#but she dresses like 1940s feminine

[ang3lofdivinity]

༘⋆𓍢ִ໋🌷 𝙵𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Relationship(s): Charlie Morningstar + Vaggie (romantic), kinda Yan!Alastor + Fallen Angel!Marionette!(implied)fem!Reader (platonic or romantic, whatever you want), slight Husk + Angel dust

Genre: Fluff :))

Warnings/notes: Spoilers(?) For Hazbin hotel, reader is able to make plants and stuff, reader is decently human and fought in war, they fell from heaven too, Emily sees the reader as a “mother” figure, death mentions, Alastor being alastor, Angel being himself as always, Alastor has been made.. somewhat yandere, Drugs and other hell stuff mentioned, ooc? Suggestive content (mostly from Angel), Cannibalism, toxic dependency, SWEARINGGGG

Format: Long/Short stories + Headcanons

A/N: GOD. SCHOOL SUCKKSKSKSKSKKSKS. Sorry i’ve been gone for a bit again- sickness is very much not fun. Anyways, here’s an late Valentines present for you all featuring our favorite deer demon! :)) - Also, you can just see Niffty and Charlie calling you a female (if you aren’t) an accident on their perception— HUGGEEEE inspo taken for an idea/convo in this from @/princekeerys :))

Reminder: YOU are responsible for your content consumption!

There’s a reason why you’re here now.

Everyone is.

Perhaps heaven made a mistake when they first allowed you to enter heaven after your death, allowed you to live amongst angels and other pure beings whom had never done a single horrible act in their lives- or well, since their creation.

The morals that they purveyed were so.. impeccable, granular too.

Everything here was having a pernicious effect on you, these individuals were so much better than you. They didn’t take the life away from others without a second thought. They didn’t grow up to become a weapon. They didn’t feel wrong for the things they did in their lives or just in the past-

They weren’t like you. A monster.

It’s basically an antithesis. Between you, and the ‘winners’.

But you tried your best to fit in. And it worked.. for the most part..

You decided to pick up working as a gardener and freelance artist, which was.. quite fun. You felt genuinely happy after so long where you have been deprived of it, not allowed it, and not given it before. You actually managed to make it to a high ranking position, The Head Archangel.

“(____)?” A feminine voice speaks up from behind you, it’s gentle- dulcet. It’s like they’re afraid to speak up in the slightest. You pause, removing yourself from your memories. That’s right— you’re painting. You place down your brush into the cup filled with paint water as you shift around on your stool, looking at the woman.

Catherine Stockholms, that’s her name. She’s a young 18-year-old girl who died in the 1940’s due to a train going on the wrong track and crashing into the one she was riding that day. Her light blonde hair, cut short and curly in the back, frames her face with the side parts gracefully reaching just at her shoulders, slightly longer than the back. Her hair is adorned with a dark purple headband featuring a bow. She has pale yellow eyes which are nervously looking around while she starts hugging herself.

She wears a white collared shirt with sleeves that extend slightly above her chest, ending in a square-like shape near the shoulders and neck. Layered over the shirt is a charming dark purple dress that falls to her knees, boasting puffy sleeves and a skirt that puffs out, followed with a nonchalantly worn black coat from her era with some intricate details of flowers vines on it. Her attire is completed with white socks adorned with lace and simple black mary janes.

“Good evening, Catherine.” You say with all of the warmth you can, smiling as you tilt your head to the side.

“Is there something I can do for you?” Tone quizzical as you ask your question, causing Catherine to tense.

She stayed silent for a good few seconds before she answered your question.

“..(____)” She started again as her eyes nervously darted around the room.

“You’re being taken to.. the Angelic Court.”

Eyes widened, your mouth went agape as your breath hitched. No. There’s actually no way. What have you done?.. What’s going on??

“May.. I ask why?..” you mutter your words, almost slurring them as you try to hold back the other words and tears threatening to spill out. You don’t think you’ve done anything wrong… unless… perhaps they figured out their judgment was incorrect—

“They haven’t told me but- they want you to arrive in an hour from now. Today.” Catherine fiddled with a piece of her hair, face painted with worry.

“..I see. Alright. Thank you for letting me know.”

Catherine simply nodded before heading off, leaving you all alone with your thoughts as they raced. Causing you to slowly stand up and start pacing around, hugging yourself. No. Nonononono, please don’t do this now. Not now.

Why does this have to happen now? But hey, at least they could correct their judgment. You would no longer be in a place where you did not deserve to be in from the start ever since you died so many years ago.

Your eyes drifted off to your violin, custom made just for you. Flowers all over, intricate details engraved into the instrument as you stride on over to it within the corner of the room, picking it up. A shaky sigh escaped your lips as you tried your best to keep a cool-head, fingers coiled around the fretted neck of the instrument while the other went to circular body’s strings.

Not playing anything as you simply just tried to remember the good moments as you played it, the times where you made flora flourish and beauteous. Dying plants now brought back to life due to your abilities, that made you feel like something- it gave you a purpose. Something you needed to live.

..God, you hope this is all a fever dream.

You’ve heard how Hell is dirty, filled with disgusting freaks who didn’t deserve the true salvation of Heaven.

But perhaps you should be down there, after all, you killed so many..

Yes… you deserve to be burning with all of those same sinners.

. . .

“(____).” Sera loudly speaks, her voice firm as she looks down upon you. You’re in the supreme courtroom of Heaven and the operating place of the Heavenly Court. The courthouse is quiet, however there are the occasional whispers between the angels as they look down at you in shame, anger, or sympathy.

You try to control your tears as you dip your head down low, gripping your upper-arm as you dig your nails into the flesh of your skin.

“Yes, Madame?” You pathetically utter out as you tried to relax yourself with the thought of you being able to stay here. But either way, it would still be a harsh situation..

Doubt gnaws at your soul, questioning whether you truly belong among the pure and righteous. The fear of being exposed as a true sinner, unworthy of such divine tranquility, consumes your thoughts.

Yet, as you contemplate the alternative, the prospect of hell sends shivers down your spine. The thought of being surrounded by vile beings, perverse and wicked, fills you with revulsion. The idea of enduring torment alongside the depraved and despicable is a horrifying prospect.

“We have found that you are…” The Seraphim pauses for a moment before she continues.

And you almost fall to your knees.

“Guilty, of the sin of Pride.”

"I understand, Madame," you spoke softly as your heart weighed heavy as you watched the angelic court dismiss and the whispers among the decision grew. Guards surrounded you, all with perfect posture as they motioned for you to follow them as hands were put in cuffs.

You simply nodded and you were escorted towards the pearly gates. Your gaze was avoiding everyones as you bit your bottom lip, trying to suppress everything you felt in the moment like you had for years. You’ll remember the feeling of the soft clouds beneath your feet as you walked through these gates the first time, truly a beautiful feeling.

Emily, the second seraphim, slowly walked over to you with her head lowered. She stood there for a moment as she stared at you while the guards stopped in their tracks, waiting for Emily to say or do something. She was the first person you looked at directly, and just looking at your despair-ridden face.. She just collapsed into your arms, she couldn’t even utter anything besides sobs and hiccups.

"There is no need to cry, dear. It'll be alright," you comforted the best you could, a smile plastering itself on your lips as you awkwardly managed to slightly hug her back. Emily took a deep breath before pulling back, still hiccuping as she handed over your violin.

"I love you.." Emily mumbled through tears. With nods of farewell from the angels, you were whisked away once more, now standing tall at the heavenly gates.

"Goodbye, dearest friend," Sera's voice trembled as tears welled up in her eyes.

"I will miss you too, Madame," You replied with a nod, before you stood near the edge of the giant fluffy cloud that held you up, along with the entire of Heaven. Near the edge, handcuffs forcing your hands to remain behind you just in case before you fell backwards.

You plummet down, it is that of beauty intertwined with tragedy. It looks like a falling star. The descent feels inevitable, as if you're being drawn inexorably into a hellish abyss. Doubt creeps in: do you truly deserve this fate? But nevertheless, you are destined to crash into the unknown location below, a city.

..city?

Yes, Pentagram City.

The sky is overcome with a red sky- dark to light, a sun far too bright, no wait. That’s where the angels come down here for the extermination. The city is separated into different sections, as far as you can tell, 7 of them. 7 deadly sins.

You wonder if Lucifer is still here. Alive.

Well… he has to be!

Nevertheless, as you crash with a loud smash of nearby items and such, you can’t find the energy to get up. Your once purely white wings, fluffy and all now covered in dirt along with whatever feculent things from beneath you and with a slight ash gray hue. It feels like you’ve broken something in your body, or maybe multiple things as your once glowing halo that hovers above your head lowers- slightly cracking.

Who knew it could do that.

Taking a guess, you’re probably in the pride ring. What did you even do that was so prideful?…

Although struggling a bit, you manage to lift your head up and survey around.

These.. demons have their businesses in these places, where it seems like they’re allowed to sell everything from cigarettes to drugs. How unholy…

There is a Clock Tower located in the city that seems to be glimmering with a gold shine, which serves as a counter for the 365 days that pass until the Exorcists return for the next Extermination. Yes, you know about the extermination, you once heard Lieutenant Lute speaking of it before to Adam.

Are you to be killed like the rest of these filthy creatures? Criminals, drug dealers?

You don’t wanna get up. Scratch that, you can’t. Your body won’t allow you to do anything besides breathe. This hurts, it hurts so bad, why does this have to happen to you—

Writhing around for a moment, you manage to utter out some words to yourself;

“Am I.. really allowed to live?”

“Just keep living.”

“But am I allowed? Why.. why must this happen to me, they should’ve just sent me here in the first place.”

“(____), stop. Please. Live, even after all of these horrible acts.”

“But-“

“No. No, I will not have any refutes here, (____). Live, for all of us.”

“..Yes, sir.”

You stumble upwards on your feet, managing with a motion of your hand to put your violin in the safe inter-dimensional pocket dimension, just for you to place all of your items into it, safely. The feeling of your wings heavy behind you as you come to find you’re in a hidden alleyway, filled with cigarettes, condoms— filthy sinners.

Fighting the urge to cry, you intake a sharp breath. An angel would not cry over this. But it doesn’t really work.

But you’re alone, you have no idea about anything in this place of what it’s like, how the people are, you can only imagine all the terrible things they’ve done to be punished and sent down here of all places. Hell is just the definition of unholy, it’s the exact opposite of heaven. The only thing going through your head is to cry, scream, try to get heaven to take you back and get out of this horrible place.

But then again, don’t you deserve this?

You don’t know anymore.

It’s all hurting your head.

It hurts to think about, and the tears which have now started slowly pouring down your cheeks sting.

It didn’t work.

This is pathetic.

Your body reacts before you can do anything else, running in some random direction. You can just feel the millions of eyes staring you down like predators carefully marking down their prey, burning through you. It doesn’t feel safe here, it’s hell after all.

The trial had to have been all a lie, fabricated with evidence that was made up. You haven’t done anything prideful, nor lustful, not even envious or any of those other sins that ended mortal souls or other angels whom were truly guilty of the crime. But you— no, you weren’t them. You aren’t guilty.

Someone must’ve made something up!

That trial was unfair, arbitrary, unjustifiable.

Tears spill as you’re too busy with your thoughts and your legs almost fail on you a few times due to it, well, it does happen when you just can’t do it anymore. Hugging yourself pathetically as you fail to notice how luminescent, thin yet strong strings are tightly wrapped around your ankles, neck, hips, and arms. Yes, hell uses some of the worst things you feared or hated in life, and it’s using the idea of a marionette for you. These strings really won’t do much, but they’re not entirely safe. They just make things.. difficult.

That’s unfortunate..

Just another soon to be hindrance.

“…..’lo??”

Someone’s speaking, but the ringing drumming through your ears is so loud, it’s hard to hear them—

“Hello?..” A feminine voice tries to capture your attention, even going as far as to snap her fingers in front of your face. Your head immediately raises to stare up at her, as she looks panicked.



“Sorry- so sorry! You just..” She stuttered out an apology, but you weakly waved your hand.

“..No worries. It’s okay.” The woman in front of you looks relieved as a sigh escapes past her lips.

The woman is very tall, and slender. She has pale white skin, her cheeks a rosy red that compliment her red eyes. She has long, blonde hair, mixed with a lighter blonde and even pink highlights, which is tied into a twice-banded low ponytail. Her blonde bangs flip to her left with a curl.

She has an untucked white, long-sleeved dress-shirt with a simple black bowtie. Over this she adorns a fitted red tuxedo jacket with pointed sleeves, dark-red lapels and a pair of red fitted dress pants. She wears black and white saddle shoes, which remind you of an older time in human history.

“I apologize- again,” she awkwardly laughs with a somewhat goofy smile on her face before leaning forward and holding out one of her hands to you, which shocks you. Aren’t demons in Hell supposed to be.. well, hellish?

“I’m Charlie! Charlie Morningstar!” As she introduces herself, you take her hand albeit hesitantly, lithe fingers wrap around your hand and she pulls you up. Her touch is gentle, although it feels like her nails are going to scrap you- they don’t. She seems.. too nice as of currently for her to hurt someone she just met.

“..Previous head Archangel, (____). It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Morningstar.” You know that last name. At least it feels like you do. As she lets go of you, you curtsy as Charlie’s cheeks heat up a bit while waving her hand dismissively at your actions.

“Same here! Um… would you mind telling me why you’re down here?..” Her tone is fearful almost as she inquires about your predicament.

“..Some fabricated trial where they found me guilty. But— I….” You halt, taking a deep breath and shaking your head.

“It’s nothing to be worried about.”

She understands before continuing to speak.

“Would you like to try and.. get back into heaven?” The blonde’s question intrigues you as you raise an eyebrow.

“I… that would be nice.” You reply almost monotonously as you lower your head, but the woman places her hands on your shoulders, causing you to tense a bit. But she doesn’t seem.. threatening, not in the way you imagined at least. So you loosen up a bit.

“Well, I think I have the solution for you, Head Archangel!”

“That would be?”

“Coming to my Hazbin Hotel to get redeemed!”

. . .

The idea was ludicrous- or well, close to that. But when you first arrived here, you weren’t expecting any of this to happen. You don’t regret coming here— too much, that is.

The hotel is tall, elaborate amalgamation of arched windows and turrets, one of which seems to be broken. It appears to be at least seven stories tall, with at least five of which being guest floors. An ocean liner, a sailing ship and a carousel litter both sides and appear to have been incorporated into the structure of the building itself; there is also a train with some tracks looping the first and second floor exterior. Located on the top right of the building is a small radio broadcasting room, used as the work area for… someone Charlie referred to as ‘Al’.

Many signs are displayed outside the hotel: One atop the entrance reminiscent of the Hazbin Hotel logo, a large pink one atop the building with the hotel's name in lights, a neon 'HOTEL' sign at the bottom right and atop the building where Al’s broadcast room is located, a small 'On-Air' sign is visible. Also located on the outer facade are various arrows pointing to the entrance and the broadcast room.

The entrance has a tented cover with a booth in the center reminiscent of a circus or theater ticket booth. In a sense, at least!

The interior however— theres wooden boards covering shattered windows, signs warning of asbestos, bloodied tools left lying around, and paintings are shown hanging off the walls. Much of the furniture in the lobby are strewn around haphazardly or remain boxed up in several large wooden crates.

The bar, why is there a bar in a place meant to discourage sin? You have no clue, uses skeletons, snakes, and bones as general themes, along with card suits and candles, and advertises itself as a casino. The area the bar in has glowing green wooden walls instead of the usual red wallpaper, given that it’s been sorta… merged with the lobby of the hotel.

Despite the shabby and poor condition of the hotel, the overall theme of the building remains ornate and regal, with stained glass windows, (semi?) lavish furniture, and generous usage of gold. Like the rest of Hell that you’ve seen so far, the hotel has a largely red color scheme.

Along with like.. almost every person here and around the place.

“Charlie?” A more deep, feminine voice calls out. You snap your head in the direction of- …Vagatha?

The silver haired woman appears to notice and remember you as well, due to her expression changing immediately.

Holy.

“Honey- please don’t attack her!!“ Charlie stammers, moving in front of you. But you gently push her aside and walk towards her.

“..Agatha?” She bites her bottom lip, giving you a look saying: l‘please.’ You know what she means by that.

“I haven’t seen you since.. well, life.” You almost trip over your words, given that you haven’t lied in about a few years or so. Despite that, she looks relieved. She gives you a small nod before looking at Charlie’s surprised expression.

“Right.”

“How.. OHHHH! Wait- you guys know each other from Earth!?” The Blonde exclaimed in absolute delight, cupping her cheeks. Vaggie quickly nodded in response, giving you a look of appreciation before walking over to Charlie who held her captive in a bear hug, babbling on about how she was so happy for the two of you.

You stared at them for a moment before bursting out into a fit of giggles. Vaggie pouted, but she really did love it. Even if it didn’t show.

You’re glad she found someone who made her happy. Even if it’s the daughter of Lucifer.

Wiping away the tears of delight from your eyes, you sigh contentedly before you started to survey around the hotel more while the two lovebird’s were being all adorable. Two figures- a black and white cat wiping down the bar, and a tall spider-like character were talking (mainly the spider one) as the cat seemed entirely done with everyone and everything.

Blinking repeatedly for a second, your head turns to the door of the hotel. You don’t know why, but you almost head towards it, you’re unsure why- but it almost feels like something is beckoning you to leave, to run out and leave this place.

But you can’t.

Why?

Simple: you don’t have anywhere else to go.

“ANOTHER WOMAN?” A voice shrieked out, causing you to recoil away and snap your head to the voice.

