#costume bouffant

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode illustrée, no. 6, 5 février 1899, Paris. No. 1. — Costume Charles IX pour jeune fille de 18 à 20 ans. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

No. 1. — Costume Charles IX pour jeune fille de 18 à 20 ans. — Corsage de velours grenat avec galon d'or: bouffant en brocard jaune paille, manches longues en velours grenat et galon d'or, collerette de gaze blanche ; jupe de dessus en grosse soie vieux rose relevée sur le côté par une écharpe de soie changeante bleu et rose; jupon de brocard paille, avec plusieurs rangs de lacet d'or.

Toque de velours grenat; voile de tulle.

— No. 1. — Charles IX costume for young girl from 18 to 20 years old. — Garnet velvet bodice with gold braid: bouffant in straw yellow brocade, long sleeves in garnet velvet and gold braid, collar of white gauze; overskirt in coarse old rose silk raised on the side by a changing blue and pink silk scarf; straw brocade petticoat, with several rows of gold lace.

Garnet velvet toque; tulle veil.

[maxellminidisc]

The wig, god the wig is so lifeless good lord

[andrew-excelleen]

Assemblage, couture d'un bustier à bonnet, doublé.

[4nuttyaddict]

Costume chat cheshire: Réalisation du short bouffant. Lien page facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100032848166805&locale=lv_LV

[razzafrazzle]

Of course it goes without saying that I am hopelessly dependent on putting bill in gay little outfits

[image description: three drawings of a human design of bill cipher from gravity falls, where he is depicted as a thin, pale-skinned person with bright yellow hair. in the first, he has short hair and a mustache and is wearing a top hat, a detached shirt collar with a bow tie, abstract pants that resemble a hand wrapping around his waist, asymmetric boots, and gloves. in the second, he has bouffant hair and is wearing a blue and orange striped gown with a cone bra and matching gloves, earrings, and sunglasses. in the third, he is wearing a nun costume with the all-seeing eye symbols scattered thoughout the outfit, as well as boots whose heels resemble and mouth with sharp teeth. he is also holding a rosary with the all-seeing eye attached to it. end id]

[minkdelovely]

ptolemaea

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“i am no good nor evil, simply i am. and i have come to take what is mine.”

Nun!Alastor x Demon!Lucifer ; RadioApple ; MDNI 18+

tags/warnings: top!lucifer x bottom!alastor, alcohol consumption, accidental luci praise fic?, blasphemous debauchery, desecration of catholic imagery, smut (vague i know but if the previous tags haven’t scared you… 😂) also not a brag but i think i accidentally put my whole pussy into this idk what happened but here we are 🥂**didn’t implement tag list to avoid shocking y’all to death**

word count: 5.1k

author’s note: *natalie portman voice* i never said i was a role model. this companion piece (<- first part linked here) is dedicated to darling @hazelfoureyes who gave me courage to let my freak flag fly — please accept this as my humble offer of gratitude; it’s been an honor to workshop this idea with you 😭 totally get it if this crosses a line for some (please skip, i promise it’s okay lol) but i couldn’t be more excited to publish this. for anyone willing to join us on the yellow brick road to hell you are welcome to link arms 🙏🏻❤️‍🔥 theme inspo from ethel cain 🏚️ i also made a playlist for the party if you wanna check it out ✨

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Samhain was always a peculiar time for Lucifer.

Though he could come and go as he pleased between realms — with the exception of Heaven, of course — the thinning of the veil was the only time of year he could feel Earth from Hell. The energy of realms converging wallowed in the air heady as incense, enticing his powers to rest just under his skin. 

Or at least that’s how it felt. A not-unpleasant humming tension, aching to be released. It put him on edge, stirring him like a poker to hot coals as he fought to maintain his suave facade against the urge to succumb to the deeper power he normally held back with ease. It had never gone over well whenever Lucifer gave into the temptation… 

Except for the year he accidentally created a mound of rubber ducks. What a charming fascination that had turned out to be.

Normally he would make plans to visit with one of the other Sins or confine himself to his workshop to keep busy (use your imagination), but this year Charlie was hosting a party at the hotel. A costume party. He had no intention of dressing up (the fear that no one took him seriously enough as-is not completely unfounded), but he did find the practice endearing. Little mortals disguising themselves to hide from ghouls and demons. 

But he was Lucifer Morningstar, after all. Sinners and the like dressed up after him, not the other way around.

Exasperation pricked the king’s skin as Alastor suddenly came to mind, maintaining a perpetual state of unwelcome in Lucifer’s consciousness. He probably wouldn’t be dressing up either, the smug son-of-a-bitch. Every day is Halloween for that haunted sideshow, he thought bitterly with a laugh to himself, the sound echoing off the walls his only companion within the confines of the office — aside from the ever-present mass of ducks, of course.

The dilemma was still there when the laughter died though. Risk letting Charlie down by not dressing up and lumping himself in with Alastor by extension? Or don a costume and give the snarky demon and anyone else with a mocking eye the false impression of superiority? Lucifer groaned, running both hands through his bouffant platinum hair as he slumped forward at his desk. 

How had it come to this, needing to choose between love for his daughter or himself? Consumed by the current problem, he failed to recognize that this was an issue typically at hand, even when he lacked venom behind it. He was making good progress when it came to Charlie, but as they say, old habits die hard. There had to be a compromise somewhere…

A minute passed.

Head between his knees, his eyes shot open with the thrill of inspiration and he sprang from his chair, decision made. The familiar handsome smile graced his lips as he sauntered to his bedroom where an untouched suit awaited him in the armoire. He wasn’t the sin of Pride for nothing.

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Intersecting somewhere between Halloween and New Year's Eve, the newly-added ballroom of the hotel was decorated to the gills, not a single inch of it lacking in festive flair. Angel Dust scoffed when a DJ had been suggested and happily provided a playlist for the party, which was either really smart or really crazy. Or both. Only time would tell, but so far there had been no complaints.

Sinners were piling in, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the establishment. The cacophony of conversation, laughter, and music filled the space with a liveliness Charlie hoped would be a more permanent fixture at the hotel. She and Vaggie had taken charge of greeting everyone at the entrance of the ballroom, receiving some surprisingly sincere compliments on their Glinda and Elphaba costumes. Any derogatory laughter or smirks were being pointedly ignored, both women knowing full well that they looked incredible.

When Charlie spotted her father approaching in the crowd, her smile faltered briefly. “Dad! I thought I told you this was a costume party,” she said tentatively, looking back to give Vaggie a silent plead to keep up with the greetings before focusing her full attention on Lucifer.

“Oh, honey, you look fantastic! Pink really suits you,” he deflected, eyes and voice sparkling as he held Charlie’s arms out to admire the glittering gown, looking every bit the princess she was.

She drew back, not unkindly, when he released her and wrapped her arms around her ribs self-consciously. Groaning, “Dad…” 

It was quite impressive how she could admonish him with a single word without even meaning to. Must've gotten it from her mother, he thought absently, though Lilith wouldn’t know passive aggression if it slapped her on the ass. 

Thinking on his estranged wife, it was a true miracle how Charlie had blossomed into the compassionate and brave young woman standing before him. Lilith, never afraid to lead the charge; himself, too trepidatious to take the risk. Yet somehow their daughter seemed to embody the best of them both, reflecting parts of himself that he didn’t know where there.

He could have wept on the spot, suddenly fit to burst with affection for her — no doubt another side effect of the day — but the angel quickly refocused when he saw Charlie’s nervous expression toward him and leapt into damage control.

“Whaddya mean, I am dressed up!” he managed to answer with his usual charm. With one hand he pointed at his extended horns, a flicker of flame glowing between them adorned with his delicate serpent crown. The other hand swooped in front of his red suit with a flourish. “You’re telling me this doesn’t pass as a credible devil costume? You know, I actually held back. Thought maybe it’d be too scary for your guests if I went all out.”

If keeping his flame low and eyes neutral counted as holding back, and not just the ones in his skull. People got squeamish around him whenever the amass of eyes on his crown and wings appeared. He didn’t blame them.

Lucifer was rambling now, a nervous laugh the cherry on top of his need to save face. Though somewhat of a loophole, he had found the idea to be rather clever. Then again, he was trapped in an echo chamber of his own thoughts so most ideas naturally fell into that category. Was it really such a letdown? He could’ve bailed altogether, nerves already desperate for solitude, but he wanted to try for her. Even if it felt like two steps forward and one step back when it came to Charlie, he’d keep aiming to get it right for as long as she’d allow. 

