#desk set 1957

[iveseenitinmovies]

HI HERE’S AN EDIT OF KATHARINE HEPBURN AS BUNNY WATSON IN DESK SET (1957) *runs away and trips*

[eleanor-of-fuquitaine]

DESK SET (1957)

Bunny Watson's wardrobe appreciation post

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Very cool and unique 1957 mid-century modern in Los Angeles, CA. 3bds, 2.5ba, $4.995M.

The large entrance hall has orignal black slate floors.

Kind of a moody room. I hesitate to call it a sun room b/c even though it has 2 walls of windows, it's got a dark look cast from the gray floor and dark ceiling.

However, here it is with overhead lights. It's a very versatile room where you can set a mood. Beautiful big fireplace really shows up in this photo.

In this room, there's a round bar in the corner and a large stone fireplace. I love the plum retro wallpaper and matching plum paint.

Closeup of the wallpaper and bar. This is so retro.

The kitchen dining area has wonderful built-in storage. The walls are papered in coordinating retro wallpaper.

Huge kitchen. Love how the cabinets make a sort of room within a room.

The cabinets are original and so are the yellow laminate counters.

This is interesting- tucked in this area of the kitchen is a separate laundry area.

The guest powder room has a counter, plus wonderful turquoise fixtures.

The primary bedroom is spacious and has floating built-in night tables, plus a sitting area alcove.

Behind the bed wall there's this wonderful vanity.

This original bath has a gray sink.

Yikes, look at how deep the drop down to this tub is. I don't know if I could climb out of it.

This bedroom has a nice big corner desk.

Another nice bedroom. I would fill this house with color.

Look at how deep these 2 blue sinks are.

Love the blue tile in the shower.

Look at the nice big white desk in the corner of this room.

Oh, wow, beautiful patio has a hot tub and pool.

Love the mural here. I wonder if there was a fireplace or oven in the bricked up area.

Even though the house is on a hill, there are still gardens to stroll thru.

This must mean that you can see the famous Hollywood sign from the house. The lot is 1.44 acres.

https://www.redfin.com/CA/Los-Angeles/5835-Green-Oak-Dr-90068/home/7129580

[fellow-travelers-fic-recs]

Fellow Travelers Fic Recs | Monthlyish Recap (Part Two)

Some of the favorite fics read by FTFR and/or newly posted in May and June! This is a big one, friends... So, I'll be breaking it up into two parts. (Part One: Here)

😇 🍕 This time around, we have not one, but two very special afterlife AU’s, a pizza delivery driver AU and a few other fantastic recent updates in some ongoing WIPs you might already be keeping track of. You can the most recent chapters posted here: Featured WIPs Rec List

💦 May wasn't so much of a collection as it was a trio of prompts, with “missing years”, “May I…” and “International Wankers Day” being on May 28. You will find them mixed throughout this month's rec list.

🧁 Of course, June 6 was our beloved Catholic boy from Staten Island’s birthday, and there were a couple of fics to celebrate! 🎄 Mary and Tim celebrate Christmas in the 1950s, while 1980s Hawk makes good on a special wish Tim made long ago. ✍️Hawk breaks his promise not to write… While Tim breaks his vow not to give into unholy temptation. 🙏 ☀️ Kenny and Leonard forge a summertime bond before the war ... While Jackson reconnects with dad’s special friend from the cabin, out in San Francisco. 🚗

These are just a few of the many great new fics posted in the past two months. It's been hard to keep up with them all! Check out the links below.

📚 More fic recs can be found at the fic register, here.

Not quite what you're looking for? Tell us what you had in mind, here! → 💌

✨ Show our amazing authors some love with your comments and kudos on the fics you enjoyed after reading! Likes are lovely, but please reblog this post to share this content with your mutuals! ✨

Happy Reading!

🧁 A Wish Your Heart Makes [G, 1K] @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) “Happy birthday,” she wished, the final notes of the traditional song sounding in his ears. She set the cake on the cleared table, unapologetic about how much she had to have spent on making it. "Make a wish."

Tim stared at the trio of flickering candles marking his twenty-fifth birthday. Maggie's patient gaze rested on him, as knowing as they had always been. She knew what Tim's heart had automatically wished for, what he knew was impossible. But this was his birthday, and birthday wishes were magical.

A snippet of Tim's birthday.

🧁 Happy Birthday, Mr. Laughlin [E, 1K] by @beyondxmeasure | Cyantific Hawk tries to make it up to Tim for missing his birthday. Tim's only wish is a gift they can both enjoy.

A missing scene, of sorts, of the Rehoboth Beach weekend getaway.

🧁 Bring Love's Dreams [G, 3K] @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) The morning and evening of Tim's birthday in San Francisco, 1957

Canon divergent fluff.

☀️ Only The Lucky Ones Come Home [M, 1K] by @jesterlesbian | captainquint It didn’t make sense. Kenny wasn’t in Italy, he wasn’t in Europe. He was sent somewhere in the Pacific, Hawk wasn’t quite sure. That was the last he had heard. So how could Kenneth Willard be bleeding out at his feet in Velletri?

“You did this.”

The blood in Hawk’s veins turned to ice at Kenny’s words.

Or, Hawk has a nightmare about his time in the war.

⛱️ My Composure Sort Of Slips [E, 4K] by @bre1995 | bre_thomas, @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar)

It all started at the Nomad Bar when Hawk left Tim on his own.

Based on their weekend getaway trip, with a filler scene of what happened in the hotel room before dinner.

☀️i'll set fire to the whole place [G, 500] by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup Lucy sat at Hawk’s desk, looking at the envelope, signed with a painfully familiar handwriting. She swore to herself she will never repeat a mistake of reading letters from that man, but with years passed she began to suspect that in that marriage she was bound to make the same mistakes over and over.

⛱️ Nobody gets to heaven if they don't go through hell [E, 5K] by @doodlingawaits | DoodlingAwaits In the past, I held two truths. My love for you and my love for God. One was real and one was a fantasy. It's 1968 and Tim is hiding out in Hawk's hunting cabin. He struggles to reconcile what he truly feels as he finds himself surrounded by reminders of Hawk's betrayal and his love. All the while, he cannot control his more primal desires... and neither can Hawk.

Part 1 of Man's Second Best Friend

☀️ritual and liturgy [M, 525] by @redmyeyes | redmyeyes It’s stress relief, nothing more.

Part 8 of Fellow Travelers 

Part 2 of Man's Second Best Friend

⛱️i'm only alive when i'm dreaming of you [E, 918] by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup Hawk spends the afternoon picturing Tim kneeling, but not exactly in prayer.

Part 3 of Man's Second Best Friend

☀️ in the night when I start to miss you [E, 2K] by @alorchik | alorchik One night, a shared fantasy, and two souls, entwined across time and space.

Part 4 of Man's Second Best Friend

⛱️ Don’t Pull Your Love Out [E, 5K] by @beyondxmeasure | Cyantific Hawk visits Tim in prison, and it stirs up a lot of feelings, and a lot of memories.

Part 5 of Man's Second Best Friend

☀️ Five Tim Laughlin Recipes by Hawkins Fuller [E, 3K] by @alorchik | alorchik After 35 years together with Tim Laughlin, Hawkins Fuller unveils his collection of recipes.

Or, Hawk shares his notes (written mostly for himself because he would never let anyone touch Tim)

⛱️ Might Drive Me Crazy [NR, 1K] by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) Hawk helps Tim get ready for a party. More or less.

☀️that light was too alluring and in your radiance i shook [E, 1K] by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup A missing scene between the undressing and the hand job parts.

⛱️ Life Is Just A Memory [T, 1K] by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) Sometimes, Hawk remembered the small things. Flashes of memory, impressions. Sweetness. Gentility. Tanned skin and a bright grin across the tennis court. The shine of the sun in his hair and the way it had lit up his eyes just right. The curl of his smile. The flush on his cheeks as he held their trophy. The way he felt under Hawk's arm the only times Hawk could risk touching him in public.

Hawk lets himself remember Kenny.

☀️ look at me, i'm too far gone [E, 765] by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup “What is it?” Tim nods at the dark fabric in Hawk’s hands.

“A blindfold,” Hawk answers, enjoying the way Tim’s face goes from confused to excited as it clicks in his head.

Or, a blindfold smut we all deserve.

⛱️ Together As One Let us come [E, 1K] by@ jiuselvtizidaren💠 What happened in the hotel room, in this temporary sanctuary enclosed within those four walls? Hawk had his own plan, but improvisation is the spice of life.