A smaller demon was looking up at you, a cyclops-like demon with pointed limbs, white skin and one large eye. Her eyes light yellow iris, hot-pink sclera with a yellow gradient were basically the size of atoms as she continued to stare. This is certainly awkward…

Her red-pink hair is kept into a slightly messy bob cut with swirls on each side, and a single light yellow streak located at the top. Her mouth has sharp light yellow teeth inside and black lips, and small hot-pink dots on each of the corners.

The bug-like woman wears a neckerchief around her neck, red-pink maid dress under a white apron with three hot-pink dripping splotches. She also wears long black gloves which covers most of her hands and arms, along with matching-colored tights.

“…Hello, Miss?” Choking out the words, you smile the best you can despite how tense you were.

“Nifty!!! It’s nice to meet you!” She squeals out, a large toothy grin on her face.

“Right well- Hello, Miss Nifty.” You bobbed a curtsy to the small woman who seems far too excited to be here.

“Y’know, I was kinda wishin’ you’d be a bad boy, but whatever! Anyways- this place is filthyyy so, I gotta kill more bugs to make sure they know not to come here anymore!” Niffty bounces up and down elatedly,

“Pardon?-“

“Okay, BYEEE!!” And with that, she was running off in the opposite direction.

Your breath hitches, and your body tensed. Is.. everything super fast here? Everything feels too fast for your liking.

You take a moment to breathe, trying to relax your tense body. It’ll all be okay… you just, need a moment to let everything sink in.

Striding over to a chair, you sat down and leaned your head back, making you stare at the ceiling. A sigh slips past your lips as you rest your hands in your lap. Surprisingly, the couch is.. much more softer and comfortable than you had imagined before.

“Why, another patron?” How many people are going to approach you today?

You tense, turning to the voice speaking- it sounds like that of an old radio…

A slender, darker brownish beige-skinned demon with a dapper appearance stands before you, a slightly messy, red-pink bob-styled hair with black tips and a pair of rather large, black-ended fur-tufts on top of his head which evokes the ears of a deer. On the back of his head is a brown undercut, while small black antlers protrude from the crown of his head.

Kinda cute… you admit.

The man wears a high-collared, fitted red pinstripe coat with darker-colored sleeves, strawberry-red cuffs, white-trimming on darker-red lapels, and the bottom hem being ragged. Under his coat is that of a strawberry-red dress-shirt with a black cross on the chest, and an accessorized black knotted bow tie with a strawberry-red center on the top front.

He has black gloves- are those his hands???… probably not. You hope.

Nevertheless, they have strawberry-red fingertips, black dress pants with cuffs the same color as he coat, and black heeled ankle boots with strawberry-red pointed toes, with his hands behind his back he’s holding a thin cane with a vintage styled microphone attached to it.

“..Good evening, Sir.” You say, voice drained even when you try to keep the politeness you still have left. A drowsy smile plastered its way on your face, attempting to straighten your posture. The man seems amused by your words and current situation as his smile gets ever so wider.

“Manners? My, what a rare thing to come across in Hell, mm?” He quips as he motions for you to stand up. You tilt your head in confusion as you leisurely rise up from your spot to stand up from the couch, and he approaches a bit closer before dipping down, grabbing your wrist while dipping down and kissing the back of your palm.

…

You don’t think you’ve ever blushed that much before.

A man has never done this to you before, when did this ever happen in time???? Does he just- do this whenever he meets someone new??? Why in heavens name is this attractive and why are you finding it so?????? What is going on..

It takes you a good long minute to process what just happened as the man straightens up his posture once more, letting your hand fall to your side. You can hear him laughing a bit at your flustered expression, making the blush become more apparent and darker in color.

“Now who are you, my dear?” The way he emphasized ‘my’ in his sentence was.. odd, but nevertheless: you didn’t comment on it.

“(____). It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” You curtesy at the man in respect despite your flustered state.

His smile grew wider in amusement and satisfaction- in a way— this is certainly something.

“And, you are, sir?”

“Alastor! Quite a pleasure to be meeting you, my dear, quite a pleasure!”

. . .

Well.. this place has started growing on you.

And the people too.

Charlie by far has been the friendliest to you, trying to get you comfortable over the few months you’ve arrived here. She hasn’t forced you to do anything, only given suggestions and her ideas, asking for your opinions, etc.

But you’ve taken the role of a musician for the hotel!

She could not be more overjoyed.

Vaggie and you don’t speak too much.. but have a friendly relationship. Any chance you got, you would also ask for her opinions on the music you’ve been working on, if it sounded good enough because.. Charlie would just be a bit vague in her rating, but Vaggie could be much more blunt and straightforward.

You’re thankful for that, musically that is.

Even if it might hurt your feelings sometimes, it’s better to know your mistakes.

Husk hasn’t interacted with you much, but has decided to give you a record for you to possibly use as a reference for a song, or even play it! That.. honestly gives you a bit of a confidence boost, given that he really doesn’t reveal much of his past to anyone.

But he trusts you enough to at least give you one of his favorite records!

You’ll make him proud, no matter the cost.

Angel Dust has attempted to make an advance or two upon you, flirting with you like he does everyone, but you’re a bit too awkward for that and instead decide to invite him into your room to listen to you play.

Genuinely? He’s impressed. That façade of being the porn-star that he is fizzes away a bit as he simply stares at you while you play on one of your instruments.

He might just get more fond of you.

Niffty is.. okay!! You find her to be quite adorable like.. 90% of the time, despite her habits with bugs. You try to help her clean sometimes, but most times it doesn’t work. Though the times when it does, she thanks you a lot! And you even let her test out some of your instruments.

As long as she doesn’t break them, or ruin them in any way. To which she promises you she won’t, and you hold it to her.

She enjoys your company quite a lot, though!

Sir Pentious is an interesting figure. A villain genuinely turned good- however, you don’t really see him often anymore. His little egg boys however, you truly want to adopt all of them! How could you not want to, they were simply so endearing!

He’s heard your music a bit, by passing near your room in the hotel, and he will admit that it is damn near relaxing to listen to you play and compose your pieces.

You’ll certainly try to interact with him more.

Alastor now… he’s quite the character! He was the second person who persuaded you into letting him hear you play your music (with the first being Charlie despite how scared you were.) He even gave you some songs that were some of his favorites to play!!

All of them were jazz, but you didn’t mind. They weren’t too bad, after-all!

However his behavior now has… ringed bells in your head.

Made you frightened.

You decided to ask Vaggie what she knew of him, and eventually told you his story. How he had gained all of his power from those overlords and deals..

It made you unnerved. How could someone of a mortal soul kill so many people???

And despite being an angel, why is he so interested in you?

You, for one, don’t consider yourself to be very interesting. All besides for your species and musical abilities, you don’t see why..

But, you didn’t question it for so long and kept quiet.

He appeared to enjoy your presence more than others, even being as willing as to ask you if you want him to send some of his shadows to follow you around town when you went to do errands for Charlie, Vaggie, Husk, or just one of the members of the hotel.

Of course, you denied but thanked him for the offer. It’s not like it stopped him. It was only for your safety.

What if one of the Vees approached you?? Or Vox used his manipulation powers on you??? What if you got attacked??? He can’t let his new source of entertainment get harmed, or be taken away!

You weren’t some delicate flower.. but he definitely saw you like it.

He even offered you deals.

Ones for your soul.

Denying every-time, of course. You liked your freedom. The mere idea of a deal for your soul felt like every bit of freedom would be drained from you, everything taken away from you. They could do anything to you.. even kill you.

God forbid.

It scared you.

But that didn’t stop him from trying to own you.

Whenever he was listening to you play and you did a wonderful job (especially if it was one of his favorite songs or jazz in general), he would pat you on the head while merrily singing praises to you of how well you played!

It got to the point where Angel Dust even has made some.. inappropriate remarks about Alastor’s words to you. It makes you blush out of embarrassment every time, and you yelp back a response.

“Damn, toots, didn’t know you were baggin’ smiles over there. You two had-“

“NO. NOTHINGS HAPPENING BETWEEN US!”

“HE DOESN’T EVEN LIKE THAT STUFF…”

It’s infuriating at times. And you had to do it by yourself, as Alastor usually wasn’t around during those times when Angel Dust made his remarks.

..It’s.. whatever.

But it doesn’t help your case when Alastor offers you his hand for you to hold, or with his arm for you to link with, to walk around with you, walk you back to Hotel…

Most times you accepted! Back when he wasn’t so…

…Possessive.

It wasn’t bad, at first. You thought he was just being kind to you. He had manners- proper decorum. How could you dislike a person with manners, after-all!

You didn’t notice it.

But that possessiveness grew.

Almost like a corruptive infection.

Now, it’s just straight up.. bone-chilling at times.

It’s like he was infatuated with you, trying to get you to do everything with him—

Most times you deny it now.

Still he was a persistent one.

And even got you to say yes.. a lot.

You don’t even know what even led to this behavior from him, why everything you seem to do he has an interest in already.

He’s even tried persuading you into getting a radio for yourself in order for you to listen to his radio shows! And honestly? The idea didn’t seem too bad, in your opinion. And.. this was before any of the bells started ringing in your head about his behavior, so there was really nothing bad about it! At least, to you. So, you headed out and found yourself a radio (although, you have to say it was certainly quite the adventure).

Alastor was especially pleased by this.

Yet, ever since you got it, you didn’t even feel safe in your own room anymore. Main cause of it being like a thousand eyes watching you when you were just simply trying to work on your music, sleep, draw— anything. The only time it went away is when you were going to dress yourself. Thank whatever saving you for that. But, even around the hotel- you could still feel the hairs rise up on your neck due to the sensation.

A part of you wanted to tell Charlie, or even Vaggie of your troubles. Hell, even Husk or Angel Dust about it. But, Charlie would.. more than likely blame herself a lot more, and you didn’t want her to worry her to the point of exhaustion since she was already doing so much. You don’t believe you’re close enough to Vaggie to even… tell her much, especially about a problem as banal and close to unbelievable as this. Husk could try and help, but probably would be too indifferent about the situation and your wellbeing as the two of you aren’t that close either. And, for Angel Dust… he probably wouldn’t help you as much as you wanted. Niffty? She was kinda out of the question because you really couldn’t see her taking you seriously, nor finding her around much.

So there was only one option, probably one of the worse ones: Alastor.

Honestly, you believed he would probably just laugh at you. But maybe he’d take you seriously. Maybe he wouldn’t.

God forbid, this is horrible.

Like the foolish idiot you were, you told Alastor about your worries one day.

“Mister??..” Your voice is a mere whisper as you gently knock on the door to his room. Knuckles softly hitting the wood, you recoiled your hand back and fidgeted with your fingers as you awaited for a response you were, more than likely, weren’t going to receive. Well..

Those were your thoughts. Before the door quickly opened, causing you to jerk backwards, stumbling over yourself. That’s certainly the fastest anyone has answered the door for you. He took a moment to stare down at you, surveying your expression, you suppose.

“Good evening, my dear!” His normal orotund voice speaks up with the radio-like effect still filtered over it. You nod in greeting, waiting to see if he continues on.

“Is there anything you need? You know, I could’ve been doing something terribly important!” He emphasizes ‘terribly important’, and the way he does it has you worrying now. Did you interrupt him?

“Oh— i’m sorry. I can leave and come back later. Or just,, not come back if you’re not available.” There’s silence that follows your response as you wait. Until there’s..

Laughter.

Hysterical laughter.

“No no! It’s a joke, my dear! I’m available. Come in.” He stepped off to the side, motioning for you to enter. And, you gave a nod of appreciation before approaching any further. So.. now you know that half of Alastor’s room is a bayou.

One that appears to always make it seem like its night. Fireflies flit around, their lights illuminating ever so slightly. The bayou is mainly cool colors, blues, and greens (for the trees mainly, which look reminiscent of weeping willow trees), and even a tint of purple to it, not including the light from the fireflies. The only thing making you uneasy is the fact that there’s a.. dead deer. Resting on a table. In the middle of the bayou area. And a fork is poking out from its chest, with a knife properly placed down on the side of it on the table. There’s even a few puddles around the grassy floor, and a larger lake in the back you can slightly see

For the rest of the room which is decently normal: an intricately designed fireplaces, being its sharp teeth designs, and golden colored swirls. A neon green light is shining from inside, slightly dimmed due to the darkness. Upon it there are skulls, and oddly shaped candelabras with lighted candles. On the walls are pictures within picture frames to which you really can’t depict, some tilted and others straight. Then, there’s the large buck antlers and what you can suspect to be its teeth hung proudly above the fireplace in a wooden frame. A long, red and golden trimmed carpet is spread out from near the door to a small desk off to the side, covering some of the wooden flooring.

The stag sits down in one of the red cushioned chairs next to the fireplace after having the door closed for privacy, and motions for you to sit by the one in front of the other. When you do find yourself comfortably sat in the chair, your eyes drift off to look at the rest of the room.

On a wooden bookshelf, he has… a lot of books, all of different sizes but with a similar, burgundy color. There’s also one of his signature radio’s on the top shelf, along with another on a lower one. An animal skeleton, and a golden statue that’s matched with intricate designs of swirls with a bottom compartment with what looks to be voodoo symbols for the handles. Not even mentioning the gator skeleton on the wall with little fairy lights you can suppose, there’s a small container for papers on his desk, a black and dark orange lamp, and a bottle of ink all neatly placed on it.

“So.. what is it you need from me, darling? Perhaps a deal?” Again with the deals..

“No. I just— .. you have to promise me you won’t laugh, even if you find it stupid.” Please, please, please, agree. You cannot deal with these thoughts and feelings anymore, god forbid.

“Mm… Is it that serious?”

“To me- yes. To others I might just seem.. delusional or paranoid.” Replying to his inquiry, he hums a noise of satisfaction.

“Alright. Go ahead then.”

With those words, everything you’ve been holding in ever since these sensations have started spilling out almost naturally. You tell him almost everything, how you’ve been feeling someone watching you, how you’re scared for yourself and the rest of the hotel staff if its soon going to happen to them, if anything bad is going happen to the hotel itself- or any of the residents. Being the bleeding heart you are, now?

The overlord quietly listened, grin never leaving his face as he felt so many things at once. It’s almost annoying to him why you’re like… this. The fuming hatred is something that cannot be fathomed by merely anyone, something so deep, it’s incomprehensible for him even. Someone who has murdered so many innocent people, someone who can never show his true emotions beyond that cursed smile that’s plastered on his face. He loathes you so much for simply everything you do. Isn’t that the reason he liked you for the things you did??..

But then there’s the other feeling.

It’s confusing.

Say, if you were to start… disliking him, ignoring him, avoiding him at all costs. He feels like he’d go insane. Like he needs your attention on him, or else he cannot function. And yes, he likes the attention from everyone on him, but if he lost yours- dear satan, he could actually be insane. Why do you think he’s offering you so much?? A twisted part wants him to own every little piece of you, everything about you, and he cannot deny that he likes that idea more than you could ever possibly imagine. Ripping away every little bit of innocence you have would just be delightful to him, it’s all making him have this awful feeling swirl within his chest. One that twists and tugs at his dead, tar colored heart.

He wants to rip it out.

He needs to. Perhaps then these vile feelings that you’re causing him will eventually.. wither away.

This is making him weak. Making him go soft.

And what will that do to his reputation?

“Well, my darling..” Alastor cleared his throat.

“If you would like, I suppose I can offer you a deal.”

“Alastor-“

“Not for your soul, this time. Just a simple deal between friends!”

To say this intrigued you would be an understatement.

Well now, you’ve made a deal with the devil!

Or, a devil.

He offered you his protection in the way of being by your side for most of the time, or having one of his shadow spies with you, in exchange for a favor from you later on, of his picking. And you were desperate, you didn’t even think first about negotiating the terms of your now first deal in Hell! With.. the Radio Demon!

And thankfully, not for your soul.

Oh freedom how you love it.

He’s thankful you still haven’t figured out who has been watching you all this time, who you were worried about.

Nevertheless- ever since you made that deal, you and Alastor were practically connected at the hip. But the rare times where you weren’t together, one of his shadow spies was with you! You have to admit it- they were adorable. You had to at least pet them a few times on the head while gawking at them. Of course, they squealed in delight due to the sudden display of affection shown by someone. Even when they at first, didn’t trust you, they definitely started to warm up to you now.

Charlie, Vaggie, nor any of the other residents have said anything about this so far- besides Angel Dust and his usual remarks.

..But then Husk spoke up one time.

Being at the bar, resting on a stool as you tried to unwind a little bit, and given it was quite lonely at the time- you decided to just.. simply relax for a moment in the company of probably one of the quietest people within the Hotel. It was the right opportunity for him.

“Kid.. a word of advice: don’t get too close to that asshole. He may seem all nice and charming, but he’s in Hell for a goddamn reason.”

Those words stick with you.

And with passing months, you think more deeply and deeply about your deal. And those little spies don’t seem so cute in a way anymore. And Alastor..

Maybe you’re overreacting.

“Okay, okay! So.. I have a great idea!!” Charlie merrily exclaimed as she clapped her hands together, bouncing up and down in delight. Her smile was wider than ever, and her girlfriend beside her was softly smiling with hands planted on her hips. Vaggie was so in love with that princess..

It was adorable!

Charlie had called a staff meeting to the living room, where everyone (Including Husk even) were resting on the couch or floor.

“I thought, if we wanted to get more in touch with the idea of rehabilitation, we might want to become more.. human! By getting in touch with certain, good aspects of human life!” The princess continued, surveying everyone’s expressions.

“So, me and Vaggie picked some holiday’s we could possibly celebrate here at the Hotel!” She motions to a writing board where the handwriting is rushed but, legible. Some ideas on the board are scribbled out, and 3 main ones are circled, followed bullet points displaying what each are about, what they would do, and how the Hotel would celebrate.

‘Halloween’ , ‘Valentines Day’ , ‘Christmas’

“..Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Husk huffs out, grimacing.