“I actually think you look great,” Vaggie said smoothly, swooping in next to Charlie at the first break in the crowd. Lucifer would owe her for the rest of existence for the save. A debt he was more than happy to repay in whichever way pleased her best, making a mental note to discuss it later with the fellow angel. “It’s a lot better than what Alastor decided to show up in, anyhow.” The grimace on her face and in her tone was unmistakable. 

Alastor had fucked up.

It took all of Lucifer’s willpower to keep his magic in check at the delight that shot through him. The PR mess regarding what would equate to mass murder, regrettably, didn’t ping his radar. But the thought of needing to rebuild the ballroom was just taxing enough to keep the impulse at bay.

He was about to ask what Vaggie meant when Charlie stepped in, playing devil’s advocate as usual (no pun intended). What his precious, well-meaning daughter saw in that undeserving creep, he’d never understand.

“He’s just getting into the spirit! You have to admit, it’s nice to see him mingling for once, he’s usually so—”

“Grotesque?” Lucifer offered.

“Conniving?” Vaggie added.

“Reclusive!” Charlie practically screamed, earning looks from a few demons within earshot. “Look, I won’t say that what he picked out isn’t… surprising, but I’m just really happy to see him join in on the fun. He’s been enjoying himself so far, so I want you guys on best behavior, all right?” 

She said you guys but made solid eye contact with her father. Despite wanting to protest, Lucifer understood he was already off to a shaky start and conceded with a sigh, covered quickly with a debonair grin. Charlie didn’t know what a particularly big ask it was to be on best behavior tonight, but that was his burden to bear.

“Of course, sweetie, you have nothing to worry about! There are so many sinners here I doubt we’ll even run into each other.”

Famous last words.

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Lucifer tried to enjoy himself, he really did. 

In the brief moments before his eyes found Alastor in the crowd, it had actually been a wonderful time. He was immediately awash in the admiration of his subjects, even managing to make some poor creature faint with a simple grin in their direction — though he had really laid on the charm with that one. Could he be blamed though? After ten millennia of habit, calling it compulsive would be an understatement. 

Moments like this were a reminder of why it was good to get out of his office every now and then. Whether it was compliments on his look, praise for the fight with Adam, or outright solicitation for sex, Lucifer drank it all in; beaming as the crowd awed at the sight of fully extended wings he could no longer keep to himself. He really was the shit, wasn’t he? Being worshipped is truly unlike anything else, but it’s something to experience, not explain. All he knew was that he adored it. 

It had been a devastatingly short-lived escape, the proverbial looming gray cloud — never too far away — returning as Lucifer’s gaze fell on Alastor. He had been scanning for the bar and stumbled on an atrocity instead. Just his luck. 

The costume was a shocking choice to be sure, one that Lucifer might have even appreciated had it been on literally anyone else. But something about it on Alastor was simply… perverse. Leaving him with the struggle of trying to decide if it was the costume that was the issue or its inhabitant.

Was it the way the habit — embellished with red stitches on each side and the Cross of Saint Peter in the center — framed Alastor’s face, ears and horns still exposed with just a tuft of bang peaking out across his forehead? The pure white wimple that glowed like a beacon against the stark black surrounding it, casting an unusual grace upon the slender neck and broad shoulders underneath? Or how the tunic flattered the swell of his chest, the taper of his thin waist accentuated by the fabric swirling about his hips that flowed down over long, lean legs?

The demon, draped languidly over the bar, was chatting with Husker; the look on their faces was the most relaxed and natural Lucifer had ever seen exchanged between the pair, borderline flirtatious. Whatever the bartender said made Alastor toss his head back with a laugh, the exuberant sound of it piercing the angel’s chest like an arrow. How he had even managed to hear it so clearly over the music and the crowd was a miracle, or perhaps curse was more accurate. Still, the easygoing look on Alastor’s face as he came down from the laugh was bewitching, accented by a boozy flush and mischievous, heavy red eyes.

Insufferable.

The Radio Demon was in top form tonight, confidence radiating from him with such a forceful ease that the king could feel it even from his place across the room. He hadn’t noticed the literal sparks flying out of the pads of his fingers until he brought his hands up to tug at the collar of his shirt, which suddenly felt too tight. Fuck.

Taking it all in, Lucifer could feel the heat rising reluctantly in his face as he was consumed by a baffling mixture of lust and loathing.

All because Alastor decided to be a blasphemous piece of shit, he seethed, scowling as he narrowed his eyes at the sinner in question. Eerie, arrogant, pompous, constant pain-in-the-ass Alastor, riling him up like this? Lucifer had considered it number one on his list of impossibilities, caught completely off-guard by the rush of desire — if he had to put a word on it — for the ghoulish prick. An impulse he had never entertained nor wanted to feel in regard to the demon, but was there all the same.

“Samhain,” Lucifer cursed under his breath. The flame between his horns intensified, eyes prickling with the threat to change color. He took a breath, remembering Charlie. 

Best behavior. 

It was about as helpful as a bandaid over a bullet wound. This had to be a joke; a cruel, tasteless joke meant to provoke him specifically. Like he hadn’t suffered enough of those already in his long, long existence.

That was the only conclusion the angel could come to from his table near the bar, practically burning alive in his chair as he watched Alastor strutting around the ballroom in between breaks from the dance floor. Lucifer really had almost set himself on fire after catching Alastor in the middle of a sultry dance move with one of the guests, a rolling of hips he didn’t think Alastor was even capable of doing, let alone inflict upon someone. It took a double shot to mellow out when he found himself wondering what it would be like to switch places with that guest, though it did little to quell the growing ache coiling low in his abdomen.

There was a lull in the music and the crowd disbursed, quickly filling the empty space around the angel. Lucifer exhaled, somewhere between a groan and a laugh. Alastor had finally managed to dip out of his line of sight — not that the demon was forcing Lucifer to look — and the reprieve couldn’t have come at a better time; the solace of his absence coming over the angel like poultice to a throbbing wound. Despite being a couple drinks in now, the tension in his body was a ticking bomb. He needed the opportunity to try and decompress before he accidentally wrought havoc upon the denizens invited here by his daughter.

For at least the tenth time he entertained the idea of going back up to his room, if only to release some of the punishing energy pulsating through him, but he wasn’t confident that he’d return. The only thing holding him back was the promise he made to Charlie to be present and well behaved. And so, he remained committed to the confinement of the table he’d been bonded to for the last hour.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

In hoping to keep as much distance as possible Lucifer had unwittingly tipped Alastor off, landing the problem he was hoping to evade right in his lap. So to speak.

He always forgot that the demon could travel through shadow until it was too late. It’s just that he didn’t care to remember, not wanting to give Alastor even the tiniest bit of permanent space in his mind. Something he was actually too oblivious to realize he was already doing; they both were.

Alastor had of course noticed when Lucifer entered the room. Whether he wanted to was another thing entirely. Though it was to be expected, what with the dregs of Hell no doubt encountering royalty for the first time. Thankfully he had been at the bar with Husker, his captive bartender providing a welcome distraction with a joke about how his drink was going to cost a few Hail Marys. There were reasons Alastor kept him around, after all, beyond the obvious. Surly as he was, Husk had the capacity to be quite funny when the mood struck. He wasn’t on the clock tonight, but he was the only one Alastor trusted to pour his drinks. 

He could feel the glare beating down on him from that moment on, focused on him wherever he went. So he laid it on, making rounds and fluffing up the guests who were all too eager to devour his attention. It had been especially fun seeing the quick shock of flame in the corner after he showed off a risqué dance move, all for his majesty’s entertainment of course. If the spotlight was going to be forced on him, why not perform? But after an hour the joke was growing stale, and so the demon came to the conclusion that he’d have to be the one to bridge the gap.

Lucifer jumped at the shock of Alastor’s melodic voice coming from behind him, transmuting the glass in his hand into a duck without meaning to with a pop; amber-colored liquor swirling around within the confines of its new shape. Lucifer couldn’t decide what pissed him off more, the jump scare or the magic trick. The not-so-secret third option being Alastor’s proximity to himself, the heat from their bodies mingling in the small space between them.  

“Fuck! You know, you’ve got a lot of nerve sneaking up on me like that. I’m liable to make it a killing offense,” Lucifer sneered, tossing a napkin over his new little creation before anyone else could notice it. “And I haven’t been admiring you. I’m just, uh, keeping an eye on things! Besides, a king shouldn’t mingle with the general population. Might give off the wrong impression.” 

