#ruth brady

[recycledmoviecostumes]

This beautiful velvet gown, likely designed by Robert Kalloch for Hedy Lamar’s Lucienne Talbot in the 1942 film Crossroads went on to be used in at least two promotional photo shoots for MGM sometime later in the 40s – one with Ruth Brady wearing the piece, and another with Marilyn Maxwell.

[oceanssapart]

do not stand on my grave and cry, i am not there, i did not die

[ariadnethedragon]

The Woman In The Wall (2023)

S1E3: Knock Knock

[glindaselphie]

so I saw the first ep of the woman in the wall last night and sorta spoiler warning I guess? but I keep thinking about that shot of lorna holding the baby’s hand and saying “I’m your mummy” and just the joy on her face at seeing her baby before it all suddenly gets ripped away from her :( I don’t think she did bc I feel like it would be too obvious but I wouldn’t blame her if she did kill that nun and that priest tbh.

my heart breaks for everyone that happened to in reality as well in the laundries. the fact it only ended the same year I was born is truly horrific 💔 sexism, misogyny and extreme christianity have done so much harm to so many.

[ocandrew1]

Great Twitter Posts of my favorite athletes, past and present. Do you recognize them all?

[nofatclips]

My Little Ruin by Glen Hansard from the album Didn't He Ramble - Video by Myles O’Reilly

[hotvintagepoll]

THE TOURNAMENT IS OVER! Eartha Kitt lounges in her deck chair in the sun, dipping her toes in the pool with Toshiro Mifune and sipping a brightly colored fruity something with an umbrella in it.

Far below in the shadow realm, however, the fallen hotties dance in the dark—let's take a minute to look back at them under the cut.

PRELIM PRETTIES:

Claude Gensac, Silvia Pinal, Ewa Aulin, Rita Tushingham, Annette Funicello, Norma Bengell, Catherine Spaak, Brigitte Auber, Micheline Presle, Nanette Fabray, Libertad Lamarque, Vera Miles, Martha Raye, Catherine McLeod, Virginia Mayo, Elizabeth Allan, Belle Bennet, Virginia Cherill, Mary Brian, Ruth Chatterton, Agnes Ayres, Merna Kennedy, Marie Prevost, Corinne Griffith, May Allison, Virginia Brown Faire, Alice Brady, and Jetta Goudal

ROUND ONE WONDERS:

Angie Dickinson, Thelma Ritter, Geraldine Chaplin, Evelyn Preer, Vanessa Brown, Betty Blythe, Susan Hayward, Mae Clarke, Sally Ann Howes, Ossi Oswalda, Adrienne La Russa, Hermione Gingold, Barbara Bouchet, Melina Mercouri, Anna Karina, Edwige Fenech, Charmian Carr, Pina Pellicer, Marlène Jobert, Tsuru Aoki, Alice Roberts, Leila Hyams, Lady Tsen Mei, Geneviève Bujold, Dolores Hart, Anita Berber, Bonita Granville, Vonetta McGee, Claire Windsor, Zizi Jeanmaire, Tuesday Weld, Grace Darmond, Carol Channing, Deanna Durbin, Laraine Day, Mariette Hartey, Wendy Hiller, Candy Darling, Hermione Baddely, Valeria Creti, Ella Raines, Ann Miller, Dana Wynter, Dalida, Martine Beswick, Gale Storm, Simone Signoret, Cristina Gaioni, Mabel Normand, Stéphane Audran, Ruth Weyher, Anna Wiazemsky, Ann Sheridan, Sandhya Shantaram, Alice White, Anne Francis, Gena Rowlands, Lyda Borelli, May Whitty, Cathleen Nesbitt, Jessica Walter, Virna Lisi, Barbara Shelley, Iris Hall, Heather Angel, Anne Shirley, Joanna Pettet, Virginia O'Brien, Joan Collins, Greer Garson, Gracie Allen, Peggy Ryan, Frances Dee, Shirley Maclaine, Geraldine Farrar, Kathleen Byron, Margaret Hamilton, Eva Gabor, Francesca Bertini, Julie Adams, Olga Baclanova, Misa Uehara, Yvette Vickers, Milena Dravić, Jenny Jugo, Madeleine Carroll, Benita Hume, Olive Borden, Shirley Jones, Miyoshi Umeki, Dorothy Lamour, Gale Sondergaard, Mary Anderson, Charlotte Greenwood, Sybil Seely, Mona Barrie, Kathryn Grayson, Katharine Ross, Madge Bellamy, Rhonda Fleming, Sally Gray, Jana Brejchová, Debra Paget, Madame Sul-Te-Wan, Evelyn Brent, Zelma O'Neal, Marie Laforêt, Türkan Şoray, Beatriz Costa, Irene Zazians, Eleanor Powell, Susan Luckey, Patsy Kelly, Lil Dagover, Norma Talmadge, Dorothy Mackaill, Madge Evans, Virginia McKenna, Amália Rodrigues, Mamie Van Doren, Valerie Hobson, Isabel Jeans, Beata Tyszkiewicz, Claire Luce, Aleksandra Khokhlova, Nieves Navarro Garcia, Janet Leigh, Carmen Miranda, Jean Harlow, Aud Egedge-Nissen, Nina Foch, Jean Simmons, Piper Laurie, Katy Jurado, Jayne Mansfield, Anita Garvin, Frances Farmer, Lizabeth Scott, Joan Greenwood, Una Merkel, Arlene Francis, Ethel Merman, Doris Day, Suzanne Pleshette, Ruta Lee, Carolyn Jones, June Richmond, Eva Nil, Diana Dors, Anna Chang, Colleen Moore, Alexis Smith, Yvette Mimieux, Ruby Keeler, Viola Dana, Dolores Grey, Marie Windsor, Danielle Darieux, Jean Parker, Julie Christie, Acquanetta, Leatrice Joy, Ghita Nørby, Julie Newmar, Joanne Woodward, Sandra Dee, Eva Marie Saint, Simone Simon, Katherine Dunham, Birgitte Price, Lee Grant, Anita Page, Flora Robson, Martha Sleeper, Elsie Ames, Isabel "Coca" Sarli, Glenda Farrell, Kathleen Burke, Linden Travers, Diane Baker, Joan Davis, Joan Leslie, Sylvia Sidney, Marie Dressler, June Lockhart, Emmanuelle Riva, Libertad Leblanc, Susannah Foster, Susan Fleming, Dolores Costello, Ann Smyrner, Luise Rainer, Anna Massey, Evelyn Ankers, Ruth Gordon, Eva Dahlbeck, Ansa Ikonen, Diana Wynyard, Patricia Neal, Etta Lee, Gloria Stuart, Arletty, Dorothy McGuire, Mitzi Gaynor, Gwen Verdon, Maria Schell, Lili Damita, Ethel Moses, Gloria Holden, Kay Thompson, Jeanne Crain, Edna May Oliver, Lili Liliana, Ruth Chatterton, Giulietta Masina, Claire Bloom, Dinah Sheridan, Carroll Baker, Brenda de Banzie, Milú, Hertha Thiele, Hanka Ordonówna, Lillian Roth, Jane Powell, Carol Ohmart, Betty Garrett, Kalina Jędrusik, Edana Romney, Geraldine Fitzgerald, Kay Kendall, Ruth Hussey, Véra Clouzot, Jadwiga Smosarska, Marge Champion, Mary Astor, Ann Harding, María Casares, Maureen O'Sullivan, Mildred Natwick, Michèle Morgan, Romy Schneider, Elisabeth Bergner, Celeste Holm, Betty Hutton, Susan Peters, Mehtab, Leslie Caron, Anna Sten, Janet Munro, Nataša Gollová, Eve Arden, Ida Lupino, Regina Linnanheimo, Sonja Henie, and Terry (what a good girl)

ROUND TWO BEAUTIES:

