#victorian opera clothing

[resplendentoutfit]

A Night at the Opera, Part II

What to wear?

From The Art of Dressing Well: “The hair should be dressed as for a large evening party, and artificial flowers, jewels, feathers, ribbons, or any style of head-dress peculiar to the fashion may be worn.” “Jewelry must be worn according to the dress, but more is allowable than on most occasions, and the glittering gems are very effective in the brilliant light of a superb opera house.”

James Tissot (French, 1836-1902) • La Mondain (The Lady of Fashion) • 1883-85 • Private collection

There are myths about Victorian women's dress requirements that must be debunked. Firstly, only the ultra-rich could afford to have enough outfits to accommodate the many activities of a busy day. The reality was that women added and shed certain accessories for different activities, without changing their dress five times a day. If she was wearing an afternoon dress but going for a walk, she wouldn't necessarily run to change into a specific walking dress but instead find a hat and parasol and perhaps take off her shawl and replace it with a cape.

Likewise if she were to be invited to the opera. The dress she would choose wouldn't be one that could only be worn to the opera. Instead, the Victorian women would choose her most formal dress, add her best jewelry, and if she had them, wear an opera cape and bonnet. If she did not possess the latter, she could borrow them or make do with her best coat. That woman may not have been among the fashionistas in the audience, as described below, but maybe she enjoyed the opera and didn't care. I get a bit of pleasure imaging that at least a few women didn't give a toss about what others thought! This in spite of my interest in fashion history!

One source stated that it was typical for women (and perhaps men?) to dress according to where they sat but it was not elaborated upon. I assume the more expensive the seating, the fancier the dress.

“Well-dressed as well as handsome ladies are looked for in the audience of an opera, and it is out of harmony with the scene and surroundings to see sombre draperies, heavy bonnets, and dull faces. Ladies are supposed to be seen, as well as to see, and are often the most beautiful part of the display. They should not spoil the beauty of the auditorium by wrapping themselves in cloaks or shawls.” -The Art of Dressing Well

* Sorry, not all sources are cited, as I lost track by not keeping notes.

Part I is here.

[mars-ipan]

fortune doodles bc i finally got to play him recently. he's got a little crush but dw he's being So Normal About It

[fashionbooksmilano]

Fashion-à la Mode

The Pop-Up History of Costumes and Dresses

Isabelle de Borchgrave

Universe, New York 2001, 14 pages, 7 Pop-Up, 20x31 cm, ISBN 978-0789305077

euro 50,00

email if you want to buy :booksinprogressmilano@yahoo.it

Fashion-à la Mode is a sumptuous jewel of costume and fashion history seen through a dazzling parade of dolls that pop up on the page, accompanied by extraordinary interactive apparel, such as removeable fans, parasols, and shoes. The costumes in the book are created by Isabelle de Borchgrave and are based on her one-of-a-kind, hand-painted paper dresses.

With short texts and numerous costumed figures that pop up in three dimensions, the book is organized chronologically into themes: Egypt and the beginning of costume, the Elizabethan period, 18th-century France, the Victorian Opera, the kimono, Chanel and the liberation of women's clothing, and fashion as art (Fortuny and Miyake).

The text is written by Dorothy Twining Globus, Director of the Museum at the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York. Also included are enthusiastic essays by such notable fashion authorities as Hubert de Givenchy, Karl Lagerfeld, Myra Walker, and Sue North.

22/07/23

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[reverieblondie]

My Star

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara X DancerFem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Plot, Praise, Mutual masterbaition, Unprotected Penetrative Sex (wrap it before you tap it),Oral, Cum eating, losing of virginity (mentioned), Ripping of clothes, Drink play?, Blindfolded reader.

Summary: The theaters new patron is an important man, as you dance you feel his eyes on you, you can't help but feel addicted to the way he stares at you...

A/N: I haven't wrote Smut in a minute so I might be a bit rusty...This idea came to me as I was watching Phantom of the Opera. I just need a Victorian Miguel to ravish me while calling me his star. This is pretty cheesy and a total self serving fic but I hope you enjoy it!

Word count: 6,532

Looking around as you fix your hair you see that the theater is bustling. Dancers are frantically putting on makeup rushing and bumping into one another. The crew is in a hustle setting up the stage, the show isn’t for a few days why is everyone acting like it’s happening tonight? Today is just a normal practice? 

Leaning over to your friend you whisper your question, “What’s going on? Why is everyone acting in a tissy?” 

Your friend Cristina stops adjusting her practice dress and looks at you with wide eyes, “Have you not heard? A new patron is coming to observe the theater with the owners today during rehearsal, they want us all to be perfect or else you're cut!” 

Eyes going wide, you go to ask where she had gotten her information but before you can the madam of the ballet is coming to make sure everyone is prepared. With everyone frantically preparing you rush around backstage into position, stopping to dust your shoes in the rosin box so you have a good grip, and can’t afford any slips. 

Going over your choreography for your short solo, tracking your counts, the sound of whispers starts to distract you.

“I heard that he is one of the most powerful men in Nueva York, filthy rich.” 

“Exactly what we need is a bored man with too much money then he knows what to do with.” 

“Well, his name is Miguel O’Hara, and besides him being wealthy and powerful I hear he’s also gorgeous” 

They proceeded to giggle amongst themselves, seeming to find joy in their comments but the words about the man only seem to make you more nervous. It’s your job to impress this man to save the theater that holds your ballet company.

The company is very dear to you for having taken you in when you were a young girl, the madam didn’t care that you were a lowly orphan with a name that meant nothing she saw you and took you in despite it. And now everyone's careers are dependent on impressing this patron, hopefully you won’t mess it up for everyone…

Watching the stage you are patiently waiting for your cue when the distinct feeling of eyes watching you stirs your concentration. Moving your eyes to the stage's side you try to pinpoint where this feeling is coming from. 

Then you see the mahogany eyes fixed on you, the gaze is intense, perfectly complimenting the structured face of the burnet. His stature towers in comparison to the theater owners groveling at him. This must be Mr. O’Hara, they were right he is gorgeous and with how he's dressed in a luxurious day suit it was clear he has expenses to spare. 

As his eyes continue to stare you down you feel the nerves in your chest starting to spiral. Opting to look away you try to focus on catching your cue you almost missed it from being wrapped up in a brief staring contest.

On the stage now, you focus your breathing to look effortless while you dance, thankfully you hit all your counts perfectly. There where things you where okay at but dancing is where you excelled. Typically you where a pretty shy and reserved person but once you where on the stage dancing you transformed into your character. And now as you move effortlessly you feel that things were going great.

Towards the end of your routine, you're doing your piqué turns. For this, you found it helpful to keep your eyes on something so to not get dizzy and lose yourself amidst the turns, usually your eyes keep on a random prop or on something hanging on the wall but instead, you find your eyes unconsciously fixing to something else or actually someone else. 