Sealed with crossed arms and a smug, toothy grin, it would’ve made for a decent enough comeback had it not been for the slip up. 

A dear old friend to Alastor, the slip up.

The expression on his face sharpened with a malicious instinctual ease as an idea unfurled in his mind. Lucifer was so obviously perturbed by him, the attempt he made at concealing it was almost endearing in a pathetic way. Though he was always in a pathetic way to Alastor, dark gums revealed in his ominous smile as his scheme took shape. He leaned in low, lips nearly grazing the angel’s skin as he spoke; his ear twitched at the catch of Lucifer’s breath from the action. He was so fucking obvious.

How humiliating.

“Is that so? Well, if you’re merely killing time here, might I suggest a bit of… sport?”

Lucifer flinched, pulling his face away to glare up at him. He couldn��t be insinuating what the angel thought he was, could he? It would be a bold — deadly — move even under normal circumstances. And tonight was anything but normal. 

Something was clearly in the air for Alastor too, if the fraternizing Lucifer had witnessed for the past hour was any indication (not realizing he had been the cause). He was known to have a flirtatiousness about him when he drank, but there was a different edge to it this evening. Lucifer was beginning to wonder if the costume was fueling his narcissism. Obscene.

“Well, your majesty?” Alastor goaded, radio filter frazzling as he leered down. To Lucifer’s chagrin, bedroom eyes looked good on him, the rotten bitch. “If not, I’m more than happy to leave you to your sulking.”

That was a lie and they both knew it, the tension so charged between them the air might combust at any second. Given the king’s proneness to accidents tonight (and the literal open flame above his head) it wasn’t an impossibility. 

As they locked eyes, some silent declaration was sent, though neither had received the same message. Or perhaps they did and therein was the problem, dooming them to be forever caught in this stubborn battle of wills. 

Lucifer tried — and failed — to ignore the portion of himself that, apparently, had been eager for the opportunity. He could give in… if only to set some boundaries on who was always the winner in this pissing contest. The smoky trace of whiskey lingering on Alastor’s breath caused Lucifer’s nails to dig into the flesh of his palm, golden pinpricks of blood rising in the wake. 

A proposition now effectively ratified. 

The Body and the Blood…

How sentimental.

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“Haaahh…! Mmmnn — ahh!”

“Fuck…”

It started off as a joke like so many things do when you’re scared shitless of vulnerability.

An insult here, a dare to chase it. Contemptuous eyes poorly concealing the desire simmering underneath. An angry meeting of mouths, all tongue and teeth and claws. The clattering of miscellaneous items being recklessly swiped off a table.

Glass shattering. 

More insults.

A bite to the lip drawing blood, tangled breath filling in the needy gaps awaiting any touch they could get. The first shared moan ringing in ears before scorching its way down, stoking the molten ache roiling in the gut, desperate to envelop them both and leave nothing but frayed nerves behind. 

Caressing, pulling, gripping, grinding, biting…

The party supply room was hot, air humid with sweaty musk and the steam of heaving breaths, the sounds of the party resonating on the other side of the wall. Inside were hisses through clenched teeth, groans of ecstasy; slick skin coming together then pulling away with the magnitude of storm-heavy waves crashing and receding on the shore.

The tunic covering Alastor’s torso did little to comfort him, stripped as he felt. In fact, the habit was still on too, the only piece of clothing torn from him being the wimple in order to free the expanse of his neck. Lucifer had spent quite a bit of time there, marking it well with harsh love bites and languid strokes of his forked tongue.

He was laid out beneath the angel, open mouthed and florid, vaguely coherent as his king fucked him senseless; seemingly determined to conquer the demon as wholly as possible. A task at which he was succeeding, if he hadn’t done so already; though to be fair he had never stood a chance against Lucifer. Not tonight.

Alastor hadn’t spoken a proper word in minutes, reduced to communicating through moans, groans, and sharp intakes of breath. Quite the accomplishment considering he was such an articulate fellow. 

Lucifer didn’t know it yet, but he would be haunted by the memory of seeing Alastor’s eyes roll to the back of his head once he found the pace he was currently keeping; deep and steady, just fast enough to stay ahead of the desperation that was never too far behind.

So tight…

The demon almost looked sweet, splayed out below him like this, lost in the throes of pleasure. It was a nice change considering the sneer that normally painted his face. But seeing him like this, brows knit and face flushed, the tuft of bang soaked into his forehead…

In this moment, Lucifer truly felt like a God.

He certainly looked like he could be, his demon form fully unleashed. He always felt such relief in this state. It was exhausting holding himself back, and not just today. Something he did all the time, not out of concern or ease for others, but because he had difficulty grappling with his station. Not that he’d give it up — hell no. But the burden of leadership was exactly that. Lilith had known it too, all too happy to take the reins until she wasn’t. He’d been happy to let her… until he wasn’t.

Maybe it was the melding properties of Samhain surging through him, but he could swear he felt a shifting. What good did it do for him to hide himself away? There was actually plenty of proof to the contrary. Why should he hold himself back? He was Lucifer Morningstar. Hell was his domain, and all its inhabitants needed a reminder that he was to be revered.

The Radio Demon could be their martyr.

Why else had he offered himself up like one? And the image suited him well.

“I showed the Nazareth all the kingdoms of the world before they crucified him. What do you see, Alastor?” Lucifer growled, voice thick and smug with authority. He leaned down to nip and lick at the skin of Alastor’s open jaw, still whipping his hips at a relentless pace. 

Even with eyes closed — too much effort, they were so heavy to keep open — Alastor could see him perfectly, the image of Lucifer seared into his mind. Eyes. Glowing red eyes to match the flame roaring between his fully formed horns and the apple that topped his serpent crown like a sparkling ruby. Leering, all-seeing eyes on seraphim’s wings. 

A fanged grin so self-satisfied it was like looking directly into the sun. 

A God.

It burned him to admit it.

But the wanton moan that tore through Alastor’s chest pierced the room, coming on so quickly he never stood a chance at restraining it. The words spilling from Lucifer’s mouth in deep rumbles threatened to unravel the meager hold Alastor had left on his dignity. Absent claws bit into the flesh of the demon’s thighs as the angel momentarily hitched from the way Alastor clenched around him, hot and greedy as if needing to milk him for all he was worth.

The king let out a husky laugh in response, latching onto a particularly enticing patch of Alastor’s neck where it met the shoulder; reveling again in the salty musk that coated his tongue before biting down, filling his mouth with the satisfying taste of iron.

Alastor opened his mouth in a soundless plead, his mouth and throat dry from exertion. Impossible as it seemed, tears pricked at the corner of his eyes; his painfully hard and untouched dick throbbed, weeping against his stomach and into the fabric of the tunic. It was too much… He was too full, too surrounded, too helpless.

Consuming. 

Yes, that’s what it felt like. 

He had never been on the opposite side of it before. 

And despite it all, he could feel his orgasm pooling low in his belly, balls painfully full and tight. That gnawing tension yearning for relief as Lucifer’s thick arousal punished his spongy core. Once the angel pulled away from his neck, Alastor couldn’t help but reach down to touch himself, so in need of climax he didn’t care what it took to get it.

Lucifer roared at the sight, cock twitching as his own release threatened to spill, but managed to hold it back. Delicious as this was to witness, he couldn’t let Alastor get to the finish line just yet; his pointed tail coming around to snatch the demon’s hand away as he pulled out, exhaling with a strained grunt.

The sudden absence of both sensations left Alastor to writhe in frustrated ache, practically sobbing through gritted teeth at the loss, which Lucifer mercifully tried to soothe with languid kisses and nips to the demon’s inner thigh. He wasn’t a completely unfeeling Lord, after all.

He just needed one last thing before letting them both attain the high they so desperately wanted, his eyes shifting back from radiant flame to red and yellow with a blink as he wrapped his hand around Alastor’s angry, dripping length. It wouldn’t be long now, the poor creature was so hard and wet to the touch.

Alastor cried out, regaining some semblance of himself as he unconsciously bucked into Lucifer’s unmoving hand; his mouth made a sticky sound as he swallowed hard, moisture finally returning to his parched throat. 

“Luci…fer… please — I can’t…!” Alastor practically tore the words out between heaving breaths, tears burning his skin as the shame of needing to beg deepened his rosy blush to an intense red. 