“Language. And, seriously?? Let’s just try it.” You try and persuade the cat.

“I’m with Husk on this one, toots.” Angel adds. Your head snaps to the Spider, furrowing your brow as he simply shrugs in response.

“Don’t care for these anymore like I used to. I bet most of us even celebrated ever since getting here, including you! Whens the last time you celebrated goddamn Christmas?!” He continues on, raising an eyebrow at you.

“..When it last happened in Heaven?” The confusion in your voice had Angel looking at you in an awkward manner as he just… turned his head away from you.

“That’s even more of a reason!” Charlie exclaimed, quickly turning to her girlfriend and motioning for her to speak which led to her giving a small sigh, and a gentle smile before turning to the rest of the group with a now blank expression.

“So- we want you all to take a poll. You’ll all get a small slip of paper, and a pen. Then write down your answer. After you’re all done with that, then just slip in into the bowl.” Vaggie explained, gesturing to the bowl resting on the surface of a wooden table with a dark pink cloth draped over it.

And just as said, Vaggie and Charlie gave everyone (including themselves at the end) a small slip of paper and a pen to write with. Husk grumbled about how stupid this was, but still scribbled something down, Angel doing the same but with a huff of annoyance beforehand. Niffty had to be more excited than either of them, being the first to put her answer into the bowl. Then Charlie put hers in, then Vaggie did, then Angel and Husk (begrudgingly- that is), where Sir Pentious followed suit. So there was just you, and the Radio Demon.

You didn’t know what to put down.. honestly. Biting your bottom lip, you slowly wrote something down onto the slip. Arising from your spot, you treaded over to the table and dropped the paper into the bowl.

“Pardon me, darling!” Alastor excused himself, causing you to come to the realization that he was standing right behind you. Turning on your heel, you held out your hand.

“Sorry— here, I’ll put it in for you. As… an apology? Of sorts?” You awkwardly chuckled.

“Well, aren’t you a lamb!” He laughed, placing the folded piece of paper into your palm and you turned back around and dropped it in, before heading back (being that Alastor has already went back to his seat) to your spot and sitting down. (You.. aren’t a lamb. What the hell did he mean by that??)

Charlie almost jumped out of her seat, rushing on over to the table while gripping onto Vaggie’s wrist. She was practically bouncing up and down as her girlfriend first picked up the bowl, shaking it gently, before she pulled out the first slip and cleared her throat.

“First holiday of choice...”

“Christmas.” The angel stated as the princess happily clapped her hands in delight, before she was given the bowl where she shoved her hand inside of.

“Next isssss…”

“Valentine’s day!” She beamed, grinning widely. The couple went back and forth passing the bowl.

“Valentines- WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS NOTE, ANGEL!!!??”

“Halloween!”

“Valentines, again.”

“..Whatever Angel said!!..I guess..?? Huh.. Okay um, so whatever Angel answered…”

For the last one, Vaggie allowed Charlie to say it (to which she was ecstatic to do.)



“And last but not least.. Valentines!!”

. . .

“Soooooo..” Charlie started as she looked at Vaggie, holding her hand tightly as they smiled at each other before once again turning to the group.

“The holiday is that we’re going to be celebrating is going to be..”

“Valentine’s day!!”

This was going to be fun.

Charlie had Husk save all of the red wine possible, Vaggie was discussing possible decorations for the hotel, and you were left to find some romantic music to play on your violin and possibly on the piano.

Niffty was making sure that the Hotel looked more perfect than ever as to not have to worry about it after the soirée, and for the after party for just the employees and patrons of the hotel. (although, got more distracted by roaches more than ever.)

Angel Dust was feeling especially romantic, trying to advance upon Husk at the even more than usual, to which Husk had to endure and ignore.

For Alastor? God knows up to what he was doing.

Like— you could barely find him around anywhere..

But nevertheless, you tried to play some romantic pop tunes, romantic jazzy tunes, anything that would work for this holiday. Took you quite a bit, but when you got it- you felt very accomplished!

And this.. got Charlie to actually get a venue where you could play at..

Oh lordddddd….

Of course, you asked for Charlie and Vaggie’s opinions on it, and they were elated to hear it. (Mainly Charlie!)

You’d tried figuring out what outfit you were going to wear for the holiday, searching and scanning everything you possibly had in your wardrobe for something.

And you found that very something.

The outfit that you’d chosen was lovely, in your opinion. A white collared dress up shirt underneath a red, button up tailcoat. The back was a large, ruffled fishtail hem, and with puffy sleeves that turned into long, fitted sleeves to the wrists. 4 golden buttons embroidered onto the chest area where the coat ruffed out into a darker red. The buttons had small, thin chains that connected them to the one across from each other. White fingerless gloves where a bit of it wrapped around your middle finger were chosen! Nicer than you thought. This was then followed by some black trousers, which were a bit baggy and flared out near the ankles (but not too baggy it looked like they were hanging off of you). And to top it all off, you put on some black heeled boots.

If you were to say you weren’t excited to show everyone your outfit and see their’s, you’d be lying to yourself.

..this holiday thing actually might be a bad thing!

(Not that you thought so in the first place.)

You’d even play in that outfit as practice, just to see if it was comfortable and playable! (Which it very much was).

With every passing day approaching the Holiday, everything mainly felt like bliss. Charlie was more elated than ever, starting to teach more lessons about how Valentine’s day could help the Hotel more, Vaggie was.. very high strung (yet tried her best to relax for her girlfriend when asked by her). You yourself even started helping with decorations around the Hotel just to get the couple to relax for at least an hour or more. You ended up working for almost the whole day, yet it was worth all of that time and work. They deserved all of that resting. And the best thing at that? You did it mostly by yourself!

Very rewarding, if you might say so yourself.

Before you got self-conscious about everything you helped on.

Especially when the special day had arrived.

What if they don’t like it?? What if they don’t like your music? Don’t like your outfit???? If you make a fool out of yourself, then what next?? You’ve become so tense, your shoulders almost reaching to your ears— this is not going as ‘stress-free’ as you’d planned.

Fidgeting with the cuff of your overcoat, you bit your bottom lip and anxiously awaited for the inevitable knocking that would arrive at your door soon. As an angel, you’ve gotten quite stressed due to a multitude of reasons, but this might be one of the more stressful and worrying situations you’ve been in since.. a bit.

The hand twiddling with the cuff then turned to your other hand, playing with your fingers. A part of you really didn’t want the string of knocks to arrive, but.. there was really no control over the current circumstance. Only to freak out about something you’ve worked so hard in, something you thought you’d looked decent enough in, decorations they’ve probably already seen and possibly laughed at- your breathing hitched at the thought. God, you feel so stupid. They’re going to hate it, you’re going to embarrass the Hotel, aren’t you?

Knock, knock!

And there it is. That dreaded sound. Your nails started digging into the flesh of your hands through your gloves, and you felt your stomach drop. This is going to be ruined- you’re going to ruin it.

Hesitant to open the door, another knock sounded out as you further approached the door. And with a final deep breath, your hand rested gently on the cold metal of the doorknob before twisting it and swinging it open.

To someone you.. weren’t exactly suspecting to see!

Alastor!!

“…Good evening, Alastor!” You almost stuttered over your own words, forcing a smile to plaster itself onto your lips.

Even more surprising, the man was dressed much more differently!

A black, long collared dress up shirt where it’s sleeves slightly poke out with a red cross on the chest under a Bordeaux red pinstripe coat with same colored lapels. A ribbon red waistcoat with rosy pink colored, vertical strips decorating it along with 2 wine red buttons. A pair black dress pants and his usual shoes, along with his gloves.

It takes you a moment to realize the stag has put up his hair into a small ponytail. Good grief… how can a man be so attractive.

“Good evening to you, my dear! I do believe it’s time for your little performance soon at this soirée!” His head tilts to the side a bit, trademark smile always on his face as per usual as he stares down at you. Your smile immediately turns into a small frown with a sigh from you, causing you to bury your face into your hands.

He halts for a moment, before continuing on.

“Now, what’s got you all a mess? I thought you would love this!”

“I do!! It’s…” The words lodge in your throat as you falter to continue on, turning away from the man with your arms wrapped yourself in a hug.

“..What if I fail- what if I look tacky?? In my performance, and by just.. looking at me and my appearance!!” Facing the man once more, you motion to your ensemble with a fearful look as your gaze downturns to the ground.

“If I fail.. I ruin the image of the hotel. I ruin my image, I ruin everything!! If i’m not perfect in this.. I don’t even know anymore…” Internally, you’re questioning on why you’re telling your deepest fears to an overlord known for being mostly apathetic to most. Who knows.

The overlord grin remains the same as his eyes narrow looking down at you. He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t like the little thing you had going on here! He enjoys the amusement of people failing so much!!.. but, theres something that pangs him right into his unfeeling and dead heart like a knife.

An exhale escapes past his lips as one of his hands rest upon your shoulder.

“Darling.” The biggest part of him is telling himself to say something akin to his normal snarky remarks.

But he can’t now.

Whats stopping him? Has he gone soft?? What in hell is wrong with him??

“I’m more than certain you’ll do wonderful in your little show for the Hotel. Have you disappointed us before?” Your head raises a bit as you open your mouth to speak, before a clawed hand reaches for your jaw and lifts it up to fully face him, making you avert your gaze almost instantaneously.

“You’re going to say ‘oh, I don’t think so. At least I hope so.’ And darling, only half of that is semi-correct. Your performances have not once failed to amaze us, including me, beyond belief and words that could describe it. Your voice is delightful, and your playing is even rivaling one of my favorite jazz songs from back in the day!! I can understand your stress, but you shouldn’t worry much about it, my darling doll.”

The mans words had you actually speechless.

“However, you can never beat me at piano!” He laughs, and you huff in response before he clears his throat.

“Now.. hasn’t this been enough dawdling for now, doll?” Alastor inquired, to which you leisurely nodded due to yourself still processing his words.

He hand already laced his arm with one of your arm, almost making you squeak out from surprise in response. Like a second instinct, you moved slightly closer to him, mainly behind, and bit your bottom lip once again.

“Off we go, now!” The deer explained in a sing-song-like tone, marching out of you, trailing behind while struggling to close your door…

Walking down those stairs is nerve racking as you keep your gaze downcast at the steps and your shoes, almost clinging to Alastor’s arm now with both of your arms wrapped around it.

As much as he despises touch- ..he doesn’t seem to mind this much.

“..Tell me if my touch makes you uncomfortable.” Oh? How thoughtful! His grin strains a bit as he strides on over to the group, you clinging to him as you take a moment before you start raising your head to the couple to which you have stopped in front of within the lobby of the Hotel.

And, they’re certainly matching.

You have to stop yourself from squealing like a fangirl.

Vaggie's ensemble has a black and purple mauve dress featuring asymmetrical layers and a feathered tailcoat of a matching red that Charlie has, eye-like designs embroidered into the fabric. Similar colored fingerless gloves she now wears, with a black ring with a bunch of hearts on her ring finger. Her hair has been tied up with her usual bow but now into a ponytail. A shawl-like garment is adorned with three bold red hearts along the left side in a line. She finishes up with dark lace stockings and white flats.

Charlie wears a black overcoat draped over her shoulders that reaches to her upper calves, and small golden sun shaped pins on both sides of the coat with a thin chain connecting them across her chest. She wears a black choker with a dark red heart pendant hanging off of it, and a golden bracelet around her right wrist. They even have matching, black rings with hearts all over it with each other!! Black petals adorn her hair, which is tied in her usual hairstyle. She wears a sleeveless, red top followed by a black and golden belt where the center is a golden shaped, empty heart. To top it off, she wears black baggy pants with black boot heels.

“..You both look-“

“WONDERFUL!!” Squealing, you start happily bouncing up and down, gawking at the couple with linked arms in front of you.

“Oh, thank you!! YOU LOOK AMAZING TOO!” Charlie beams, stars practically shining in her eyes.

Vaggie gives a nod as agreement with Charlie, and one of appreciation at the same time.

As the couple and Alastor engage within a conversation for who knows whats, you find your eyes wandering off to look at the rest of your friends to see what they’re doing.

Over at the bar, a certain well dressed spider demon and a slightly underdressed cat demon are.. ‘interacting’.

“Ohhh c’mon, babycakes. We could-“

“No. Go fuck yourself..”

“Only if ya’ watch me!” Husk groans at Angel, who has now slightly climbed onto the counter of the bar, to which Husk pushes him off.

You try to suppress the urge to giggle out-loud and decide to look for a certain small bug demon.

But.. you can’t find her—

“WOAHHHH!” Gasping, you almost recoil at the familiar voice, but ground yourself as your head snaps down to look at Niffty- who is all spiffed up!

Niffty’s hair has been put up into one that appears to look more like one from the 1950’s as it’s far more curly than before. It’s accompanied by two white roses which are held together by a thin, red wine piece of rope in the shape of a.. bow slightly sagging.

Her outfit incorporates a short sleeved, white dress up shirt, matched with 5 coral pink buttons aligned in the middle of the shirt. Added on, she has two pearl earrings and a white, and pink pearl necklace which is matched with a silver chain. The skirt of her dress has a sort of.. belt incorporated into it already as it has a slightly white, rectangle belt holder in the center of the blush pink skirt- which reaches to her ankles. White polka dots along with venetian red roses matched with a Russian green stems are embroidered on the skirt scattered all over it. To top it all off, she has simple white Mary Jane-like shoes.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you smile.

“Awwh! Nif, you look adorable!!” You pat the small demons head. Not in a condescending way.. just.. as a spur of the moment decision.

“YOU LOOK VERY PRETTY!!” She squeals out, bouncing up and down.

And before you could actually start speaking once again, the small demon… bunny hops onto your chest, making you stumble back with a squeak-like sound and unlace your arm with Alastor’s in order to have both hands on Niffty to make sure she doesn’t fall either..

You’ve noticed that the couple and Alastor have stopped their conversation, probably looking at you and Niffty now…

“I could add something to make you look better!”The words don’t sound too sinister, but she’s grinning like a maniac.

“..Like?” You anxiously smile. Her toothy grin grows wider.

“ROSES!! IN YOUR HAIR!!” Yelping out her words, which makes instantaneously nod her request, she giggles happily.

Suddenly the small demon… now has a bouquet of red and white roses. How? You have no clue. While she climbs her way to your shoulder, plucking some petals from both colored flowers. You try your best not to move as your gaze drifts off to look at the trio beside you.

Yep.. they’re staring at you.

“..You guys good?”

“Of course, my darling!” No. Nothings alright. Why is that little miscreant touching you?- why did she make you stop being so close to him now? He’s owned her soul for quite some time now, and knows how she acts, being quite fond of her! But, why is she acting ever so.. friendly with you?..

His smile has become more strained than ever as his head turns to the couple still looking at the display of you and Niffty. Charlie looks more excited than ever, and Vaggie is.. more surprised.

“Now! Where were we?”

As the conversation now resumes, Niffty finishes up with placing the rose petals in your hair, and finishes by placing a red rose near your ear- tucking the stem beneath your hair.

“Okay!! I’m done!!!” Niffty practically shrieks out, clapping her hands as shes placed down on the ground.

“Thank you, Nif. It’s beautiful.” The small demon merrily bows before rushing off… somewhere else.

Nervously, your head turns to the center of the foyer, where the piano to which you’ve avoided up until causes to gulp. But, in response, you take a deep breath.

You just.. need to be calm. You need to relax.

What causes you to come back to your senses is a small tap on your shoulder.

“You ready?” Vaggie quietly asks, moving closer to you. And you pause for a moment before nodding, now putting a smile onto your face. She even gives a smile back.

“Alright, everyone!! Gather the hell up!” Angel and Husk both appear from the darkness of the Bar, approaching the center to where the small stand with the piano atop of it rests. Niffty has rushed into the room, happily bouncing from adrenaline, you suppose..

“We’re headin’ out. And we aren’t going to mess any of this up for the hotel.” She loudly exclaims, resting a hand on her hip as the rest of the group nods. Safe to say you’re panicking so much internally

Please, please do not let this venue end horribly because of you…

. . .

Backstage, you’re pacing.

The venue is lovely from what you’ve seen so far. Velvet curtains shroud the stage as of currently, which has you awaiting for your time to step up and play those lovely songs you’ve been practicing all this time.

As you had first entered: seating area is adorned with cushioned chairs arranged around tables draped in cloths of white, pink, red, or regal purple, each adorned with intricate heart designs. Silverware gleams under the soft glow of candlelight, while glasses of wine shimmer with anticipation. Plates overflow with delectable cuisine from most sinners and overlords who’d arrive here at the Princess of Hell’s invitation (of course, with threats unknowingly added by the Radio Demon!!)

Candelabras cast a warm, flickering light across the room. A polished and lavish golden chandelier hangs from the ceiling, its crystals catching the light as dangling heart pendants gently sway, casting a romantic glow over the scene.

At the bar, being ran by Husk, patrons are usually having ‘lively conversation’, as they await for their entertainment.

But thats also worrying for you, adding more stress. They’re awaiting you.

What if—

The curtains part slowly, and you tense. Goddamnit, no time to think, and no time to have these silly worries replay in your head. You impatiently wait for the curtains to fully open, as rehearsed before. And when they fully do, you can see the eyes of thousands just.. staring inside, from the wings. It takes every last string of restraint for you to try to relax yourself during this.. ‘predicament’.

Taking one last deep breath before the inevitable fate for you on that stage.

You stride with as much perfect posture you can, hands clasped in-front of your lap as you make it to your grand piano, stationed on the mahogany floorboards of the stage. It takes you a second to settle down upon the stood, but when you do, you hover your fingers over the keys of the instrument, recounting every single one in your head as best as you can.

With nothing more to think of besides playing, you start playing the first few chords..

And just like that, you’re immersed within your passion, and everlasting fears as you play key after key.

