#get your man 1927

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Get Your Man is an American silent romantic comedy film released in 1927. The silent film stars Clara Bow, Charles "Buddy" Rogers, and Josef Swickard.  

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Clara Bow and Buddy Rogers in Get Your Man, 1927.

Get Your Man is the only silent film directed by Dorothy Arzner that has not been lost to time. Her other films Manhattan Cocktail and Ten Modern Commandments are lost. Meanwhile, Get Your Man has four out of its six reels that survive.

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Buddy Rogers and Clara Bow in Get Your Man (1927)

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The Monster That Lurked

Alastor x GN!Reader

A/N:Hey hey! I'm in a really angsty mood and decided to write a full fledged fic about my own work of ‘Monster In The Woods’!!! YAY!!! ALSO A FRIENDS TO LOVERS DEAL- SUE ME. Also you can picture Human Alastor or Alastor anyway you want cause I don’t really describe him much except for what he is wearing and I picture Alastor a certain way in my head. This got long I apologize.

TW: Set in the 1920-30’s, Human Alastor and his murders. Pre-established relationships, cheating, Alastor “stealing” you away from your husband.Alastor and Reader have known each other for a long time already. Reader is also some sort of fucked up, in like the murder way. Talks about cheating, fighting, Gore, Christianity and religion in general. MURDER VERY MUCH MURDER

Word Count: 7k

1927, the days filled with laughter and partying whilst listening to jazz standing with your husband..well you were waiting outside a sleazy bar for your husband, the same drunkard that your father had married you off to. He wasn’t your first choice neither was he your last choice. You would’ve been fine not marrying anybody and just living your life hidden from prying eyes, you would rather be somewhere in the Louisiana bayou with Alastor. Just sitting and listening to him ramble on about a new show he was talking about or how some poor lad got on his bad side. 

But yet you were standing on the sidewalk in front of a sleazy bar with even sleazier patrons as you stared at your husband through one of the windows as he hit on the same poor dame that served him. He cheated all the time and yet you never cared, was it because you never truly loved him or was it the fact you’d rather picture his own death while he begged god for his sins. You couldn’t tell anymore and a part of you didn’t want to know anymore. The other part of you wanted to delve deeper into your own thoughts, wanted to open the door that was locked and barricaded for your own good. You wanted to understand what it felt like to rip flesh from bone and see how long it would take for him to lose consciousness from the blood loss.

A loud honk from a passing car made you jump out of your skin and look around, feeling the small box in your pocket, it was supposed to be for your husband but he didn’t deserve it, he would’ve just sold it eagerly for some kind of money to waste his life away. That’s fine you knew a man who would appreciate it more than him anyway. The same man whose voice was happily broadcasted on every radio for miles around, you could practically hear his smile through the radio static and fuzz. Your heartbeat a little faster than it should’ve just thinking about him, he was your friend and that was it. Friends don’t have crushes on friends. This was just a way to spoil him for being a good friend of yours. Right?

You couldn’t bother him right now, you knew better so you did what you always did. Went back home and made yourself busy until he eventually made his way over to your house. He was always quick enough to get to your house before your drunken husband did but stayed around long enough (i.e in the early hours of the morning) so you wouldn’t have to deal with anything unnecessary and you eventually went to bed. Then he would’ve disappeared for a few days but he came back around. You didn’t question him or his ways, you knew better. A part of you did want to question his motives but you held your tongue like you always did.

Your husband wasn’t a necessarily violent man..just dumb and constantly drinking, said some nasty words too. If it wasn’t for you, Alastor would’ve probably done him in by now. Especially when he was talking bad about his Mother, you saw the way Alastor stared at your husband. The same angry look you gave him when he had gotten on your last nerve. But before Alastor could get to him, some other patron did. Knocked your husband’s nose sideways and a tooth completely out. Bastard deserved it completely and till this day you don’t visit that place. You needed a fucking drink thinking about your husband but the bastard drunk your house completely dry.

A knock on your front door snapped you out of your thoughts and as you turned towards your front door, the man of the hour had walked through your door. A huge grin plastered on his face, one hand holding a bottle of whiskey and in the other today's paper. “Ah ha! There you are, My Dear!” He called out his suit absolutely spotless. A smile formed on your lips as you grabbed two glasses from the cupboard, waving him towards one of the only rooms your husband doesn’t enter. “You had me worrying there for a moment,” He said tilting his head back towards you as he led you to the parlor room, “Maybe that husband of yours was back from wherever he was lurking.” He finished his smile falling into a snarl, Alastor was also not a huge fan of your husband from the start. You never asked why as you both didn’t want to think of him during your little time together.

“Please..you know better than I do that he’s hitting up on a poor dame at the bar.” You replied, sitting the glasses down on the table causing him to make a noise in acknowledgement, “At this point, Alastor..I’m believing you're a mind reader with how you just appear with whiskey in hand at my front door.” At that? He let out a loud belly laugh leaning in closer to you allowing his gaze to soften as he stared at your features before he leaned away opening the bottle of whiskey. This was going to be a long night for the both of you and you had forgotten all about the gift.

~~~

A couple weeks had passed since you last saw Alastor in person but you didn’t fret, he had called the next day to tell you he had made it back home safely. Something he had picked up ever since you had asked him to stay the night so long ago, you were-..are still scared of your own thoughts. The ones that dare creep out, the ones who tell you to crack open your husband’s chest and rip out his still beating heart. The ones who you don’t dare tell a soul and you sure as hell won’t tell Alastor, he’d think you're insane. But you knew..you were slowly losing yourself and everyday it was one step closer to killing your husband.

Walking into the kitchen and rolling your eyes seeing your husband looking like hell, “Hungover John?” You hissed out as you moved past him a grunt falling from his lips in reply, “Shut the fuck up..” He hissed out speech still slurred as half assed venom dripped from his tongue. “I wasn’t the one up at 1 in the morning drinking with that no good radio host.” You froze your hand twitching towards the knife on the counter but stopped yourself, “I wasn’t the one who was at the bar drinking his sorrows away whilst trying to bed another dame for the twentieth time this week.” You hissed back, sending a glare towards him. 

John stood up fully and walked towards you getting into your face, hand raising to no doubt strike you. But nothing came as someone cleared their voice, an icy cold tone to it. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Friend.” Alastor..fuck you forgot about him and his way of just walking into your house. You had drunkenly given him a key one night, ‘Just in case’ you told him. You were glad that you did because as soon as he heard Alastor’s cold voice he immediately backed up and stormed off deeper into the house.

Alastor’s cold gaze had followed the poor idiotic man as he disappeared into the home before they snapped back onto you. “Are you alright?” He asked the venom and anger laced in his voice gone but you saw how his eyes still held his anger, like they did when that fool had talked bad about his Mother. You often had envy and wished that you could know a mother’s gentle hand guiding you towards a better life. But criminals only give birth to criminals, your mother had left the Earth so long ago you don’t even remember what she looked like anymore but sometimes when you look into a crowd you see a familiar figure and a part of you becomes elated before it crashes and burns into the ground. 

“I’m fine, Alastor.” You replied softly as you glanced down the hallway where your husband stormed off. Alastor sat silent watching your face keep still but the sadness in your eyes was apparent, he knew you yearned for freedom and solace. He knew how you would rather be a thousand miles away from your “husband”- God he hated that word and man, if he could’ve he would’ve killed him a long time ago. Walking over he softly hummed, “Let me take you out on the town, Dear…a way to get your head cleared.” He whispered, reaching over and carefully placing his hand on your shoulder. He watched your eyes once almost so lifeless and dull flicker to life at the thought, “All day?” You asked, glancing at him, the warmness in your eyes returning, a small smile forming on your lips. Hook…line…and sinker, he’s got you right where he wants you, perfectly safe in his hands.

“Of course, Dear! Now go on, go get dressed!” he hummed his smile, returning as he guided you to go down to your own bedroom which was supposed to be the guest bedroom. You never explained why you had moved bedrooms but he didn’t need to guess or ask. It was abundantly clear to anyone who had stepped foot in your household, this “marriage” wasn’t full of love. It was only necessary and after the first year of it, you had grown cold. That man had taken away any semblance of your hope and happiness for a better life. Alastor hummed a tune that played from his radio broadcasts as he looked around your home, he’s seen the decor and fake photos that hung up on the wall a million times but yet it never gets old. Especially when he’s staring at the photo of you on your wedding day, the way the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “What are you still doing here?” A slurred voice asked, causing him to calmly look over. His smile grew wider at the sight of the boy in front of him. That wasn’t a man..far from it. “Good to see you at least a little sober, Jonathan.” He hummed, dodging the question thrown his way. 

“Shut the fuck up, Alastor.” John threw back, moving closer as Alastor’s eyes darkened. Just a little closer..and then he’d be gone for good. “John!” You yelled out making the man flinch and Alastor’s heart raced, oh how he loved hearing that venom lace your tongue; it was always a delight to see how commanding you were when you wanted to be. When Alastor first met you, you were quiet yet happy and you hadn’t been married to this fool. Such a lovely little mouse minding your own business when you had accidentally bumped into him. He wouldn’t believe anyone if they said meeting you would change his life. You had spilled wine on his suit, yet you didn’t freak out when you saw his eyes flicker angrily. Only apologized and paid for his new suit with the money you had been saving up to leave for good, he wouldn’t find that out until a year later.

John looked over at you with anger but soon he once again stormed out of the house cursing you and Alastor. Alastor looked over at you with a gentle smile returning to his lips as he guided you to the front door. “Come now~ Let’s paint the town red, Dear” He called out laughing at his own little joke making you roll your eyes at his antics. Silly man.

~~~

Hours happily passed by and the day turned into night from swinging into tailors and from jazz clubs to socialite parties so you both could secretly judge people between hushed breaths, he eventually led you down to a park that was lit up with lampposts every so often before sitting down on a park bench under the moonlights soft glow. Your laughter had died down into a comfortable silence as you glanced over at Alastor. His leg crossed the other one, “I haven’t seen someone so eager to play the fool in one of those parties.” He laughed out, tapping his thumb on his knee, “Something on my face, Darling?” You jumped and looked away, “No no..sorry I..I’ve been lost in my own thoughts recently, Alastor.” 

He looked over at you, you were unusually silent the whole night. “Can I tell you something?” You asked, watching as you finally looked over, oh he could never get used to those eyes of yours and that darling little smile was everything to him. “Of course, Darling.” He reached over and carefully plucked a stray leaf from your shoulder, his attention fully on you. You looked down, hands trembling..you had to tell him, you could tell him right? “Nevermind it, you’d think I’d gone insane.” You corrected and cleared your throat leaning back into the cooled bench. You felt uncomfortably hot despite the cold air, winter was right around the corner.

Using his hand to rub at his chin as he hummed your favorite tune he played on air, this piqued his curiosity much more than he’d like to admit. “I’d never think such a thing, my friend!” He replied throwing his hand up in the air as if to actually try and swat those thoughts away from your mind. “Tell me whenever you feel ready to do so, my Dear!~” He was always willing to listen to you even if it was about nothing, your voice was practically music to his ears. Closing his eyes as a cold breeze hit his face as he continued to hum along to fill the silent night, he suspected it was your..’husband’..the cause of all your misery. The way your honeyed voice was now constantly laced with venom and authority as if you had to fight to even allow your voice to be heard. Your silence had felt like an eternity for him but he knew it had only been a moment or two, he didn’t realize how addicted to your voice he had become.

“I..I’ve been having thoughts.” You started making him look over at you, his eyes narrowing in concern at your form, how small you had looked at the moment. He had leaned forward and took his jacket off before draping it over your figure not minding how the cold nipped at his skin but he didn’t interrupt you, he knew better to do so. “Angry thoughts..well they started out that way but now they’ve turned into something more..violent.” You explained carefully pulling his jacket closer to your frame, eyes casted off in the woods. You imagine some man standing there, blood covering his hands and drenching his shirt, a wicked smile on his face as he looked up into the night sky and laughed out loud for god to hear him. 

Alastor followed your gaze as his humming slowed down until it completely stopped to allow the silence to fill the air, his smile pulling into a more sinister one at how he finally understood. The same one that happened to find its way on his lips after killing his latest victim, he quickly rubbed his hand over his mouth allowing the smile to drop before you could catch a glimpse of it. “I think of what it would feel like to rip flesh from bone..to finally choke him out..I want to know what it feels like to snub out a life..his life. I’m not a violent person and these thoughts terrify me, I try to keep them hidden but…sometimes they slip out.” You finish up finally noticing how tight your throat felt and the tears falling down your face. It felt great to finally get that off your chest but now the anxiety of it all set in, would he rat you out to the police? Would he hate you?

