#1930s purse

[susoriginals]

Vintage Ladies Brown Vinyl Clutch & Black Top Handle Bag with Matching Coin Purse top clasp for black bag sticks, Wounded Bird get Both for $8

[eyesaremosa1cs]

1 2 3 4 5 6

[shewhoworshipscarlin]

Purse, 1930s.

[blueiskewl]

Cartier

A yellow gold purse watch, Circa 1935.

[fashionsfromhistory]

Evening Bag

Mandalian Manufacturing Company

c.1930

Historic New England

[chic-a-gigot]

Mon journal favori, no. 19, 15 novembre 1931, Paris. Sac de dame no. 1549 en Broderie de Laine sur Canevas. Bibliothèque nationale de France

Explication des signes: rose foncé; rose clair; orange; jaune.

Ce sac mesure 24 centimètres de largeur sur 16 de hauteur. Le canevas à utiliser sera de 5 points sur 1 centimètres de longeur. Le dessin ci-dessous est à grandeur d'exécution. On brode en rangs réguliers en lançant la laine sur 5 à 6 mailles dans la hauteur, comme le montre le croquis. On termine toujours un champ de couleur de plusieurs rangs de hauteur sans casser la laine. On peut travailler d'après notre dessin en comptant les points; on se servira de nos canevas coloriés et dessinés. On peut également broder avec du coton perlé brillanté, ou avec de la soie artifcielle. Vous trouverez dans le commerce des nomtures fantaisie pour ce sac. Une simple fermeture ÉCLAIR sera élégante et pratique.

No. 1549. Les 2 côtés du sac, dessinés sur canevas avec indication des couleurs: 7.50

La fermeture ÉCLAIR en maillechort inoxydable de 24 centimètres: 9.10

—

Explanation of the symbols: dark pink; light pink; orange; YELLOW.

This bag measures 24 centimeters wide by 16 centimeters high. The canvas to use will be 5 points by 1 centimeter in length. The drawing below is at working size. We embroider in regular rows by throwing the wool 5 to 6 stitches in height, as shown in the sketch. We always finish a field of color several rows high without breaking the wool. We can work from our drawing by counting the points; we will use our colored and drawn canvases. You can also embroider with shiny pearl cotton, or with artificial silk. You will find fancy names for this bag on the market. A simple ZIPPER will be stylish and practical.

No. 1549. Both sides of the bag, drawn on canvas with color indication: 7.50

The 24 centimeter stainless nickel silver ZIPPER: 9.10

[alwaysalwaysalwaysthesea]

Ad for Whiting & Davis "Metal Mesh" in the November 1933 Photoplay.

(source: archive.org)

[nuveau-deco]

Car Handbag. German origin, designer unknown, dated ca. 1930. Made up of various leathers, metal fixtures (zip, studs) and a glass mirror.

(Source: collections.artsmia.org)

[darlingdawnvintage]

Vintage Red White & Blue ✨🍒✨Vintage fashion & accessories! See my Etsy link in bio

[phasecornnuts]

Hiiiiiiii! If you’re still open for requests maybe you might wanna write something where the reader casually mentioned that they/she had a partner on earth before they died and Alastor takes it a bit too drastically and has just been very salty and asking too many questions 😭 if you like that

Please & thanks ❤️

Hey guys I've returned! Sorry for taking a little while, I was busy with finals/I wanted to relax on my spring break so I didn't have a lot of time. I lowkey kind of cooked with this one too so enjoy :3

Also, I sorta made the reader be from around the same time period as Alastor (sorta late 1910s early 1930s) for extra spice

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had become a daily routine for you and Alastor to have afternoon tea together in cannibal town. Always, between the hours and four and six o’ clock after Alastor had finished his broadcast and you, your hotel duties, the both of you would walk down to Rosie’s Emporium to nibble on finger sandwiches, candied eyeballs, and other treats. 

The sun was still high in the sky, sending fingers of light through the windows of the cafe; the building was alive with the chatter of demons and hell-born alike. You and Alastor had just sat down, a short cannibal girl with a heart-shaped face and glowing brown ringlets placing your usuals on the table. Oh how beautiful they were! Too pretty to eat, garnished with tiny sprigs of mint (or, at least, it may have been mint) and resting on plates of delicate porcelain. With polished silver beside them, and matching teacups and saucers too, it all looked like a party for a girl’s favorite doll.

That is, if it weren’t human meat. 

Looking up from your plate, you saw Alastor turn his head to follow the cannibal girl making you frown. His gaze returned to you before he caught you staring, a chipper grin on his face as always.

“She could be a dead ringer for Mary Pickford, don’t you think?”

Your eyebrows perked. You hadn’t looked long at the girl admittedly, though you stared long enough to know that she was no Pickford. You pursed your lips,

“I don’t see it, Lillian Gish maybe.”

He looked at you like a mad-woman, “You don’t!?”

“No! Her eyes are much too large!”

Alastor chuffed, proceeding to rest his chin on his dark hand, “In the eye of the beholder I suppose.” 

You rolled your eyes, “You only say that because of her curls,” you stated while picking up the teapot and pouring yourself and Alastor your cups, “Now, drink before it gets cold.”

For much of your lunch neither of you spoke, merely enjoying each other’s presence while pecking on some food here and there. Throughout the meal the waitress brought more plates, pancreas tarts, minced tongues coated with cinnamon sugar, and sweet pies filled with rotted venison and cooked kidneys, all Rosie’s treat. Alastor had been taken by the small pies in their mulled deliciousness, the meat so tender you saw his eyes water. He pleaded you to try one, though you couldn’t, your stomach filled to the brim from the other treats and delicacies. 

