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queenshelby · 2 years

Text

Dark Desires (Part One)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Solomon!Reader

Warning: Smut, Arranged Marriage, Religious Themes, Loss of Virginity

Notes: I hope no one gets offended by this! If so, I apologize in advance.

You stood in front of the alter at the synagogue and looked at the stranger in front of you with some confusion. He was the man who you were forced to marry and he was older than you had expected.

He also wasn’t Jewish which, to you seemed, strange considering your family’s believes and all you knew about him was that he was in business with your uncle, Alfie Salmons.

Your uncle had no children himself and, therefore, it was you who had to bear the burden of marrying this stranger. You were the closest unmarried relative he had and, in your small community, it was all about family and connections.

You knew that your marriage to this man was for this very purpose only and your uncle had told you many times how, sometimes, one would have to make a personal sacrifice in order to succeed in business.

This sacrifice was going to be your hand in marriage and, when you stood there and listened to the rabbi, you learned that your future husband’s name was Thomas Shelby.

Thomas Shelby’s reputation preceded him and your chin dropped. You had never seen or met him before but, when you heard his name, you knew who he was.

He was a member of parliament who used to be associated with the fascist, Sir Oswald Mosley, until they had a rather public falling out. And, he was also a known to be career criminal who owned several businesses in Small Heath.

“Why are you marrying a Jew after associating yourself with men like Mosley?” you asked carefully and quietly but the rabbi noticed and told you to be quiet.

“I have my reasons Love, now give me your hands” Thomas told you and shivers began to run down your spine.

You despised what he stood for and you knew that your uncle hated the fascists just as much as you did. So why was he doing this? What was he going to achieve by marrying you?

These intrusive thoughts went through your mind throughout the entire ceremony and you couldn’t even listen to what the rabbi had to say until it was done.

You were married now, to a man who you didn’t know, but thought you should fear.

***

“Mazal tov, now let’s celebrate our new reunion, eh” your uncle said cheerfully after you and your husband exchanged rings and broke the glass and, as usual, he didn’t adhere to any of the rules when he stepped up towards the alter.

“Mr Salmons, I will have to ask you to leave…” the rabbi began to say, shaking his head in disbelieve at your uncle’s attitude.

“Oh common, don’t be like this rabbi. You just married a non-Jew to a Jew so, me being up here with you, is the least of your problems. Despite, Tommy here isn’t even circumcised, eh” Alfie said and, by this point, you had become rather embarrassed about his behaviour.

You took your religion and this ceremony seriously and so did your parents. Yet, your uncle took a very light hearted approach to the sacrifice you had just made for the family and you didn’t appreciate that.

“Alfie, show some fucking respect, eh” Tommy said before apologising to you and the rabbi and you stepped down from the alter with your cheeks burning red. This wedding was a disaster and you wondered what else there was in store for you expect from the obvious.

***

Fortunately for you, there wasn’t much of a reception after the ceremony and, yet, you were reminded by both, your mother and your maid, that you had duties to fulfill that night.

“I am aware mother” you told her again, after already having had this conversation with her several times over.

You knew that you had to complete the ceremony in the traditional way and, as your uncle had told you, he was hoping that you would bear some heirs for the Shelby and Salomon empire in the future.

Being a mother had always been your desire and now that you were married, your wish may finally come to true. But, did you want children with a man like Thomas Shelby? You weren’t entirely sure.

The other question was whether he wanted you at all. He hadn’t talked much to you following the ceremony and, when you approached him about the conclusion of your matrimony, he simply laughed.

“You actually want me to…” he began to speak with amusement and you were quick to interrupt him. Clearly, he had no idea what was expected of him during your first night as a married couple.

“We must Thomas. It is required” you told him and all he did in response was to cock his eyebrows.

“Alright then Love. I will see you at midnight, eh” he said, still chuckling in disbelieve and you wished that he would have informed himself of your traditions and the requirements of your union before marrying you.

He didn’t care about you, or any of this and yet, somehow, you were, by tradition and custom, required to obey and serve him and to bear his children.

***

As Tommy had required, just before midnight, you laid down on the large cushioned bed inside your bedroom which you didn’t share with your husband.

You already removed your wedding gown as you had been told to do by your maid, now wearing nothing but white satin panties and a white satin nightgown which was the same nightgown your mother had bought for you for this very special and particular occasion.

It was pretty, modest and practical for completion of the ceremony which, traditionally, was done by the obvious act of intimacy.

Until such act was being conducted, you had to stay pure and this was something you adhered to. Your God’s values aligned with yours and this was the very reason you remained a virgin until now even though it felt somewhat improper and upsetting to give up your virginity to a man who you barely knew.

It was your duty and your obligation nonetheless to give this purity to your husband and whilst you didn’t exactly choose to be with him, you were about to have sex with him. You had agreed to this out of your own believes and contrition and you were determined to go through with it.

To get you into the mood, your maid had lit some candles and placed them all around the bedroom. And, it was also your maid who had explained the act to you in the past.

She told you that, your first time, was going to be painful and she also told you that you may never learn to enjoy sex in the future. According to her, it was simply your duty as a wife to satisfy the needs of your husband and bear his children.

She recalled her own wedding night as having been disastrous but it gave her what she now loved the most, her beautiful ten-year-old son.

A son was what your uncle told you needed to give to your husband. He already had one, but one was not enough. He needed many to look after his business affairs.

***

With that in mind, you prepared yourself and prayed for a successful conception. Being a mother was your ultimate goal and desire and, when your husband finally entered your bedroom at around midnight as promised, your heart began to race like crazy.

The nervousness you were encountering was nerve-racking and, the truth was that, you just really wanted to get this last part of your union over and done with.

“Are you sure that you want to proceed this way? Because we really don’t have to do this as far as I am concerned” your husband said with a little concern and it was almost like sleeping with you was transactional rather than something he desired to do.

“Yes. I am sure Thomas. It is required by our religion and I value our traditions. Let me fulfill my duties as your wife and bear you children” you told him and he immediately cocked his eyebrows at you again.

“Alright then” he said nonetheless. He was a man with needs after all and, with that, he took off his suit jacket, shoes and tie before approaching the bed slowly.

It didn’t take long for you to feel his weight on the bed and you were surprised by the fact that he didn’t even bother to get undressed.

“Have you ever had sex before Love?” he then asked bluntly while nudging your legs apart and positioning himself in between them in a kneeling position.

“No I haven’t” you admitted as you felt part of his weight on top of you after he had lowered himself onto you slowly and you inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of his aftershave.

“Alright, then I will be gentle, eh” Tommy said somewhat reassuringly as hand began to trace down your body, right beneath your panties and, eventually, he slid his fingers over your naked mound.

“Do you want me to take off my clothes?” you stammered nervously after shrieking at the sudden contact. This was the first time anyone but yourself had explored this region with his hands and, to your surprise, the feeling was rather pleasant.

“No Love. There is no need” he told you while he began toying with your soft little pussy.

“I didn’t expect you to be so wet already. This should be easy” your husband then said with a husky voice as his finger traced the exact outline of your vulva. He explored each fold, then toyed with your slit for a moment, and then slid his finger up towards your clit.

“I am?” you asked, moaning and stammering all at the same time. It was all you could say as it was almost too much for you to tolerate. You had never been with a man before and, whilst you were extremely nervous and even somewhat embarrassed about it, you were also extremely aroused by the idea of having sex for the first time.

It was obvious to you that your husband’s fingers were busy with a purpose. Within a split second, he had pushed the crotch of your underwear aside, while two of his fingers applied gentle pressure to your labia. He nudged the folds apart, and revealed what must have been a small opening.

“You are and I think that you are ready to take my cock now. But, don’t worry, I will go slow, eh?” Tommy then said as he pulled himself back up for a minute and unzipped his pants.

“Okay” you stammered again as he pushed down his pants and briefs but, before you could get a good look at his member, he leaned back down and positioned himself in between your legs.

“Spread your legs a bit wider for me Love” he ordered you before he bucked his hips forward.

“Okay” you responded once more while clenching onto the sheets with your fists in anticipation.

“That it Love” Tommy cooed as, suddenly, the crown of his manhood rushed inwards and penetrated you without any warning whatsoever. Even the tip of his cock was enough to make your entire body tense up, and you groaned bitterly in response to the sudden intrusion.

There was an immediate burning soreness, as you felt your nether regions struggle to accommodate the intruder.

Tommy’s fingers eased their touch, and you felt your labia softly collapsing around his bulbous cockhead.

“Common Love. Let me push inside. You can take it” Tommy groaned while you struggled to breathe and then he uttered a simple moan, guttural and pleased.

“You are too big. You need to go slow” you told him as he continued to push his crotch towards yours. His erection slid deeper, and closer to your virginity. "

“You will get used to it. Trust me” your husband responded while you whimpered in confusion and with arousal. It felt too overwhelming but you knew that it had to be done. It was part of the ceremony and you needed to fulfill your duty as a wife.

“The more we do it, the easier it will get” Tommy then said as his member moved slowly but deliberately and you were distinctly aware of the exact shape and size of his cockhead.

“Okay” you said through gritted teeth while the walls of your vagina had formed a seal around that first inch of Tommy’s manhood and you could vividly imagine every ridge and vein adorning his shaft.

“Just keep your legs open for me, alright Love? Don’t fight it” Tommy then said and, after you nodded again, his cockhead applied pressure to what felt like a barrier. A thin membrane. Your treasured hymen. It was the one sign that you never had sexual intercourse and your panic grew worse. You knew that, what was about to come, would be rather painful.

“It hurts” you eventually pointed out as Tommy kept on moving inside of you slowly and the incredibly vulnerable, thin membrane inside you slowly began to tear.

“I know Love, but it will get better. I promise. Just try to relax and let me inside of you” Tommy said reassuringly and the only panicked reaction you could think of was to shut your legs slightly.

But it didn’t matter and, a short moment later, it happened. Tommy pushed forward and your hymen stretched a little more, and then collapsed.

“That’s it Love” he groaned in approval as your naked pussy clamped down on his erection, and you cried out bitterly.

“Oh god” you screamed as there was a sharp, stinging pain when Tommy tore your hymen and, luckily for you, the pain rapidly faded into a dull soreness.

Unlike the pain, the soreness was a sensation that you could tolerate and so you began to relax.

“You feel so good Love. So very tight and wet” Tommy cooed and, after feeling you relax around him, Tommy pulled back just a little, and then plunged deeper in than before. Multiple inches of his erection were being shoved into you, and you could feel your insides stretched taut to surround him.

“Thomas…” you moaned. It was such a surreal experience. You could feel your husband’s cock inside of you, and its heat was mixing with yours. More so than that, you awkwardly began to notice that your body continued to react on its own. Heat was building inside your loins, and you could feel yourself getting wetter because of the constant stimulation.

“You are going to take my cock so well, aren’t you, eh? Every fucking inch of it” Tommy groaned again in approval as he had unlimited access to your freshly deflowered womanhood.

You clutched onto his shoulder and, with rhythmical thrusts, in and out, he coaxed your pussy into opening up inch by inch. He was unknowingly easing your body into accepting his entire length. It kept going one inch at a time, until you could finally feel his crotch warm against yours. You could feel Tommy’s erection so deep inside of you, just beneath your navel. You were completely connected.

He seemed to cherish the moment and the wet heat, while your vagina desperately clenched down on his erection. Not a trace of his cock was left outside and you could feel the head of his member push straight against your cervix.

“Oh god, fuck” you murmured again as, each time Tommy pushed in particularly vigorously, you could hear a wet squelch coaxed out of your vagina. You had really gotten wet, dripping wet.

Tommy’s pace however had never changed, it was one continuous motion of sliding out, and back in. You did begin to feel yourself getting sore from the frequent friction, especially given the lack of foreplay. But you gave in to the moment nonetheless, just like a good wife would do. You wanted to satisfy your husband.

“Spread your legs wider Love and open up for me” Tommy told you as he kept on going and the bulbous crown of his erection scraped against your tender insides each time he withdrew. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to walk the following day if he was going to keep with this for much longer and you knew that you were raw inside.

“Let’s finish this ceremony, eh?” he then said as on the lower half of your body, you could feel Tommy’s hands reaching for a tighter grip of your thighs. He began to pull you closer, making sure that the entirety of his erection was safely embedded inside your youthful vagina.

"You are too deep” you moaned, feeling the pain against your cervix once again but Tommy simply uttered a weak grunt, and stopped moving.

You were at his mercy and the lips of your pussy were tautly embracing the very base of his erection as he began to move again, admistering deep and firm thrusts.

It was painful and you closed your eyes, concentrating on the weird sensations building inside of you. You could hear Tommy groan loudly and feel his erection beginning to throb intensely against the tight embrace of your womanhood. It was like a wild thrashing of his manhood, pulsing angrily against the snug confines of your vagina. For as long as it lasted, his fingers were pressing almost painfully into your flesh to keep you close. The sudden response was unexpected and startling. Due to your lack of experience, you had no idea what just occurred and a long moment passed before you calmed down again.

There was a long moment during which nothing was said, and nothing more happened. It was just you and him, your bodies joined together.

Eventually, the girth of Tommy’s manhood began to shrink while he continued to calm down his breathing.

“Are you alright Love?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yes” you confirmed as you felt a strange liquid heat spreading through your loins, faster than any other sensation you had felt before.

Your eyes opened wide as you could feel this foreign warmth rapidly spreading inside of your vagina, filling the empty spaces that were left by your husband’s softening appendage. He had done it. He completed the ceremony in the way it was meant to be done in the traditional way.

“Good, now you better get some rest, eh?” he said as you fumbled to reach down with your hands, and awkwardly grabbed and tugged on year satin nightgown while Tommy pulled his softening cock out of you.

He lost no time and pulled up his pants while you observed the sore area in between your legs.

A pool of his cum mixed with some of your blood had left with his shaft, leaving a sticky mess behind and Tommy moved his head so that he could get a better view of your red raw pussy as well.

“I have some work to do. I will see you at breakfast, eh?” he then said all so casually while reaching for his handkerchief and wiping away the cum and blood from in between your legs, cleaning you up gently.

“Yes. Okay Thomas” you said while straightening up your nightgown to regain some of your modesty and, for some reason, you felt strange about what happened between you and your husband.

You knew that he was your husband and this is what should be happening between husband and wife and, yet, it felt unnatural to you.

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awellboiledicicle · 10 months

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Playing Mask of the Rose when you’re ace and nb is just running around London trying not to get stabbed while figuring out if you can save your friend from being charged with a murder that you know--out of universe--is probably a minor inconvenience to said victim, but also desperately wondering how i get to the graveyard and dig that poor man up asap.

