchbook, and, when he looked confused, flipping the cover open to indicate he should write his number inside. “Listen, can I offer you some free advice?”

It was Enjolras’s turn to give her a bemused look. “Free?” he repeated, with mock-incredulity.

She smirked. “Fine, let’s say buck-fifty advice and your cover paid for it.” Then her smile faded. “Look, I’ve known Grantaire for years and I love him like a brother.”

“I sense a but coming.”

Éponine just shook her head. “But a clean-cut kid like you—”

“I can take care of myself,” Enjolras interrupted. “And besides, it isn’t like that.”

She didn’t look remotely convinced. “Uh-huh,” she said, sounding even less convinced than she looked. “Just – don’t give me your number if you’re not sure.”

“I’m sure,” Enjolras said firmly, handing the matchbook back to her. “I look forward to your call.”

She pocketed it, a troubled look on her face, and Enjolras offered a small nod before finally turning and leaving, taking the steps two at a time up to the street, and feeling more determined than ever.

After all, what could possibly go wrong?

— — — — —

Of course, two weeks without a phone call from Éponine began testing the limits of even Enjolras’s tenacity, and it was on a particularly morose Thursday afternoon as Enjolras sat brooding on the couch in his parents’ apartment on the Upper East Side that the phone rang.

And just as he had for the past two weeks, Enjolras instantly straightened, craning his neck to see his mother hurry to the phone, frowning slightly as she did. “Enjolras residence,” she answered in her usual clipped tone. Her frown deepened. “I’m sorry, who are you looking for?”

Enjolras was on his feet in an instant, something like panic running through him as his mother said impatiently, “We’re all named Enjolras, you’ll need to be more specific.”

He practically sprinted to his mother’s side. “It’s for me,” he hissed, but she just tried to shoo him off.

“If you don’t know his first name, I’m not certain I should pass you over to him,” she said snippily.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Mother!”

His mother hmphed, but finally said, “Fine, fine, here,” before passing the phone over to him.

Enjolras glared at her until she retreated out of the room, though he was pretty sure she just went to pick up the extension. “Éponine?” he said into the phone, trying not to sound as breathless as he, rather inexplicably, felt.

His question was met with a familiar, low laugh, and Enjolras’s heart did a somersault in his chest. “No,” Grantaire said, “but, uh, I can get her if you’d rather talk to her.”

Enjolras grinned. “That’s ok, thanks,” he said. “I think she’s tired of talking to me.”

“Her loss,” Grantaire said. Then, “You go by your last name?”

“Long story,” Enjolras said shortly. He paused before saying pointedly, “Look, we don’t exactly have a lot of time since I’m pretty sure my mother’s listening in, so, uh…”

“In that case, let me cut to the chase,” Grantaire said. “I’ll be up in your neck of the woods this evening. Want to get dinner?”

Enjolras blinked. “With you?” he blurted stupidly.

“No, with Éponine,” Grantaire said dryly, and Enjolras barked a laugh. “Donohue’s, tonight at 8?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, still a little breathless. “Yeah, I’ll see you there.”

“See you there – Apollo.”

Enjolras hung up and had to resist the urge to lean against the wall and grin like an idiot. Thankfully, that urge passed quickly, especially as his mother reemerged from the direction of her bedroom, only confirming Enjolras’s suspicion that she’d been listening in. “Who was that?” she asked.

“No one,” Enjolras said, more from instinct than anything else, and when she just gave him a look, he sighed and amended, “A friend.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Your friends don’t usually call here.”

“Because they usually know better,” Enjolras muttered. “This is a, uh, new friend.”

“Hmm,” his mother said, looking unconvinced. “He sounds coarse, dear. Be careful with that one.”

He was strangely reminded of Éponine’s words of warning, which really only went to show that neither knew him well at all. Warning Enjolras away from something, or someone, was the surest way to get every rebellious bone in his body all the more convinced.