“I don’t remember when they started. Was it when I was forced to get married to him? I’d tell myself I can save enough money and start somewhere new..but then I’d miss you..miss your early morning show and our late night talks.” You confessed spilling your problems out onto the sidewalk like a drunkard when he had spilled his guts on the pavement. You were pathetic in your own way. Alastor watched you for a few moments before carefully pulling you into his side, using a handkerchief tucked into his vest pocket to carefully wipe your tears away. “No more tears, dear friend.” he whispered, allowing you to hide your face into his shoulder as his arm wrapped around your waist. 

He was at a crossroad in his own mind, should he tell you not to go with it? He wouldn’t want you to go into this dirty mess. But he also wants you to feel the rush of adrenaline when snubbing out a life, he wants to help. But either way if you did or didn’t he’d take care of it..in some way or another. No one should hurt his little mouse in such a way and get away with it. It was silent for a long time as you calmed yourself and he held you with a softness that was foreign to himself and most others. 

“I always..I always imagined running away with you..to some old house down near the bayou.” You whispered out feeling the familiar chain that hung on his vest, the one hidden under his jacket. He leaned his head against yours and hummed in reply. It sounded picture perfect in his mind.

~~~

You sat at the church pew next to your ‘husband’ and kept your head down as you listened in on the priest doing his normal sermon. The only time your husband had decided to not be drunk and clean up for once in his life was always on Sundays or when his family was coming over. Something you always ran away from, you stayed in the empty parlor with a glass of water and a small book. His mother was never kind to you nor his sisters, you chose to ignore them and their gossip. Especially when you had to be seated around them in a church talking about a man who you possibly didn’t believe in but was instead forced to hear this priest talk about whatever was in the bible. Your hands clasped together as your mind kept drifting off. 

It had only been two days since you told everything to Alastor, your feelings and how you wished to murder your own husband. You haven’t been able to talk to Alastor since which was fine, he was a very busy man after all. Lifting your head up as you felt your husband nudge your leg with his own, you sent him a glance ignoring how he was practically glaring at you. “Don’t embarrass me infront of my family” He hissed out as you glared at the wall. “They already know how rocky our relationship is, John.” You hissed back, about to leave but someone sat next to you keeping his head down, “Sorry I’m late, Dear Friend.” Alastor whispered, making the anger dissipate in a matter of seconds, “Mother wanted to go see an old friend,” He hummed and got comfortable next to you.

After an hour or maybe it was a good 10 minutes you couldn’t tell but Alastor had successfully dragged you away and out of the church under the guise of it being important and he couldn’t dare interrupt the sermon. You didn’t care now as you laughed at some joke that was pointed towards your husband, walking down the street arm in arm as he used his other hand to dramatically explain everything that’s happened between the hours you both had parted. The crying and confession long gone in your mind as you pointed out the flaws in his story but he had only reached over and pinched your nose between his fingers with only a half hearted threat of keeping his ‘secrets’. 

As you both walked down the street the laughter and conversation lulled into a peaceful silence. “Where are you taking me?” You asked, feeling a familiar presence in your pocket, the gift you had forgotten about for weeks now. “Just for a walk through the park, Dear.” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, a smile had formed on your face but your eyes still had that faraway look in them. Guess you were going back into your own head again, “I got you something a while ago and forgot it in my jacket” you called out reaching into your jacket and pulling the small box out, you didn’t want to bring up the fact it was supposed to be a gift for your husband. Alastor abruptly stopped in his tracks and looked at you, “You didn’t need to do such a thing, Dear.” You only smiled at him and gave him the box, “I know..but I wanted to give it to you.” You whispered out watching as he opened the box, his eyes widening. It was one of the newer pocket watches that you’ve had your eyes on for a long while now, “Dearest I..I couldn’t take this.” He replied carefully, taking the watch out, flipping it open and smiling. “But you can..and you will cause it’s for you, Al..”

You loved seeing him smile like that, something that you had rarely seen when you first started hanging out. It’s still mostly rare, especially when he’s had a hard day or the simple fact that you sometimes don’t see him for days on end. He put the pocket watch back into the box carefully, “Guess I’ll have to find to pay you back now?” He hummed out placing the box into his pocket causing you to sigh, “You know you don’t have to do such a thing, Alastor. I..I don’t deserve it.” Only criminals give birth to criminals and criminals don’t get nice things. 

“Oh but I think you do,” He replied and leaned down to gently tap your forehead, “Despite what those thoughts of yours tell you.” You blinked and stared at him, “You know me too well,” You huffed turning away from him. “Not well enough!” He called happily following after you and quickly catching up, long legged bastard. You looked up at him as he held out his arm, “Are you sure about that, Alastor? I think you know me better than most people.” You said carefully taking hold of his arm, he chuckled and quicked his step making you practically had to speed walk to catch up with him.

The night truly didn’t stop until you were almost on the verge of passing out from laughter and how sleep creeped up on your shoulders. Alastor’s arm was snuggly wrapped around your waist to keep you upright as the sandman was practically calling your name. “Come on now, one foot up the step.” He whispered as he guided your sleepy self up onto your own porch. “I can walk fine, Alastor. I’m not drunk,” You whispered, shaking your head trying to fight off how your eyes grew heavier. You don’t like being up past a certain time in the early mornings but for Alastor you would’ve done it a million times over….Maybe you did have a crush on him but he wouldn’t love you back in a million years. 

You don’t remember when you got into your bedroom, did you black out on him? Yet he was still holding you against his chest as he swayed you to an imaginary rhythm. “And here I thought you had fallen asleep on me already.” He whispered out, causing you to jump out of your skin for a second before you huffed, “Sorry, didn’t mean to do so.” You replied leaning back to try and smooth out his shirt, now noticing his jacket was draped near the door of your bedroom. “Nonsense, I find it comforting in a way that you trust me to fall asleep near me.” He replied watching you, his bow tie had been undone for a couple hours now but watching the way you had subconsciously fixed it for him made his heart race and butterflies erupt in his stomach.

His mind wandered off watching as you blinked the sleep from your eyes to make sure he still looked presentable. He wondered sometimes what it would be like if he married you instead of that idiotic man. “..Don’t leave for too long this time, Al..I know I’ll eventually hear your voice on the radio but sometimes it’s not the same..” You whispered out glancing back up at him, his gloved hand reaching up to cup your face tracing the bags under your eyes with his thumb, “I’ll try, Cher..” He replied as he leaned down to press his head against yours. He couldn’t promise it but he’d try especially since he has been working so hard on his plan to get rid of that idiotic husband of yours.

You leaned your head up, allowing for your noses to brush against one another. His arms were still wrapped around your waist, one of his hands splayed on the middle of your back. Then it had hit you, all those times he had pulled you away from your husband and took you to the places you loved..was he silently courting you? Had he been doing so for days now and you were just too stupid to notice? You gently cupped his face and watched as he had opened his eyes, when did he close them? “I..Alastor? Have you been courting me?” Your voice was only above a whisper making him freeze in his tracks. He was silent for a long time before he nodded and sighed. “I have been yes,” He replied and you felt your face warm, seemingly all of the tiredness from before had dissipated. 

His gloved hands came up to carefully grasp onto yours as your thumb caressed his cheek, a faint scar that had healed overtime. You remembered when you saw the scar, yet you never asked, figuring he would’ve told you when he decided to do so. He had yet to say a word about it so it must’ve not been important. In the years that you had known him, you’ve grown to love him and to be wary of him all at the same time. He was a wild mutt waiting to sink his teeth into any fresh meat he could find, he wasn’t the one to be tamed or “domesticated” and you surely would never think to tie him down to a preconceived notion such as marriage or a family life. It took someone truly special to worm their way into his heart and that was a tough act, nonetheless, he had picked and prodded at the worst parts of you wanting to see how quick it took for you to finally snap at him, show your fangs and reveal your weak spots to him. He loved the game of it.

Yet here he was, the same wild animal that used to raise his hackles and bare its sharp teeth was essentially laying down and showing his belly to you. He’d disappear to find his fill and get those fangs bloodied before he’d make his way back to you. Maybe everyone who told you to stay away was right, he wasn’t a man to stick around but here you were inviting the man into your home day after day because you just couldn’t get enough of him. 

Blinking your thoughts away you focused on Alastor, how he had leaned closer to you. “May I?” He whispered, ever the gentleman he was, his hands carefully squeezing yours as you nodded your head a small smile on your lips. Wordlessly, he closed the gap and gently kissed you. At first it was such a small kiss but you didn’t want it to end, you just got a taste of what it felt like to be loved..actually loved and it felt amazing, that one small kiss turned into a bigger one as his hands fell down to hold onto your sides.

You would be asleep until lunch the next day, the memory still fresh on your mind as you awoke to find a small gift box on your bedside table. You were going to kill Alastor.

~~~

You sat in an office, legs crossed as you watched the lawyer in front of you collect some papers and give you a passing glance every so often. “Now, it’s to my knowledge you are looking to file for a divorce?” The man asked, causing you to nod, “Now is there a reason for this divorce?” You huffed, how many times did you have to explain it? “Infidelity, I’ve caught him one too many times and I’d rather make this quick.” You huffed out venom lacing your tongue as you watched the older gentleman nod and produced some papers. 

After an hour of signing papers and making everything on record you had finally gone home. You didn’t even greet your husband when you walked inside, just placed the papers on the table and left for the day ignoring how he yelled out for you. You had walked all the way to the park, the same park Alastor had walked you to all those weeks ago and you spilled your darkest secrets out into the open. Sitting on the same bench as you watched people pass by as your eyes drifted to the woods, you also knew Alastor was an avid hunter and you’d be alone for a while longer as deer season came around. You’d be alone with your husband and your thoughts. You hoped this divorce would go through but it was a slim chance and then you would rightfully be kicked out of church for thinking of doing such a thing. Laughter rang in your ears as you got lost in your own world, your eyes glued onto the Doe walking out of the collection of trees to find something to eat on.

As the doe finally found something to snack on it had turned its head up and towards you. A small part of you felt a twinge of dread as you stared at the doe and the other part felt calm as the feeling started to grow and settle into the pit of your stomach, your breathing slowed down considerably before the doe had run off seemingly spooked away. You frowned and watched as it disappeared further into the woods. Gloved hands clamped down onto your shoulders making you jump up in surprise and let out a loud scream as Alastor’s laugh was heard from behind you.

 You turned on your heel ignoring the passerby who looked on in confusion, “I’m going to kill you, Alastor.” You hissed out trying to hide the prominent blush on your features and how your lips creeped up into a smile. He smirked, he knew you didn’t actually mean you would kill him. Your version of ‘kill’ meant you would simply get him back later in some kind of fashion. You were a smart person after all. “I’m sorry, Dear! You were so out of sorts you looked primed for me to scare you.” He hummed and moved to sit down on the bench, his hand patting the spot next to him. You let out a loud sigh sitting next to him, “What’s on your mind?” He hummed out fixing his gloves before moving to brush imaginary dust off his pants. 

You were silent for some time trying to figure out the words in your head, “I gave John divorce papers today.” you whispered out causing him to look over trying to hide the growing smile on his face, you still haven’t brought up the kiss you both shared the night before and you were scared to do so. “Really?” He hummed, leaning back against the bench using one hand to tap a melody on his knee, “I’m just waiting for him to sign it and see if the court will..allow the divorce to happen.” He didn’t answer and looked ahead as the conversation lulled into a comfortable silence. Your mind raced as another cold breeze hit you in the face, what would you do if the court denied the divorce? Would Alastor still..be by your side? The thoughts raced and raced but before you could delve deeper, a warm inviting hand was placed onto your shoulder causing you to look over at him confused but leaned into the warmth.

“It’s going to be okay, Dear. Don’t let those thoughts run you ragged now.” You nodded at his words and smiled, “Figured you’d be out hunting by now.” That made him let out a small laugh as his smile grew wider and went off on a tangent about hunting and how to actually be a good hunter.