And then expanding to FL in general like

And this is just me being Jewish in progress, but there’s also a layer of “how fucked up is the mikveh in the neath. is there one. do they have to just kinda do their best. Oh g-d they weren’t using the Thames were they?? oh no” followed shortly by a layer of “what counts as kosher in the Neath. is anything. Are we a million miles beyond that concern, and its a peak ‘do what you have to’ situation? What about once zee trade is opened up and they can import food. does matzoh suck more or less when dealing with all that.” and finally, because i’m me: “how fucked are all the months going to be down there, since they can’t see the moon”

where is the challah coming from. the wine. how do you do a purim spiel in these conditions. how many hours do people spend after shabbat service arguing about halacha in the Neath every week.

How many people have judaica hidden away from Mr. Pages, or does it just assume one copy of a book accounts for all the variety and no one is telling it about anything else.

I ponder

#Fallen london #Mask of the rose #mok thoughts

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adulting-sucks · 7 months

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You know, when I see the same blogs who were so quick to condemn a Jewish woman now going out of their way to defend a Nazi-loving, anti-Semite, it makes me wonder if they were genuinely offended by what Jenny said or they just hold the same views at the new Mrs Evans. And now that their favourite mediocre white man has made it clear he doesn’t care about racism or anti-semitism, they no longer have to pretend to care about those things either.

If they think their new Queen is going to appreciate them kissing her ass, they’re wrong. She and her real soulmate Dustbin are probably scrolling through tumblr laughing at the idiots defending their trash behaviour while the middle aged man child who now funds their unemployed asses gets high in his basement and marvels at how green the leaves are. And they better not reblog anything about how their blog is a safe space for any minority groups, cos their blind support of Mrs Evans is proof it isn’t. Especially not for the Jewish community.

👏👏👏

This right here anon. These blogs had no issue with calling out Jenny Slate, but mention Baptista and they are suddenly guard dogs.

It’s pretty telling that the people celebrating her are also the ones that talked shit nonstop about her, and each other….

#fake #fake as fuck #don’t deny it

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justrainandcoffee · 1 month

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That stormy day (Alfie Solomons x fem!oc) + (Alfie Solomons & friend!oc)

Masterlist

Summary: Lucy Winters slammed the door and left her house. Her damn father. She cared little and nothing about the storm that is hitting London that afternoon. She's furious. Walking to her friend's house, she saw a man attacking a girl. She didn't know her but she's ready to defend her. It happened that maybe she already knew her, at least her name.

Warnings: Some mentions of physical injuries and blood.

Words: 2k.

This fic was born reading Laur' fic, @emotionalcadaver where I learned that her beautiful oc, Lucy Winters, knows Alfie since they were teens. As you imagined, I screamed 🤭. I had to drag her temporarily to Alfie and Rose universe (or send them to hers...or Both things) so they could share at least one day together as nothing but young people.

It wasn't long ago that she and her family had moved from Yorkshire to London. Her three siblings, plus her parents were now living in the capital of England. Quite a change considering the quiet Yorkshire they had left behind.

What had not changed was the tension within the Winters family, ruled by a strict and closed-minded father who put his religious beliefs, often blinded by the Bible, and his own interests before those of his family. A mother completely submissive to her husband and children who were divided between venerating Mr. Winters or wanting to throw him to the lions. The firstborn, Lucy, believed that the lions were the better alternative.

It was raining like hell when she left the house slamming the door.

She had to get out of there or she was going to kill more than one in the family starting with her father and one of her brothers.

She could hear her brother Teddy calling out to her as she ran, but this time she ignored him. Not now. She needed to be alone.

A clap of thunder echoed in the sky. Lucy had gone out without any coat and now she was paying the consequences of it.

There was a house she knew, a boy, a friend. And there she was going.

Rose had taken her youngest brother to her grandmother's house. The middle one was with a friend and her mother was at work. Now she was coming home carrying a basket of eggs, vegetables and cheese. Some of it was legitimately purchased. Some of it was not. Not for the first time she had stolen food and would do it again even if her mother disapproved. In the girl's eyes, it was unfair that some had too much and some had none. It was the lack of balance in society that had driven her, again, to steal cheese from the Sabinis.

At least when Alfie came home from work she could share it with him. Sometimes she wondered if the feeling of butterflies in her stomach every time she thought of him would pass. She had been with him for three years, and at the moment that hadn't changed.

The rain was now falling torrentially all over London. Her brown hair was plastered to her face and the drops made it impossible to see properly. If she didn't get there soon she was going to catch a cold.

Rose picked up her pace. A couple more blocks and she would get there.

That was until she felt someone grab her arm and pull her back. A young man was pushing her against a wall, while holding her tightly.

It was Gianni Sabini, a cousin of Darby's, older than her. Rose tried to break free but couldn't.

"Rat! Stop stealing from my uncle, you Jewish whore!"

"Let me go!"

"I'd have to cut off your hand, they do that to thieves in other countries! We're too nice here!"

A clap of thunder sounded over their heads.

"Let me go, you son of a bitch!"

Gianni Sabini had a penknife in his hand. "I may not be able to cut your hand with this but I can teach you to think twice before you do it."

The cut on her hand caused the basket that, unbelievably, she was still holding to fall to the floor. But at the same time, something red crossed in front of her eyes and it wasn't her blood.

Rose didn't know where she had come from but a red haired girl, not only had she pulled Gianni out from in front of her, she was on top of the man threatening him with her own penknife.

"Don't touch women! Fucking piece of shit!"

Rose let out a gasp when she saw the girl smacked his head against the pavement. It suprised her, not the violence, but the strength of the girl considering she was probably the same height as she was.

Gianni wasn't dead, but he was clearly unconscious with the rain falling over him.

Used to the violence on the streets in that part of London, the few people walking there barely paid attention to him. Nor to the two girls.

"Are you okay? You're bleeding" the redhead girl, asked.

"Yes. And it hurts, but I don't think it's deep… uhm, thank you."

"No worries. I'm Lucy. Let me help you. Do you live nearby?"

"Almost two blocks, yeah… Thanks Lucy. I'm Rose."

While Lucy picked up the basket, Rose used her chal to bandage her hand. At least until she could use a proper bandage that her mother had in the house.

"Sorry about that," Lucy said. "The bastard was lucky that I didn't shot him. Do you know him?"

"Barely. I know his cousin, we used to go to school together. The Sabinis aren't very kind with anyone. Especially Jewish people. My boyfriend and him, fought more than once. This bastard is angry because I stole some cheese from the shop that his family has…" Rose looked briefly at the girl next to her and she felt a bit embarrassed by her actions. "…hard times," she said.

"Well, Rose, don't worry about it I stole his penknife," Lucy showed her the hand where she was holding the weapon.

Despite that her hand was still bleeding and the storm, Rose laughed.

The familiar streets of her house brought her peace. The key was in her pocket.

"Would you like to get in? At least you can get warm and I can prepare some tea, before you continue your way," Rose said. "My mom is working and my brothers aren't here, my boyfriend probably is about to come but he's friendly… well, sometimes. He lives next door."

Still in the rain, Lucy looked at her and then to the next door. "You're not Rose," she said "you're Rosie! You're Alfie's Rosie!"

"You know Alfie?"

Lucy chuckled "of course I know Alfie! And considering the times he talked about you, I already know you… my Rosie," she imitated him, finally accepting her invitation to get in the house.

Lucy helped her to bandaging her hand. The wound wasn't bleeding anymore, but still hurt. She also insisted on preparing some tea. And Rose couldn't stop her.

Rose only stood up when she heard knockings on the door. As she imagined, it was Alfie.

The boy entered the house before she could say 'hi' and greeted her with a kiss, pushing her against the wall. He never noticed the other girl grinning, while she was pouring tea in the teacups.

"I fuckin' missed you, luv. We're alone! Can we…? ya know… My day was fuckin' awful. We can cuddle afterwards. It's raining and…"

"We can't, Al. We're not alone," she replied, looking to where Lucy was. Alfie finally paid attention at the house.

"Hullo, Alfie."

"What?" The boy look at her like it was the first time seeing her "what the hell are you doin' 'ere?"

"I am planning how to steal your girlfriend."

Rose let out a chuckle before returning to her chair and the boy rolled his eyes. Alfie sat next to her and Lucy in front of them, "she saved me," Rose explained. "I was coming here when Gianni Sabini attacked me."

"Gianni Sabini, what?!?"

"It's nothing. I'm fine," she showed him her hurt hand. "I may or may not, stole from them again."

"I don't fuckin' care! I'm goin'to kill him! Fuck him! I'm going to kill Darby too, fuckers!! Rosie, I'm sorry, pet" Alfie kissed her hand. Then, he asked Lucy "do ya kill him?"

"Nah. But I almost broke his skull against the pavement."

"Fuck, Luces! You're a little demon aren't, ya? well, it's just a wop."

"Alfie…" this time it was Rose who interrupted. She didn't like when he talked like that about the Italians even if they're were famous for their expression against the jews. Alfie just ignored it, in his mind planning a revenge against the Sabinis. No one touched his girl.

"So, Luces, what're ya doing here?"

Lucy looked at her teacup before answering. On the table the strawberry pie that Alfie had baked the day before was waiting to be eaten.

"My fucking father, of course…"

Neither of the three teens at table could say that their fathers were extraordinary. Quite the contrary.

For Alfie that wasn't new. For the very first moment he had learnt that Mr. Winters was nothing but a piece of shit. Alfie saw her friend stirring the cup.

"…same old story. He thinks he's the only one who's right. We're nothing but a waste of time and money. My mother says nothing. She's not bad person… but she's so afraid of him. At least for a couple of hours I had to ran away. This Sabini just crossed my way at the perfect time because it helped me to channeling my frustrations."

"Good. At least a Sabini was useful for once…" Alfie cut a piece of pie and served it to Lucy "told ya, as soon as you can run away from there because things with people like him never ends well."

"Easier to say than do," she ate a bit of the pie and smiled. Sugar always helped with people's mood. "He remembered me that I'm going to marry only the man he chooses for me. And I know the kind of man that's awaiting for me. A piece of shit like him. Excusing his actions behind the lord's words. Fucking hypocrite."

The young couple said nothing, they just let the other girl talk "…probably I'm going to ran away, yes. Bristol, Liverpool, Birmingham… I don't care."

A new thunder.

"Seems I need to go. Or the night is going to caught me here. But I don't want to."

"If this won't cause any trouble you can stay here for the night," Rose said "My brothers' beds are free tonight. And my mom doesn't care if a friend is here. Better here than the streets. Alfie can sleep in his own bed…"

"No, I can't. I need cuddles," the boy kissed her cheek.

"Al…"

"I'll behave. I promise, we have guests. And how old is she, by the way? Nine? Ten?"

"Fuck you, Alfie Solomons!" Lucy pointed at him with the teaspoon. "You're lucky your girlfriend is here."

Mrs. Coldwell greeted the new girl with kindness when she arrived from work and later that night the four of them were eating a dinner prepared by her. They laughed at old anecdotes that Lucy had from Yorkshire. Outside was still raining, but there no one noticed that.

At bedtime, Rose gave Lucy one of her nightgowns. In the morning, Lucy had to return to her house, whether she liked or not and Rose had to go to the infamous Evert's house. But for now, both of them were gossiping at the light of the candles. Giggling like the teens they still were. Alfie supposedly was sleeping in the couch but as soon as Mrs. Coldwell went to sleep, he went to where he really wanted to be: his girlfriend's bed.

At sunrise, when she woke up, Lucy saw them sleeping together and smiled. They were cute. Alfie was still with his clothes on, meaning that they did nothing but sleep all night. But he was holding her tightly against him.

Lucy ask herself if one day she too, will be capable of experiencing that kind of love.

Probably. Life couldn't be just bad things right?

She could see the first rays of sunshine. No more rain. The thought of her father made her angry again but she decided not to think about him for now. She heard sounds in the kitchen, probably Mrs. Coldwell. Lucy put her clothes on again, left the nightgown on the bed and left the couple alone.

Lucy left the house before they had wake up. Watching the people around them and thinking about nothing in particular she barely noticed when she left the old Camden Town behind her. She put her hands in her pockets and smiled when she felt the penknife.

If his father in the future keep being an asshole, then she'd kill him. In her mind, the idea wasn't that crazy. She knew he deserved it. '"And run away"…Alfie was right, she needed to ran away. And for some reason, Birmingham sounded like a good place to start again.

Not now, but one day.

#alfie solomons #alfie x rose #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons x ofc #peaky blinders #lucy winters #my oc #friend's oc #au #←kinda

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rey-jake-therapist · 1 month

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Mrs Maisel

I'm discovering this wonderful show only now thanks to a friend who advised me to watch it.

I just wonder how come I never heard of it before, on Tumblr or Twitter when I was still there?! I'm hooked! Mrs Maisel's a lovely, talented, funny, and brave character, Susie is a rock, they want both to succeed in a man's world.... and it's a Jewish show, which just makes it even better 😁 The male characters? Uh I don't know, there's a couple of them, yeah.

Also I'm in love with Rachel Brosnahan ever since I saw her play a spy in The Blacklist.

#mrs maisel #rachel brosnahan #susie myerson #alex borstein

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ave09 · 10 months

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Oooh could you please write a fic where John Book (from Witness (1995)) has to hide out in a Jewish community and ends up falling in love with Jewish fem!Reader but this time he stays and marries her?

YES! pardon my french, but i fucking love john book! as much as i love han and indy, john is definitely my favorite harrison ford character and witness is my favorite harrison ford movie.

stronger

john book x jewish!reader

note; this is a long one and i apologize in advance, it got a lil sloppy at the end bc i was tired 😭, but this is 100% the best thing i’ve written for tumblr imo. also, i am not jewish and don’t know much about judaism, so i hope that this is somewhat realistic. might make a part two to this, we’ll see what happens

ALSO: I JUST WATCHED THE TWO HARRISON FORD JACK RYAN MOVIES—OH LORD IM IN LOVEEE

“ma’am. can you please tell me what you saw? is there anything you remember that you didn’t before?”

“i told you everything i know, officer.” you stated. it was true. despite the image’s continuing to pass through your mind, you couldn’t think of anything that you hadn’t mentioned.

“well, could you go over it again?” you huffed, glancing at the handsome officer seated in front of you, “i told you. i went to the washroom, someone was washing their hands. i entered the stall, locked the door as i did so, i noticed through the crack of the door, a black man and a white man entered the washroom. you know the rest.”

“tell me again.”

“i admire your persistence, mr. book, but i’ve told you about three times now.”

“well let me hear it again.” he said, hazel eyes staring intently at you. you sighed deeply, the images flashing through your mind rapidly as you spoke of them again.

“the white man covered the woman’s head with a jacket, strangling her, the other took out a knife, slitting her throat.”

“and then?”