Alastor picked up the small pair of silver tongs from beside him and placed two sugar cubes in his tea, “I do say, it’s nice to have a meal companion again.” He took a sip from his teacup and grinned. 

You nodded in agreement, lifting the milk jug from the table and pouring a generous amount into your cup. “Likewise. Good dinner conversation is a horrid thing to lose.”

“Truly.” He took another drink. “Before you, I hadn’t had a proper luncheon since my mother.”

“From what you tell she sounded like a fine woman.” His grin lost its eeriness, becoming fond instead. 

“She truly was, and such a fine cook too.” Alastor gazed at the fine pattern painted on the rim of his saucer, “her jambalaya was the best, our side of the Mississippi” he chuckled. He began to remember then, “And her gumbo and her crawfish etouffee and her pecan pralines”

It was odd to hear his voice so full of affection, but nice too. So strange, to think a man who broadcasted his murders of other overlords and feasted on their flesh was once a little boy who clung to his mothers skirt and happily ate her cooking. 

“Maybe one day you’ll cook for me then?” you teased

“Oh why wouldn’t I for my favoritest of sinners?” He took your hand.

You leaned in towards him, a silent flirtation. “Or perhaps I could prepare something for you?”

He looked at you from his dark, hooded eyes, a certain intrigue radiating from them. “Would you now?” he said, leaning in closer. 

“Oh I would, anything you’d like.” the tip of your oxford lingering at his ankle. “My food was good enough for my darling back on earth, why would an overlord of hell have any complaints? Other than not enough seasoning I suppose.” 

That was when the laughter in his eyes died. Alastor bit the inside of his cheek before finding the words to speak, “Your darling?”

 “Pardon?”

“You had someone,” He straightened up, pulling himself away from you, “back on earth?”

“I hardly see how it matters now.” 

Alastor’s tone grew curt, had such a simple word bruised his ego? 

He crossed his arms, “What were they like?” each word as sharp as his teeth.

You pulled your hands close to you, confused at his curtness, “They were….they were nice. Cordial, spirited, vivacious, however you would put it. If you’re-” Alastor cut you off. 

“How did you meet them?”

“On the trolley.” That only served to make him scoff.

“Tch, how common. The trolley.”

You chewed your bottom lip, trying to deny the anger towards him that began to knot in your belly. “It was a different lifetime.” You asserted, a hard finality to it. Pushing yourself from the small table you smoothed your skirt and adjusted the ribbon that was tied so nicely in your hair. 

Without looking at him you said, “Tell Rosie I’m grateful for her hospitality and I will try to find a way to repay her. Also that I’m sorry that I had to retire without saying hello but I feel rather…faint.” Before leaving completely you said, “See you back at the hotel.”

The rest of the day you hid in your room, sulking and pacing. Charlie had tried to coax you out, seeing how angry you’d been when you came back, but you denied every effort she had. 

“It’s not good to stay cooped up in there,” the Princess pleaded.

“I like my alone time.”

 “But- but I had games planned! Husk was going to show us how to play Blackjack and Dominoes!”

“I prefer bridge, and he’ll just cheat us anyways.”

She gave a disappointed sigh, and outside the door you could hear Vaggie talking to her, telling Charlie to give you your space. 

For three nights straight you avoided Alastor, finishing up your hotel duties quickly before hiding in your room. You grew bored after the first day admittedly, a person could only sleep and bathe and read so much. The fourth night is when he knocked on your door while you lied draped on your couch, your nose in a book you’d already finished before. Thinking it was Charlie, you ignored it, sure she’d get the message. It insisted however, rapping harder the second time. You sighed, annoyed. “Who is it?”

“Alastor, may I come in?”

A sour taste came in your mouth, “No.”

“You cannot lock yourself away from me forever.” 

You lifted yourself off the couch, full of bitterness, “I can and I will!”

An electric hum filled your ears, the sound of Alastor weighing his words, “Could you at least entertain my attempt?”

Walking to the door and opening it slightly you saw his face, those deep, hooded eyes dark as blood, cracked lips, and hollow cheekbones. All of those beautiful, haunting features draped in remorse. You sighed, cursing the affection you had for him. 

“Fine, but I’m still cross with you.” That made him smile, if only a tad. 

Opening the door fully, you saw he’d brought one of the dining carts from the unused kitchen clad in a clean white sheet. Alastor pushed it to the center of the room before spiritedly ripping the cover from the cart, presenting polished silver dishes of raw meat and organs. From the bottom shelf of it, he had pulled a fine bottle of wine and two shining glasses.

“I helped myself to a bottle of Husk’s finest, the patrons here don’t have as refined tastes as you and I.” He gave a small grin. So this is what he brought with him, a peace offering. Your stomach was empty from only eating a small meal earlier in the day, so perhaps it was not in vain, though you weren’t sure if you were ready to forgive him. 

“I’ll help you set the table,” you offered, feeling guilty he put so much effort into pleasing you. 

Alastor held his hands up, “No need darling.” He put his hand on his throat, “What I said the other day was very…” he coughed into his hand, “ungentlemanly of me, and I wanted to make it up to you.” 

You folded your hands and held them to your chest, looking at the embarrassment he tried to hide. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, and raised your gaze to his. “Thank you, Alastor.” His grin widened as he sat down beside you. 

He uncorked the bottle of wine, beginning to pour it into the glasses, “Of course.” He handed you the glass which you took gladly. The vintage was so dark it looked black, reflecting the lights that glowed from the ceiling. Swishing it, you could see the hidden shades of red that the wine hid.