He hadn’t expected the demon to beat him to the punch, unable to fight the grin of victory painting his lips as his eyes resumed their fearsome glow. Benevolently rewarding Alastor with a few firm strokes, he relished the lewd, wet sound of it joining the chorus of his subject’s carnal whimpers. Lucifer bent down and flattened his tongue, giving a slow wide lick to Alastor’s leaking cock from base to head, finishing with an obscene slurp. How could he possibly have denied himself such a precious offering? 

A pleased hum rumbled in Lucifer’s chest when Alastor slung an arm over his face, gossamer strings of spit between his lips as he shuddered, “Oh god… fuck…”

That would work. 

Lucifer buried himself back into Alastor’s enticing heat, continuing his ministrations as his hips set a slow pace. A mewling groan spilled from the demon’s mouth, hips rolling to meet each of the angel’s thrusts. Lucifer’s peak was quickly approaching, too lost in the divine feeling of Alastor’s body surrounding him, already lamenting the thought of being finished.

“You poor thing… Did I fuck all the attitude out of you?” the angel taunted, golden blood dripping down the side of his mouth from the force of his smile.

No longer capable of holding it back, the orgasm crashed through Alastor with the force of an avalanche, heart threatening to burst through his chest; the sound of its rapid pounding nearly drowning out his own scream of rapture. He spasmed so tightly that the king had to still himself, the grip on him almost painful. Hot, thick cum shot onto the demon’s stomach and Lucifer’s hand in gratifying spurts as he stroked him through his high, desperate for every drop he could wring out.

Inspired by the mess in front of him, the angel pulled out and brought one of Alastor’s hands to him, guiding him until he felt life twitch back into the demon’s fingers. The grasp was a little too harsh, Alastor perhaps using this as a chance for revenge if the look in his eye was any indication, but it didn’t matter. Nothing could take this conquest from him. It wasn’t long before Lucifer was rutting into the demon’s hand, groaning through clenched teeth as his face twisted up before spilling himself into Alastor’s palm.

Lucifer gave himself a moment to revel in the bliss of their debauchery before cleaning them up with a snap of his fingers. He was too worn out to put more effort into it than that, and hey, got the job done, didn’t it?

They were still trying to catch their breath when they finally locked eyes, the post-coital sobriety already at work. Alastor’s ears flattened as he glared at the angel, a rare grimace on his lips.

“No one knows about this. Understood?” he threatened, the static crackling in the air around him.

“Ha! Who do you think you’re talking to? Now I know I fucked you stupid.”

Their fistfight didn’t last long, but provided a great cover for their absence when they stumbled back to the bar in desperate need of a strong drink.

So much for best behavior…

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“How did you do it by the way, the last temptation of Christ?” Alastor couldn’t believe he was asking, the bitterness clear in his voice, but he figured it might be his only chance to find out without seeming too curious.

It took Lucifer a second to process the question, an easy smile spreading across his face. “Oh what, showing Jesus the world? I just whipped out a map*.”

Insufferable.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

ps: don’t worry, alastor was prepped before getting railed lol it just happened off screen 🫠

*biblically accurate if you can believe

[swooninglysteenie]

These are from two different sources of two different cuts of the original film. The sepia-tinted ones are from StephenTennant.org and the pure black and white clips are from the documentary "Love Cecil." TBH I have no idea how the scenes weave together to form a story. I placed them in the way that both videos came to me, but there are obviously pieces that are edited out for some reason.

Photos from Cecils scrapbook (I think?) So, what was the plot? How did this come about? Serious Pleasures, pg 107-08: Towards the end of May, Stephen and Cecil were weekend guests at Savay Farm, the country home of Oswald Mosley and his first wife, Cynthia*. There they dressed up in Cynthia's mother's old Edwardian clothes and "did the most fantastic dances as passed description for effeteness, tho brilliance was in every line". Both boys had stayed with the Mosleys before, and on one such summer visit Oswald had his cine-camera on hand to film their escapades. The result was the only such film of Stephen to survive from the period.

An outdoor performance was decided upon, and a story line devised. Beaton was the powdered Madam of a brothel, engaged in tempting the men of the party, John Strachey and Dick Wyndham. Cimmie was one of the girls in Cecil's charge; and Stephen, in one of his favorite costumes of the time, was a mysterious blind beggar boy whose significance to the plot remains unclear. Cecil had assembled a disguise of a false nose and bouffant wig to caricature Margot Asquith (Stephen's aunt), and towards the end of the drama, runs off to drown him/herself in the river, a sequence made hilarious by the fact that his wig began to float off in the fast-running stream, completely ruining the dramatic effect. Stephen, too, wore makeup, but his was a pale white mask, with pencilled eyebrows and those bee-stung lips with which he sought to emulate Hollywood starlets. Staggering daintily about, clad in silken rags, he holds his arms out, feeling his way as he imagined a blind boy would. He sits and makes daisy chains by the river; and later plunges in too, only this time looking more like Ophelia than Cecil's amusing performance - with echoes of Narcissus, Shelley, and presaging Jean Cocteau's art films - he tips his head back into the water, over the river bank, poetically drowning. Only from this filmed evidence can the unreality of Stephen's presence be judged. With long, fine limbs and a graceful gait, he resembles a whitened stick insect, stalking his way through the crackly black and white silent film. (end quote) * * * Stephen is dressed in green rags. It seems to consist of a normal button-down collared shirt, over which is another long button-down shirt, sleeves cut off, worn unbuttoned like an open waistcoat that has been cut into long shreds. His trousers are ankle-length and have been completely cut into shreds and the cuts travel very high up the thighs. At one point you see the camera pan down to his revealed hip and possible cheek. In the past, Rex said he hated that costume because it was too *revealing*. Ahem. 🤭

[six-costume-refs]

Wesley Carpenter's Universal Costumes!!

Y'all would not believe how excited I am to be talking about this. I've been hoping ever since Bliss 3.0 closed that we'd get a chance to see Wesley back and I think @lightleckrereins can confirm how much I lost my shit when she returned. So, without further ado, here's the costume breakdown:

Boleyn The top certainly seems like it was altered, so it probably wasn't initially made for her. But it's difficult to identify re-use with Boleyns so I can't easily confirm which, although I have a shortlist of what it may be. Possible that the skirt is new. Her wig is a very typical straight wig with space buns.

Seymour Her corset is Jasmine Forsberg's Aragon Tour corset** with new cups (oh foundation stains how you make me laugh). The skirt looks like it's an older pattern, so I'm inclined to think it's an old NCL skirt.* Wesley has a blonde wig with a center part and some hair pulled to each side. The rest is left down and curled. No bouffant.

Howard The top/corset is definitely new, but leotard is up for debate. She has the typical Howard pony.

Parr With this one we don't have the most thorough photos to compare with, but I suspect the top is Gabriela Carrillo’s tour top.** The peplum seems like it used to be Sydney Parra's. The pants could easily be reused or a new make. She has a back ponytail in the same style that's been slowly standardized for most of the North American mainland queens.

Boots Wesley has the interchangeable strap/neutral heel alt boots with a single thick strap. *Note that now that the NCL run is done and all the final queens have their costumes, ownership of the NCL costumes should be reverting back to Six itself rather than NCL. **Both Jasmine (corset) and Gabriela got a new top for Broadway.

———————

Top right Boleyn photo from @/kelsifulton. Photo of Seymour boots (right in boot collage) from @/gbackal. All others from @/wesleykcarpenter.

[armoredsuperheavy]

MASTERS OF THE UNIVERSE: An Insufferably Queer Film Review

I rewatched MASTERS OF THE UNIVERSE (1987) for the first time since it came out last night and WOW I have some thots about this thing. We enjoyed roasting the living shit out of it but there's a few gold nuggets in there despite the brutal budget cuts that impacted the plot and what not.

Contains plenty of spoilers.

God bless Wardrobe

OK so … the film doesn't bother to set up any real motivations for the characters, and He-Man (an incredible looking Dolph Lundgren rrrowrrrr) has almost no dialogue which is such a fucking waste. But this complete lack of narrative framework means we can apply OUR OWN explanations to events.

From the very beginning Skeletor has this obsession with He-Man, which will simmer and then culminate in a final showdown. But before we get to that hot mess, we have to wade through the middle of the film.

He gets as much screen time as He-Man.