“i only saw the black man’s face, but he and the white man left.”

john book nodded, his gaze flickering to the file on the desk in front of him. “and of all the men we’ve shown you, you haven’t recognized any?”

you shook your head, “it was only a glimpse, but i remember.” john pursed his lips, setting down the red pen in his hand before folding his hands before him, remaining silent.

you picked at your fingernails out of nervous habit, “mr. book, when will i be able to go home?” you questioned, “my father is waiting for me, i’m sure he’s worried sick.”

“i’m afraid we’re gonna have to keep you around for a little while longer, ma’am.” he replied, “but please, feel free to call your father, let him know you’ll be staying here a little while longer.” your eyes widened, “mr. book-“

“john is fine.”

“mr. book, i cannot stay!” you exclaimed, “i must go home!”

the man sent you a smirk, rising from his seat, “feel free to use denise’s phone, she’s right over there, now excuse me.” before you could even protest, the man rose quickly, walking away, leaving you alone in the crowded police station.

you huffed in annoyance, rising from

your own seat, turning to go to the desk that was used by a woman named denise. you walked past an awards display and paused, taking a moment to admire all the trophies.

and that’s what you saw it.

a picture of a man, a familiar man. you gasped softly, realizing where you knew him from.

he was the one in the bathroom.

the murderer.

“hey, aren’t you gonna call-“ john trailed off, noticing how tense you were, “you alright?” you pointed at the picture, “that’s him.”

“what?”

“the man from the bathroom. that’s him.”

— — — — — —

you sat in john’s small apartment, waiting for his return. he’d called earlier, claiming that you needed to pack your bags and he would take you home.

it was abrupt, concerning. but you did as he said anyways. your bags were packed and ready to go.

you wondered what caused the change of heart. as of this morning, he was still insisting you stick around. and now he was willing to send you back to your village.

it was all strange.

suddenly, john burst through the door, breathing heavily. you caught sight of red liquid blooming through his white button up shirt. your eyes widened, “mr. book-“

“get your stuff,” he panted, heading toward the bathroom, “mr. book!” you called, watching as the man leaned against the door, breathing deeply.

you cautiously moved towards him, placing a gentle hand upon his shoulder, “john.”

he finally glanced at you, hazel eyes swimming with worry. “are you okay?” you asked softly. he licked his lips, nodding, “fine. i’m fine.” and without another word, he slipped into the bathroom, leaving you to await his return.

— — — — — —

the drive to your village was silent, the only sound being the hum of the engine. you glanced up at the man in the driver’s seat. his face held a stoic expression, gaze fixated on the road ahead.

and yet he seemed troubled. you wished to ask what was bothering him, but refrained. surely you’d only irritate him further.

his large hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, turning it as the vehicle entered through the open gates of her community village. he continued driving until you spotted the familiar figures of your mother and father.

“stop here.”

but the car continued to roll forward.

you glanced over at john, only to see him

blinking slowly, his body tilting forward slightly. “john? john!” he slumped forward, the car continuing to move forward.

you could hear your father screaming, “look out!”

and before you knew it, the vehicle smashed into the large oak, smoke billowing from under the hood. thankfully, neither of you had received any injuries.

you immediately looked to john, trying to wake him. your eyes darted to the blood blooming through his shirt. you knew something was wrong! this had to be it! your fingers tugged on the fabric, ripping it away to get a better look at the wound.

it had been poorly bandaged, but considering the size, you assumed it to be a gunshot wound. your father rushed towards your side of the car, throwing the door open, “Bistu gut!?” (are you alright?)

“yo, ober er iz nisht! ikh darf rufn an ambulance!” (yes, but he’s not! i need you to call an ambulance!) you were so panicked that your two languages were mixing now.

john groaned, “no, no ambulance.” he muttered weakly. “what do you mean? you are hurt john, you need medical attention!”

“they’ll find me.”

you furrowed your brows, “who will find you?” you asked softly. the man let out a shakey sigh, taking your hand, giving it a firm squeeze, “no hospitals.”

you glanced at your father, “bet di mame zi zal tsugreytn meyn tsimer far im, bite.” (ask mama to prepare my room for him, please.)

your father shook his head, “mir kenen nit dem mentsh-“ (we don’t know this person.)

“papa please.” you begged, your voice cracking in desperation. your father hesitated for a moment before nodding, and rushing back to the house.

you turned back to john, holding his hand a little tighter, whispering, “just hold on.”

— — — — —

it had been two days since you and your family had taken john book into your home, and he’d yet to awaken.

you hadn’t left his side.

your mother was kind and had been taking care of him. she’d patched up his side and given him antibiotics to fight off the infection. but you had seen such a different side of him these past two days.

it was strange how such a strong person became weak in the matter of a second. john had been trembling, talking deliriously as the fever got to him. his dialogue spanned from threats to pleas. it was hard to watch.

“i’ll fucking kill you-back off.”

“don’t even try it, don’t fucking try it.”

“just let me die. i’ve got nothin’ to live for.”

“you wanna kill me? go for it, put me out of my damn misery.”

your mother tried to will you to leave him during these times, but you refused. at one point, it was getting so bad that you moved to leave, but then he called your name.

it was soft, a whimper. one could barely make it out, but he said it. so you stayed.

it was the third morning when he finally awoke. you had fallen asleep in the chair beside the bed, completely exhausted.

but your eyes had fluttered open to see john gazing at you. you couldn’t fight the smile that spread across your lips, “hi john.” you greeted, leaning forward.

“hi doll.” he replied, his voice soft. “how are you feeling?”

“shitty.” you suppressed a laugh, “you pulled through, we didn’t know if you’d make it.”

“well i’m a survivor, that’s what i do.”

you rose from your seat, moving towards the door, “i’ll let my mother know you’re up, so we can get you some real food.” as you turned the corner, he called you back, “hey-“

you peeked around the doorway, “yes?”

“thank you, for saving my life.”

you smiled softly, “you’re welcome.” and without another word, exited the room.

— — — — — —

a week or so had passed since john came to stay in your home, and he’d quickly grown accustomed to your lifestyle. being jewish, you had specific rules you had to follow.

one could not mix milk and meat, one could not eat pork, one must not profane God’s name and so many more.

but john was doing his best to follow them all.

but there was one rule that he was struggling to follow, and it wasn’t one set by the jewish community, but by your father.

stay away from my daughter.

you didn’t know about this rule of course, which led you to spend more time with the man.

and in all honesty… you were falling for him.

maybe it was his devilishly handsome looks, his charm and charisma, his dedication to pleasing your community.

there was no doubt about it, your feelings grew stronger every time you were around him.

little did you know, he was feeling the very same way.

sparks were flying, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

one night, you were in your room, saying your prayers, when someone knocked. “who is it?” you called.

“john.”

“come in.”

the door creaked open to reveal the handsome man, he sent you a smile as he approached the bed, “can i..?”

“yes, sit.” he did so, the mattress dipped slightly. he glanced at you, noticing your folded hands. “was i interrupting?”

“oh, it’s fine-“

“no, no, go ahead, you can continue.” smiling softly, you closed your eyes to continue praying, but paused.

you opened them again, looking up at the man, “would you like to pray with me?” john seemed surprised to say the least, but, he nodded, “uh, yeah, sure.”

you watched as he folded his hands, bowing his head, eyes closed. you did the same, reciting a nightly prayer, “Praised are You, Adonai, our God, Ruler of the universe, who closes my eyes in sleep, my eyelids in slumber.

May it be Your will, Adonai, My God and the God of my ancestors, to lie me down in peace..”

unbeknownst to you, john had opened his eyes and was watching you-no-admiring you as you spoke. john had tried his best to keep his feelings out of this situation.. but he couldn’t help but fall for you.

you were everything he wasn’t, and it worked so well. you were all he needed. and he wanted you more then anything.

you had finished up your prayer, opening your eyes to find john staring at you. you tilted your head, eyes narrowing in confusion, “what?”

the man remained silent, but instead, scooted closer to you. your furrowed your brows, “john?”

the way he was looking at you now was overwhelming, and yet you yearned for more. slowly, he leaned in, hazel eyes darting to your lips.

you were waiting, waiting for him to make a move. but he stilled, as though nervous.

‘just kiss me.’

unable to control yourself, you tilted your head upwards, capturing his lips in a short kiss. you pulled away quickly, seeing how he hadn’t reciprocated the action.

worry set in, had you misread the signs? immediately you rose, “i-i’m sorry,” you went to move towards the door, but felt a large hand catch your wrist, whirling you back around, “come back here,” he mumbled before smashing his lips against yours.

the act caught you by the surprise, but it didn’t take you long to melt into it, your arms snaking around his neck, his muscular arms holding your waist.

it was the most intimate thing you’d ever done, and you wanted so much more of it.

— — — — — —

a few days had passed since john kissed you, or you kissed him. and you two of you had been doing everything you could to hide your “relationship.” sneaking kisses behind your family’s back, although, unbeknownst to you, your mother had caught you and john once, but had said nothing. happy to know you’d found someone who truly cared about you.

it was a fun little fantasy, and you enjoyed every second of it.

but it came too an end too quickly.

john had finally tried to contact his partner, a nice man named elton carter, had been killed.

and that is when you received the news.

“go back? you’re leaving?”

he nodded, “yeah, tomorrow morning.” his voice was low, sad. he truly didn’t want to leave—he didn’t want to leave you.

“will you come back?” you knew why he had to go, but you could only hope he might return.

“i’ll try.”

you felt tears sting your eyes, “i don’t want you to go, john.” you whispered, your voice cracking. he smiled softly, stepping towards you, engulfing you in a tight embrace.

your body shook as you broke down in sobs, burying your head into his chest. “why must you go..?”

“i know. i know.” he rested his head upon your head, “it will work out. i promise.” he whispered, pecking the top of your head.

that is how you spent the rest of the night. he laid with you, holding you close. cherishing every second with you… unaware of the terrors that would await in the morning.

— — — — — —

you awoke alone. you heard john downstairs, surely preparing to leave.

you wished to bid him off. you quickly got out of bed, for once not carrying that you were still in the same clothes from the night before.

you hurried down the stairs, trying to keep your emotions in check, but was surprised to find john standing there, looking shaken.

you immediately knew that something was wrong.

“what’s the matter?”

“they’re here. they found me.” you felt panic set in immediately. “h-how?” “i don’t know, but you gotta-“

“book!”

your father and mother suddenly appeared by the staircase, worry in their eyes, “what’s going on? book, who are those people?”

he turned to them, “i need you both to hide, go out the back, find someplace safe.” they didn’t hesitate to run off. he glanced at you, “go with them.”

you shook your head, “no.”

“doll, now is not the time to be stubborn-“

“book! we know you’re in there!”

“john, i’m not leaving you alone with them!”

the man retrieved his handgun from the waistband of his pants, retrieving ammo from his pocket, “don’t you understand? they are going to try and kill me, they’ll try and hurt you too.”

“then i go down fighting.”

“no!”

“book!” they were at the door now.

you and john each exchanged wide eyed glances before you beckoned him upstairs. he followed quickly. the two of you entered your bedroom just as you heard the door break open downstairs. the only way out would be through the window and jumping off of the roof, which was somewhat safe considering the grass could cushion the fall.

you threw open the window, beckoning him forward, but he shook his head, “you first! i’ll meet you on the ground!”

you didn’t argue, but climbed out the window, careful not to hurt yourself. you then began to crawl towards the edge of the roof, when you heard a scuffle.

someone had found him. everything in you told you to turn back, to help, but what could you do? you had no weapon, you hardly knew how to fight. . so you continued on. you were about to jump off the edge, when a gunshot echoed throughout the air.

you whipped around, waiting to see who exited the window. praying it would be john.

a wave of relief washed over you as you spotted the man. he was alive, he was okay.

now assured that he was safe, you jumped down, landing on your backside, which wasn’t too painful considering the fluffy grass your father worked so hard to maintain.

as you rose, you caught sight of a man, who was now rushing towards you. you ran, but he was faster. he practically tackled you, confining you from moving. you thrashed, shouting, “john!”

he was standing on the roof, eyes widening at the sight. “no!”

you called his name again, but paused midway, feeling the cold metal of the barrel of a gun against your temple.

you were more afraid then ever. you watched as john jumped off, tucking and rolling somehow before rushing toward you.

“don’t come any closer!” the man holding you shouted, pressing the gun harder against your head.

“she has nothing to do with it, paul, let her go.” john was oddly calm. if only you knew how scared he was in that moment knowing that in the blink of an eye, he could lose you.

“i’ll kill her, back the fuck up, book!”

john shook his head, “no you won’t. mcphee’s dead, he’s the real murderer. you think you can kill am innocent woman, paul?”

you could feel the man, who you now knew to be paul, trembling.

“you can’t do it. you’re weak, always have been. and you know it.” john snarled.

“drop the gun and let her go.”

the man adjusted his grip on the gun in hand, and you closed your eyes in fear, terrified of what could happen.

and then he dropped the gun.

and he let you go.

you stumbled forward, but john was there to catch you. he pulled you close, kissing you more passionately then ever before. he then pulled away, hugging you to his chest.

“it’s okay. you’re safe now… it’s over.”

— — — — — —

john book was a free man. free to return to the station. they’d assign him a new partner and he’d continue on.

but how was he supposed to leave you?

you sat on the porch, watching him walk to his car, which he’d fixed himself whilst staying with you. he’d said his goodbyes, thanked your family for their help.

there was nothing else to do… was there?

he pulled open the door, climbing into the drivers seat, closing it behind him.

and you still sat there. waiting for something, anything to happen. you watched as he pulled out onto the road, and began to drive away.

you couldn’t believe it.

he’d really left.

with a heavy heart, you sighed, rising from the porch steps, moving towards the door to return inside-

but the sounds of tires screeching caught your attention. you turned, to see john’s car whipping around, screeching to a halt in front of your home.

the man then threw the door open, running toward you, practically jumping up the porch steps. his hands flew to your waist, lifting you up slightly as he kissed you hard.

the fireworks were there once again as he spun you around, your lips dancing in sync with his.

he then set you down, pulling away, his signature crooked grin upon his lips. “what-i-i don’t understand.” you were breathless due to the intensity of the kiss.

“i want you.”

you were taken aback. “what?”

“you. i want you-i want to be with you.” he clarified, cupping your face with his large hands as he kissed you again.

“i love you. and i want to be with you. i don’t give a damn what i have to do-hell, i’ll even convert to judaism if i have too-“

you kissed him, silencing his rambling. a moment passed and you pulled away, smiling softly, “i love you too, john.”

he let out a surprised chuckle, as though he couldn’t believe you felt the same way.

“yeah?”

you nodded, “yeah.” he then kissed you again, and again, and again, as though he was incapable of stopping.

funny how such a horrid tragedy could turn into such a beautiful love story, never would you expect for such a thing to happen.

and yet it had for you and john. and you had never been happier.