Evelyn Nesbit, Thelma Todd, Tura Satana, Helen Gibson, Maureen O'Hara, Rocío Dúrcal, Mary Nolan, Lois Maxwell, Maggie Smith, Zulma Faiad, Ursula Andress, Musidora, Delphine Seyrig, Marian Marsh, Leatrice Joy, Sharon Tate, Pina Menichelli, Teresa Wright, Shelley Winters, Lee Remick, Jane Wyman, Martita Hunt, Barbara Bates, Susan Strasberg, Marie Bryant, Diana Rigg, Jane Birkin, Rosalind Russell, Vanessa Redgrave, Brigitte Helm, Gloria Grahame, Rosemary Clooney, Bebe Daniels, Constance Bennett, Lilian Bond, Ann Dvorak, Jeanette Macdonald, Pouri Banayi, Raquel Welch, Vilma Bánky, Dorothy Malone, Olive Thomas, Celia Johnson, Moira Shearer, Priscilla Lane, Dolores del Río, Ann Sothern, Françoise Rosay, June Allyson, Carole Lombard, Jeni Le Gon, Takako Irie, Barbara Steele, Claudette Colbert, Lalita Pawar, Asta Nielsen, Sandra Milo, Maria Montez, Mae West, Alma Rose Aguirre, Bibi Andersson, Joan Blondell, Anne Bancroft, Elsa Lanchester, Nita Naldi, Suchitra Sen, Dorothy Van Engle, Elisabeth Welch, Esther Williams, Loretta Young, Margueritte De La Motte, Ita Rina, Constance Talmadge, Margaret Lockwood, Barbara Bedford, Josette Day, Stefania Sandrelli, Jane Russell, Doris Dowling, Zsa Zsa Gabor, Donna Reed, Ruby Dee, Diana Sands, Billie Burke, Kyōko Kagawa, Françoise Dorléac, Hend Rostom, Monica Vitti, Lilian Harvey, Marjorie Main, Jeanne Moreau, Lola Flores, Ann Blyth, Janet Gaynor, Jennifer Jones, Margaret Sullavan, Sadhana, Ruby Myers, Lotus Long, Honor Blackman, Marsha Hunt, Debbie Reynolds, Michèle Mercier, Irene Dunne, Jean Arthur, Judy Holliday, Tippi Hedren, Susse Wold, Vera-Ellen, Carmelita González, Nargis Dutt, Purnima, Harriet Andersson, Yvonne De Carlo, Miroslava Stern, Sheila Guyse, Helen, Margaret Dumont, Betty Grable, Joan Bennett, Jane Greer, Judith Anderson, Liv Ullman, Vera Zorina, Joan Fontaine, Silvana Mangano, and Lee Ya-Ching

ROUND THREE ELECTRIFIERS:

Jean Hagen, Sumiko Mizukubo, Mary Philbin, Ann-Margret, Margaret Rutherford, Claudia Cardinale, Eleanor Parker, Jessie Matthews, Theresa Harris, Brigitte Bardot, Alla Nazimova, Faye Dunaway, Marion Davies, Anna Magnani, Theda Bara, Myrna Loy, Kay Francis, Fay Wray, Barbra Streisand, Bette Davis, Hideko Takamine, France Nuyen, Claudine Auger, Miriam Hopkins, Maylia Fong, Samia Gamal, Maude Fealy, Machiko Kyō, Sharmila Tagore, Lucille Ball, Ginger Rogers, Juanita Moore, Anna Fougez, Waheeda Rehman, Ruan Lingyu, Nina Mae McKinney, Ethel Waters, Nadira, Olivia de Havilland, Abbey Lincoln, Louise Beavers, Agnes Moorehead, Lana Turner, Norma Shearer, Maria Falconetti, Reiko Sato, Marie Doro, Clara Bow, Margaret Lindsay, Catherine Denueve, Madhabi Mukherjee, Rosaura Revueltas, Hu Die, Mary Pickford, Fredi Washington, Louise Brooks, Leonor Maia, Merle Oberon, Paulette Goddard, Vivien Leigh, Francine Everett, Savitri, Tita Merello, and Meena Kumari

ROUND FOUR STUNNERS:

Judy Garland, Dorothy Dandridge, Yoshiko Yamaguchi, Marilyn Monroe, Irene Papas, Lupe Vélez, Pola Negri, Gene Tierney, Barbara Stanwyck, Gina Lollobrigida, Lena Horne, Nutan, Jean Seberg, Kim Novak, Gladys Cooper, Tallulah Bankhead, Linda Darnell, Julie Andrews, Carmen Sevilla, Gloria Swanson, Glynis Johns, Anne Baxter, Angela Lansbury, Anita Ekberg, Toshia Mori, Deborah Kerr, Hazel Scott, Chelo Alonso, Cyd Charisse, Nancy Kwan, Devika Rani, Shima Iwashita, and Anouk Aimée

ROUND FIVE SMOKESHOWS:

Setsuko Hara, Pearl Bailey, Joan Crawford, Madhubala, Marpessa Dawn, Keiko Awaji, Rita Hayworth, Veronica Lake, Ava Gardner, Greta Garbo, Grace Kelly, Xia Meng, Suraiya, Natalie Wood, María Félix, and Mbissine Thérèse Diop

ROUND SIX SEXY LADIES:

Marilyn Monroe, Sophia Loren, Vyjyanthimala, Jane Fonda, Katharine Hepburn, Josephine Baker, Elizabeth Taylor, and Ingrid Bergman

QUARTER FINALIST GLAMAZONS:

Audrey Hepburn, Marlene Dietrich, Anna May Wong, and Lauren Bacall

SEMIFINALIST ICONS:

Rita Moreno, Diahann Carroll

FINALIST FABULOSITY:

Hedy Lamarr

ULTIMATE CHAMPION OF THE HOT & VINTAGE MOVIE WOMAN TOURNAMENT:

Eartha Kitt

[pathetic-gamer]

Pentiment's Complete Bibliography, with links to some hard-to-find items:

I've seen some people post screenshots of the game's bibliography, but I hadn't found a plain text version (which would be much easier to work from), so I put together a complete typed version - citation style irregularities included lol. I checked through the full list and found that only four of the forty sources can't be found easily through a search engine. One has no English translation and I'm not even close to fluent enough in German to be able to actually translate an academic article, so I can't help there. For the other three (a museum exhibit book, a master's thesis, and portions of a primary source that has not been entirely translated into English), I tracked down links to them, which are included with their entries on the list.

If you want to read one of the journal articles but can't access it due to paywalls, try out 12ft.io or the unpaywall browser extension (works on Firefox and most chromium browsers). If there's something you have interest in reading but can't track down, let me know, and I can try to help! I'm pretty good at finding things lmao

Okay, happy reading, love you bye

Beach, Alison I. Women as Scribes: Book Production and Monastic Reform in Twelfth-Century Bavaria. Cambridge Univeristy Press, 2004.

Berger, Jutta Maria. Die Geschichterder Gastfreundschaft im hochmittel alterlichen Monchtum: die Cistercienser. Akademie Verlag GmbH, 1999. [No translation found.]

Blickle, Peter. The Revolution of 1525. Translated by Thomas A. Brady, Jr. and H.C. Erik Midelfort. The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1985.

Brady, Thomas A., Jr. “Imperial Destinies: A New Biography of the Emperor Maximilian I.” The Journal of Modern History, vol 62, no. 2., 1990. pp.298-314.

Brandl, Rainer. “Art or Craft: Art and the Artist in Medieval Nuremberg.” Gothic and Renaissance Art in Nuremberg 1300-1550. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1986. [LINK]

Byars, Jana L., “Prostitutes and Prostitution in Late Medieval Bercelona.” Masters Theses. Western Michigan University, 1997. [LINK]

Cashion, Debra Taylor. “The Art of Nikolaus Glockendon: Imitation and Originality in the Art of Renaissance Germany.” Journal of Historians of Netherlandish Art, vol 2, no. 1-2, 2010.

de Hamel, Christopher. A History of Illuminated Manuscripts. Phaidon Press Limited, 1986.