So he just gave his mother a tight smile. “I always am.”

— — — — —

Enjolras nervously smoothed a hand down the front of his jacket as he approached the maître d' stand. “Hi,” he said, his voice squeaking, just slightly. “I, um, I’m meeting someone—”

“Of course,” the maître d' said smoothly. “We’ve been told you’d be joining us. Please follow me.”

He led a somewhat-baffled Enjolras back into the restaurant, and Enjolras relaxed when he saw Grantaire lounging in his seat at a prime table in the corner of the restaurant, a cigarette in one hand and a half-drunk martini in the other. He looked as rumpled as Enjolras remembered, and even more tired, but he still broke into a grin that made Enjolras’s heart pound in his chest when he looked up at him.

“Your waiter will be with you shortly,” the maître d' said, pulling out Enjolras’s chair for him.

Enjolras arched an eyebrow at Grantaire as he sat. “Looks like you’re better known than I gave you credit for,” he said.

Grantaire laughed lightly. “I don’t think you can make the police blotter as many times as I have without gaining at least a little notoriety,” he said dismissively. He handed the menu in front of him to Enjolras. “Here. Order whatever you want, it’s on me.”

“You don’t have to—” Enjolras started, but Grantaire waved him off.

“It’s a policy of mine not to make someone else pay for my drinking habit.”

Enjolras was fully prepared to argue further but the waiter chose that moment to arrive, first offering Enjolras a cocktail, which he declined, before taking their order. “Um, I’ll have the lamb chops,” Enjolras said.

The waiter nodded and looked expectantly at Grantaire, who just tapped his martini. “Another of these,” he said, “and keep ‘em coming.” He took a long drag on his cigarette before glancing at Enjolras. “What?”

“I thought you invited me for dinner,” Enjolras said.

“I did.”

Enjolras frowned. “Doesn’t dinner normally imply some kind of food?” he said, trying not to sound disapproving.

Grantaire just shrugged languidly. “For you, maybe,” he said. “I prefer a liquid diet.”

Enjolras pursed his lips slightly. “You look like you could use some real food,” he said, mainly because Grantaire did, looking even more wan up close than he had when Enjolras had first seen him.

“Strange,” Grantaire remarked, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray and fumbling in his jacket pocket for his cigarette case.

“What?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire lit another cigarette and stuck it in his mouth, mumbling around it to tell Enjolras, “Your mouth is moving and yet it’s my mother’s voice I hear.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Hilarious.”

“That is, rather literally, my occupation,” Grantaire reminded him wryly. “In what few venues will have me, at least.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “Do you think the, uh, subject matter of your last few shows has anything to do with that?” he asked carefully, trying not to allude too openly to Grantaire’s comments on homosexuality while they were in public.

Grantaire took a contemplative drag on his cigarette before shaking his head. “No.“

“Really?” Enjolras said, surprised.

“I only started openly talking about certain…lavender subjects, shall we say, when most places refused to book me,” Grantaire said with a shrug. “Figured I couldn’t do any more damage to my reputation than I already had.” Enjolras wasn’t entirely sure that was the case, but he didn’t get a chance to make that argument one way or another before Grantaire forced a smile and leaned forward. “But enough about me. Tell me about you.”

“About me?”

Grantaire gave him a look. “Yeah. Seeing as how the only thing I know about you is you're hopelessly naïve and live with your parents.”

Enjolras felt himself flush. “I– It's temporary,” he muttered, certain his cheeks were burning red.

Judging by the way Grantaire smirked, he was right. “Which part? The living with your parents or the hopeless naïveté?”

“I don't agree with the supposition of the latter, so obviously the former,” Enjolras said, a little sharper than intended. “I'm just staying with my folks until I can get a little money together and move out.”

Grantaire nodded. “Ah. Noble.” He drained his martini and almost immediately the waiter was at their table with another. “So does that mean you have a job?”