To say each of the residents and sinners were baffled would probably be an understatement. A great understatement.

You’ve been practicing.. so hard for this very moment, and everything you’ve done has been paying off. Charlie is just absolutely blown away, Vaggie is.. speechless, Husk has his eyebrows raised and arms crossed as his listens to the tune and your singing, Angel Dust is just grinning with an ‘I knew it’ look, Niffty looks like shes going to… explode, and Alastor.. is smiling. Smiling more than ever before- no, this is.. a genuine smile.

Turns out his word really was true.

As the last chord of the piano and last note of your singing lingers within the air, you awaiting for well.. anything.

Booing, laughter, anything.

It only took a few seconds for loud clapping to echo throughout every nook and cranny and your head snaps to the audience. They’re all cheering, all in a slightly similar way of course. Husk is nodding, softly clapping his hands with an amused smirk plastered on his lips. Charlie is vigorously clapping, bouncing up and down merrily as she hugs her girlfriend who was clapping at your performance with a small smile, as well. Angel is cheering the loudest, proclaiming “THATS MY FUCKIN’ BESTIE!” Or… something along the lines of that. Niffty is actually about to jump from her seat, and people start whistling in awe at your play.

Heat crept on your cheeks as you gave a sheepish smile towards the crowd, standing up to slightly shift away from the piano in order to curtesy in respect as they continue on with their cheering. Before you could process, flowers- specifically roses were being thrown onto stage. With widened eyes, you stand up straight again and stare at everyone, trying your best to ignore the heavy light which felt too warm for your liking- but you shouldn’t complain..

Flowers are constantly being tossed onto stage, the applause continues and you take another curtsey before scurrying off stage, making the lights dim.

You don’t really know why you ran off in such a beautiful moment, but you were going to have to leave eventually. The main thing is that you really aren’t.. used to such big crowds applauding for you. It feels much different than just being in a theater, for example.

Finding yourself backstage into the single dressing room it has, you almost collapse onto the sofa with a drawled out groan. You haven’t even bothered to turn on the lights within the room, or the lights on the vanity off- being your only light source as of currently.

..Not gonna lie, you’re probably going to fall asleep if you lay down like this for the rest of the evening.

That would be nice.

Yeah.. you might just do that.

Your eyelids slowly start to get heavier and heavier, making you shift to your side and slightly curling into yourself for warmth. May all be damned because this was surprisingly comfortable despite how you were dressed and.. well, everything else. And with just a few more seconds, you shut your eyes with a content smile gracing your lips.

“Now.. was I wrong, my darling doll?” A voice beams from the side, causing you to immediately rise up out of fear and shock. Well, so much for getting some rest now.

“Oh— Alastor! Hi!..” Trying to pull yourself together, ruffling up your hair a little with a hand, leaning back on the couch as you sit more in a tailor position on the couch.

He takes a moment survey the room, tapping a clawed finger against the side of his microphone before turning to face you. You swear you can see him hiding something behind his back- but you can’t prove anything, can you? You’re too tired for this anyway..

“What are you doing? Don’t you know, the people are quite excited to see you outside?” The inquiry has you blushing even more from embarrassment and hope that the floor magically eats you whole.

A huff escapes you, now turning to bring your knees up to your chest and bury your face into your legs instead of facing the one man who would make fun of you as he found you just trying to rest. It’s.. irritating. And, not really because of Alastor. Just, upsetting.

“Sorry. I’ll.. be out in a moment.”

“Before that, my darling. I have another question for you.” It takes you a second to raise your head up at the stag, staring at him as a motion for him to continue on speaking. He seemed almost hesitant to continue, but slowly managed to get the words to come out.

“Do you have a Valentine so far? Has anyone asked you?” Oh fuck.

He’s so going to mock you. Holy shit.

“..No.” Please please, please do not make any remarks. Don’t. Please.

“Mm.” The mere hum in response freaks you out, but you manage to keep a straight face as you’re internally screaming at the top of your lungs, probably crying as well.

Biting the inside of your cheek, nails digging into the cloth of your pants, close to the flesh of your legs as you await the interchangeable fate from this encounter.

“How would you like to be mine then, darling?”

..what?

You’re honestly.. shocked by this. The amount of time it takes for the cogs in your brain to process this new information is.. quite a bit. And, just before you can even utter a single word to the man’s advance- he reveals what he’s been hiding behind his back this whole time: wilted red roses. How romantic.

Blinking repeatedly at the gesture, you find yourself leisurely getting up and walking closer to the buck, gently wrapping your hands around his holding the roses.

“..I would love that.” Simply staring at the roses, you can’t help but smile and then look up at the man.

“And, is this you asking me out?” The query is mainly a joke as you chuckle a bit, his face still the same as ever: smiling, staring back down at you. However, you thought this mainly as a platonic gesture instead of a romantic one, being that you know a lot better. He chuckles for a moment before clearing his throat.

“Perhaps. Would that be so bad?” That definitely had your heart fluttering.

You’re still reeling from the unexpected gesture he’s made. His usually charismatic demeanor has softened, revealing a vulnerability you never thought you'd see in him. He should be withholding this. His eyes, although still half-lidded have a.. gentle warmth that draws you in. The air is charged with tension, a palpable mix of anticipation and uncertainty as you try to comprehend the depth of his actions. And with your thinking in that moment, you realize that this enigmatic figure before you is more than just ‘The radio demon.’ More than just a demon that has been feared for centuries.

He’s another mortal soul. Just like you.

Yet however, curiosity pangs you right in the heart as you recount the things he’s told about himself to you.

“Wait, Alastor,, are you sure?.. Please- I would not want to lose you over this. I know-” The more you overthink this and try to babble on, he slides his hand from under yours and brings it to cup your cheek.

“My darling doll, do you think I don’t love and cherish your company more than any of the others at the Hotel? it’d be a downright shame to not have a beauty as talented and great like you on my arm. Yet, I don’t believe you feel such similar feelings, no?” He laughs obnoxiously at his own words, but inside he’s.. he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if you don’t-

“Oh- no, of course not!”

He swear he can feel his undead heart halt like it had been beating all of this time.

“I wouldn’t want to ruin your image anyways..” With a shrug, you feel guilt wash over you. Why did you lie?

“..It wouldn’t, my darling doll!” The reaffirming words seemed much more disappointed than before and it almost made you freak out even more. Did he know?

As silence passes through between the two of you, trying to figure out what to make of each other’s feeling and words. You start to speak.

“Alastor.. are you actually trying to court me?” The words come out as a whisper, a hand of your own reaching up to place over his on your cheek while the other still held the rose bouquet.

..Static.

Radio static fills the room.

You’re afraid.

“My darling doll.. would that be such a problem?”

“…No. I don’t think so..”

His grin widens even more than you could possibly think of after being strained for such a long while. His thumb brushes downwards to your jaw and tilts your head upward more, stopping as soon as he has you looking more at his own jaw and the lower part of his mouth.

“Now tell me, why would you lie to me? Quite the bad habit, doll!” That static from earlier has still not left- in fact, it’s gotten louder than you’ve noticed up until this point in this encounter. He’s even lowered his head to go face to face with you this time.

Goddamnit.

“I didn’t want to make things awkward between us. I truly value our friendship, and I didn't want to risk losing that by admitting.. that I saw you in a far different way than probably you did for me. It's not that I don't appreciate your affection or the effort you've put into courting me before or even now, it's just that I didn't want to lead you on or give you false hope. Not only that- I was certain that you didn’t have any romantic attraction to or for anyone for a matter of fact.” Speaking faster than you intended made it harder to even keep up with your thought process.

“Not in a rude way! Just- I care a lot about making you comfortable and not passing any boundaries of yours. You don’t like romance much, you don’t like when people touch you if you don’t initiate it first.” Your shoulders slumped as you continue to ramble on, or at least try.

“All that? Dear.. I told you exactly how I felt. I wouldn’t mind if it was you.”

“..Are you sure you like.. aren’t pressuring yourself to feel this way?? Or something?”

“Darling, I force myself to do nothing. It all comes naturally!” Oh yes, naturally. That obsession? As much as he despises it- it did happen.. naturally.

“Besides…” The feeling of his claws starting to dig into the flesh of your cheek causes you to whine in pain, flinching even. You almost drop the roses due to the sudden reaction. This.. is not something that’s happened before.

“You aren’t dating anyone, correct?” His odd sing-song-like tone made you so.. uncomfortable. Dear goodness, all the color drains from your face as your eyes widen a bit at this. Immediately pulling your hand off of his, now wrapping both arms around the bouquet.

His claws stop digging into your cheek, almost making you instantly cry if you weren’t restraining yourself, wanting to run away, yet he brushes his thumb against your bottom lip ever so gently. How can the same person who just hurt you be the same person with such a gentle touch, told you such comforting words and possibly be the same person who just hurt you?

Stumbling backwards away from the man with hitched breathing, your eyes anxiously survey the man who hasn’t moved but, his smile has become more tense as his eyes have become narrowed as he stares you down like prey.

Why in Heaven’s great name is this happening??

Feeling a warm liquid trickle down your cheek, you instantaneously raise a hand to feel the damage done- already knowing what it is. It’s fucking blood. The sensation of tears start welling up and you lower your gaze for a long moment as you try to piece everything together.

“You- why!?” You cried out, with the tears now pouring down and mixing with the blood on one side. Unintentionally, you back yourself against one of the walls of the dressing room.

Oh you’re so screwed.

“Oh? Are you against me now? But, you don’t know even the beginning of how deep these vile feelings course through me for you!! You started this, darling.” Screwing your eyes shut as you hear his footsteps start to approach, you can’t help the whimpers that leave you.

With the subtle touch of one of his hands on your shoulder, you no longer think you can see him as the same person you did before, even after the sentimental moment. Even after the few times you’ve revealed your feelings to him, no matter how kong you’ve spent time together.

“Everything I’ve done for you so far was because of these wretched emotions started fluttering around, making me feel so much at the same time. It’s infuriating. They’re filthy, disgusting, but they’re still there. But, perhaps if I finally do something about these, I’ll finally be able to be rid of them. Perhaps it’s time that I take action on these, no?” You desperately want to shake your head no- but being frozen with shock with everything currently happening does you no good.

“You’re my valentine, darling. Always mine, and mine alone!”

Those are the final words spoken as your tears continue to pour, but he couldn’t care less and kisses them away. He enjoys this anyway. After-all, you’re helpless. The entire situation is helpless. And with no other thought in mind, he finds his lips on yours in a chaste kiss.

You physically have no idea why this took so long- and I’m sorry y’all. ILY POOKIES, ENJOY YOUR FOOD.

[alice-after-dark]

regarding your canon v. fanon post, I have one that may be a *bit* of a stretch/a controversial take (ooo~), but: there’s this general perception of Vox in particular being this big ball of toxic masculinity who cringes at the slightest idea of being perceived “feminine” and the like, which I just...don’t see? Like, this guy? The man who immediately engaged in a romantic dance with his partner in the finale with no qualms in the privacy of their tower (Velvette filming them disregarded)?

I’m assuming it’s because he canonically died in the 50s, but even then, Vox is all about *image* and being in the public’s favour as opposed to whatever strict gender roles he was forced to live in on Earth — he seems the type to wear a dress on air if it guarantees more eyes on him. And even then, with all the time he’d spent in Hell from then on, you’d think whatever shame he’d likely intially had regarding his vices had long been since knocked out of him as he adapted to Hell’s hedonistic environment.

Idk, it’s weird to me how it’s almost always Vox I see portrayed like this; like, Angel Dust was a mafioso from the 1940s — an environment rife with homophobia and sexism — and likely had internalized at least some of those ideals upon arriving in Hell, regardless of how progressive he may have been for his time, but I almost never see that brought up when discussing his character in the present timeline; same with Niffty and her sexism, which has been all but scrubbed away from her character since the pilot. Honestly, if any character best represents toxic masculinity in this series (outside of our beloved Dickmaster, ofc) then I’d say it’s Valentino, given his occupation and general treatment of his subordinates, but that’s just me—

(sorry if this is a bit rambly/incoherent; my pain meds are kicking in, so i’m a *tad* loopy, lol)

"(sorry if this is a bit rambly/incoherent; my pain meds are kicking in, so i’m a *tad* loopy, lol)"

All good, friend, all good lol

I get what you're saying and yeah it does make sense. Like, if he existed in the 50s with the personality he has now, he would absolutely be labeled as a flaming homosexual. I can see him still having these issues and ideals maybe when he first drops into Hell, but overall, yeah I do think that they would have mostly left him by the time that the series takes place. He's definitely masculine-presenting, but that doesn't inherently mean toxic masculinity.

Now, that being said, toxic masculinity still exists today and so I can see him still engaging in it, but it wouldn't have anything to do with him being from the 50s and it would really only be in regard to certain aspects. Like, I do believe that the concept of looking weak in front of people would infuriate him, but that can be just as attributed to Hell's power structure as it can be to toxic masculinity.

You make a fabulous point about the other characters too. Like, I have definitely never seen Angel Dust portrayed that way and definitely not Niffty (even though yeah she kinds was misogynistic in the pilot). I absolutely agree that Adam and Valentino are way better examples of toxic masculinity than Vox.

[telekinetictrait]

"I have my happiness, which I guard like a wolf, and I have authority now and a certain amount of daring, which, if you remember correctly, I never had before." (Two Serious Ladies – Jane Bowles, 1943)

the first half of the 1940s was, of course, dominated by world war two. just as with world war one, more women were involved in the war effort, and those who weren't often took the jobs dominated by men. icons such as rosie the riveter propagated a sort of idealized "tough girl" image, with her denim coveralls and clenched fists – yet red lips, defined lashes, and thin brows. she was just masculine enough to fit the mold of serving one's country, and still feminine enough for the general public to accept. once again, fabric rationing led to certain garments and styles being reused and revamped. some designers, like claire mccardell, worked within the confines of wool and silk rationing to create clothing made of denim and jersey knits. "ready-to-wear" clothing was becoming more popular, especially in the united states, allowing fashion trends to spread faster and further than before. at the end of the decade, christian dior debuted his "new look", which would set the stage for the iconic mid-century silhouette: cinched waists (thanks a lot, dior...), full skirts, and round shoulders. this "new look" emphasized the stereotypical ideal of femininity and ruled post-war fashion.

okay, maybe the tangent about claire mccardell wasn't that important, but i did just see a museum exhibit about her, so i wanted to include it.

(ps. i know 1942 isnt entirely accurate but it was a fit of inspiration, and it takes like 20 minutes to get my game open so i was not willing to exit when i already had two looks done)

1800’s/ 1900-1909 / 1910-1919 / 1920-1929 / 1930-1939

cc links under the cut!

see my resources page for genetics

oakley : candycottonchu's vintage waves / gilded-ghosts' big heat beret / bustedpixels' fifth avenue fashion top conversion / gilded-ghosts' victory skirt / base game gloves / historysims4's stretching nylon socks / waxesnostalgic's cuban heel mary janes

océane : javitrulovesims' clayified wings hair / gilded-ghosts' dizzy dame hat / needleworkreve's rita eyeshadow + betty lipstick / mochadonuts' ruthienne dress / blueraptorsden’s vintage stockings / historysims4's uptowner heels

odelie : strangerville hat + jacket / seasons gloves / gilded-ghosts' sleuthhound slacks / base game boots

ollie : javitrulovesims' clayified wings hair / cottage living hat / needleworkreve's rita eyeshadow + betty lipstick / sentate's 1949 grace necklace / satterlly's retro anna dress / historysims4's stretching nylon socks / waxesnostalgic's cuban heel mary janes

onyx : joshseoh's blaire hair conversion / gilded-ghosts' big sleep dress / base game saddle shoes

ophelia : twentiethcenturysims' dorothy hair / base game pearls / twentiethcenturysims' french hen outfit / historysims4's stretching nylon socks / jius-sims' mary jane pumps #2

orlando : gilded-ghosts' wartime waves and bows / lordreboot's catherine jumpsuit

osannah : gilded-ghosts' noir or never hair / paranormal hat / needleworkreve's rita eyeshadow + betty lipstick / sentate's 1949 dior bar jacket / blueraptorsden’s vintage stockings / waxesnostalgic's cuban heel mary janes

ottoline : gilded-ghosts' swingin siren bun + dizzy dame hat / needleworkreve's rita eyeshadow + betty lipstick / simsbrush's 1940's winter coat / plumbjam’s wool leggings / simtone’s oxford heels

owen : tekri's betty jo hair / needleworkreve's rita eyeshadow + betty lipstick / simplesimmer's emilee dress long v2 / plumbjam’s wool leggings / waxesnostalgic's cuban heel mary janes

thank you to @candycottonchu @gilded-ghosts @bustedpixels @historysims4 @waxesnostalgic @javitrulovesims @needleworkreve @mochadonuts @blueraptorsden @sentate @satterlly @joshseoh @twentiethcenturysims @jius-sims @lordreboot @simsbrush @simtone @tekri and @blogsimplesimmer !!

[thirdeyeblue]

@tentoorosemicrofics - 2k words, Tentoo x Rose

Prompt: Pink

Rating: (gasp) Teen

Read on Ao3

Vintage Incognito

for @cersxisbitch ♥

From the mailbox to the front door to every last common area and powder room, the Tyler Mansion had undergone something of a ghastly metamorphosis. 

The front parlor alone was a menagerie of bubble gum pink; from the soft linen tablecloth to the tiered cake stands covered in cupcakes, strawberries, and mini quiche bites. Heart-shaped pink doilies lined every plate, sitting beside neatly-stacked rows of pink, miniature forks, all on their separate islands that’d been steeped on all sides by girlie bits of confetti the housekeeper would likely be vacuuming all afternoon. 

Then there were the gift bags; parcels, baskets; wrappings, and ribbons. All pink. 