You’d be fine.

~~~

You’d be fine.

Those were the words echoing in your head as you were now standing in your kitchen hands on the counter as you stared down at the broken glass cup as you heard your husband yell at you. The amber liquid is now spilling onto the wooden floor, your cheek burned like hell and you tasted the iron in your mouth as you unclench your jaw allowing your teeth to free themselves from your tongue. You stormed over to the phone and used the rotary dial to call a familiar number that you had stuck in the back of your mind. Alastor. You don’t remember the start of the conversation. All you could mumble between the stinging pain and blood in your mouth was, “Come over..It’s an emergency.” Before hanging up abruptly.

The next few moments were quick in your mind but you knew it took far much longer to do as your hands trembled. Grabbing whatever heavy metal object you could find in the vicinity, as your husband turned to face you once more. The fear in the man’s eyes as you swung and hit him in the face, breaking his nose with a sickening crack. He fell to the floor, his hands moving to cover his nose as he stared up into your empty anger filled eyes, god..it felt good to see him as nothing but a pathetic ant beneath your feet. It felt invigorating as you dropped to your knees one hand holding him down as you continuously bashed the item into his face until he was nothing more than a lifeless body surrounded by a pool of his own blood.

You stared down at him and then the blood covering your hands as tears formed into your eyes and a sob bubbled up from your throat but you weren’t sad. Far from it..you were relieved as you looked up at the ceiling falling flat on your ass as you started to laugh between horrid sobs. Your hands grasping at your shirt laughing louder until your cheeks hurt from how long you were smiling and as Alastor finally came into your vision. The smile faltered for a moment as another loud sob wracked your body, “I did it, Al..I did it-” You choked out as you curled into yourself. “It felt so fucking good..I felt fucking invincible.” You hissed out blood dripping from your mouth and onto the floor. “Oh god- I finally fucking did it.”

Alastor walked over calmly and quietly, his hands clasping on your shoulders. His suit was long gone as when you called him he was in the middle of getting ready to go out ‘hunting’ but when he heard your desperation, he rushed over immediately. “You did and I’m so proud of you, Dearest..but go get cleaned up and I’ll deal with the mess, yes?” He whispered into your ear as you let out another sob allowing him to help you stand up on your two feet. As he helped you to your own bathroom and got you fresh clothes, he went back to the freshly dead body in your kitchen and smirked. “Got what you had comin’ old boy.” He hissed out before starting to get to work cleaning up the mess.

It didn’t take him long to clean up but now he had to find a way to actually get rid of the body. In your backyard? No, that's too suspicious..in the woods? Maybe but he doesn’t want you to have another breakdown. But he would have to wait until night time so right now? He’s going to have to play the part just in case people start to suspect something. He looked around and draped a blanket over the body before dragging it towards an empty room.

When he had walked back to the kitchen, he had watched as you were carefully cleaning up the shards of glass. Walking over he had finally noticed the blooming bruise on your cheek causing a part of him to be angry. “He hit you?” He whispered out helping you stand up, “Yeah..after we got home after the court denied the appeal..said I embarrassed him and broke a cup over my head before slapping me.” You whispered your speech slurred from your swollen tongue making you flinch, “What do I do now?” You whispered out, allowing him to gently grab your chin, “I don’t know what to do, Al..” His eyes softened and he sighed, “Sit down and I’ll cook something for you, Dear. We are gonna have to wait till nightfall.” He hummed, pressing a gentle kiss upon your head.

Later that night, he had helped you bury your ex husband deep in the forest, he mostly did all the dirty work but he did explain how to hide a body. 

~~~

It was now 1931, four years after you had killed your ex husband and a year after the economy collapsed. You and Alastor had moved in with one another and while not officially married by the courts you both loved one another and acted as such. Wearing a wedding ring on your finger told everyone you were either remarried or you still loved your poor ex husband that was murdered in cold blood by the rampant serial killer that was on the loose. Which would be far from the truth.

His family blamed you for his murder, calling you every name in the book and berating you for ‘kicking him out of the house’ which also wasn’t the truth. Yet another lie your ex had spun to keep his pride intact, you didn’t care in all honesty. The man was gone now..killed by your hands.

But here you were walking down the dark streets of New Orleans to get back home to your loving Beau, you had heard through the grapevine he was having a rough day and hoped to cheer him up that night but as you continued to walk down the street you realized that you were being followed. But maybe not maybe it was just your paranoia, but still you felt like a waiting duck, taking a turn down an alleyway and then another hoping to lose the trail of whoever was following you. 

It wasn’t until you had gotten to a familiar part of town out near the bayou that you felt relatively calmer but then that was stomped on when you heard a yell from behind. You looked back thinking it was one of the friendly neighbors but it wasn't. It was the man from before the same one who was following you. You dropped the book you were holding and broke out into a sprint down towards where your house was, trying your best to dodge anything that could hurt you. Then a loud shot rang out and it sounded like thunder causing your body to freeze up for a second. But you continued to keep running, you just needed to get home..you could see the smoke billowing from the chimney and the soft glow of the lights inside.

Your heartbeat was banging on your chest as you ran, you were almost there..you could see Alastor inside before a loud SNAP echoed through the silent air as you fell face first into the ground. 

You scrambled to get up sobbing as you looked back to see a trap digging into your leg, its sharp teeth scraping against bone as you sat up watching as the man got closer. “Fuck fuck-” you hissed out as you started to painfully get the jaws of the trap unstuck and scrambled off ignoring how your leg was burning. You yelled out for Alastor before another loud shot echoed through the air. The constant buzzing of the cicadas had gone silent as you fell to the ground gasping for air. Oh god it hurt, your hands moved to clutch your stomach as you looked up at the man, pistol in his hand pointed right between your eyes, “You killed my brother.” He hissed out his voice breaking as you teared up and begged him to let you go.

Tears cascaded down your face as he yelled, whispering some prayer that spilled past your lips and then the night went silent. As the gun had fallen down the hammer hit the ground first causing the gun to be set off, the bullet flying into the sky of the New Orleans Bayou. You trembled laying on the ground sobbing as you brought your hands up to see blood covering them the moonlight had casted down upon you as you sobbed out. There was movement before your head was lifted up and cradled into your Husband’s chest. His familiar cologne invades your senses in a comfortable way as he shakily tries to stop the bleeding. 

“It’s going to be okay, Cher..I’ll fix you right up.” he whispered into your hair as he pressed his hand onto your stomach. You were bleeding out too much as your breathing started to slow. No no it wasn’t supposed to end like this, tears raced down his cheeks as he pulled you closer as your hand weakly grasped around his sobbing out how you didn’t want to die. But he knew he couldn’t help you, he was far too late to properly help you and it was too far to get you to a doctor. “Sing me a song, Al?” You whispered out, “One last song?” he nodded and cleared his throat, watching as the light in your eyes slowly faded as he sung your favorite song.

He stayed like that for an extra hour, holding your lifeless body to his and singing all your favorite songs before he finally had the courage to find a place to bury you properly, making sure that when the sun rose the next morning it’s first rays it sent out over the bayou would hit your grave. You always did love watching the sun rise and listening to his broadcasts.

He would meet you again, he just knew it. He just didn’t know when.

[jinkiezzsstuff]

Back to Life

human!alastor x human!gnreader

Part 1 of 5+

summary for part: you had just been for a walk in the woods, and now suddenly you’re standing over a historical looking guy with a chipper attitude and… a gun? thankfully he’s here to help you in your bloodied and confused state, but as things play out you can’t help but notice nothing is like it was before your fall, and all you have to trust is the odd grinning man

summary for series: One day when waltzing through the woods a peculiar looking buck led you deeper in, while following, you fell hitting your head and woke to a stranger standing over you. You don’t know where you are, how you got here, or who this guy is, but he’s all you’ve got and he’s utterly insane.

warnings for part: short first chap, lowercase intended; i’m feeling quirkyyy, multiple parts-i put other things aside because my brain is STUCK on human alastor sorry lads ;-;, blood, descriptions of injury, kinda strange stylized writing, i’ve got like a whole story thing planned compared to the other ones-this one’s got a whole plot line. no descriptions of reader- of any kind, no pronouns, i looked up a shit ton of 1920s outfits & speech just for a couple lines lmao, OOC alastor my reasoning behind that is he’s not in hell yet so he hasn’t had that kind of demonic development yet, he’s still a psycho tho and we love him for that, also mommas boy <3, he uses 1920s slang a lot lads, throughout the whole series

warnings for series: homicide, morally grey reader, eventual smut, cannibalism, reader will eat a guy, unknowingly, alastor be doing witchcraft magical madness but it’s never in depth explanations, alastor is a mommas boy and it will be hounded on, annoying 1920s slang, alastor is more accumulated to the era he’s in so he may be OOC 100 years in hell would change a guy, varying descriptions of injuries and blood in detail, takes place in 1927, alastor is 27 oop born in 1899 tho, nothing here is canon, just loosely follows, reader is in their 20s at least; no younger, alastors mom is nameless mostly, maybe later on she’ll have a name; she’s 48, alastor has daddy issues bc same, mimzy may be added later depending,

you remembered seeing a deer while wandering through the woods, you were taking pictures of the scenery when you saw this curious looking deer.

it stood tall with large antlers, a beautiful reddish brown coat, you’d never seen a deer so close. brining your camera up slow you went to snap a picture when your phone crashed, you weren’t even able to get the buck in frame before your phone fizzled out.

the deer started to walk away, but you so badly wanted these pictures. slowly you followed behind, cautious of the leaves and sticks below your feet. you followed it over a fallen tree, through bush and branch. finally you entered an area filled with more foliage, closer trees that blocked off sunlight, more bushes and fallen trees, wild flowers, moss and random mushrooms.

you watched as the buck disappeared behind thick bush, and that’s the last conscious moment you remembered. you woke at the bottom of the hill, when you opened your eyes you didn’t know a thing.

it was like you were a blank slate, everything was as it was; there was no confusion, you were simply in the woods with no worry or question as to why. you laid there, your head lulling from side to side observing the tree covered sky above, the sunlight that shot through the trees highlighting the particles floating through the air.

there wasn’t a sound at all; the animals feared something near. inhaling deeply, you willed your head up, wincing and groaning in pain. suddenly life as you knew it came back to you, you weren’t just a mindless being in the woods, you were you, and you were out here taking pictures and then, fell?

you still weren’t sure what had happened just that you followed a deer and then… fell asleep and woke here. your body ached badly, specifically your forehead, your back, neck and shoulders. it seemed the brunt of the fall was your head, lifting your hand you touched your forehead feeling a flap of skin that wasn’t there before.

looking down at your hand you weren’t surprised to see some blood, in fact the top you had worn had been covered in it. “hello dear, funny place to snooze if ya ask me.” a voice joked, startling you. however your body was too tired to startle, so despite your heart rate increasing, and the jump you felt in your bones, your body remained eerily still, your head slowly turning toward the sound.

standing above you was a man with a soft smile, he wore circluar glasses and the strangest outfit. he wore a coat chestnut brown- a lumberjack coat; strange looking pants that puffed out at the hips, with boots that the pants cinched into them. his hands were covered by gloves, and tiny brown coloured coiled curls popped out from his hunting cap, and on his shoulder a leather strap that allowed a large shotgun to sit on his back.

you were taken aback by his looks, his outfit looked vintage, historical too, and he was, well, gorgeous. “you’re bleeding quite a bit dear, how’s about we getcha up and outta here, hm?” lending his hand to you, the man gave you a charming smile with lidded eyes. you felt something was off about the man, a lingering feeling that something beyond your understanding was telling you to run, get away.

instead you whimpered, pathetically so, and placed your hand into his, letting him hoist you up. he wrapped your arm around him, while he looped his own arm under you, helping you walk. it was hard to do so, your ribs hurt with every breath you took, your head felt like it was floating above your shoulders, your cheeks watered making you swallow constantly, and though you were shivering your body felt ablaze on the inside, like hot coals were lit under your skin.

the man looked down at you, you could see from your peripheral vision he was inspecting you, but you were too pained to care. “how’d you find yourself at the bottom of the hill my dear, someone try to bump you off?” his voice was way too chipper for your current mood, and all you did was mutter a confused ‘huh’ at him, thankfully he laughed that off.

“listen, i’ll take you to my joint my mothers over so we can getcha all patched up, but you’ve gotta spill whatever happened to you if that’s quite alright.” despite the sturdiness in his voice, asserting what was going to happen with expectations, he tone was somewhat kind. dryly you mutter out ‘name?’, your voice raspy and unlike your own. the man chuckled before he responded in a smooth tone. “alastor dear, pleasure to meet you.”

[antifainternational]

Since youre antifascist, how about you give us a definition of fascism? What exactly makes someone a fascist? (and in case you use terms such as left-wing or right-wing be sure to define them too)

Guess it's been a while since a clever Anon challenged us to define fascism, huh? Right, let's get into it: Via the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum:

Yale professor Jason Stanley:

“Fascism is a creation of race hatred and its politically organized expression.” - Willhelm Reich, The Mass Psychology of Fascism (1933).

“Fascism is capitalism plus murder.” - Upton Sinclair

“Repression by brute force is always a confession of the inability to make use of the better weapons of the intellect — better because they alone give promise of final success. This is the fundamental error from which Fascism suffers and which will ultimately cause its downfall…that its foreign policy, based as it is on the avowed principle of force in international relations, cannot fail to give rise to an endless series of wars that must destroy all of modern civilization requires no further discussion. To maintain and further raise our present level of economic development, peace among nations must be assured. But they cannot live together in peace if the basic tenet of the ideology by which they are governed is the belief that one’s own nation can secure its place in the community of nations by force alone. ” - Ludwig von Mises,  Liberalism: A Socio-Economic Exposition (1927).

“Spent most of the day reading fascisti leaflets. They certainly have turned the whole country into an army. From cradle to grave one is cast in the mould of fascismo and there can be no escape … It is certainly a socialist experiment in that it destroys individuality. It destroys liberty.” -  Harold Nicolson, The Harold Nicolson Diaries : 1919-1964 (2004).