Enjolras’s flush deepened. “Um. Not really.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “So how do you plan to get a little money together?” he asked, before something like realization brightened in his face. “Wait, how old are you?”

“I'm 23,” Enjolras said, curious where this was headed.

Grantaire’s smirk returned. “And now it makes sense. I assume your trust fund matures at 25?” Enjolras glared at him, but Grantaire just laughed. “Don't look so put out, kid. I say get it while the getting's good.”

“It's just – it's not like that,” Enjolras said, though he wasn’t certain the actual explanation, that his father wanted to him to go to law school and when he refused, his mother wouldn’t let him get an actual job for fear it would make the family look like they were hurting for money, would have him come out looking any better. “And you seem to know an awful lot about it. Did you manage to blow through your trust fund already?”

Grantaire laughed. “Fuck no,” he said cheerfully. “I didn’t get a dime from my family. But I've been the rebellion of enough upper crust men in their 20s to know the signs.”

He didn’t say it as an accusation but Enjolras still frowned. “That's not – I'm not using you as some kind of rebellion.”

“No?” Grantaire said mildly. “Then why are you here?”

Enjolras felt like he had been constantly on the wrong foot for this entire conversation thus far. “I– you called and invited me,” he said, flustered.

“I did,” Grantaire said, taking a sip of his martini and giving Enjolras a searching look. “But you don’t seem like the type to come when you’re called.”

“Normally I’m not,” Enjolras said. “But I felt like we didn’t get to finish our conversation the other night.”

There was something sour in Grantaire’s smirk. “So this is just about converting me to your cause?” he asked.

“Maybe,” Enjolras said, feeling like he might finally have at least even footing if not, however briefly, the upper hand. “Why’d you call me?”

Grantaire’s smile faded. “You left your number,” he said, sounding almost surprised by the question.

“And you don’t seem like the type to actually use a guy’s number,” Enjolras shot back.

Grantaire snorted into his martini. “Touché.” He shook his head slowly. “I guess it wasn’t over for me either.” He gave Enjolras another searching look. “But I’m still not sure what made you want to convert me in the first place.”

“Well for starters, I didn’t think it would be a conversion. The things you said about free speech…” Enjolras trailed off and shook his head. “I guess I just liked what I heard.”

Grantaire nodded slowly, eyeing Enjolras with something appreciative in his expression. “I can dig that.”

Enjolras glanced at him. “What, you liked the things I said, too?” he asked, mostly teasing since he knew better than that.

Grantaire’s smile widened. “No. But I sure liked the way you said them.”

Enjolras flushed again, but for an entirely different reason, and looked away. “Saying something like that could get you in trouble,” he said finally.

Grantaire just sat back in his seat, a small smile still playing on his lips. “When it comes to you, I think I’m already in trouble.”

Enjolras was saved from having to come up with some kind of response by the arrival of their dinner – or rather, his dinner, and for better or for worse, they both managed to steer the conversation back onto somewhat neutral territory during the meal. Grantaire asked questions about Les Amis and the work they did, and while he seemed more amused than anything, Enjolras at least felt like he was listening. Which might just be the first step in an otherwise lengthy process of getting Grantaire to maybe, one day, care.

But all too soon, Enjolras had finished eating, and he glanced almost nervously at Grantaire, who was finishing up another martini (Enjolras had long since lost count). “So what now?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Well, when it comes to your cause, I think we're at an impasse.”

Enjolras wasn’t remotely surprised to hear that. “Just means I'll have to try harder to convince you,” he said.

Grantaire’s eyes darkened. “God, I hope so.”

Enjolras was used to it enough now that only the back of his neck flared red. “But what I actually meant was, uh, what now for the rest of the night?”

Something unreadable flashed across Grantaire’s expression, so quickly that Enjolras almost didn’t catch it. “Why?” he asked mildly. “You want dessert?”

