#dizzy sights 1927

[vintagedreamsofsennett]

Steadman was a competitive diver from the Los Angeles Athletic Club who joined Keystone in 1915 as one of the earliest "bathing" girls, and became a leading lady in Paramount shorts of 1917-18. Born in Monterey, California, she left Sennett for Universal Star Comedies (1919) and then joined Al Christie's studio in 1920, where she spent a number of years supporting Bobby Vernon, Jimmy Adams and Neal Burns. Steadman stayed with Christie through the early sound era.

In February 1926, while riding in a car driven by Christie to a Palm Beach, Florida boat race, Vera was slightly injured in a car accident in New Mexico in which Marie Prevost's mother Hagina was killed. Steadman married professional violinist Jack A. Taylor in 1919. They had twin daughters Frances and Marie in 1921, but tragically Frances died at six weeks of age. The couple divorced in 1923. She married sportsman Russell K. Dougherty in May 1928. On January 28, 1941, Steadman was nearly killed by a car that hit her while she was crossing the street in Beverly Hills. On November 15, 1948, Steadman married ex-jockey Joseph Milton Flynn, and in later years she served as a public relations representative for the Salvation Army until her death at 66 at St. Mary's Hospital in Long Beach, California, after a lengthy illness.

-Walker, B.E., 2010, Mack Sennett's Fun Factory, McFarland&Company, Inc., Publishers, p. 544

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Vampire Chris Whump prompt: A starved vampire Chris is put into a locked room with Jake. A Jake who has a small fresh cut, that may or may not stink of blood.

CW: Implied character death, vampire whump, vampire whumpee, blood drinking, starvation

1927, New York City

"Pl-please, I don't want to, please, I, I-... don't, don't make me please, Tooley, please-"

Tooley, on the other side of the heavy locked door, sighs loud enough that the vampire boy can still hear him, even over the muffled sound of weeping coming from the corner of the room, in the shadows. "It's the best way to really get a sense for how the light will hit, the color," He explains, as he's explained before. "I need the most realistic visual I can find, and what could be better than the real thing itself? You don't have to bump her, but I'm not opening that door 'til you've put me together a model for my painting."

His voice says his patience is running out.

The vampire boy whimpers, his mouth watering pink-tinged saliva, his pupils huge in the darkness, reflecting what dim light there is with a glow like a cat's at midnight. His hands clutch at his sides, trying to ignore the gnawing ache inside him, the demand pulsing in his dead blood.

Feed. Eat. Drink. Now.

In the corner, the woman's weeping intensifies, mumbled pleas against the gag tied around her head, twisted cloth forced between her teeth. Her hands are bound in front of her. She's wearing the loose, up-and-down dress the women wore now, so different from when the vampire boy had been alive, and young.

Tooley had ripped the hem until her thigh showed in a line almost to her hip, as if that might entice the vampire boy, who is unmoved. He had never cared about things quite like that. She's beautiful, and he wants her to live.

Her lips are painted a dark rouge that looks black in the darkness, the only light the hints of sunset shining through the slightest little cracks in the wood nailed over the window.

What Tooley had done last, though, was to cut a line down that thigh right through her skin along the outside. The blood runs and runs and drips onto the floorboards, wasted life and energy.

His hands twitch.

His venom drips onto his own tongue, his fangs demanding soft living skin to bury in.

He shudders and turns away from her, closing his eyes as tightly as he can. "Tooley, please, don't-... don't, don't, don't make me hurt her."

The woman's weeping turns to a slurred, hard-to-understand prayer. He doesn't know how to tell her that there is no prayer against vampires that works. He found out himself, when he was handed to them and turned. He'd said the prayer he'd learned in church over and over and he'd died anyway.

"I'll know when you feed," Tooley says, hard-voiced now. "So do it. I want to finish that painting by the end of the month and you're wasting my time."

There are stomping steps, the sound of the front door slamming shut. Tooley is gone, down to the underground bar he drinks in, the place where he has brought the vampire boy on a chain and muzzle to show off to his artist friends. You have to have a password to get in.