“The liberty of a democracy is not safe if the people tolerated the growth of private power to a point where it becomes stronger than the democratic state itself. That in its essence is fascism: ownership of government by an individual, by a group, or any controlling private power.” - Franklin D. Roosevelt

“A fascist is one whose lust for money or power is combined with such an intensity of intolerance toward those of other races, parties, classes, religions, cultures, regions or nations as to make him ruthless in his use of deceit or violence to attain his ends….If we define an American fascist as one who in case of conflict puts money and power ahead of human beings, then there are undoubtedly several million fascists in the United States.” - Henry A. Wallace

“Fascism is the cult of organised murder, invented by the arch-enemies of society. It tends to destroy civilization and revert man to his most barbarous state. Mussolini and Hitler might well be called the devils of an age, for they are playing hell with civilization.” - Marcus Garvey,  Authors take Sides on the Spanish War, 1937 Philosophy Tube's breakdown of the elements of fascism is very thorough and recommended if you're not the reading type. But do you read books? We hope so if you're looking to engage in political discussion about anything. Here are some books that tackle the definition of fascism, in whole or in part, that we would recommend to you (check/order from your local library!) Mark Bray's highly-accessible Antifa: The Anti-Fascist Handbook is a great starting point for this topic.

Columbia history professor Robert O. Paxton's excellent book The Anatomy of Fascism goes into this in great detail.

There's also Umberto Eco's The Eternal Fascist

or his "practical list for identifying fascists" as well as Hannah Arendt's seminal The Origins of Totalitarianism

We hope you weren't looking for a simple answer to the complex question of "what is fascism?" Anon, just as we hope you're up to taking our challenge of checking out all of the above so you're curiosity is satisfied and you're well-versed on the topic.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

Chapter 5: The Man, The Myth, The Legend

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter five of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing (a few times), Drinking, Drug Use, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC, Possible spoilers for season three.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

*************************

Present Day

"Hey'ya Kitten!" Legend smiles wide when he opens the front door of his apartment. "Where have you been baby? How's retirement?" He leans forward for a kiss and you turn your cheek to the side.

Always the flirt.

"Exciting. Is it alright if I come in?"

"Of course! I always have time for my favorite hero." He ushers you into his home.

It was one day after Agent Butcher and Hughie had dropped by your apartment looking for information on Soldier Boy. One sleepless night later you realized that the only way you were going to find Countess was through Legend. And despite his flirtatious attitude, you liked your former handler.

The apartment looks the same as it always has. Memorabilia from what he thought was the good old days hangs on the walls, a black leather couch sags in the center of the living room, and a red faded high backed armchair stands in the corner like a silent guardian. The smell of old cologne, pot, and alcohol soaks through the air and into your nose as you turn to examine the inhabitant.

Legend looks decidedly older. Sometimes you forgot that you didn't age the same way other people did, but then you'd meet someone from the past and it would remind you all over again. He's wearing the same smoking jacket with patched elbows, sunglasses, and ascot, that you saw him wearing over ten years ago. But Legend was classic.

"You hurt my feelings by not calling." He breezes having a seat on one of the couches, and fluffing more of the offensive smell through your nose, but you don't make a face. "What's it been ten years?"

"Something like that." You smile tightly and sit down on the armchair.

It wasn't that you didn't like seeing Legend. He might have been a crazy son of a bitch, but he was a good handler. He knew everything about everyone and he helped you get through Ben's death, not to mention he helped you create your new life when you broke away from Payback.

"You want some?" Legend holds out a mirror where a single white line of cocaine sits. "Or are you still sober?"

"I never did cocaine. And yeah, I'm still trying to stay on the wagon."

"Don't know how you do it."

"Me either." You say it partly to yourself, because it was true. You didn't know how you got through the past 40 years without a drink. Before, it wasn't that you partied as hard as Ben or the others did. It was more the drinking than drugs you imbibed in. Yes, you'd smoked the occasional blunt, but you didn't want to lose control if you tried anything stronger. You didn't like losing control, you prided yourself on keeping it together.

Ben had lost control more than once, and each time he'd show up at your apartment just like he had when he was a kid and he was hiding from his father, falling asleep beside you like nothing had changed. You never understood how he could be so vulnerable when it was just the two of you, but when he was in public he was different. Sometimes you hated that, because in those quiet moments you saw the boy you fell in love with, but when you were out in public you saw the man he became.

You remember all the times he lost control. The worst was when he threw a car through a house when trying to stop some kids in the street and killed an older man. Ben hadn't gone to the funeral, but you had. You sat on the back pew and watched the family mourn. Only a little boy in the front row had noticed you, and you had offered a kind smile, before walking back through the streets and leaving an envelope of cash in the family's mailbox. You knew the money couldn't replace the person they lost, but you couldn't think of anything else to do.

"So, are you here because you want to come out of retirement?" Legend snorts the line on the mirror without looking up. "Might be a good thing."

You laugh to yourself. "I like retirement too much to go back to Vought. Too wild out there nowadays with the supervillains and all that Compound V bullshit." You lean back in the armchair, crossing your legs in front of you.

"I could make you a star!" He looks up at you. "You're still as sexy as ever."

"And you're still a dirty old man." You tease, rolling your eyes at him and earning a chortle from Legend.  "I don't think my powers are cutesy enough for television. I’m not like Starlight.” You snort thinking about the current blonde member of The Seven that had become America’s Sweetheart, a title that you were happy you never wore.

"Who said anything about your powers babe? It's all about the body."

"Legend-"

"Fine, fine." He shakes his head. "I saw your last art show, very nice. Bought something for the country house."

"That's very kind of you." You smile with pride. Your last show had been a series you titled "Moods of the Forest," which meant that you had camped out under the stars for a solid month up North drinking in the silence of the woods. It was a nice way for you to clear your head and catch up on your reading, but it had done little to ease the thoughts of the past. "Those were some of my favorites. It was hard to part with them."

"You're very talented." He compliments.

"Thank You. I'd hope so. I've been painting for almost 90 years." Your memory flashes back to when Ben gave you paint for your birthday and the months that followed as you practiced. All the days you spent painting in the park and along the streets of Philadelphia, sometimes with Ben following behind and teasing you, but you knew he loved how much you were painting, loved how much you enjoyed the gift. The happiness and warmth of the memories is doused by a bucket of cold water as you remember the last time you saw him. The echo of the last words you spoke to him and the words he shouted at you ringing in your ears.

The chill sobers you and makes you remember why you were here talking to Legend.

"I have something important to ask you." You look up at Legend. "Do you know where Crimson Countess is?"

Legend doesn't answer immediately. The spike of his pulse with the mention of Countess' name is loud in your ears. "Did you want a scotch? I think I need one." He avoids your gaze.

"Legend-"

He stands from the couch and moves over to the table in the corner that has a collection of multicolored bottles that you wish you could drink from, but you restrain yourself. You hear the sound of the glass being poured and as he turns he takes a sip as if rousing the courage to tell you.

"Y/n if this is you finally going after her, now might not be the best time." He swirls the glass in his hand, the amber liquid sloshing against the sides. "I thought you were past all that-"

"It's not like that I-“  Your lips press together in a tight line, considering your next words. "Some men came to my apartment the other day looking for me. They were asking me about Ben."

"You told them you were dead right? The story we came up with?" Legend looks worried.

"Yeah. Don't think they bought it." You shrug.

"Did they give you their names?"

"They said they were with the CIA. Agent Butcher and a guy named Hughie-"

"Butcher? Dark hair, British accent, asshole?" Legend's glass pauses half-way to his mouth.

"Yeah. How did you-"

Legend sighs. "He used to be with the CIA, was on a task force that was used to hunt down supes. I helped them find a few over the years."

"Hunt them down?"

"Butcher's got a bone to pick with supes. Homelander especially." Legend sits back on the couch nursing his scotch.

At the mention of Vought’s most popular hero you pause. You didn’t know too much about Homelander, just that he emerged as Vought’s Golden Boy a few years after Ben died and he was supposed to be indestructible. You wondered if he was as indestructible as you.

“Homelander?”

“Did something to his wife.” Legend waves a hand like it doesn’t matter. "But they were asking you about Soldier Boy?"

"Yeah, they wanted to know about the relationship I had with him and how he died-" You foot taps against the ground, fighting the urge to pour yourself a drink.

Legend looks worried. "Maybe you should get out of town for a few days-"

"What?"

Can Butcher really be that dangerous? He didn't seem like much the other day and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't be able to handle me. Most supes couldn't.

"Not because of Butcher, he's a dick, but I mean everything with Soldier Boy." Legend takes a sip from the glass. "If you start thinking about him again, you're going to be in the same place you were last time."

Deep down you know he's right, ever since Butcher and Hughie showed up on your doorstep, Ben was all you thought about. The hole you dug yourself into when you and Ben fought and then he died was deep and dark, and it was already beginning to open under your feet.

You didn’t know if talking to Countess would help close it, but maybe you needed closure, maybe you needed to hear it from her how he died. The last thing you wanted was to go to Stan Edgar. He'd already shown up once, but you thought you had convinced him with your story. Occasionally he would show up to one of your art shows, browsing through the canvases, and asking you about the inspiration of them. You never liked when he showed up in your life, because after all these years he hadn't changed, he was still a snake obsessed with power and being on top.

"I know." You sigh, clutching your hands together in your lap. "But I want to talk to her. Maybe it's time. There was always something that unsettled me about how Ben died and she's the one who saw it. Plus Noir isn’t very talkative these days, Gunpowder is dead, and I’d rather drink cyanide than listen to those two TNT idiots.”

Learning that Gunpowder was dead was a shock. You'd lost contact with him, but you thought it was suspicious that he died so soon before Butcher and Hughie came to see you. You knew that Gunpowder was still doing his rounds in the gun expos and conventions, boasting about the good all days and preaching about the dangers of gun control.

It was ironic for him to be against it when you'd personally seen him kill several people who pissed him off and for no good reason.

If anything he shouldn't be allowed near a gun.

When you knew him he was still a kid, but even then he was already adopting the ridiculous macho attitude that Ben had.

Must have stuck.

"I still don’t think it's a good idea." Legend finishes his glass of Scotch. "But let me find it.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me kitten. I don't think I'm doing you a favor." He grunts moving through the apartment, while your eyes trace the photos. Several of them were of Ben at movie premieres, another showed the whole Payback team, and finally just Ben and Legend. He was wearing his ridiculous helmet, the one you used to tease him about. You always thought it was a shame that they covered up his handsome face.

You had a box of photos under your bed that held similar images, but most of yours were of Ben and you not wearing your supe suits. The ones from your childhood needed to be handled with care, but you enjoyed looking at them, before you saw the hardness in Ben's eyes and the set of his jaw. Those early photos showed you the boy you fell in love with.

"Here." He hands you a slip of paper that holds his untidy scrawl as you stand from the chair.

"Thank you." You turn to go, but stop. "Should I be worried about Butcher?"

"I'd stay out of his way. He kills supes for fun."

"But if Ben's already dead then what does he want?"

Legend shrugs. "Can't be good."

"Great."

"Just be careful." Legend puts his hand on your shoulder. "I know that everything that happened with Soldier Boy really threw you-"

"I know. But I have to know. I have to hear what she has to say." You sigh looking up at him. It touched your heart that he cared so much. Legend never got close to his clients in the past, but for some reason he was always more willing to help you. It was him that talked you out of the hole when Ben died.

"Okay."

"It was good to see you. Take care of yourself." You try not to see the weariness in his eyes, the way the wrinkles have grown and stretched over the years, how the gray of his hair has spread. One listen with your supe hearing meant that you could hear his blood pumping through his veins, but it wasn’t at the same vigor as it once was. It was difficult to see age on the people you knew, the day that you and Ben both figured out that you weren't aging anymore had been bittersweet. You were happy that Ben wouldn’t die either, but it meant you’d lose your family. However, Ben’s inability to age meant that you weren't alone.

You frown to yourself. Sometimes you’d thought that meant something, that the universe finally threw you a bone and it was some cosmic sign that you and Ben were supposed to be together-

What a crock of shit.

But despite his death the past few years you hadn't been alone even though you had expected it.

"Good to see you too kitten. Don't be a stranger."

When you finally make it to the street below, you kick your leg over your motorcycle, but pause.

I could just go home and work on my pieces for my next show. Go home and pretend those men never showed up and forget all about Ben. The guilt and anger that rises with his name is familiar, but you brush it away. This might be the only chance I have of finding out what happened to him. You think about Countess and the scrap of paper in your pocket. But it won't be easy.

***********************

Thank you so much for reading! Likes and reblogs are always appreciated, but not required. Please let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series :)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303 @deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister

[sissylittlefeather]

Clean Up Your Own Backyard: A Walter Hale Story

A/N: So, I'm obsessed with The Trouble With Girls. Like, "watch it almost everyday" obsessed 😂. Naturally, Walter Hale needed a fic. I mean, have you seen him?!