Your eyes lock on Miguels, again. As you're already in your turns it's too late to fix your gaze on something else so you keep your eyes on his. While you do you see his head slightly tilt and the corner of his full lips twitch upwards. The intense stare instantly makes you flush, and with consistent eye contact, you feel your body heat up with a pleasant rush that you know is being shown through the flushing features on your face. 

Eye contact is something you often struggle with, and now you have the keen eyes of Miguel on you, staring at you as you dance. Your breath stutters for a moment and you feel yourself stumble slightly but you're quick to save it. -Damn you hope nobody notices that. 

Finishing the turns you finally get off the main stage back to the side where you can focus on catching your breath before you can rush back to the dressing room to find your friend and tell her about your little staring contest with the potential patron. As you walk, albeit dizzily from the turns, not fully paying attention to your surroundings; suddenly you bump into what feels like a wall and then the feeling of two large hands catches you from falling backward. 

Letting out a slight squeak from the sudden collision you look up to see what you hit when a soft chuckle makes your throat dry. You move your eyes up and…Danm, Up Close he's even more striking and his figure is even more imposing. Despite him being the most intimidating man imaginable you feel a comfort from him as your being held in his large hands -he’s surprisingly gentle for his size.

“Woah, you okay there?” his voice purs as his eyes stay on yours. You try to think of something to respond with, but you feel like you have suddenly become mute, and then the two theater owners are chiming in. 

“Sir we apologize for her clumsiness, our dancers are usually more graceful.” 

“And pay more attention…” One of the men's grits makes you back away with your head low. With your head down you can see that you have stepped on his shoes creasing them and leaving rosin residue. Immediately you panic, damaging his shoes was sure to leave a sour taste in his mouth and you need to fix this before it's too late!  

Dropping to your knees in front of him you try to wipe away the residue apologizing profusely, “I- I am so so s-sorry sir… Please let me-” 

“Don't apologize” His smooth voice beacons as he holds a hand down to help you up from your knees. 

“But, I damaged your shoes. Please let me clean them.” 

Miguel laughs slightly as he grabs your hand, you can't help but notice how small yours seems in comparison. Back on your feet, you look up at him to see his full lips in a soft smile that makes your heart skip a beat. You think you could melt from just looking at him, you feel like a young girl again getting a silly crush so instantaneously. 

“You're too precious to clean shoes, I'm in shock that someone with your talent would even speak to me.”  

You feel your face become red. The owners are quick to speak up, “Mr. O’Hara you flatter her, she has talent but your importance far excites-”

Before he can finish his sentence Miguel is shooting him a displeased look that quickly makes him bite his tongue before he moves his eyes back to you. His whole face softens towards you, how he can go from so intimidating to gentle in an instant is a skill all on its own. 

“You dance beautifully, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.” He offers.

Feeling your heart flutter in your chest, you avert your gaze as a goofy smile spreads to your lips, though he doesn't seem to mind, only smiling more and tilting his head to try and keep your eyes. 

“Thank you, sir, you're too kind.'' Gathering all your courage you meet his eyes and give a warm smile in appreciation, praises are not something you receive a lot of, your teachers opting for more corrective and stern approaches. So receiving kind words from a stranger makes your heart leap.

Moments pass of Miguel completing your dancing go by. A part of you wishes to continue the conversation but you don’t want to be a bother nor risk facing the wrath of the owners or your teachers, so you say your goodbyes and excuse yourself backstage.

Miguel watches as you leave, he's completely captivated by your sweet shyness and the curves of your figure. He feels warmth spreading across his body as his eyes linger on you. 

“Having given it considerable thought…I would love to help out the theater.” 

The owners light up and start to ramble but Miguel quickly holds up a hand to silence them, “If I am going to be a patron to this theater however I want an invite to every show, and '' His finger points towards you “I want her to have opportunities for excellence. Do I make myself clear?” 

They quickly nod their heads and Miguel nods before he heads off, feeling happy for agreeing to the tour he no longer sees as pointless. 

It’s been three months since Miguel became our theater's patron and things have been great! Despite the rumors about him being a cold callus man, he was proving to be an amazing attribute to the theater. 

After his first tour of the theater, he paid for some much-needed renovations. After that was set up he took the liberty to hired acting and singing instructors to help the performers enhance their skills. Every week Miguel came by to check on how things where running. He would reach out to the crew and orchestra for all their needs, also checking in on the business and advertising sides of things to make sure the theater kept being profitable. Being a successful business owner himself, everyone was eager to listen to his guidance. 

Every time Miguel would visit the theater, towards the end of his visit he would watch the rehearsals for the upcoming shows. Admittedly at first it made you nervous having a man like him watch the rehearsals but Miguel was always silent, watching intensely with a slight tinge of a smile on his full lips. But slowly over time something changed where you started to like it.

It was an exciting experience having him watching the practices, it drove everyone to work harder and take the practices seriously. Plus you would never tell another soul but the feeling of his eyes racking over your body as you performed filled you with a tantalizing rush.

After awhile it seemed like Miguel was always around the theater. It struck some people as odd that an important man like him would waste his time at the theater, but you welcomed it. You began to look forward to catching glimpses of him. Though when he would catch you staring you would shy away. 

Then after a while, maybe because he caught you staring so much, Miguel started to have conversations with you. At first they were only about the performances and asking if everything was going well at the theater, but they slowly dissolved into more personable conversation.

Miguel would often inquire about you, your interest and your past. At first when you would talk you where very private about your up ringing being an orphan with no family. Many people saw that as something to be ashamed of, but slowly as you developed a friendship with Miguel you opened yourself up more and where greeted with only acceptance. Though this could only be him trying to be kind. As you continued to speak with him you found that you had grown closer yes but he still made you nervous.

You where sure this steamed from how he kept his eyes on you, those piercing eyes…

As a performer, you are used to having eyes on you but Miguel's gaze was different, it was intense and alluring. It never fails to make your stomach flutter and your face burn. You would always shy away from his gaze but a part of you was addicted to how he would watch you.

Before you knew it you were slowly falling for the theater's patron, not that anyone could blame you for it. Many of the dancers held a flame for Miguel wanting to be the girl he would favor, but everyone knew that was just a fantasy, a man of his social class was meant to be with someone from the same social circle, not impoverished dancers like you…so you would just have to settle for the friendship you two shared. 

Today was one of the days Miguel decided to visit, everyone was frantic and trying to make practice perfect as Miguel watched. Tomorrow's show of the ballet Raymanda, it had everyone frantic, not only did they want the show to go well but there was the added pressure of the show being requested by Miguel, apparently stating it was one of his favorites. 

It had taken you by surprise when you learned that a man like him would like such a romantic ballet but it only made you fall deeper in your feelings for him. With the knowledge that this was his favorite play fueling your desires, you had practiced extra hard and tried out for the lead role that were lucky enough to have landed.  