☀️ It's Rude To Speak With Your Mouth Full [E, 1K] by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) Hawk was playing with fire, he knew, but the minute Tim had walked into his office, eyes lighting up just from the sight of him, Hawk had been powerless to resist. Whatever his boy wanted, he would have. And when Tim stepped between Hawk's legs, dropping to his knees with the grace of a lifetime of devotion - well, there were definite perks to working late.

Yet another office sex fic.

⛱️ The People who Loved Hawkins Fuller [NR. 2K] by SourLeminade💠 The conversation between Tim and Lucy goes longer than what the show aired. Lucy needs to know what happened and Tim knows he only has so much time left to give her that closure.

☀️ i'll set fire to the whole place [G, 500] by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup Lucy sat at Hawk’s desk, looking at the envelope, signed with a painfully familiar handwriting. She swore to herself she will never repeat a mistake of reading letters from that man, but with years passed she began to suspect that in that marriage she was bound to make the same mistakes over and over.

⛱️ And in a dream I'm a different me With a perfect you, we fit perfectly And for once in my life I feel complete And I still want to ruin it. [E, 404] By @in-our-special-place | Cupping_Cakes “That's not what I'm afraid of.”

☀️ Never be enough to fill me up [E, 537] By @in-our-special-place | Cupping_Cakes He'd been everything a lover should be but never loved the way he should have.

I come along, but I don't know where you're taking me. [E, 551] By @in-our-special-place | Cupping_Cakes But when the tremors subsided and she lay there smoking her cigarette, she was left feeling empty and hating herself for the weakness she felt—for needing Hawks touch so desperately. She knew she should have left him and found someone else who could truly love her, but the thought of losing him, even with everything, was too much for her to bear.

⛱️ It Can Wait 'Til Morning [M, 1K] by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) Hawk calls Tim late at night.

1950s era almost phone sex.

☀️ god bless all petty thieves [G, 2K] by @thewindyoubargainedfor | thewindyoubargainedfor Tim meets Jackson at the hunting cabin. Years later, he gets a call.

⛱️ stay awhile (baby, you won't regret it) [E, 1K] by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup “It’s something I work on,” he says, for some reason sounding apologetic. “I said it’s not a good time.”

“I can help you with that,” Tim offers. “Or, I can do something that will help you focus.”

“You’re not helping me focus on work, for sure,” Hawk murmurs, stepping closer and putting his hands on the desk, bracketing Tim between it and his body.

Or, an inappropriate use of the desk in Hawk's apartment.

☀️ with your hand you kept the real world outside [T, 964] by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup “I’m sorry,” he hears himself saying. Tim's eyes open wide, like doesn’t understand what Hawk is sorry for, either. “I’m sorry that I can’t give you what you want. You want to be able to kiss in public, like that couple in the restaurant. You want to stay the weekend and leave whenever you want, not afraid that people will see. Maybe you even want to live together, so you don’t have to leave at all.”

Or, a little fantasy after the "Hit me" scene.

⛱️ No more hiding, Hawkins Fuller. Not today. [T, 1K] By @carnivalrow | nightfall_in_winter Hawk can't bottle up his feelings for Tim any longer...

Check out the May/June Recap Part One Here

💠Authors: If your tumblr (or other socials) isn’t linked, and you'd like it to be, let me know and I'll be happy to add it! Or, if you’re linked already and would prefer not to be, please contact me to remove it.

[nextstopwonderland]

Films seen in 2024: Desk Set (1957, Lang)

[iowiymiw]

It is kind of insane that Desk Set (the romantic comedy from 1957)'s screenwriters Phoebe and Henry Ephron were the parents of Nora Ephron of When Harry Met Sally fame, but also its kinda very unsurprising at the same time too. They are two romantic comedies that understand the most important factor in a rom-com pairing: "Can they hang out?" and the best way to show it is for the film to be just 90% of them hanging out

[sneakyblinders]

this line of work pt 1

A/N: this will be part 1 of a few part mini series (read part 2 here!) featuring tommy and bee aka our darling couple <3 (keeping it as one part would've been far too long.) warnings: blood, violence, pregnancy, mentions of childbirth, angst, language, alcohol, tommy kissing women he shouldn't be. not canon. a part of my tommy & his darling wife au &lt;3 7.6k words. i take no credit for the gif!

1957

Tommy slammed his palms down on his desk, rage boiling in his blood. He walked to the front of his home office, towards the door. Several maids were dusting, conversing quietly between themselves. “Where the fuck is my wife?” he yelled. 

They looked at each other, panic coursing through their minds. “We’re not sure, Mr. Shelby, we haven’t seen her since this morning,” the older of the two said softly. 

“Well, go fucking find her and tell her to come here now!” he yelled, storming back into his office, slamming the door, making everything in this corridor of the Shelby Manor rattle. 

The maids scurried off down the halls, rushing to find Bee. They find her in the kitchens, elbow deep in kneading a loaf of bread. “Mrs. Shelby,” the younger maid said breathlessly. “Mr. Shelby is upset, he says he needs you immediately.” 

Bee’s brow furrowed, checking the time. Only ten thirty. What has happened. She goes to the sink and washes her hands. “We can have one of the bakers finish that, Ma’am,” the older maid said, eyeing the nearly finished dough. 

“No, no I’d like to finish it myself,” she tells them. “I love doing it. Thank you for finding me,” you tell them, throwing them a sympathetic smile. 

She makes her way down the halls to her husband's office and pushes open the doors. His face is red with anger, and by all the smoke in the room she guessed he’d gone through about three cigarettes in the time it took the maids to find her. 

He points a finger at Bee. “Why the fuck,” he starts, tone low and dangerous. “Would you keep something like this from me?” he asks, waving a piece of paper at her. 

Bee’s brow furrows, confused. “What is it?” she asks, not taking his meaning, not sure what he’s accusing her of not telling him. She tells him everything. 

“Don’t fucking play that with me!” he yells, slamming the piece of paper down. 

Her blood begins to boil, walking over to him and taking the piece of paper from his desk. Sloppy handwriting was scrawled on the page, a request for a meeting with the two of them, regarding your youngest daughter, Claire. It was signed by a “Paul Davidson”. “I don’t know who this man is,” she tells him, eyes wide. “What’s wrong, Thomas?” she asked him. His back is turned to her. 

He whirls around, furious, hands slamming on his desk. “What’s fucking wrong, is I know our daughters tell you everything. You knew Claire is in correspondence with a man, so it is beyond fucking me, why you would fail to mention that the man who is pursuing our daughter is a fucking no good gangster from Liverpool!” he seethes, jaw clenched so tight she thought his teeth might chip. “You have some things to explain to me.” 

She stood up straight. “Thomas,” she told him, lips in a tight line. “I have never once, in all the years we have been together, kept something from you. I have always been honest and forthcoming. I did know Claire was in correspondence with a man, yes, but I did not know who he was. She didn’t tell me. So,” she told him calmly, setting the piece of paper down on the desk. “Pull your head out of your ass, which is the only logical explanation I can think of for the way you’re speaking to me,” she told him, lips pursed. “Do not come anywhere near me until your head is firmly back on your shoulders and your temper under control. You will not speak to me in this way. I will talk to Claire,” She told him, voice firm. 

Bee walks out of his office, slamming the door and walking up the steps to their youngest daughter's room leaving her husband staring blankly at the door before falling into his chair with a sigh. 

Bee didn’t bother knocking, she knew Claire would be awake and dressed. She was her father’s child in that regard. “Knock, please?” she said, tone annoyed as she turned to face her mother from her vanity table. 

“I’m not in the mood for formalities,” Bee told her harshly, eyeing Claire in the mirror as she adjusted her earrings. “You have some explaining to do.” 

She wrinkled her face. “About what?” 

“About some man named Paul Davidson writing your father,” Bee says, and the color drains from Claire’s face. 

“He did?” she says, not meeting her mothers eyes in the mirror. 

“He did, and your father is furious,” Claire closes her eyes and sighs, resting her forehead in her palm. “So unless you’d like to face the wrath of the king, I suggest you start talking,” Bee tells her sternly. 

“I didn’t know he was a gangster at first,” she admits, turning to face her mother. “I met him at the fair, and he won me this box,” she tells Bee, pointing to a heart shaped, crystal box. “We’ve been writing ever since.”

“He’s taken with you, then?” Bee asks, sitting on the foot of her bed. 

“I suppose so,” she says shyly.