“Demon’s blood, Husk calls it.” Alastor told you before he took a long sip. 

“Fitting. Do you know how long he’s aged it?” Alastor shrugged, taking another swallow. 

“I didn’t care to ask, but it tastes so good going down. Come, drink, I didn’t bring this up so I could get drunk by myself.” That made you giggle, how much he valued the both of you eating and drinking together. 

Taking his lead, you titled your head back, savoring the warm burn of the wine going down. Its hot fingers lingered in your chest before fading, like drinking cold medicine. In three large gulps you finished your glass, noticing the way Alastor’s eyes watched your throat as you drank. After finishing your second glass you began to dig into the food he’d brought, pancreas tarts, cooked kidneys and…oh good god! On the largest plate was a raw heart, fresh and bloody. 

“Where did you get this? You shouldn’t have!” Your eyes went wide and your mouth began to salivate. A raw heart! Oh and it was human too! Such a fine delicacy must have taken so much begging from Alastor!

“Rosie owed me a favor. And I owe it to you, for making such a jackass of myself.” 

You took another sip of your wine, feeling your face begin to flush. You helped yourself to a tart while Alastor poured himself another glass. As you ate you felt his eyes on you again, focusing on the way your teeth bit into the pastry, your swan’s neck showing your swallow, and how your tongue dragged across your lips. Feeling bold, you placed your feet in his lap and wiped the corner of your mouth with your finger, licking the tip of it with your tongue. He swallowed, hard, his eyes growing wide. 

“Are you looking at something?” Your voice a heavy seduction.

“Possibly.” He drank again. Leaning back on the arm of the couch, he placed his glass on the floor. The tips of his fingers grazed your legs, “Though I do have another question for you, if I may.”

A sultry smirk grew on your face, “That depends on what it is, Al.” God, you could see the glint in his eyes then.

Alastor looked up at you from his hooded eyes, “I’ve been wondering…about your “darling.” You arched an eyebrow; your interest piqued. “Did they ever have…you?” His breath shuddered. 

“Have me, how?” You teased.

“Oh humor me my dear,” He purred

You smirked and shifted your legs in his lap. “Hmm, maybe once or twice…” You sit up from your recline and crawl onto his lap.

“What sorts of things did they do to you?” 

Running your fingers down his chest you savored the way he squirmed and shifted, “All sorts of unholy things” 

Alastor choked on his breath, his eyes transfixed on your face. Slowly, he caught it, regaining a certain boldness afterwards. His hand found the top of your stocking, fingering the nylon taut to your thighs. “Getting rather comfortable aren’t we my dear?”

The smirk you had deepened and you pulled in closer, feeling the heat of his breath tickle your cheeks. You looked into his eyes, “I could get much more comfortable if you like, Al.” For what seemed like ages you lingered, until you felt you had tortured the man enough. Slowly, you leaned in, seemingly ready to kiss his shiny red lips. Grinning, you pulled a piece of dry skin from his bottom lip between your teeth, peeling it to show the bleeding flesh beneath. 

You sat back on his lap and spat out the skin. Looking at him, you saw that hunger in his eyes again. That fine line of decorum the two of you had with one another, ignoring the lingering gazes and longing touches, all thrown away with one bite. Underneath, you could feel his arousal beginning to grow hard. You rolled your hips slightly into him, earning a throaty groan from Alastor. From the silver dining cart you pulled the piece de resistance, that raw bleeding heart, and sunk your teeth into it, tasting the sweet flavor of iron. Trails of blood dripped from your mouth onto your decolletage, slowly turning brown and flaky.

Alastor’s breath heaved, growing even harder from that sultry cannibalistic display. He pulled you towards him and pressed your mouth to his, saccharine saliva mixing with sanguine. His tongue slid and twisted about yours, savoring every inch of its taste. You pulled away from him to catch your breath, making him whine. Leaning in again, he dragged his tongue along your neck, cleaning up the drying strings of blood. 

Both of you straightened up then, him holding you proper now. One hand ran its fingers through his shiny red hair and the other cupped his aching sex, so taut against his trousers. 

“Is that what you were so upset about Al? If they fucked me or not?” You purred into his ear.

The tips of your fingers fluttered over his hip, tracing its edge before returning to his cock. “I bet you wondered if I did this to them, didn’t you?” A small nip was placed on his neck, leaving a red half-moon. Your breath grew hot against his cheek as you whispered into his ear again, 

“Maybe I did, and maybe I did so many more dirty things to them.” 

Alastor enraptured your mouth in another needy kiss. His words heavy with radio static, “What sort of things my dear? Or are you all talk?” Your grin widened seeing the shock in his eyes when you began to unbutton his overcoat.

“Let me show you.”

Four little words was all it took to send him over the edge. Picking you up, his hands traced over all the parts of your succulent body. When he flopped you on the bed, hair as tousled as a pin-up, you reached out a stockinged leg to him, that devious look on your face growing. Oh how badly he wanted to have you, hastily unzipping your dress as you stripped him down to his undershirt and trousers. Deft fingers hooked around the tops of your stockings, pulling them down as fast as they could. You dropped his trousers and took off his shirt, admiring all of that soft, gray skin.

You pressed your mouth to the flesh of his stomach, blessing it with small love-bites that made him shudder. All along his torso you left red patches and traced your cool fingertips along the hard edges where his ribs poked out. You tilted your head up and moved his hands to the straps of your brasserie, exposing all of your hot, yearning flesh. He cupped a breast and lied on top of you. Grinding his sex to yours he moaned into your mouth. It had been so…so long since you’d been wanted, since someone pressed their body to yours and you felt all of their heat as they slid into you, over and over again. 