Big thanks to @ccab for hounding me about this until I finally finished it. Love youuuuu!

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (m&f receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Word count: ~4.5k

Unfamiliar with Walter? Bless your heart. Here:

Gilroy, Iowa has been home to you since the day you were born and you've been trying to get out of there for almost just as long. But there was never anywhere to go and having been born in the year 1900, your options were fairly limited. At the tender age of 18, you got married, just for something interesting to do. You had your son a year later and that definitely gave you something to do. Your husband was good to you until he died at the tail end of the Spanish flu epidemic in 1920. Since then, it's been you and Joseph Jr., or Joey, against the world and the thought of leaving faded into the background of your memory.

In the summer of 1927, the Chautauqua rolls through like it does every summer. You work at the hotel as a maid, so you're keenly aware of their presence. This time, something's different, though. There seems to be a new energy among the company and you learn from listening to them chatter that something wild happened in their last town. There was a murder and the manager was actually able to use it to his advantage. You think to yourself that this is a disgusting use of human vulnerability, but it doesn't surprise you. These Chautauqua managers are always a little slimy. Thankfully, as a maid, you never really interact with the more powerful people. In fact, you don't really interact with anyone. To them, you're invisible unless you're in the way, so you're able to go about your daily business without much interruption.

One day, you're busy cleaning in an empty room with the door open. The weather is warm, so you left it open to get a breeze as you work. Without realizing it, you're singing almost at the top of your lungs. You've always been a person who sings while you work and really while you do anything. It's just a bad habit that you have. People have told you that you have a lovely voice, but it never seemed to matter much other than earning you some solos at church here and there.

So when you're singing in the hotel as you clean, you're shocked to turn around and find a man in the doorway.

"Oh sweet berries! You scared me!"

"I'm sorry, honey. I was just listening to you."

"To me?"

"You're quite the little canary, you know that?"

He's unbearably handsome with his suit jacket slung over his shoulder and a cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"I am?"

"Don't act so surprised, toots."

"Well, thank you, I guess." You turn to go back to cleaning, but he doesn't leave. He just stands in the doorway and watches you clean. You look back at him and he smiles, his eyes sparkling.

"I might like to hear you again sometime."

"Well, I clean the hotel almost every day, so I'm sure you will." He laughs and is about to speak again when an older man bustles up to him.

"Walter, we need you. Stop trying to seduce the locals and get back to your job." You look down and blush at the thought that this attractive man might be trying to flirt with you. He goes to leave, but turns to you just before he walks away.

"See you around, honey. I hope." With that he's gone and you go back to cleaning. This time, though, you hum quietly instead of singing out loud.

******

Walter follows Johnny back to his room to discuss whatever this problem is.

"She's gone." Johnny is panting and sweating and Walter can tell he's panicking.

"What do you mean she's gone? Who's gone?"

"Charlene. She disappeared in the night."

"Damn." He looks down at his feet and shakes his head. Maybe he should've tried harder to convince her to stay instead of trying to force her. Still, Walter is not one to mourn the loss of a woman for long. But this does present a pretty big problem for the company. He thinks quickly.

"Put Betty in charge of the story tent. She's been working with Charlie, she knows what to do. I'll find someone to work with her."

"Find someone? Where?" Johnny asks annoyed. Walter thinks about you and your nightingale voice.

"Somewhere. Don't you worry." He heads for the door to go talk to Betty and Johnny follows him closely.

"You've got that look again, Boss. You've got an idea that's going to make trouble." Walter laughs again. In the hallway, he hears you humming and smiles. He does have an idea.

******

After getting Betty set up, Walter stands at the back of the tent and listens to the children audition for the show. Most of them don't have much to offer, so he's just about to leave when a boy of about 8 takes the stage. He requests a gospel song from Betty and begins to sing. Walter turns on his heel quickly. The boy has the prettiest soprano he's ever heard and he's absolutely killing the gospel number. He watches the boy sing his whole song while the wheels turn in his mind. At the end, he walks to the front to catch the boy before he leaves.

"Hey, son, wait a minute." The boy looks up at him in awe.

"Yes, sir?"

"You sing pretty good. And I don't give that compliment lightly."

"Oh, thank you, sir." The boy's blue eyes are wide as plates.

"I don't think we're going to put you in the kids' show. I'd like you to sing some gospel numbers with the quartet. Do you play the piano?" The boy swallows deeply. He can't believe what he's hearing.

"No, sir, I don't. We don't have one at our house. You want me to sing with the quartet?"

"I do. Where's your mama? Is she here?" Walter looks around the tent.

"No, sir, she had to work."

"Alright, then. Will you bring her to me tomorrow or whenever she's available?"

"Yes, sir. She doesn't work tomorrow so I'll bring her here."

"That's good, son, thank you." He ruffles the boy's hair and lets him run off. Then, he heads back to the hotel.

******

You've almost finished for the day when you run into Walter in the hallway. He smiles and his eyes do the sparkly thing again.

"Hi honey. Can I talk to you?"

"To me?"

"Yes. Come here." He takes you into the room you just finished cleaning and sits down on the little couch. He gestures for you to sit next to him, so you do, just far enough away to still be polite but distant.

"You know I'm the manager of the Chautauqua-"

"You're the manager?"

"I am."

"Oh. You're younger than I expected."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment." All of a sudden his sparkly eyes feel like a subtle manipulation and you recoil from him without thinking. He's the man responsible for the murder business in the last town. "I have a problem and I think you could help me."

"Me?"

"Yes. How would you like to get out of Gilroy?" Your heart flip flops, but you know it's not an option.

"What do you mean?"

"I need a woman to help in the children's tent, someone who knows music. How would you like to come with us?" You can't believe what you're hearing. In a lot of ways it's a dream come true, but you know you can't leave Joey.

"Oh, sir-"

"Walter. Walter Hale."

"Mr. Hale-"

"Walter."

"Sir, as flattered as I am, I can't leave Gilroy."

"Why is that?" You hesitate to tell him, but he needs to know you're serious.

"I can't leave my son."

"You have a son?"

"I do. And I can't just leave him here to go with you."

"Bring him along."

"Oh, I could never. The Chautauqua is no place for a child."

"I grew up in the Chautauqua."

"Right, well, I'm not sure I'd like my son to end up..." You trail off when you realize what you're saying, but his lip curls into a smirk. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. It's fine. But I sure could use your help."

"I can't. I'm sorry." You stand up from the little couch to go back to work. He watches you walk away, trying to think through his next steps. He'll convince you to come with him; he just needs to figure out the right move.

******

The next day, Walter is walking through the grounds making sure everything is running smoothly. He hears a voice behind him.

"Sir!" He turns to see the young boy from yesterday running towards him. He waits for him to get close and then ruffles his hair again.

"What is it, buddy?"

"I brought my mom. She's in the tent." Walter follows him to the children's tent to meet the boy's mother and try to convince her to let him take the boy under his wing. His mother turns when she hears her son and Walter's mouth drops.

"It's you!" You look at him with your eyebrows knit together.

"It's me. What do you want with my son?" Suddenly he realizes that this might be a real uphill battle for him.

"Well, ma'am, I'd like to have him join the Chautauqua as a sort of protégé for me."

"Protégé? For you?"

"Ma'am, I don't know if you know this, but your son is incredibly talented."

"I'm aware. What does that have to do with you?"

"I'd like to take him under my wing a bit: teach him piano and how to harmonize in a quartet." You scoff and look down at Joey. He's your pride and joy, the only thing you have left of your husband, and you're not going to let him go easily.

"Absolutely not. My son will go to college someday. He's not a performer."

"Oh, but he is. I've seen him." You look down at Joey, seemingly trying to decide whether you should take this risk or lock him inside forever. You look back up at Walter.

"Is this just because you need a new story lady?" He raises his eyebrows.

"What? No!"

"You want to pretend like you're taking an interest in my son so I'll come with you, is that it?"

"Ma'am. I took an interest in him before I knew he was your son." Now the boy chimes in. He's excited for this opportunity.

"It's true, mama. He talked to me yesterday after I auditioned." You look back and forth between them and try to imagine what it would be like for your son to grow up and become Walter.

"No. Absolutely not. Come on, Joey." You turn on your heel and push your son in front of you.

"But mama-"

"Ma'am-" You turn back to Walter.

"Thank you for putting these crazy ideas in his head without talking to me first." Then, you grab Joey's hand and walk away quickly. Walter watches you and shakes his head. There are several reasons he'd like you to join the company. The way you look walking away from him is not the least of them.

******

You have to go to work at the hotel every day, so you don't know that Joey is making his way to the Chautauqua grounds after you leave and getting home just before you do. Walter has him scheduled to perform with the quartet on the Friday night two weeks after your first encounter with him. Sometimes you see him in the hallways of the hotel and he nods politely, but doesn't press you any further about Joey performing.

You don't suspect anything until you hear Betty talking to one of the other women in the show as you clean the room across the hall.

"That new boy is very talented. I can't believe we found him in a little town like this. It's too bad his mother won't let him join us long-term. He'd be a great addition to the show." The other girl nods in agreement. "Mr. Hale assures me that he'll be able to convince the mother once he performs. I sure hope he's right."

Your blood boils as you listen to the conversation. He'll be able to convince you, will he? His arrogance is only outweighed by his sliminess. You drop the sheets you were changing and stomp through the hotel looking for him.

He's nowhere to be found. Finally, you go back to Betty and decide to ask. They're not used to the staff approaching them, but Betty used to work in a hotel too, so her shock fades quickly.

"Where is Mr. Hale?"

"Oh, I believe he's in the main performance tent preparing for tonight."

"Just what is the performance tonight?"

"It's that boy with the gospel group. He's so good! You should listen, if you're able to."

"I'll find a way. He's my son." Betty's mouth pops open and you turn and walk away.

******

At the performance tent, you stand in the back and watch as your son practices with the quartet. Walter is there too, playing the piano. You try desperately not to notice how attractive he is with his hands on the keys. You swallow deeply, shake your head, and go back to watching your son. When he sings with the quartet, your mouth drops.

He's incredible.

You knew he was talented, but always in a raw, unrefined kind of way. But now? Now he sounds like a little polished songbird, hitting notes and making runs like nothing you've ever heard before. He hears the harmony instinctively and sings it with grace, blending perfectly with the lower voices. His vibrato is beautiful and you wonder how he learned all of this in two weeks. That's when Walter stops them, stands up from the piano and kneels down in front of Joey. You can't hear what he's saying to him, but Joey is spellbound listening. He nods cooperatively. Then, they sing together.

You inhale sharply when you hear Walter's voice. It sounds like an older, deeper, baritone version of your son's soprano. He's giving instruction as he sings and Joey blends his sound with Walter's perfectly. They sound like they were made to sing together and you absolutely melt. The sincerity on Walter's face as he coaches your son would be impossible to fake. He meant it when he said he wanted to mentor Joey. Tears gather in your eyes and you begin to imagine the possibilities for his future.

You back slowly out of the tent to go home and change. You decide not to interfere with the performance tonight.

******

On stage, Joey is perfect and he absolutely shines. He is a performer. He sings his three songs and then sits down in the front row of the tent as the show continues.

But it's Walter that you can't keep your eyes off of. Every move he makes elicits a physical response from you.

At one point, he looks out to the crowd and catches you biting your bottom lip. He has to work not to laugh when you gasp and blush. Naturally, he spends the rest of the evening teasing you with looks and winks and subtle movements. By the end of the show, you're both so hot and bothered that you almost can't stand it.

As the show concludes and everyone makes their way out of the tent, you stand still, eyes glued to Walter as he talks to people. He knows you're watching him, so the smile he can't suppress is real. He stands with Joey as people compliment them both and they look so fitting there together that you almost would think they were father and son. That damn near kills you too. Finally, Joey sees you and comes bounding towards you to celebrate his success. You give him the biggest hug and tell him all your favorite parts of the show as Walter excuses himself from his conversation and saunters over. He ruffles Joey's hair and leaves his hand on his shoulder.

"Your boy is a hit, ma'am."

"I noticed. Thank you for working with him."

"I wonder if you have some time tonight to negotiate more about whether we make him a permanent member of the Chautauqua."

"I think I can manage that. Can he-" Walter turns and calls to Betty. She walks over cautiously.

"Betty will take him over to the children's tent for the evening, so we can talk privately." He gestures to Betty and she reluctantly takes Joey and walks out of the tent. That leaves just the two of you alone.

"Come over to my office." He puts his hand on the small of your back and guides you to the stage. He sits down on the piano bench and pats the spot beside him for you to sit down too. You do and automatically put your hands on the keys. You haven't played a piano in years.

"Do you play?"

"Mhmm. A little. But not in a long time." You nervously begin the top part of a duet piece that you used to play as a child. He begins the bottom part and you're surprised at how well you play together. You relax a little as you continue and the song comes back from your memory. He watches you as he plays, an almost strange look on his face.