Eco, Umberto. The Name of the Rose. Translated by William Weaver. Mariner Books, 2014.

Eco, Umberto. Baudolino. Translated by William Weaver. Mariner Books, 2003.

Fournier, Jacques. “The Inquisition Records of Jacques Fournier.” Translated by Nancy P. Stork. Jan Jose Univeristy, 2020. [LINK]

Geary, Patrick. “Humiliation of Saints.” In Saints and their cults: studies in religious sociology, folklore, and history. Edited by Stephen Wilson. Cambridge University Press, 1985. pp. 123-140

Harrington, Joel F. The Faithrul Executioner: Life and Death, Honor and Shame in the Turbulent Sixteenth Century. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2013.

Hertzka, Gottfired and Wighard Strehlow. Grosse Hildegard-Apotheke. Christiana-Verlag, 2017.

Hildegard von Bingen. Physica. Edited by Reiner Hildebrandt and Thomas Gloning. De Gruyter, 2010.

Julian of Norwich. Revelations of Divine Love. Translated by Barry Windeatt. Oxford Univeristy Press, 2015.

Karras, Ruth Mazo. Sexuality in Medieval Europe: Doing Unto Others. Routledge, 2017.

Kerr, Julie. Monastic Hospitality: The Benedictines in England, c.1070-c.1250. Boudell Press, 2007.

Kieckhefer, Richard. Forbidden rites: a necromancer’s manual of the fifteenth century. Sutton, 1997.

Kuemin, Beat and B. Ann Tlusty, The World of the Tavern: Public Houses in Early Modern Europe. Routledge, 2017.

Ilner, Thomas, et al. The Economy of Duerrnberg-Bei-Hallein: An Iron Age Salt-mining Center in the Austrian Alps. The Antiquaries Journal, vol 83, 2003. pp. 123-194

Lang, Benedek. Unlocked Books: Manuscripts of Learned Magic in the Medieval Libraries of Central Europe. The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2008

Lindeman, Mary. Medicine and Society in Early Modern Europe. Cambridge University Press, 2019.

Lowe, Kate. “’Representing’ Africa: Ambassadors and Princes from Christian Africa to Renaissance Italy and Portugal, 1402-1608.” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society Sixth Series, vol 17, 2007. pp. 101-128

Meyers, David. “Ritual, Confession, and Religion in Sixteenth-Century Germany.” Archiv fuer Reformationsgenshichte, vol. 89, 1998. pp. 125-143.

Murat, Zuleika. “Wall paintings through the ages: the medieval period (Italy, twelfth to fifteenth century).” Archaeological and Anthropological Sciences, vol 23, no. 191. Springer, October 2021. pp. 1-27.

Overty, Joanne Filippone. “The Cost of Doing Scribal Business: Prices of Manuscript Books in England, 1300-1483.” Book History 11, 2008. pp. 1-32.

Page, Sophie. Magic in the Cloister: Pious Motives, Illicit Interests, and Occullt Approaches to the Medieval Universe. The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2013.

Park, Katharine. “The Criminal and the Saintly Body: Autopsy and Dissectionin Renaissance Italy.” Renaissance Quarterly, vol 47, no. 1, Spring 1994. pp. 1-33.

Rebel, Hermann. Peasant Classes: The Bureaucratization of Property and Family Relations under Early Habsburg Absolutism, 1511-1636. Princeton University Press, 1983.

Rublack, Ulinka. “Pregnancy, Childbirth, and the Female Body in Early Modern Germany.” Past & Present,vol. 150, no. 1, February 1996.

Salvador, Matteo. “The Ethiopian Age of Exploration: Prester John’s Discovery of Europe, 1306-1458.” Journal of World History, vol. 21, no. 4, 2011. pp.593-627.

Sangster, Alan. “The Earliest Known Treatise on Double Entry Bookkeeping by Marino de Raphaeli.” The Accounting Historians Journal, vol. 42, no. 2, 2015. pp. 1-33.

Throop, Priscilla. Hildegarde von Bingen’s Physica: The Complete English Translation of Her Classic Work on Health and Healing. Healing Arts Press, 1998.

Usher, Abbott Payson. “The Origins of Banking: The Brimitive Bank of Deposit, 1200-1600.” The Economic History Review, vol. 4, no. 4. 1934. pp.399-428.

Waldman, Louis A. “Commissioning Art in Florence for Matthias Corvinus: The Painter and Agent Alexander Formoser and his Sons, Jacopo and Raffaello del Tedesco.” Italy and Hungary: Humanism and Art in the Early Renaissance. Edited by Peter Farbaky and Louis A. Waldman, Villa I Tatti, 2011. pp.427-501.

Wendt, Ulrich. Kultur and Jagd: ein Birschgang durch die Geschichte. G. Reimer, 1907.

Whelan, Mark. “Taxes, Wagenburgs and a Nightingale: The Imperial Abbey of Ellwangen and the Hussite Wars, 1427-1435.” The Journal of Ecclesiastical History, vol. 72, no. 4, 2021, pp.751-777.

Wiesner-Hanks, Merry E. Women and Gender in Early Modern Europe. Cambridge University Press, 2008.

Yardeni, Ada. The Book of Hebrew Script: History, Palaeography, Script Styles, Calligraphy & Design. Tyndale House Publishers, 2010.

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (Part 8)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 📍 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds

Part 8 - Trust

Detective Brady is sharper than you initially thought, though Alastor is (seemingly) unfazed by the threat. While you both explore the idea of ‘home’ a familiar face shows up at your apartment.

「Warnings/Tags: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, Detective Brady exists a lot and maybe too much, fingering lol, phone calls, almost our first fight, stress, Disney mom rule, Ruth is pretty alright for now, Brenda」

forgot to tag you in the deleted scene for TRDFAHS

M👻D☠️N👽I😈

Your mother always said ‘Anger is your sword and shield’. So you postured yourself as someone mad. One hip out, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“Sir I don’t appreciate a man in a lady’s space.”

Brady bit his tongue, wanting to say something sharp.

 I don’t see any ladies here.

 He met the glares of the women behind you. “Ah, well-,”

“Do you really expect her to leave in her robe?”

“Aren’t you the man whose been stalking her?”

“Autumn I’ll go with you.”

“You want her to get into a strange man’s car?”

He felt like a fox about to be pecked to death by the hens.

“Now-! Alright I’m seeing I maybe,” he set your shoes down and slid past you and between the other performers, “got a little eager to speak to you.”

“Does Janet know you like to hang around burlesquers?” Someone said as his back was turned.

Like having ice water poured over his head, his shoulders tensed as did his tone. “I’ll be right out the door.”

You tried to hide the tremble in your hands, but failed. Ruth slid beside you, “What do you need?”

A phone. But the cord wouldn’t reach that far. You wanted to tell Alastor. You needed him to know that detective had you cornered and knew of his existence.

“Could you stay with me? I’m not going anywhere. But I’ll feel safer if I’m not talking to him alone. In case he tries to drag me out. He seems a little off his rocker.” You were genuinely scared he would grab you by the arm and pull you out of the theater if he didn’t think anyone would see. 

She patted your back, the others filing in to continue with their work of getting dressed and undressed. You took your time, trying to plan what you would say.

Brady felt an embarrassed blush take hold as the women moved past him with scowls and tsks. He could feel a little bit of his sanity slip back now that you were in front of him. 

“I have some questions about Tommy. I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks. We can head down now.”

Oddly, your mother also taught you, ‘You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.’ 

She didn’t always make a lot of sense, contradicting herself daily. 

Time to use the tried and true tactic, “I am sorry, detective. I had some trouble recently and have been keeping to myself… going home as soon as possible. Just trying to keep my nose clean. So to speak.”

Brady watched you look up at him with a face his daughter often gave him when she was in trouble. But you weren’t a child and you surely weren’t his daughter. “That’s no excuse to dodge me.”

Your turn to bite your tongue, “Of course, sir.”

Ruth was… confused. She’d never seen you so obedient. You had more venom in your voice after taking a hit from Tommy knowing a third could be close behind. Why were you being so small?