“Al,” You breathed

“What is it?”

“Get on your back.” 

And so he did. 

Alastor’s back against the mattress and your palms against his chest, you let him enter you. He let out a string of curses when you did, and even more when you started moving in those easy rolling motions. Those large hands of his held the curve of your waist as you rode him, his eyes half-lidded as he watched your breasts bounce. 

“The first time I saw you…” You began, going a little faster, “I wanted you,” You heard a small thud as he dropped his head against the pillows.

“I thought about you kissing me and touching me all over” That’s when the pulses of pleasure started to build up, prickling you in sweet needles that went all the way up your spine.

“And about you sticking your fingers in me and..and your tongue too” You felt your face heat up and your sex grow slicker, admitting those indecent thoughts you only entertained during late nights when your fingers wandered. Alastor gripped your waist tighter, making your rhythm harsher. You looked down on him, his eyes glazed over with euphoria, and felt your mouth pool with saliva.

Digging your nails into the skin of his chest you kept on. “For a whole week I couldn’t keep from slipping my hands between my legs.” Your voice, thick and hoarse. “I wanted to know what you tasted like, if-if your mouth tasted like blood,” that was when he quickened the pace even more. Your sex was so hot and wet, all the way at the base of your spine you could feel your orgasm coming to you, a full-body shiver that made your eyes well with tears. 

The last part was what sent him over the edge though. 

“Sometimes, I’d bite myself so I could taste the blood when I’d touch-” was all it took to make him come. 

Fuck it felt good too. A weak falsetto escaped your mouth when he released, so warm and filling. That’s what made you reach your end too. You clawed your nails in his skin so deep there were two broken half-moons on his chest. Your thighs clenched against his torso, quivering, as you could feel your body become as light and floaty as chiffon. 

Alastor let the both of you ride it out, that sweet joyous bliss. When your mind returned from the heaven it was sent to, you leaned over, resting on top of him. He moved you gently, pressing you closely to his chest. For a while, neither of you spoke, the air lingering with the smell of sweat and blood and sex. You ran your fingers through his hair again; He kissed the back of your hand before speaking. 

“If I’d known all that would come out of making you angry at me, I would’ve earned your ire a long while ago.” You rolled your eyes, flicking his chest playfully. 

“Perhaps we could do this again, without the arguing?” You propose, “You’re quite good at it.” 

A smile stretched across his face as he played with a lock of hair that rested near your face, “Expect nothing less from an overlord of hell cher.” One of his hands slid to your lower back, tracing small circles on that creamy flesh. 

“How about we try one more time without the arguing, for good measure?”

You smirked and kissed him again. All for good measure.

[radioisntdead]

Too sweet

Alastor x gn reader,

Warnings!!

Mild ooc, reader is dessert themed also kinda imagining they have eyes that resemble 1930's animation but that's just me, casual backstory drop in the middle that's just never brought up again, death, pacing is a little off, Alastor is prepared with angelic steel this time! It does not help whatsoever!

Song: Too sweet

It wasn't a secret that Alastor strongly disliked sweet things, it wasn't a complete hatred but he wouldn't willingly eat any, he preferred bitter things.

It can't be said I'm an early bird

You were as sweet as pure sugar, with that oh so charming smile of yours, your big ol' cartoony eyes, eccentric and positive attitude, not to mention you were quite literally dessert themed, Cake themed outfits, frosted purses, phone case adorned with spackled frosting, sprinkles and charms.

It's ten o'clock before I say a word

You were the most recent addition to the hotel, a few of the hotel's residents didn't quite understand how someone as sweet as you could've ended up in hell, it was theorized that maybe it was an act, a honey coated trap that would lead to the hotel demise or something.

Baby, I can never tell

That was thrown out rather quickly when you kept the same sweetheart persona even when alone, it was just how you were.

How do you sleep so well?

It was concerning to a certain few hotel residents when it was discovered that you had a thing for the Radio demon,

The way your eyes would linger on him for a moment too long, the way you would gaze at him love evident in your eyes.

You keep telling me to live right

Husk gave you a warning one night at the bar, you were sipping on a drink that had more sugar then any drink should, he was cleaning up the bar.

"Look kid, Alastor is a bad decision, this won't end well for you."

"I know." You had responded, twirling around that sickly sweet drink of yours

You weren't naive like your personality seemed to make people think, you knew Alastor was a bad idea, bad news, he was a cannibalistic murderer for heaven's sake!

To go to bed before the daylight

But it was alright to have a small crush that you wouldn't act on, it'd pass eventually but for now it wasn't bad to fantasize about dancing with him, cooking together or about doing something unholy like handholding! Nothing would become of it, you didn't have a good history with relationships anyways.

But then you wake up for the sunrise

Charlie was supportive of your little crush, she had found out about it after accidentally overhearing you drunkenly tell Angel Dust about it, that sugary little drink really did a number on you.

She decided she would try to push you and Alastor together, gently, She was such a great wingman!

After all Alastor tolerated you more than anyone else in the hotel so that's a indication that you might have a chance right? A truly slim one but a chance nonetheless!

You know you don't gotta pretend, baby, now and then

When Alastor began enjoying your company a little too much for his liking it was like he, from his prospective had been thrown into a horror movie and trapped with little to no way out.

He enjoyed some of your antics and reactions.

Don't you just wanna wake up, dark as a lake?

You were helpful around the hotel, helping out with advertising, you'd proofread scripts he had written for his radio broadcast, every time you went out for a treat you brought back some type of pastry or snack for the hotel residents, in particular you'd travel all the way to cannibal town to pick up something for Alastor, you didn't have too, but you did.