Everyone was ecstatic for you to have your first lead role and when word got to Miguel about your success he had sent over a dozen red roses to you with a note congratulating you. The kind gesture wasn’t lost on you so you promised yourself that once you see Miguel again you would thank him properly.

The only problem with your plan however is how meek you would grow when around him. Sure you two had a friendship of sorts but it didn’t mean you where not still shy when around him.

When you had explained to your friend about your feelings for him and she was always more than encouraging, but you knew that you and Miguel's relationship was only meant for friendship. Even so, Cristina said that even as just friends you need to not behave so meekly in his presence, he could perceive it as rude and stop conversing with you. A thought that you hated to consider.  

So, as today’s rehearsals wrap up, you muster all your courage as you watch Miguel approach you. -okay, this is your opportunity to thank him for his consistent support and his lovely flowers and notes. Deep breath and don’t behave like a flustered schoolgirl. 

“You're going to make a perfect Raymonda.” 

“Really? Thank you, I hope I live up to everyone’s expectations.” Miguel smiles at you, watching as you fidget with your fingers swaying slightly on your anxious feet.

Taking a deep breath you move your eyes up to his, conviction fills your eyes as you're determined to look into his. Meeting the deep mahogany of his eyes you feel your breath hitch. They are so piercing…striking…beautiful, he’s beautiful… Uhhg come on, just get a grip!

“I wanted to thank you for the roses and the lovely letter you left me, your constant support means a great deal to me.” 

“No need to thank me.” he leans in to whisper to you “You're my favorite performer, and I am so excited for tomorrow's performance. I hope you are not nervous” 

A giddy smile forms over your lips as you go to look down but you stop yourself and meet his eyes again fixing your smile to a softer one, “I am slightly nervous but I feel better knowing that you're going to be watching me. I hope to continue to be your favorite…” 

Miguel seems surprised by your words, then he is the one breaking away from your eyes. As you watch him he raises his large hand to cover the growing grin on his full lips. Blush seems to creep up from his neck to his face, he seems embarrassed like you usually are.  

“Well, I will be there to watch you mi estrella.”  Miguel regaining his composure steps closer leaning down so his warm breath fans over the shell of your ear making a wave of goosebumps rush your skin, “And you will always be my favorite…” With that, Miguel leaves with your heart.  

You were on cloud nine after tonight's performance. People, some you knew, others you didn't, were all eager to hold and shake your hand, with praises and congratulations on your performance. Though you appreciated all the kind words you couldn't help but be quick to get away from the crowd.

There was one person you were excited to see all shyness aside. Getting to talk to Miguel again after yesterday's conversation was all you could think about once the ballet ended. 

As you walked around looking for Miguel you found yourself in the secluded area of the theater. You tried your best to ignore the giggling and hums of the lovers hiding away in the shadows, stealing kisses and intimate touches in the night. This was a common occurrence after shows of people hiding away with their lovers in the back of the theater.

Shameful to admit but you have had the fantasy of you and Miguel being a set of lovers one day, sharing your secret desires as you hold each other closely, but that would only be a fond daydream for you to hold in your heart. In reality you know that it could never happen. Continuing your search, hear a sudden groan along with a muffled muttering. Approaching the noise you turn the corner and your heart drops.

Miguel pressed to the wall with a girl on her toes kissing him passionately. Confusion fills you, then the feeling of your heart aching causes you to let out a gasp. Miguel pushes the girl away for air and you are quick to run. Your heart hurts from what you saw, you cannot bear to see Miguel's eyes after that, if you did you would shatter. 

In your dressing room, you're stirring with all kinds of emotions. Why was she kissing him, why was he kissing her? Are they lovers? Yes, Miguel is gorgeous and quite desirable, but you haven't heard anything about him pursuing anyone. Was this a secret affair?

The sudden thought of Miguel being with that woman makes your stomach twist. Her touching him…his lips sliding up her neck…his eyes, his intense eyes staring at her while she…while they…

The sickly feeling in your stomach blooms along with that aching feeling in you heart, you wince from the pain.

Sitting in front of your vanity you hang your head low, thrush is, you're jealous. You want to be that girl, who steals kisses with Miguel in the dark. The one that gets to feel the rush of excitement as his hands gather up the skirt of your dress to touch you. The ones who his eyes soften for as he coos his sultry praises and his saccharine promises. 

Taking a deep breath you try to ease the aching in your chest; you're not her, you're just the nameless fool pining for a man you can never have. Feeling like an idiot you kick yourself for getting your hopes up. Convincing yourself he was interested in you, how foolish. He is in the arms of another and you only have yourself to blame, you never told him your feelings. Not that it would change things.

Sulking in your dressing room you fail to realize the door silently opening as a tall figure slips in. Locking the door with a soft click, he losessens his tie as he approaches you. Fidgeting with your fingers feeling sorry for yourself, you get a strange twinge stir within you, like someone is watching you. 

Lifting your head you're suddenly met with only darkness as a silky fabric is binded around your eyes turning everything black. The squeak that leaves your lips is involuntary and embarrassing. All your previous emotions fall away as uncertainty fill your chest. Quickly a familiar warmth fans over your ear causing your skin to prickle.

“Did I scare you, my star?” Miguel's voice is in that familiar pur you have fantasized endlessly about. 

“Miguel, why did you blind me?” 

He releases a hum, like he’s carefully considering your question, in truth, he’s just trying to keep you in suspense. 

“Because, I am not worthy to be gazed upon by someone as radiant as you” Instantly you feel your body quake at the praise, but before you can allow yourself to get carried away with your emotions you reground yourself bite and let out a shaky sigh. 

“Please don't tease me, Miguel…” 

Noting your unease Miguel hesitates from touching you further.

“What's wrong? Did I upset you?” Feeling his hands move to the knot of the blind you quickly to stand, stopping him from removing it.

“Wait, I need to say something to you and I think I can only get it out if I can't see you. Miguel, I saw you…with that other woman, kissing you. I know you're not mine…but, I-I yearn for you. Miguel you mean a lot to me, I would trade anything to be with you…even just to have a chance to kiss you, even for one night. I know that my name means nothing compared to yours but…” 

Before you can finish your statement lips are silencing you, melting you into a perfect kiss. Hands, large and warm, come up to cup your face as he leads the kiss. Miguel then breaks away and you almost whine at the loss. Though the whine is only for a moment as you then feel his lips kissing up your neck. 

“Don’t talk down about yourself mi estrella, you're perfect.”  

Opening your mouth to respond, Miguel takes the opportunity to silence you with a kiss once more. His hands glide down your waist before finding place on your hips. Leaning in you press yourself on him, relishing in his strong figure and insatiable warmth.

You want more, you want to feel him closely, deeply, you need him. Rising onto your toes you wrap your hands around his neck sliding up till you're grasping onto his thick locks of soft hair. 