Meet the utterly repulsive dwarf scientist Gwildor played by Billy Barty, a rinse-and-repeat of his performance as an utterly repulsive magic troll in Legend (1986). This dwarf is the film's Jar Jar. His face is like a deep dish pizza after an acid attack. His real mouth is visible behind the immobile thick prosthetics and it makes for some truly disturbing close-up dialogue shots. Please, pan away from Pizza the Hutt and give us another shot of Lundgren's pecs please I am begging you, DP

We find ourselves in Gwildor's hobbit hole, and he's a magical inventor. So he has this cylindrical object, it's not clear whether it's a weapon or a teleporter but I'm calling it the Butt-Reamer 9000. Inexplicably, there are two of these things and Skeletor has the other one, and wants to collect both of them. So Skeletor has an excuse to go hunting He-Man as he's hunting his missing McGuffin, er I mean sex toy.

Features rotating ticklers, a big improvement over the Butt Reamer 8000.

The thing about the Butt-Reamer 9000 is its magical power to make even this promising setup devolve into a grind as it whisks the Eternians into the magical, enchanting world of a 1987 New Jersey parking lot. WHO WROTE THIS?

The entire middle of the movie is pretty much hot garbage and involves police detectives, arson, vandalism, high school prom, and other dumb bullshit. Aside from the distractingly naked He-Man, the good guys are an utter bore and include some Eternians, some regular Earth humans and their quotidian concerns which really brings down the fun of the movie. (No, baby Courtney Cox, I don't care about your imminent breakup with your mediocre boyfriend!)

The film owes a second mortgage to Star Wars and steals a lot of ideas from it, from bad guys in shiny black stormtrooper helmets, to heroes shooting blue lasers, baddies shooting red.

Let's turn from this depressing state of affairs and focus back on our cherished villain blorbos.

(L-R: Karg, Evil-Lyn our goddess, and Blade.)

Evil-Lyn is beautiful, evil, a cold bitch queen. Gurl you can do so much better than sticking with this loser Skeletor.

Dump! Him! He's gay anyway!

Skeletor is a shit lazy boss of Greyskull and makes Evil-Lyn run the goddamn place in general. He literally shoots the messenger at one point. Great for morale, there, Skel buddy.

Look closer. Fierce!

There's a number of budget rate henchmen on the job, including Karg, who used a whole can of aqua net this morning and is running around in a white fur capelet with a massive bouffant. He is just doing his best okay, really it's hard to look fabulous around these other bitches.

Blade definitely deserved more screen time

Also, Blade, who had a slutty costume of silvery scale maille or something, and was a bit like a sci-fi bondage Riff Raff / space Judas Priest. Best side character costume.

So, there we have it, the queer coded villain roster of the film.

This homemade collage is for sure taped inside Skeletor's locker at school

Note the gigantic brown eye.

Finally, thank Satan, we return to Castle Greyskull, though it's more like beige-and-brown-skull. But aside from the questionable use of faux marble finishes, this is a quality villain lair with hard points installed directly in the floor of the living room, convenient death pits, and an excellent throne setup that I'm pretty sure they recycled for The Fifth Element.

He-Man is captured alive and brought before Skeletor. Blade does the honors with a 15 foot glowing red bullwhip to He-Man's naked and oiled back, much to the delight of dyed-in-the-wool sadist Evil-Lyn.

Movie is getting good now. Was the side quest to Jersey really necessary?

Skeletor, though, watches this action from the throne and has a lot of interesting responses. We had to conclude that Skeletor is a big old bottom but won't admit it. As a dom he is utterly ineffective. He's trying to make He-man kneel and all this shit but He-Man is not submissive at all. Skeletor is … lol. He really just wants to smell He-Man's dick.

The depths (heh) of his bottom nature will become apparent shortly. But first, a costume change.

Skeletor's glow up --- i'm every woman.

Honey we know you're just trying to impress He-man.

Werk tho.

Indiana Jones and the Temple of Hole

The gigantic sky-sphincter directly behind the throne has slid open wide… "Begin! The Goatse Ritual! Join me, He-Man, as I become LORD OF THE GAPE" But He-Man's phallic symbol shines bright in defiance. In the end, Skeletor is vanquished symbolically by his own nature and instead of his hole swallowing He-Man, a gaping hole swallows Skeletor instead.

They don't really explain what happened to Evil-Lyn after He-Man's inevitable victory in final man to man combat but she was too smart to get caught sleeping in there and must have survived. What a hot evil competent BABE. After the events of the film end, I vote that Evil-Lyn seduces Teela (the good guy solder lady) and has a hot toxic lesbian affair with her.

Evil-Lyn serves cunt in hell 4 evar

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

Want some more?

Nice fanart

Another breakdown on Buzzfeed if you enjoyed mine this is even more gay headcanon

The movie is free on Tubi if you want to subject yourself to it.

ArmoredSuperHeavy, 19 Aug 2023

[maneki-art]

Swing Macabre jour 5

(English under the french and pictures)

Aujourd’hui, nous allons voir les inspirations de François.

Et sa garde-robe. C’est lié.

Bon l’inspiration Transi et Dance Macabre, ça, c’est fait et assumé, mais la grande majorité du temps, ces cadavres-là se baladent soit à poils, soit avec leur linceul ouvert à tous les vents. Et même si ça va bien aux autres morts de Swing Macabre, François a besoin d’un peu plus de panache.

Surtout que lors de la première version de Swing Macabre, il est arrivé d’un bloc, comme un squelette vêtu d’une combi arlequin et sur le coup je n’y ai pas beaucoup réfléchi plus

(écoutez, le prof venait de refuser TOUS les scénars sur lesquels ont bossait depuis un mois et on avait tous une semaine pour en reproposer un. Et en plus je me suis dégonflée et j’ai proposé un truc plus classique qui a été refusé aussi. J’aurais dû proposer mes petits squelettes qui font du swing).

 Bref.

Quelques années plus tard, même si j’aime toujours le concept de l’arlequin, je vais essayer de fouiller un poil plus ses inspirations plus ou moins inconscientes.

Jack Skellington. Bon je vais pas le réfuter, hein, c’est le King of Halloween, LE squelette qui chante et qui danse par excellence, qu’est-ce que vous voulez que j’y fasse ?

Mais il est aussi copyrighté et j’ai pas envie de me prendre un procès par une souris, donc on va soigneusement éviter l’hommage. Pas de costume d’épouvantail ou de costume à rayures pour François.

Commençons par le nom de François alors. Ça, c’est un hommage à François Villon, un poète français qui a écrit (entre autres) la Balade des Pendus (aka Epitaphe Villon, ou Frères humains), source d’un traumatisme scolaire du collège. Il vivait à l’époque médiévale, donc, ça recoupe un peu la période des Danses Macabres.

Le dandy médiéval (et je vous JURE que ce sont de vrais costumes médiévaux, des reconstructions modernes ou largement inspirés d’imagerie médiévale, même si le premier est plus Italien que français)

François, coté personnalité, est physiquement incapable de prendre les choses sérieusement. Il va faire des blagues, danser, avoir des réactions probablement inappropriées (du point de vue de l’Ankou surtout). Il est, et c’est un point important du personnage, la mort joyeuse, la mort qui célèbre la vie, il est aux autres morts ce que Día de Muertos est à la Toussaint, joyeux, festif et coloré.

Donc effectivement, l’arlequin et ses couleurs corresponds à ce côté à part, joyeux et coloré, mais aussi le Fou du roi ou le bouffon, qui est à contrecourant du reste de la société.

Le Bouffon du Roi, que j’aime assez, surtout le multicolore MAIS le chapeau de François ayant besoin d’être amovible pour les besoins de l’histoire, va probablement passer à la trappe.

Et enfin, le retour aux sources avec le costume d’arlequin d’origine et une version peut être un peu plus travaillée. (Pas fanne des manches bouffantes cela dit…)

J’aurais pu aussi fouiller visuellement du coté Día de Muertos, que j’adore, mais là, on s’écartait peut-être un peu trop de la Danse Macabre et des Transis médiévaux.

(Mais soyez surs que François est fan du concept aussi)

Donc voilà. Trois influences.

Et vous ? Vous préférez lequel ?

---

Today, we’re going to see the inspirations about François.

And his dressing, it’s linked.

So, Transis and Dance Macabre inspiration, done and assumed, but most of the times, these cadavers are strolling around either naked or with their shroud flapping around. And even if it suits well the other dead of Swing Macabre, François need a bit more flair.