“Are you ready to go?” He fished in his pocket for his car door keys. 

Ruth felt the need to interject, “She’s not going anywhere.”

Perfect.

You nodded, “I won’t be out at night, sir. You know better than most about the dangers.” Your dangers. Your darling Alastor.

“No, no no,” an unhinged chuckle from the fraying detective, “You’re not slipping away again. I have my car, I’ll take you there and bring you home.”

Ruth looked to you, then back to the detective, “Is she under arrest?”

Brady rolled his eyes, “Of course not.”

“Then? What gives you the right?”

Technically, nothing. He didn’t need to talk to you. His lead still stood. But maybe you’d slip and say something to expedite his search for the radio man. Maybe this would only end with Tommy. But he felt something tickling the back of his skull. An urge to not stop pushing.

“I’ll meet you at the station tomorrow morning. Is it the address on the card you gave me?” Maybe you would, maybe you wouldn’t. You just needed him gone so you could call Alastor. 

He was shaking his notebook, key looped onto his finger. A nervous habit. “You still have my card?”

A smile, “Of course. In case any news came up. I’d have called but I didn’t realize you were so worked up.”

He scoffed. He wasn’t worked up. He was just annoyed. Maybe a little rougher in demeanor than usual but whose fault was that?

“If you don’t turn up tomorrow-,”

Ruth, taller than most women and some men and wide at the shoulders, leaned in.

Brady’s eyeline adjusted from yours to Ruth’s. Skye Scraper wasn’t just a pun, it was a cruel nickname she took ownership of. “Finish that sentence.”

The conversation ended there, Brady leaving with a huff.

You’d memorized the number the night Alastor gave it to you, too scared to write it down. He warned you though he wouldn’t be the one to answer.

“Is Alastor still there?” You tried to smile so you sounded less panicked. Ruth mouthed his name and pretended to swoon as you held the phone close to your ear. 

“Uhh depends, who is this?” Brenda answered, a voice you’d never heard but a woman Alastor had primed you for. 

“….”, but why hadn’t you thought through this part, what name was safe? Which was recognizable? You didn’t like the idea of this woman knowing your name. “Tell him it’s Autumn.”

“….” 

You laughed at Ruth, waiting still for a reply from Brenda, “Hello?”

“Is this a crank? Autumn like the season? I-,” a commotion, “Hey there! No. I don’t know. Well it’s past hours anywa-.”

Alastor was lying across Brenda’s desk to reach the phone, having wrestled it from the woman’s grip, “I’m here. What’s wrong? I was about to leave.”

“I’ll walk home tonight.” It hurt, physically hurt, to say it.

Alastor tried to keep his face neutral, “Oh.” Nervous fingers twirling the cord, “One second.” 

Harsh whispers, some clicks, and he was back, “I’m in my office. What happened?”

“Yeah Ruth is with me. It’s okay. I’ll call you like normal tomorrow?” 

“Should I swing by your apartment?” He considered doing it regardless of your answer.

“Ah, no. I wouldn’t recommend it. I’ll be heading to the police station early tomorrow so I’ll be asleep as soon as I’m flat.” Putting your hand over the receiver, you spoke to Ruth, “Thank you, we got it figured out.”

His heart sank to his stomach, “Did he finally manage to catch you?”

“Yeah. Or—-,” your voice cracked a little, the fear rolling in as soon as Ruth walked away, “Yeah.”

“I’m coming over to the theater.”

Cupping the phone you curved your shoulders in and turned away from the staff milling about, “Don’t, that’s worse.” Tears stung your eyes. You felt like you’d failed him. You had somehow, hadn’t you? The loose thread Brady could grab ahold of was you.

“If you can’t come to the alley I’ll leave after a couple minutes. But I’ll be there in twenty, same time as our normal pick up.”

“Alastor, that’s reckless.”

“Please, dear, I don’t want our first fight to be over my work line.” A calming breath, “You don’t have to meet me, but I’ll be there. Just five minutes, then I’ll be off.”

You decided the safest thing to do was to wait in the alley. If you saw any signs of Brady or anyone coming out, you’d go back inside and just miss the meeting. But the idea of Alastor being just beyond the wall, waiting all alone, was too much.

But how much harder would it be if the wall was of the prison? Or worse, dense earth under your feet? That’s what Brady was wanting. 

You hadn’t realized you’d been chewing your nails until his car turned down the alley from the back and you tore off much of the length of your thumbnail.

Your arms were thrown around him before he was fully out of the car, “Alastor, he knows I have a guy. He wanted me to go down right now but I managed to push it to tomorrow.” Alastor tried to decipher the words as you spoke them into his vest, “What do I do?”

Normally you’d have your own plans in mind but this was too big, this was capable of hurting him more than anyone else. 

He smelled like ink and smoke, a scent you inhaled as you tried to calm your breath.

A large hand patted your head, “Okay. You go tomorrow. It’ll be fine. Don’t stress.” Pulling you off he placed chaste kisses across your face. “Think about what you want to say to him and we can talk it out in the morning. Everything is fine.”

The reality of you standing in a dirty alley crying into the arms of a murderer set in. Then the little detail you were both killers creeped over your chest and took hold of your throat.

He was impressed at the strength of your hands as you gripped at his clothes. Leaning against the car, he offered you his most charming smile.

“Deep breaths, dear. Do I look scared?”

He didn’t. He looked like a magazine ad for French cologne or razor blades that left the softest skin. 

“No.” You shook your head.

“No.” He nodded. “It’ll be okay. If you don’t go, he will hound you worse. If you do go, maybe he’ll realize he’s got a handful of nothing.”

His smile blinded you. Bright grin as he rested against his car, arms open. 

“Do you really think so? A handful of nothing?”

“Did he say my name?”

“No.”

“Did he–” he elongated the word, lips pursed as he searched the sky for his next words, “have Tommy’s body?”

You laughed, morbid but preposterous, “I didn’t pat him down. Coulda.” 

Alastor snapped his fingers, “We’ll have to just assume he didn’t.” A moment of tension. The act of joking barely traversing the space between your bodies let alone reaching the stress under your skin. His hands came to your shoulders; firm, secure. “Did you want to have that fight now? About me coming over here.”

You rolled your eyes, obviously not. “Ala-,” you started and stopped.

“I’ll admit I’m being reckless but I think we can both agree my way is more fun.” Smile sliding into a smirk, he cocked his head and lowered it to get back into your line of sight. When you stuck your tongue out he took a deep breath in, relief. “Are you sure I can’t take you home?”

To which home, you wondered. He used the word so casually and interchangeably…

Face close to yours. Eyes solely on you. Perhaps the stage wasn’t as necessary as you’d once thought. Lips on lips, the feeling of his smile spreading as he returned the kiss. A second of panic as you realized you couldn’t see or hear or sense what else was happening anymore in the alley. Brady could have had you in handcuffs and you wouldn’t be the wiser. Not as long as Alastor’s mouth was moving over yours.

“I’ll call in the morning.” He said into your exhale.

You hadn’t opened your eyes yet. Not ready to return to earth. A pout from you. A chuckle from him. “I’ll be waiting,” You finally said. 

While you did your waiting, shuffling around the theater and later tossing around in bed, Alastor fell into a different kind of purgatory.

One he hadn’t realized he’d made for himself until you weren’t there. 

The house was quiet, almost eerie. Even with music on he found himself nearly uncomfortable. He shifted several times in his chair while reading, not finding any way to settle in. 

His bed was lopsided. Suddenly one side was too light. Multiple times his hand slid under the sheets in search of you out of habit. 

What a terrible feeling; to want someone. To know you could have them but they just… weren’t there.

It didn't make any sense. He knew he’d see you soon, in less than a day's time even. He typically enjoyed his home and its silence. Being alone was predictable and therefore comforting. Well, it had been. Before you. 

The feeling in his chest, akin to a magnet tugging through his sternum toward a distant partner, didn’t abate.