A low-grown vibrates through his chest, feeling you becoming so desperate for him drives him mad. Miguel reaches his hand up as the other presses your hips against his almost grinding you onto him. The other hand is now on your jaw as he slips his tongue between your lips to steal a taste of you. The taste of him numbs your mind of all thoughts, the only thing you feel is need.

Your sex aches as you feel your slick starting to run down your thighs. He’s making you wet and needy for him, and you’re loving ever second.

The kiss makes you light-headed and you have to surrender and push away to catch your breath. Your face feels a deep shade of crimson as you try and catch your breath. Miguel you know is watching you, even with your vision obscuring the feeling of his eyes piercing you are ever-present. 

“Do you even know how long I’ve been wanting to do that?” he pressed you closer to him, your hands finding a place on his thrumming chest as his confined cock grids against your thigh. Making you throw your head back where his lips lick and nip at your exposed neck.

“Do you know what you do to me? How crazy you drive me?” he ruts into your leg more “How much I need you…” 

“What about that woman I saw?” 

Miguel's arms wrap around you pulling you further into his warmth. You could get as addicted to this feeling, blind and needy, getting high from his lips, his touch, his scent, his voice. You want to give yourself to him in every way. 

“That woman means nothing to me. She kissed me suddenly after cornering me as I looked for you. You're the only one for me.” He puts his head in the crock of your neck kissing against your pulse. “You're all I want….

“Miguel, I want you…I need you, I don’t care if it's only for one night…please…take me.” 

Moving his head away from your neck, he slides his hands down your back where he pulls the strings of your dress loose, you to shiver in anticipation. 

“If you want me then you will have me. But it won’t be for one night only. Once I have you I will want you every night” 

Finishing with the laces of your dress it effortlessly slides down your body polling on the floor leaving you in only your corset and lace slip. 

“So, I would be your’s?” 

Miguel chuckles as he effortlessly lifts you causing you wrap yourself around him, holding on tightly. Walking a short distance you feel yourself being laid down on what you assume to be the chaise in the dressing room.

Goosebumps rush your skin as Miguel carefully traces his finger tips down your covered breast, over your covered body, to your thin skirt. Once he reaches it he starts to gather the soft lace slowly moving the slit that exposes your leg to expose your dripping sex. 

“You can’t own a star, you can only admire it and wish it will grace you with its radiance.” 

He kisses you once more as his hand finish exposing you. You're completely bare and wet, you feel Miguel move his head back to look at your quivering wet sex.

Embarrassed, you try to close your legs but Miguel stops you and gently pushes your knees apart. 

“Let me worship you, let me take care of you…” 

His words are sweet and make your yearning worse. You move your hand to brush against your sex that flutters with desire.

“Yes…” is all you can muster in the moment and you try to soothe your hazy affliction. 

“Let me watch you…touch yourself for me,” he whispers in a honeyed voice.

Shyly you nod as you spread your legs further, exposing yourself right in front of his hungry eyes. 

Swallowing you try to sooth your dry throat as your fingers tease through your folds before spreading them open for Miguel. Keeping your hand spreading yourself open, your other comes down to rub tight circles over your clit. Turning away your flushed face, you now move your hand to where your thumb rubs your swollen bud and your index prodes at your glistening slit. 

“That's a good girl, so beautiful…keep going for me” 

His words make your mind hazy and your face burns, you hear Miguel fiddling with his clothes letting out soft groans as he whispers filth underneath his breath. He’s touching himself, you can hear his hand rubbing against his heavy length. The sounds of his moaning hums only drive you to want to give him a proper show.

Tracing your slit you tease yourself more before you slip your index and middle finger through your tight walls. The stretch is one you're familiar with but you ache for it to be Miguel's fingers instead. You know that with his large hands he would reach impossibly deep within you. The thought stirs you on more pushing in further into your soft walls getting wetter at the sensation of you fucking yourself for him. 

Miguel's shaky breaths push you further to your peak as you chase that tightening coil within your stomach. Your body shakes with your fevered actions.

Then he sounds as if he’s getting closer to you, his steps echoing through the room. You're begging out mumbling his name in a constant rhythm as you push yourself further and further. Though it's not enough, you need his touch, to feel his burning skin on yours, it’s the only way you're going to reach your satisfaction. 

“Miguel~” you moan, trying to entice him to touch you as you buckle your hips helplessly forward. 

He hums, he's so close to you now, and then his hand suddenly comes down to crease your face. It takes everything in you not to cry out a moan.

“That's it, baby, just like that” Then as quickly as it was there it leaves again leaving you to whine and continue your pursuit to cum. 

Pop

The sudden popping of a champagne bottle causes you to jump, making you stop and turn your head towards the noise. 

The warm heat of his body is radiating next to you again, you reach your hands up blindly searching for him. He grabs your slick-covered hand and brings it to his lips, careful kisses are peppered on your open palm then his slick tongue licks against your delicate fingers. He moans as he tastes your sweet essence, getting drunk off of you. 

Finishing cleaning your fingers he places your hand on his chest. His skin is hot and you feel his heartbeat running rampant through his wide chest. Your body shakes as you slowly run your hands down his body your breath getting labored. 

“Aw, you're shaking. You were feeling good weren't you?” he leans in closer, moving your hand down his abdomen, where you feel his perfect muscles. You trace down every crevice. Your mind is running rampant. You have never touched a man's bare chest before and now your hands are here tracing over Miguel's god-like form. Biting your lip you greedly go lower feeling the v on his narrow hips. 

“I could make you feel even better…” he purrs.

Its then that your hand is met with not the hem of his pants like you thought you would feel, but instead a line of hair. Following the trail, you feel till the hair gets thicker and Miguel's breath gets more ragged. Gasping you know you should stop but you can’t help yourself. As you go lower Miguel drinks from the champagne bottle, relishing in your blind roaming. 

Passing over the trimmed coarse hair you feel his heavy member, thick and throbbing. It feels like it goes down forever as you trace over the vein that runs down the shaft. Miguel hums as you touch him. Soft eyes intently watching as your hand reaches the end. Grasping onto his tip you swipe your thumb over his slit where pearlescent pre cum dribbles out. His hips instinctively buckle forward at your curious touches. 

“Help me Miguel~” you hate your whining but the desperation to be touched by him. 

“Anything for you” 

Then in an instant, you feel his hands roughly on you as they rip your corset and lace slip from your body. Miguel settles himself between your shivering thighs as he quickly throws away the white lace and ruined corset. Your body being bare before him now makes you moan as his hand roams over your soft flesh.

His hand traces lower and lower to your quivering sex, you think you're on fire, brain completely melted into a lust-filled fog as he mumbles things under his breath you can’t understand. 

As you arch and mumble a plea, his large fingers are slipping through your puffy folds finding your swollen clit and rubbing it slowly before flicking it with his index and middle fingers causing you to throw your head back at the delicious pressure.