And that was just the gifts from the family — they were expecting upwards of two dozen guests, who would likely be coming with plenty of their own presents for the mother-to-be.

The corner was arranged into a makeshift photo booth; complete with a pink wicker basket stuffed with pink hats, boas, comically oversized specs, and various other props sitting beside a shimmering backdrop of… well, you could probably guess. 

They might as well have painted the walls of the entire bloody house, while they were at it. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t take Pete’s suit from the breast cancer gala,” muttered Jackie. “He’d have had it tailored, you know. Made it fit your girlish figure like a dream, he would’ve.”

Leaning on the wall beside her, the one blue sheep amongst a projected pink flock, was the already-exasperated Doctor. He wore his favorite suit, brilliantly blue — perfect, thanks — though he’d foregone a tie with his lighter blue button-down. Felt more laid back.

He pushed his specs up his nose with his pointer finger and rolled his eyes before casting a glare at his mother-in-law.

“In fairness, blue used to be considered the more feminine color.” He indicated his outfit with a dip of his chin. “Technically, I’ll be fitting in better than any of you lot — you just won’t know it.” He sniffed, cocking his head to the side. “Call it… Oh, I dunno. ‘Vintage Incognito’.”

Jackie huffed in exasperation. “‘Vintage Incog-full of it’, more like. I never saw a little boy in pink.”

“That’s because it was only commonplace until the late forties,” he came back with a light, anticipatory smirk. “You were born in what, ‘53, ‘55? You wouldn’t’ve— ow!” He grimaced as his hand jumped up to hold his cheek, where Jackie had landed a swift right hand with a clap.

“1969, thank you very much.” She dusted her hands off dramatically, placing them on her hips. “Don’t go making digs at me just because you can’t stand sticking out like a sore thumb.”

Deluded, he thought — but carried on. 

“As I was saying,” he pushed his specs up again, adjusting where they’d gone askew from her slap. “until the late 1940s, mums were told to dress their boys in pink if they expected them to grow up big and strong. Then came a slew of advertising campaigns where corporations decided, ‘Know what? That’s about enough of that. Let’s have pink be for girls, just for a laugh’.” He swept his hands gracefully out from his sides in a gesture to the sea of pink around them. “Look at us, Jackie Tyler — basking in the garish success of mid-twentieth-century capitalism.”

“I’ll give you something to bask in,” Jackie muttered under her breath as she looked away, scanning the room. “Where is the mum-to-be, anyhow? Guests will be arriving any—”

“I’m here, I’m here,” came an exasperated call, and the Doctor straightened up at once, turning to meet the sight of Rose as she hobbled slowly down the steps. Halfway down, she stopped on the landing.

His breath caught, taking her in from his vantage point in the doorway leading to the foyer.

She wore a form-fitting white dress that clung to every lovely curve; thin straps baring the pale pink of her arms, the loose neckline dipping down to reveal cleavage that had bloomed spectacularly over the past eight months. The dress was delectably form-fitting; not only hugging every supple bend of her body, but perfectly cradling and accentuating her well-rounded bump — over which rested the thick outline of a metallic pink heart. 

The Doctor suddenly found that he loved two things more than he ever thought he could: Jackie Tyler [for picking out that dress], and even in spite of himself: the color pink.

What he loved far, far more, however… was her.

“Oh,” he breathed, his hand leaping to his chest to still the thundering of his heart. “Rose.”

“Don’t,” she grumbled from her post, where she stood with one hand atop the curve of her belly, the other gripping at the banister with white knuckles. “My back is killing me. Feet, too — I’m taking off these stupid bloody shoes. They’ve gotten so tight. And I know I look like a globe with legs, so please, just… don’t.”

Quick as an arrow, the Doctor was darting up the stairs, meeting her in seconds before grasping her face in gentle hands. He swooped down at once, overcome with affection as he delicately covered her lips with his. 

“You,” he kissed her again, “Look,” another kiss, “Breathtaking.” The last one was placed on her forehead, where he uttered quietly, “Stop it. Lookat you. You have never looked more beautiful… And I mean that.”

He met her eyes as he drew back, his hands dropping from her face to cradle her bump with splayed fingers. His heart swelled as he felt the beautiful thrum of life growing within her; their daughter. With a sigh and a soft smile, he carefully pressed his thumbs over the satiny material of the dress, sweeping in gentle curves back and forth. Rose blushed deeply as her lips turned up at the corners, placing her hands over his.

“Guess that’s my cue to put the cake out, then,” Jackie’s voice piped up from the doorway to the parlor. “Rose, sweetheart, can I get you something to drink?”

“... Something sweet?” her daughter tried, her smile turning a little sheepish, and the Doctor smirked. 

Rose had been riddled with scores of cravings throughout her entire pregnancy (certainly not just of the food-and-beverage short, but to expand on that would be a different subject entirely) and he’d been stringent with her at times, not wanting to encourage lovely things such as gestational diabetes or preeclampsia.

Though he wasn’t entirely cruel. 

“Don’t worry,” The Doctor murmured, leaning his forehead into hers. “Have whatever you like. Baby showers are judgment-free, Rose Tyler — and I believe your mum even made your favorite cupcakes.”

Even with their proximity, he could see her eyes widening. “The coconut ones with—”

“With the cream cheese frosting, yes,” he laughed. “And mini quiches, as well.”

In response to such tantalizing information; a rich, velvety moan poured from Rose’s lips, sending a frisson from the very top of his spine all the way through the tips of his toes. His fingers pressed lightly into her belly of their own accord, redirecting the surge of tension working like a lightning bolt through him.

Rose might have been the one dealing with the hormonal onslaught of pregnancy, but as a partial human, the Doctor had plenty of hormones of his own to contend with. Plus, she smelled twenty times more intoxicating than she already did while she was carrying their child, and he was aware of it constantly; a man starving at all conceivable times.

They’d been… a bit insatiable, to say the least. Had been since long before she was pregnant, of course, but now…

Well. Point blank: It wasn’t fair, not even remotely, that she’d go making such noises within a set and setting that couldn’t possibly be more family-oriented. 

The Doctor pulled a deep breath through his parted lips, needing to ground himself back in the present moment; a moment in which women would soon start showing up in droves; some with screaming children of their own. 

Just the thought was enough to jar him back into full control, and he kissed her again, readjusting to wrap his arm around her shoulder.

“Let’s go and get you a cupcake, hmm?”

“Yesssss,” Rose sighed dreamily, and la la la, the Doctor wasn’t listening, la la la. She loosely strung an arm around his waist, thankfully accepting his support, taking the banister again with her free hand as he led her the rest of the way down the stairs.

“So… D’you like the blue?” he asked somewhat self-consciously a moment later, finally stepping onto the ground floor. He smiled when she promptly kicked her pink ballets onto the fancy rug, surreptitiously tucking them off to the side with a swollen foot. “Your mum seems to think I stick out like a sore thumb.” 

Rose looked at his suit intently as though it was the first time she’d noticed it, and immediately burst into laughter, placing her hand over his heart.

“Thank god you haven’t put on pink,” she tapped the buttons of his oxford, grinning up at him. “Doctor, this suit is… S’just you.” Her little grin took on a mischievous little glint as she got closer; close as her body would allow, then leaned in as she lowered her voice. “Don’t want you to change… I think I want you exactly like this.”

The Doctor’s left eyebrow popped up, and he smirked wickedly at her. “Wellll, don’t go wanting me too much, Rose Tyler — there’s still the party to attend to. Although…” His arm around her shoulders loosened as he brought a hand between her shoulder blades, sliding it down to her lower back until his pinkie brushed the almost invisible indent of her knickers. “Later tonight, you’d like a lovely, private massage—”

“Oiiiii!”

A very unwelcome voice sounded off from the doorway, and the pair practically jumped apart to see Jackie standing there holding two glasses of some sort of fizzy pink beverage garnished with bright red strawberries. “Can’t I walk away for two bleedin 'minutes without you seducing my daughter in the foyer?”

The Doctor stood up tall in indignance, flustered as he straightened his suit jacket, hoping it would distract from the glowing vibrance of his blushing cheeks. “I was not—”

But Rose was already turning to rush towards her mum, wobbling at a slight tilt to accept her treat with eager hands. “Oh, thank you, mum, thank you, thank you, thank you—”

“Yeah, alright,” Jackie’s voice feigned admonishment, but there was no disguising the love in her eyes. “Strawberry soft drink. Caffeine free,” she added with a pointed look towards the Doctor; because although she was already well-versed on the pregnancy no-no’s long before he came around, evidently, English Breakfast hadn’t been on her list.

The former Time Lord hadn’t forgotten.

“Thank you,” he mouthed regardless, not wanting to go into the entire day with a point of contention between them — and all over a silly suit.

She smiled at him, effectively clearing the air, and held up the drink that wasn’t currently being gulped down in one go by her daughter. “This one’s yours, you daft, blue thing.”

Oh, thank god, he thought, mouth watering as he eyed the strawberry pierced over the rim of the glass. 

As Jackie went on to wake Tony, the Doctor and Rose stood at the foot of the stairs sipping at the fizzy sweetness of their drinks, and chatting as innocently as they could, enjoying their brief moment of solitude before festivities began. They had just enough time to finish every last drop before they heard the first set of tires pulling up the long drive. 

Rose insisted on hauling their glasses to the kitchen on her own, requesting a moment to herself before being lovingly forced into the center of attention for the next few hours. He didn’t blame her.

In the meantime, the Doctor headed for the front entrance, putting on his best ‘domestic socialite’ face before pulling the French doors open to the morning sun.

[alainas-sims]

Gloria Morales: 1940s Lookbook

1944-ish lookbook for Gloria Ofelia Morales as a toddler. Gloria's mother enjoys dressing her in soft, feminine clothes, though with the war still ongoing, some of Gloria's clothes are more 1930s-style, with the feedcloth-style patterns of the Depression appearing in Gloria's outfits (her overalls are also a hand-me-down from her brother). Gloria's father, Héctor Morales, died in World War II, and she is being raised with her older (half-)brother Salvador with their mother, Alexandrea. She has the Charmer trait.

everyday 1: hair / dress

everyday 2: dress

everyday 3: dress

sleepwear: nightgown (TSR)

party: dress (Kit birthday dress)/ shoes

swimwear: swimsuit (TSR)

hot weather: overalls

cold weather: bonnet* / coat / shoes

Thanks to: @birksche, @twentiethcenturysims, @powluna, @linzlu, @historicalfictionsims, @madlensims, + those not on tumblr

*The download page for the bonnet has been giving me trouble... I can reupload it if somebody would like to download it, it's by eunosims but the link redirects to their main blog.

[campgender]

“Fems wore pants”: gender non-conforming fems of the 1940s & 50s

note: most of the narrators quoted in these sections are white; Marla, mentioned in excerpt 3, is a Black woman who did not strongly identify with roles when interviewed in the 80s and was a fem in the 1950s. Sandy and other white butches perceiving Marla as more masculine than she identifies, while an issue also experienced by white narrators, is likely influenced by racism / misogynoir.

image description: six screenshots of text from the book Boots of Leather, Slippers of Gold: The History of a Lesbian Community by Elizabeth Lapovsky Kennedy & Madeline D. Davis (1994).

excerpts 1 & 2:

[…] even wore pants. Joanna remembers how much she liked her first pair.

“At that time slacks weren’t really that popular.… And to wear a pair of slacks was really kind of looked down on because they just weren’t worn for everyday attire. That wasn’t part of the wardrobe. That was part of somehow, say you were going riding, or you were roughing it. But if you went out you didn’t wear them. My first pair of slacks I thought were the greatest I ever had in my whole life.”

Even when they both wore pants, there was a definite difference in the appearance of a lady and her butch. Joanna mentions the distinguishing features of fem appearance while remembering a time when in the late 1940s she and her butch were harassed by some men after leaving a bar in Manhattan. “I was wearing pants too but I had, like I had a blouse on. I had makeup on. So evidently we did look a hell of a lot [like a gay couple], well my hair was [done-up].”

excerpt 3:

Although Sandy assumed that Marla was butch due to her short, curly hair and her athletic demeanor, Marla identifies herself as more fem in later interviews.

excerpts 4 & 5:

Fems wore pants as well as skirts. Annie describes her costume of the late 1950s.

“When I first started coming around and hanging around in those bars I used to wear skirts, high heels. I used to wear my heels all the time. And then I started getting into the habit where we were wearing slacks and jerseys. Dungarees weren’t really in for girls then. It was slacks. And then on occasion you’d wear a dress; you’d dress up.”

A few fems in the late 1950s wore only pants. This defiance of the feminine dress code did not bring censure from other butches and fems, but it did get Bell in trouble with her probation officer.

“I was a very rebellious person, I didn’t like the officer because, she insisted that I wear skirts to report for probation. One time I went there and I had jeans on and she said, ‘I thought I told you to wear a skirt here.’ I said, ‘Well I don’t happen to own any skirts and I don’t have the money to go out and buy any.’ She said, ‘Well borrow one then.’ She made me go home. Somehow I had to go and borrow a skirt. I came back and I had a skirt on. And she was just so nasty. I said ‘damn,’ in my heart, I was just so aggravated and angry about everything, I said, ‘I think I’d rather just go and do the six months rather than have to come down here and report to this asshole.’”

excerpt 6:

Although unquestionably fem, Bell did not appear traditionally feminine, ‘i’ve had many people, though, that have taken me to be a butch because I do not like dressing really feminine, and I feel that I do have some butch ways that have lea people to believe that I just might be a butch. I’m not real feminine acting.” Feminine appearance and mannerisms were less important to her identity than sexual interests and her need to be dependent on someone “strong.”

end image description.

[barbeygirl]

A quick introduction to 1940’s fashion

I've been so obsessed with Band of Brothers recently and I love reading the fanfics. Here’s my contribution, for your OC's.

(soon!) Part 2. Hair, makeup etc

(soon!) 1940's lookbook (photos)

The war had a major impact on 40's fashion. There were shortages and rations, and women were entering the workforce as men went off to war, leading to a more simplistic, utilitarian style.

Rations and regulations:

In the UK, clothing was rationed from June, 1941 to March, 1949, in varying strictness. So although you still payed for clothing with money, you'd need coupons to be allowed to buy them altogether. In the US, the Regulation L-85 (1942), rationed natural fibers and restricted how clothing could be made in order to save fabric. This meant regulating the skirt length, the fullness of pants and jackets, and even banned cuffs.

Silhouette:

The early 40's silhouette had strong, boxy shoulders, but by the mid forties and as the restrictions grew more strict, the silhouette softened to save materials. A nipped-in and high waistline stayed popular for the whole decade, and a hemline below the knee was fashionable until 1947, when Dior came out with the "New Look".

Fashion:

Because restrictions and shortages, the look was simple but stylish. Showy, over the top clothing was considered unfashionable to wear in wartime Britain.

The "military style" bled into every day fashion. It was common for men, who were not on active duty, to still wear bomber jackets, trench coats and aviator glasses. It's visible on women's fashion as well, which is why some of the clothing have a sort of a uniformly look.

Popular outfits for women were square-shouldered jackets with matching A-line skirts, shirtwaist dresses, and thanks to actresses, pants were now also a stable part of women's wardrobes. The pants had wide, straight legs and high waists, and were often paired with a colorful blouse or sweater and a matching jacket.

Hand knitting in Britain was at peak popularity during the war. Women on the home front were encouraged to "knit your bit" and contribute to the war effort by knitting for the troops. The warmth of woollen items also made knitwear popular for civilians.

Working women:

Women were entering the workforce to replace men, who went off to war. This required more practical attire, such as sturdy shoes, head scarves, overalls etc.

Some jobs (such as the WAVES) felt it important to emphasize that women wouldn't become any less feminine by working or wearing a uniform. This is why makeup, nail polish and feminine hairstyles weren't just largely allowed, they were encouraged.

Actress Veronica Lake, famous of her highly imitated "Peek-a-boo" hairstyle, where her hair covers one of her eyes, encouraged women working in factories to tie their hair up into safer styles to avoid injury. In this Safety Styles video, she has her hair up in a "victory roll" style.

The New Look by Dior:

After the long war, and as life was slowly returning back to normal, there was a want of "returning to femininity" among women. At the same time, some women feared that this ultra-femininity would set back all the progress they had made working outside the home during the war.

In 1947, Christian Dior released a new collection called ”The New Look” which featured a full, calf-length skirt. After the simple lines of the utility clothing, such a dress seemed desirable by contrast. The full skirt was also controversial for how much fabric it used, since rationing in the UK wouldn't end for another two years and there were still material shortages in both UK and the US.

Despite the controversies, the New Look was hugely popular and became the predominant silhouette well into the 1950's.

A/N: To keep this short, I had to paste and delete like half of what this originally was onto part 2. Also, lmk if there's interest in men's fashion ver. of this!

Hopefully this was legible. All the ”not my first language blah blah” stuff <3

sources: (links)

Imperial War Museum National Museum of American History centralcasting.com V&A Museum (free 1940's knitting patterns!!) NationalWW2museum.org

[die-freundin]

The Masculine Cover Models of "Die Freundin"

(various dates, 1929-1930)

while most cover models for the magazine were (predictably) feminine women posing for nude photographs alone or in groups, i was able to find these four exceptions* among them in the archive. maybe there were even more in the 3 years that arent collected in the archive! due to the quality of the scans i fully cannot tell if 2 or 3 of these are the same person... nevertheless i can only imagine what their appearance must have moved in girls back in the day - did masculine women have them acting unwise? in any case i felt like unearthing these primordial butches and showing them to tumblr dot com... who knows what happened to them in the years after.

only one of the models is named, and im not entirely sure the picture used was meant to be a "glamorous" photo. her name is Charlotte "Lotte" Hahm and shes most likely on the cover of No. 17, 1929 because of the recent merging of the two ladies' clubs Violetta and Monbijou (discussed by Hahm in an article on page 5-6 of that number). you might recognize her from this picture, which has made the rounds on tumblr (blog: genderoutlaws) in the last few years:

which is also on the cover of an issue of Die Freundin (No.1, 1929). Hahm was actually a prominent lesbian and feminist organizer could really also have an entire post all to herself. she even survived both the Nazi regime and WW2 to keep organizing well into the 1940s and 50s. more about her (and almost equally as important: more pictures of her cool outfits) can be found here (Lesbengeschichte.org, in german). let me know if theres interest in a translation of that site's biography into english!