#harrison ford x reader #young harrison ford #harrison ford #harrison ford movies #witness movie #john book #han solo #indiana jones #indiana jones x reader #han solo x reader #this is literally the best thing i’ve written in a hot min

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zablife · 2 years

Note

4.) “I wish we could just run away!” The Great Gatsby Prompt

How you doing today Lee and maybe I request either maybe Thomas Shelby or maybe Alfie Solomon’s for this prompt ideas?? Please and thank you and congrats on again your 1k followers that is super exciting ✨🙌🏼😍🤎 I hope your having a fun and celebrated day

Prompt-"I wish we could just run away!" w/ Alfie

“One more kiss, dove,” Alfie pleaded, pressing you against the rough bricks lining the dark alley. You giggled as you strained to reach his handsome face. He looped a strong arm around your waist to bring you closer to his waiting lips and you unconsciously moaned into him as his warm breath radiated over you in one final goodnight kiss.

You weren’t sure how this kept happening, but Alfie always managed to coax a few more minutes from you before you scurried off home to your parents. It usually meant a scolding from your mother as dinner sat cooling on the table, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. A wonderful man loved you and you loved him in return. There was only one problem, your father would have locked you away in your room forever if he knew you were dating a member of the local Jewish gang much less the head of it.

Over the past few months your parents had encouraged you to consider proposals from several eligible bachelors, all of whom were upstanding members of the community. To their dismay, you had refused every one, finding some flaw that made each man unsuitable for your hand. However, you knew you couldn’t continue this charade forever. You would have to tell them about Alfie sooner rather than later.

With a lightness to your step and stars in your eyes, you entered the dining room only to be met by an unpleasant sight. It seemed your parents had invited Leonard Roth, a brutish young man you had known since childhood, now a successful businessman. He was by far the wealthiest suitor you'd had, but his manners were sorely lacking. You'd spent several dates fighting with him even though you knew your mother would be appalled by your behavior. Although Alfie had thoroughly enjoyed your retelling of events and praised you for standing up for yourself.

You stopped short at the sight of Leonard, remembering how you'd refused his proposal six weeks ago. Arriving home in tears from your last date with him, you informed your parents he was condescending and arrogant. You intended to remind them of this fact, but before you could open your mouth, your father took an unusually harsh tone with you.

"Y/n, this foolishness of you refusing proposals has gone on long enough. Mr. Roth has been gracious enough to forgive your insults and is still willing to marry you. Your mother and I have accepted on your behalf," he said sharply and you knew he would not accept any arguments on the matter.

You stood before the table speechless, tears beginning to well in your eyes as you studied the smug grin on Leonard's face. "He's willing to forgive me?" you asked incredulously. Deciding you would never stand for this, you found the courage to run and you didn't look back, even as your mother called after you. You didn't stop running until you reached the distillery, hoping Alfie would still be there working.

"What the fuck is it now, Ollie?" he grumbled, before realizing you were the one standing before him. He paused for a moment, eyes scanning your tear stained face and heaving chest. "Pet, what's happened?" he asked, standing to slowly make his way to you. He ran a hand over your cheek and you swallowed the lump in your throat, as you searched his eyes.

"It's my parents. They're demanding I marry that awful Leonard Roth," you confessed.

Alfie's eyes darkened and his voice lowered as he replied, "That fuckin' cunt again."

A tear rolled down your cheek and Alfie wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. "Alfie, what am I going to do?" you sobbed into his shirt front.

He stroked your hair gently as he mumbled, "Well you ain't marrying Leonard fucking Roth, right? Cause you're my girl," he said, holding you firmly to his body. You breathed in the scent of him and it calmed you.

Running a hand along his broad back, you whispered, "I wish we could just run away."

Alfie pulled you away from him and looked into your eyes. "What did you say?" he asked with furrowed brow. You bit your lip wondering if you'd asked too much of him. Perhaps he wasn't as serious about you as you thought and you silently cursed yourself for outing your secret desire. However, you'd already said it and now all you could do was repeat yourself, hoping he felt the same.

"I said, I wish we could run away. I want to be with you, Alfie," you said in a loud, clear voice so he understood your intentions.

He broke into a grin and your heart felt as though it would burst as he replied, "Fuckin' hell, dove. Then let's do it. Marry me!"

🍾 Spill champagne~Request a juicy blurb that will make you spill your drink using this drama prompt list.

Written for my 1K celebration.

#zablife1K #Alfie Solomons blurb #Alfie Solomons fanfic #Alfie Solomons x reader #Alfie Solomons x you #Alfie Solomons x y/n

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throwawaydracula · 2 years

Text

The reaction to Stoker transcribing accents/dialects is just so fascinating to me because it's really not that uncommon in older English language pop fiction. Here's a bit of The Pickwick Papers, by Charles Dickens.

‘Wery glad to hear it,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Poetry’s unnat’ral; no man ever talked poetry ‘cept a beadle on boxin’-day, or Warren’s blackin’, or Rowland’s oil, or some of them low fellows; never you let yourself down to talk poetry, my boy. Begin agin, Sammy.’

If you're wondering what the hell kind of English accent does that v/w shift, the answer is 1830s Cockney, although apparently Dickens did miss the mark himself just a bit. George Bernard Shaw had this to say about it:

“When I came to London in 1876, the Sam Weller dialect had passed away so completely that I should have given it up as a literary fiction if I had not discovered it surviving in a Middlesex village, and heard of it from an Essex one.”

Shaw also cited James Elphinstone's translation of Martial into the phonetic Cockney of the late 1780s:

Ve have at length resoom’d our place, And can, vith doo distinction, set; Nor ve, the great and wulgar met. Ve dooly can behould the play, Sence ve in no confusion lay.

Note here Elphinstone's convention of rendering 'u' with a double 'o', which Stoker also uses. Going back to Shaw, one of the more amusing notes in the play Pygmalion is attached to Eliza Doolittle's opening line:

THE FLOWER GIRL. Ow, eez ye-ooa san, is e? Wal, fewd dan y’ de-ooty bawmz a mather should, eed now bettern to spawl a pore gel’s flahrzn than ran awy atbaht pyin. Will ye-oo py me f’them? [Here, with apologies, this desperate attempt to represent her dialect without a phonetic alphabet must be abandoned as unintelligible outside London.]

I concede that Stoker leans harder into this attempt at capturing Cockney than he needs to; yes, Thomas Bilder's accent comes across a bit cartoony. Dickens didn't lean quite as hard, and Shaw just gave up after giving an example. It just wasn't particularly beyond the pale. I mean, look at this bit of 17th century West Country dialect from Lorna Doone, published about ten years before Dracula:

“I wor over to Exeford in the morning,” John began from the chimney-corner, looking straight at Annie; “for to zee a little calve, Jan, as us cuddn't get thee to lave houze about. Meesus have got a quare vancy vor un, from wutt her have heer'd of the brade. Now zit quite, wull 'e Miss Luzzie, or a 'wunt goo on no vurder. Vaine little tayl I'll tull' ee, if so be thee zits quite. Wull, as I coom down the hill, I zeed a saight of volks astapping of the ro-udwai. Arl on 'em wi' girt goons, or two men out of dree wi' 'em. Rackon there wor dree score on 'em, tak smarl and beg togather laike; latt aloun the women and chillers; zum on em wi' matches blowing, tothers wi' flint-lacks. 'Wutt be up now?' I says to Bill Blacksmith, as had knowledge of me: 'be the King acoomin? If her be, do 'ee want to shutt 'un?'

Note that R. D. Blackmore was dead serious about capturing this dialect. He did intensive, painstaking research. The point was not to mock these characters, it was to try to capture, through language choices, a spirit and mood particular to a time and place. It matters who has this dialect and who doesn't in the narrative. While Stoker didn't have such lofty ambitions, don't think the point is to mock either. I think it's Stoker trying to do the old 'capturing local colour' thing. He wasn't alone in that. Off the top of my head, Sholem Aleichem transcribed a Jewish German's accent phonetically in some story whose title escapes me in order to differentiate him from the Eastern European Jewish characters with whom he identified. I've seen people hammer Brian Jacques (a much more modern writer) for the same thing Stoker's doing, and I guess it's just been normalized for me. Do know if you go on reading fiction from the place and period-- especially pop fiction not intended as high art, like Dracula-- you will encounter more of this kind of thing. It was a convention. Conventions come and go.

#dracula daily #comparative literature #dracula daily meta #long post #incidentally 'atbaht' seems to be a misrendering of 'athaht'#but i'm going with what's written on the project gutenberg version

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no-one-fuck-a-man · 2 years

Text

Berry Blues

Season Two

Part Ten - (A Very Glee Christmas) To Keep Santa Alive

Quinn Fabray x Reader

Summary: With Christmas brought a mission, to keep Brittany’s innocent belief alive and well. Which also brought along a face that seemed familiar to you, and your heart making you feel things.

Word Count: 6,662

WARNINGS: Creepy Santa, slight “flashing”, anger, jealousy, talks of sex, flying shoes, and longing.

-----

Festive vibes flowed through the halls of Wiliam McKinley High School.

You, unlike your parents and sister, weren't Jewish. So, you took relish in the season, loving Christmas for all its festivities, whilst also celebrating Hannukah with your family. However, your sister still loved -and practised- the gift-giving that was involved in the holiday.

So, the season just became one blended holiday for your family. Light the Hannukah candles, exchange presents, modestly decorate -unless it was your room- and have a stereotypical Jewish dinner on Christmas Day that consisted of Chinese food.

It may be confusing to some, but it worked pretty well for your family, and that's all that mattered to you.

With a bright smile, you wandered up to where Artie and Brittany were decorating the boy's locker for the season.

And in true Brittany fashion, she said something shocking just before you could voice their greeting.

"Last year, I left my stocking up over Christmas vacation, and an entire family of mice started living in it."

"Man, this school is a dump," you said after blinking a few times at the girl's statement.

Artie hummed, nodding up at you.

"Their Christmas gift to each other was rabies."

"I take it back. This school is a hazard."

Taking that as the perfect chance to change the subject, Artie began, "I told my parents that I only want one thing for Christmas this year, stop friend-requesting me on Facebook."

"Huh?" you voiced, confused by Brittany's question. If it were anyone else, you would have just assumed it was meant playfully, as a means of trying to find out what the boy wanted, to gift it to him later. But you knew better than to think that the cheerleader meant anything other than what she blatantly said.

"I'm sorry?" her boyfriend asked after a pause, still thinking that she would suddenly say "gotcha!" and laugh with him at her childish question. But was only met with a serious stare in return.

"Artie, the roads to the North Pole are getting treacherous," she explained, "You need to write your letter to Santa really fast and get it in the mail today. You too, Y/N. And remember, even the smallest envelope is heavy for an elf."

Sighing at the girl with a smile, you leaned over and pulled her in to give her a kiss on her temple. "I love you, Brittany." Pulling back, you nodded to her. "I'll write my letter as soon as I get home."

"Good. I love you, too." And with a peck on her boyfriend's cheek, she walked away.

"No way," Artie breathed, still in his shocked state at finding out her belief in Old St. Nick.

"I probably should have expected it from Brittany." You shrugged.

---

Finn was useless.

I mean... what else was new? But this was surprising, and yet, entirely believable.

There the boy sat, looking down dumbly at the wrapped gift in his lap as he tried to tie a ribbon around it. And failing each time. Which only made you wonder how in the hell he managed to tie his laces every day.

Then you remembered that you spent almost two hours teaching him when you were thirteen, and everything clicked into place.

So, while everyone sang around you, you had a show watching the boy and stealing pieces of popcorn Santana was stringing together. Gaining a light smack from the girl every time she caught you.

Santana soon abandoned the popcorn decoration momentarily in favour of using the ribbon upon the piano to tie a bow around your head.

It was when you were all gathered around the sparse, haphazardly decorated tree that Mr Schuester walked into the choir room. A much smaller, fuller, and pre-decorated tree in his hands.

"Hey, guys. What's this?"

"Oh, we're trying to get into the Christmas spirit, Mr Schue," Finn said, "Christmas is totally my favourite holiday. And check out this awesome tree. I found it on the side of the road. It must have fell off some guy's car."

"And the ornaments?" the teacher inquired.

"The guy who lives next door finally killed off his elderly mother," Santana stated, almost off-handedly, "And when they carted him off, they left the house, like, wide open, so... I think she was a holiday hoarder."

"Okay, what?" you asked, "So, not only are these possible crime scene ornaments, they could also possibly be haunted? That's just great. Merry Christmas, everybody!"

Deciding to ignore all of.. that. Mr Schuester pressed on, "Uh- A- And the presents?"

Puck spoke up next, "Oh, I lifted them from a display at the mall." Then realising how that sounded, and afraid to get into trouble again, he rushed to explain, "But, don't worry, they're empty."

"Guys, I appreciate the effort, but this isn't what Christmas is supposed to be like."

"For us, it is," Mercedes remarked, peering up at the tree, "This tree is like a mascot for Glee Club. We won Sectionals two years in a row, and according to everyone at this school, we still suck."

Having flashbacks to earlier that day, Mike stated, "I'm pretty sure they just added food colouring from real slush from the parking lot."

"You can eat that, you know?"

You shook your head at Zizes. "No."

"No," Mr Schuester repeated your word, but not for the health hazard, but instead the group's attitudes, "No. I am not gonna let you guys throw yourselves a pity party. Look, I'm the first one to say that things haven't turned out exactly how I would have liked them to this year." You rolled your eyes lightly at the man, at his obvious reference to the fact he wasn't in a relationship with your school's guidance counsellor. How you, a teenager, were handling basically the same situation better than an adult man was beyond you. "But Christmas is all about being grateful for the things that did."

"I thought that was Thanksgiving?"

You pointed a finger at Puck in agreement. Only for you both to go ignored by your teacher. The man started up his now excited words.

"And this year, Glee Club is gonna lend a hand to the McKinney-Vento Homeless Children and Youth Program right here in Lima."

"Awesome," you smiled happily at the aspect of helping in-need kids, with your hands buried deep into your jacket's fluffy pockets.

"How are we gonna do that?" your sister asked.

"The only way we know how. By singing about it," the teacher replied, thinking it was obvious, "We're gonna go classroom to classroom carolling to raise money for McKinney-Vento."

Your smile dropped. "Not awesome."

"Wait. Classrooms in this school with like students in them?" Tina asked the man.

"Well, if there are no students in them, there will be no one to put money in the collection box, while we sing."

"Oh, so you want us to die?" you laughed sarcastically.

"I agree," Quinn spoke, "We're gonna be killed."

And that was the point that Finn decided it was time for one of his pep-talk speeches.