As he teases your aching sex with one hand his other hand is holding what you assume to be a champagne bottle, you listen as it swishes along with his movements. Then you hear the liquid bob and suddenly his index finger prodes at your entrance making you gasp at the slow stretch.

With your mouth hanging open you feel Miguel's nose on yours then his lips are grazing your lips. Then the sparking taste of champagne is being released from his mouth into yours. You relish in the taste of the champagne as it’s laced with him. 

He repeats the action a bit sloppily the second time, the liquid drips from the corners of your mouth down your neck. 

“More?” he questions and you smile with an instant nod. Satisfied with your approval, he inserts another finger stretching you out wider as he explores your gummy insides, scissoring and curling as he explores you. 

As your head spins a white-hot rush washes over you, sending you reeling in pleasure as your cunt clenches down on Miguel's expert fingers. You're brought back down from the feeling of chilled liquid being poured over your hot body. The liquid slides down your perked breast and then rushes down your squirming body. His tongue is then tracing over the liquid as he sucks and laps at your sensitive skin. 

Wet shlicking sounds of his fingers chasing your orgasm fills the room along with his hums followed by your moans. Your breathless moaning makes you sound like a whore, but it only drives Miguel's desire further as he ruts his aching cock against the cushions of the furniture. He's needy, rubbing his cock while his plush lips latch and suck on your champagne-laced nipples. Twiling and biting the nub between his teeth before moving to the other mound. 

Losing yourself you grind your hips down harder against his hand as he continues to drink the sparkling champagne from your skin.

Finished he tosses aside the bottle, as he slowly moves his tongue lower and lower, seeking every drop on your body till he reaches your hips leaving kisses against them. 

“Spread your legs for me, that’s it my star…wider.” 

As you spread for him his fingers reach that spot within you that has your toes curling, then his lips attach to your swollen clit as his tongue feast upon you. Increasing his rhythm, your panting as your second climax rushes over you making you cry out in blind pleasure. 

Miguel smiles against your cunt as you ride your high on him. Feeling you impossibly wet as your cum rushes out of you, he quickly pulls out his fingers replacing them with his needy tongue as it curls into your hole devouring everything you have to give him. He moves your legs to drape over his shoulders as he keeps eating you out, you're lost in riding your high on him again. His large hands press down on you keeping your squirming body in place as he lifts your lower body as his tongue ravages your insides. 

Hands go from your hips to squeeze your lifted ass as he massages your flesh in his large hands. Once he's done feasting on you he lowers you down. He grinds his strained cock between your folds and you're a muttering mess of want and hiccups.

It's all so much but you can’t help but want more. Then his hand comes over and pulls away your blindfold.

At first, the light is blinding then your vision focuses on Miguel's handsome flushed face, his mouth and chin are shiny from your slick. His eyes are half-lidded as he pants at you. Reaching up you push his loose strains away from his face and he smiles tenderly down at you. 

“I want you to keep those pretty eyes on me, can you do that for me?”  you hum a yes and he leans down and places a kiss on your lips before taking his heavy cock and tapping it on your wet cunt. 

The feeling makes you jump but you keep your eyes on him as he pumps his slick-covered cock as he lines it up to your clenching cunt, begging to be filled by him. Bringing his tip to your entrance he starts to push into your tight slit with a low hiss. The stretch from his girth is at first painful but it then morphs into a skin-tingling ecstasy. You have to fight to keep your eyes open as he pushes in his length inch by inch.

The intrusion makes you moan and dig your nails into his tough skin as he rolls and pushes into you. You're clenching down on him and he's quick to bring his hand to your clit to relax you. Once you're relaxed he pushes in harder till his hips are flushed with yours. 

“That's it mi estrella, it feels good being filled doesn't it?” he quickly moves his hips slightly in and out making you mew out a cry shutting your eyes and his tip rubs your cervix as his balls give a quick slap to your ass. 

Tapping your face you open your eyes back up to see him looking at you with lust-blown eyes. “So sensitive baby, don't worry baby, you're in good hands.” 

Keeping your eyes fixed on him he smiles down at you as he starts to pull out to the tip then slamming back into you filling you up suddenly making your whole body quake. You're clamping down hard on him as he fucks you, his balls slapping your ass every time he slams back into you. He could rip you open if he wanted to, this is him being gentle and you're already hiccuping and bouncing with every thrust of his cock. 

Miguel smiles as he watches your hazy eyes keep on him as your face contours into a silent scream. The pleasure is unlike anything you have felt and you're sure nobody else could ever give you a high like this. Your chest heaves as you try to keep your breath but it's ripped from you with every deep thrust slamming your cervix leaving hot rushes to quake through your body. 

“You are so perfect, so perfect for me.” His eyes are intense and lovesick as he chases his high, he knows you're close and he's making it his mission to have you cum on him again. 

“M-mig” you stutter as his thrust gets deeper and harder as he rolls his hips into you with the perfect pace. His breath beats over your face as he keeps going furrowing his brows and he feels you clamping and getting wetter. He places his hand on your stomach and slightly pushes down making you scream. 

“I know, I know, I got you. Cum on me baby…I'm here with you I got you.” he coos at you and the coil in your stomach is completely ripped apart and you feel your brain break as you whine and clamp down hard on him. He pushes on your stomach harder and your messily cumming on him. The pleasure is unlike anything you have ever felt from your fingers and he's still going. Feeling yourself starting to burn up and your brain fogging you can’t help the tears that flow down from your eyes from the intense rapture you feel in this moment. 

Gritting his teeth, his cock is ruined from your sweet release squirting all over him, and he loves it. Your pussy is overstimulated and gripping him hard as he pounds into you in a fever. Muttering how good you feel on him he throbs as your body starts to shake again. 

Throwing your head back you feel his hot cock burning your insides as it throbs, he quickly pulls his cock out and hot spurts of thick white ropes coat your stomach as a low moan of your name leaves his lips. 

Taking a deep breath you lay there covered in sweat completely spent. Miguel gathers his bearings as he gets up from the couch to find his discarded coat fetching his handkerchief. Getting on his knees he carefully cleans his mess from your tired body. A string of apologies slips his lips as he takes care of you.

Once you're clean he places kisses on your face “Are you okay? Was it too much for your first time?” 

Your glassy eyes shift lazily to him as you give a quiet, “I’m okay, it felt amazing.” 

Miguel smiles and places a kiss on your lips. “My poor star, tired from all of the night's performances. Let's get you home to rest, hm?” 

“Oh,” you say sadly as you watch Miguel dress; he looks over at you confused and concerned that you seem upset. 

“What?”

“Well, I- I was hoping to spend more time with you…I can’t bring boys into the ballet dorms where I stay.”

Miguel's eyes soften as he chuckles slightly, finished getting dressed he grabs your long robe from its hanger and brings it to you. He reaches out for your hand and gently dresses you. 