*there is one more from 1928 that i am omitting from this post because she will be the subject of her own post later. inquisitive readers can find her on the cover of No. 7, 1928.

image IDs under the cut:

(image 1: photograph in black and white of a round-faced fair-skinned woman with short slicked back hair looking to the right, smiling while holding a cigarette in her hand. she is wearing an open suit jacket with a white pocket square, a white dress shirt, and a striped tie)

(image 2: photograph in black and white of a fair-skinned woman with hair that blurs into the dark background of the photograph, seated and looking sternly over her right shoulder. she is dressed in a black tuxedo jacket with large lapels, a white dress shirt with a black bowtie, and a monocle attached to her shirt. she is holding a cigarette in her hand)

(image 3: photograph in black and white of a fair skinned woman looking the the left, dressed in some kind of white and black uniform cap with a leather brim and laurels, black uniform jacket with white braided shoulder boards and a white pocket square, a white dress shirt, and a black bowtie. the photograph is captioned in german as "The modern woman!")

(image 4: photograph in black and white of a fair skinned woman standing with her hands in her pockets facing the camera directly, her hair dark, short, and parted to one side. she is wearing a white dress shirt, white or possibly very light colored tie, dark suit pants, and light colored shoes. the photo is captioned in german as "Lotte Hahm, 1st club president of the Ladies' Clubs Violetta and Monbijou")

(image 5: the same person as in image 4 posing with a sign that reads "Hooray! Die Freundin is here again!" in german, wearing a polka dotted bowtie instead of a long tie. the rest of the outfit is the same as in image 4)

[imasloid]

SHINY COLORS FASHION ANALYSIS: Kiriko Yukoku (幽谷霧子)

"It's not that I have an injury, but... the reason I'm wearing these bandages is… a secret."

This is a project analyzing and taking a look at the fashion design and application in the multimedia series, The IDOLM@STER: Shiny Colors. This section is about the mysterious and soft-spoken bandaged girl of the series, Kiriko Yukoku! If you want to jump to a specific section, go here!

(This is a reprint of my thread on Twitter. I put it on Tumblr for easier reading and for archiving purposes. Enjoy!)

-----

INTRODUCTION

“Kiriko is a silver-haired girl who exudes a mysterious atmosphere, most notable by her ephemeral nature and being wrapped in bandages. Soft-spoken but kind-hearted. She is very empathetic, sensitive, and interacts with the world around her in a very peculiar way. ”

---

Profile

Age: 17

Birthday: September 23rd

Height: 160 cm

Weight: 51 kg

Blood Type: AB

Hometown: Fukushima

Hobbies: Collecting cute things, handcrafts, blood donation

Special Skills: Wrapping bandages beautifully, stepping silently, peeling apples

CV: Yuina Mizuki

---

Before starting the analysis, I would suggest if you haven’t already, read her W.I.N.G. (introductory) commu (through the broswer game's English patch or on YouTube). If you don’t play the game, I would listen to her image song and read the lyrics to get a better sense of her character.

-----

STYLE BREAKDOWN

Kiriko’s fashion style takes great influence from girly-kei fashion, a feminine style that emphasizes cuteness. However, Kiriko turns it into her own by making it more casual, desaturated, and minimalistic, fitting her mysterious, dollish, ghost-like first impression.

Before going into fashion influences, Kiriko has doll-like qualities that aren’t clothing-related that synergize well with her simple design like porcelain skin & light, natural makeup. The attributes listed here combine with her dolly clothing to make her look like a mannequin.

Girly-kei fashion is the main influence on Kiriko’s style, following a common silhouette and typical elements of the style, like ribbons, lace, and heeled dress shoes. She makes it her own by dressing the style down as well as simplifying the outfit composition and silhouette.

Many of Kiriko’s coords take common elements from other girly-kei subtypes leading to a versatile but reined-in wardrobe. Though the style inspirations are varied, a consistent silhouette and repeated bijou elements like ribbons, frills, and ruffles unite her looks.

Another prominent influence on Kiriko’s style is “classical,” an adult, elegant fashion inspired by film actresses of the 1940s-1970s. It comprises of layering basics and a balance of both bold and natural colors, bringing out Kiriko’s mysterious elegance in a less dollish way.

Preppy influence in Kiriko’s wardrobe is easily seen in the her early outfits and forms her usual silhouette & outfit composition that’s seen as the foundation of many of her outfits. Though it really defines her early wardrobe, the influence is more subtle in her later outfits.

Her bandages are a huge part of her identity & how she presents herself. Kiriko doesn’t wear them for fashion reasons or having a fragile body, but they act as a “good luck charm” for her extreme anxiety. It also ties back to her dollish demeanor and how she lives at a hospital.

Kiriko’s image color is an icy light blue, perhaps relating to her mental fragility and her use of bandages. It’s a very dreamy and ephemeral color and synergizes with her doll-like lightness and girly elegance.

Kiriko’s color palette comprises primarily of dull & light neutrals used as a foundation for most of her outfits. This palette often either colors the whole outfit or takes a back seat to a secondary palette of vibrant cool tones and grays.

-----

STYLE ANALYSIS

Kiriko auditioned at the production to be an idol to “boost her self-confidence” and improve her timid nature. When Producer asks her about her bandages, she lies and said she “bumped into something.” Kiriko says putting them on makes her feel at peace.

Kiriko’s name in kanji (幽谷霧子) contains the character “幽 (yu)” commonly attributed with the word for ghost “幽霊 (yuurei)” and the character “霧 (kiri)” meaning “fog” or “mist.” As such, Kiriko is most known for her fragile and ephemeral appearance.

As touched on in the last section, Kiriko has many qualities that make her feel like a living doll. This sentiment is shared by the other members of L’antica, often complimenting her and how just looking at Kiriko makes them feel “at peace.”

Many of her earlier outfits had her outfits in the same silhouette, like a fashion mannequin, with a collared top and flared above-the-knee-length skirt. Before major development, she was characterized with this dollish silhouette in the beginning.

Also mentioned in the previous section, Kiriko is a huge worrywart: constantly anxious about other’s physical and emotional states and very sensitive to how others interact with her. She tends to bite her tongue and finds it hard to speak freely to others.

Her extreme anxiety isn’t limited to just people, but also real-life events and even inanimate objects’ feelings. As stated before, her bandages are a “talisman” Kiriko uses to calm herself down and “protect” her before she gets “injured” by her pangs of unease.

The frequency and size of her bandages have a direct relation to how much her anxieties are hindering her, bigger size & higher frequency relating to a weaker mental state. Kiriko wore them constantly, but as her character got developed she started relying on them less & less.

She only wears her forehead bandage and sometimes even doesn’t wear any at all in her most recent cards, showing her growth in how she interacts with her anxiety. To add, Kiriko has never been “ashamed” of her bandages either and considers them a part of her identity.

Her bandages also relate to her medical background with both of her parents being doctors, living in hospital dormitory housing, having a hobby of donating blood, and often volunteering at said hospital. Her main color palette of whites/light grays also relate to this.

Kiriko is also very smart to where her career advisor encouraged her to become a medical professional. She is a methodical person with a sharp memory; her preppy influences in her fashion also call back to this as well.

Another trait about Kiriko is her “ephemeral” and “fantastical” aura like that of a fairy-tale character. Some things she does are personify inanimate objects, have vivid daydreams that tend to bleed into reality, and having a very surreal sense of humor.

Though she has notable anxiety, Kiriko’s personality is simple, positive, and tends to see the good in the world and in others (which is why she worries so much about everything). She is easily awestruck and has a high sense of wonder for the world.

Her fashion really suits that side of her personality well with lots of hazy, muted colors, soft fabrics, light textures, bijou detailing, and flowy and oversized clothing pieces. It makes the viewer feel like they’re also in one of her daydreams.

Kiriko’s fashion evolution is subtle, but you can see how her style influences change in the beginning, middle, and end as her character develops. Though her fashion changes, her dollish, plush, mysterious, and dreamy aura stays intact.

-----

This is it for Kiriko Yukoku!

If you liked this thread, check out my Twitter and give me a tip on Ko-Fi so I can do more things like this with other idol series! Thanks for reading <3

Next section: Houkago Climax Girls

[solar-halos]

hemlines throughout history

umm pls keep in mind i’m doing this off of memory (bc when i was 14 i thought i was a fashion historian LOL) and then pics ive seen paired w my very general knowledge of wtf was going on in that decade but like idk where else to talk about hemlines throughout history so here we are. this is SORT of embarrassing sorry

1910s - this is more interesting to me than the 1920s. since wwi was Happening women stepped into the factories and needed a shorter skirt so they wouldn’t trip and fucking die. but also around this era i’ve noticed that they have the cutest fucking boots that are kinda reminiscent of a go-go boot. perhaps the intent was for the boot and the shorter skirt to meet in the middle so the ankles weren’t on full display. also do you know that advertisement marilyn monroe filmed of her skirt flying up? i think the og video was filmed in this decade (not for a movie or anything (obviously) i think they were just experimenting w the camera)

1920s - flapper era! i feel like theyre often depicted wearing skirts way above the knee, but in the early 20s, the hemline would usually stop a little below the knee so that when they walked around their entire leg wouldn’t be exposed. i think the idea of their thighs being on display is bc in the mid/later half of the decade the hemlines did eventually stop above the knee (but not by much). also it was pretty iconic for women to step out in drapey fabric with drop-waist silhouettes. also i remember when i learned the difference between a flapper and a vamp i was gagged cos i wanted to be a vamp so bad (for some reason… again i was 14 lol)

1930s - the hemline dropped, but not by much. more like above the ankle/calf territory. also the fabrics clung more tightly to the body and even movie stars wore inexpensive fabrics like rayon to imitate the glamor of silk. i don’t rlly have much else to say about this decade tbh

1940s - okay this is actually really interesting. with wwii, rationing became a huge thing, and this applied to clothing too. so in the beginning of the decade, women were wearing shorter skirts that fell to their knees. then, in the latter part of the decade, the skirts got fuller since they didn’t have to worry about rationing as much and the hemlines dropped to create a more feminine silhouette

1950s - the styles in the late 40s trickled down into to early 50s, with skirts becoming longer and dropping around mid calf. this decade was all about “taking back” the femininity women “lost” during the war so that’s why it got so flouncy and reminiscent of like the victorian era

1960s - mini skirts! kinda. the styles from the 50s also trickled down into the early 60s, so it wasn’t like a change over night thing. at first the mini skirts were less mini and more just… above the knee. then later on it got more mainstream to wear mini skirts that we’re more familiar with today. my grandma told me that when she was in school the principal or something would literally fucking measure the length of their skirts and they’d get in trouble if it was too short OR too long. but also my grandma loves lying for fun so idk how true that actually is

1970s - if i’m being honest i haven’t looked into later decades as much but if i recall correctly hemlines were kinda up to you, whether u wanted more mini or maxi lengths

1980s - okay but why were they kinda giving 40s. the boxy silhouette and shoulder pads were back in style and longer skirts got more popular. but also i feel like at this point fashion wasn’t as homogenous so obviously there were different aesthetics and cores and stuff. also not saying that fashion was completely homogenous in the other decades either (like the hobble skirt in the 10s or just the experimentation of diff silhouettes and drapes in general) but the “kids/teenagers dressing like mini adults” phenomenon was long gone so i feel like this was just one genre of style that was popular. i think heathers is kinda a perfect example of this since the Heathers are more preppy but there’s also this stoner who looks grunge adjacent

1990s (i’ll stop here) - micros got so popular in the late 90s/early 2000s but shoutout to feminism bc women weren’t pressured (as much) into wearing one specific skirt length, so minis and maxis were popular. as a matter of fact my mom said that wearing biker shorts (that u could see) under ur dresses was rlly popular when she was growing up in the 90s so i think that style came back with a VENGEANCE in the 2010s

okay i’m done. pls keep in mind that this was #justforfun so my research wasn’t that in depth it’s just what i’ve picked up from looking at old pics/doing very bare minimum google searches over the years. also! saying “women wore ___” is just me generalizing no matter the decade since fashion is crazy and even though it might have been trendy at the time it still doesn’t mean every single person was wearing it. like just look at the hobble skirts, wealthier women wore them as intended whereas working women either had to adapt the trend to their lifestyle or just abandon it entirely. i know it’s not that deep but just wanted to let it be known that im not intentionally tryna spread misinformation

[isfjmel-phleg]

There are two versions of Al Pratt's backstory in its entirety: the original in All-American Comics #19-20, which appeared in October-November 1940, and a revised and expanded version in Secret Origins 1986 #25, from April 1988.

And one could compare these stories and make observations about what they say about the cultures of their respective eras, or the adaptation choices of the later version, but I'm not going to do that (now?). Something that stood out to me was the differences in costuming choices for Mary James between the original, which depicts her in what would then have been contemporary clothing, and the retelling, which filters early 1940s clothing through the lens of the 1980s.

Mary first appears when Al meets her out walking, presumably on or near their college campus. She is wearing clothing suitable for a collegiate young woman of the early 1940s: an orange fitted short-sleeved sweater, a green plaid skirt, orange ankle socks, and green saddle shoes. The silhouette of the skirt is closer to that of the 1930s than what it would become in the 1940s (1940 is still early in the decade, so styles would still be transitioning); it is fairly narrow and flares out toward the hem, extending past the knees. Skirts later in the decade would rise to knee-length to conserve fabric and would develop a more A-line shape.

The 1988 retelling similarly depicts her in a sweater and skirt. This long-sleeved sweater is reasonably comparable to styles of the day, but note how the skirt silhouette differs. It is a similar length but a much fuller A-line/circle shape. This is more like styles of the late 1940s and the 1950s than the distinct flared column shape of the 1930s that lingered into the earliest years of the 1940s. The bow design on her heels is typical of the 1940s, but the spiky heels are about a decade too early. 1940s heels were thicker.

The choice to put her in heels instead of the original saddle shoes not only reinforces the ultra-feminine look that the saturated magenta and purple color scheme gives but also further emphasizes the height difference between Mary and Al, which is a major point in this scene.

There aren't very good views of the suit that Mary wears during the kidnapping (can't be a Golden Age love interest without being kidnapped at least once, of course). But it appears to consist of a green waist-length jacket with a rounded collar and buttons to the neck, paired with a matching skirt in the flared column shape. Her shoes are not visible, and she has no hat (normally part of such attire), probably because she was forced to leave the house suddenly. Again, this style hearkens back more to the late 1930s. Later 1940s women's suits had a boxier, wide-shouldered silhouette.

The 1988 retelling gives Mary a relatively more active role in this scene and a more detailed costume. Her yellow suit jacket reaches the hips and flares out in a peplum, with pockets, and her skirt is still quite full. She also wears a black collared blouse with a white tie. I couldn't find photo references of such ties worn with women's suits at this time, the skirt is the wrong shape, and the heels shouldn't be stilettos, but otherwise this costume isn't too far off-era.

It's worth noting that 1980s fashion took some inspiration from the 1940s. This suit probably woudn't have looked out of place in 1988.

At the college's ball, Mary wears a red evening gown that continues to show the influence of the late 1930s. It is bias-cut, flared at the hem, puff-sleeved, and low in the back. These styles were still seen in the very early 1940s.

Whereas in the 1988 retelling, she wears a much shorter magenta dress with a voluminous skirt and sleeves, frills at the waist and neck, a sash tied in a giant bow, and loose-fitting elbow-length gloves.

This is a 1980s prom dress. No one was dressing like this in 1940. Everything about this is incorrect.

Even by 1980s standards, this is an oddly juvenile choice of costume (plunging neckline notwithstanding) for a character who is a college-aged woman from a high-class family to wear to a formal event with an ostentatiously valuable diamond necklace. But the retelling's narrative does make a point of Mary's needing to "grow up a bit" (since in both versions of the story she's a rather unpleasant 1940s stereotype of a female love interest harshly critical of the soon-to-be hero), so maybe this style is meant to emphasize her immature behavior.

There's not really a point to this, I just have an interest in historical costuming, and I find it interesting how noncontemporary clothing is interpreted by artists who are probably more accustomed to drawing their own eras. This 80s-does-40s depiction is about the same distance of time that we currently are from the 1980s. Would a present-day depiction of the 1980s be likewise steeped in current aesthetic sensibilities? Quite possibly.

[assistantcommanderalisha]

Heya guys! I’m back with another post! But this one is about Female Perry! If you guys wanna ask Perry and his siblings questions, I’m deciding to make posts about Perry and Sibs so you could get to know them before asking them questions! Next we have the female girly semi aquatic egg laying mammal of action herself, Female Perry the Platypus aka Agent FemP based on Chloe Bourgeois from Miraculous Ladybug!