"No, guys, it's Christmas, a time for miracles. We gotta try this."

"Teacher's pet," you coughed into your elbow.

"Finn's right."

"Favouritism," another cough at Mr Schuester's words.

"So! Let's start rehearsing. This year, Glee Club's going full Santa." Then he switched the tiny tree's lights on to emphasise his point.

---

Decked out in matching red sweaters and green scarves, you stood, swaying side to side, with the rest of your club at the front of the class. As the students hurled insults everyone's way.

Everything from, "You suck!" To "You're making me hate Christmas!" Along with criticisms like, "Who goes carolling with a band?" And "I'd seriously rather be learning."

And you thought the students' grinchy attitudes would be the worst of it.

That is until a show was hurled at the group, from the teacher no less, landing with a clatter on the band's small drum.

So, after high-tailing it out of there as the students continued to lash insults at the club, while you were dragged along by Brittany and Santana so that you wouldn't confront the Astronomy teacher, you were once again in the choir room. Popcorn garlands thrown over your shoulders, giving you perfect access to munch on the snack as others decorated the tree. And your sister, of course, ranted.

"I can't believe that that teacher let those students speak to us like that."

"I can't believe she threw her shoe at us."

At Puck's words, you raised your hands in a stressing motion, line of popcorn decoration hanging out of your mouth, as your spoke, "She threw a shoe at us."

"I guess we're done carolling," Tina stated, moving forward to hand the popcorn you weren't devouring onto the tree.

"No, we're not," Finn said, "Guys, we can't let what just happened ruin our Christmas spirit."

"Oh, so you want us to chance getting knocked out by a shoe again?" you sassed.

"Mr Schue got us this beautiful tree to inspire us," the tall boy argued back.

"That was really nice of him," you admitted in a mumble. Then you shuddered. "Man, that felt weird to say."

"We're gonna practice now and gear up for round two tomorrow."

"With shields, hopefully."

"Pretty soon, no one will bully us."

"That right, Britt?"

"Yeah." The ditzy blonde beamed at you. "Santa Claus can do anything, and this year I asked for the Glee Club to stop getting picked on."

Your heart melted at her caring nature for the club and her friends. While the others regarded her as if she had grown a second, festive-themed head.

"She's kidding, right?" Lauren asked, stealing some popcorn of her own from the large bowl upon Mike's lap.

"Guys, this is serious. Listen up," Artie called everyone over softly, as to not notify the cheerleader gazing at the decorations in her hands, "Brittany still believes in Santa Claus."

"Hey, shut up," you jumped in to defend your friend as a few of the club laughed at her childish beliefs, "I think it's sweet."

"You cannot be serious," Mercedes spoke to Artie sceptically.

"Last week, Brittany believed a comb had magic powers," Sam added, "This is kind of a pattern."

"She's gonna find out sooner or later," Quinn said.

"Why?"

Before Quinn could reply to your question, Zizes piped up.

"Okay, somebody needs to break the news to her."

They all turned to Puck.

Surprisingly the delinquent boy was quick to back out of their assuming stares.

"Nu-huh, don't look at me. I mean, I'm cruel and all, but that's just hard-core."

Then all eyes turned to you.

You gave a large sarcastic laugh. "As if. I know I'm blunt and will do the hard things if I have to, but ain't no way in hell am I doing that. And anyway, I think it's sweet. So what she believes in Santa, what harm is it doing?"

"Right?" Artie's tone was thankful for your words, "That's my point. Hear me out. You remember when you were a kid, and how excited you would get when you would think about Santa Claus? How awesome it was? Christmas was the highlight of the year. Why wouldn't you wanna keep someone's world magical for a little while longer?"

"How?" Mike asked.

"I've got it all figured out."

"Oh... why don't I like the sound of that?"

---

This is why you didn't like the sound of Artie's plan.

Ho-Ho-Holy shit.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," you mumbled, watching as an excited Brittany bounced on her toes as a portion of the Glee Club waited in line to sit on Santa's lap.

Something in the back of your head pushed the image of you and Quinn bringing a baby Beth to sit on Santa's lap right now, probably along with your friends, if she had chosen to raise the baby with you. Quickly, however, you shook the fleeting thought from your brain. Silently wondering to yourself if that was going to happen for every family moment like this. And how much worse it must be for Quinn.

Luckily, before you could dwell on that, Brittany's voice pulled you from the crevices of your mind.

"Can I be honest?" she asked, leaning closer to the middle-aged woman playing an elf, her voice lowering into a conspiring whisper, "I don't understand the difference between an elf and a slave."

Pushing forward, you leaned around the blonde's shoulder to speak to the elf yourself.

"Yeah, neither do I. One of my dads is black, so I take offence to this. Actually, everyone should." The woman had a blank look as she manoeuvred away. "Hey, lady, don't walk away! We made the underground railroad once. We can do it again! She'll come around," you finished, turning to Brittany.

"Come here," Santana hissed, tugging you away from Brittany. When suddenly, the toy helicopter flying overhead began crash landing and cries sounded from the people gathered.

But now, let's remember that you were awesome.

So, on instinct, you reached your palm out and caught the thing as it fell behind you.

With a bright smile and toy still in hand, you turned to the blonde cheerleader.

"Hey, Quinn. Quinn!"

"What?"

"I finally got my Spider-Man powers!" You pointed at the toy with your free hand, referencing the conversation you had with her the previous year, gaining a playful eye roll from the girl in return.

After handing the chopper off to one of the workers, you called over to Mine, who was already smiling brightly at you, "I'm gonna call them my 'Y/N-Senses'." Then began mimicking Spider-Man's actions to shoot webs, overdramatically, mouth sound effects fully included. Gaining a laugh from Santana, who was quick to pull your moving mars down before you ended up accidentally hitting somebody.

"I'm not sitting on that guy's lap," Quinn told the mastermind of this whole ordeal, Artie, "Santa's labs are always really warm, and it's creepy."

"We all have to sit on Santa's lap," Artie countered.

"Even my gay ass?"

"Yes, Y/N, even your "gay ass"," the boy continued, "If Brittany sees that we all still believe, it'll make her strong enough to withstand all the Santa naysayers in the world."

"Which is everyone over the age of six," Sam pointed out.

"That's not true. I believed in Santa till I was like ten. My dad's thought it was cute, even if they were Jewish."

"You still believed in Santa at that age, but you didn't believe you were related to anyone in your family because you thought you were the only cool one," Quinn chuckled.

You shrugged. "I don't know what to tell ya'."

"I'm pretty sure this isn't gonna work. That gut doesn't even look like Santa."

As Tina spoke, your eyes squinted over to the man acting as Santa.

"Santa can be black," you notified. Look still on your face as you cocked your head to the side, still evaluating the man, "He looks a lot like my uncle Terry. Well, my cousin, but that's just what we called him."

"Is it?" Santana asked.

"Nah. He moved up to Maine like three years ago."

"Uh... how can that guy look like your uncle?" Sam asked curiously.

"One of my dad's is black."

"Guys, focus," Artie pulled everyone back on track, "Trust me. All Brittany's gonna see is the suit. She wants to believe in him. Mercedes, get up there."

The girl rolled her eyes at what she was about to do. All the while, Brittany chanted, "Go, Mercedes. Go, Mercedes, go."

Sitting on the random man's lap, she played it up for the blonde girl watching.

"I've been a very good girl, Santa. I want a pony and a doll that laughs and cries, and-"

That was until she wasn't.

"One of us smells like McDonald's."

"Now I want McDonald's."

Next up was Lauren Zizes. Who instantly began twirling strands of the fake beard around her finger.

"I would like Puckerman to love me. He's a fox. I would also like sweet potato fries."

Then it was Santana's turn.

The Latina sat across the man's lap, legs folded over one another as he held onto her.

"I want bling. I can't be more specific than that. Okay, wait. Hold up. Please tell me that is a roll of Certs in your pocket."

Your eyes widened as Santana began removing herself from the man's lap, face contorted into one of disgust.

"Nope!" was all you said before rushing forward, scooping the cheerleader over your shoulder and carrying her away from the "Santa Claus".

The girl squealed, smacking at your back, "Y/N, put me down! Everyone can see up my skirt!"

Peering 'round your eyes widened yet again when you found she was right. Quickly you placed her onto the ground, only for her to push your shoulders lightly.

"Your turn," Santana said, straightening out her uniform and pulling her pony tighter.

"You... want me to show everyone my ass?"

"No." She then pointed to the waiting man. "Lap time."

"Do I have to?" you whined.

Another firm push to your chest. "Go."

So, with a sigh, you made your way over to sit on Santa's lap. All the while, missing Santana, smugly, whispering into Quinn's ear.

"It's really hot when they use their strength in bed." Only pissing the Fabray off further.

Pointing down at the man's crotch, you silently asked him a question, receiving a hasty shake of the head in return. Taking that at face value, you moved to sit on his lap whilst still keeping your feet firmly on the ground.

Quinn was right. His lap really was warm.

"You look a hell of a lot like my uncle Terry," was the first thing you said, "Meh, you're my surrogate uncle Terry now. Hey, when does the Holiday Armadillo get here? Because my family is Jewish, and my sister's a bit of a bitch- She cheated on her boyfriend. So I kinda wanna put in a good word for her-"

"Y/N!" your name was hissed from your group of friends, only to find that Mercedes was the one to scold you.

"What?"

A gesture over to Santa in return.

"Oh right, Christmas stuff. You know what I really want for Christmas? To get off your lap." You moved to stand, raising your arms up, as you walked back to your friends. "Oh, well, would you look at that? I got my Christmas wish." You pulled Quinn past you. "Your turn, blondie."

With a light glare over her shoulder towards you, she was the next "victim" of Santa's warm-ass lap.

"Do you have anything for stretch marks?"

Then Sam.

"Chapstick. Lots of Chapstick."

Mike.

"I want Channing Tatum to stop being in stuff."

Tina.

"When does Asian Santa arrive?"

And then, finally, the girl of the hour.

Brittany S. Pierce.

But before she did, she spoke to the elf one last time.

"Just know you have rights."

"Elf rights!" you exclaimed, fists flying into the air. Only for Mercedes' to tug it down, trying to push away her laughter.

"What's your name?" Santa asked as soon as Brittany parked on his lap.

"Brittany." She smiled. "You've gotten really tan."

"Well, that's because, at the North Pole, there's a hole in the Ozone."

The cheerleader giggled. "You're amazing. I know you're really busy, so I only want one thing for Christmas. Do you see my boyfriend over there?" she asked, pointing over to Artie. Giving the man a helping hand, you pointed down at the boy as he waved, "For Christmas, I want him to be able to walk."

"What?"

"You can do that, can't you, Santa?"

You vigorously shook your head at the man, joined by some members of your wary-looking group.

"Sure."

"What the hell, uncle Ter- Santa?!" You couldn't stop yourself from reacting.

"I'm on it."

"Thank you so much, Santa."

"Now we're screwed," Artie stated as Brittany hugged the acting man.

Throwing your arms into the air, you turned to walk away from your friends, frustration building up inside of you.

"I'm going to go get a pretzel."

"I'll come with you."" Santana jogged up to your side, sending Quinn a cocky wink over her shoulder as she folded her arm into yours. As soon as you were far enough away, she asked, "You wanna have a quickie in a dressing room?"

You groaned lightly.

"You know exactly what I want for Christmas."

---

"Why am I always being dragged into the boy's locker room?" you whined, as, this time, Mike was the perpetrator of your pain.

"We need to convince Beiste to help us, "Artie said, "The more people, the better."

And that's how you were made to sit along the boys, as the football coach stood before you.

"Are you guys punking me? I thought we were cool after you sang me that song... minus Y/N."

"This is serious, coach," Artie pressed.

"Remember when you were a kid, the way you felt when you came downstairs on Christmas morning and seeing that Santa had come?"

"I do love Santa Claus," she admitted with a smile, "One year, I asked him for a full set of free weights. Kept asking my dad, "How did Santa get those seventy-five-pound dumbbells down the chimney?" Should've suspected something when dad was in traction until the end of January."

"Your dad sounds awesome."

"He is." Beiste nodded to you.

"Well, you've got the perfect Santa body type."

You pushed the boy's head as his coach warned him with a pointed finger.

"Watch it, Puckerman."

"Look, we rented the suit. All you need to do is put it on."

"Just tell her that you can't give her the gift of me walking this year," Artie added to Sam's words.

"That seems so harsh and not at all like Santa."

"She asked Santa for the impossible, me walking again. If Christmas morning comes around and I'm not dancing in Glee Club rehearsal with no personal explanation from her idol, she's gonna lose faith in Old St. Nick, and we can't have that."

"Wait... we have rehearsal on Christmas morning?" you asked cluelessly.

However, Sam voiced a solution to the whole Santa problem, as you awaited your answer.

"Tell her the elves are working on it. Elves have awesome cord blood for stem cell research. But these advances are a few years away."

"Yeah." You nodded. "Just tell her this wish had to be pushed back a little while, but she can make a new one in the meantime... as long as it's not impossible."

"Okay," the coach gave in with a soft voice, pleasing Artie. So much so that the relief could be heard in his voice.

"Great. And then we need you to break into her house."

"What?! N-No way!"

"The back door will be open. I talked to her parents. They really want her to believe too."

"I'm pretty sure her dad still does."

Well... that was as all 'round successful trip.

---

The last time you felt this angry was when Kurt was terrified, thanks to Karofsky's harrasment against him. And you ended up beating him into a pulp.

Arms crossed over your chest as you paced back and forth along the destruction zone that once was the floor of the choir room. The rest of your team gathered in one corner when Mr Schue's whistles were cut off as he strode into the room, taking in the mess.

"They took everything," Mercedes stated sadly.

Tina was soon to add, "Including all of Sue's Secret Santa gifts we were gonna give to the homeless kids."

"Who steals from kids?!" you raged, throwing your arms into the air in indignation.

"Only further proof that everyone in this school hates us, no matter what we do."

"It's not the school. It's Sue," he corrected your sister, "She did this."

"It wasn't Sue. It was Santa," Brittany voiced next, confusing your teacher as he didn't know of the team's mission to keep her Santa spirit alive this year, "He said a light was out on the tree. He'd fix everything. We just need to let him do his thing."

"Okay..." Mr Schue replied slowly, after gaining a nod from Artie, "Are you sure Santa was a boy and not a girl, Brittany."

"I swear on my life. Santa's a boy. Everybody knows that."

"It was probably one of the boys on the football team," Rachel whispered over to the man, trying not to crush the blonde's spirit herself.

"I guess it wasn't Sue."

"So our tree is gone. So our presents are missing."

"Real good pep-talk, Finn," you remarked, huffing when dropped down into one of the maroon chairs. The anger you felt ebbing from your body.

