#high burlesque

[uwmspeccoll]

It’s Fine Press Friyay! 

This week we’re digging into our 1896 copy of Alexander Pope’s (1688-1744) The Rape of the Lock: an heroi-comical poem in five cantos, which features decadent illustrations by Aubrey Beardsley (1872–1898). This crown quarto edition of 500 was issued in London by Leonard Smithers (1861-1907). It was printed on deckle edge paper at the Chiswick Press.  

This publication is an excellent example of high burlesque, a style of satire in which “a literary, elevated manner was applied to a commonplace or comically inappropriate subject matter.” Pope’s epic treatment of a minor event of social trespass- the theft of a lock of Arabella Fermor’s (1696-1737) hair by Lord Petre (1689-1713), her suitor at the time of the incident and soon-to-be ex-fiancée, mocked the excessive role of social mores and morality in European culture of the era through exaggerated imitation.  

Leonard Smithers was a London bookseller and publisher associated with the Decadent Movement, a 19th century Western European artistic and literary movement that prized aesthetic excess, artificiality, and hedonism. In addition to his support for Beardsley’s work, he also promoted the work of a number of controversial figure or the time including, amongst others, Max Beerbohm, Aleister Crowley, and Oscar Wilde.  

The Chiswick Press was founded in 1811 by Charles Whittingham (1767–1840), who found success in producing accessibly priced editions of classics. His nephew Charles Whittingham II (1795–1876), who took over in 1840, was known for printing William Morris’s (1834-1896) early work, and would establish the press as part of the Private Press Movement in England, which started in reaction to the mechanization of book production. Contributors to the Private Press Movement championed the material qualities of their publications, lending heightened consideration to aesthetic choices and reviving traditional techniques of typography, binding, paper making, and printing.

--Ana, Special Collections Graduate Intern

View more Chiswick Press posts

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view more Fine Press Friday posts.

[solbaby7]

A Guy Who Takes His Time

pairing: azriel x burlesque!reader

warnings: nothing really, just me watching Burlesque and yet again not having any form of self-control

summary: The High Lord takes his two brothers to a Burlesque show to take in and watch the finer things in life—you.

—

String pearls.

Tassels.

Waiting staff wearing skimpy little skirts and tops that earned plenty of stares and even more tips teased into the dip of their bustier.

Liquor flowed and desire pulsed hotter than any of the dimly glowing lights hanging from the ceiling. “You’re up in five,” Tess’ voice shouts through the changing room as you shimmy your next number on.

Ten years here and still you’d never get tired of the confidence that ebbed from your form when wearing nothing but leather and diamonds, feathers and pearls, lace and miles and miles of bare skin. Someone’s touching up your makeup, probably Sean with a brush coated in a lipstick a brighter red than the blood pulsing in your veins and when the stage lights go black, you know it’s time. “Wish me luck.”

Tess swats at your ass, a playful smile on regal features. “You don’t need it.”

You take your place, the slow drag of your heels against the stage is the only sound in the whole bar and you can feel yourself shift into the persona that takes place to exude the role you’re playing. The crowd is full, every seat occupied and even then there are more filtering in, standing in the corners with drinks in their hands and eyes trained on the stage—on you.

One group catches your eye, placed smack dab in the middle of the room is a trio of men; powerful, that much is obvious even with their plainclothes on but there’s no time to ponder when the music begins and a bright light shines on you.

A two, eight count pause while the band sets the mood and you’ll never grow tired of the way the crowd shifts in their seats when you begin to sing.

Oh, oh, oh, oh

A guy who takes his time, I’ll go for anytime

Countless hours of dancing, training the moves over and over until you were ready to rip your hair out from the root when Tess kept telling you to be aware of every part of your body.

Presence.

Engagement.

Confidence.

It repeated in your brain like a mantra.