Smelling like a bonfire, lost in a haze?

As time went on the feelings didn't fade, especially since Charlie heavily suggested that the two of you should work together on hotel related things, and that pinwheeled into the two of you spending more time together, getting closer, and eventually you began to avoid Alastor, you had a tendency to ditch the people you were fond of in a way usually in a cruel fashion, you didn't mean too, truly! But you did and you didn't want to risk it with Alastor for his sake and yours.

If you're drunk on life, babe, I think it's great

You were a known partier back in your day, you died back in the heights of the roaring twenties where you had the money and privileges to go to lavish parties where anyone who was anyone could attend much like the parties Gatsby held in the great Gatsby, you lived what some folks thought the roaring twenties were all about, Flappers, speakeasies, parties and short-lived prosperity.

You were in your twenties, rebellious and reckless, drinking any drink given to you, playing around with people's emotions with those sickly sweet words of yours, taking whatever substance you were given, and a year before the stock market crash, you were found dead on the dancefloor poisoned by a former darling of yours who didn't like that you had left them because things were getting 'too serious' for you.

You didn't handle death well, and in order to keep at least some of your sanity you went to hurling yourself onto the hellish party scene, frequenting speakeasies, trying to keep some sense of what you knew, repeating harmful cycles, but you couldn't do it forever.

And so you gave up the party scene around the mid 40's, burning bridges and leaving behind many scorned people behind.

You were more unstable back then, but you had improved, at least you thought you did taking up the sweet attitude by a couple notches, switching from drinking alcohol each day to drinking sweet smoothies or milkshakes.

You cleaned up your act and you were continuing to keep it clean especially as you checked into the hotel.

No one there knew about your track record and you would like to keep it that way.

But while in this world

The avoidance didn't last long since Alastor cornered you asking why and you blabbered out your feelings in one big ramble.

And that was that.

I think I'll take my whiskey neat

Charlie was ecstatic to learn that you and Alastor had gotten together, Others were concerned particularly Husk, his bets were that either Alastor would end up owning your soul, you'd become just as twisted as Al or you'd end up dead.

None of them would end well for you.

My coffee black and my bed at three

The two of you were opposites, while he took his coffee black and bitter you loaded yours up with milk, sugar and whatever other toppings you wished, when he stayed awake for multiple days in end you snoozed away at night, when he was threatening someone who was messing with the hotel you were trying to defuse the situation with sweet words.

You're too sweet for me

Alastor didn't like sweet things, but he didn't mind you and your sugary sweetness, infact you could say he was growing a little bit of a sweet tooth.

Just the sight of your sweet little smile was enough to cause a slight ache in his heart and that fact that you could be called his now was just wonderful!

You're too sweet for me

He could see himself getting used to all this sweetness, he just needed to make sure no one knew that.

I take my whiskey neat

You smiled, listening intently and sipping on your sweet alcoholic drink while Alastor recounted an encounter he had, a glass of whiskey in his hand whooshing around as he spoke.

My coffee black and my bed at three

It was after a hotel game night mixed with alcohol, the two of you were tired and intoxicated, you were a giggly drunk, laughing at the most mundane things, Alastor was escorting you to your room and much to his surprise it was a challenge as you would stop every few steps to laugh at how the crack in the wall looked like a giraffe or how that stain on the carpet looked like a birthday cake!

You're too sweet for me

By the time he had finally gotten you to your room he was exhausted, you kicked off your shoes leaving them on your floor as you dived into your bed, reveling in the comfortable blankets.

Alastor rolled his eyes as he entered your room leaning down to pick up your discarded shoes to properly put them away in your woredrob, he intended to leave to his own room but you reached out your arms to him making grabby hands, he walked over and leaned in to see what you wanted only for you to suddenly grab him, pulling him down and covering him in the blankets before promptly passing out with your arm wrapped around one of his.

You're too sweet for me

He was going to get up, he truly was but he hadn't slept in hell knows how many days now, and the bed was warm, before he knew it his eyelids were drooped. His shadow thankfully decided to close the door to your room.

I aim low, I aim true and the ground's where I go

The next morning he was greeted by you humming while gently petting his fluffy ears, he wasn't sure you knew he was awake at that point, but he rather liked having his ears petted, at least by you and it wouldn't hurt to savor this moment for just a few more minutes before the two of you would have to deal with the duties that the day held for you.

I work late where I'm free from the phone, and the job gets done

Alastor preferred to have his radio broadcast aired in the morning but sometimes he wouldn't get the chance too, [Maybe he indulged a little too much in his morning time with you]

He would air around eight pm and sometimes you would hang around his tower, doing whatever activity you had brought along until he was done and the two of you would walk back to the hotel, maybe grabbing a bite to eat.

But you worry some, I know

Other nights you would turn on the radio in his room and curl up in a blanket on the leather chair he had, closing your eyes and listening to his oddly soothing voice.

But who wants to live forever, babe?

Alastor didn't particularly believe that heavens gates would accept sinners even if they were redeemed, but nothing is impossible and he, although he doubted it, could be wrong and the Hazbin hotel could be a success in redeeming sinners left and right and you were one of the residents checked in for redemption.

You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate

Alastor moved a piece of your hair away from your face, careful not to disturb your sleeping position on his chair, he could admit to himself that he had gotten attached to you, and he couldn't just have his darling little partner leave him behind to fraternize with the winners above now could he?

The rest of you like you're the TSA

He picked you up from the chair and moved you over to his bed, tucking you in.

If anyone in this damned place could get redeemed it was you.