It was so far out of what Enjolras had been doing a terrible job at implying that he gaped at Grantaire. “No, I—” He broke off, frustrated, before asking, with no small amount of exasperation, “What do you want?”

Grantaire gave him an almost pitying look. “That's a dumb question.”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed. “What do you—”

“You know what I want,” Grantaire interrupted. “I know what I want. Hell, the waiter two tables over who's been giving me the nod since I got here knows what I want.” He leaned forward. “So the question is, what do you want?”

Enjolras’s heart was beating so hard in his chest that he almost thought Grantaire could hear it, and he wet his lips before saying quietly, “I want what you want.”

Grantaire’s expression tightened and he forced a laugh. “Well now I'm not convinced you know what I want.”

“I do know,” Enjolras said, a little stubbornly. “And I want that, too. At least for tonight.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “Have you ever done this before?”

It wasn’t that Enjolras hadn’t been expecting the question, but it still rankled, just a little. “Yes.”

Grantaire’s lips twitched. “Have you ever done this before with someone other than a guy in college that one time who later claimed that he was drunk and told you if you ever mentioned it again, he'd kill you?” Enjolras flushed and looked away, and Grantaire nodded. “That's what I thought.” His lips twisted wryly. “That guy'll probably end up a US Senator.”

“Or a Supreme Court justice,” Enjolras muttered bitterly.

“Or head of the fucking FBI.” Enjolras glanced up at him, half-smiling, and was relieved to find Grantaire was as well. “So,” Grantaire said, swirling his martini. “You still want to do this?”

Truth be told, Enjolras had been thinking about this almost as much as he’d been thinking about trying to convince Grantaire to come to a Les Amis meeting, so he didn’t hesitate before saying firmly, “Yes.” And he didn’t hesitate before adding, “But I want something in return.”

“I don't pay,” Grantaire said instantly, so quickly that Enjolras wondered how many times he’d faced that proposition before.

“And I'm not looking for money,” Enjolras said. He took a deep breath before saying, just as firmly as before, “I want you to come to one of our meetings.”

Grantaire sat back in his seat, his expression unreadable. “Coercion ain't consent, kid,” he said flatly. “And trading favors feels an awful lot like you doing something you don't actually want to do. I’m not interested in that.”

Considering that Grantaire had been hitting on him since practically the first second they’d met, Enjolras was taken aback by the flat dismissal, and he took a moment to reply. “You may not believe me, but I want this,” he said, his voice low, because he did. Not just because he wanted Grantaire to come to a meeting, but because talking to Grantaire this evening showed someone who was sharp, and witty, and surprisingly passionate, and as much as Grantaire tried to disavow his comedy routine, it had taken hardly any time at all for Enjolras to know better. And even if he didn’t have much experience in this realm, he knew he didn’t want the night to end. “Besides, the way I see it, you'll end up sticking around long enough to come to a meeting with me anyway.”

Grantaire cracked a smile. “You think you're that good?”

“No. I think I'm probably shit,” Enjolras said bluntly, and Grantaire choked a laugh. “But that just means you'll have ample opportunity to teach me how to be better.”

He said it a little too forcefully to be considered flirting, but Grantaire’s smile still widened appreciatively. “Now that is spoken like someone who wants what I want.”

Enjolras smiled as well. “I told you so.”

“Fine,” Grantaire said, draining his martini. “If, as you say, I end up sticking around long enough for it to matter, then we'll see.”

“And in the meantime?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire gestured to their waiter. “In the meantime, we let these fine folks flip the table.”

He stood and Enjolras scrambled to follow, hanging back awkwardly as Grantaire conversed in an undertone with the waiter before he nodded towards the door. Enjolras glanced sideways at him as they left the restaurant. “Aren’t you going to invite me back to your place?” he asked in an undertone.

Grantaire didn’t look over at him, stepping forward to hail a cab. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Oh.”