Only when he heard your voice again over the phone did he find a sliver of peace.

“I’ve decided I’ll deny I have a guy. And, I’ll never tell him about you. It’s safer if he never connects us.”

Alastor was listening, honestly, but he wasn’t really processing. His mind was worried about something else. The detective genuinely didn’t bother him but he had to agree, “I suppose that’s best. As long as we can manage it, to not let him know we’re together.”

Together.

You were together with him. An item. How spectacular you must be to be a part of anything with him.

But for how long? With a certain detective breathing down your neck…, “I’m scared. Actually.”

You could hear the smile in Alastor’s breath, it was odd but eased you. 

“He will never have enough to convict us. He’ll drive himself crazy trying. Trust me.” He soothed. 

Did you have any choice? “Okay. You’re right. I trust you.” Unequivocally so. 

He cleared his throat, “Sorry to change the subject…”

“Please.”

“I want you to come over again tonight. What do you think?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course, don’t even need to ask. I’ll always say yes.” All you needed to do was get through Brady and you’d be home.

But for Alastor, well, he wasn’t done asking the question. A moment of panic from a place unrecognized in his brain, fear of losing himself entirely. But what good was a safe harbor if he never ventured out to sea? That’s just a restraint then, isn’t it? 

Maybe you held a place for him even richer in its comforts than his solitude.

So he let himself drift away from familiar shores, no sails and no compass, “I think it’d be smart to bring over a couple sets of clothes. I can keep them washed and always here for you. Would that be alright?” He had wanted to suggest it while together, but Brady was ruining more than his sleep.

Oh.

The same silence from when he first extended the invitation, the deja vu not lost on you. You struggled to decipher the second meaning you were sure was there. Maybe he didn't know what he had asked. 

“I know it’s boring out in the boonies but, you’re welcome to just stay over while I go to work. I can come back and get you for rehearsals… I’ll enjoy the clubs or come back and make something for a late dinner for us, and bring you home when you’re done.”

He said it. He hadn’t really meant to, so he felt the need to clarify, but you also needed him to clarify just as quickly, “I -,”

“Did you me-?”

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“No I interrupted you-,”

“Not at all pl-,”

“Alastor for the love of God please don’t make me keep talking right now.” You lightly knocked your head with the phone a few times. Your heart was gasping for an ounce of understanding.

He chuckled, glad you were still very much yourself, “I meant, take you home as in, away from work. So, here. Or, there, if you’d prefer.” His face scrunched up, this wasn’t a conversation he had any practice in, “Anywhere really. I’ll drive you anywhere.”

“Alabama?”

He looked at the phone as if you were in it. Alabama? 

“Like— the first time you asked me over.” You added quickly. A terrible joke, a bad callback that made it painfully obvious you committed everything he said to memory.

Alastor rested his cheek on the dining table, laughing into the wood before bringing the receiver back. You always offered him an out of uncomfortable situations, “Well the offer still stands. I'd be willing to even venture at least halfway across Texas.” 

“The best half of Texas is on our side so that’s a generous offer. But, given our work schedules, I think your house would be much better. Time wise.” 

He let his eyes close as he felt the coldness of the wood, “Is that a yes then? To bringing over a couple of items… for ease.” Was it a mistake? Would he regret it? 

You were worth regrets. He had decided. He wanted you to say yes.

The weight of what he was asking wasn’t lost on you an ounce. You could see your window from the phone booth. You took great pride in your little apartment. It was your space and no one else’s. As a child you struggled to have your own anything, so you valued your home. 

But could you call any place so far from Alastor a home?

It’s just a few items. You weren’t giving up your lease. It’s a baby step. One you could easily walk back if you needed to later. It’s not like you hadn’t spent every night possible already since that first offer.

“Yes.” 

It was a plan that took your mind off cops. Have your interrogation, go home, then go home for a relaxing evening of jazz and drink.

The levity ended though the second you hung up the receiver. An obstacle between you and him still stood. You pulled out your bag but couldn’t find the will to pack it. Your hands were too busy as you chewed on your thumbnail again.

Brady noticed the uneven length when you sat down and set your hands on the table.

“Surprised you showed.” He opened his notebook and readied his pencil. “First things first, what is your legal name?”

A chill. You’d gotten your warning the night before to prepare something to say but ignored it. Your mind was flipping through words and images. Piercing all of it were the white reflective eyes of the deer along the road. You decided to lean into what you knew. 

“Autumn.”

“Really? Never heard the name Autumn before.”

“Me either. Made for an easy stage name.”

“I’ll need to see your birth records, just to be sure.”

You sucked your teeth. “Ah, unfortunately…all that stuff was left behind with my mom when I moved.”

“And where can I find her?

“Corner of North Villere street and Piety.”

“And your address?”

You paused. His eyes rose and met yours. The radiant aqua from the cafe morning was now an icy color. “I don’t give my address out. You know where I work.”

“But you’re fine giving me your mother’s address? That’s cold.”

“Not as cold as she is, I’m sure of that.”

“Fine, I’ll find it in the census records.” He flipped the page, “Tell me about the dates Tommy arranged.” He tapped his notepad on the table like it was the starting bell of a fight.

You wished Alastor was with you, but also wished he would never enter that station. “Apparently many of the dancers agreed, got a cut. I had no idea about it until he,” you remembered the man and his ugly tie, “introduced me to a man who was very forward. I insulted him and ran off. Lost Tommy good money, apparently.”

“And who was that?”

You searched your memory, “S something. Mister Stein? I honestly wasn’t listening much after I realized what was happening.”

Brady nodded, “And then he knocked you around?”

You winced without meaning too, “Yeah. Got me good.”

Brady waited for you to continue talking, but you had learned this game. People know silence is uncomfortable and will use that against you. So you let the silence stay. Let the awkward tension build. You had limited time, he knew that.

He caved first. “And… the next date. Last time anyone saw Tommy. Tell me about that.”

Lying was second nature to you. You had killed for Alastor. You could do this. Deep breaths, slink into yourself. You imagined Alastor choked on the park grounds, wet and unmoving. Imagined him cold to the touch.

“Tommy said he’d kill me if I didn’t go. So I did. Promised me he’d stay with me for protection.” Tears welled. Bloody hands and a large rock. “But as soon as he got his money he left.” 

Brady was writing, “And the man? What was his name.”

“Something foreign. Kerr-something. Or Car?”

He looked up slightly, “You’re pretty terrible at names.”

You wiped away your tears, “I had more pressing concerns at the time than trying to remember that man’s name. I was hoping I’d never need to know it.”

Brady hummed, “Yeah. And what did your beau think of this?”

Did you hide it? The flash of panic that rolled under the flesh of your face, “If I had a beau Tommy wouldn’t have made me do that. He said that himself.”

“Too bad he’s not here to confirm.”

“If he was we wouldn’t be having this conversation, detective.”

“Touché. Clever little lady aren’t you?”

Fuck.

You shifted slightly in your seat, looking downward in an attempt at being bashful. “That’s kind to say.”

“So why did,” he flipped through his book, “Beth say you stopped singin’ on Sundays cuz of your radio boyfriend?”

“Ah,” a weak laugh to hide the way your breath got sucked in with panic. The words ‘radio boyfriend’ punched the air from your lungs. “You must mean the rake. Took me for a ride at a club corner and sent me off in a cab to never see me again. Didn’t know he was in radio though.” 

“Well now you’re lying and I don’t appreciate it one ounce ma’am.“

“What?”

“Beth says he’s been coming to your shows for nearly half a year.”

No acting necessary for this part. “What are you talking about? I met him at a club. We arranged a date and he picked me up at—“

“Beth’s dive.”

“…. Yeah. Well.” He’d been there before? So often? And you never noticed…, “That’s news to me, that he had been there for so long, it’s got its regulars though so...” You shifted again, this time with a clear uncomfortable edge. 

“He stopped coming when you stopped singing.”

“….guess he got what he wanted then. A fun time in the swing hall bathroom.”  Anger. Unreal and unfounded. Trying your best to hide how confused you were.