If the buttons knew we had booze and fangs down here, we'd all go to prison.

Tooley hasn't fed him in a week, and the boy had wondered why, but he knows now. Because he had planned this. And the boy's stomach twists in painful hunger, the scent of the woman's blood spinning his dizzy thoughts in circles around how much she is losing, and how much he could take from her.

She prays, and weeps.

He moves closer, and tells himself it is only to prove that he won't give in.

But he does.

When Tooley opens the door the next day, disheveled and with red-rimmed eyes from his hangover, it's to find the vampire boy curled up in the corner himself, weeping bloody tears, but with a flush of new life to the color of his skin.

The woman lays on her back now, legs akimbo, but the torn hem is laying just so and her blood pools around her, what the vampire did not take himself.

Her eyes are open, staring without sight towards the door Tooley enters through.

The artist looks over the scene, his smile bright with delighted intensity, and immediately uses his hands to form a rectangle with fingers and thumbs, taking in the scene. He moves over to the window, ripping off one of the boards to allow a beam of light to enter the room, shining on the woman.

It illuminates her death, and casts the vampire boy in even darker shadow.

"Perfect," Tooley breathes. "Oh, better even than I imagined. The remorseful monster-... oh, this'll be the absolute best. The weeping killer, the guilty sinner forced in hell to face his sins... Don't move a muscle, not a single twitch." He turns and runs from the room, and the vampire watches him go through a haze of red.

It's easy for the vampire boy not to move - he's dead.

Then again, so is the woman, now.

Because he wasn't strong enough to stay hungry.

When Tooley comes back, he forces the vampire boy to lift his face from where he has buried it against his arms so he can capture the way the hints of dawn illuminate the vampire's miserable tears.

-

@insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @newandfiguringitout @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

[imaginecredence]

“I’ll see you again.” (part 27)

Summary: A Credence Barebone imagine (Credence x Reader)

Note: This is the 27th part to this imagine so make sure you check out the others! I hope you like and reblog it. There also will most likely be a grammar mistake so bare with me. Anyway… I hope you enjoy!

Date published: May 2, 2017

Warnings: not really any?? Idk… Complete and udder sadness for sure (sorry)

Year: January- 1927

Part: twenty-seven of ?

MASTERLIST

PLAYLIST

Tags: @buckysbaloney

__________________________________

Stumbling down the stairs, you made your way after Credence. You clutched your side. It hurt so badly, but you had to go after him. 

He ran into the living room, going to the farthest corner. "Credence, I'm not mad at you." You stood a few feet away from him, giving him his space. To be honest you were a little scared to get too close after what had just happened. "If you're not mad at me then why have you been acting like you don't want me around?" He asked in a timid voice. "Oh, Credence." You sighed. "I-I can't explain how I feel... But I'm not mad at you." You took a cautious step forward. "Please, Credence. You have to believe me." "I do?" He turned around. "How can I? When you've been so- so cold with me." You looked deeply into his sad eyes, feeling yours fill with tears. "I just- I don't feel well." You mumbled, knowing he wouldn't believe you. But you just couldn't tell him what was really going on. He looked at you, feeling himself grow angrier. "I'm going to bed." He flopped onto the couch and turned, so his back faced you. You felt so dizzy and tired. The room was spinning out of control, you were out of control. What was happening to you, to him? Before you never dreamed that Credence-- The Obscurus would hurt you. But now you couldn't believe that it was a reality. Things were so different from the beginning. You felt like you were going to faint.

You walked clumsily up the stairs, holding onto the railing. You carefully climbed into your bed, trying not to hurt yourself. You weren't even crying, you were completely out of it.