Given everything they had just discussed, Enjolras wasn’t entirely sure how he’d misinterpreted things, but thankfully, Grantaire seemed to pick up on his confusion, and he turned back to him. “Two men leaving a club together in the Village wouldn’t so much as raise an eyebrow. In this part of town…”

The fact that they had somehow managed to switch places in terms of who was being more cautious didn’t escape Enjolras. “So you’re looking out for me?”

Grantaire half-smiled. “I’m trying to, kid. I meant what I said before – I have no desire to add to your rap sheet.”

“I can manage that on my own, thanks,” Enjolras said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “So then what are we doing now?”

“Now, I shake your hand and we part ways,” Grantaire said, cocking his head slightly. “You take the cab downtown while I catch the A train, and we meet up at my front door.”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed. “Why do I have to take a cab?”

“Because I don’t have that kind of money at the moment.”

Enjolras felt a sudden jolt of guilt that he hadn’t pushed back harder at letting Grantaire pay for dinner. “I’m—”

Grantaire waved him off. “It’s a somewhat voluntary vow of poverty. Besides, I’d rather spend what I have on you than on me.”

“What if we both take the cab?” Enjolras offered. “My treat.”

Grantaire shook his head. “Kid—”

“You think I care what any of these people think of us?” Enjolras asked. “You think I care if NYPD, the FBI, fuck, HUAC or Hoover himself drags me in?”

“I know you think you don’t,” Grantaire said honestly. “But you’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”

Enjolras just gave him a look. “You say that like you’re 85 years old, not 35. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, too.”

“Maybe,” Grantaire said noncommittally. He reached up to rest a heavy hand on the back of Enjolras’s neck, just for a moment, his thumb brushing against the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. “I could ruin you,” he murmured, so softly that Enjolras almost didn’t hear him. Then he took a step back, his hand falling to his side. “For so long the only person I’ve had to worry about ruining is myself, and I’m pretty good at it, if I do say so myself. But ruining you…” His expression twisted. “I don’t even think I could get a good joke out of it, which is the worst part.”

Enjolras recognized the self-deprecation for what it was, and he wanted so badly to kiss him, but for all his bravado, he didn’t dare. There’d be time for that later, when they got to Grantaire’s, hurried kisses as Grantaire pressed him against the door, both of them scrambling to undress, and heady, slow kisses as they lay entwined on his bed.

Kisses that would let them both forget, for even a moment, that, as Grantaire so heavily eviscerated in his comedy, the world would do everything in its power to tear them apart.

He settled for resting his hand on Grantaire’s arm. “Come on,” he said, his voice low. “Let me take you home.”

Grantaire hesitated for just a moment more before nodding, and together they walked to the waiting cab, the backs of their hands just brushing together as they walked.

Enjolras already had a hell of a rap sheet. At least this potential charge was one he was determined to thoroughly enjoy.

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #éponine #les mis #les miserables #fanfiction #1950s AU #comedian au #time period homophobia #the marvelous mrs maisel au #lenny bruce!Grantaire #developing relationship

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wonderlandleighleigh · 2 years

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I’m sure you’ve probably done something like this, but could you do a Lenny Midge reunion after a really long time apart? Maybe he surprises her by crashing Gordon Ford or something

June 1961:

"We have a surprise guest tonight, Midge."

Midge looks surprised from her spot at the microphone. "We do? I thought tonight was Sophie Lennon."

"She cancelled last minute," Gordon responds. "So we had to scrounge somebody up last minute. He hasn't been here in New York in quite some time."

"That could be anyone," Midge responds. "Not everyone can stand the overcrowding, the smell during the summer, the wait time at the local deli. Being a New Yorker is rough."

Gordon chuckles and taps his cards on his desk. "Well, he'll let us know whether he's missed it or not. Please welcome Lenny Bruce."

Midge whirls around, eyes wide as Lenny steps out. He's sporting his normal black suit and tie combo, and he looks.

Well, he looks good.

Especially because Midge hasn't seen him in six months. Not since they'd sorted out their Carnegie Hall fight. Not since he'd had to disappear out to California.