Name: Female Perry the Platypus

Gender: Female(obviously)She/her

Age: 15(currently in 2023)

Physical Appearance: Female Perry is a greenish teal female platypus with yellow fingered tangerine webbing only on her back feet. She has 3 black hairs on her head, long low salmon orange beaver tail, deep dark brown eyes, 3 long feminine girly eyelashes, a duck bill that matches her webbing color, wears a 1940's fedora on her head, a light blue crown on top her fedora with a sky blue strap(as a pet), greenish teal gloves on her paws, and she mainly wears her light blue ballgown as Agent FemP. Under her fur, she has a black collar with a red gem(not to be confused with her siren pendant), a siren pendant, She also wears a bra to make her feminine. On her fedora above her black strap, she wears a light blue bee hair comb which is her miraculous in camouflage mode

Height: 2 feet (60.96 cm)

Nemesis/Enemies: Dr Doofenshimirtz(formerly) Rodney, L.O.V.E.M.U.F.F.I.N., Dennis the Bunny, and Professor Parenthesis

Friends/Allies: Doof, Phineas, Ferb, Candace, Major Monogram, Carl, Monty Monogram, Lyla Lolliberry, Stacey Hirano, Milo Murphy, Diogee, Balthazar Cavendish, Vinnie Dakota, Melissa Chase, Zack Underwood, Ortan Mahlson, Pinky the Chihuahua, the other agents, Groucho Perry, Fedora Perry, Fedora Perry, Bunka da Bunkaquan, Parable the Dragon-pus, Master Perry, Fez Perry, Rebel Perry the Rebel-pus, Perry the Platyborg, Sweary the Swan, Perry 2(cousin), Peggy, Ricardo, Penny/Phyllian, Whitney, Mishti, Dairry, Emily, Rose, Amy, Nelson(evil cousin), Pansy(mom), Percy(dad) Parker the Platypus(from The Penguins Of Madagascar boyfriend and love interest) and Pollen(kwami)

Family: Perry(brother), Groucho Perry(brother), Fedora Perry(sister), Kelly(sister), Bunka da Bunkaquan(brother), Parable the Dragon-pus(brother), Master Perry(brother), Fez Perry(brother), Rebel Perry the Rebel-pus(brother), Perry the Platyborg(brother), Sweary the Swan(brother), Perry 2(cousin), Peggy(cousin), Ricardo(cousin), Penny/Phyllian(sister), Whitney(sister), Mishti(sister), Dairry(sister), Emily(sister), Rose(sister), Amy(sister), Nelson(evil cousin), Pansy(mom), and Percy(dad)

Nationality/Species: Australian(native to) American(domesticated in) , Female Platypus, half dream demon, and half siren

Born: May 21st 2008

Occupation: Top Secret agent of The OWCA, Household pet, Top watchdog spy of the Hater Empire, Leader of the Watchdog Spies, Female Lieutenant of the Hater Empire, and holder of the bee miraculous

Affiliations: The O.W.C.A.(Organization Without A Cool Acronym), Flynn Fletcher Family, and the Hater Empire

Hometown: Danville

Boss: Major Monogram

Owners: Phineas and Ferb

First Appearance: Gaming the System

Alinement: Good(in PaF) and Evil(In WOY)

Likes: Thinking of herself, the ballgown-inator, dresses, wearing her ballgown, being girly, ballgowns, hanging out with my brothers and sisters, music, getting her way, making fun of others, makeup, and expensive outfits Favorite Songs: Queen Bee by Rochelle Diamanté(main), Hater Love by TheFanficfanPony, and Rotten to the Core by Sofia Carson

Dislikes: Doofenshimirtz’s inators(except the ballgown inator), not getting her way, being tricked and humiliated, getting her ballgown dirty, and her friends being insulted

Miraculous: Bee Miraculous

Kwami: Pollen

Hero Persona: FemaleQueenBeePerry

Villain Persona: FemaleAntiBugPerry(when using Ladybug Miraculous for evil), FemaleQueenWaspPerry, FemaleScarletQueenWaspPerry, FemaleMiracleQueenPerry, FemaleQueenBananaPerry, FemaleQueenPenalTeamPerry, and FemaleSoleDestroyerPerry(all using Bee Miraculous for evil)

Powers/Abilities: Social Manipulation, FemaleQueenBeePerry’s spinning top yo-yo and Venom(as FemaleQueenBeePerry), Wasps(as FemaleQueenWaspPerry and FemaleMiracleQueenWaspPerry), Banana gun(as FemaleQueenBananaPerry), Imprison people in spherical barrier, soccer-related powers and Self-cloning(as FemaleQueenPenaltyPerry), Transforms anyone she stomps on into singing heeled shoes(as FemaleSoleDestroyerPerry), Apportion, Clairvoyance, Cross-Dimension Awareness, Illusion manipulation, Intangibility, Innate Capability, Nigh Omnipotence, Laser Manipulation, Levitation, Molecular Manipulation, Nightmare/Dream Manipulation, Nightmare/Dream Inducement, Possession, Pyrokinesis, Size Shifting, Telekinesis, Telepathy, and Mind Reading(as a half dream demon) enchanted singing voice which allows to manipulate or control others’ actions with its compelling tones. The more of the positive energy she consumes, the stronger her voice becomes, and the farther she could spread her good magic for everyone to enjoy(as half siren but uses it for good)

What her speaking voice sounds like: Same voice as Chloe Bourgeois herself cuz she’s based on Chloe

Voiced by/Speaking and Chattering Voice: Selah Victor(For speaking)Dee Bradley Baker(when chattering)

Singing Voice: Sofia Carson

Personality: Female Perry is best described as “The Girly” younger sister of Perry. She loves spending time with her siblings and she doesn’t like when her ballgown gets dirty. She has the same aspects of Perry but most of the time, she is a bossy, arrogant, and superficial female platypus who does everything in her power to crush and humiliate the other O.W.C.A. agents. She only thinks highly of herself and lowly of others as she believes that she deserves everything and takes pride in her secret agent lifestyle. While being callous and careless to anyone but herself, she could be cowardly and easily scared of danger often caused by Dr. Doofenshmirtz's inators used to take over TSA. Despite all of these traits, Female Perry can be courageous as she is willingly helpful when asked by those she is close to or admires, such as helping Perry and the rest of her siblings to defeat Doof. As Agent FemP, she is proud of her abilities and wants to prove herself to Perry that she can be a good secret agent for the O.W.C.A. As a dream demon, she does everything in her power to crush and make deals with the other agents. When she’s making a deal with someone, her greenish teal gloved hand starts burning with light blue flames. As a siren, she’s proud of her abilities and feeds on the positivity around her.

[nunezs-stuff]

Selena and Nunez fashion part 2

Nunez is into the more feminine but yet masculine fashion as well sure she adores wearing Victorian dresses and girlish like dresses with some key details and Roses stitched into it

She enjoys the type of purses that were made in the 1920s or 1930s

She just like wearing pants but she prefers them when they're more comfortable more Airy and less suffocating occasionally she will have a tea party with Selene if she's in the mood or she isn't busy but she does acknowledge that both Nunez and her have different tastes in fashion so she doesn't try to give her a fluffy dress

She enjoy picking out her ties and little accessories that go on to them even she likes to wear ties but she prefers bows because they're easier because ties are kind of difficult to make but she tries her best she also enjoys wearing the Victorian and steampunk fashion she does like wearing dresses that have that type of style even harduku fashion sometimes she doesn't have an idea on which dress you should wear so she does wear a suit but it doesn't mean she doesn't like wearing long black skirts with a button up shirt and tie

Nunez when she isn't out on missions

She is commonly seen and healed Flats they're either in the colors of black or white or brown

She only wears boots when she absolutely needs to

But she also likes wearing the 1940s heels she loves how they kind of look like a boot but they're quite comfortable in stylish she mostly goes for the ones that are either white red or black Nunez also likes how they come in different sizes and how they can become quite comfortable in different heels

Selena does like wearing Lolita Fashion she's also into the 1940s men's fashion

But she is more towards the masculine fashion to piss off Thor because of he believes that the woman is supposed to wear the dress and the man is supposed to wear their pants so she leaves more to masculine fashion both for her own comfort and to piss off Thor

✨ JK girl boss✨

She's either seen in a blouse with pair of 1960s pants

Or just seen in a suit many people seem to be disapproving of her fashion but Nunez always shoots them a death glare and even questions why they care

They always likes when Nunez pics out her suits

She a natural at making her ties but she likes that Nunez tries to make an effort to make ties ties even if it doesn't look quite right

If she is going to wear a dress it's either going to be simple Lolita or wearing a long black skirt with at least a tie and something that doesn't immediately make it feminine or masculine

She likes to wear the type of heels that have a bit of masculine and feminine that are comfortable lightweight and don't put a strength on her feet so she simply goes for these types of heels that are made in the 1940s she loves how they can look feminine but yet still be comfortable and how she can go throughout the day wearing heels yes but they come in different sizes so she doesn't get too uncomfortable

[ntvsstuff]

"To Be Eve: An Ode to Womanhood" by Nina Theriot Valdes

“Women are born with pain built in.”

-Phoebe Waller-Bridge, Fleabag

To Be Eve: An Ode to Womanhood

Journal Entry-April 28th, 2022

I recognize this girlhood to such lengths I no longer know what to do with it, for it holds a persistent frailty worthy of bowing down to and looking down on. I put it down. Out it comes in the shape of a distinguished, vile-looking animal. The snake drags its barren womb across the ground, far before she comes of age. When it dawns on her that beauty must bear children to bear significance, she will burst out of her skin with the pressing of a nail, only to produce nothing. She will indulge and fatten up, and her nourishment will make prey out of her. Stop pretending you are in love when you are really in pain.

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

There is a shred of dignity in washing dishes out of your own volition, before someone will be so kind as to remind you. You’ll find it under soapy, chipped fingernails that get worn out day after day. A certain game of pretend exists, as though there is an upper hand in voluntary submission. No one will ever force you to make yourself smaller than you are, but no one will forgive you if you don’t.

Tita –short for abuelita– was born out of resentment in January of 1940, the first and only daughter before her mother bore three more men into the world. I’ve seen what my grandfather looked like at 21, when he charmed her naive 18-year-old self away from her father’s wing and into the land of empty promises he made. He was a lawyer, and a good one, so naturally he was very good at lying. I wouldn’t have known any better had I had the misfortune of being a young Mexican woman in 1958. In all honesty– I wonder if I’d know any better right now.

“Where are the men who will beg you to stay? Where are these men who –like in the stories you’ve heard about your grandparents– would sooner lock you in your room than let you leave?”, said my best friend after yet another undeserving boy had come and gone. It makes for fun conversation to toy with the idea that our destiny is the product of some generational curse, but the truth is much harder to face; the cinematic, cotton candy dream machine that is traditional romance is tainted with violence and the myth of salvation. And though ignorance is seldom bliss, it is less painful than admitting that men have scarcely produced a happy woman—or at the very least, a woman who possessed a happiness she was not forced to string and regurgitate out of herself.

I’m left to wonder if the cause of her death was old age or exhaustion. A week before Tita’s passing, her heart gave out on the operation table. I’m not sure I believe in God. I’m not sure I believe in justice. But I choose to believe in the heaven that she saw, the heaven that was the color of my room. I feel sick at the thought that maybe the illness was a miracle, but a few days before she departed once and for all, she signed that DNR as eagerly as she would’ve signed divorce papers.

I’m not one to pray, but I pay tribute to other things: the transparency of her silence, the sentences she never said, and her never-applauded quiet martyrdom. I forgive myself for not having seen it sooner, for not having counted the grand gestures of love my grandfather made for the bottle before he showed her a drop of affection. I’m trying to forgive myself for being a child who, no longer naive or ignorant, grew into a woman who willingly overlooked the tangible absence of the men she spent her time with.

Once I learned of every tragedy plucked out of Grimms’ fairy tales, the true origin story of Tita’s broken ribs awoke curiosity in me; although I’ll never have proof, there are some things women just know. Soon after, the princess dress my aunt gifted me on my 5th birthday morphed into a femininity I now exert with wavering confidence, and any mediocre man looked like a prince from a flattering angle. 

My patience for the women in my family, who persistently (and often roughly) advised me to raise my standards, has grown as I’ve witnessed them stomach every fault of the men they chose. The criteria no longer was to be happy, loved, or cherished, but to estimate how much hurt you could take and settle down accordingly. And that is precisely what it was: settling. Now, as I take on this inheritance, I recognize it for the great feat it is, but I don’t respect it. I’m not sure I respect myself.

My grandfather’s sister, Dora, was a nun. She lived to the age of 96 in the small and humble convent where we often visited her. Dora had a habit of reaching for the warmth of my hands as they rested at her bedside, often nervously switching between the two. Her fingers were long and graceful, fit for playing piano at Sunday Mass as she often did. Her hands had an inevitable resemblance to her brother’s and took on the shape of her frugal way of life, drastically contrasting my grandmother’s manicured nails. There was always, however, an inevitable chip in the nail that tied us three women together and, moreover, that led us to share the room with my grandfather. 

After God took her away, the only thing Dora left behind was her rosary. From then on, my grandfather woke up at dawn everyday and prayed with conviction only a guilty man could hold, as though he’d be led into heaven by the rose-fragranced string of beads he held. I woke up many times to see him praying in the dark, his eyes closed as he sat back on his rocking chair. He looked peaceful as he apologized to the sky; he looked sorry when he thought no one was watching. In his loneliness he was honest, and the weakest part of me will always find some redemption in that. My heart finds the good in men where there might be none; I hope that’s the good that a man could find in me. I don’t respect myself.

I worship the young woman Mary was before Gabriel cornered her. I find her written in the margins of Tita’s prayer book, and in my yearning to write books of my own someday. I see her in the brunette roots Tita left behind on her hospital comb, and in my reluctance to ever dye my own hair blonde out of respect for the dead.  The only salvation I know of is resurrection of my own accord.

In her most famous and only novel, The Bell Jar,  Sylvia Plath sheds light on this paradox: despite women’s desire for companionship with a man, and the illusion that such will come attached to love and happiness, companionship with self is more often than not destroyed in the process. In the words of Plath’s implicitly autobiographical main character, Esther Greenwood, her own failed relationships confirm that the process of falling in love with a man is fundamentally designed to trick women into submission:

In spite of all the roses and kisses and restaurant dinners a man showered on a woman before he married her, what he secretly wanted when the wedding service ended was for her to flatten out underneath his feet like (...) [a] kitchen mat. (85).

Though Plath’s writing was addressed to the broken hearts of women in the 50s, her voice transcends time and echoes in the souls of contemporary women just as strongly. It is in this rose-colored ‘courting’ period that every vow and promise of happiness is made, that is, until you’re crying like his mother because he’s his father's son. As my mind and body have grown, my eyes have widened to observe this pattern as collateral damage caused by the broken marriages we’ve all witnessed, rather than a birthright. It is not futile to keep walking the line of vulnerability that is finding someone, nor is it weak to believe that somewhere out there is a person who will be patient long enough to find you.

Some six beautiful months ago, I met a boy who made me see love and partnership for what it is. He was the whole package, but carried problems, unknown to me at the time, attached to his own masculinity. He was a whole man, made of flesh and blood, and the very same things that kept me up at night. Until then, I’d spent my life reclaiming the “man-hater” title to retaliate against the pattern of men’s offenses. The problem was it worked. I could never prove myself wrong if I made every effort to always be right, all while working under the illusion that my tragic prophecies were fulfilling themselves without any of my help. 

The night we met, every act I’d so easily put on was disarmed in an instant. It was hard not to hate him for stripping me of my familiarity. It would have been less painful to do so, too. Much to my own disbelief, fighting the resentment from bubbling up is the closest thing I’ve known to peace. And though I know he didn’t hand me this solace in a box, sometimes I want to say thank you. I feel hopeful that he will continue to strike my every sneaking suspicion down without slashing me in the process. I am not one to pray, but I have faith in other things. 

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

“I feel hopeful.” “I have faith.” In retrospect, I chuckle. I’ve been let down again and all at once. In the height of disappointment, Plath’s work takes up the spot on my bedside table where a Bible used to be. In an attempt to change her story, I have learned nothing. Posthoumously, Plath’s work and ideas, often referenced by second-wave feminism, resurfaced and encompassed the self-inflicted longing of the female condition: a longing for a man, a longing for oneself, coexisting whether you eat from the fig tree or not. How painful and rewarding it is to be Eve, to be his broken rib, and secure that place by committing unforgivable crimes against oneself. 

I wish Tita had known love like Beauvoir’s and Sartre’s, I wish she’d found her own profoundness and depth in someone else. I wish she’d walked the streets of Paris just twenty years earlier than she did, before her honeymoon. Maybe then she would’ve known of men with broader minds and broader hearts, had she not held his hand as she stepped over the cobblestones. I’ve been to Paris too, now. And I have seen that it is the color of my room, for I traveled through it unaccompanied. 

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

As for the pain that I speak on, let this be the point of reference:

Journal Entry-November 13th, 2022

Sustaining injury 

did not cut me out for good things.

I don’t know when I should say thank you anymore

What a sad loss– only remembrance of an educated girl. 

Green

Raw

Whatever you call me, I will answer to the name. 

The rabbits chasing for the pasture 

are preyed upon and frowned upon, 

and so it will be until the end of time.

Until the end of mine. 

I let the leaves fall into place.

I know how little I can take, should I say thank you evermore. 

Is it so wrong to let the night fall 

when your head is above ground? 

Underwater, a little siren primps her hair

with tools they use to kill her. 

Is there any other choice? 

I let the leaves fall into place, and He will crush them still.

Give or take, 

give away your prized possessions and maybe, 

just maybe, 

In a few years He will help you.

It is always on your knees, isn’t it? 

When they kick you and console you. 

In a few years’ time, you will understand. 

For now, lay down, lay down, lay down

Pray the hounds will pass right by you

when you see them overhead. 

Keep your head down, keep your eyes closed

Pray harder than you exist

Pray for lambs, and deer, and that the monstrous won’t like you. 

Pray, against your wishes, for things worthy of heaven. 