You woke suddenly. Your eyes shot open, almost like you never slept. Things immediately sank in, all the events of last night and the past few days. You rubbed your tired eyes, taking a weak sigh. You grunted in pain as you slowly sat up. You lifted your shirt to see that your side was completely bruised and purple. But that wasn't the real pain. The pain was internal, your ribs. You knew one had to be cracked. Tears ran down your cheeks as you remembered how you got the pain. You were so incredibly scared last night. The feeling of Credence being so out of control, the Obscurus going after you the way it did. The sound of crying brought you out of your deep thoughts. Your head turned at the sound. Carefully, you stood up and slowly made your way downstairs. On the way down, you saw Credence curled up on the couch, crying. When you got to the end of the stairs you accidentally let out a grunt from the pain. Credence raised his head, to reveal his wet, red eyes. You stood there awkwardly, still holding your ribs. He lowered his head again, and tried to hold in his cries. You didn't know what to do. In the past, you would have rushed over to him, hugged him and told him everything was going to be okay, but this isn't the past and things have changed. You stood there for a while, wondering if he would say anything, or maybe you would.

Eventually you went back upstairs. You sat on your bed, leaning back against your pillows. You stared at nothing while your thoughts took over. You were pulled from your mind when you noticed Credence standing at the top of the steps. A while had passed, but you hadn't even noticed. You sat up a bit, looking at him, but not in the eye. "I-I just wanted to see if your side was o-okay." He said, quietly. "It's fine." You lied. "Can I- can I see?" He took a small step. You nodded and he walked over stiffly. You lifted up your shirt to reveal the awful bruise. Credence felt his heart fall at the sight, the pain he had inflicted on you. But he also noticed how visible your ribs were. Then he realized the bags under your eyes and your caved in cheeks. You looked so tired and weak. He looked up at you, tears sparkling in his eyes. Sighing, he bowed his head. You both sat there for a while, not saying anything. Then he abruptly stood up and walked across the room. "Cred-" But you were interrupted by him leaving and going back downstairs. You sighed and carefully laid back down.

Once again you didn't see Credence much that day. You slept most of the day, you felt so tired and weak. The one time you did see him, he was coming out of the bathroom and once he noticed you were awake we quickly left the room. Now, it was pretty late, the sun had already set. You managed to get out of bed and walk slowly down the steps. You looked around the gloomy apartment, but Credence was nowhere to be found. Your stomach flipped. Where could he be? You stood in the middle of the room, looking around, hoping maybe you missed him. But he wasn't there. You made yourself some tea and decided you would wait for him till he got home.

What felt like hours later, Credence finally came home. You were in a daze, but the second the door opened you snapped out of it. You sat up a bit and tried to fake a smile. He slipped in and closed the door, his back facing you. He stood there stiffly, not moving an inch. "W-Where were you?" You asked, quietly. "On a walked." He told you, in voice just above a whisper. "Really?" "You think I can't go out by myself?" He said a bit harsh. "I never said that, Credence." Your voice cracked. His eyes shifted around then went back to the ground. You looked down at the mug of steaming tea, as tears began to fill your eyes. Credence moved his gaze to you while you weren't looking. You looked so small sitting there. He noticed how different you looked from a just a few days ago. Before you were so warm and cheery, now you looked so cold and dark. He looked back down at his feet, feeling something inside of him break. "I'm going to go to bed." You said, standing up. He saw out of the corner of his eye how hard and painful it was for you to get up. You walked toward the steps just as Credence walked to the living room. You both stopped, only a few inches in from of each other. You were scared to look up, so you just stared at his chest, your breathing becoming heavier.   Credence didn't know what to do, before he would have wrapped his arms around you, but now things were so different. He looked down at you, your head was right below his. Closing his eyes, he breathed in through his nose, smelling in your scent. He realized how much he missed it. But he couldn't, he couldn't give into his weakness. He took a step back, shaking from his nerves. You reluctantly went back upstairs and laid on your bed, trying to stop thinking.

The next day passed as slowly as the one before, just like the next one did. Things were dark and gloomy. The rain dripped slowly down the windows as you sat, curled up on your bed, leaning your head against the wall. Your eyes were heavy and your chest had this pain and pressure you couldn't explain. You didn't know what Credence was doing downstairs.