Eventually, you look up at him too, but you're not as practiced, so you fumble the keys when you do.

"Oh, whoops, I-"

But before you can apologize for mixing up the melody, his lips are on yours. Without another thought, you turn your body to face his and the kiss escalates to a fever pitch, your tongues moving wildly as your hands begin to roam. He puts one hand on your hip and the other on your neck and pulls you in close to him while your arms go around his neck. All of the tension from the evening of flirtation comes pouring out of both of you into the kiss.

He turns and lifts you until your bottom is on the keys and he's in between your legs, still pulling you in to kiss him deeply. Then he stands up, lifting you again to place you on top of the grand piano. You notice his erection as he stands there and he gives you a look almost asking for permission to do more than kiss you. You nod and he pushes your dress up over your hips and pulls your bloomers down and off. You've never been with a man that wasn't your husband, so you blush a little at the speed with which he undresses you. He notices the change in your demeanor and looks into your eyes.

"Do you want me to stop?" You swallow and take a deep breath. He looks down at himself and back up at you. "I can-"

"No. Don't stop."

"You're sure, honey?" You grab the front of his jacket and pull him into a passionate kiss. Then, you push his jacket off of his shoulders and kiss his neck. You whisper as you do.

"Don't stop." He grunts and unbuttons his vest as you pull his tie off, your hands trembling with desire. He goes back to kissing you and puts both hands on your ass to pull you in as close to him as you can get from your position on top of the piano. You begin to unbutton his shirt and eventually get it off of him and onto the floor with the rest of his clothes. He uses both hands to lift your dress up over your head and remove your bra. A soft moan escapes his lips as he looks down at your body, naked and sitting on top of the piano. He kisses down your chest, caressing your breast with one hand and licking a slow circle around your other nipple. You whimper as he keeps moving down your body with his mouth, sitting on the piano bench and spreading your thighs to get to your center. He leans forward, putting both hands on your ass, and drags his tongue up your slit to the bundle of nerves at the top. It's been so long since you've had a man touch you like that that it almost takes your breath away. You lean back and he goes to work licking your clit.

"Oh! Walter!" You moan as he moves his tongue on you in circles. He licks you fervently and you feel the coil of your orgasm begin to tighten between your legs. The pleasure of what he's doing with his mouth is exquisite and you cry out again. He pulls back a little and looks up at you from his position between your thighs.

"Honey, I don't wanna stifle you, but we are in a tent." All of a sudden you become very aware of the fact that there are no doors or walls separating you from the rest of the camp. It should scare you, but it has the opposite effect. He notices the way you arch your back and smiles. "Good girl."

He leans into you again and goes back to licking you, sliding his tongue over and around and across your clit. You're right on the edge of your orgasm and he knows it. He sucks on you lightly, backs up and blows on you, and then dives in and licks harder than he has so far and you tumble over the edge, coming harder than you ever have before, the blood rushing from your core out to your fingertips in electric bolts.

"Oh God, Walter." You groan through gritted teeth as you ride the high of your orgasm and he devours you like his life depends on it. When you finally come back down to earth, you push him backwards and slide forward off of the piano into his lap. You kiss him again deeply, tasting your own sweetness on him, and grind against his hardened cock.

"You're gonna make a mess of my pants, honey." He whispers in your ear as you nibble on his earlobe.

"Do you care?"

"No. I really don't."

"That's what I thought." You grind against him again and he whimpers. Then, you back off of him and stand up between him and the piano. He stands up too, pushing the piano bench back away from him. Your hands go to his pants button and you smirk at the wet spot on the front of them. He helps you undo them and then slides them down, kicking his shoes off, as his cock bounces free. You shouldn't be surprised at how beautiful it is, but you are. It's long and straight and you don't hesitate to drop to your knees in front of it, fully intending to worship it with your mouth. He groans and puts his hand on the top of the piano to steady himself as you push his foreskin back and lick a slow circle around the head. You drag your tongue up the bottom of his shaft and then take him fully into your mouth, opening your throat until he hits the back of it.

"Shit, y/n." He moans while you begin to bounce on him. You move your hands around to his ass to hold him still while you slide your mouth up and down. You push him as deep as he'll go again and bury your nose in the soft patch of hair at the base of him. He makes some kind of guttural grunt and then grabs your hair, pulling gently to get you to back off of him. As you stand back up, he turns you around to face the piano and kisses your shoulder.

"I'm sorry, honey, I wasn't ready to finish yet." He lines himself up with you from behind and teases your entrance with his tip. "Is this what you want?"

"Yes, Walter, oh!" He pushes into you from behind, filling you slowly. You feel every inch of him as your pussy stretches to accommodate his size. He begins to move in and out of you, picking up a steady rhythm.

"Good girl. You like this?" He asks as he pounds you from behind, holding your hips with both hands while you grasp at the top of the piano.

"God, yes, don't stop!"

"You like it when I fuck you hard like this?"

"Yes, fuck, Walter!" You hit the keys as he slams into you and it makes a kind of atonal music to go along with the sound of your skin slapping together rhythmically. Everyone outside the tent knows exactly what's going on inside and you don't even care. With his cock buried so deep inside you, the only thing you can think about is how close you are to coming again.

He pulls out of you without warning and flips you around to face him, pushing back into you quickly.

"Join the Chautauqua. Come with me. Stay with me." He says it between kisses as he fucks you much more gently now.

"Is that what this is all about?"

"No. I just can't let you go after this." You look into his eyes and he looks into yours. You can tell he's on the brink of his climax, just like you are. His hair drips with sweat and he might be the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

"Yes. Okay. I'll come... with... you." As you say it he groans loudly and fills you with warmth and you fall head first into a full body wave of pleasure. He pumps a couple more times weakly while you shudder and tremble with ecstasy. You both breathe heavily as he presses his forehead to yours.

"Did you mean that?"

"Yes. I did." He slides out and falls backwards onto the piano bench, pulling you down into his lap. He kisses you again deeply and then rests his head on your shoulder with his arms around your waist.

"Welcome to the Chautauqua."

"Are you my boss now?"

"Honey, I'll be anything you want me to be, as long as you don't leave me."

"Leave you or the company?"

"Both. But mainly me." He kisses your shoulder and gives you a sly look. You're still not sure if this was about you or the Chautauqua, but you're willing to join him on the road and find out. This is your chance to get out of this town and see what the world has to offer. He's just icing on the cake. Delicious, sweet, and probably bad for you, but definitely worth it in the end. If anyone has anything to say about it, well, they can clean up their own backyard.

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @rjmartin11 @aliypop @your-nanas-house @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @lookingforrainbows @joshuntildawn13 @tacozebra051 @dkayfixates @deniseinmn @18lkpeters @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @pebbles403 @from-memphis-with-love @elvisalltheway101 @deltafalax

[majorbaby]

things that are good about The Trial of Henry Blake:

- Radar getting suckered into an MLM, presumably because he doesn't make very much money and his not being home means his family is struggling on the farm

- Trapper, played by Alabama native Wayne Rogers, doing an exaggerated Southern accent for a bit

- General presumably in charge of MASH units not knowing what a "gurney" is

- and Bouncinggggg Bettyyyyy

- Frank and Margaret being hilarious perverts, turned on by the gurney races

- big red bird with fuzzy pink feet; Trapper and Hawkeye pausing their respective makeout sessions to check in with each other about what they saw

- someone explain to me why they had to be stripped to their underwear while under house arrest beyond 'McLean thought this would be a hoot'

- "behind every great man there's a woman with a vibrator"

- give the guard a fucking gallon of phenobarbital

- Klinger, a fucking G, drugs the guard, Hawkeye: take two bras out of petty cash

- "Don't you have anything to say in your defense?" Henry: I was just trying to help

- subtle, clever digs at the true blue american "my family came to this country in 1927" Hawkeye: riding on a pony

- Trapper/Henry big ol' sloppy kiss 🥺

- everyone's wearing the wing-tipped shoes to greet the general, everyone breaks uniform in solidarity with Henry. under his leadership, people rebel against the army status quo

[autumncottageattic]

Get Your Man is an American silent romantic comedy film released in 1927. The silent film stars Clara Bow, Charles "Buddy" Rogers, and Josef Swickard.

[palmofafreezinghand]

Aww, I miss you, lovely! I've been gone for a minute myself. Give me something sweet with Edward and Esme, or maybe Esme's pov of the Ephraim confrontation 💕

Thank you for the prompt! I miss you too, I hope you're doing well 💖

2007. 

After months of chaos, dozens of strangers in her house, and the ever constant threat of death looming over her family’s head Esme was savoring the first quiet moments back in her studio. No sooner had she laid a rough underpainting when a familiar footfall made its way down the hall and eventually stopped in front of her door. 

He did not knock, he never did, but instead walked into the room as if it was his own. He slumped into the loveseat — too big for the room but a requirement of him and his father —  slinging his legs over the armrest. 

“I’ve missed you,” Edward sighed. 

She raised her brow, eyes focused on her canvas.  ‘I do not believe I went anywhere.’ 

“I can not hear you,” he said, tapping his temple. “Bella,” he smiled like a fool whenever he said her name, “is practicing her restraint, she wanted to test blocking the voice I know the best.” 

“Is that not Carlisle?” She asked, noting how the shuffling of papers downstairs halted when she mentioned his name. Nosy or besotted, she was unsure which. 

“It appears I know what he is going to think before he does.” 

Her eyes rolled before she could think better of it. The two were too similar for their own good. 

“So I am second fiddle,” she said, attempting to feign annoyance. She knew better than to tease him, but he made it far too easy. 

“Think of it as you’re the person I know better than almost anyone else in the world.” 

“Mhm.” 

They fell into comfortable silence. Edward began leafing through a decade old copy of Architect Digest. Esme began mixing her color palette, something light and peaceful, a slow introduction back to painting. She would not let her art get tainted by the turbulence, the fear, the anger… 

“You truly can’t hear my thoughts?” 

“No.” 

‘You can not hear this?’ 

“If you are asking me if I can hear you the answer is no.” 

‘How did you know what I was asking?’ 

“I know you, Esme,” he grinned, that knowing smile he had worn since the day they met eighty years prior. 

She set down her palette and turned on her stool to look at him fully. ‘I enjoy jazz.’ His face did not change. She narrowed her eyes. ‘I think that sleeveless shirt you wear is ridiculous.’ Nothing. ‘Carlisle and I were the ones who broke your baby grand in 1948, we let Emmett take the blame.’ That clinched it. This revelation would have caused a civil war in their house, and yet nothing. Besides a slightly amused smile. 

“You can’t hear me,” she breathed. 

“You are too stubborn for your own good.” 

She scoffed, he beamed. “I am the stubborn one!” 

“Your husband is close behind.” 

“This is rich,” she laughed to herself. 

It was an odd feeling, being completely alone in her own brain while he was sitting across from her. The only time her brain had ever belonged to her alone were years she wished to never relive. She could think of anything at all. 

The latest bodice ripper she was reading. 

Their fight of 1927. 

The whispered sweet nothings Carlisle said in the privacy of their bedroom. Or his office. Or most recently the garden shed. 

“Please, stop thinking of Carlisle in the nude,” Edward groaned lightheartedly. 

“You said you couldn’t hear me!” 

“I can see your face,” he grimaced. 

“You are such a prude for a man who’s had a child,” she laughed, unable to deny his accusation. 

She returned her attention back to her paints, letting her thoughts roam, now with a few restrictions. 

“That’s the first time you’ve called me a man,” Edward said quietly after a minute or two. 

“No it isn’t.” The palette knife cut a dollop of prussian blue, then crimson, mixing the two in a pool of titanium white, mix. 

“Yes,” he nodded, “it is.” 

The three colors were now a well blended lavender. “I… it is not the… I feel as if… I must have thought it before…if not…” 

As she tried to formulate her thoughts, it dawned on her that in eighty six years she had never had to tell him how she felt, about anything. He had always known, was constantly piecing together her thoughts before she did. How was the first time she was expected to verbalize her feelings now? Was she supposed to tell him how much fatherhood had changed him, had fundamentally changed their relationship, how she could never view him as she once did?

Crimson, cadmium yellow slapped onto the palette with a smidgen too much force, six parts titanium white. 

“I know, Esme. We don’t have to do this, I know.” 

‘Thank you,’ she thought. She knew he couldn’t hear her. Yet something by the way he smiled and nodded, turning his attention back to the article he had read dozens of times before, told her maybe he just knew.

[internatlvelvet]

Clara Bow and Buddy Rogers in Get Your Man (1927)

[the1920sinpictures]

1927 Ad for Clara Bow and Buddy Rogers in "Get Your Man". From Silents, Please!, FB.

[sgiandubh]

San wears PINK 'chapstick'. There have been multiple smear shots. It appears similar to lip gloss. It makes him look very feminine, more than Tony, who you claim wears lipstick. How is Sam's very pink chapstick, different than what you claim Tony wears? How can you say one is gay, one is not, when the look is very similar? Wearing any lip balm, lip stick, whatever, does not change someone's sexual orientation, btw, anyone who believes it's as simple as that, is very small minded.