“Sounds like a stalker, miss. Maybe one who woulda been quite unhappy to hear you were selli-,”

You cut him off, eyes snapping up to meet his, “I really recommend you reconsider your wording.”

Brady laughed with a huff, “A man dizzy with a dame can do some funny stuff. Especially if he hears she’s in a pickle.”

“Well, no knight coming to rescue me. I’ve sworn off men. It’s why I’ve been leaving work early. Getting home, reading, sleeping. He really did a number on my heart and my pride as a woman.”

Brady’s pencil stopped moving. 

“And his name?”

You’d never fucking say it. He could walk in on you moaning ‘Alastor’ and you’d still act like you’d never heard that string of syllables in your life. 

“John.”

Brady laughed and tossed the pencil to the table, “Let me guess, last name Doe?”

You shrugged, “We weren’t on a full name basis. He was handsome, he took me out, we fucked, I never saw him again” You delighted in the way his face screwed up at your unladylike language. 

“So, someone in radio named John. You know I’m going to be at every broadcaster talking to every John, right?” The nervous shaking of his notebook again. 

“When you find him let me know.”

“Oh I will.” He said it so quickly, so sharply you could feel it cut at your cheek as the words flew past you.

You pulled your hands into your lap, eyes firmly locked on Brady’s. “You look tired, sir. I hope my answers will help you. So you can rest.”

“I am tired. Of people jerking me around. You won’t give me your address, you don’t remember anyone’s name, not even your own, and you deny having a man I know you have.”

If you screamed would he have you committed? “I’m terribly sorry,” you leaned over the table and pulled a piece of fuzz off his shoulder, “my friend gave you inaccurate and dated information. I am genuinely trying to help as much as I can.”

Upon closer inspection, his eyes were more than just blue. They were dark and light, deep and shallow. Blue so far down it was nearly black. A blue so bright it was a cousin of white. Eyes you were sure would haunt you. 

“Help me then, Autumn.” Your brows rose at the request. He leaned back and away from you, “Just tell me what happened to Tommy. What your guy did. If he was trying to protect your name then we could find a sympathetic jury.”

Sympathy? Your smile was too wide, stare gone too soft. What sympathy did he have or would anyone have for you? Did he think you wanted the tender hearts of strangers? “Tommy ran off with a bag of money. He was a good man with a bad habit. That’s all I know. I have no partner, man or otherwise.”

A standstill. 

Brady felt a twitch in his hands he wasn’t used to. An itch to move. Unlike him, and a little frightening. 

Maybe he had been running himself ragged. 

Back sliding down slightly in his chair, he laced his fingers and rested them in his lap, “You know I’m gonna find out what happened, right?” His tone had shifted to something serious and calm. He said it like he was telling you a secret. Low but firm. Steady and sure. 

Those eyes. No, worse. What was behind them. You could see it clearly; unflappable determination. He absolutely would. 

“I trust you will.” A moment of silence again as you both felt the conversation die. As you stood, Brady did too.

“I wasn’t bluffing about him going to Beth’s for more than half a year now. I don’t know how you think this is gonna end but it won’t end pretty. Whether it was just your boss or all the others on my desk, end it with him and help us bring Tommy home to his mother.”

You adjusted your purse on your shoulder, “I don’t know how many time-,”

“Autumn. I’ve seen enough make up covered bruises to clock em from across the room. That’s the act of a possessive, immature man. Just think about what I said,” You opened the door in an effort to keep your hands from shooting to your neck. “There’s no white picket fence or church bells for you two. He’s a bad man. I think he may even be an evil man. You’re gonna end up hurt, or dead.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest but you managed to stifle it. With an honest smile you replied, “We’re all gonna end up dead someday, Detective. I’ll call if I have any news. Thanks for your concern and … evident hard work.” You offered a little nod of your head before leaving the room and the station as quickly as you could without running. 

When he set down his notebook after returning to his desk, he couldn’t sit. Energy was buzzing in his limbs. He needed to run or swing or pace.

His desk neighbor watched him immediately pick up the notebook again and grab his hat. A few other men shared a glance as Brady rushed out, an unsettling feeling passed among them. 

“He’s still on that case?” One asked quietly, going back to his papers.

“Not officially….” Answered Freeman, standing at the window and watching Brady flag down a taxi.

“North Villere street and Piety, please.” He told the driver, not noticing his friend in the window.

It wasn’t near the station, nor the dance scene. He wondered if your mother would be any more amiable. What kind of woman would raise such a creature as you?

When the car slowed, Brady clicked back into his surroundings. He looked through every window hoping to see something different.

After a long pause the cabbie asked, “Ya gonna get out?”

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the seat. “No. Take me back to the station.”

His blood pressure rose so quickly he was sure he would black out as the cab turned around and drove back past the sign; Vincent DePaul cemetery.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Alastor kissed away the worries when he took your bag from you. Every detail of the interview was just hummed away. “Even if he finds me, without a body he has no case.” He reminded you like it was nothing short of fact.

“What if he gets one?”

“Not one of mine, I can assure you. He’d sooner need to kill someone himself and call it my fault.” A pause, was that something the detective would do? He shook off the thought. 

He was so confident that even though you knew it was just skin deep it still gave you a sense of calm. The bodies, where they went after he was done with them in the greenhouse, was the last step he hadn’t shared with you.

There was one thing you didn’t mention about the interrogation. 

You waited until you were a few drinks in, Alastor’s bowtie off and shirt unbuttoned several buttons before bringing it up. Uncharacteristically nervous about how he’d react when you broached the topic, you needed several deep breaths to get up your courage. Normally the idea of offending a man with an honest question wouldn’t ruffle you a bit, but once again there was nothing normal about you and Alastor. He made you so unlike yourself but not necessarily worse. Perhaps some consideration of other’s reactions wasn’t a bad thing. 

“This is awkward to ask.” It was dark already, the sun setting earlier and earlier. The buzz of the kitchen light could be heard through the screen door, the light just enough to let you see each other's features clearly. Leaning back on both hands for support, your legs rested in an unladylike spread down the porch stairs. No shoes. No girdle. No pretense.

Would he be mad? Or maybe offended?

“Brady said you had been going to my Sunday shows for awhile. Months before we actually met. Did you really meet me by coincidence?”

“Or was I stalking you as my next victim?” His head fell to the side, eyes closed and smile wide. “I saw you there, yes. And though you weren’t the best singer, I did enjoy your shows.”

You tried to see him without directly turning your head. 

“But yes, it was a coincidence. I had noticed that brute of a man a couple weeks in a row, staring at you so intensely. Word got around he had made a scene some time ago with a dancer.” 

You listened like someone was telling you your own story. It was an odd feeling, hearing someone recount your days from a different perspective. An unknown one. 

“I was surprised to see you at the theater when I followed him there. Even more so to see you in the alleyway.”

If he had said it wasn’t a coincidence, you genuinely didn’t know what you’d have done. You’d be scared and angry. Another predator lurking just past the tree lines.

Your relief must have been visible. “He really got to you, didn’t he?” Alastor asked, leaning over and letting his shoulder bump into yours. He was still riding the high of putting away your belongings in his closet and drawers. 

“Yeah. He gives me a bad feeling. Like…a brick wall barreling toward me.” You kicked a leaf off the steps, “Or like, when you see a big dark cloud on the horizon. Can’t do anything but wait and hunker down.”

How do you wait out a storm so set on burying you?

“Dear,” his hands rose and palms flipped up in a way that said he wasn’t hiding anything, “We get hurricanes annually. We’ve survived every one thus far. He’s just a drip. A sprinkle of a man.”

People have drowned on land before. A sprinkle could lead to pneumonia and that could lead to a wooden box. 

He tried to change the topic, laughing about Brenda’s reaction to the call and making plans for an evening out when things settled down again. You listened, but it was your turn to be half there. 

You could barely muster concern when you realized you’d forgotten your makeup and hair wrap at home when you were preparing for bed. What you would give for going home barefaced with a ruined hairdo to be the biggest stress of your week. 