“Cut the shit,” Bee sneers. “Your father is three steps away from asking Johnny Dogs to bring the car around and take him to Liverpool today. Start speaking plainly, now.”

A tiny bit of fear flashed in Claire’s eyes. She typically didn’t have to be this stern with her children–Tommy typically shouldered the unpleasant parts of parenthood for the both of them, something she was grateful for. The oldest two were nothing like the twins, who were nothing like the youngest two. Each of them were very different sets of children, which had proved to make parenting very difficult for her and Tommy. But Claire and Anthony… they were different children, requiring a much stronger hand than the older four. 

“He’s–he’s been here,” she tells Bee and rage flashes through her eyes, mouth dropping open. “He’s snuck in the evenings, when you and Daddy are riding in the pastures or at the Garrison dancing,” Bee’s mouth dropped open further. “Nothing’s happened!” she hurriedly says. 

“Bull shit!” Bee yells, eyes wide. “Claire, I was not born yesterday, please.”

“We haven’t had sex, if that’s what you’re worried about! He’s a good man, Mum!” 

“I don’t care if he’s a good, bad or awful man, I am upset that you didn’t tell me as soon as you knew! You know about your father’s history with these things,” Bee tells her and her face flushes in embarrassment. “And if he found out he was in this house, he’d cut him from throat to crotch,” Bee adds. 

“Please, don’t tell Daddy,” Claire pleads with you, walking over to where she sits. “Please, Mum, he’ll be so upset.” 

Bee looks her in the eyes. “Claire, I have never kept things from your father and I certainly won’t start now. I will have to tell him, and I am not sure I can persuade him to change his mind on what he intends to do to Paul.”

Claire shakes her head. “You can always change Daddy’s mind! You just have to look at him and he folds!” she tells her mother. 

She wasn’t wrong, usually. But this time–this was different. “Claire, Darling, I am afraid this might be a little different.” 

“How?” she asks, tears in her eyes. 

“This is concerning your safety. Your father got out of that line of business for a reason,” Bee explains. 

“Yes, because you threatened him!” she exclaimed. 

Bee sighed. She wasn’t wrong again, but she was missing important details. “Yes, I did threaten him, but do you know why?” Claire shook her head no as Bee pulled the skirt of her dress up her legs, revealing a nasty scar the size of an American half dollar on the side of her thigh. Claire winced, seeing the bullet wound scar. “That was a bullet meant for your father that I took,” Bee says, dark eyes flaming in anger. “And that is why I threatened him. He almost died, several times because of that life, Claire. I almost died. You never had to experience it because he was out of it by the time you were born–and it almost killed him to get out of it, but he did. So I hope you understand why wanting to run to a man who still lives that way is a slap in the face to both of us.”

Claire swallows the lump in her throat. You turn to walk out of the room, but she stops Bee. “Mummy, please! What if this is my chance to have a love like you and Daddy do!” tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks. 

Bee’s voice does not waver as she tells her, “Not everyone gets our kind of love, Darling. And for that, I truly am sorry.” 

That evening at dinner, the air was tense, Tommy still not having apologized for his outburst to Bee. She’d excused herself and gone upstairs and bathed, spreading her favorite lotion over her body and pulling a light blue nightgown on. It was long with lace trim and a deep neckline. 

Bee sat at her vanity, spreading Ponds on her face when Tommy entered your shared room, face filled with fatigue. “Hello, Gorgeous,” he rasped, walking slowly over to his wife, gently putting his hands on her shoulders, bending to press a kiss where her neck met her shoulder. 

“Thomas,” she addressed him sternly, avoiding the effect his kisses still had, even after all these years. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed into her skin, pressing another kiss into her shoulder. “Please, talk to me,” he whispered. “You know I can’t bear it when you’re upset with me.” 

She turned around to face him. “Don’t ever speak to me that way again, Thomas.” 

He shook his head. “I won’t. I know you don’t keep things from me, I’m just so angry with her,” he says. Bee stands to her feet and begins to work at removing his cufflinks. He looks down at her, wondering how in the hell she’d put up with him for this long. 

“Well, I don’t think you’re going to like what I have to tell you,” she says, setting his cufflinks down on her vanity and moving to unclasp his sleeve garters. It was 1957, he could get tailored shirts, but he said he quite prefers the garters. She likes them, too. “They met at the fair and have been writing ever since,” she took a deep breath. “She has, apparently, snuck him in here when we’ve been out,” his eyes snap to hers, an exasperated look on his face. “She tells me nothing has happened.” 

“Oh fuck me,” he mumbles, turning away from Bee, running a hand down his face. “This is a nightmare,” she refrains from chuckling at her husband's distress. “This is recompense for all the terrible things I thought about you when we were courting, isn’t it?” he asked, a hand on his hip, the other arm extended out towards the wall, palm open. He looked so tired. “Fuck where did we go so wrong with these youngest two? They’re going to be the death of me, I swear.” 

Bee walks over to him and removes the braces from his shoulders while he unbuttons his shirt. She fetches his sleeping clothes from the drawer and hands them to him. He shucks the rest of his clothes off, pulling his comfortable clothes on. He sits on the edge of the bed and reaches for a cigarette. She climbs on the bed behind him, fingers starting to massage his shoulders. He melts into her touch. 

“She wants to have a love like ours,” she whispers to him and she feels his body sag as tears threaten to spill onto her cheeks. 

“I want all our children to have that,” her husband tells her in a small voice. A voice so small she almost didn’t recognize it. 

“I do too, sweetheart,” she pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, arms wrapping around his shoulders, hands resting softly on his chest. “We certainly have set the expectation for love rather high, hm?” 

Tommy sharply inhales. He reaches back to touch her thigh. The one with the nasty scar. The nasty scar that she would wear as yet another symbol of love and devotion. “Do you remember that day?” he asked. 

She replied, “How could I forget?”

It was April 6, 1924. The Shelby Foundation’s first annual fundraiser gala. Everyone who was anyone was there. The entire family attended, dressed in their newest and finest clothes. The alcohol and food flowed freely, the best live music in the country was hired and paid well that evening. It was hosted in the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery. Bee wore a beautiful pale yellow gown to offset the dreaded Russian sapphire Tommy had given her a few nights before. The dress cascaded over the growing bump of their second child. 

Tommy had nearly made the two of them late, unable to resist how beautiful Bee looked–her hair done perfectly, lipstick a light pink, only meant to accentuate the natural color of her lips. He’d made love to her sweetly, taking his time devouring every inch of her, whispering sweet words of praise and adoration in her ear. Afterwards he helped her redress, and the two of them nearly ran down the steps of the Manor to get to the car to make it to the city in time. 

Bee had been proud of this party she’d organized. Hundreds of people were there to donate to the Shelby Foundation, a cover organization which Tommy intended to funnel money through for some business he was in contract with the Russians about. He had promised her, after she’d yelled at him for using the city's poor and abandoned children as a marketing tool for financial gain, that he would donate a portion of his own income to the orphans of the city.

People flocked to Bee and Tommy, congratulating them on the new step in Tommy’s career, and thanked Bee for the beautiful party that she organized. They congratulated them on their second child, many people not knowing about her pregnancy until that evening. Tommy beamed with pride when people would comment on how beautiful Bee looked that night. His wife. It was her who did all of this. It was her who motivated him to be more, do more. It made him hungry for success. Crave it. Prove to all the sorry bastards who told them he would never have it all, that he could have it all. And she was by his side, doing it all with him. 

The Duchess, Tatiana, approached them. “Mr. Shelby, please introduce me to your wife, I have heard much about you!” she eyed Bee, a girlish grin on her face. 

“Duchess Tatiana Petrovna, my wife, Mrs. Bee Shelby,” Tommy said, eyes dull as he tried to avoid the eye contact the duchess was giving. 

Tatiana held her hand out and Bee shook it, smiling at her. “How do you two know each other?” Bee asked, eyeing her husband, who gazed down at her lovingly. 

“Mutual business, that’s all,” he told her, hand on the small of her back. 

Bee was called away to speak to a woman about a cash donation and after, Tommy came to find her. “Darling, you look beautiful–” he started. 

She waved him off. “Why was she making eyes at you?” She asked him, anger rolling in her belly. 

“The Russian deal,” he began, holding her hands in his. Bee nodded. “She is one of the people I am in contact with. I have to work with her on this. Unfortunately they have requested that she seduce me as a part of the cause, which,” he held up a finger to her lips. “I have told her it is pointless, to which she immediately replied that it made sense that her attempts would be futile after seeing you tonight,” he leans in towards her. “Darling, she says this necklace is cursed,” he whispers. “Please, take it off.”