Credence was trying his hardest to make things as normal as he could for himself. He would make himself his meals and he would clean the apartment up and get ready for the day. He just got back from getting the mail. He looked through the letters and stopped halfway through. A letter from your mother. He turned his head to look up the stairs. What should he do? Should he give you the letter? Without thinking too much he ripped through the envelope. The sound of the paper tearing made him shudder. It seemed so loud in the silence of the apartment. He pulled the letter out slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. Opening the letter, he found that there wasn't just a letter. Looking at your happy face made his eyes fill with tears. Only it wasn't your face, not really. It was the photo your mother had taken last Christmas. He wanted so badly to put the picture down and never look at it again, but it was so captivating. The two of you smiling bright and happy. It felt like that was so long ago, almost like it never happened. He finally put the picture down. By that time tears were uncontrollably streaming down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away and began to read the letter.

Y/N and Credence, I hope you guys are good and your New Year is going well. Come see us again soon!

P.S. I love this picture of you two!

After reading the note, Credence immediately put it down and walked over to the window, trying to get this all out of his mind. He looked out at the rainy city, the window glistening with rain drops. He let out a shaky sigh and turned away, going back to look through the mail.

Later that evening, Credence was pacing the apartment when your sketchbooks on the shelf caught his eye. He walked over and carefully took down your newest sketchbook. That was the only book you wouldn't let him look through. "There are too many unfinished drawings in this one." You had told him. He knew it would be torture to look through the drawing you had done when everything was okay, but he just had to. He brought it over to the kitchen table and opened it slowly. He quietly turned the pages, scared that you might hear him. He stopped at one page, at a drawing you had done of you and him. You were standing in front of the stove and he was standing right behind you. His head rested on your shoulder and his arms were wrapped around your waist. He remembered that night. It was the night he first told you he loved you. He was so deep in the memory that when he heard you move around upstairs it frightened him and he quickly closed the book and put it back on the shelf.

You were just getting out of bed because you decided to take a warm bath. The hot water was the closest thing to happiness you had felt in a long time. You closed your eyes, trying to wipe away the events of the past week. But it was so quiet and your thoughts were so loud. Everything was screaming and you couldn't make it stop.

After being in the bath for quite a while, you decided to get out. You honestly didn't feel any better, if anything you felt worse. You got into your pajamas and decided to just go straight to bed. You laid down on your side and closed your eyes, trying to fall asleep. Then suddenly it wasn't so quiet anymore. Your eyes shot open to the sound of thunder. Your heart sank. You knew Credence was probably scared. You decided to stay awake for when he would come.

But he never did. You heard another sound in between the cracks of thunder, Credence’s cries. Squeezing your eyes shut, you sent tears down your cheeks. You tried to block out the sound, but you couldn't. So you just laid there, feeling worse and worse as the night went on. Both of you hardly slept a wink.

To be continued....

PART TWENTY-EIGHT 

Let me know what you thought in the comments!

[the-prophet-lemonade]

Would you do a Malec ficlet? With the word being "charm"

SEEING AS I AM DEEP DEEP DEEP IN MALEC HELL, SURE THING. i know this has been in my inbox for a long time, but i am finally writing for them, so here we go !!!! i took “charm” in the context of … alec is charmed by chairman meow, and magnus is jealous of the cat. enjoy ♥✌

&

Magnus isn’t sure what’s worse: the thought that the Chairman might like Alec more than him, or the thought that Alec might like the Chairman more than Magnus. Both possibilities seem plausible, and that in itself is enough to weave a frown into Magnus’ expression as he leans over the back of the sofa, handing Alec a glass of wine - 1927 vintage Taylor Fladgate, a very good year - only to find Alec’s hands both very much caught up in ruffling the fur on the Chairman’s belly.

You traitor, Magnus can’t help but think, glaring at the cat. The cat returns the stare, absolutely deviously, and Magnus cannot help but think that the cat knows exactly what he’s doing.

Alec doesn’t coo - he’s not that sort of person, of which Magnus is thoroughly glad - but he does make this humming noise as he threads his strong fingers through the Chairman’s coat, which Magnus isn’t sure Alec is entirely aware of. The Chairman laps it up, stretching out upon his back, legs unfurled and belly on show.