The distance in your stare was weighing down his joy, how could he relish in the newest addition to his home when you were so burdened? Even in the moonless night he could see the faintest light reflecting off your eyes as you stared at the ceiling. Did you even feel his stare? 

He couldn’t let Brady poison his bed, and the man was clearly there now. Chasing you in your mind still. 

“Could I offer you a distraction?” Alastor slipped up against you, hand finding your hip. He could see your smile forming. 

“I wouldn’t argue against a distraction…,” you’d beg for one if you didn’t want to feel any lower than you already did. 

“Perfect. This bed isn’t made for three, so let’s eject that little nag, dear.” His hands slipped down your legs, “I want to replace your thoughts with better ones.” He pulled you to him, your back pressed into his broad chest. The way his soft hands smoothed over your silk slip felt like foreplay, so smooth and slick. Frictionless and gentle. Those same hands ran down and between your legs, following the line of your thighs until they found your center. “It seems you forgot something else.” Two fingers caressed your lower lips, barely parting them, “Not that I’m complaining…,” his lips found the back of your neck as his fingers rubbed gently at your core. 

It took so very little to get your body on board, wet and relaxed for his practiced hand. Your own fingers coming down to rub at your clit quickly when you felt your pleasure winding up. 

He sighed directly into the shell of your ear, hands working in tandem with yours under the covers. His back pressed against you, hips rolling into your backside in time with his fingers. 

“What are you thinking about?” Barely above a whisper as he said it into your heated skin.

“Fingers.”

“Whose?” His voice was deeper than his usual speaking tone. A tenor that made you clench around him.

“Yours.”

You’d never been so satisfied with hands before. With breath. With the sounds of a man. Never saw stars while clothed and not under the lights of the stage. Warm and wet kisses to your neck as you came down from your high, you’d never considered sex could be more than a man fucking someone. Nor that a man could find pleasure so readily with his cock still in his pants. But the way he hummed and growled softly into your skin was proof of his good time. 

You’d learned a lot from those progressively chillier nights at Alastor’s over the first week of your constant cohabitation. How much you liked waking up with someone just a reach away. How Alastor woke slowly, incapable of coherent speech for at least the first twenty minutes of his day. He’d stare and smile as his eyes blinked out of sync, rolling back occasionally as he fought the urge to fall back into sleep. Hair disheveled and soft.

When the weekend came, Alastor offered again to take you out. A promise to take you somewhere no detectives would be hiding about. A week without a peep, you were sure he had followed up with your mother and was probably steaming to get at you. But, for some reason or another, he hadn’t appeared again in the crowd of your shows. 

A week of going into work unmade and unkempt, you finally gave in and asked to be taken to your apartment early Friday. You’d grab a few items you needed, take them to work, and be back home that night. 

Your eyes were on Alastor when his car pulled up to your building. When he kissed you, your hand scratched at the shorter hairs at the nape of his neck. Eyes closed, you could smell him and feel him so much clearer. Perhaps when you were old together you wouldn’t have to worry about your sight giving out, you thought. Because you’d always know it was him by the way his skin on yours lit you up. 

“Pack something you’d like to wear out tomorrow night.” He reminded you before you pulled yourself from the car and waved him off. You lingered for a moment as he drove away, wondering if maybe the storm had been pushed off course.

“Oooh, who is he?”

Whipping around, you saw a familiar face sitting on the stoop of your building. An unwelcome one, though. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Mavis?” Your bag fell from your hands as the strength drained from your limbs.

She patted the dust off her dress before bouncing down the steps.  “The names Ephi now.” A half sister, though perhaps a quarter sister would be best to describe the often absentminded, when not literally absent, sibling. 

“That’s not a name that’s a fucking letter of the alphabet. Mama would smack the color of your cheeks if she heard you.” You were sure you’d not see her ever again, not after she ran off to head north before your mother passed. She scowled, arms crossed as you brushed past her. “I don’t have any money so you wasted a trip. See ya in another decade.”

Ephi grinned up at you as you climbed the stairs, “Looked like he had some money. Mr. Big Shot and his shiny bus.”

“Lotsa people have cars.” Your eyes landed on the suitcase poorly hidden behind the steps. Hand halting its search for the building key as you could feel the stare of your mother looking…down? A weight slipping over your shoulders like a man’s heavy winter coat.

“Well I don’t need money or cars. I need a place to crash.”

Your head fell. You could feel it coming. The gust of wind dragging the clouds slowly towards you. No, the storm wasn’t off course. It was just building momentum.

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

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[viasplat]

I typed up the Pentiment bibliography for my own use and thought I’d share it here too. In case anyone else is fixated enough on this game to embark on some light extra-curricular reading

I haven’t searched for every one of these books but a fair few can be found via one of the following: JSTOR / archive.org / pdfdrive.com / libgen + libgen.rocks; or respective websites for the journal articles.

List below the cut!

Beach, Alison I, Women as Scribes: Book Production and Monastic Reform in Twelfth-Century Bavaria. Cambridge University Press, 2004

Berger, Jutta Maria. Die Geschichte der Gastfreundschaft im hochmittelalterlichen Mönchtum die Cistercienser. Akademie Verlag GmbH, 1999

Blickle, Peter. The Revolution of 1525. Translated by Thomas A. Brady, Jr. and H.C. Erik Midelfort. The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1985

Brady, Thomas A., Jr. “Imperial Destinies: A New Biography of the Emperor Maximilian I.” The Journal of Modern History, vol.62, no.2, 1990. pp. 298-314

Brandl, Rainer. “Art or Craft? Art and the Artist in Medieval Nuremberg.” Gothic and Renaissance Art in Nuremberg 1300-2550. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1986

Byars, Jana L., “Prostitutes and Prostitution in Late Medieval Barcelona.” Masters Theses. Western Michigan University, 1997

Cashion, Debra Taylor. “The Art of Nikolaus Glockendon: Imitation and Originality in the Art of Renaissance Germany.” Journal of Historians of Netherlandish Art, vol.2, no.1-2, 2010

de Hamel, Christopher. A History of Illuminated Manuscripts. Phaidon Press Limited, 1986

Eco, Umberto. The Name of the Rose. Translated by William Weaver. Mariner Books, 2014

Eco, Umberto. Baudolino. Translated by William Weave. Boston, Mariner Books, 2003

Fournier, Jacques. “The Inquisition Records of Jacques Fournier.” Translated by Nancy P. Stork, San Jose University, 2020

Geary, Patrick. “Humiliation of Saints.” In Saints and their cults: studies in religious sociology, folklore, and history. Edited by Stephen Wilson. Cambridge University Press, 1985. pp. 123-140

Harrington, Joel F. The Faithful Executioner: Life and Death, Honor and Shame in the Turbulent Sixteenth Century. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2013

Hertzka, Gottfied and Wighard Strehlow. Große Hildegard-Apotheke. Christiana-Verlag, 2017

Hildegard von Bingen. Physica. Edited by Reiner Hildebrandt and Thomas Gloning. De Gruyter, 2010

Julian of Norwich. Revelations of Divine Love. Translated by Barry Windeatt. Oxford University Press, 2015

Karras, Ruth Mazo. Sexuality in Medieval Europe: Doing Unto Others. Routledge, 2017

Kerr, Julie. Monastic Hospitality: The Benedictines in England, c.1070-c.1250. Boydell Press, 2007

Kieckhefer, Richard. Forbidden rites: a necromancer's manual of the fifteenth century. Sutton, 1997

Kümin, Beat and B. Ann Tlusty. The World of the Tavern: Public Houses in Early Modern Europe. Routledge, 2017

Ilner, Thomas, et al. The Economy of Dürnberg-Bei-Hallein: an Iron Age Salt-mining Centre in the Austrian Alps. The Antiquaries Journal, vol. 83, 2003. pp. 123-194

Làng, Benedek. Unlocked Books: Manuscripts of Learned Magic in the Medieval Libraries of Central Europe. The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2008

Lindeman, Mary. Medicine and Society in Early Modern Europe. Cambridge University Press, 2010

Lowe, Kate. “'Representing' Africa: Ambassadors and Princes from Christian Africa to Renaissance Italy and Portugal, 1402-1608.” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society Sixth Series, vol. 17, pp. 101-128

Meyers, David. “Ritual, Confession, and Religion in Sixteenth-Century Germany.” Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte, vol. 89, 1998. pp. 125-143

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[luminouslywriting]

Hello. I’m a fan of your writing! Loving Ruth and Mastermind so far. Also I’m loving all this Brady content!!