I wish that I could go along, babe, don't get me wrong

And Alastor, well he wasn't the type to be looking for redemption or redeemed, he was even less of the type to blindly follow someone somewhere even if it was you.

He did wish he could see his mother who obviously was in heaven but that simply just wasn't in the cards for him, it was tragic but he did murder people, he died while burying a body after all!

You know, you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain

Alastor cut into the dead deer he had just sat on his table, he was about to take a bite when he caught a glimpse of you shooting up from his bed looking around in hasty panic before you visibly calmed at the sight of him, with one of your signature surgery sweet smiles that caused swirls in his heart you bid him a good morning.

Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape

Alastor strolled into the hotel after a day of errands, only to see everyone cluttered together looking at something you were holding that he couldn't see, you noticed him and waved him over, grinning as you held the red creature in your arms that looked strikingly like Alastor, you went on a small tangent about how you had found the little guy while taking a stroll around the hotel.

If you can sit in a barrel, maybe I'll wait

In all honesty he wanted to hurl the creature out the window but you were stubborn in saying that the two of you should keep the catlike creature immediately dubbing it as your son much to Alastor's displeasure.

Until that day

He and the little creature begun a little rivalry, whenever he had his arm around you that thing would try and headbutt it off.

On the plus side you had taken to dressing the little one up in ridiculous little outfits, usually to match you or Alastor, from dessert themed outfits to Alastor's signature suit.

The creature did not like being dressed the majority of the time as the little thing felt it was taken less seriously thanks to the outfits.

It was right, when the little one would strut around the hotel he was usually awe'd over by Charlie and Sir Pentious.

I'd rather take my whiskey neat

Time flew by as extermination day drew closer, preparing became the focus in the hotel, coating weapons in angelic steel, in particular you had a axe that you covered with dessert themed charms finding it funny, because imagine getting taken out with a dessert themed axe of all things!

My coffee black and my bed at three

You had just barely convinced Alastor to prepare to use an angelic weapon, borderline begging him to do so, you didn't know what you'd do if he got taken out or injured because he was too prideful and foolish to use angelic steel in some way.

You're too sweet for me

He just couldn't say no to you when you looked at him with those cartoonish eyes that reminded him of 1930's animation and surgery sweet smile!

You're too sweet for me

It was the night before extermination, everyone was ready, living this night as if they were going to die tomorrow, which they probably will but they had something to fight for! You indulged on the classic surgery sweet drink that you always got, sipping on it as Niffty declared Alastor king roach leading to you chuckling.

I take my whiskey neat

It was the time where everyone retired, laying in bed you gently brushed a hand through his awful haircut, the two of you chatted about what could happen tomorrow and what the two of you would do afterwards because obviously the two of you didn't intend on dying.

You let out a yawn, deciding to call it a night you gave Alastor a light peck before laying your head on your pillow.

My coffee black and my bed at three

Alastor channeled his inner Edward Cullen and watched you sleep, blanket curled around you, that little creature was snoozing by you, dressed in a onesie that you had obviously put on him.

He didn't say it often, or at all honesty but he adored you, the only sweet thing he would willingly indulge in.

He would do anything to protect you, you would survive the extermination, he would make sure of it.

You're too sweet for me

He, infact did not make sure of it.

It was during his little encounter with Adam, the first man had gone to attack him but you had ran in, taking the hit for Alastor.

Resulting in a large gash in your stomach, blood pooled around you as Alastor got a few hits on Adam before turning to you, clutching your body as shadows overtook the two of you, taking you to his radio tower.

You're too sweet for me

Alastor scrambled, his usual composed self gone as you were actively bleeding out, he tried to stop the bleeding but you had already lost too much.

I take my whiskey neat

He held you as he demanded to know why the hell you would jump Infront of him.

You simply smiled, lifting your hand to touch his face, you said three simple words that would be your last, the last thing you saw was Alastor's strained smile.

My coffee black and my bed at three

Husk was right, it would end one of three ways, either Alastor ended up with your soul, you became just as twisted or you died.

And many died that day, the hazbin hotel lost two of its residents, Sir Pentious and you.

Sir Pentious had died for his friends and you had died for the person you loved, sacrifices that landed the two of you into heaven.

You're too sweet for me

Alastor sat in his newly built radio tower, that damned creature that you had brought by his side.

He had managed to survive the hotel collapsing, good for him, unfortunately the person that brought him there didn't survive, and now he was stuck with Alastor, but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing anymore.

You're too sweet for me

Alastor despised sweet things, they were filled with sickly sweet sugar that would leave cavities behind in it's wake, even after being brushed away it would still leave some damage like you did, you left him like you had left others before only this time it was unwillingly, you were the sweetest thing he'd ever known, he made a unfortunately decision to get attached to you and now he paid the consequences, he would be unintentionally haunted by you, reminded of you every time he saw the portrait they hung of you in the hotel along with Sir Pentious or even with the cat that looked like him.

He wouldn't be making the mistake of falling for someone again that was for sure.

It's not like he could if he wanted to anyways.

Good evening folks! I hope you enjoyed this! I wrote it all in one day, I didn't write it because I got tired but the reader is totally fighting people to go back to Alastor, just "I JUST DIED AFTER TELLING HIM I LOVED HIM, THAT IS TRAUMATIZING"

[detroitlib]

View of the first four boosters of the Housewives League of Detroit. The women are wearing winter coats and hats; three of the women are carrying briefcases, one is carrying a purse. Printed on front: "Theus Photo". Handwritten on back: "MS/ Housewives League of Detroit - Box 4; First Housewives League of Detroit Boosters; l. to r. Mrs. Naomi Dean, Mrs. Mary Beasley, Mrs. Gertrude Tolbert Rogers, Mrs. Ethel Hemsley." Photograph taken by Theus Photo Service, 4508 Hastings, Detroit, Mich. c. 1930.