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

After Paris, I have nowhere left to go but home, where the smell of her arroz y frijoles permeated the air through the stench of Carlos’ cigarette fumes. I call him by his first name now; he hasn’t earned the title of grandfather, or husband, or man. Much less abuelito– Tito, as I used to call him. He belonged to a generation of men that betrayed the likes of Kahlo and would reap no consequence, the only difference is that Kahlo painted more and Tita stopped altogether. I only ever got to see her paintings through a thin layer of dust. Halfway through her undergraduate degree, he decided she needed good “talking-to”. And so she came home unenrolled, no longer a painter or a student or a woman. Only a mother, only a wife, once by conviction, now by force. And still, she did it all with love.

“Any other woman,” Tía said, “would’ve put a bullet through her head, gone crazy, or disappeared.” The other woman miscarried in the hospital, actually. Tita miscarried twins not much later, after Carlos had already picked a name for them: Jesús y María. Like Plath and Assia Wevill, they both died their own little deaths. I think of women like her, and men like him, and my mind goes elsewhere now. To women like my mother, who have none of it, and to men like my father, who gave up smoking reds and who hasn’t touched a bottle since she threatened to leave him. On Earth, God was just a man, after all. To me, a man just like my father. 

The road is paved with skulls that are stretched thin and still thick-headed. I come from single second chances and wishing met with truth. I am only as naive as I am loving, and for that I cannot resent myself. Even when futile, I kneel before cribs, and crypts, and hospital beds and hold hands destined to let go. As her ashes remain ashes and the dust looms over me, I let myself be as alone as I was in the beginning. I am the good in my life when there might be none, with blind faith in something better. My kindness used to be plentiful enough to go around, and now it crawls and comes full circle. What a harrowing concept; a woman capable of change, a woman who kneels and retreats without opening her mouth. Am I not what you wanted? I am not the one with the harder pill to swallow. 

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

A Brief Afterword:

“To Be Eve: An Ode to Womanhood” began as a Memoir assignment for my English 1301 class. The objective was to take on the assignment through a distinctive past and present-self, the retelling of memories, and a reflection about our experience as part of a much larger cultural phenomenon. I sifted through my memory, all the way back to where my conception of womanhood started: my grandmother, my letters to her, the writings she left to me, my identification with writers of her generation, and my subsequent personal writings.  My methodology began with a thorough recollection of my childhood with my grandmother, with a particular emphasis on the descent from my picture-perfect perception of her marriage to its eventual tarnishing. I fact-checked as much as possible with my family members, only for my memory to be confirmed or added on to by most. 

As I studied my writing, I discovered there was an overarching, poignant grief that overtook my pages since before Tita’s death and that was only exacerbated after the fact. Although the origin of my grievances with men and my troubles with womanhood can be traced to Tita’s cautionary tale, the lives and deaths of other women of her generation, like Sylvia Plath and Frida Kahlo, as well as my personal romantic disappointments, gave birth to the understanding that my experience was certainly not unique. In my healing, revisiting the religious texts of my Catholic religion only affirmed my experience. When looked at as a piece of literature, the Bible offered further examples of the wronged, demonized, and abused femininity I observed all around me. 

Beauvoir’s exceptional love story with Sartre, the healing I obtained through my writing, and my parents’ resurrected marriage became a source of acceptance, gratitude, and maybe even hope. My eyes opened to an abundance of love that lied in the very same places where I had once seen it so absent: in the feminist writings I once looked at so solemnly, in the arch between my pessimist past-poetic self and the present poet that knows better, and in the miraculous rebuilding of my family and home life. Every cross I have had to bear clarified that the crisis of faith was the faith itself: with patience, through poetry, and seated at the right hand of my father, I can say that I know what a man’s love is. 

I plan to continue writing this Memoir after finishing my English 1301 course.

Word count:

2898

Works Cited

Plath, Sylvia. The Bell Jar (Modern Classics). 1st ed., Harper Perennial Modern Classics, 2005.

Waller-Bridge, Phoebe. TV Show. Directed by Harry Bradbeer, season 2, episode 3, Two Brothers Pictures, 18 Mar. 2019. Amazon Prime Video, www.amazon.com/gp/video/detail/B0875FRLWQ/ref=atv_dp_season_select_s2.

[braveclementine]

Shopping

Warnings: 18+readersonly, sex at the dinner table

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own my OCs, which consist of Penny Fury, Elizabeth Nelson, Elijah Chan, Katya Venice, Violetta Moscow, Lan Le, Josh, Trang Tien, Ahni Jallow, Mai Ito, and Ghaida Kashual as well as other OCs that will come up throughout the story.

It started out simply. Elizabeth had been laying in bed with Steve and Bucky. They had already finished and Bucky was pretty much asleep. Elizabeth was thinking about stuff she wanted to do and Steve was watching her. 

"What's up Princess? What are you thinking about in that pretty head of yours?" Steve asked, running his fingers up and down her side, making her giggle as she was ticklish there. 

She turned into him, their bodies pressed closely together. "Oh well just something mundane." She said softly and peered up at him, "I was wondering if I should start wearing skirts more." 

Steve pictured her in a skirt. But not one of the ones that girls wore now- the short skirts that meant any indecent guy could look up them. But the ones that girls had worn when he'd been growing up. 

Picturing her, he immediately got hard again and involuntary rutted against her to relieve some pressure. 

"Do you like that?" Elizabeth asked, but not in a teasing way. She was just curious, trying to read him. 

Steve hesitated. As much as he would love to see Elizabeth in skirts and dresses, he also didn't want his opinion of it to change how she wanted to dress. 

"I love everything you wear." Steve responded, blushing at his stupid, cheesy answer. 

Elizabeth did smile, but she said, "I don't know. I kind've want to start dressing more. . . I guess woman like? Feminine? And I don't think I really like pants all that much anyways. Do you. . . do you have something you'd want to see me in?" 

Steve's voice was caught in his throat. He hesitated and then said, "Sorry doll. I'm not sure I'm the right person to give fashion advice. Women's fashion is very different than what it was in the 1940s." 

"Was it very different, the 1940s?" She asked quietly. 

Steve thought about it. "The foods better now. I mean, taste wise, not necessarily health wise. Better ways of transportation. I miss some of the other things now. Circuses, for one. They don't have those anymore. Carnivals aren't really a thing either now."

"What about women? What are the differences that you see?" Elizabeth asked curiously. 

Steve was silent, thinking, "Well, they've certainly become more independent. And that's not a bad thing, it's just. . . different. I think it's one of the reasons I had a hard time connecting with them when I got back though. Bucky too. Feminism is certainly strange to us. I'm glad that women have all of their rights though. The clothing and hair is strange to me. I also don't understand why they dye their hair, but once again, I didn't really grow into this era. One day it was something and the next day it's been seventy years." 

"What do you miss?" Elizabeth asked. 

"Sometimes, I miss the quiet." Steve admitted. "Not as many cars, airplanes were rare in the sky. And even when the cars were on the road, it wasn't the honking and anger that is there now." 

Elizabeth nodded. "What did you like growing up?" 

Steve watched her face contort suddenly after asking the questions, eyes a mix of lime green and brown. "I want him. Not you." She growled. 

Steve's heart warmed. She wanted him to talk, she didn't just want the answers. 

He talked for a long time, keeping his voice low for Bucky's benefit. The two of them talked for so long, they were still awake when Sam and Clint came into the room at three in the morning, exhausted from their late night mission. 

Which led Elizabeth to where she was now. She was talking to Natasha, Penny, and Wanda about how she wanted to wear more skirts and dresses. 

"Trying to entice the super soldiers?" Wanda giggled. 

"No. . ." Elizabeth said softly, thoughtfully. "It's a mix of things. And Steve wouldn't really tell me what he likes anyways." 

"Believe me." Natasha chuckled, "We get you into a 1940s style dress, he'll probably just cum in his pants just from looking at you." 

"Nat." Elizabeth whined, putting her hands over her ears while Penny and Wanda giggled. 

"What'd Nat do this time?" Vi's voice came through the air. Elizabeth smiled over her shoulder to see the Italian in a wheelchair, pushed by Bruce. Their son, Valentine, was in Violetta's lap. 

"Hey Vi." Nat said softly, kissing her on top of the head. "How are you feeling?" 

"Better. I'll live." Vi grinned. "Pretty sure I could walk, but Brucie is being overprotective." 

"Your lungs still need time to heal." Bruce grumbled, turning pink. Nat kissed his cheek too. 

"We're going shopping." Nat informed her. "Maybe you and Bruce will come too?" 

Vi looked up at Bruce and he hesitated and then nodded. 

So they all piled into a car- Penny driving since Nat and Wanda were to pregnant to get behind a wheel, Elizabeth hadn't relearned driving, and Vi and Bruce were in the back together with Valentine. 

"So E, Queen of hating shopping," Vi jested, "What are we going to the mall for?" 

"Skirts and dresses." Elizabeth hummed, staring out the window at New York. She hadn't been outside much, mostly keeping to the tower. 

Vi nearly choked. "You? Skirts?" 

Elizabeth nodded. 

"This'll be interesting." Vi laughed. 

🍬💫 тⒾᵐ𝐄 ｓҜĮＰ 🏄‍♂️⭐️

Elizabeth tried on thousands of dresses. There were very few that Natasha said weren't really for her. Elizabeth was thrilled, playing dress up. She liked all the bright colours and she loved how pretty she felt in them. Especially paired with her long hair that was down to her knees. 

Nat paid for everything, but Elizabeth was pretty sure that it was Tonys' money. She would have to thank him later for buying it for her. She thanked Nat as it was. 

[These are sort've the examples of what I'm thinking about when I think about the clothes of their times. The particular ones I'll mention most is the two blue ones.]

Nat also dragged them to the makeup store and Elizabeth sat through what felt like torture. Vi and Bruce meanwhile, were shopping in Dillard's for baby clothes and toys, Wanda with them. 

"Nat, we should look for baby clothes for your baby too." Elizabeth said as they walked towards that section of the department store. 

"I don't know the gender yet." Nat smiled softly. "I want her or him to be a surprise. And I want to spoil them silly. But I don't want to buy dresses if he's a boy or little suits if she's a girl." 

Penny smiled, holding Natasha's hand. "We can come back after." 

Nat smiled. "Maybe toys though. And their first stuffed animals." 

Elizabeth felt weird, looking at the stuffed animals, like she was looking at something important but she didn't know what it was yet. It stabbed at her brain, throbbing and she had to look at the kitchen supplies on the other side of the store, massaging her temple. 

"You want to get something for Rue, Mateo, and Kisa?" Penny's voice was soft behind her. 

"Um, yeah." Elizabeth turned around. "Sorry. Headache." 

"It's alright." Penny smiled. 

Elizabeth had more fun shopping for clothes for her daughters and son. But, picking out the boy clothes also reminded her that Mateos' father still hadn't made an appearance and her happiness faltered a little. 

"I think Kisa would like this." Penny said, suddenly, coming up behind her, showing her a little, fluffy red dragon. Elizabeth grinned, taking it gently from her hands. 

"I love it." Elizabeth declared. "Thanks Penny." 

They left the store with what felt like hundreds of bags and the car was definitely more packed than before. 

"Penny I need your help with Elizabeths' hair." Nat declared. Elizabeth looked over, confused. "Huh?" 

"Well c'mon, let's put it to good use." Natasha grinned, grabbing Elizabeth's hand. They all carried their bags to respective places and Elizabeth blushed, seeing all of the bags she had. 

"This one." Nat declared, already pulling out dresses. It was the sky blue dress with black polka dots. A black ribbon was tied and decorated around the waist. "I love this one on you. Alright, now get it on." 

Elizabeth blushed, but got dressed and then Nat forced her into a seat in front of the vanity. 

"Alright, Penny, let's do this." Nat said, showing her something on the phone. Penny started to smile and nodded. "Get the curling Iron and I'll get the brushes." 

Elizabeth closed her eyes and allowed them to comb her hair out. There was something gentle and relaxing about this and she enjoyed it a lot. It kind've felt like something a mother and daughter did. 

"Thank you." She said suddenly, opening her eyes. "For helping me. And always being here to help me." 

Nat smiled at her in the mirror and Penny hugged her from behind. "We're sisters. We always look out for each other." Penny chuckled. "Now, close the eyes again so we can do the makeup." 

Elizabeth smiled and closed her eyes. 

🛟🧴 ᑭ𝓸Ⓥ 𝒸𝔥Ⓐή𝓰𝐞💹 ❇️

Steve stood at the counter, waiting. The Chinese food that Tony had ordered in since Elizabeth, Wanda, and Penny had all gone shopping had just arrived. Steve had never cared to much for fast food in the beginning, but this particular meal had become one of his favorites. 

He and Bucky were loading up their plates with chicken, rice, and noodles and Steve chuckled, seeing Bucky make a second plate. "Ya know jerk, usually you wait for seconds after you finish the first." 

"Nah this is for Elizabeth." Bucky admitted, "You know how she gets if she doesn't have enough orange chicken."

Steve chuckled. That was very true. 

Suddenly, chirpy voices came from the hallway and he put his plate down on the table next to Sam, who was already eating. He went back for drinks, hearing Natasha and Penny's laughter. Steve turned around and nearly dropped the cups. 

Elizabeth was drop dead gorgeous with her brown hair all curled and pinned up around her head. It almost looked like ringlets and she had a black ribbon in her hair, matching the one that was wrapped around the waist of her dress. The brightness of the blue dress was different, but the style of it made Steve's heart throb with homesickness. 

The blood was immediately rushing to his cock and he was going to put the cups down on the table to fix himself, when suddenly, food had been pushed towards the others. Bucky had slammed Elizabeth down on her back on the table and was already fucking her before anyone had time to even blink. 

Most of them had faces of shock, the suddenness of Bucky's actions taking most of them back. Loki, Sam, Stephen, Clint, and Elijah were smirking though, continuing to eat. And all of her friends continued to talk along with Natasha and Wanda like nothing had happened. A tic seemed to be going in Tony's eye though as he saw the food on the table. 

Steve put the cups down on the counter, watching Elizabeth arch on the table. Bucky hadn't even removed the dress, only pushing it up enough to give him access. Clint had been captured into it as Elizabeth gripped the front of his shirt, trying to center herself. 

Bucky's mouth was spewing praises in a constant stream while he fucked her hard. And everyone else had recovered and continued eating like this was just a normal event in the Avengers household. 

Bucky and her finished around the same time and Bucky growled at Elijah, "She's mine tonight." 

Elijah chuckled and raised his hands in surrender. "I wouldn't dream of taking her tonight." 

Steve stepped forwards now, gently lifting Elizabeth off the table so that the others could continue eating. Inspecting her, he was half tempted to simply put her over Clint's lap and fuck her there, but he kept his cool. 

Grabbing the plate Bucky had made for her, he put it down at his seat, pulling her into his lap and then the two of them ate there. 

"So?" Elizabeth asked cheekily. "You like the dress?" 

[fashionthroughtimewithlucy]

The Rock 'n' Roll Movement.

The Rock 'n' Roll movement was well and truly alive in England which was mainly inspired by American films and film starts.Rock and roll sent shockwaves across America. A generation of young teenagers collectively rebelled against the music their parents loved. In general, the older generation loathed rock and roll. Appalled by the new styles of dance the movement evoked, churches proclaimed it Satan's music.

Elvis Presley started his career in the 50s. He is often referred to as the “King of Rock and Roll” was an American singer, musician, and actor. He crossed styles and audiences in a way that was never done before. Parents hated his new provocative style, and teenagers loved his fresh sound and appearance. This variety in opinion led to the generation gap.

Film stars of the 1950's became icons of the younger generation. Instead of playing the traditional romantic rolls, starts such as Marlon Brando and James Dean instead opted for rolls which conveyed a young man angry with society, fed up with conforming to their parents who were pre-war in their attitudes and as a result, the youth of the day identified with their characters whilst also following their post-war fashion.

Jayne Mansfield was an iconic bombshell of the 50s and 60s and was known as the ‘Working Man’s Monroe‘ or the 'original blonde bombshell'. She was a master of self-publicity and pioneered the use of the wardrobe malfunction to raise her profile.

The face of the decade, however, was Marilyn Monroe, working as an actress, model, and singer which brought a lot of sex appeal to this decade. The influence of Marilyn Monroe is still deeply felt today. Marilyn’s influence was primarily felt during the 1950s, a time when femininity and conservativity were united. She disrupted the traditional appearance of femininity and introduced a stronger element of sensuality into fashion. Marilyn’s style moments changed the course of fashion.

Marilyn Monroe, Lauren Bacall and Betty Grable were the three most famous screen starts of there time, staring in a the film 'How to marry a Millionaire'. Monroe wears a bathing costume decorated with rhinestone and plastic shoes. Betty Grable appears in matching shorts and top with a side tied neckerchief. Lauren Bacall has a typical young style dress with a full circular stiffened petticoat.

Women in the 1950s were the first to embrace pants built for a feminine figure.  While the women in the 1940s loved their man tailored slacks, they were gradually losing favour in the 1950s for a more ladylike style. The women of the 1950's often wore three quarter length trousers paired with blouses borrowed from men's shirts.

 Rockabilly dresses formed a popular talking point to this iconic style taking a much-loved look into the twenty-first century, the clothing is inspired by rock n’ roll icons of the 50s with a splash of modern country. Rockabilly clothing is a mix of 1950s fashion, music, and culture. For women, the Rockabilly dress style stems from 1940s and 1950s pin up girls with sexy pencil skirts and 1950s swing dresses. 

Teddy Boys.

Around about 1951, the  ‘Teddy Boy’ look began to emerge, it was the first time in year's men's clothing began some major changes. This coincided with young people generally having more disposable income and a desire to not look like cut-down versions of their fathers. The jackets were usually long lined creating a slim silhouette with trapped trousers and a crepe soled shoes. Young teddy boys paid particular attention to their hair, brylcreamed was used to create this DA (ducks arse) look.