"Santa's probably fixing any dents of chips as we speak," Brittany explained.

Ignoring her words -and yours- the boy continued, "All around the world today, way worse things have happened to people than this. Sorry, but I'm not gonna let this get us down. 'Tis the season."

Pointing with the sheet music in hand, Mr Schue spoke, "I agree. Come on, guys. Let's clean this up."

"Fun... I still can't believe we got fuckin' Grinched."

---

You didn't know whose bright idea this was. And quite frankly, you didn't want to know.

The things you did for kids.

You really liked this watch too.

"This was my dad's," Finn uttered, brushing his thumb over the watch in his hand, as Mike held a trilby out towards him.

"He'd want you to do it. For those kids."

"This was my uncle's," Puck stated next, while the Asian boy moved to him next, once Finn had gently placed his father's watch within the hat, "It's the first thing I ever stole, actually."

A jingling noise sounded when the boy shook the hat in front of you, making you toss in the watch your father's had gotten you as a gift when you started your job.

"I'm gonna look terrible."

"Bullshit," you scoffed at Quinn.

"Yeah, shut up," Tina retaliated next, "With your bone structure, you could rock the 'Rosemary's Baby' look and still look good. I'm gonna look like Jackie Chan."

"If Babra can pull off a bob, so can I," Rachel said determinedly.

"Enough yapping," Santana stated, pulling the scissors up to her black ponytail, "Let's do this."

"Woah! Woah! What are you doing?" Mr Schue rushed in with an outstretched palm, stopping the girls from chopping off their locks.

"We're going all 'Gift of the Mahi' to raise money to buy homeless kids those school supplies."

Coming off of Mercedes' explanation, Sam added, "The guys and Y/N are gonna sell their watched, and the girls are gonna sell off their hair."

"You can't do that."

"Oh no, it's cool," Santana protested, waving her hands, "Most of this isn't mine anyway."

"Yeah, and I don't have any." You solidified your point by running your hands through your short hair, messing it up completely.

"No, I mean, that's not the answer," the man was quick to clarify, gesturing his hands around, "There are other ways to make money at Christmas time."

"No, but we tried carolling, and it didn't work," Rachel pointed out.

"Wait, I thought you and Finn were getting us a new tree," Artie said.

"We went, but Finn bailed before we could get one."

"Nice Christmas spirit, Finn."

You sighed softly after Brittany's downtrodden words, leaning closer to Quinn after you tapped her with the back of your hand to get her attention.

"You wanna go actually pick up a Christmas tree?"

"Sure."

"Wait. Guys, no more fighting," the Spanish teacher protested, sighing himself, "Have any of you ever actually read 'Gift of the Magi'?" Silence. "None of you?"

"I've never read The Bible. I'm pretty sure I know what that's about."

"Yeah, you don't have to read 'Gift of the Magi'. Everybody knows what it's about."

"Well, if you actually read it, you'd know what it's about," he countered Quinn's statement.

"Yeah, I know what it's about," Santana voiced, "Life freaking sucks."

"Actually." He pointed to the girl." You're right." He then came up to sit in between Finn and Tina. "The first Christmas you remember having is the greatest day of your life. Your family's all together. There are loads of presents, cookies. The magic is alive and well. But before you know it, you grow up. And work and school and girlfriends take over, and Christmas becomes more of an obligation. A reminder of what's lost instead of what's possible. And all the trees and the presents, and even mistletoe can't change that. And then when you get to my age... you're so desperate to get that magic back, you'd do anything to be able to feel how you did that first Christmas."

"Is there a point on you bumming us out like this?" you asked dryly.

"Yes, actually."

"So, what should we do?" Finn questioned.

"Put your scissors down. Put your watches back on. We're gonna go out and find some people who really need some Christmas spirit. And we are gonna sing for them."

"Can't we just sell out blood? Or, like I have suggested in the past, I think I can pull a Breaking Bad."

"No, Y/N," the collective voice of the Glee Club and its teacher sounded throughout the choir room.

'Damn'

---

The sun set early with the Ohio winter. Only an hour or two after school had ended, the sky was a dark blue, deepening into a midnight black as the minutes ticked on.

Dawdling down the same dirt paths of the tree farm Fin had taken Rachel to the day prior, shoulders brushing with one Quinn Fabray, trying to find the perfect tree for your club.

"Which tree do you like?"

"I don't know." You shrugged. "They all look the same to me."

Your eyes followed as Quinn reached out to touch one of the nearby trees.

"You wanna get that one?"

She hummed for a few moments, evaluating the tree. "It's not tall enough. Santana could reach the top if she tried."

"Yeah, she really gives my sister a lot of shit for being short, for a short-ass herself."

Quinn giggled before taking a hold of your arm, guiding you along. "Let's get some coco, then keep looking."

"As long as I can get whisky in mine."

A swift, back-handed smack to your bicep, with a playful roll of eyes from the blonde, was the only reply you got for your joke.

"How are you not cold in that?" you asked, to-go cups of hot chocolate warming your hands as you carried on looking through the many Christmas trees the farm had to offer, eyes wondering along the blondes outfit.

"It's warmer than it looks." She shrugged.

A smirk slowly pulled at your lips, quickly hiding it by taking a sip of your drink.

"What?" she drawled suspiciously.

"Nothing." You shook your head, smile still firmly on your face. "Those candy stripe socks are really hot, though, so it makes sense that you're not cold."

The cheerleader scoffed, bumping her shoulder against yours, causing your laughter to break out through your chest.

The smile could be heard through Quinn's voice as she spoke, "You're a jerk."

"But you love me."

She groaned lightly, turning her face away, telling you all you needed to know about how right you were.

---

"Hey. Uh, so we're your students," Finn began at the front of the packed teacher's lounge as the rest of the club gathered behind him, "All year long, you suffer through dealing with is... I imagine having some of us in your classes would slowly chip away at your hopes and dreams until the world felt like a never-ending nightmare of pain."

Your brows furrowed, and eyes blew wide at the boy's words.

Leaning forward, you whispered into Quinn's ear, "He's really not good at this, is he?" Gaining a shake of the head from the blonde in reply.

"Get to the point, Finn."

"Get your foot out of your mouth," you hissed over to him as Mr Shuester leaned forward himself to advise the boy.

"Right. Right, sorry. Uh, anyway, we're here today to help raising money for children that have a lot less than we do. And I know some of us have had a hard Christmas. But what we've come to learn is that no matter how tough things get, there isn't anything that more Santa or a couple more jingle bells can't cure."

With a quick bow of the head, the boy stumbled his way between Tina and Rachel to stand beside you. The queue from your teacher to begin the performance came soon after. Lucky for you and your team, your astronomy teacher, or as you have now dubbed her as "the shoe bitch", was nowhere in sight.

Leading to a very calm and successful carolling session.

And before you knew it, you were making your way back to the choir room two-hundred and ten dollars richer for those kids.

"-So, if you want, you can come over to my house," you overheard Rachel's offer to your teacher, inviting him to your holiday celebrations, "We're gonna eat Chinese and watch 'The Main Event'."

Moving 'round to your teacher's other side, you added, "And then like always, per my choice, we're gonna watch 'Chucky' after."

"Uh, thanks, guys. I think I'm gonna pass," he declined, "Nothing wrong with being alone."

It appeared one good thing after another was the pattern today. Because, as soon as you passed the threshold, you found something that stunned you in place.

Artie was walking.

"Artie," Tina was the first to breathe, watching the boy as everyone else was still stunned into silence.

"It's called a ReWalk," the boy explained with a smile, his arms shaking in his crutches, "Some guy in Israel invented it. I can't use it all the time, but... check me out."

He then reached over, pressing a button upon the pad strapped to his arm, causing the mechanical legs strapped to his own to begin slowly guiding him across the floor.

Finally snapping out of your shocked stupor, you excitedly exclaimed, "Dude, you have robo-legs! You can be like Robo-Cop, but less shitty." Rounding him to take a look at the invention from the back, you loudly whispered to Quinn, "He has Iron Man legs."

"Where did you get it?" she chose to as the boy, still in shock, herself.

"We went home, and it was sitting under my Christmas tree," Brittany supplied.

"How the hell did you afford that thing?" Sam asked the cheerleader.

"I didn't buy it. I didn't know what it was. I thought it was a Transformer."

"That would be pretty cool, too."

Artie turned to mutter to Santana, "I assumed her dad got it for me, but he has no idea where it came from. He went to take a long poop, and when he came back, it was there."

"So, if no one we know bought it for you, then..."

"Santa brought it," Brittany stated.

"Santa," Mercedes smiled.

"Right..." again, you turned to whisper to Quinn, "Is Santa real?"

"That. Or it was a good samaritan," she muttered back.

"Wo do we know that would do tha-?" Your scoffed words were cut off when you spotted a happy Coach Beiste watching from the open door of your teacher's office, smiling happily with tears glistening in her blue eyes, and then it all clicked together.

"Santa."

You nodded, never once looking from the coach, "Santa."

"It's a real Christmas miracle," Quinn said, walking closer to the boy.

But in well... you fashion, you had to jake around in the happy moment.

"Artie has quite a nice ass," you mumbled, gaining a scolding hiss from Quinn in return.

"Y/N."

"What?! I've never seen it before!"

---

It startled you the number of times you had been in your teacher's apartment.

But at least this time, it wasn't thanks to your sister's jealousy and need to lead the Glee Club. Nor with Quinn, talking to that crazy lady Will once called his wife.

"Quick, everyone, in the bedroom," Sue ordered as the jangling of keys in a lock sounded from the front door.

"That's a lawsuit."

"Come on," your sister pulled you along, holding a plate of cookies in her other hand.

Not ten seconds later and you had your ear pressed up against the wood of the door, trying to listen in on the teacher's conversation with the coach, as the club squeezed into the room behind you.

"What can you hear?" Puckerman asked for the third time.

"Nothing. But I might be able to if you would shut up."

But it was no use.

As just in that moment, a sharp blast of a whistle sounded from the living room, signalling for your re-entrance.

"No one should be alone on Christmas Eve, Mr Schuester," Rachel said, leading the fray into the room, igniting the smile on the Spanish teacher's face.

With you right behind her, holding up the DVD case. "I brought 'The Gremlins'. Rachel thought it would be more festive than 'Chucky'."

"Too much talking, Berry's, not enough trimming," Sue stated, kicking your sibling and yourself into action, "Come on. Let's get some Christmas up in here."

As the two adults leaned against the back of the matching chairs, watching the club decorate the tree as they spoke, you handed the tree topper to Brittany.

"You wanna put the anger on top of the tree?"

Her bright smile and excited nod were all the confirmation you needed. Rounding the girl, sliding your head in between her legs, only to hoist her up onto your shoulders, so she could top the tree off just right.

Leaving with the group a couple hours later, you were stopped by Quinn, who pulled you to the side, revealing a wrapped gift before you could utter a confused question.

"What's this?"

"Merry Christmas."

With a smile, you plucked the girt from her hands, assuming by the excited smile on her face that you could open it.

"How the hell did you get this?" you asked in pure wonder, holding up the spark plug you had been searching for, for months.

She shrugged lightly, trying to hide a bashful smile. "My brother-in-law likes to work on cars, so I asked if he knew where to get it."

"Wow. Thank you," you told her sincerely, "So, does this mean you're coming around to go for a ride on the bike when it's done."

"Absolutely not." She shook her head.

"Ah, I'll get you, eventually."

"No, you won't."

"You'll ride that bike. I guarantee it." You cut your playful banter off by clearing your throat and glancing over your shoulder. "I've got your gift in the car."

Leading the blonde over to your vehicle, you opened the door, huffing slightly, as you leaned into the car, falling into the seats. Digging through the glove compartment, quickly finding the boxed gift you had purchased for the blonde.

You watched with bated breath as Quinn lifted the lid, mouth dropping what she saw. A gold hear-shaped locket upon a delicate chain.

"Y/N-"

"Open it," you pushed.

The blonde gasped when she saw the small picture of Beth you had placed within.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it," she breathed, feeling beyond touched by the gift. Leaning up, she pressed a kiss to your cheek. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Uh... can I give you a lift back home?" you asked, pointing your thumb towards your still-open car.

Quinn sighed softly, shaking her head, "Sam's taking me."

"Right. Probably should have assumed that."

"I'll see you around, Y/N. Thank you again."

"See you," you said softly to yourself, watching the girl walk away.

When was your heart gonna give you a break?

-----

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#quinn fabray x reader #quinn fabray imagine #quinn fabray #original work #original fanfiction

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writerunblocked · 7 months

Text

Bullet Proof Heart: III. Acceptance

Synopsis: Anya accepts her fate as Tommy Shelby's future bride as the Rosenthals get even worse news on their patriarch's condition sending the local Jewish community into a frenzy to help make his incoming death easier. Anya finds out something about herself and about Tommy. Maybe being Tommy Shelby's fiancée isn't the worst thing in the world.

Trigger Warnings: Death and dying, cancer, allusion to smut, but no actual smut.

WC: 4426

Bullet Proof Heart: Read Part 1: The Arrangement here. Read Part 2: Out of the Bag here

Anya was staying after school to get some grading done before she went back to her place to pack. She’d found out that she’d be leaving her parent’s house and moving in with Tommy, much to her family’s horror.

The conversation that her family had when Abe got back before heading back to his place. He’d come clean to everyone about the shortchanging and how their dad had taken the fall for him, unfortunately, Anya's fate was sealed. She would be Mrs Thomas Shelby, and that made her sick to her stomach.

But what scared her the most was that she loved Thomas Shelby, and had since the moment she’d opened up to him about her ex. How he held her and let her talk about it, how he told her of the war and what happened in the trenches and how that on the nights she wasn’t here in his bed sleeping soundly next to him, he was brought back to France and the memories of the tunnels. She knew that a man like him wasn’t capable of love, but here she was madly in love with one Thomas Shelby. He was the first thing he thought of when she woke up and the last thing she thought about when she went to sleep at night. She wished it didn’t have to be like this, unfortunately, it did.

“Anya,” she heard her friend and colleague Emma say. “Are you alright?”

Emma and her and known each other since they were children. Emma was the daughter of Irish immigrants from Dublin and the two women grew up right next to each other and had squealed in delight when they got the job at the school together. They always said that they’d be at each other’s weddings, but they both didn’t realise that Anya's would be so soon. “I’m moving into Thomas Shelby’s home,” she whispered. “I need to pack, I move in this Saturday.”

“You’re brother couldn’t get you out of the marriage then?” She asked. Anya shook her head ‘no’, tears in her eyes as she thought of what was in store for her for the rest of her natural life. Even when he died, and it would most likely be before her, she’d still be known as Thomas Shelby’s wife. “When Tommy Shelby says ‘it’s you’, then it’s you. I knew what I was getting into when I took that job at the Garrison, I just didn’t realise it would go that far.”