“If you let them make you believe you don’t belong on that stage—that you don’t own that stage then you don’t have any business being up there in the first place.” She’d drilled into you after applying ointment to the blisters on your feet, wrapping them in bandages thick enough that it didn’t irritate in your high heels.

Presence.

Your hands rake over your body, fingers hooking into the see through cover-up and sliding it off your shoulders. You can feel their eyes follow the clothing drop to the ground; the air charged with anticipation, wondering exactly how much you were planning on taking off while looking so pretty doing it.

I’m a fast-moving gal who likes ‘em slow

You’re eyes catch on that group in the middle, sliding over their faces while you continue your routine and while you were supposed to stay up here, you can’t help the way your body slinks off of the edge of the stage, back arching like a stretching feline.

Got no use for fancy drivin’, want to see a guy arrivin’ in low

The lights follow your every move, back-up dancers filling up the space you’d left occupied but it’s like you’d taken the stage with you—attendees twisting in their chairs, necks craning and eyes glued on you as you ease through the tables.

Engagement.

You stop by one male, dressed nicer than most and the cocky smirk he sends his group of friends makes your fingers itch to bring him down a peg. Your palm ruffles through his pristinely styled hair, painted nails tracing down his neck and you pause as cup your hand around his throat. A public display of dominance—of who really ran this fucking show and commanded the attention of everyone who’d handed over their hard-earned money just to watch you prance around in your tiny little clothes and sing just like you did at home when no one was looking. There’s a ring on his finger and you make sure to loosen up the tie around his neck, pressing a red kiss on your hand to smear over his mouth before leaving as if you’d never ever seen him.

I’d be satisfied, electrified to know a guy what takes his time

A hurry-up affair, I always give the air

The three men in the middle are even more handsome up close, you realize. The thin material of your tights brushing their knees and you see the one in the middle tense—happily taken, you conclude.

A huge part of your job was reading body language, understanding the people in your crowd without truly exchanging words and he sends you a grateful smile when you casually avoid him.

His other two friends were fair game, both with inky black hair but while ones was cropped short at the shoulder, the other; it was clear there was even more hiding in that bun at the nape of his neck. Their wings are tucked tight behind them, a silent warning not to touch without permission and you’re careful when extending your hand.

The one of the left comes to your aid without hesitation, eyes wide with awe as the alluring scent of your perfume washed over him. His hand is slightly calloused in yours as he helps you onto the table before them, lights shifting with your new position with ease and you can feel a few of the male bar staff gravitate a little closer—trained to ensure the safety of the dancers above all else.

Confidence.

Your routine continues without a hitch, moves coming to you like second nature. Exaggerated movements that didn’t seem so obvious when the rest of your body followed suit so smoothly, hips slow when you put on a show and you’re certain they’re staring at the pearl thong shoved up your ass when you bend at the hips slowly.

You could hear Tess’ voice in your head. “Balance, baby. Every naughty move has to be followed by something soft and sweet. I can’t explain it but it just adds to the allure.”

And while one friend is eager to appease you, the one on the right pretends you aren’t even there. A brow quirks—finally, a challenge.

You voice carries through the space, a picture worth painting when gently pressing a heel to his chest. It forces his gaze, hazel eyes burning as he looks at you for what seems like the first time the whole night and you try to ignore the chill that runs down your spine—like you’d met him before, known him from somewhere but you can’t quite put your finger on it and you’re certain he catches the way your eye squints down at him.

Your head shakes slightly, as if physically pulling yourself free from the feeling and the cool mask you wore when performing slid back into place when reaching for his hand. You can feel his whole body tense and he waits for you to recoil, to pull your hand back but you truly make no indication that you could even feel the misshapen scars there and it’s then when you gain his full attention.

Hazel eyes boring into yours like you were a puzzle he had to solve in five minutes or less and the clock was tick, tick, ticking away.

It surprises you; the way your body reacts to the slow drag of his palm up your thigh and you don’t stop until it’s reached the little clip at the top holding your stocking in place. His throat bobs when it flicks open with a click, sheer material pliant and loose and sliding down the length of leg you’d guided him up before but this time he does it on his own.