She laughed slightly. Bee never understood some of the superstitions Tommy believed. Curses, witches, fortune tellers. She knew it was a part of his heritage, things he and Polly held close, but had never experienced them the way he had. “What will you do with it?” She asks as he reaches behind her neck to unclasp it. 

“Throw it somewhere far away from us,” he says, pecking your lips. 

At that moment, a waiter stops in front of the two of them, several paces away and pulls a gun from behind his towel that was draped over his arm. “Thomas!” She gasps. Tommy drops the necklace as she reaches her arms around him to throw both of them down on the ground, trying to be as careful as she can about her belly; the man screams something along the lines of ‘For Angel’. Out of the corner of Bee’s eye she sees Arthur tackle the man to the ground, the gun firing right before Bee and Tommy land to the ground, searing pain shooting through her leg. 

There are screams of terror that echo off the walls of the museum. John, Finn and Michael scramble over to the gunman, several of them holding him down while others find objects to throw at him. 

Polly runs to Bee, lying on the ground in Tommy’s arms. He’s screaming for someone to get an ambulance. Polly runs to the phone, pink dress trailing behind her. “My love, my love, stay with me, yeah? Please, please don’t go, please,” Tommy begs her. Her hand reaches up to grab his wrist as she writhes in pain in his arms. Her legs felt sticky from the blood pouring from her thigh. 

“Thomas,” she manages to get out. 

“Please, don’t leave me here,” he begs her, tears in his eyes. 

She didn’t remember much after that. 

Bee woke up what felt like days later, in a hospital room, Tommy rushed over to her bedside, grabbing her hands with his, pressing urgent kisses to her knuckles. “Thomas?” She croaks, throat dry. 

“My darling,” he cries, tears spilling over his cheeks onto her hand, her lap. “My love, my love,” his shoulders are heaving, eyes rimmed red from a lack of sleep and an abundance of crying. 

“Water,” she croaks. He reaches for a pitcher at her bedside and pours her a small cup, bringing it to her lips. He wipes away the little bits of water that gather at the corners of her mouth with his thumb. An intense pain in her leg shoots through her, making her wince. “My leg,” Bee says, tears in her eyes from the pain. She moved to put a hand on her belly, and it was much flatter than she last recalled. “The baby,” she said in a panicked voice. 

“You were shot,” he explains, smoothing her hair back from her face. “The Italians–you remember that mess?” he asked. She nodded. “They tried to kill me the other night and–you got in the way,” he said, more tears spilling onto his cheeks. “The doctors had to sedate you,” he continued. “Had to get the baby out,” he says, choking back tears. “She’s here, she’s small and weak but she’s fighting.” 

“What did you name her? When can I see her? Are you alright?” She asks, rattling off questions one by one, trying to see if a bandage adorned his body anywhere. 

“I am shattered, my love,” he says. “It should be me,” he tells her, chin trembling. 

“I would do it again, Thomas,” she tells him weakly. 

He shakes his head. “What did I do so right to deserve you, hm? My perfect angel, my perfect wife,” he says, pressing another kiss to her knuckles. “I love you, I love you,” he whispers it to her over and over. A chant, a prayer, a reassurance to himself. It’s the last thing she hears as she drifts back off to sleep. 

A week later, Bee was deemed well enough to return home, with baby Katherine in tow. There was a large group of people congregated in the foyer of the Shelby Manor, which Frances was trying desperately to tame. Tommy’s entire family gathered, everyone arguing and screaming at one another as to who would get the biggest ass chewing from Tommy. Bee’s family simmered in silence, seething with a deep hatred for this life, for this man who dragged her into this. 

Tommy brought Bee in the back way, carrying her up the steps to their shared room, handing the baby off to Frances. He ensured she was comfortable, fluffing every pillow twice and putting plenty of blankets and books within her reach. “Don’t move a muscle out of this bed unless I’m here to help you,” he told her, wagging a finger. 

“I won’t, I won’t,” she told him, exasperated at her husband already. 

“Get some rest, I'll tame the crowds,” he told her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

“Bring your family up in an hour and a half,” she told him, eyeing the clock. “I have something to say to them.”

He nods. “Okay,” he tells you, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “Anything you say, Darling. Just say it and it’s yours.” 

Tommy descended down the stairs, hearing his family screaming at one another. When he reached the foot of the stairs, Bee’s sister, Emile, nearly flew across the foyer at him, a harsh slap landing on his cheek. 

“You bastard!” she screamed, fists hitting his chest. “Look what you’ve done to her! Are you happy? Are you happy you’ve successfully ruined the best thing in your life?” 

Everyone went quiet. Edward, Bee’s brother, pulled Emile from Tommy, a sobbing heap. “No one wants to get the call we did, Tommy,” he says. 

Tommy nods. “I know,” he says before turning towards his family. “Michael, Polly, I’d like to speak to you,” he said, motioning towards his office. 

Arthur and John gave each other a look, Ada raised her eyebrows. Polly and Michael struggled to keep up with Tommy’s pace as he walked through the halls of his home towards his office. He flung open the heavy doors, inhaling the familiar scent. He sighed as he walked around his desk, filled with papers, letters, and various correspondence that had come flooding in over the last week and a half he had been away.

“How is she, Thomas?” Polly asks nervously, sitting down across from him. “How’s the baby?”

Tommy exhales, pulling a cigarette to his lips. “She’s tired and in pain but she’s home. The baby is weak and small but she’s fighting. She was four weeks early.”

Michael cleared his throat nervously. “Will she be able to keep her leg?” 

Tommy lit his cigarette. “Dunno yet,” he said, hands shaking at the thought. He spoke to them regarding their end of the business. “After all this business with the Russians is over, we’re going completely legitimate,” he tells them. 

Michael nodded his head. “It’s for the best, Tommy,” he said. Polly agreed. 

“Alright, meet me up by our chambers in about an hour and a half. She wants to see all of you,” he said. “Send Arthur and John in.” 

Arthur and John slowly stalked in, right as tears threatened to fill Tommy’s eyes again. He eyed the wedding photo of you on his desk and thought of your sister's words. He had ruined you. He had known all along he would be your demise. 

“How is she, Tom?” Arthur asked. 

Tommy looked up at them, anger pouring from his eyes. “She’s fucking fine.” 

“We uh–we cut Angel Changretta,” Arthur told him. “Finished ‘im off. In the hospital last night.” 

Tommy nodded. “Good,” he lit another cigarette. “Find the old man and bring him to me,” he thought for a moment. “Does he have a wife?” They didn’t answer him, but by the looks on their faces, he knew the answer. “Shoot her and bring him to me alive. I want to do it myself,” he said, jaw set tightly. 

“Uh, Tom,” John began. “Mrs. Changretta was a teacher at our school.” 

“Yeah, she’s a good woman, Tom,” Arthur continued. 

Tommy narrowed his eyes at them. “Then if she’s a good woman, she’ll go to heaven, eh, Arthur?” Arthur wouldn’t meet his gaze and neither would John. “After this business with the Russians is done, all legitimate business will take priority, and everything illegal will be phased out,” he announced. Arthur and John’s necks nearly cracked to look at him. 

“Since when?” John asked, indignation in his voice. 

Tommy slammed a fist on his desk, rage boiling over. “Since my fucking wife, took a bullet, meant for me!” he screamed, eyes icy. “She wants to see you all soon so fuck off before I shoot the both of you myself,” he says dismissing them. 

John and Arthur eyed the floor. “Come on, John,” Arthur says quietly. 

“Yeah, yeah alright. Always second class now, eh, Arthur?” John sneered over his shoulder as they walked out of the office. 

If they thought Tommy’s outrage was difficult to handle, they had no clue of the wrath they were about to face. 

Everyone gathered in the hallway of the Shelby Manor that housed Tommy and Bee’s chambers. It was a sacred wing of the house no one really ever dared enter unless they wanted to subject their senses to their voracious lovemaking. Tommy had gone in to check on her a few moments before, telling her if she wasn’t feeling up to it, he would tell them all to come back later. 

“No, no I want to get this over with,” she said. He opened the door to their room as she laid in the bed, feeling rather small. “Get in here, all of you,” she said, her voice making her sound larger than she felt. “You too, Ada,” she said, noticing Ada lingering in the doorway. Tommy stood with his family, ready to face his wife’s wrath alongside them. 

“You look good, sis,” John offered. 