The staff at school looked the other way when it came to her second job at the Garrison. They knew she was sleeping with Thomas Shelby, but no one said anything. Now, her after-hours activity with Thomas Shelby was a bit too difficult to ignore. Especially the days he came to pick her up in his fancy car that none of the staff would be able to afford.

“Parents won’t even talk to me unless they have to. The kids don’t laugh and joke anymore, it’s so terrifying for everyone,” Anya sighed.

“Do you love him, Anya?” Emma asked. Her green eyes looked into Anya's blue ones.

Anya nodded her head. “I do,” she said. “I have since that night,” Anya told Emma what that night was like. Emma was in amazement at what she’d just told her.

She saw a side of Tommy that no one ever saw. A man before the war, a man before Grace’s betrayal. “I wonder what he was like before the war,” she sighed. “I’ve never asked. I don’t remember what Abe, Dan, Jakob, and Asher were like before the war.” She was fourteen when they came back, and fifteen when they got the medals for their service to the Crown. However, they never understood why there was a Monarchy in this day in age. Russia got rid of theirs ages ago.

The two women grabbed their stuff and walked out of the building, Anya looked around to see if anyone was following the two of them. A wave of relief washed over her when she realised no one was there. “Where are you headed?” asked Emma.

“The Garrison,” Anya sighed. “Tommy asked me to meet him there.”

“Good luck, Anya,” Emma said.

In fifteen minutes, Anya was able to get to the Garrison only to find that it was only Tommy sitting at the bar. “Hello, Anya,” he said.

“Hi, Tommy,” she said. She put her things in Tommy’s office and went behind the bar. She poured the two of them a glass of whisky. “What do you want.”

“Your brother visited me last night,” Tommy said.

“And you heard the full story,” she said. “And yet my fate’s still sealed. I’ll be Mrs Thomas Shelby by the end of the year.”

She shivered at the thought of it. She knew she was older and needed to get married, but she’d always hoped that it would be to someone not like Thomas Shelby. Even though she loved him, the man wasn’t able to be in a monogamous relationship. He’d be cheating on her for the length of their marriage. “And is that a bad thing?” He asked.

“Seeing as you’re not the type of man to stay with one person and that I’m being forced into this marriage—you can see why I have reservations about this,” she sighed.

“You seriously think that?” He asked.

She nodded her head. “Though you might not be seeing Lizzie Stark anymore, I’m sure there are other women that you’re seeing besides me.”

“Believe it or not, Anya, I’m not seeing anyone besides you,” he told her.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I highly doubt that,” she said. “You’re Thomas Shelby after all. You have a bit of a reputation for sleeping around.”

“Not since that night,” he said.

“What night?” Anya asked, hoping that it was the night she fell in love with him. The night she told him about her ex who was stalking her.

“The night you told me about how your ex followed you around town. I’ve sent men looking for him and he’s to be brought to me when found,” Tommy said. “Something changed that night and I realised I love you.”

Anya sat there in shock. ‘I realised that I love you.’ She took a deep breath and tried to speak, but she was speechless. Anya didn’t know what to say. “I love you too. Since that night as well. I thought you couldn’t love me back, but—”

Tommy got up from where he was and passionately kissed her. She kissed him back as well. The two of them looked at each other and smiled. “I love you, Anya,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Tommy,” she laughed.

Anya was led into Tommy’s office. He shut and locked the door, but they didn’t think Arthur would come in. He took off her dress, bra, and panties, and she ripped off his clothes. He pushed he onto the desk and wrapped her legs around him. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “You’re mine, Anya,” he said. “You belong to me.”

“Yours,” she whispered. “I’m all yours, Tommy. Make me yours.”

After they were through with each other. Anya sat on the settee in his arm. He covered her up with his jacket because he realised she was cold. She laid her head on his bare chest, something she’d done many times before. But this time it was different, they had told each other how they felt.

“How are you, love?” He asked her.

“Amazing,” she smiled looking up into his blue eyes. “You?”

“Amazing,” he whispered. “I love you, Anya.”

“I love you too, Tommy,” she whispered. He leaned down to kiss her. “But what are you going to do with my ex?” She asked.

“Kill him,” Tommy responded. “The fact he follows you around’s something I know bothers you.” Tommy wrapped his arm around her and she didn’t protest. “Go get yourself a nice dress.” He said.

“Why?” Anya asked.

“You and I are heading to the races,” he said.

“The races?” She asked in shock.

“Yeah,” he said. “Buy yourself something nice.”

“I don’t have the money,” she said. “We’re saving up for my dad’s funeral.”

“I’ve got it,” he said. He handed her over £20 and she was amazed. “Buy something red.”

“Why red?” She asked.

“Because it brings out your eyes,” he said.

She went to leave for the door, but Tommy stopped her. “You’ll be staying with me for tonight.”

“I need to get back to my parents,” she stated. “My dad’s doing worse.”

“How bad is he?” asked Tommy.

“Most likely the end of the month the doctors say,” she said. “Thank you, by the way for paying for him. It means a lot to me that you’re doing this for me.

Tommy nodded his head and the two of them walked out together. People made way for the two of them on the street. “Hello, Shelby,” someone said.

Anya kept her head down as she looked at the pavement. She could feel all the eyes on her, and even though she was used to it by now, she still felt nervous. And that was because she was with Tommy. He wrapped his arm around her when she ran into one of her kids.

“MS ROSENTHAL!” Henry called. He ran up to her. “Ms Rosenthal, my mum wants to talk to you.”

“Is everything okay, Henry?” She asked.

“It’s about your father,” he said. He looked at his rundown house, he didn’t live too far from where Anya lived. “Wait a moment, let me get her.”

The twelve-year-old friend of her nephews ran into the house and brought out his mother, a small woman by the name of Dorothy Levi came out. “Oh, Anya, glad I caught you. Can you come in?”

“Uh, I needed to get home to see my father,” she said. “My fiancé also needs to be getting back.”

Mrs Levi looked at Tommy and gulped. Her face turned white and she muttered a silent prayer in Hebrew. Henry looked up at Tommy and also gulped. He stood by his mother, hoping that she would protect him from the most powerful man in Birmingham. “S 'iz ams. Di shmueus zenen ams!” (It’s true! The rumours are true!) She quickly regained some of her composure though. “You both can come in, it’ll be quick.” The four of them quickly went inside where her fifteen-year-old daughter Rachel was sitting at the table doing cross stitch work.

“Rachel,” her mother asked. Rachel got up from her needlework and looked at Tommy and Anya. “Will you put the kettle on for Mr and Mrs Shelby?”

Rachel quickly nodded her head, quickly moved her needlework out of the way, and then put the kettle on. She grabbed the tea bags and the cups and waited. Henry gathered around as well. “It’s Ms Rosenthal for now,” Anya smiled sweetly. “We still haven’t settled on a date.”

“Oh,” Mrs Levi said. “Well, congratulations then.”

“Thank you,” Anya smiled. No one needed to know how her engagement came about. She still wasn’t wearing a ring yet.

“When did it happen?” She asked, eyes still on Tommy.

“Two weeks ago,” Tommy said.

“Mazel Tov to both of you,” she said, though her expression screamed to her that she was in pain and feared for Anya’s life. Both women knew that no one was safe once they became entangled with the Shelbys. Both women knew that Anya would most likely die in the crossfires of a war that the Shelbys had either started or had gotten dragged into the middle of.

Tommy was confused as it what it meant. Anya budded in. “It means congratulations,” she said. “It’s Hebrew.”

“Oh,” he said. “And you speak that.”

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s my second language. What we all speak around here is Yiddish.” He nodded his head.

“How’s your father?” Rachel piped. Everyone looked over in the direction of Rachel who was sitting on the stairs with her brother fiddling with her needlework. “He’s a nice man, I’m sorry for what’s happening to him. Do you know what it is?”

“Cancer,” Tommy responded. “He was hit hard in the War and the gas got into his lungs. He doesn’t have much longer.”

Rachel and Henry seemed visibly upset. Everyone loved her Dad, he was a nice man. “He’d always give us sweets,” Henry sighed breaking the silence. Tears stained his doe-brown eyes. “He’d play with us and he was always a good listener.”

One thing that everyone knew about David Rosenthal was that he was willing to be a surrogate dad to all the kids who had fathers who died in the War. He had known these men and wanted to make sure that his friend’s kids were okay. Mrs Levi’s husband Aaron had died in the War, leaving behind a six-year-old daughter and a one-year-old. A nice man all around, so it was no wonder everyone was distraught when they found out that Mr David Rosenthal was sick. The look on the Levis’s faces showed that finding out the man had cancer was even worse than saying that he was sick. At least if he was sick he could recover, with Cancer, not so much. It was a death sentence.

“That damn gas,” Mrs Levi muttered. “How much longer.”

“Doctor’s estimate around a month,” she said.

“How’s your mother?” Mrs Levi asked.

Anya went through the routine questions after this and answered the same answers as she did with everyone. ‘Her mother was holding up as to be expected.’ ‘It still hasn’t sunk in to Gal and Noam that their grandfather was dying’. The lie of ‘My brothers and I are doing as well.’ And the final answer of ‘If we need anything, we’ll let you know.’” The same monotonous answers to those questions on repeat daily. It was getting draining to them all.

She hated how people handled her with kid gloves ever since they found out the news about her father. There would be a new layer to that when people found out who she was engaged to.

“Oh,” Mrs Levi said. “Before I forget, Anya.” She handed Anya some rugalach, a crescent-rolled pastry that she could only assume was filled with chocolate. Something that was her father’s favourite.

“Thank you, Mrs Levi,” she smiled. “My father will love these.”

She nodded her head and pulled Anya into a hug. She whispered in Anya’s ear, “es iz gelt far ir takt avek in dort. loyft, loyft azoy veyt fun dan vi du kenst.” (There's money for you tucked away in there. Run, run as far away from here as you can.)

“aun hot meyn mshpkhh gehrget? di eyntsike vos shpirt zenen di kinder, ikh ken nisht loyfn, s'zenen aumetum aoygn,” Anya responded softly. (And have my family killed? The only ones spared are the kids, I can't run, there are eyes everywhere.)

But she took the money anyway. She had her hiding place so that she did have some extra money to escape if she did need to. Anya and Tommy walked out of the house and Anya politely nodded to Mrs Levi. She could see the neatly tucked envelope disguised as a note to the family, but she was now worried for Mrs Levi, who could very well be next on the Shelby fit of rage. She didn’t want that to happen to Rachel and Henry. She didn’t know how she’d deal with having to look Henry in the eye every day in school knowing she was the one who caused his mother to be murdered.

“Everyone around here’s worried about you,” Tommy pointed out. Anya nodded her head in agreement.

Anya sighed. “And can you blame them?” She asked him. “You’re Thomas Shelby after all.”

“You’ll soon be Mrs Thomas Shelby,” he said.

“And some people think it’s my downfall,” she quipped. Opening the door, she was greeted by her mother who was slaving over a pot of chicken soup. Gal and Noam were engrossed in some game, and her brothers were in their father’s office talking in hushed tones.

Her mother was the one who greeted them first. “Mr Shelby,” she said. “Come take a seat, I bring out vodka for you.”

“Do we have any whisky?” Anya asked. She knew that they probably wouldn’t, but it was still work the ask. Tommy preferred whiskey to vodka.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s Irish.”

Mum probably bought it because of Tommy. Anya thought.

Tommy nodded approvingly and took a seat. Anya quickly got up and looked at the soup, instead of noodles mazoh balls were in it. Her mother must’ve really been stressed if she made matzoh ball soup instead of chicken. Stirring it, she looked over at her father’s office where hushed voices speaking Yiddish were to be heard. The men were speaking in hushed and hurried tones as if they would be overheard.

“Auntie Anya?” asked Gal. Gal looked exactly like her late mother. She’d inherited her mother’s curly blonde hair and light blue eyes that were the same colour as Tommy’s. She and small eyes, thin lips, and a small stature. Every day she looked more and more like her mother who had died of Influenza three years previously. She also inherited her mother’s sweet nature and disposition, but there was a mischievous, rebellious, and loyal streak that her father Abe had in his youth.

“Yeah,” Anya responded looking down at the little girl who also bore a striking resemblance to her and her mother as well.

“I’m hungry? When’s supper?” She asked tentatively. Her eyes went to Tommy.

“Mr Shelby?” She whimpered. She bolted behind Anya who looked at Tommy and sighed. Gal was also scared of meeting new people, something she’d also inherited her father’s side of the family. “What’s he doing here? Please don’t kill my daddy.”

“What gives you that impression?” Tommy asked.

“You’re a ‘ganger’,” she said.

“Gangster, Gal,” Anya corrected. “He’s a gangster. And he won’t hurt your or your dad. I won’t let him.”

“I don’t hurt kin,” Tommy assured the girl. “Your wonderful Aunt here is my fiancée.”

“I don’t see Auntie Anya getting married,” she announced as a matter of fact. Anya scoffed.

“You’ll see me in a wedding dress by the end of the year,” Anya said. “And maybe one day you’ll do the same thing when you’re a bit older than me.”

“I’m thirsty,” she said.

“I’ll get you some water,” Anya smiled.

“I want vodka,” she said.

Anya looked at Gal and sighed. She was exacerbated. “Gal, I love you, but with dinner.”

“Uncle Isaac gave me some!” She grumbled. The little girl pouted and crossed her arms, obviously annoyed that she couldn’t get the clear liquid that traumatised every Eastern European when they were younger.

“Uncle Isaac’s Uncle Isaac,” Anya said.

Her mother’s head peaked out from the other room. “Anya, can you help me for a moment.”

Gal looked at her grandmother and then back to her Auntie, horrified that she’d be alone with Tommy. Anya leaned down to Gal’s level, “He’s not going to hurt you. He doesn’t hurt kids.” Gal nodded reluctantly, trusting her Auntie. Anya turned to Tommy and asked: “Will you watch Noam and Gal while I help my mum with a few things.”

“Of course,” Tommy said.

Anya walked away and into the room with her mother where the alcohol and a few other things were kept.

Tommy had to admit that it had been awhile since he’d had to do something with a little kid. Sure, he’d helped raise Finn with his Aunt Pol and older brother Arthur, but it had been a while since he had to deal with kids. Noam, a boy who was the spitting image of his father, with jet-black curly hair yes, olive skin, and brown eyes that screamed ‘trouble maker’, looked at Tommy with distaste. “You’re the one marrying, Auntie Anya,” he said.

“Yes, I am,” Tommy responded taking a seat next to the boy who was playing cards. Noam glared at him and Tommy had to do everything in his power not to shiver, that was the same glare that his father, Abe, had that sent many people shivering from the iciness of it. “What are you playing?” Tommy asked.