Burton Historical Collection, Detroit Public Library

[eyesaremosa1cs]

Antique Evening Bags

x x

[shewhoworshipscarlin]

Day bags, 1930s-40s.

[cressida-jayoungr]

One Dress a Day Challenge

September: Bond Films

Casino Royale (2006) / Eva Green as Vesper Lynd

Continuing with the five primary modes of Bond Girl chic, the third item on the list is evening wear. We've already had a taste of that with Sylvia Trench. Vesper Lynd's backless purple gown from Casino Royale is perhaps the most iconic evening dress of the Daniel Craig era. The plunging neckline and gathered material in the bodice make me think of Marilyn Monroe's famous gold dress, while the long lines echo the 1930s by way of the 1970s. The sparkly edging to the neck is meant to be attention-grabbing, and it is. The dress is finished with a matching wrap and clutch purse.

Like many dresses that appear deep purple onscreen, it appears considerably lighter and closer to raspberry-pink when seen offscreen. Compare this dress for another example of the same phenomenon.

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟔   ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜   |   NAKAWE PALACE, AUGUST 1991

❧  𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲  /  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

   ❛  In the premier’s sitting room, Beatriz’s memories transported her back to a formative childhood moment. Her education began early, as was customary, but the distance between Canarís and Nakawe in those days meant she didn’t shadow the king himself until later. She was instead inseparable from her father, observing the birthright governorship that the men of Uspana’s assembly would deny her some years later. Still, her memory of Fernando was strong—a perfect jester of a grandfather, energetic and jovial. He was unlike her father in many ways, but they had both been paternal men. Beatriz believed to this day that her papa was the best father in the world, and she regretted that he hadn’t lived to become a jovial grandfather, too. Of course, the most notable difference was her grandfather’s effectiveness. Liberal pens rewrote history in the succeeding decades, but Beatriz remembered that fact well.

❧ ran out of time but didn't want to postpone so i kinda totally 100% phoned this one in dsfsdfjk BUT nando cameo !!!!! grandpa !!!!! uses the phrase "people of means" unironically !!!!! love him, can't wait to go back to the 1930s someday

𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

The room belonged to Hernan Perdignon when Beatriz entered it for the first time. Fernando had disliked him on ideological grounds, and Alfonso respected him for his principles, but it had been neither that led to his being gunned down in a public market midway through his first term. The Depression ground down everyone. Even Beatriz recalled those as lean years—if, primarily, because her father’s guilt made him insist their household behave as if though its purse shrunk along with everyone else’s. It did, but not in a way they felt. Her mother’s ongoing spending, the very spectacle of it, proved as much. Meanwhile, Alfonso insisted they buy only food without import taxes and pay for cheap fabric at the market. It didn’t matter that the bolts went from the weaver’s mangled hands into those of better paid seamstresses and tailors. Her father reduced their estate’s livestock by half, but they didn’t have to take them out back and slaughter them to do it. 

Before they departed for the meeting at Nakawe Palace, her grandfather had knelt down to give her instructions with uncharacteristic seriousness. Neither her grandparents nor her parents ever lived at Nakawe Palace itself. They rode over, whether in a carriage, a chauffeured town car, or one of her mother’s sleek, dangerous roadsters. When she could drive herself, Beatriz visited in a doorless military issue four-by-four. A black sedan was to Fernando’s back on this day as he explained that he wanted her to stand perfectly quiet and still, doll-like, while he talked to the premier. It wasn’t just a matter of being well-behaved. ‘Stare him down,’ Fernando intoned. ‘Don’t look away for a minute. If he looks at you, don’t back down. Keep him in a fixed gaze, and keep your ears open.’ She’d asked, confused, ‘Open?’ and prompted a laugh from him. ‘Listen to us, Bird. Listen like you listen to your papa.’ That, she knew could do.

Perdignon laughed, deep and good-natured, when he saw her stroll into the room ahead of the king. That was the desired effect, and Fernando assured him with a wink that six year old Beatriz could conduct a meeting with a politician just as well as anyone else. Indeed, the premier noted she was a somber child. She stood like a sentry at the edge of the king’s chosen sofa, her hands clasped, the maturity of her comportment undermined only by the girlish ribbons in her hair. Most of the conversation went over her head, and that was fine. She focused as best she could on what her grandfather had requested: although at times distracted by a bird in the window, a vase on a shelf, the movement of aides just beyond the room’s open door, she stared hard at Perdignon’s expressive face while the men conversed. Like their spirited debate about economics, the reason Fernando had asked this of her was beyond her grasp at the time. She only understood later what it accomplished—in the tense quiet between barbed words, when the king’s expectant challenges went unmet, when the premier fell silent in resignation. Perdignon found the attentive audience in miniature charming. As the meeting dragged on, though, he found it unsettling. 

There was an art to it, to unsettling and intimidating and domination. It demanded subtlety. Although some pretended to forget, her ancestors had known that and passed the wisdom down. It was the warm bath that became a boiling pot. It was a gentle touch. It was an unexpectedly stifling room, an uninvited guest, inexplicable body language, threats delivered with luxurious kindness. Beatriz could browbeat and curse when it suited her. In fact, that’s what she loved. Neither her stature nor her pedigree suggested as much, which became its own kind of unsettling. Still, she approached her work more often as a strategist rather than with self-indulgence. She learned early and well that her claim to dominion—her queenhood, her king’s crown—rested on precision and finesse just as much as the very real force underwriting it.