“Shut the hell up,” she snapped. Everyone’s eyes widened. “I would like to know,” the tone of her voice was dangerous, no one having heard this side of her before. “When it was, that we decided to make war over who a secretary is stepping out with in her romantic life? Hm?” her jaw was set, lips in a straight line. “Because last I checked, unless there is something any of you would like to admit to me or your wives, none of you have had any kind of hold on Lizzie Stark in years,” Tommy, Arthur and John shifted uncomfortably on their feet. “So I am unclear on what the reason was that one of you blooming fucking idiots, decided to cut Angel Changretta!” She roared. “Someone answer me!” Bee screamed, head pounding. “Do any of you really think a turf war over a whore-turned-secretary is worth our lives? This isn’t the way it was five years ago! We all have children now, families we have to think of!” she yells, tears in her eyes. “So in saying that, you,” she points at Tommy. “Will call off the rest of this fucking mess with the Italians,” her finger moved to John. “And you are going to make a treaty with them, and you!” she points to Arthur. “Are going to make sure he doesn’t fuck it up.” 

They all eyed her with wide eyes. John chuckled nervously. “By who’s orders?” 

“The woman who may not get to keep her leg, that’s who.” she says, tone deathly. “Get out of my house, you all disgust me,” she waves them off. “And!” She shouted as they turned to leave. “If I can keep my leg,” she pointed at all of them. “The first thing I am going to do when I am able to stand is call all of you in for a meeting and kick all of you in the shins. Twice. Get out.” 

They all hurried to file out of Tommy and Bee’s chambers, heads down. 

Tommy spent weeks groveling at his wife’s feet, taking her scornful looks and hateful words. Guilt ate at him every moment knowing it should be him in her position. He would do anything to reverse the roles. She had wailed and cried, wanting to see the baby, wanting to hold her. Tommy insisted she was too weak still, which created more tears and resentment. 

One night during a particularly bad spell of pain, she gripped his shirt, tears and fire in her eyes. “If you do not get out of this life, Thomas, I will take our children and leave. They cannot live like this. And neither can I.” 

“You don’t mean that,” he said, terror filling his eyes. 

“I mean every word, Thomas. I didn’t sign up for this.” She winced in pain. 

“You knew what I was when you married me and you still chose to walk down the aisle and say your vows. You saw me long before our vows and you still wanted me. You don’t get to back out now,” he snarled. 

She shook her head. “I didn’t sign up to take bullets for my husband who’s idiotic family makes war over who a secretary steps out with.”

No one had heeded her warnings of ending the war with the Changretta’s, and the family lived on the edges of their seats day by day. Bee was a sitting duck, waiting for the moment someone was bold enough to approach their home and attack her. 

Tommy’s eyes filled with hurt at her words. “What can I do?” he asked, anger subsiding to fear. 

“Get rid of her,” his wife snarled, grasping at her leg. 

The next morning, Tommy walked slowly into the betting shop, approaching Lizzie’s desk outside his office. “Lizzie,” he said softly. “I need to speak with you,” he eyed the other secretaries who were trying their best to not listen in to what he was saying. 

Lizzie looked up at him quizzically before standing to her feet and following him into the office. He shut the doors behind them. 

“Sit, please,” he told her, reaching for his bottle of whiskey. She sat down. 

“How is Bee?” she asked nervously.

Tommy shook his head. “Don’t speak of her,” he nearly whispered, pouring himself a glass full of whiskey. 

Lizzie’s eyes widened. “Is she alright?” 

Tommy chuckled, bringing the glass to his lips. He swallowed half the glass in one go, setting it back down on his desk with a thud. “No, Lizzie, she isn’t. She hasn’t seen her son in nearly three weeks, and she has yet to hold her baby girl. They cry for her every night. Her family is ready to drag her back to London and she has cursed my name every day since she woke up. She is not alright.”

Lizzie looked down at her hands in her lap. “I tried to tell Arthur, at that party at the Manor a few months back. I loved Angel,” she said softly. 

Tommy planted both his palms firmly on his desk, shoulders broad, the fabric of his suit jacket straining against his frame. His eyes darkened. “You were literally,” his eyes narrowed at her in hatred. “Sleeping with our enemy.” 

“There was a truce! It had been in effect for years!” she argued back. 

“Yeah until John got wind of it! The truce was over after that, Lizzie! You’ve left me with no choice!” he shouted. 

Her eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Lizzie,” he sighed. “I have to fire you.” 

Her jaw dropped. “Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough?” she asked. “They killed the man I loved!” 

“And his people nearly killed the only good thing in my life!” he shouted, face red. “And she is moments away from leaving me as soon as she can because of all this now please, don’t make this harder than it has to be!” he yelled. 

She stood up, her hips pressed against the front of his desk. She reached a hand out to touch his face, and he had to stop himself from leaning into it. “What has she made of you, Tommy?” she asked him, sympathy dripping from her voice. “What power she holds over you,” she mused aloud, thumb rubbing gently against his cheek. “The power all women wish to hold over the man they love,” she shook her head softly, tears running down her face. “What has she made of you?” 

She dropped her hand from his face and walked out, Tommy’s head drooped to hang between his shoulders. He sank into his chair and sobbed. 

A doctor's appointment a week later confirmed the good fortune of Bee being able to keep her leg. She was still on crutches and unable to walk for extended periods of time, but her prognosis was good. Tommy was elated at the news, sliding the doctor a few extra pounds, to which she rolled her eyes. She was finally allowed to hold the baby, and she spent most of her waking hours in her room with the baby, admiring her small features. 

For the first time in their marriage, she’d subjected Tommy to separate bedrooms. She tossed and turned throughout the night and constantly felt the need to stretch, and somehow, Tommy always got in the way. And she was still mad at him. 

He looked at her like a kicked puppy when she’d told him she had asked Frances to make up the spare bedroom and had hobbled down the hallway, closing the door before he had a chance to fight her on it. 

He missed her. He understood her anger, her frustration, but dammit he missed her. Missed hearing her voice. She only ever really spoke to him when it was absolutely necessary. He missed her laugh, her lips on his. Missed falling asleep next to her, eating dinner with her and Peter. She’d taken to eating dinner earlier, before he got home most nights. The loneliness he thought he had long left behind him began to seep back into his bones. 

So when Tatiana made her arrival at the Shelby Manor, he was weak. 

He had returned from an outing with his brothers, a day of hunting and discussing plans for the rest of the Russian deal. He had delivered the news to his brothers that their father, sorry son of a bitch he was, was dead. A part of him was relieved, another part sorrowful. He returned, and his heart lifted when he smelled a familiar perfume—Bee’s. He thought she had come to greet him in his office. 

His face fell when he saw Tatiana, the Russian Duchess in his chair. “I came to inquire about your wife, Mr. Shelby,” she said, eyes wide, tone laced with seduction. “It was a terrible thing that happened to her at your beautiful event, truly.” 

“She hates me, but she’s alive. Which I will take,” he said, leaning against a bookcase as she stood up to fetch him a glass of whiskey. 

“She will not hate you for long, no? Perhaps a little while, but once you cover her from head to toe in diamonds she will forgive you,” she smirked, walking dangerously close to him. “I went to Paris and found her perfume. I liked it, and I thought you might too, Tommy,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him, dragging her fingertips across his chest. 

He sipped his whiskey. “I’m not going to fuck you,” he said, eyes betraying his words. 

“Could’ve fooled me, Mr. Shelby,” she giggled. “If you won’t fuck me then what will we do tonight together?” 

He shook his head. “Nothing.” 

He drank until he was thoroughly drunk that night—for the first time in a long time. The Duchess was giggly, stripped down to her slip and bra. He had told her stories of Bee. Goofy, silly stories. Stories she’d probably die of embarrassment if she knew anyone other than Tommy knew. 

He had told her the story of when Bee had woken up in the hospital, how she’d told him she would take the bullet for him again. Tears welled in his eyes, whether from the alcohol or the overwhelming urge he had to run to her, he couldn’t tell. But in that moment, Tatiana leaned in and kissed him. 

He allowed his lips to meld against hers for a moment before snapping to his senses, pushing her away. “I—I cannot betray her in this way,” he said. 

Tatiana looked at him through her lashes. “You really love her?” 

He nodded his head, wiping her lipstick from his lips. “With all I am.” 

She jumped up, grabbing his gun and running towards the stairs. Running after her, she skipped towards Tommy and Bee’s bedroom. “Let me show Mrs. Shelby!” She giggled, turning a corner a little too sharply and sliding on the hardwood. She giggled a little louder, causing Sara to pop her head out of the door down the opposite end of the hallway in the children’s wing. 