Especially since, in Swing Macabre’s first version François was born in a flash, as a Harlequin clad skeleton, and at the time, I didn’t think long about it (look, the teacher just refused ALL the scenario we’ve been working on for a month and we only had a week to present new ones. And moreover, I chickened out and showed something more classical, which was also refused. I should have presented my little swinging skeletons).

So.

A few years later, even if I still love the harlequin concept, I’m going to try and dig a bit more in the character’s inspirations, conscious or not.

First inspiration: Jack Skellington. Look, I can’t refute it, he is the King of Halloween, THE singing and dancing skeleton, what can I do about it?

But, he is also copyrighted and I don’t want a trial form a mouse, so let’s carefully avoid the tribute. No scarecrow costume or pin-stripe suit for François.

Let’s start by François’ name, then. This is an homage to François Villon, a French poet who wrote (among others) La Balade des Pendus (Ballad of the hanged, also known as Epitaphe Villon, or Frères humains (Humans Brothers?) ), origin of a traumatism from high school. Villon lived in the Late Middle Age, it’s an overlap with the Dance Macabre’s period.

The medieval Dandy (and I swear those are either true medieval clothes, modern reconstruction from LARP or largely inspired by medieval imagery, even if the first is more Italian than French)

François, personality wise, is physically unable to take things seriously. He is going to prank, to dance, to have inappropriate reactions (from Ankou’s point of view). He is, and this is an important side of the character, the happy death, the death who celebrate life, he is to the others characters what Día de Muertos is to Saint’s day, joyous, festive and colored.

So, yeah, the harlequin and his colors go well with this theme, but another kind of character work well, too, the King’s fool or buffoon, both going against the tide of society.

The King’s buffoon. I quite like these designs, especially the multicolored one, BUT François’ hat needs to be easily removable for story means, so it’s probably not going to fit.

And finally, return to the roots of the character, with the original harlequin body suit and a version a little more thought out. (not a fanne of the puffy sleeve, thought)

I could also have gone towards the visual of the Día de Muertos, which I LOVE, but I had a feeling I was steering a bit too much away from the Dance Macabre et medieval Transis.

(But rest assured, François is a fan of the concept!)

So here. Three influences, six costumes.

And you ? which one do you prefer?

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 338, 15 octobre 1892, Paris. No. 11. — Costume de deuil. No. 13. — Robe de deuil en barpour. No. 16. — Toilettes de deuil. No. 17. — Manteau de deuil. No 18. — Robe de deuil, en drap de dame. Modèle(s) de la Maison À Saint-Roch, 197m rue Saint-Honoré, Paris. Bibliothèque nationale de France

No. 11. — Costume de deuil. Corsage plat, ouvert derrière, recouvert par une veste Figaro en crêpe anglais. Taille ronde, mise sur la jupe, sans ceinture. Manches bouffantes du haut, recouvertes par un double jockey, dont le second est en crêpe anglais. Ruche de crêpe autour du cou. Jupe froncée tout autour de la taille, très étoffée derrière, garnie dans le bas, devant, par une haute bande de crêpe anglais.

Capote de crêpe, garnie devant et sur la nuque par une garniture semblable. Grand voile derrière.

No. 11. — Mourning suit. Flat bodice, open at the back, covered by a Figaro jacket in English crepe. Round waist, placed on the skirt, without a belt. Puffed sleeves at the top, covered by a double jockey, the second of which is in English crepe. Crepe ruffle around the neck. Skirt gathered all around the waist, very full at the back, trimmed at the bottom, in front, by a high band of English crepe.

Crepe capote, trimmed in front and on the nape of the neck by a similar trim. Large veil at the back.

Métrage: 11 mètres lainage, grande largeur; 2 mètres crêpe anglais.

—

No. 13. — Robe en barpour. Corsage-jaquette long, boutonné sur le devant, ouvert en cœur et entouré d'un revers habit encadrant une chemisette de crêpe, avec col montant et nœud de crêpe en dessous.

Bande de crêpe anglais autour de la jaquette.

Manches bouffantes et remontantes du haut, étroites du bas avec poignets de crêpe.

Jupe plate devant, plissée derrière, garnie dans le bas, tout autour, par trois bandes dégradées en crêpe.

Petite capote de crêpe, garnie devant par un groupe de petites coques semblables, avec bande de mousseline blanche en dessous.

No. 13. — Barpour dress. Long jacket-bodice, buttoned on the front, open in a sweetheart and surrounded by a coat lapel framing a crepe chemisette, with a high collar and crepe bow underneath.

English crepe band around the jacket.

Puffed sleeves and raised at the top, narrow at the bottom with crepe cuffs.

Flat skirt in front, pleated behind, trimmed at the bottom, all around, by three graded crepe bands.

Small crepe bonnet, trimmed in front by a group of similar small shells, with a band of white muslin underneath.

Métrage: 11 mètres barpour, grande largeur; 2 mètres crêpe anglais.

—

No. 16. — Toilettes de deuil.

(1) Robe en drap diagonal. Corsage plat, à trois ceintures, recouvert par un biais en pointe et les petits côtés en crêpe anglais. La pointe du milieu s'étend, en s'évasant jusqu'au bas de la jupe. Manches flottantes, très larges, à hauts poignets semblables. Jupe polonaise, faisant suite au corsage, très plate devant et plissée derrière en petite traîne. Chapeau rond, en crêpe anglais, orné devant par un groupe très pressé de coques en crêpe, avec coquillé semblable s'allongeant sur la nuque.

(1) Dress in diagonal cloth. Flat bodice, with three belts, covered by a pointed bias and the small sides in English crepe. The point in the middle extends, flaring to the bottom of the skirt. Floating sleeves, very wide, with similar high cuffs. Polonaise skirt, following the bodice, very flat in front and pleated behind in a small train. Round hat, in English crepe, decorated in front by a very pressed group of crepe shells, with similar shell extending on the nape of the neck.

Métrage: 8 mètres drap diagonal.

—

(2) Robe de lainage noir et de crêpe anglais. Corsage-plastron en crêpe, à pointe allongée, recouvert par une petite veste courte, à revers semblables. Manches très bouffantes du haut, à ballons bouillonnés, sur bas de manches plats. Jupe de lainage, plate et unie, recouverte par une seconde jupe plus courte et froncée tout autour de la taille, en crêpe anglais. Capote de crêpe anglais, à fond plissé, ornée de biais et de coques semblables. Long voile derrière, brides de crêpe, voilette de crêpe lisse sur le visage.

(2) Dress in black wool and English crepe. Crepe bodice-plastron, with elongated point, covered by a small short jacket, with similar lapels. Very puffed sleeves at the top, with bubbled balloons, on flat bottom sleeves. Wool skirt, flat and plain, covered by a second shorter skirt and gathered all around the waist, in English crepe. English crepe hood, with pleated bottom, decorated with bias and similar shells. Long veil behind, crepe straps, smooth crepe veil on the face.

Métrage: 8 mètres lainage, grande largeur; 6 mètres crêpe anglais.

—

No. 17. — Manteau de deuil, en cachemire de l'Inde. Corsage plissé à la taille sous une ceinture de crêpe et ouvert en cœur du haut sous un empiècement aussi en crêpe. Grandes manches pèlerine derrière, ornées par une bande de crêpe et surmontées de jockeys semblables. Jupe longue, froncée tout autour, garnie dans le bas par une bande de crêpe.

Petite capote de crêpe à fond plat, bouillonnée tout autour, avec groupe de nœuds sur le devant et grand voile plissé retombant derrière.

No. 17. — Mourning coat, in Indian cashmere. Bodice pleated at the waist under a crepe belt and open in a heart at the top under a yoke also in crepe. Large cape sleeves behind, decorated with a band of crepe and topped with similar jockeys. Long skirt, gathered all around, trimmed at the bottom with a band of crepe.

Small flat-bottomed crepe hood, ruffled all around, with a group of bows on the front and large pleated veil falling behind.

—

No. 18. — Robe de deuil, en drap de dame, forme redingote. La redingote en drap est ornée devant, à partir du dessous de bras, par une large bande de crêpe anglais, retombant jusqu'au bas de la jupe. Elle est largement plissée derrière. Du haut, elle encadre un plastron de crêpe anglais, retenu à la taille par une ceinture semblable faisant très petit corselet. Jupe plate en tablier sous l'overture de la redingote. Manches très étoffées, bouillonnées dans le haut et très étroites du bas, sous poignet de crêpe.