“You're coming home with me, I told you if you want me, it won't be for one night only. I'm going to take care of you as long as you will have me” 

Finishing tying your robe tightly he smiles gently down at you, “Now let's go home.”

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

OK, so I probably should have put this in the original post but I want to be clear:

I have seen all of these used at catch-all terms for women's underwear, specifically in various Phantom of the Opera fics I have read.

Poto fics range from the 1870-1881 (depends on if its based on the movie or the book/musical)

I know that some of these (pantaloon, pantalette, bloomers) are specific garments, but I've still seen them used and I'm curious how prevalent that is really.

I personally use "drawers" when I refer to underpants specifically.

Folks who write Victorian Era-set fiction (fanfic or otherwise) I'm super curious...

These are all ones I've seen used.

[superfallingstars]

wizard fashion: 19th century edition

as a result of my minor addiction to those wizarding fashion meta posts, i compiled this moodboard of (mostly) 19th century fashion that feels decidedly magical to me. there are so many gorgeous capes and opera cloaks from this time period that are super inspiring when picturing the kinds of clothes that wizards (especially those lavish old money wizards!) would wear. deep vibrant velvets, shimmery flowing silks, fluffy fur trims, enchanted embroidery that starts moving when you look at it long enough... gah, i'm in love. i think victorian fashion is simultaneously gaudy and flamboyant while also looking proper and classy, which is exactly what i imagined!

note: a lot of these images are from the met, and i highly recommend checking out their amazingly detailed archive for more! also shoutout to the wardrobe of countess greffulhe (the og influencer), as well as the house of worth (the og haute couture brand)

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hi, does a Dark Academia setting have to be centered around school or a learning institution? Can it use some of its qualities like clothing, Victorian mansions, dark themes etc? And still call it a Dark Academia aesthetic in my writing?

Dark Academia Setting

"Academia" means "the life, community, or world of teachers, schools, and education," so while it's somewhat important for Dark Academia settings to be rooted somewhere in that (education, intellectualism, quests for knowledge, etc.) you're not at all limited to a school or university as the primary setting. Other options would include things like:

-- museums and research institutions -- libraries and archives -- research or exploratory expeditions -- halls of cultural or literary gatherings -- historical, cultural, or scientific societies -- monasteries and religious institutions -- ancient ruins and archaeological sites -- literary or artistic retreats -- gardens or botanical conservatories -- opera houses or theaters -- institutions of art or music -- political institutions -- secret societies -- medical institutions and laboratories -- gothic mansions involving any of the above

I'm sure there are a million other options I'm not thinking of, but hopefully this gives you some idea of the types of settings that work!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[tuliptired]

He's Good People Ch.3

Chapter 3: I Didn't Mean to Take Up all your Sweet Time (I'll Give it Right Back to Ya, One of These Days)

Pairing(s): Gn!reader/Ray, Gn!reader/Egon, Gn!reader/Winston

Summary: (Winston centric, briefly Egon centric) To get out the firehouse, you 're invited for a day out on the town with the "common man" of the Ghostbusters, and he won't stop opening doors for you

Warnings: Reader wears masc presenting clothes for like one paragraph

THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE :((( hope a longer update makes up for it!

read it on Ao3!

  It was fairly late into the night. You felt weird about going to bed while none of the others had returned, like you were overstepping. You were content with being curled up in a chair as Egon annotated a book in the dimly lit lab. He had offered you one of the many works from his personal collection, but the words started to lose their meaning after the first handful of pages. Maybe he ought to read it to you, instead. You set the book aside, much more interested in watching him. He had his sleeves rolled up again, fairly unnecessary because he was only working with paper and pencil.

He discarded his work for the second time that day, looking over at you. The need for sleep was creeping up on him, as his eyelids sat low and his gaze remained soft. 

"I´m sorry for boring you."

"I´m not bored. Are you tired? You don't have to stay up with me."

He put the pencil back into a mug full of others. He rose from the workbench, opening the book to a heavily noted page. Crossing over to where you were sitting, Egon joined you, holding it open for you to see. There were large, square photos of terrifying looking sculptures. Upon further inspection, they were really just recreations of exotic animals. A boa constrictor, an alligator, a giant salamander, a…platypus. Behind each of them stood a Victorian era man, beaming with self-worth at the spectacles surrounding him.

“See him?” He pointed to the man. “That’s Benjamin Fairhooke. He had a penchant for imported animals. And too much money. So much so he had the theater near your building constructed to show them off.”  He turned the page to a large spread of the theater in the late 1800’s, advertising an oddity show.

“They started showing plays and operas soon enough. But everyone knew how passionate he was. Piranhas-in-the-bar sink, frogs-on-the-staircases-passionate.” There was a photo of Fairhooke next to a woman. Despite her exquisite clothing, elegant features, and extravagant jewelry, she had a fairly sour expression, while he still beamed at the camera, an iguana in his lap.  

“That was his wife, Claira. Their marriage was falling apart while ticket sales peaked. They held their son’s wedding reception in the lobby of the theater.” He had a grainy photo bookmarked. There was a newlywed couple, normal. Claira’s in the background, though. Not happy her son was just married, but instead staring down the barrel of the camera like it was a gun.

“She had just found Benjamin in a parlor, tending to a snapping turtle. She got so mad, she took the shovel from the fireplace and managed to decapitate him in 10 minutes.” Holy shit.

He could feel your shock. “I know. She left him there for the rest of the night. They searched for weeks, until they found his body. She told them everything- just not what became of his head. His animals went missing, and his kids wanted nothing to do with the theater. Local legend says that the souls of his then neglected animals are still searching for Claira. Anywhere she could be. But it fell into obscurity. Everyone who believed in it died at the turn of the century.” He shut the book.

“So. The ghosts of a bunch of critters are running around my block, looking for his murderer? And one ended up in my washing machine?” 

“Essentially. I’ve wanted to investigate since I heard the story, but it was always word of mouth. I only just found it buried in an anthology of neighborhood ghost stories in Ray’s store.” He sighed, getting up and placing the book back into its place on his shelf. “He was pretty excited about my findings. He always is. But he’s been dragging his feet about it.” Egon looked worried, if not at least a bit frustrated, as he took a seat back next to you, knees touching unintentionally. You could understand, this was his longtime friend, after all. This all seemed very perplexing to him.

“Maybe he’s just scared? Of what he’ll find?” The words really don’t serve much purpose other than to soothe his nerves- they don’t convince you, even as they fall from your lips. Ray was a discerning and generally happy man, but he was still brave. He wouldn’t be a paranormal expert, a Ghostbuster if he was scared of what he loved.

You could tell his fears were still there. You placed a hand on his, silently grateful as you felt that they were still the same hands you held earlier.

“I promise, the moment I can get back into my apartment I’m gonna look for the key.”