Everyone else seems to melt away when you stare at the way he does it, seemingly captivated by the truly bared skin and when it’s bunched at your ankles he makes gentle work of slipping off your heel, planting a kiss on the flesh toned bandage wrapped just under your big toe. The fabric falls free from your body, heel back in place and your steps are a little wobbly when you retract, Luca; one of the newer staff security subtly raising an arm to stabilize you.

Oh a guy what takes his time, I’d go for every time

A hasty job really spoils a master’s touch

It takes every bone in your body to step away, to finish your set–on stage where you were supposed to be but every step felt like you were leaving behind something you didn’t even realize you were missing. And when you finish off the final note, the lights go dark and the curtains close.

You’re rushed back to the fitting room to change for the next set and the whole time you’re shaking in anticipation, waiting for the chance to see him again but when you go to finish your final number—he’s not there.

In fact, all three of them had left, their table cleaned and another group was being ushered to sit in their place. You shun away the disappointment, silently cursing yourself at the distraction and in an instant you’re back—cool and calm.

This was your stage. You owned it and no one could ever take it from you.

Presence.

Engagement.

Confidence.

The curtains rose and the light snapped to light, focused right on you and you’re sure you did well, judging by the cheers outside when your pushed to the back room, drinks already being brought in and you’re searching for Tess but she’s nowhere to be found. “Tess?” You call out for her, rounding the corner to the dressing rooms, eyes scanning over the empty office before going to the makeup tables and you freeze. “Tess, I need help. I can never get out of this one without breaking the zipper—“

Because sitting at your spot, eyes trained on a framed picture of you and all the girls on some trip you’d taken a few years back—was him.

“You’re not, Tess.”

“No,” He answers and his voice sends a shiver up your spine.

Suddenly, it feels too quiet in here and you’re more aware of the fact that everyone is surely already changed and filtering out for food and drinks after a long night but you can’t bring yourself to tell them to wait for you. “You’re not really supposed to be back here.”

“No? Well, I spoke to woman who claims she owns this bar and she told me I could wait for you here.”

Tess.

It’s then you seem to notice the flowers, a pretty bouquet obviously hand picked from the garden that Tess’ best friend Sean liked to tend to during the day but you don’t point it out. Instead, you look at them like it’s the first time ever seeing such colors on soft petals . “Those for me?”

“They are.” He hands them over almost nervously, pinky finger twitching when your hands grazes his own.

Your eyes flutter shut when you take in their smell, comforting and familiar and everything you could’ve ever wanted. “And who am I to thank for such lovely flowers?”

He’s behind you when he answers, fingers ghosting over the zipper stuck between your shoulder blades and your heart hammers against your chest when his knuckles graze your back as the fabric split down, down, down until you were clutching it in place at your chest. “Azriel,” His name is whispered on your shoulder, breath catching in your throat at the close proximity and every bone in your body is screaming for him to touch you; somewhere, anywhere. “But for now, I’d like to just be a guy who takes things slow.” Your heart skips a beat, excitement and interest and all of the perfect crush forming feelings beginning their dance in your belly when he finishes softly. “You hungry?”

The smile he pulls from you is genuine, eyes sparkling when you look up at him. “Starved.”

“Come on—change. I know a place.”

[atomic-chronoscaph]

Bettie Page

[thedreadvampy]

my friend invited me to go with them to a show tonight

and the thing is it was not good. it was a cabaret with some amazing circus acts but each of them got like. 5-10 minute slots. and were interspersed with 20+ minutes EVERY TIME of some of the most tedious standup work I have ever seen from the MC and the same 5 physical comedy bits repeated ad nauseum. this guy literally did a Borat bit. in the year of our lord 2024. he sang 2 entire rounds of the Family Guy theme.

and it just KEPT GOING. it was meant to be a 90 minute show, which imo is already a slog for a show starting at 11:30PM but within the bounds of reasonable. it finished. at fucking 1:50 AM. ALMOST TWO AND A HALF HOURS OF THIS SHIT. and it did not help that the 5 bits were all of the 'OH NO SOMETHING HAS DISRUPTED THE SHOW' variety which is funny for a bit, less funny when you're literally 45 minutes past the end of your scheduled finish and still fucking going.