“Go back to bed, Sara, please,” Tommy pleaded, running after the Duchess. 

Sara’s eyes widened as she shut herself back in her room. Tommy heard his bedroom door creak open and a frustrated grunt from the Duchess. “Where is she, Tommy? Thought she might like to see me,” she said, pulling his suit jacket closer around her shoulders. He wondered to himself when she had managed to pull that on. 

“She wouldn’t, she’s fast asleep by now and she’s a bear when she’s woken up, please, let’s go back downstairs,” Tommy pleaded as she began to empty bullets from the chamber of his gun. “What’re you doing?” He asked. 

“Something we do in Russia,” she said breathily, turning the chamber before setting the barrel back in place, cocking the gun back and lifting it to her temple. 

“Don’t do this, please,” Tommy said, a hand out towards her. 

“It makes me feel alive!” She said, finger on the trigger, squeezing. 

“No!” Tommy screamed, wrestling the gun away from her. He knocked the gun from her hands, and as he did, she grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards her, the gun clattering to the floor. She pulled him flush against her, their bodies toppling over onto the bed, her lips crashing against his. 

“Oh, Tommy!” She gasped when he pulled himself free from her grasp, his hands on her throat—squeezing—tightly. “How did you know?” She asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. 

He removed his hands from her throat with an exasperated huff. “I don’t want you,” he snarled, standing up. 

She giggled. “Only have eyes for your wife, hm? Is that because of guilt, duty or do you really love her that much?” 

Tommy stood in the middle of his room, panting, staring at her in disbelief. Neither of them had heard the door creak open further, Bee standing in the doorway on her crutches. “Answer the question, Thomas,” she demands. 

Their necks snap to look towards her and Tommy’s heart dropped into his stomach. “Mrs. Shelby! I was hoping to see you!” Tatiana beamed, walking towards Bee. 

She lifts the crutch from your good leg up towards Tatiana, the end of it pressing into her bare stomach. “Don’t come a millimeter closer,” she tells her, jaw clenched. Tatiana stops, the elated expression in her eyes falling. “Thomas, answer the question.” 

“Sweetheart, I—“ he stammered. “You know it’s because I love you,” he tells her, taking a step towards you. Bee turns away to walk back down the hall. “Fuck,” he grinds out, following behind her. “My love,” he pleads, cutting her off from her path to her room. “My love, please listen to me,” he says as she lets a crutch crunch down on his foot. He let out a pained yelp as she continued to walk. “It’s not what it looks like,” he says. 

“I am still in this house, Thomas! If you want to fuck another woman, how about you do it when I’m at least not in it, hm?” She tells him, slamming the door in his face. His heart sank when he heard her turn the lock. 

“Darling! Darling, please. Please,” he croaked, throat dry from all the yelling. He slid down the door, sitting down outside the door. 

Hours later, the corridors of the Shelby Manor were dimly illuminated by the orange glow of sunrise. His back was stiff, legs aching. His only source of heat was Scout, who had settled down next to him sometime in the night after the Duchess had fallen asleep in your shared bed. He heard little footsteps pattering down the hallway. “Daddy?” His son, Peter, called. 

Tommy sat up, wiping the drool from the side of his mouth. Scout grunted, shifting her position on the floor. “Hello, son,” Tommy said. 

“What are you doing out here? Mummy’s in there,” Peter said, pointing to the door. 

“Yes, well, Mummy is very upset with me, so she doesn’t want to see me right now,” Tommy explained, straightening Peter’s pajamas. “What’re you doing up?” 

“I had some scary dreams last night,” Peter explained. “You were shouting in my dreams.”

Tommy’s blood ran cold knowing what Peter heard weren’t dreams. He pulled his son close to his chest, pressing a kiss against the top of his head. 

After safely tucking Peter back in his bed, Tommy returned to his bedroom, where the Duchess lay in your shared bed naked. “Good morning,” she nearly purred, stretching her limbs. 

“Get out,” he barked. 

“Waited for you all night,” she said again. 

“Get out!” He screamed. 

She looked at him, gathering her clothes from the various corners of the bed. “Remember, Mr. Shelby,” she whispered. “You may kill the priest. You have my permission.” 

Tommy wasn’t sure what scared him more—not remembering the conversation she was referring to, or the look in her eyes. 

Bee’s rage was boiling over—a new sort of rage she didn’t realize she had the potential for. It was Tommy’s fault she was in this position and he was inviting other women over to have an affair under the same roof. 

A bitter seed had been planted in her heart after she’d regained consciousness enough to remember everything. The love she’d harbored for her husband had turned to enmity. Bordering on hatred. She hated the feeling, but couldn’t shake it. She was almost dead. 

She’d refused to open the door that morning before he went out for the day. Refused to acknowledge him. Refused to speak to him. 

It would haunt her as one of her greatest regrets. 

Bee received a phone call from Ada. Panicked. “Bee, Bee, oh, please, please, you’ve got to help me!” Ada screeched into the phone. 

“Ada, Ada what is it?” Bee asks. It had been nearly two days since she’d seen Tommy with the Duchess. 

“It’s Tommy—he’s—oh, Bee, I don’t know what’s happened to him. He’s in the hospital his skull is cracked and he’s bleeding out of his ears and nose and—“ she rambled on, tears and sobs making it difficult for her to be understood. “Just please, please come here, please,” she sobbed. 

“Where is he?” Bee asks.  

Ada tells you which hospital. “Please come, Bee. I know you’re angry with him for all this but he won’t say a word unless it’s your name, please,” Ada cries. “What if he’s dying?” She asks. 

“I’m coming, Ada. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Bee tells her. She yells down the hall for Frances, who comes running. “Please tell Simmons to get the car ready, I have to go to the hospital.” 

Bee walks as quickly as she can manage through the halls of the Birmingham hospital, the cries of patients making her heart beat a little faster than it probably should have been, seeing as she was still recovering herself. Panic had overwhelmed her on the drive to the hospital. Worry. Worry that if her beloved was dying-she would have spent his last few days being cross with him for something that should have been forgiven already. Guilt ate at her.

She found Tommy’s room, Ada sitting in the chair next to his bed, holding his hand. His face was bruised and bloody, eyes swollen and his entire body soaked with sweat. 

Tears fill her eyes immediately. “Thomas,” she breathes, hobbling as quickly as she can over to him, pain shooting through her heart, her leg, her mind. “Oh, my Darling, my sweetheart, what happened?” She asks, sitting on the edge of his bed, cupping her hand to his cheek softly, fingers immediately sticky from the blood. 

“My love,” he manages to croak out. “Is it you?” 

“Yes, yes, Thomas, it’s me,” she says, taking his hand, running his fingers over her diamond ring. He often ran his fingers over it absentmindedly, knowing every curve and prong. “It’s me, I’m here now,” she tells him. He takes her hand, his grip weak. 

“You’re here?” He says in a small voice. A voice so small she almost didn't recognize it. 

“Yes, I’m here,” she says. She looks over at Ada, confused at the glassed over look in his eyes. 

“He can’t see,” Ada said through tears. 

“Thomas,” she cries, tears spilling down her cheeks, some falling to his chest. 

“Eh, no crying, please. Don’t be angry with me, eh?” He says weakly. 

“I’m not, I’m not, Sweetheart, I’m not,” she cooed. He shakes, body cold and clammy to the touch. “Are you cold?” She asks. 

“No,” he grunts. “‘M hot,” he tells her, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Okay,” she says, reaching for a cloth on the side table, soaking it in the cool water. She gently runs it over his forehead, gently moving to his face, wiping the sweat from his skin. “Just rest, my love, please,” she tells him gently. 

“Don’t leave,” he says quietly. 

“I won’t. I won’t, my love, I promise,” she tells him, pressing a kiss to his hand before he falls unconscious. 

[gatutor]

Spencer Tracy-Katharine Hepburn "Su otra esposa" (Desk set) 1957, de Walter Lang.

[lesbiancolumbo]

1957 :3

this will not, i suspect, get you the response you were hoping for! but lots of goodies here.

the pajama game (george abbott, stanley donen), the blue sky maiden (yasuzō masumura), desk set (walter lang), 3:10 to yuma (delmer daves), tokyo twilight (yasujiro ozu)

[sunshineacd]

happy wednesday, lovelies! <3 words were suddenly able to be a thing for me again lately and so in result, we get to work on the letters to juliet au again, so yay!