There was the predecessor to a smile, before he had a look that read as accepting defeat. “I apologize for you being stuck with us so long. Only a day more.” Before you could protest, tell him that you’re having a wonderful time and you’re sorry for being in their hair, you heard cursing downstairs, followed by heavy steps approaching, making you jump.

Ray and Winston joined you upstairs, covered in thick, oozing slime of some sort. Winston held a smoking machine like the one Ray had after cleansing your house, only this time a bit more scratched up.

“It wasn’t a mannequin at all. God-damned-ghost-komodo-dragon on its hind legs. Sprayed us bad- we hosed ourselves off 6 times on the way home.” Winston tried wiping the slime moving from his glove to his wrist off on his pant leg, only making the viscous substance spread more.

Ray didn’t look angry, but he wasn’t bouncing off the walls. “This is big. Y’know that old theater-”

“I already explained it.”

“You’re kidding.”

‘’No. I explained Fairhooke, Claira, the ghosts. All of it.”

Winston could feel the start of a petty back and forth, so he discreetly asked you to follow him. He laughed and shook his head as he went down the steps to the very bottom of the firehouse. You had seen this room when Ray brought you down for pajamas, and you recognized the door he had peeked into, but not what was on the wall. A large, red electrical looking panel stared back at you.

“Ray taught me how to do this when I was new here.” He went through the motions of showing you how they used it to hold ghosts. You were glad he took the extra step and explained what it really did under the surface, because lord knows you were puzzled.

“He even made a rhyme. ‘When the light is green, the trap is clean’”.

“Does this make me part of your team now?” You complain, purely jokingly.

“You don’t wanna be? I wouldn’t mind.” You had to hand it to him, he had a charming way of disarming you. He didn't give you time to respond, as he made his way to the laundry area. He came back with new pajamas, softer looking ones.

“I hope these are a little more personable.” He handed you a light purple t-shirt, and dark purple sweatpants. There was thought behind these, definitely not something they had laying around in the hamper. 

You smile at the consideration. “Thank you.” He returned it, very white teeth and all. He gave you privacy to change, and was peeling his suit off upon your return. It looked incredibly uncomfortable, the mire of today´s job trying to stick to his skin. He finally got the soiled jumpsuit off, and it stuck to the floor like a glue trap. As he stuffed it into the industrial washer, another one tumbled out a laundry chute and onto a pile of dirty, but not slimy, clothes. He sighed, carefully picking up the soiled suit and garments and placing them in, too.

“What is it, anyway?” You watched on as he poured a cocktail of different, unmarked liquids, which you assumed were non FDA approved cleaners for these kinds of unconventional stains.

He pressed the washing machine closed, turning a few knobs and pressing a few buttons. “Ectoplasm. As graceful as it sounds.” You follow him, as he makes his way back up the steps.

“Like sticky skunk spray.” He stops in front of the sleeping quarters, and it gives you a moment to wonder why exactly you were still following him. As you start to mull over it further, he places his pointer finger over his lips.

“We oughta get out of here tomorrow. Ray’s gone to bed without dinner. Bad sign. It’s not pretty when he and the professor get into it.” He explains, voice hushed.

“Are they okay?”

“They will be. Ray stresses for a day, but he always apologizes, ‘cause he’s scared to lose his friend.” Winston smiles familiarly, thinking of the men he’s grown to know well over the past 5 years since his initial hiring. You can’t stop the spread of warmth under your skin as you think, too.

“Kindred spirits. I hate to see them both so worked up.”

“They can’t help it. They’ve got a new distraction running around.” 

You don’t have time to process it, again, before he’s halfway back down the steps to the first floor. You lean over the railing, just as he passes Janine’s desk.

“Where are you going?”

He doesn’t stop walking, until he reaches the exit. “I promised my mom I’d stay over. Be up early tomorrow, ok? I’ll take you on a joyride.”

“Goodnight,” you wave, as he gives you a two finger salute, letting the door shut behind him.

You can’t really sleep- you don’t want to, anyway. Egon’s still upstairs, Peter’s with Dana, and Ray’s in bed by himself. As tempting as it is to go up there and console him, you really don’t want to come off as pushy. So, you had an apron tied over your front, sleeves rolled up and gloves on as you worked to scrub the slime out of blanched fabric. What a night.

The stickiness was seldom coming off, but you noticed progress. It would bubble and sud with the soap, but it was nothing a frequent rinse didn’t get rid of. The only problem was that it was thick, and it sat deep in the absorbent material. You lost track of the hours you spent, going down the line; Soaking, scrubbing, rinsing, scrubbing, rinsing, soaking- over and over. The need for sleep left you, as this housekeeping mystery kept you unwilling to give up until it was completed.

There was a click of the heavy door, and your thoughts of finishing the task as you feverishly scraped a suit against a large washboard suddenly ceased. Winston stood at the door, dressed and holding 2 cups of coffee-shop-coffee.

“Good morning,” his face was both impressed and fearful. You figured this was enough, as most of the slime sat mixed with now greenish water in the large sink. You carefully transferred it to the dryer with the others, and peeled your gloves off.

“Goodmorning,” you wiped some soap off your cheek with your wrist.

He handed you a cup. “You think you deserve a shower after all that?” You walked out the laundry with him, the warm liquid having the opposite of its desired effect as it made you the slightest bit sleepy. 

Your shower was quick and to the point. In the few days you’ve been there, your towel has had a permanent residence on a hook by the door, a fair distance from the other 4. You figured this would have to be your second day in the blue sweater, but you didn’t mind all that much. You managed to wash it as well the night prior, so it was dried and fluffed as it waited for you.

Winston ran into you on your way out the bathroom, something dark in his hands. He unfolded it, and stepped behind you to put it on your shoulders.

“What’s this?” You whipped your head around to watch his movements. 

“Had to pick this up from my mom’s, too.”

It was a dark purple jacket, the sleeves needing to be cuffed by him in order for your hands to appear. You could see a wide, black stripe wrap around the back and little pinstripes around the collar. You knew Winston was a more eccentric dresser than his coworkers, the brightly colored laundry telling you so, but to take something so nice from his mom?

“I can’t take this, She doesn’t even know me.”

“It’s mine. And it’s going to a good cause.” He drops your wrist. Taking a step back, he examines his work with a hand on his chin, an unsatisfied look on his face. He figures out what’s wrong, as he grabs the zipper from the bottom and pulls it up, the blue of the sweater underneath now hidden. There’s a pleased smile on his face as he takes another step back, before starting down the stairs.

“I’ll be waiting for you in the car,” and he disappeared.

While you were excited to get out again, to have some sort of normalcy for a day, but the urge to check the kitchen overtakes your legs. Your heart feared for the worst, you peek across the threshold, and you could’ve died then.

Egon was at the little table, pancakes, eggs, and coffee on two plates in front of him. The thing was, yours was untouched. He sat there, hands in his lap, face unreadable, until he noticed your presence. He didn’t light up, his features didn’t change, but you could’ve sworn there was a slight, upward twitch of the inner corners of his eyebrows. You felt a sort of nausea wash over you, that settled in your chest as you thought of what to say.