You’re a tart, Magnus scowls. The Chairman makes a happy purring sound; Alec huffs on a soft laugh, moving his hands to tickle beneath the Chairman’s chin.

Magnus brings his glass of wine to his lips with a look of utter disdain, frowning as Alec scoops the cat up from the floor, and plops him upon his lap. The cat looks startled by this sudden deposition, but settles into the musing of Alec’s hands again with a pleased squirm. 

Alec hasn’t even his jacket off yet, only five minutes through the front door. Magnus hasn’t seen him in three days - demons, of course, and Maryse, perhaps worse - and what does the Chairman do? Scuttle straight to Alexander’s feet, and start mewling desperately for attention. (And of course, Alec had immediately given in, fluttering his fingers in the direction of the cat, and laughing that breathy, wonderful laugh as the cat weaved in and out of his legs, begging Alec to accompany him to the living room.)

As if the Chairman hasn’t been curled on Magnus’ lap all afternoon. The cheek of it!

Magnus drinks heavily of his wine, before nudging Alec’s shoulder with Alec’s own glass.

“He has you wrapped around his finger,” Magnus says flatly. “Or paw, as it were.”

Alec scowls in that endearing way he always does when Magnus says something even remotely nonsensical. Still, he untangles one hand from the cat - much to the Chairman’s irritation - and takes the wine glass from Magnus’ hand, their fingers brushing with a quiet spark.  

“He’s a cat,” Alec replies, as if those three words excuse everything. Far from it. Magnus makes eye contact with the Chairman again, and if the cat would grin, Magnus is positive it would be sickening.

“He knows exactly what he’s doing,” Magnus mutters, drowning his words in another gulp of wine. Alec’s fingers move lazily, now, through the scruff of the Chairman’s neck, and Magnus dares to admit that he’s jealous of the damn cat. 

&

If the cat is devilish, Alec’s mouth is more so, that much Magnus can admit. He preens as Alec kisses his way blindly up Magnus’ throat, still clumsy, still awkward, but utterly delightful - and Magnus has had many lovers with a penchant for his neck, but none quite as wonderful as this. 

“Mm - Alexander,” he purrs, unable to help himself, and he feels Alec smile against his skin, unwittingly. He thinks he hides it, but Magnus notices these things, Magnus relishes in these things -

Somewhere in the background, over Alec’s shoulder, Magnus hears the bedroom door creak open, a tap-tap-tap on the hard wood floor accompanying it. Seconds later, there’s a muffled thump, and the corner of the mattress, somewhere down my Magnus’ foot, dips with the weight of something small and furry.

“What’s wrong?” Alec says, looking up when Magnus huffs, very loudly and very obsolete. He pulls back just a little; just enough for Magnus to get a good view of how rumpled he looks: Alec’s pupils are blown, black eclipses made darker by the shadow of his finger-tangled hair falling criminally across his brow, and Magnus is personally offended by the sight. 

It’s not the only thing he’s personally offended by, wriggling up onto his elbows amidst the pile of pillows that Alexander has him pressed ungainfully into. He cranes his head and nods his chin over Alec’s shoulder.

“The cat,” Magnus pouts, gesturing airily over to the Chairman, who licks his paw with dutiful indifference, at the corner of the bed.

Alec’s kiss-flushed lips stretch into a smile - and a pretty one at that - as he leans back and reaches for the Chairman, ruffling the cat’s ears affectionately.

“What about him?” Alec asks. 

Magnus narrows his eyes, curling a possessive hand around the back of Alec’s neck, dragging him down for a firm, harsh kiss, a little too much teeth, but definitely not enough mine. Alec melts immediately into the insistent press of lips, his hands wandering to Magnus’ chest, scraping their way down the front of his shirt, picking unscrupulously at the silky fabric. The weight of Alec on his chest makes him dizzy in a way he is careful not to concede - save to Alexander himself, of course - but not quite dizzy enough, in this instant, to forget himself.

Magnus generally makes it a rule not to use his magic on animals, but he hopes the Chairman knows he is this close.

The Chairman continues to lick his paw, impervious.