Henry watches, chin rested in the palm of his hand, as the steam rises from his mug of tea. His other hand rests idly near his open laptop, a blank document opened and the cursor blinking mercilessly at him. Next to that was a stack of letters, delivered to him just that afternoon, full of words of love and admiration. He only wished he could enact the same words onto the page before him.

Outside, the weather had turned quickly, dark clouds rolling in and bursts of thunder rumbling before the sky opened up and now rain pelted his windows. During this time, David had tucked himself up on the floor near Henry’s feet, for his own comfort and reassurance just as much as Henry’s. 

A particularly loud crack of thunder sounds, startling Henry out of his trance and he lets out a long breath, leaning back in his chair and rubbing at his eyes. He leans forward once again, resting his forearms on the table before reaching and slamming the laptop closed, finally silencing the damned cursor. 

The letters and others love stories will have to suffice for right now. 

Henry reaches for another stack, tucked into the small basket and begins to tear them open. He had never imagined this, becoming one of the Secretaries of Juliet, but after his publishing career had come to a startling standstill and the desperation for his hands to write words; the opportunity had sort of fallen directly into his lap. He was a romantic at heart really and if he couldn’t write one, couldn’t have his own love, he would help others find theirs. It was only fair. 

The thing was, he has grown used to being alone. Of course, he had people in his life, his family would often visit along with his best mate, Pez and there a few of the townspeople that he has gotten acquainted with. But he had begun to make peace with the fact there probably wouldn’t be anything long term for him. He figures that, perhaps, it is simpler that way.

The fourth envelope, Henry quickly discovers, is not like any of the others. While most were crisp and white, had been dated far more recently, this one was aged and tattered. The date at the top corner reads 1957 and the address line tells him that it has been received from Austin, Texas. Henry swallows hard, staring at it as if it’s going to fall to a thousand pieces if he’s not careful. How were they only receiving this now? How did something so fragile and important get so lost? 

Henry carefully rips it open, pulling the dated piece of paper out and unfolding it, beginning to read the curled words that had been written, an ache settling deep within his chest. Sometimes he wonders if he absorbs far too much, feels the heartbreak of each letter as if it’s his own. But he consistently pushes that thought aside, tries to remember that his words enact change in whatever way they are needed. They help people to move forward, or be brave, or allow love into their lives. That is what he’s always wanted. Allowing himself to feel these things allows him to understand. 

He pulls a fresh stretch of paper from the pile set on the corner of his desk and grabs a pen, immediately allowing the ink to seep into the surface of the paper, the words seemingly flowing from him. It was why he loved letter writing so much, why he would never give it up. 

It had grown far too important to him.

[eleanor-of-fuquitaine]

"You go along thinking tomorrow something wonderful's going to happen, you're not gonna be alone anymore. And then one day you realise it's all over - you're out of circulation. It all happened, and you didn't even know when it happened."

— Desk Set (1957)

[doumekiss]

[norashelley]

1932, 1957, 1963

1932 Grand Hotel Three Wise Girls Smilin’ Through Three on a Match Love Me Tonight

1957 Desk Set Funny Face Until They Sail Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison

1967 Charade It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World The Thrill of It All Move Over, Darling

[nearmidnightannex]

The 10 best librarians on screen?

The 10 best librarians on screen (bfi.org.uk) Staff at the [British Film Institute] Reuben Library nominate their top 10 librarians in film and television. 5 February 2016 By Emma Smart, Sarah Currant

Think of a librarian and chances are a certain image will form: generally female, early middle age, neat yet frumpy clothes, glasses and possibly hair scraped back into a tight bun. This is an image that the past 100 years of cinema has done little to counteract, and the moving image archives are littered with painful examples of the ‘spinster librarian’ type: bitter, dried-out husks surveying their reading rooms with a gimlet eye, and generally acting as killjoys when any fun appears on the horizon.

The reality couldn’t be more different!

So we’ve handpicked those screen representations that contradict the stereotypes and prove what those of us in the know knew all along. Librarians are pretty cool....

[NB: list edited due to yr humble editor's taste, what has actually been seen, and to limit post length. If you want to see the complete list and accompanying text, click on the link up top -- ed.]

Bunny Watson (Katharine Hepburn) – Desk Set (1957) - Katharine Hepburn’s wonderfully acerbic Bunny Watson is the librarian that everyone wants to be when they finally grow up. She loves a drink and a party, and is in possession of both a fabulous wardrobe and a wicked sense of humour. These are little-known yet essential qualities for any would-be information professional. More importantly however, she is a consummate professional with a degree and postgraduate qualification, she has an encyclopaedic knowledge of her collection, and an absolutely formidable memory. She was a walking Google before Google was even a thing.

Marian Paroo (Shirley Jones) – The Music Man (1962) - Possibly the quintessential representation of what most people think of when they picture a librarian, Shirley Jones’s prim and proper librarian Marian has a special place in the hearts of the BFI Reuben Library team. She may come across as officious and unyielding, not afraid of the librarian’s ubiquitous defence against noise pollution (the crisply enunciated “Shh!”), but underneath the surface of that devoutly professional exterior is a passionate woman waiting to be unleashed. And when she figures out con-man Harold for what he really is, yet again it’s a librarian who saves the day.

Andy Dufresne (Tim Robbins) – The Shawshank Redemption (1994) - The only innocent man in Shawshank prison, Andy Dufresne built up the kind of library most of us would be proud to work in. His sheer persistence and single-mindedness in repeatedly asking for funds and donations from the local authorities proves that librarians, on film as in real life, are a tenacious bunch undeterred by bureaucracy. Tim Robbins instils the role with steely determination hidden beneath the well-mannered exterior, whether it’s painstakingly carving a chess set for Red from the rocks in the prison yard, or building a library up from nothing. Robbins is a librarian we can believe in.

Mary (Parker Posey) – Party Girl (1995) - Arrested after throwing an illegal party in her apartment, 24-year-old Mary is bailed out by her godmother Judy, a professional librarian in the New York Public Library service. In order to repay her debt, Mary is given a job as a library assistant and, after some false starts and personality clashes, she soon becomes the fastest shelver in the place. Party Girl not only captures the spirit of mid-90s New York and the party scene of the time; it is also deeply respectful of the library profession. There are several scenes that will have librarians punching the air with righteous joy – not least when Mary loudly berates a patron for failing to adhere to the Dewey Decimal shelving system. Party Girl is certainly proof that media stereotypes of librarians are just that.

[andileighwrites]

We Ran and Found Home - Chapter 5 | Carolyn (May 1957) BOOK PREVIEW

It was the final morning Carolyn would spend in her childhood home before being sent off to Bradley Diamond's Finishing School for Rising Young Women that resided within the Sequoia Bay Hotel. Carolyn was familiar with the finishing school. Her family lived about a 15 minute bus ride away from the grand building. Carolyn sat up in bed and slowly tossed the covers off of her. Her bedroom was cold that morning as she thought about her parent's obsession with Sequoia Bay. She recalled that for several months her parents attended every event they could at the destination hotel. They went there for drinks and dinner for weekends on end, hoping to rub elbows with the upper class patrons. While her parents were out socializing, Carolyn would remain home to watch her sisters and she would handle the cooking and cleaning. She didn't mind and was thankful that her mother didn't want to drag her along to these horrid events.

Carolyn got dressed as slow as she could. Her mother had picked out her attire for the big day and had it waiting for Carolyn on a cedar chest. She didn't feel much that morning; other than the chill in the stiff air of the bedroom. Carolyn finished dressing and fixed her hair. She was nearly ready and expelled a deep sigh before rising from her oak vanity. She stared into the mirror and examined her hair, finished applying her soft makeup, and practiced her smile. She looked around her bedroom one final time, silently saying goodbye to her writing desk and books. She couldn't take all of them with her so she settled on The Fellowship of the Ring. She picked up the book and held it close to her.

"Maybe Mother could deliver the other books to me later," she thought while leaving behind The Two Towers and The Return of the King.

Carolyn turned the knob of her bedroom door. She usually could feel the coolness of the brass on her fingertips but this morning she was wearing brand new white gloves. The final piece of her outfit that tied everything together. With her teeth, she removed the glove from her left hand while clutching her book in her other hand. She touched the doorknob and silently stared at the door. After a moment of saying her final goodbye to the room she grew up in, Carolyn dressed her hand back up with the glove and descended the stairs to meet her parents in the kitchen.