Dear Pink Anon,

I cannot believe I am actually answering your shite, to be honest: I am probably bored and unwilling to start cleaning up this flat until tomorrow morning, which is absolutely pathetic.

Let's see what all this fuss is really about:

T0- Bitchy Anon returns with a pic reference and claims - not me, punk! - T and C's lipstick shade was identical. I asked a logical question: what manly man wears lipstick in public? There was no smearing, therefore no smooching. Also, I should hope you Anons know that long lasting lipstick was invented by Baudecroux, in Paris, in 1927, under the name of Rouge Baiser (come on, Anons, my feisty Grandma used it until the day she died!), so how do you explain that very mysterious transfer? Right. You can't. Never mind. McIdiot's lips still look like a forensic exhibit on that pic. I mean, get real, Anon - how is that orange lipstick supposed to look normal on him?

T1- Lipstick Anon comes with a false syllogism I immediately debunked, explaining S is an actor and wondering why the fuck the successful businessman needed lipstick in public. I offered the possibility of tinted lip gloss, as far as S is concerned, and I explained why I think he does it. Does it look conspicuous, at times? It does. Does that mean S is gay? Nope, it doesn't.

T2 - Lip Balm Anon comes forward with a common sense comment that probably infuriated you.

FYI, I do not base my gay AF opinion about McIdiot on this very trivial detail.

And a question for you: how the hell can a #silly chapstick make someone like S look feminine? And how is this shit you wrote not narrow minded, huh?

Come back and you'll get a block.

PS: "multiple smear shots". You people are sick. Seriously.

[namelessuchiha]

I absolutely ADORED “unrequited” and I can’t wait for more!!! If ur requests r still open, may I ask for Kakashi x f!reader, who are friends with benefits, admitting that they love each other during sex?

thank u so much !!! i don't know if I did this justice but I tried my best !! enjoy! this is 1927 words

Rules (Kakashi Hatake x Reader) -

***18+ only! sexual content ahead, minors dni***

It had started off simple. When the two of you agreed to go down this road, you had agreed on specific rules.  The main rule is that at any time, either party could stop this. This was to be exclusive, meaning that if one of you began seeing someone else, your nightly endeavors would end. However, the most important ground rule Kakashi had laid out, you had broken months ago.

“If one of us begins having feelings towards one another, we have to back out of this.” He had said the first night. “I don’t want to lose you as a friend.”

So, it began. You and Kakashi were friends with benefits. And boy, were they benefits. Every night, pending neither of you were busy out on a mission or training, the two of you met in the streets of Konoha. For months, these nightly meetings were conducted solely in your apartment. But as time continued, Kakashi slowly opened and began leading you to his apartment instead.

Other than the rules the two of you had laid out between yourselves, you had your own set of rules you began to follow: no staying overnight, minimal aftercare, no wearing his clothes, etc. You didn’t know when, but sometime during this deal you had completely forgotten all of these. You suddenly remembered one morning as you stood at Kakashi’s oven top, cooking him his favourite breakfast while wearing one of his t-shirts.

You had realized then you were totally and utterly screwed. You had broken everyone of your secret rules, and this had led you to breaking Kakashi’s most important rule. You had caught feelings for him. Part of you was ready to back out that morning that you came to your realization. But the selfish part of you that craved his touch every night forbade it.

So, the next day, you met Kakashi in the street. Pretending as if you hadn’t realized that you were falling in love with Kakashi Hatake. A shinobi’s life is a short one, might as well enjoy this while I still have it.

You genuinely thought this was something you could keep quiet for the rest of your life. You didn’t even tell your best friends the revelation you had. Scared that if you told them, it would make it even more real. ‘Maybe they’d tell Kakashi, and he’d end this all and never speak to me again.’

It was one day, in the late spring, when Kakashi and you returned from a mission. Although you were a formidable shinobi, having to carry anything for days back to the village was exhausting. Let alone the fact that you had a full-grown man on your back. He was broken, beaten, and battered. When you finally reached the Hidden Leaf, and Kakashi was safely being tended at the hospital, you shuffled your way home.

The hot shower was a blessing after the weeks long mission, but the blood running into the drain was a cruel reminder of the life you lived. The shinobi life was a short one. Shinobi didn’t die from old age, they died in battle. Many shinobi didn’t even get to experience the most beautiful things in life, getting married, starting a family, watching their children grow old. It was then, the realization that Kakashi could have died during this mission without knowing that you were in love with him, that the gears began to turn in your head. You had to tell him how you felt.

You sat by his side for weeks in the hospital and helped in his recovery. Though he swore you were pestering him by staying there, every time you turned to leave, he made an excuse for you to stay.

“That plant Gai brought me needs to be watered, are you really going to make me get out of my hospital bed to water it?”

“My physical therapist said I couldn’t use my arms today, so you’ll have to hand feed me.”

When the day came that he was discharged from the hospital, you had helped him home and treated him to take-out. The two of you sat around his dining table in a comfortable silence as you ate. When the two of you were finished, you collected the dishes and brought them to the kitchen sink. Not long after you began washing the dishes, you felt Kakashi’s body press into yours from behind. His arms wrapped around your waist as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

“Thank you.” He spoke quietly. “For everything you’ve done for me over the past few weeks.”

A light blush began to form on your cheeks. “Someone has to take care of you, since you won’t do it.” You teased, rinsing off the last dish before turning around to face him.

Your lips parted in slight shock at seeing him without his mask so willingly in front of you. Even after all this time, you still felt awed by his soft and beautiful features. You raised your hand to cradle his cheek as he leaned into it, sighing contently. After a few moments you raised on your tippy toes to meet his lips with yours. He responded immediately; hands wrapped around your waist as he deepened the kiss to his liking. He parted his lips, causing you to do the same as his tongue slowly tangled with yours.  

Soon, the kiss began to escalate. You dragged your nails down his clothed chest as he let out a low groan from the feeling. He responded by lowering one of his hands and grasping the soft flesh below your waist. All it took was one moan from your lips for him to break the kiss. The two of you were panting as he wrapped his hands around your thighs and place you onto the edge of the kitchen counter.

“Be careful Kakashi, they said you still need to rest and take it easy.” You said quickly

“Missed your soft lips.” He said while completely ignoring your words, dragging his thumb along your bottom lip before tugging on it slightly.

Your lips connected harshly once again, before Kakashi began kissing a trail down your neck. You let out a content sigh as his tongue met your sweet spot, something you didn’t even know you had until you had begun this with Kakashi. It felt as though a fever had broken out across your skin with how hot you felt under the copy-ninja’s touch. You pushed him forward slightly as your arms crossed to take off your shirt in a way you hoped was at least slightly attractive. You threw the shirt across the floor before moving your hand behind you impatiently to unclasp your bra. You just wanted his mouth everywhere and anywhere, as soon as possible.

His hand quickly grasped the wrist behind you and pulled it away. “Let me take it off for you, sweetheart.”

Your hands dropped to your sides as you allowed his hand to trail up and down your back. His ministrations began once again, kissing down your neck and now further down the valley of your breasts. The clasp snapped undone, and you shrugged the straps off, letting the cloth fall to his feet. His soft lips quickly latched themselves around your left nipple while his fingers rubbed and twisted the other. Hot breathy moans fell out of your lips at every sensation from his mouth and fingers. He released your nipple with a ‘pop’ sound and trailed his tongue between your breasts to reach your right nipple.

“Kakashi.” You moaned, as he repeated the same actions to opposite sides. “Please- “

He released and looked up at you through hooded eyelids, “Please what?”

Your head lolled onto your right shoulder as his hands moved south. He began gently palming the inside of your thighs, just one more inch over and he would be right where you wanted him. His grip tightened suddenly, and you let out a gasp in response. “Tell me what you want and its yours baby.”

“You, Kashi, need you so badly.” You watched as his pupils dilated slightly, before he let out a shuttered breath.

You lifted your hips slightly, signalling him to help remove the last two articles of your clothes. He quickly and messily pulled down your shorts and underwear together. You watched as he opened his left eye, unveiling his sharingan. “You’re so beautiful, so perfect.”

 You leaned forward, grasping at his shirt as he raised his arms for you to pull it over his head. His pants followed by being unbuttoned and dropped to the ground around his ankles, his boxers joining soon after.

His lips clashed against yours in wet and hot kiss as he erratically jerked his hand back and forth over his hard erection. He continued kissing you passionately while positioning the head of his cock to rub against your soaking folds. You moaned loudly into his mouth as he rubbed over your clit.

He detached himself from your lips and leaned his forehead against yours, panting heavily. “Need you now, can’t wait any longer.” He looked into your eyes, wordlessly asking for your permission to continue. Nodding your head, you pushed your hips forward.

Kakashi’s breath hitched as he pulled you forward by the thighs, and position began pushing his cock through your slick folds. Both of you let out loud moans as he thrusted himself all the way in.

“Missed this tight pretty pussy.” Pausing for a moment, he leaned his forehead onto your shoulder. “-m not going to last long sweetheart, been so long and you feel so goddamn good wrapped around me.”

Your head grew dizzy with his vulgar speech. Soon he began slowly moving his hips back and forth, pulling himself almost all the way out before sharply thrusting back in. One of his hands release your thigh as he lazily began brushing his thumb against your swollen clit.

He continued his actions, while intermittently beginning to quicken his thrusting pace. You felt the knot begin to form in the bottom of your belly while your moans grew louder. “Faster Kashi, I-I’m so- Oh. I’m so close.”

The silver haired man immediately began thrusting faster into you, to the point his balls were loudly slapping against your behind. His thumb began pressing harder into your clit. “Cum for me then, be my good girl and cum all over my cock.”

“God, I’m cumming Kakashi. Fuck! - “All it took was two more thrusts before you felt yourself let go, Kakashi right there with you as he groaned while fucking his hot cum inside of you. Your toes were curling as you chanted Kakashi’s name repeatedly.

As you both came down from your highs, you drunkenly spoke. “Mm- Kashi. Love you.”

Your body stilled immediately as your brain caught up with the words that came out of your mouth. You did say you wanted to tell him. No- this was definitely not the right time-

Your eyes slowly looked up to Kakashi’s shocked face, “You l-love me?” Swallowing thickly, you nodded once. There’s no going back from here anyway.

“I’m sorry Kakashi, I know you said that we needed to stop if one of us started to have feelings. But I...” You began saying, only to be cut off by Kakashi’s chuckling.

You watched as his head tilted to the side and his lips turned upward as his eyes closed into half moons.

“Well, I’m glad that I’m not the only one who broke the rules here.”

[powderblueblood]

For the old Hollywood AU - dealer’s choice & this quote: “And they'll know - everyone will fucking know that they could never control one goddamn fucking thing."

😘

BABYLON SENTENCE MEME

set in the frenetic grimy screwball universe of BURN LIKE NITRATE, the old hollywood au an: this is 3k words because i am soooo normal about all this. no majorly explicit warnings, just fluff and angst and coarse language and a slight allusion to steve's drinking problem

LOS ANGELES, 1927

Seven frantic knocks on your bedroom door awaken you with a skin-jumping start, and you realize you've fallen asleep with your needlework in hand. Again.

"Oof," you breathe, a hand brushing across your brow as you set the embroidery hoop down on your rickety bedside table. That'll be Pidge or one of the other girls at the door, eye-rolling and telling you it's lights out-- as is the routine racket come ten at night, every night. Bunny Lamelle's boarding house kept strict rules, and they included lights out at ten, no boozing, and no shoes or men past the first floor.

Little do you know, you're about to shatter all three of those sacrosanct commandments.

You barely bother to smooth your nightgown before you crack open your bedroom door-- and regret it immediately.

"Mr Harrington?"

Bleary-eyed and wearing a grin that would knock a nun clean out, Steven Harrington stands in the frame of your bedroom door.

Well, stands is generous. His knees look fit to buckle under the weight of whatever's in that flask he's carrying.

"Evening, Beadie."

"Get inside, quickly! Please!" You yank him in by the crook of his arm, and immediate thrill sparks in you. You'd never think to do that ordinarily! Gosh, you're afraid to even touch the fabric that you drape over the man's frame in a professional setting, and you're his darn costume fitter.

As a precaution, you poke your head out into the hallway, neck swiveling left and right. Clear? Clear. You gently close the door.

"How ever did you get up here?" you question as Steve, as he keeps insisting you call him (but you only ever do in your head-- manners are a girl's best friend!), stumbles a touch before flopping down on your bed.

Your bed. Oh, dear.