“Poker,” he said. “My cousin Ben taught me how to play it. I was going to play with Uncle Asher”

“I like poker,” Tommy said. He hadn’t played in a while, but he’d normally play with his brothers. Maybe a few other higher-ranking gang members or his uncle Charlie would play with them as well. But due to business, they never got the chance. But he missed playing. Tommy remembered back to the Trenches where one night he played the game with Asher, who had learnt it from his American cousin named Ben. He would later go on to meet Ben briefly when his unit arrived in France.

“You know how to play?” Gal asked sitting down beside Tommy.

“Yeah,” he said. “Your Uncle Asher taught me how when we were in the trenches.”

Noam and Gal looked at Tommy in shock. “You served with your uncle?”

“I served with your uncles and your dad,” Tommy sighed thinking about how lucky he was to have made it home. Home to see his Aunt Pol and little brother Finn. Back home to meet and get married to Anya. “We were all kids then.” He sighed.

“Dad doesn’t like to talk about the war,” Noam sighed.

“Do you want to start a game while we wait for your family?” Tommy asked.

Noam nodded his head and dealt them in. Gal sat beside them playing with a stuffed tiger he saw Anya have one day after they were done having sex and watched them interestingly.

“Why doesn’t Daddy talk about the war?” Gal asked.

Tommy hesitated to answer her. Tommy had spared Finn the details of the war, being only Gal’s age when he came back from France. “We saw a lot of things,” he sighed. He thought of the cannon fire, how men no older than him lay among the wreckage of the French Countryside. The Somme and Verdunne were littered with the bodies of men who had their entire lives ahead of them. His Aunt Pol had told him one night that ‘it was a miracle that you all made it back from France.’ And she was right. He remembered on the train ride back to Birmingham from London and how the five Rosenthal men and the three Shelby men all came back alive and David voicing it. The rest of them nodded. He remembered coming home and seeing men changed by war and the shell shock that came with it.

He thought of how Arthur often acted out while Tommy and Finn had flashbacks in their sleep. How Tommy used Opium for years and then switched to Cannabis later in life. He thought of Danny Whizz-Bang, real name being Danny Owen, who would later be killed because of a flashback. The flashbacks were so violent that he’d cause damage to property or people that he got the cruel nickname.

He closed his and took a deep breath, thinking of telling them how in France Abe had held off a group of German soldiers, killing them in the process while Tommy was able to get word to the others in the tunnels that there were soldiers and to alert the commander. When the group came back, the German soldiers lay dead on the ground. Abraham Abel Rosenthal looked exhausted, but he’d fended off a group of soldiers. He’d saved their lives in the Trenches. Tommy returned the favour a year from then, also saving thousands of allied lives in the process like Abe had done before him underneath the tunnels.

“I’ll tell you guys when you’re older,” he said. “I’ll also let your father tell it in his time.”

Noam muttered and continued dealing in, placing wooden blocks between the two of them. The concentrated look on his face reminded Tommy of his late mother Sarah, who died three years before. He remembered losing his mother at a young age as well. And he could see the toll that it took on Abe every time he’d interacted with the man.

“They always say that,” grumbled Gal.

He remembered the same conversation he had with Finn all those years ago about this very same thing. He knew that Abe had this conversation with them before. “When you’re older,” Anya said. “You playing Poker?” She asked.

He nodded his head. “Asher, do you want to join in?”

“Sure,” Asher said, stunned at how good he was with the kids. The way Tommy was acting with them, it stirred up something inside her that she hadn’t felt before.

Anya had always loved kids, other people’s kids mind you. She loved her niece and nephew and she loved being a teacher. She had never felt the inklination to have them though. Now, looking at Tommy, she thought differently. Maybe she could have a family. Now, that inkling was now coming through.

“They’ll have to come over,” Tommy said looking at Anya.

“Where?” Anya asked.

“Our place,” he said. “You spend a lot of time with them. My place is closer to school, they’ll be able to get there quicker.”

“We get our own room?” asked Noam in shock.

“I’ve never had my own room before,” Gal whispered.

Abe looked into Tommy’s blue eyes. Tommy could tell then and there that he had the oldest Rosenthal sibling’s approval. As well as her entire family’s approval. “And now you will with…” Abe trailed off.

“Your Uncle Tommy,” Tommy said without thinking. He felt confident being ‘Uncle Tommy’ to Noam and Gal. He cared about them because Anya cared about them. He always smiled at their names and saw them around town with Anya who would often sneak them sweets and other treats. He remembered throwing the ball back to Noam when he was playing in the streets with a few boys from school with a couple months to go. He smiled when Gal would be around town with Anya, clinging to her and hanging on to her every word. Anya smiled and nodded as she complained about her brother.

“Do you want to stay for dinner? We have a lot,” Chaya asked.

Tommy nodded his head, happy knowing that this would go as smoothly as it could possibly be.

#tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby arranged marriage #arranged marriage trope #clilian murphy imagine #cillian murphy

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phoneybeatlemania · 2 years

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do we have any info about John and Alma Cogan’s relationship? I heard they were close and I wonder how her death affected him

Hiya anon—thanks for sending this ask!

John Lennon and Alma Cogan’s relationship is a bit of a puzzle, given that the nature of their relationship is the subject of a fair amount of rumour and debate. There’s arguments for them having had an affair, and then there’s arguments they were platonic friends—and alongside this, there’s also the rumours that Cogan was a lesbian and/or asexual.

It seems the rumours for them having had an affair stem mostly from Cynthia Lennon and Sandra Caron (Alma’s sister), who both stated they believed John and Alma had had an affair.

In Cynthias book ‘John’ she wrote:

Alma Cogan was one of the women I suspected he was having an affair with. I could see the sexual tension between them and how outrageously she flirted with him, but I had no real grounds for suspicion—just a strong gut feeling.

[…] when I began to wonder if John had had affairs with Alma, Sonny and a couple of other women who were around us at the time, I decided to let it go. I believed that John and I were strong enough together to come through anything, and that unless an infidelity was staring me in the face I wouldn’t ask him or look for evidence. (pg. 161—162)

In a 2015 Daily Mail article, its also written that Cynthia Lennon allegedly said in a 1989 interview:

‘John thought I didn’t know anything about him and Alma, and I never let on,’ confided Cynthia.

‘Now that I think about it, with all the emotion gone out of it, I can see the attraction. Alma was about eight years older than John and very much the Auntie figure.’

[Note: This Daily Mail article was published 4 days after Cynthias death by the author Lesley-Ann Jones. @queerlennon has a good post explaining why Jones isn’t really a reliable source, so its worth giving that a read to contextualise the article. Overall, its not impossible that Cynthia might have said this in interview with Jones, especially since the sentiments shared align with the extracts in her book—but given that it was published shortly after her death and given its author (plus the tabloid it was published in), its a little harder to determine its credibility.]

As aforementioned, Alma’s sister Sandra also supports the affair rumours. In a 2006 Daily Mail article, Sandra said:

She told me: 'I knew about Alma and John, of course, but it was something no one admitted because John was married. We had a very strict Jewish upbringing and my mother would never have approved of a relationship between Alma and a married man.’

The same article also alleges that the two would meet in hotels under a pseudonym:

Alma and Lennon, both heavily disguised, took to meeting for passionate interludes in anonymous West End hotel suites, where they sometimes registered as 'Mr and Mrs Winston' (Lennon's middle name).

The same sentiment was made in Phillip Normans 2008 biography ‘John Lennon: The Life’; he additionally claims that Brian Epstein had hoped to marry Cogan:

Though most male suitors were kept firmly at arm's length, Alma's younger sister, Sandra, now says that John and ‘Sara Sequin’ had a passionate affair—mostly conducted at West End hotels, where they would register under aliases like ‘Mr and Mrs Winston’—and that Cyn never found out about it. To complicate matters, Brian also developed an infatuation with Alma, to the point of wavering back towards heterosexuality; he took her to Liverpool to meet his parents and talked openly of marrying her. That would have spelled a very different future for him and possibly John also; however, nothing came of the idea, and Alma was to die from cancer in 1966, aged 34. (pg. 328)

One thing that makes Sandra Cogan’s statement loose some credibility for me, is that Im not sure where she received the information that John and Alma frequented hotels under pseudonyms from. She said that the affair was something no one admitted to, so presumably she didn’t hear this from Alma herself. This isn’t to say that Sandra is lying, because generally speaking, I don’t tend to think close relatives of celebrities lie about these sorts of things. It would just be helpful to know who she received this information from (and furthermore, it would also be helpful to find out if any sources corroborate Normans claim that Epstein spoke openly about wanting to marry Cogan).

If Jones’s interview with Cynthia does happen to be real, then the original sources seem to have acquaintances of Cynthias, given that she said:

Cynthia described it to me as ‘a woman’s intuition’, a ‘gut feeling’. She ‘just knew as a wife does’. When ‘well-meaning friends’ told Cynthia that John and Alma were booking into hotels using aliases such as ‘Mr and Mrs Winston’ – John’s middle name – and even sporting disguises, Cynthia could not have been less surprised.

When it comes to Alma’s sexuality, I haven’t really come across much that would suggest she was a lesbian, beyond rumours. The Daily Mail wrote in the aforementioned 2006 article:

(cw: rape)

As she remained unmarried into her 30s, rumours swirled around her. It was whispered that she was a lesbian.

A BBC television documentary to be screened on Friday and a DVD just released to mark the 40th anniversary of her death present Cogan as a sexual enigma. Two of the men who regularly escorted her, composer Lionel Bart and Beatles manager Brian Epstein, were both gay.

And one of Cogan's closest friends, the broadcaster David Jacobs, says: 'I always thought of her as a virgin.’

One story, allegedly told by the young Dusty Springfield, an admitted lesbian herself, with whom Cogan was said to be closely involved, was that Alma was not really gay, but had been raped as a young teenager and had developed a mental block about sex with men as a consequence.

Her younger sister, West End stage star Sandra Caron, who is also Alma's biographer, dismisses this rape story, saying: 'People just make these things up.' But Sandra, some years Alma's junior, would have been a small child at the time and might well not have been told about the rape, if it happened.

Sandra also discounts the lesbian rumours. 'Yes, people tried to say that she liked women,' she says. 'That was because she hadn't married. But there were men with whom she was involved, and had she lived, she certainly would have married.'

Im not particularly inclined to believe the Dusty Springfield story, given that we don’t know where it came from. As far as my research goes, the only source is the Daily Mail, and they don’t supply an original source they only allege that she might have said this. So while it’s not impossible, it’s not very credible.

And then as far as Alma being a lesbian goes, again, it’s not impossible, but there just isn’t a lot to substantiate the claim, and it seems to be largely—if not entirely—rooted in the social attitudes of the time.

So, in terms of the actual nature of their relationship, it’s a tough call. Personally, if I had to pick a side Id swing more towards the evidence for them having had an affair, just because there appears to be more evidence supporting it (as opposed to the evidence that Alma was a lesbian/asexual)—although I wouldn’t call myself a staunch believer in it, and its still plausible that their relationship could have just been a platonic one (and to clarify as well, its still conceivable that the relationship could have been platonic, even if Alma was heterosexual).

There’s also an extract in Julia Bairds (Johns sister) book which I feel is worth mentioning, because perhaps it provides some insight on the appeal Cogan had for John:

The very next day the four Beatles went to a house party. Nothing too unusual in that, you might think. But this was Alma Cogan’s party. She was a major star at that time. Our mother had loved her and so did my sister. […] Mummy and Jackie meanwhile would peer at the television set to see what Alma Cogan was wearing. I don’t know how interesting they found the songs, but the great, full, flared dresses, with stars and spangles, captivated both of them. The screen was black-and-white, of course, back then, but this didn’t seem to detract from the awe in which they held her costumes. John was to become good friends with Alma, and there were even rumours that they had an affair, though I didn’t hear of them at the time. I wonder if John told her about how much Mummy had loved her.

— Imagine This: Growing Up with My Brother John Lennon (pg. 247-248)

Perhaps nostalgia played a role in their relationship, given that Johns mother had been a big fan of her. Fond memories of Julia might have, in part, incited his interest in Cogan. Just a speculation, but I thought it could be on to something.

Then there was Alma’s death from ovarian cancer, aged 34 (Oct. 26, 1966).

There are some sources Ive come across that tell us he was deeply affected by her death, although again its difficult to say how credible they are, given that they come from the same Daily Mail interviews mentioned earlier:

She admitted: ‘When Alma died from ovarian cancer, aged only 34, John was inconsolable.

‘The woman he’d perhaps earmarked to replace his beloved Aunt Mimi [his mother’s sister, who helped to raise him] in his affections was now lost to him.

‘He met Yoko when he needed to, just a fortnight into his grief. She was this obsessive fan who’d turn up and follow him around.

‘She irritated the life out of John to begin with. But Alma died and something odd happened to John. Things turned. Yoko must have seen her opportunity and seized it. She wore the trousers and would control and dominate John for the rest of his life. Yoko was John’s new Aunt Mimi. She worked out what John needed in a woman, right under my nose, and she reinvented herself.’

— Cynthia Lennon, ‘Yes, I lost John to another woman...but it WASN'T Yoko’, Daily Mail 2015

…in 1962, when The Beatles appeared with Cogan in Sunday Night At The London Palladium, it was obvious that Lennon rapidly revised his view. 'John was potty about her,' George Harrison revealed later. 'He thought her really sexy and was gutted when she died.’

— John Lennon's secret lover, Daily Mail 2006

[Note: Its not clear where this quote from George originated from, so take it with a grain of salt (unless anyone does happen to have an original source for it).]

Circumstantially speaking, John did seem to be using LSD a lot in the months following her death—so potentially one might link that to grief over Alma’s death. Although, his LSD usage had been fairly consistent throughout that year, plus it hadn’t been a particularly easy year for him (with the Bigger Then Jesus scandal, Philippines etc.), so I don’t necessarily see this circumstantial evidence as being much to go on. But hypothetically, his drug consumption could be telling of the grief he was experiencing at the time.

Anyway, as I said at the start of this post, their relationship is a bit of a puzzle. There’s a lot of possibilities, but then there’s not really much to substantiate most of them. Hope this post was of some help though, and as per usual, if anyone has any additional sources or thoughts they feel are worth sharing, feel free to!

#hope this was of some help :)#sources are difficult here :/#I probably come off like No They Were Just Friends #but imo its still very possible they had an affair #its just a bit difficult to prove anything here #but yeah #edit: also not norman saying brian almost wavered back to heterosexuality for alma cogan #GIRL WHAT 💀💀💀💀#that is so creased lmaoo #quotes #interviews #alma cogan #john lennon #cynthia lennon #sources #sandra cogan #asks #anon #beatles

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