"Good morning, dear," her father said when she walked into the heart of the home that was warmer than her bedroom. Her father was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and her mother was cooking eggs, bacon, and sausages. The wood burning stove crackled while it sustained the warmth in the bright kitchen. The curtains were drawn open and Carolyn could see the light rain pattering the window.

"Good morning," she said to her father. "Good morning, Mother."

"Good morning indeed, Carolyn. I have your luggage packed and waiting at the front door, my darling."

"Thank you." Carolyn stepped out of the kitchen to find the suitcase. She unlatched the top and briefly looked at the clothing packed away. She made room for her book and closed the suitcase back up. She then returned to the kitchen for breakfast. The kitchen table wobbled slightly when Carolyn sat down. Her father was pulled away from his newspaper when he noticed his coffee shake on the table.

"With poise, dear," he said.

Carolyn shot back an awkward smile.

"Aren't you excited, dear?" her mother asked while setting down Carolyn's breakfast in front of her. Carolyn remained silent for a moment as her mother went back to the stove to fix her own plate. She then joined her husband and eldest daughter at the table.

"Father?" Carolyn said.

"Yes?" He didn't look up from his newspaper.

"Do I really have to go?"

"Of course you do. This is going to be a marvelous opportunity for you. This school is going to teach you how to be a proper lady. You will learn skills that every woman needs to sustain a marriage and children." Her father smiled while taking a sip from his mug.

"Carolyn," her mother said, "this is something I wish my family could have afforded for me. Your father and I worked very hard to be able to save up tuition for you to go to school. You will also get an academic education while you are there. Don't fret, darling."

"A husband wants a good woman that is well-versed in home economics," her father added. "Elegance and proper manners are essential for young ladies to succeed and live happy lives."

Her mother simply nodded.

Carolyn scarfed down her eggs and even though she didn't mean to slurp her orange juice, she did and it interrupted her father's morning read.

"Table etiquette, Carolyn."

Her parents walked her to the bus stop that was nearby. Carolyn had made this walk to the bus stop numerous times. She liked to travel into town to see friends and go to bookstores and the local library. This walk was disheartening.

"Stand up straight, Carolyn," her mother whispered to her. "You are representing our family and they must know that we are a family of prestige."

Carolyn straightened her back as she carried her heavy luggage.

"And what if the public discovers you and Father are facing the wrath of debt collectors?"

"Do not speak of such things. It is not the business of everyone else. Even through struggles we must show grace and poise. With you attending Bradley Diamond's, our significance shines."

She said goodbye to her parents as she boarded the city bus and waved to them as the bus pulled away from the curb. It would be a year before she could see her parents or sisters again. She didn't have the chance to say goodbye to her sisters. They had gone off to school early that morning. Carolyn wondered if there would be any chance of leaving the Sequoia Bay Hotel within that year. Possibly to peruse the shops in town or to visit her family or anyone at all. From what she knew, students were not allowed to. Their transformations were to be treated as a surprise to the parents. She grew worried at the idea of entrapment within the confines of the hotel, forced to remain hidden behind the reserved walls of Bradley Diamond's Finishing School for Rising Young Women.

...

Copyright ©️ Andi Leigh, 2023

...

Chapter 6 will be posted tomorrow! I hope you've enjoyed reading the book preview so far.

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

#original fiction #floornight

It's been a while

Earlier this year, at the point that my attention had begun to wander a little and I felt the impulse to make a note of the days and the date in my calendar as if it was something that I had done already, it occurred to me that I hadn't been keeping an up-to-date record of the days I had been staying awake. This was a new low, and so, as a form of self-flagellation and atonement, I decided to attempt to do something about this by setting an alarm on my phone and staying awake for the day when the alarm went off.

I had not yet noticed that my sleep was getting more and more disturbed by visions and dreams. I suppose this might not be too surprising, as I had spent much of this past year getting less and less sleep due to the stress of moving and other such things. Nonetheless, the fact that I did not notice that I was having increasingly vivid, disturbing, and vivid dream-like memories of the night before until it had already happened did come as quite a surprise.

And, the more I did this, the more I found that my ability to remember the actual content of the past day of my life had also become rather foggy. The days blurred together. There were long, long spans of time during which everything felt like the same sort of indistinct mess. These spans of time could have lasted from minutes to weeks, or even longer. It was only during the actual night-times that this fog lifted, but the morning after seemed just as hazy.

[begin log]

Jan. 8, 2020: Today I have woken up at 4:42 PM. I have been awake for just over 14 hours.

Jan. 8, 2018: This morning I woke up at 11:25 PM. It is 5:30 AM. I have been awake for 19 hours. I have not eaten any food.

Jan. 8, 2013: It is 5:39 AM. I have been awake for 16.5 hours. I am still in bed. I have yet to eat.

Jan. 12, 2012: This morning, I got up at 7:11 AM. I have been awake for 18 hours.

Jan. 12, 2007: This morning, I got up at 9:31 AM, and I have been awake for 18 hours. I have not eaten.

Jan. 12, 2001: It is 10:16 AM. I have been awake for 17 hours.

Jan. 12, 1992: It is 11:22 AM. I have been awake for 17 hours.

Jan. 10, 1991: I get up at 5:24 AM. I have been awake for 16.5 hours.

Jan. 6, 1991: I get up at 4:39 AM. I have been awake for 16 hours. I have not eaten yet.

Jan. 6, 1990: I get up at 3:33 AM. I have been awake for 16 hours. I have not eaten yet.

Jan. 6, 1969: It is 4:23 PM. I get up at 2:15 PM. I have been awake for 18 hours. I have not eaten yet.

Jan. 6, 1963: It is 8:07 PM. I am about to go to bed, and I have been awake for just over 18 hours. I have not eaten yet.

Jan. 9, 1963: I get up at 3:35 AM. I have been awake for 17 hours. I have not eaten.

Jan. 10, 1963: I get up at 3:56 PM. I have been awake for 18 hours. I have not eaten.

Jan. 4, 1962: I get up at 6:38 AM. I have been awake for 17.5 hours. I have not eaten.

Jan. 3, 1960: I get up at 1:15 PM. I am at my desk, and I have been awake for 16 hours. I have not eaten yet.

Jan. 1, 1960: I get up at 8:13 AM. I have been awake for 17.5 hours. I have not yet eaten anything.

Jan. 1, 1957: I get up at 10:14 AM. I have been awake for 18 hours. I have yet to eat.

Jan. 12, 1956: I get up at 9:23 AM. I have been awake for 18 hours. I have not eaten anything yet.

Jan. 12, 1953: I get up at 9:36 AM. I have been awake for 18 hours. I have not had anything to eat.

Jan. 5, 1952: I get up at 9:49 AM. I have been awake for 17.5 hours. I have eaten nothing.

Jan. 2, 1952: I get up at 6:51 PM. I have been awake for 17 hours. I have eaten nothing.

Jan. 1, 1951: I get up at 8:38 AM. I have been awake for 18 hours. I have yet to eat anything.

Jan. 9, 1951: I get up at 9:42 AM. I have been awake for 18 hours.

Jan. 7, 1950: I get up at 5:33 PM. I have been awake for 18 hours.

Jan. 8, 1950: I get up at 7:44 AM. I have been awake for 18 hours.

Jan. 5, 1949: I get up at 7:57 AM. I have been awake for 18 hours.

Jan. 4, 1949: I get up at 9:08 AM. I have been awake for 19 hours.

Jan. 3, 1948: I get up at 9:19 AM. I have been awake for 18.5 hours. I have not eaten anything yet.

Jan. 2, 1948: I get up at 9:32 AM. I have been awake for 17 hours.

Jan. 1, 1948: I get up at 9:33 AM. I have been awake for 18.5 hours. I have eaten nothing yet.

[end log]

(I was going to write a post about this chapter when I was going to post it, but since that chapter is in that part of Floornight that I think about a lot less than the others, and I don't want to lose track of what I'm talking about, I'm just going to post this and link it here rather than trying to write a whole new post.)

I have a few notes about this:

more It feels like there has been a lot of work done on REM sleep recently, as a result of this phenomenon of dreamy memories. I haven't read much of this work, which I am now too tired to do. I have read that a common phenomenon where people who sleep with their lights on can remember dreams, which sounds sort of like my problem, though I guess only if my sleep light does something else.

But I don't know how to find out how to turn that on. In the last two years, I've learned the hard way that turning on the light is something that needs to be delayed, when I am actually falling asleep, and delayed, again when I'm waking up. I think if I knew how to turn on the light on command, it would not be an issue any more.

Also, I have no idea why I am falling asleep when