He steps up to her briefly, giving her an affection kiss on the cheek and muttering an "I promise to explain later" before smiling at the crowd and heading for the couch.

"Welcome home, Lenny," Gordon grins, glancing back at Midge. "You seem to have had quite the effect on our resident comic."

"I do try my best," Lenny admits with a smirk. "She's quite the lady."

"We love her around here," Gordon nods. "So? How is it being back in New York?"

"Oh, not too bad," Lenny shrugs. "Just about the same as it always is. I saw a rat last night when I got to town."

"Did you?"

"Yeah, ugly fellow," Lenny says. "The police uniform was not flattering."

The audience laughs at that, as does Midge.

And she's trying to hold it together. She really is. He's been in California handling some family business and working as well.

They haven't talked much. They're both busy.

It hits her hard, standing behind her mic, how much she's missed him.

"I myself have often thought that doing a complete redesign of those uniforms would benefit everyone," Midge chimes in, getting with the program. "They never fit right. The color should be flattering but it never, ever is. And those hats."

"And you would know about hats," Lenny jokes. "More hats than God."

"I would love to see God's hat collection, could you imagine?" Midge bandies back. "Every hat in history."

Gordon chuckles. "I've been warned about the two of you commandeering my show."

"Oh, we don't mean to," Lenny shrugs. "Clearly we were the kids who wound up in the principal's office twice a week every week. We can't help it. We're the bad eggs."

"I used to be a good egg," Midge claims. "I just got knocked on the floor and I cracked."

"Yes, a cracked egg, yelling at a police officer in her rain-soaked nightgown from inside the cruiser," Lenny reminisces. "That was our first date."

"Says the egg who took a little catnap on the sidewalk on 8th Avenue that one time," Midge smirks.

Lenny laughs along with the audience at that and turns to Gordon. "You see? We're terrible."

"Yes, I do see," Gordon nods. "Talk to me about what you're up to."

He does, talking about the steady work in California. The articles he's written for Playboy. That he's got a bunch of gigs lined up here in New York.

"Are you just here for the shows and then it's back to California?" Gordon.

"No, actually," Lenny admits. "I've missed this terrible place too much, so I will be sticking around for a while. Get ready for the Daily News to start talking about my arrest record again, in painful detail."

It pivots to Gordon asking about his arrests and how he feels about it.

He's staying.

He's staying in New York.

Something in Midge's chest loosens, and she has no idea how she manages to get through the rest of the show, but she does, and once the camera's stop rolling, she heads back to her dressing room, nodding for Lenny to follow.

He does, and once the door closes, she turns to him.

"I should have told you-" he starts, but doesn't get to finish, because Midge is kissing him desperately, and they're stumbling toward the wall to get some balance.

"Are you seeing anyone?" she asks as she holds him tighter, pulling him closer.

"Well, you, I thought," he admits. "But otherwise, no. Why, are you seeing anyone?"

Midge shakes her head, shoving at his suit jacket. "You're moving back?" she asks as his fingers toy with the zipper on her dress.

"I am," he confirms. "Lined up some good gigs. Needed to get away from my mother. Brought my kid with me." He kisses her again. "Missed you."

Midge whimpers softly. "We shouldn't be doing this in here. Gordon wanders around looking for people to talk to after the show..."

"What, you don't want him to get an eye-full?" Lenny smirks, nibbling at her neck. "I see how he looks at you. It's not appealing to make him jealous."

"Not when it could cost me my job," she laughs softly, pushing him away gently. "I missed you, too."

"Get your stuff," he tells her, kissing her again softly. "I'm taking you to dinner." He kisses her again, a little more deeply. A little more of a promise. "And then, if you are amenable, I'd like to have you for dessert."

Midge smirks. "Maybe we should skip dinner."

#fic #au #tmmm #Midge x Lenny #Midge/Lenny

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