HOWEVER. what I did not realise was that this was in fact. my friend's favourite comedian. and if I had known this I might not have gathered up my stuff and walked out during the curtain call and probably would not have announced on the way out, 'that was the most tedious fucking thing I have ever endured.' and I almost certainly, when someone overheard me complaining about the length and tedium and said 'yeah it ran a bit long huh,' have replied, at the actual near-shouting top of my voice, "I AM GOING TO KILL MYSELF."

I feel. bad for spoiling the show for them.

in my defence I have been very tired this week, I got home at 2:30 AM, and raked seating really hurts my hips so I was in agony by the end of the first hour. but mostly I'm just a bitch who loves to hate tbh.

[newwavesylviaplath]

lady gaga as harley quinn

[sockdreams]

Sale time is the best time

This week we're featuring our relatively-new Pinstripe Thigh High socks for 20% off, today thru Sunday (08/26). Use code PINUP20 at checkout.

[bronzedbunni]

What i ordered ♡

On sale ~ aliexpress

[peepshowburlesque]

T I X : http://www.peepshowmenagerie.com

Or see it next month on our Patreon on the V.I.PEEPS tier at http://www.patreon.com/peepshow

[beillus]

The High Priestess featuring burlesque performer Anastasia Arsenic!

Talk to me on Twitter <3 Support me on Patreon ^^ Buy me a Ko-Fi :3c

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

"You got breakfast in bed, Mama?" Lon asked in surprise (he thought you only got to eat in bed when you were sick!), to which Randall replied, "She sure did. See, Grandpa Wil used to make Grandma June breakfast in bed for her birthday and Mother's Day, and she used to make him breakfast in bed for his birthday and Father's Day, so I thought it'd be nice to do the same."

Thinking about it, he realized he had a couple of very fuzzy memories when it came to these breakfasts; remembering vaguely helping his parents when he was very small, in particular his father...he couldn't remember if it was June's birthday or Mother's Day, he just recalled, however hazily, toddling around with a little vase in his hands, trailing after his father as they entered the bedroom, and his mother kissing his cheek when he presented her with the flower...

Leaving this hazy memory behind, he smiled as he recalled, "I got better at baking after that incident-we used to make little king cakes together for Mardi Gras; we never had anything hidden in them, of course, but they were still lots of fun to make and decorate."

Knowing all about the delights of king cake and other Mardi Gras cuisine (especially since Mardi Gras was such a major holiday at the Mansion; Uncle Dori and Aunt Lizzie wouldn't have it any other way), the twins lit up at this, only for Erika to then falter, asking, "Will...will Grandpa August and Grandma Josie come back for Mardi Gras?"

"And what about Christmas? And Thanksgiving?" Lon asked, their gleeful smiles having been replaced by a sense of uncertainty, an uncertainty Randall could see plain as day, and it made him sigh: In some ways, it seemed so unfair that these new families only have so little time to spend with the children before they went home...he understood, of course, but he hated to see the little ones so disappointed at the prospect of these new faces disappearing as quickly as they had appeared.

Still, Randall tried to put on a brave face for the pair, reassuring them, "I'm sure that they will. I don't think they'd miss it for the world."

[pablohunie1993]

[pleckthaniel]

Holy shit, I think Riverdale might actually be leading up to a canon polycule

[mankoen]

lost the credits

[principiumindividuationis777]

[nyxanine]

So I went all in on the vanilla extract meme. She deserves to be a pinup.

[peepshowburlesque]