Eladio Guillen’s sitting room was worlds away from the one that had belonged to Hernan Perdignon. Much of the decorations remained unchanged in the six intervening decades, but this was a different time and place. This was, too, a different premier. Unlike Perdignon, Guillen wouldn’t be lionized for his devotion to the nation. His aspirations were not grand; by Beatriz’s measure, they were small and petty, which made him more susceptible to precision, finesse, and force alike. It was her prerogative to choose a premier from among the winning coalition’s candidates, and she had chosen him for that very reason. Her mind wandered to a memory of instruction, but it was only because Guillen failed to maintain her attention. There was no real need for strategy today. He talked about nothing, meandering and wandering. Beatriz was a shepherd. He was a chicken, headless.

Beatriz refocused herself soon enough, crossing her ankles as she interrupted Guillen to state, “Arnaut was here yesterday. Was it productive?”

Guillen readjusted as well, leaning back into the cushion with a sigh. They regarded each other as he thought through his response. “Well,” he began, meeting Beatriz’s sharp eyes. “It’s a good kind of sentimental, what you all are trying to do for my late princess. Believe me.” The queen prompted him to continue with a raise of her eyebrows. “Still, I was skeptical when she was pitching it herself, and she was a much better communicator than my prince. He’s just all over the place and nowhere at the same time, I hear. Hard to find a mess he hasn’t stepped in.”

Beatriz’s expression remained unchanged as she listened. There were no surprises in Guillen’s report; his were words she could have just as easily said herself—and, whether casually or in frustration, likely had. Yet, it roiled her to hear them from him. She could imagine the meeting, and she could envision Guillen’s smirking face as Arnaut made a show of his inexperience. There was no trace of amusement as he sat before her now, but she found his apologetic demeanor just as rankling. 

Maintaining an even tone, she followed up with, “What do you want, Guillen?”

“What?” He sounded surprised—or, she thought, feigned it. 

“What do you want?” she repeated, leaning forward. “Do you have strong feelings about higher education? Do you want to humiliate my son? Is it completely irrelevant to you and just … 'weighing interests'?” That was Guillen’s terminology. He ferried it from his corporate background into the premiership, and now it cropped up time and time again in meetings Beatriz had to endure. This vague, euphemistic bandage encapsulated his politics well. Likewise, it had infected underlings, admirers, and enemies indiscriminately. 

“It has nothing to do with him, my queen,” Guillen protested.

Beatriz shrugged. “Perhaps that’s how I heard it.”

However feebly, the premier was determined to defend himself. It seemed apparent to him that he had hit a nerve, even as the queen performed nonchalance. He hadn’t addressed her other suppositions. In a way, that didn’t matter. They both knew he had no abiding interest in this particular arena of policy. His mind, when it went into the weeds, entertained more attractive prospects like free trade and technological innovation. Even then, the name of the game was weighing interests. The outlier was pointed, almost as sharp as if she’d jabbed him with a pin: had he humiliated her son? It wasn’t his place to clarify that someone else had done it, actually, and he had only piled on by letting it happen in his presence. Perhaps that had been ill-advised, he wondered now. Still, it wasn’t often in the course of his business that someone’s mother checked their work. He was unsure how to handle it.

“That may be,” he conceded with a short sigh “But, I didn’t mean that.” 

Beatriz sniffed. “You said what you said, and that tells me something.” She paused, and Guillen straightened in anticipation. “I don’t need you to respect my son. That’s his concern. What I need is for you to work with him. These are not playdates or sentiments. For this project, he is my emissary. His work is the Crown’s work. And, for the Crown to work with your work … Well. Do you understand me?” 

This, Guillen understood all too well. It was almost all he understood.

TRANSCRIPT:

[Premier talking]

BEATRIZ | Arnaut was here yesterday. Was it productive? GUILLEN | It’s a good kind of sentimental, what you all are trying to do for my late princess. Believe me.

GUILLEN | Still, I was skeptical when she was pitching it herself, and she was a much better communicator than my prince. He’s just all over the place and nowhere at the same time, I hear. Hard to find a mess he hasn’t stepped in.

BEATRIZ | What do you want, Guillen? GUILLEN | What? BEATRIZ | What do you want? Do you have strong feelings about higher education? Do you want to humiliate my son? Is it completely irrelevant to you and just … "weighing interests"?

GUILLEN | It has nothing to do with him, my queen. BEATRIZ | Perhaps that's how I heard it. GUILLEN | That may be. But, I didn't mean that.

BEATRIZ | You said what you said, and that tells me something. I don’t need you to respect my son. That’s his concern. What I need is for you to work with him. These are not playdates or sentiments. For this project, he is my emissary. His work is the Crown’s work. And, for the Crown to work with your work … Well.

BEATRIZ | Do you understand me?

GUILLEN | Of course, my queen. I'll call him soon. Why don’t we return to the matter at hand? Pending bill forty-seven and excluding the Armorica provision, as you requested—

BRISIDA | The Canarís location? You’re sure? [Door opening]

??? | He requested the number. They do have a good auction there. We have a fax of the purchasing arrangement proposal, if you need it—company policy. It’ll be signed at the sale next week, I believe. BRISIDA | What day? ??? | Tuesday morning. Ten o’clock, if they’re punctual.

BRISIDA | Great. Nothing further; just let it proceed. Thank you. ??? | Our pleasure. Please give my queen our warmest wishes. BRISIDA | Uh huh. Goodbye.

BEATRIZ | The surveillance order? BRISIDA | Just needs those details and your signature. BEATRIZ | Always on top of things. Good.