Ok so I had a thought, what if one day while Brady is yelling or not yelling but talking a bit strictly with someone (a bit like he was with Crosby) and his girlfriend witnesses is and find herself a bit turned on by this. So the second the other mrs walk away she’s grabbing Brady and dragging him somewhere private to have her way with him. And he think oh maybe she wants to talk me down or give me a moment to calm down but 😧 oh she trying to take of my clothes. And while he’s worried about someone walking in, he doesn’t have the strength to stop kissing her.

Nonny, thank you so much!! I’m glad you’re enjoying Mastermind so much :) I would love to do this one for you! My requests and asks are open and I’m working on crafting a masterlist at the moment! More below the cut and cut for length:

-I can’t say that I blame you for feeling a little hot under the collar when it comes to John Brady and his sassy and firm attitude. I get it. -That being said, I think it comes down to the fact that he's not necessarily mean to people as much as he is firm and stubborn about certain things

-So if you see him getting fired up and passionate about something, it's a rare display of emotion from the usually stoic John Brady

-I think that the first time that it happens, he's completely taken aback and shocked at the way you respond to that

-In fact, he might even think that you're pulling him into the storage room to scold him about how he needs to be nicer (and that was his way of being nice haha)

-But the minute your hands start going through his hair, all words just kinda falter and he's suddenly like the internet explorer icon and not a single brain cell is present

-All attempts at being discreet? Out the door

-He's a little baffled, not gonna lie

-But you're out here getting very handsy in this very small supply closet and what's a guy to do?

-The answer is to shut up and kiss his girlfriend back, obviously

-I don't think it goes so far as sex, but I definitely think that someone's getting pleasured in that closet (whether it be him or you, now it depends on the situation)

-Speaking of the situations:

-There are times when he acts super authoritative in front of you because he WANTS to get a rise out of you. What a cheeky bastard.

-He knows EXACTLY why your thighs are clenched together and why you can't take your eyes off of him and so this is going to result in a very fun little rendezvous together because you're just oh so needy and he can't leave you high and (not very dry haha)

-But there are other times when he's completely taken off guard, but nonetheless pleased by your sudden bursts of affection

-He's definitely walked out of that closet with a set of panties in his pocket before

-And if he comes back to the men looking particularly pleased with himself, he's going to get hassled about it from Bucky (because of course Bucky knows, there's no way that he wouldn't know), and a fair amount of teasing would go on

-And because you're such an affectionate menace, he definitely walks out of there with several hickies on his neck

-And at one point, Bucky does call him out on it

"Your girl know that those are considered damage to United States property?" -Bucky, with a shit-eating grin

*Cue the look of panic bc Brady was absolutely unaware he had any visible hickies and now he's mortified*

[recycledmoviecostumes]

This beautiful velvet gown, likely designed by Robert Kalloch for Hedy Lamar's Lucienne Talbot in the 1942 film 𝑪𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒓𝒐𝒂𝒅𝒔 went on to be used in at least two promotional photo shoots for MGM sometime later in the 40s – one with Ruth Brady wearing the piece, and another with Marilyn Maxwell.   Find out more at Bit.ly/PostEd252      

[ariadnethedragon]

The Woman In The Wall (2023)

S1E1: Back to Life

[uservicky]

Ruth Wilson as Lorna Brady in The Woman In The Wall 1.01 (2023)

[yestergaze]

In September of 1943, the Hollywood Bond Cavalcade arrived at the first destination of their cross-country bond selling trip. Pictured here on the National Mall in Washington, D.C. are Harpo Marx, Fred Astaire, Lucille Ball, Betty Hutton, Mickey Rooney, Judy Garland, James Cagney, Greer Garson, Kay Kyser, and Kathryn Grayson; plus starlets nicknamed "Bondbardears", Ruth Brady, Margaret Stewart, Doris Merrick, Rosemary Laplanche, Dorothy Merritt, and Muriel Goodspeed.

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Okay I need to know everything about Jack and Tilly meeting and falling in love I'm obsessed

Ooh story time my sweets,

Gear up for a tad of angst (life is shit without Tilly) and absolute fluff (once Tilly is in life)

There once was a very devoted twenty four year old Air Force captain who had lost his fort, a crew member and his freedom before noon one day in 1943. Since then there had been a catalogue of nothing short of shitstorm of awfulness, a brutalized sister arriving in camp, a dead niece, medical experimentation and a new hustle of bartering bodily autonomy for basic human needs required by his men, the fucking SS taking over the camp, more than a little medical experimentation happening then, news his beloved dad has died back home, Major Egan quite plausibly having lost his damn kind, his sister’s tormentors running the fucking camp and-

Well, long story short. One day a group of Tuskegee airmen came in.

One with a snapped neck. Propping up an injured airmen between ranks during roll call was an all too common thing, as was some attempt to alleviate invalids boredom when they were forced to stay in bed. Richard Macon, Brady found out, was not only an incredible pilot, mathematician and an impressive land owner: he also liked jazz. And if there way anything beyond freedom and sunshine that Jack Brady liked too- it was jazz.

Now it was customary from new prisoners to write back home to inform their families that they were indeed alive, and try in the most delicate terms to inform their tender loved ones that their injuries or privations were minor.

“Jack’s the best liar we’ve got.” Benny sadly praised him to Lt. Daniels and it was agreed then that Jack should write a letter home to the Macon’s, one adopting the tone of his own letters back to Mama Ruth Brady in which he spoke highly of his healthy and happy sister and the chocolate pies they were eating and the small privations of not enough clarinet reeds. Mrs. Brady had gotten wise when comparing his letters to Gloria Demarco’s letters but Jack’s kindhearted run of literary deceit has lasted a good nine months, months that his recently widowed mother needed and everyone was very impressed with his awful ability to be fine when he wasn’t.

“It’s not like if I wrote about what’s happening they’d actually let it through the censors.” Brady had pointed out amidst his bunk mates aghast tumult when Gloria Demarco’s most recent letter came in citing the narrative white washing.

So, best liar Jack Brady set aside his sax one day at Richard Macon’s bunkside and wrote a letter instead. In truth it wasn’t too false but it was very demure about the effects of a snapped neck.

He also made certain it got through, which had been another reason for his authorship- any funny fucking business the SS might play with their new “colored” prison mates would be delicately bypassed if one of their best paying POW’s posted the thing.

Which is why the Macon family, including Miss Tilly Macon herself, got their first news of Richard in a foreign and modest scribble.

Tilly already being in the Red Cross, was engaged in providing relief packets which in turn had censor approved pamphlets and directional booklets for the use of medicines and provisions. If she began to scribble hearts and music notes on their margins in hopes that amongst the thousand one sweet and very false Captain might get a little giggle, that wasn’t her superiors’ business. When she wrote Captain Brady back via his mother in concern for her cousin, she might’ve let slip this sweet conspiracy.

So began a game. Of seeing if he could spot her handiwork. Writing to his mother with another letter enclosed that Ruth Brady, summoning the better part of wisdom, chose not to read and simply pass on.

If Johnny, in absolute catatonic misery over the worsening conditions and abuse in camp began to cling to the ephemeral idea of Tilly, that was hardly the worst coping mechanism. If he jokingly -it wasn’t a joke but sweet mother of god he tries to make it sound like one- threatened to marry her when he got back, the reply was chirping and anything but demure,

“please do, dear boy” 💋