Chapeau rond en crêpe, garni par un entourage de coques couchées.

Devant, nœud alsacien d'où s'élèvent deux plumes Méphisto en crêpe.

No. 18. — Mourning dress, in lady's cloth, frock coat shape. The frock coat in cloth is decorated in front, from the underarm, by a wide band of English crepe, falling to the bottom of the skirt. It is widely pleated at the back. From the top, it frames a plastron of English crepe, held at the waist by a similar belt forming a very small bodice. Flat apron skirt under the opening of the frock coat. Very full sleeves, shirred at the top and very narrow at the bottom, under crepe cuffs.

Round crepe hat, trimmed with a surround of lying shells.

In front, Alsatian bow from which rise two Mephisto feathers in crepe.

Métrage: 11 mètres lainage, grande largeur; 2 mètres crêpe anglais.

[carolina-reaper]

୨୧‿︵ Nora L. Bergman ︵‿୨୧

They say You know when you know. So let's face it, You had me at hello. Hesitation never helps, How could this be anything, anything else? When all I dream of is your eyes, All I long for is your touch. And darling, something tells me that's enough. You can say that I'm a fool, And I don't know very much, But I think they call this love.

A/N: ~ Gods, I've been meaning to post this for.... I don't even know how long. Pretty much since I first joined Tumblr. Just been putting it off again and again because writer's block sucks. But some inspo finally hit me, so here we are. Hope you guys enjoy :3 ~ Also! Nora's main story follows the timeline of the novel rather than the movie, so some canon events shown in the movie may be different.

Tag-list (if you'd like to be added to this character's tag-list, lemme know) ~

Song ~ I Think They Call This Love (Elliot James Reay)

‿︵‿୨◦୧‿︵ Introduction ︵‿୨◦୧‿︵‿

RP Status ~ Open!

Preferred Pairings

~ Darry Curtis ~ OC x OC

Date Started ~ I.... don't even remember anymore.

Date Finished ~ 12/11/2024

Face Claim ~ Joan Blondell

Voice Claim ~ Charlotte la Bouff/Jennifer Cody (The Princess & The Frog)

‿︵‿୨◦୧‿︵ Basic Info ︵‿୨◦୧‿︵‿

Full Name ~ Nora Louise Bergman

Name Meanings

~ Nora, "honor" or "shining light" ~ Louise, "renowned warrior" ~ Bergman, "mountain man" or "upland dweller"

Age ~ 19 (at start of timeline)

Date of Birth ~ January 6, 1944

Birthplace ~ Sanlow, Oklahoma

Current Location ~ Tulsa, Oklahoma

Nicknames

~ Rory (an alternative version of her first name) ~ Tinkerbell (the name of her favorite character from Walt Disney's Peter Pan [1953])

Gender ~ Female

Sexuality ~ Straight

Hobbies

~ Watching baseball ~ Costume making ~ Creative writing (magical realism/historical fiction)

Current Occupations

~ Makeup counter sales clerk ~ Housekeeper/part-time nanny

Aspiring Occupation ~ Professional author/journalist

‿︵‿୨◦୧‿︵ Persona ︵‿୨◦୧‿︵‿

Usual Mood ~ Contented (happy, at ease)

Overall Personality ~ Sociable (friendly, willing to talk to people)

Positive Traits

~ Cooperative ~ Trustworthy ~ Responsible

Negative Traits

~ Stubborn ~ Assertive ~ Unfocused

Likes

~ Listening to music ~ Playing guessing games ~ Walking in the rain ~ Watching movies

Dislikes

~ Heavy perfumes ~ Crowded rooms ~ People who talk during movies

Pet Peeves

~ Slow drivers ~ Coughing without covering your mouth ~ Being called pet names by strangers

‿︵‿୨◦୧‿︵ Health ︵‿୨◦୧‿︵‿

Physical Health ~ Although her work keeps her fit, the strain of always standing/lifting heavy objects daily leaves her with major back/neck aches.

How Do They Maintain Their Physical Health? ~ She maintains it by resting when she has the opportunity, though her habit of smoking and skipping meals has begun to take its toll.

Mental Health ~ In spite of her generally outgoing and sociable demeanor, she struggles greatly with depression and anxiety (as well as brain-fog, which can lead to persistent headaches and difficulty remembering things) brought on by her heavy workload.

How Do They Maintain Their Mental Health? ~ She will usually tend to her hobbies or go see a movie with friends/watch a baseball game with her grandpa.

‿︵‿୨◦୧‿︵ Appearance ︵‿୨◦୧‿︵‿

Height ~ 5'4"

Weight ~ 155 lbs

Hair Color ~ Light, coppery red

Hairstyle ~ Because both of her jobs require her to keep a neat and reserved appearance, Nora keeps her hair up in a small bouffant (variation of the popular beehive hairstyle, in which hair is combed back and shaped into a large, round mound).

Skin Color ~ Warm ivory

Eye Color ~ Hazel

Glasses or Contacts? ~ Glasses (for reading)

Body Build ~ Pear-shaped (wide lower body, including hips and thighs, in contrast to a narrow upper body, including shoulders and body).

Scars ~ None

‿︵‿୨◦୧‿︵ Closet ︵‿୨◦୧‿︵‿

Casual Wear ~ Button-down shirt or a plain, turtle-neck sweater, and a plaid-patterned circle skirt with black flats.

Formal Wear ~ White & sage gingham swing dress with a camel-colored overcoat, white satin gloves, a pair of Mary Janes, and a matching pillbox hat.

Swimwear ~ A brightly colored, flower-patterned one piece

Pajamas ~ A pastel yellow, baby-doll style nightgown

Work Clothes

~ Mint & white striped shirtwaist dress with a white apron and black flats (housekeeper/nanny) ~ Lilac-colored pencil dress with a matching pair of bow flats (sales clerk)

Accessories

~ Green glass ring (emerald glass set in gold) ~ Gold bangle bracelet ~ Gold, heart-shaped locket

︵‿୨◦୧‿︵ Relationships ︵‿୨◦୧‿︵

Parents

~ Evelyn Camille Ryton (mother, 40, deceased) ~ Robert James Dewitt (father, 29, deceased)

Siblings

~ Richard Wesley Dewitt (brother, 35, unknown) ~ Dorothy Grace Dewitt (sister, 33, unknown) ~ William McHenry Dewitt (brother, 29, unknown) ~ John Mathias Dewitt (brother, 29, alive) ~ Helen Virginia Cooper (sister, 22, alive)

Grandparents

~ James McHenry Dewitt (grandfather, 70, alive) ~ Clara Grace Marie (grandmother, 69, deceased)

Pets

~ Baby Kitty (male ragdoll cat) ~ Elvis (Jersey Giant hen)

Partner

~ Darry Curtis

Friends

~ Annabelle Diane Tucker ~ Laura Jean Davenport

Rivals

~ Patrick Whitman ~ Paul Holden

‿︵‿୨◦୧‿︵ History ︵‿୨◦୧‿︵‿

To Be Added!

[oran9ejuice]

since met gala news's been chasing me today all over social media, im going to promote the idea of foxes at met gala!!!

(disclaimer: i know they wouldn't've been invited even if it was possible, but i can't care less lmao. only my opinion)

First of all, nicky and allison. do i need to comment it? bitches would slay the whole evening, PERIOD. i see them wearing whether extraordinary b&w or monotone/two-colored outfits, hot, 10/10

dan and matt. i have a strong feeling they would arrive in some couples costume, cute, creative, 10/10

rene. i think it would be all-white (character clishé, fight me) or cherry-red strapless bouffant dress. sweet, interesting 10/10

kevin. feel like it would be something b&w suit, but since it's kevin-queen-day it would also contain some sparkles. creative, a little bit common, slay 10/10

aaron. It was really hard to persuade him to go (but some magic words from katlyn and he gave up). probably would show with katlyn, wearing couple costumes. cute, sweet 10/10

Andrew and Neil. Andrew would probably be as damn fine as always, i see him in all-black, but I'm sure he wouldn't miss a chance to put on some silver jewelry, slay. 10/10

if neil josten appeared at the event, it was a miracle (aka andrew minyard). he would definitely look iconic but wouldn't even know it. total black, b&w, wine red, so many option, really. 10/10

[mariacallous]

On a recent afternoon in Corriganville Park, an old movie-set ranch in the rocky foothills of the Santa Susana Mountains in Southern California’s Simi Valley, with her blonde bouffant teased to previously uncharted dimensions, a spiked headdress in the shape of a bursting nebula, Wonder Woman–esque wrist cuffs, and bulbous Proenza Schouler open-toe shoes, Jennifer Coolidge looked very much the part of a sci-fi superheroine. She brought to mind such greats as Jane Fonda in Barbarella, Zsa Zsa Gabor in Queen of Outer Space, and First Mate Piggy in “Pigs in Space,” the cult Muppets space opera.