"I'm no stranger to the facilities here at Bunny Lamelle's, I'll have you know!" he proclaims, hitching himself up on his elbows. The light in here is terrifically bright, too bright for his liking, and your bed is terrifically soft, but that's just right. "It's no Hollywood Studio Club, but it's not a complete pigsty they keep you girls in--"

The pitch of his voice keeps rising and rising, and you know very well that the walls are thin and the eponymous Bunny can hear everything. Steve is familiar with Bunny Lamelle, having been chased down the stairs of this very boarding house more times than he could count. His early years in Los Angeles were nothing if not, ah, eventful. He knows he ought to be quiet, but he feels mournful tonight. Feeling mournful always leads him down the path to goading, because being sad is a fucking sap's game.

You make a motion, pleading with him to shush-- and sold on the look on your face alone, Steve's voice drops to a stage whisper.

"The back door has a loose lock."

"I know," you whisper back. "I taught Pidge how to jimmy that lock open when we both moved in here."

"That little bearcat lives here too? What a pair you two make."

Steve looks surprised, same as Pidge had looked surprised. A little church girl like you, knowing how to pick a lock. Imagine that. He swears, every time you deign open your mouth, which has become more and more frequent during your little fittings, you threaten to knock the knees from under him. Some turn of phrase, some thread of history he never guessed would be woven into your coat.

You feel a blush flaring at your cheeks, Steve's half-focused eyes resting on you a moment too long.

You force yourself to clear your throat, though breaking the spell of his stare feels like a betrayal.

"What are you doing here, Mr--"

"Bea-die. I insist. I'm in your chambers, for Chrissake."

"Steve." You put a nice fine point on it, finer than your needlework. If he insists.

Ah, yes. The reason for the season. As if punching the air in victory, Steve's right arm thrusts into the air. His movements are like those of a marionette filled with whiskey.

"It appears I have torn a button."

Indeed. A button hangs from a thread, dangling from the cuff of Steve's impeccable satin shirt, part in parcel of his whole satin getup. An outfit designed to make him look the consummate ideal of the American picture star, an image you're positive they couldn't have illustrated without the reference of his good looks and charm.

But now the suit is creased and rumpled and reeking of liquor, and the man inside it, the man you now know to be wondrous and interesting outside of the fascination he inspires onscreen, looks despondent.

This is all getting a little on-the-nose.

"You came over here to... to ask me to mend a button?" You don't mean to let that twinge of disappointment escape your voice.

Steve's mouth gapes and shuts again. He can't tell if it's the whiskey or what, but that feels like flimsy reasoning all of a sudden. "I suppose I did."

You can feel your blood pressure rising. He risked getting you evicted from the only place in Los Angeles you can afford to stay because of some silly button? Well, I never! The gall, the nerve, the-- the vanity! You take a deep, steadying breath and cross the room to the bathroom that you and Pidge share, adjoining both your bedrooms.

"If you'll excuse me."

He starts to speak, but you click the door closed behind you, softly as you can manage. When safely inside, you stuff the shower curtain into your mouth and let out a silent, frustrated scream. So, you'll do the only thing you know to do. You'll consult your most trusted source of a second opinion.

Pidge, how do I go about not murdering the entitled movie star that's currently sitting on my bed?

As if she'd heard you summoning, Pidge comes crashing through her bathroom door, hair mussed and face flushed. Giggling. Until she sees you, that is, and her face drops. She slams the door behind her, and you swear you can hear a muffled, "Ow!"

Louder than is necessary, she says, "Hello, Beadie!"

"Pidge..." Something's off in the body language of the script girl.

At a normal volume, "Hello, Beadie." A beat, as she takes you in. "Is everything alright?"

Oh, forget whatever madness Pidge has indulged herself in now! You're having an honest-to-god emergency!

"No!" you flutter, arms flapping, "No, it is not because Steven Harrington is sitting in my bedroom!"

Pidge's eyes flare for about half a second, which is just the amount of surprise she doles out for any occasion. You could tell her that Victrola records were shrinking to half their size and all she'd do is give you the ol' wide eyes and move onto more logical matters.

"The way you're talking makes me think he oughtn't be."

"Of course he oughtn't be!"

"Why oughtn't he be?"

"Well, other than the obvious, Pidge! He-- he's Steven Harrington!" Most recently seen on the arm of the latest WAMPAS Baby, Steven Harrington. Box office darling, Steven Harrington. Object of many a rabid fan letter, Steven Harrington. "And get this, he risked life and limb sneaking up here so I could sew a button back on for him!"

"That's what they're calling it now? Cad," Pidge says, eyes narrowing. Then they flare again. "Oh, hold the line..."

Your breath stitched up in your throat. "What?"

"Harrington's got a premiere tonight. Seven Slow Dances. It ought to be," Pidge checks her watch and you notice her lipstick is smudged. Hm. "Well, gosh, it'll be over by now. After party at The Roosevelt, natch. Warner Jr will have his guts for garters if he doesn't show his mug."

Your bottom lip trembles a tad, hands flapping with the sheer current of nerves and anger and excitement and dread coursing through you.

"Pidge, Pidge, Pidge, what am I to do?!"

Your roommate and friend grabs you by the shoulders and gives you a good, hefty shake.

"Beadie, snap out of it. You know exactly what you're to do. You're to mend that button and you're to send him on his way." She gives you this stare that's kind of wavering at the corners.

That throat of yours is suddenly drier than Glendale. You swallow, roughly. You dare to ask, "And what if... he tries any funny business?"

Pidge doesn't miss a beat. "Well, I have a revolver in my delicates."

This response makes you abandon the followup question of what if I'd like him to try some funny business. You nod, resolute and terrified, grabbing your sewing box from the commode. Pidge stands stock still stationary in the bathroom, arms crossed and eyes bright with curiosity.

You wonder what you'd just caught her in the middle of.

But the door clicks shut behind you and you find Steve lying flat on his back, his head dangling off the edge of your modest single bed.

"Told half of Hollywood I'm here already, huh?" His tone is languid, but not scornful. Playful, even. Like he could really expect such a thing from you. Wide-eyed, innocent you.

A nervous chuckle bubbles from you, Steve dousing the flame of your irritation as soon as he'd lit it. You edge closer to the bed, suddenly very conscious of the way your nightgown is fitting.

"Certainly not. Just, I knocked into Pidge in the bathroom. It happens, sharing and all. I didn't--"

But before you can lie, "Hello, Pigeon!" Steve calls, and you lurch for him-- too loud! He emits something close to a giggle. "She's quite the hard boiled tomato. How is it you two became so close?"

You shrug. That was a story, but not one you were about to regale Steve Harrington with. He needed to be sewn up, given his marching orders. That's that. "Every lady needs her foil, I suppose."

"Good god, don't sell yourself so short," Steve says, and there's a real edge to his voice. He's truly admonishing you. You can't truly see yourself that way, can you? Playing second fiddle to some studio drone workaholic like poor Pidge, when you and your delicate hands and your brilliant mind had the gall and grace to exist on this earth?

Christ, is he drunk.

Though, you can't help it sometimes. You love Pidge, love her true, but can't help but think she stacks up so much higher compared to you; in experience, in nerve, in dealing with men like him.

"You're the genuine article, Beadie."

Steve says this to you. Steven Harrington says this to you. Even if he's corked and ready to pour, he says this to you.

You have to give yourself an even moment to remember the act of taking a human breath and how it works.

When you recover, your voice is tiny. "Sit up, please."

He does as is told, the same as when you tell him so in the fitting rooms. It's the one time that Steve doesn't mind being told what to do; you go about it gentle, careful not to prick him with your little pins. He trusts that you never will. And, you always asks things like, "Well, how does that feel, Mr Harrington?" and then add that adorable shy addendum, "I mean, to move in?"

You settle next to him on the bed, sewing kit in your lap. Steve presents his sleeve to you and you finger the darling little pearlescent button. Feels too violent for your nature to snap it off of its lingering thread-- and yet you do it. And he can't explain it, but it thrills him.

Steve watches you thread your needle with an intensity that does not go unnoticed by you. Your entire head feels hot.

"You're aware I had a premiere tonight, Beadie."

"Oh, of course I am," and you did, having faithfully followed this man's work for years, "Seven Slow Dances, wasn't it?"

Steve swallows, feeling the paparazzi light bulbs crack behind his eyes. The tense silence in the theater that just kept getting tenser and stickier as the preview of the picture droned on.

"It's set to be my biggest picture to date," he tells you, a slur creeping into his voice, "A thoroughly modern romp, catapulting me to as-yet-unforeseen notoriety. Have you heard this?"

A small smile wafts over your lips, daring to break your focus. "Why, that sounds wonderful."

Steve emits a hearty scoff, and you have to place a hand on his arm to steady it.

"Wonderful? It sounds like bullshit to me. It sounds like the company line," he sniffs, "Do you know why I do all this, Beadie? Why I became an actor? To escape the company line."

You still your needle to an unnecessarily slow speed, taking far longer than you need to with resewing this button. Because he does this, when he's in your hands and you have your points turned towards him. He opens up, to you.

"But it follows you, you know," Steve goes on, voice thickening. That sends a jolt of alarm through you. "Chases you like you've got a target on your back."

You've never heard him sound quite like this before. Cornered.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean..." you murmur, eyes leaving the safe reserve of the needlepoint and button to watch him. Watch his profile. Watch the tears begin to well in his scorched sugar eyes.

"I traded being one kind of stooge for another, do you know that?" he sniffs, bitterness putting a bite in his voice, "I rejected the role that was set out for me, the heir to HH Industries, to become an artist! If you can fucking believe that. Because I thought it meant something. I thought it meant I'd finally have control over my own life."

It strikes you dumb. It's an honesty so blistering, you can't quite believe that it's real, that he's sharing it with you. "I..."

"I don't," have any control, he means, "I'm being prodded around like a prize show pony in front of these cameras, preening to Photoplay and acting like it all means something when it doesn't."

Steve turns to you now, a single, screen-perfect tear cascading down his screen-perfect face. But his vitriol feels ugly and ill-fitting, like he feels in this stupid satin suit.

"And you know what, Beadie? You know what's the killer? The bullet aiming straight for my heart?"

Suspended in shock, your needle held aloft. "No..."

Steve clears his gummed up throat, nodding mirthlessly. Of course. How would you know, you poor, sweet thing?

"Once this shitheap of an Al Jolson picture goes to print, the entire company line is going to change. Sound in the pictures, what a gimmick!" he cackles, "But the public loves a gimmick, and that's who we sacrifice ourselves for. And it'll push me, who has given everything to create something out of nothing, and every other dumb sap like me, right out the door. And they'll know - everyone will fucking know that they could never control one goddamn fucking thing. Our fate, our crushable fate in the hands of those dipshit Warner brothers. The company line. Sundown on Steven Harrington."

It completely befuddles you that he could think this way. Of course, the colony is splintering into two and a dozen camps, each different variants of sound is the death of cinema and talkies are the way of the future. You had heard Pidge's diatribes on it, but hadn't settled on an opinion yourself. Pictures with sound would surely still need costumes, but you hadn't thought for even a moment about how it might effect someone like Steve. How it might... frighten him.

"Oh, Steve. Steve, you know that's not true." That hand of yours that rests on his arm tightens some. His head dips.

"It is true, Beadie," he presses and sniffles, "They'll lose any interest they had in me; for Chrissake, I can't stand up to those booming voiced theater types. I've churned my butter in pantomime! I've wasted my life on something completely null."

His words coax you to near tears. This feels as if he's welcomed you into his cocoon, shown you all the ways he fears he'll fail to metamorphose.

But then, you catch another whiff of the liquor on his breath.

You remember that, despite it all, you need to be careful-- Steve may be sweet to you now, in this moment, but Steven Harrington at large is still a documented rake. He's a mess. He'll do anything, say anything, to get what he wants.

You know this. You love this. And you know that you oughtn't.

You finish the last stitch on his errant button and push an encouraging smile across your face.

"Well. All the more reason to get peeling out to that after party then, isn't it? Make sure they don't forget who you are."

A friendly pat to his arm serves as half an encouragement for him to get up and off your bed.

This is not the reaction he wants. With his head tilted toward you, with all his sparkling tears, this is not the reaction Steve was aiming for. He can't even say he wanted to kiss you in that moment, but he did not expect you to tow that very same company line. Buck up, buddy boy. Put on a good show.

But you're a good girl. Of course you think that's the way things ought to be. He shouldn't be confusing you like this. Sullying your mind against the Warner behemoth.

Steve stands, re-buttoning his mended sleeve. You watch him, eyes gleaming and worried. He's gone all silent and sullen again, like he does. Then again, he may not even remember this in the morning.

"Away I go, then," he murmurs, barely coherent, "into the fray."

"Do be careful," you tell him, chest constricted. "Sneaking back out, I mean."

"Not my first rodeo," he reminds you, and it feels terrifically callous for some reason.

And then Steve is gone, slipping through your bedroom door. As fast and furtively as he appeared, and all that's left behind him is the silver glimmer of his flask folded into the plush of your bed sheets.