Coolidge, who this year swept the Emmys, Golden Globes, and Critics Choice Awards for her portrayal of a heedless hotel habitué on The White Lotus, was engaged in a winner-takes-all slugfest with Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert, the directing duo known as Daniels, whose multiverse epic, Everything Everywhere All at Once, was the most nominated film at this year’s Academy Awards. It was a surreal scene. Coolidge was protecting Earth from a giant extraterrestrial fashion lobster with monstrous claws, played by Scheinert, but instead of “Pow!” and “Whack!” their interaction was more like “Pow” and…“Whack?”

“I think the best thing to do is to take this,” said Kwan, handing Coolidge a rhinestone-encrusted metal scepter before ducking back behind the camera. “Act like you’re going to stab him.” Coolidge squinted her eyes, seemingly confused about the nature of her superpowers. “Oh, you mean I’m supposed to be annihilating him? That’s cool, I guess,” she said. She proceeded to gently prod Scheinert, who appeared to barely feel the might of her wrath under the spiked sleeves of his crustacean-couture ensemble. Glancing back and forth between his camera’s viewfinder and the low-stakes combat unfolding before him, Kwan furrowed his brow. “You’re being shocked by the scepter,” he explained to Scheinert. Trying not to laugh, he added, “And maybe, kind of, enjoying it.” Scheinert put his claws on his hips, nodding his head in agreement, his whiskerlike antennae flopping in the air. As if on cue, Coolidge prodded him once again, this time more forcefully, sending Scheinert into an exaggerated Looney Tunes–like convulsion, followed by suggestive gyrations reminiscent of a K-Pop boy-bander.

Coolidge let out a loud cackle. “I can’t kill him now,” she said, her face awash with childlike amusement. When the camera clicks paused, Scheinert peeled off his Robyn Lynch balaclava. Shirley Kurata, Daniels’ costume designer, began removing his arthropod exterior. “What is it about lobster claws that I’m so attracted to?” Coolidge wondered. She then turned her attention to surveying the clothing racks filled with tubular disc dresses, new-wave hats shaped like lampshades, and metallic-hued space cowboy boots. “Oh, so this is what we’re going to be doing today,” she said, her voice tinged with bewildered excitement. “I look pretty evil. They seem to like me in villain outfits a lot.”

...

For their latest romp, the directors said there was no question that Coolidge had to be the A-list star of this B-movie shoot, though they had never worked with the actor and their only in-person interaction with her was a brief hello at the Critics Choice Awards in January. “But of all the people who are having a moment right now, she felt like someone exciting to put on the cover of a magazine,” Kwan said. Thanks to her Rubenesque figure, flowing blonde locks, bee-stung pout, and million-dollar smize, Coolidge certainly stands out in everything she’s in, whether she’s playing a dim-witted nail tech in Legally Blonde, a desperate housewife having a lesbian affair with her poodle’s trainer in Best in Show, a sultry suburban MILF in American Pie, a trigger-happy mother-in-law to Jennifer Lopez’s bride-to-be in Shotgun Wedding, or, most recently, a psychic TV medium in Netflix’s We Have a Ghost.

More than anything, Scheinert explained, the directors appreciate a stacked résumé. “I’m prejudiced against young people,” he said. “I have problems with our youth-obsessed culture and beauty standards, so anytime we can shake things up a little, I’m all for it.” Kwan and Scheinert, who are both 35, said working with Michelle Yeoh, 60, Jamie Lee Curtis, 64, and now Coolidge, 61, allows them to pick up “different strategies for existing in this industry,” almost as if by osmosis. “We still feel like just babies,” Kwan said.

On that point, Coolidge was in firm agreement. “The film business tires people out. But I swear to god, I felt like I was getting together with little kids,” she said of her day with the directors. “They were like these sort of child prodigies who are super, super smart and just super creative. I’ve never been asked to do a shoot like this: I have weapons, take down small cities, pick up cars and throw them. I don’t know if I will ever be this surprised again. It was one of the best things I have ever been involved in.”

Like the rest of the world, Kwan and Scheinert swooned over Coolidge’s performance as Tanya in The White Lotus. They were mesmerized as she blasted her way to a clumsy demise on a megayacht chartered by the fearsome Fab Five of Sicily in the final episode of the show’s second season. One of Tanya’s lines is now the stuff of meme legend: “These gays, they’re trying to murder me!”

Speaking about Tanya, but also possibly referring to her own trajectory, Coolidge said: “I feel bad for her, because she didn’t know what she was made of. She didn’t have that kind of faith in herself. Sometimes these scary things happen in life. And then you find out, in like two seconds, that you are a survivor and that you can really pull through for yourself, sometimes in a way that you never believed you could.” Then, with inimitable comic timing, she pitched her raspy voice ever so slightly so it sounded like her scatterbrained character on The White Lotus: “But then, of course, it didn’t quite end up going my way in the end, did it?”

[just-a-half-cape]

Petit projet du weekend ! Je voulais faire quelque chose pour évacuer un peu ces restes de tissus que je 'e veux pas jeter... Donc j'ai décidé de faire un chapeau ! Il sera comme ça assorti au pourpoint que j'ai déjà fait dans ce tissus. J'aurais bien fait une culotte bouffante, mais ça implique beaucoup d'essais et d'erreurs pour avoir un patron et je voulais quelque chose de simple et rapide. Et voilà ! Bon par contre c'était épais comme tissu. Très épais. Tellement épais que j'ai du faire le fronçage à la main en épinglant tout. Tellement épais que ça ne passait pas sous la machine et que j'ai fini à la main. Mais voilà, un beau chapeau fleuri pour un costume que je n'ai d'autre choix que de remettre ! Je vais probablement en refaire d'autres prochainement, et faire des bourses aussi en utilisant le maximum de tissu dans ma réserve. #couture #renaissance #chapeau #stashbuster

[unhingedwomandiaries]

Had another proper mental one last night. The kind of dream that makes you wonder if someone's spiked your last drink with something.

Setting: Dublin. Not the tourist-wank version with plastic shamrocks and "Irish Car Bomb" shots. Proper grimy Dublin, where even the cobblestones look like they've got PTSD. Standing outside this pub that's basically depression with a liquor license.

Then WHOOSH - I'm in some fucking hair salon waiting room because apparently my subconscious thinks I need a makeover. Thanks, brain. Really addressing the important issues here.

Got sandwiched between these two Stepford Wife rejects from the 1950s. All pearl necklaces and judgmental eyebrows. Giving me looks like I'd just taken a shit in the Queen's handbag. Sorry my existence offends your perfectly sprayed bouffant, Sharon.

Then this woman bursts in with a kid's firefighter costume like it's perfectly normal. Because that's what you do at a hair salon, right? Show off flammable polyester outfits? And OF COURSE it catches fire. But everyone's acting like this is fine. Just another Tuesday at Backdraft Beauty Salon.

Try to leg it but my boots are melting like they're made of chocolate in a heat wave. Proper anxiety dream bollocks. Can't even run away properly in my own head.

Suddenly I'm in some office because dream logic can get fucked, apparently. Begging these corporate zombies for help while my feet cook like a Sunday roast. They're all looking at me like I've asked them to explain Bitcoin or give a shit about their job.

Everything's going up like a tower block with dodgy cladding. All orange and grey like someone Instagram filtered the apocalypse.

Things I learned from this dream:

1. My subconscious hates me.

2. Never trust a hairdresser in Dublin.

3. Maybe I should invest in fireproof shoes.

Woke up sweating like a Floridian in a heatwave. Either my brain's trying to tell me something profound or it's just having a laugh at my expense. Probably the latter, the absolute wanker.

PS: Cancelling my next hair appointment. Rather look like I've been dragged through a hedge backwards than risk any of this becoming reality.

PPS: Adding "spontaneously combusting children" to my list of irrational fears. As if I needed more of those.