Walking towards him felt condescending, as if you were increasing the parameters of whatever obviously negative emotion he was feeling, but it was the proper thing to do. You folded your hands in front of you, unthreatening. Benevolent. He looked at you through his eyelashes, like a wounded animal. 

“I’m sorry. That I wasn’t around this morning.” To anyone else, this would seem melodramatic. A meal skipped out on between 2 people who have known each other for 2 days. But the way there was a flash of forgiveness, that you saw so often in the downcast faces of those young men and women around a coffee pot, weeks after their indulgence of passion. One of them did something. And the other so desperately wanted things to be okay again. They’d be engaged. You saw it on the faces of teenage actors, as their parents commented on a poor performance, before bringing them ice cream. It was the small injustices, from the people that you loved.

He opened his mouth to speak, before a honk from the garage cut him off. Winston was calling you, the unfortunate timing making you cringe.

“I’m sorry, again. I won’t be gone long.” He didn’t respond as you retreated to the door.

You reluctantly disappeared out the room, before appearing one more time.

“I’ll make it up to you.” 

You take your leave down the stairs, the garage door open as the Ecto-1a runs idly. Winston leaned over, opening the passenger door for you. Settling in with a huff, he turned to you as you pulled your seatbelt on.

 “Ready?” When you nod, he pulls the car out the garage, and onto the street. After a few minutes of driving from the firehouse, he reaches for the glove compartment, his hand emerging with a cassette in a purple case. 

“Hope you don’t mind Mj,” he grins as he slides it into the car’s slot. The singer’s voice fills the car, and he eventually joins in. He has an amazing singing voice, honestly, and you’re too compelled to take pleasure in his gaiety as he drives.

“The Jackson 5: Jackie, Tito, Marlon, Jermaine, and Winston,” you tease him. The city’s awake with you, as children took their lessons on the blacktop of the school’s playground, and grandmother’s bought fruit placed in their foldable carts. A handful of dogs howl as your highly decorated car passes by. 

“I could never take Michaels place,” Winston crosses his heart, the cassette starting to play a Stevie Wonder song. He nodded his head along to the beginning of “Signed, Sealed, Delivered”. 

He enjoyed himself for the whole song, even roping you into joining in. Eventually, he turns the volume down a few notches.

“What music do you like?” He questioned, nodding in acknowledgment as you listed off your current favorites. As he waited at a red light, he skipped a few songs, claiming that you’d like this one more after the inventory you gave him.

You take another look around, as the setting gets more and more unfamiliar to you. “Where’re we going, anyway?” You tilt your head.

“Right now, I’m thinking the music store. But I have other ideas, too.” He pulls up to the curb of an aptly named record shop, shutting off the engine and opening your door from the outside before you could protest. The inside was fairly simple, musical equipment sitting on shelves behind a desk, records stretching around the perimeters of the room, and cassette tapes in the square middle.

The layout intrigues you, as your brain pings at recognizable albums. You shy away from Winston, flipping through a few records in your favorite genre. He reappears at your side, a small box of blank tapes in his hands.

“Are you recording something?” You continue to browse. He shakes his head.

“You’re gonna need your own tape to play in the car. We all have one.” He peers over your shoulder casually, taking in music he’s never heard of. You shake your head apologetically, fearing the effort it’ll take. He picks up an album you’d been eyeing.

He turned to look at you, eyes earnest and eyebrows slightly raised. “Make space for yourself.” Simple words. He wasn’t asking a lot from you. But he was speaking to you- I want you to survive. I want you to live. 

You have nothing to do but nod your head, no point in protest. He has a pleased smile, and examines the album a little more before putting it down. Something else catches his eye, and he brightens, mouth open in awe. There’s a full stack of reddish yellow squares, and he spins around to show you, eyes twinkling like a little kid.

“Tommy! I thought you didn’t carry Hendrix!” He chides the man excitedly, flipping the album around. You stand behind him to read the song list as well. Tommy merely shrugs.

“Best guitarist since Berry,” he proclaims to you. “Absolutely insane sound.” He had such a look of delight on his face. It was different from Ray’s- it wasn’t analytical, he probably didn’t know everything he could’ve about what he loved, but that only made him love it more. Winston’s joy was simple, but it wasn’t unimportant. As he talked on about the man he looked up to, his soft eyes crinkled, a wide smile meeting them. 

“I wasn’t allowed to play him.” He pulled out his wallet, paying for not only his newfound treasure, but the empty cassettes and your own personal favorite. “Not when I was at home, or when I was deployed.” Tommy handed him the items in a plastic bag. “But I paid my neighbor a nickel to let me when our parents weren’t home. I lost a lot of commissary that way, when I got older.” His story had a boyish tone to it, as he held the door open for you. He wouldn’t stop opening doors for you, insisting on it as you got in the car.

“Are you hungry?” His question makes you recall the other companion you’d forgotten at the firehouse, your heart filling with cement. You agree to lunch, knowing he really wouldn’t let you refuse.

Your next destination is a little restaurant, the area busier as midday approaches and working class America is looking for something to eat. When you enter (and he holds the door), there’s a teenaged boy behind the counter, packing orders and taking cash. The interior is smaller than you assumed, as the floor is taken up by the buffet-style kitchen behind the spot to order, and a  few tables and chairs. It smells amazing, though, and the menu looks even better. Winston watches you pridefully as you marvel over what to get, before his voice breaks you out of your stupor.

“Know what you want?”

“I can’t decide. It all sounds great,” you confess, the idea of choosing making your head hurt.

Winston chuckles at your response, guiding you to a little table and making you wait there as he chooses for the both of you. After letting some highschoolers get in front of him so they could get back to school before the hour ended, you see that he’s an exceptional conversationalist, becoming instantly acquainted with the people in line with him. He asks them about their day, listens intently, and when asked about his own he gladly replies with “day out with a friend,” pointing to you. You give a bashful wave to him and his newfound comrades.

He speaks familiarly to the kid at the register, counting things off his fingers, and even slipping him a bill that was definitely not a part of his total. He soon has two styrofoam containers in his hands, steam rising out the slight openings. He opens yours for you, the water vapor and aroma hitting you like a punch. There’s greens, mac and cheese, and fried fish staring you down as your eyes widen. While you were stuck in your hypnosis, he reached over, cutting your food for you.

It was like you died and went to heaven, before being sent back to finish your plate. You almost absentmindedly held onto the table to keep you tethered to the Earth. 

“You guys have kept me fed all weekend,” you say between rushed bites. It’s true- this is the best you’d eaten in a while. You swallow. “I can’t remember the last time I was able to stop and make actual food.”

“Egon treats you to breakfast, I treat you to lunch.” He raises his hands in a shrug. “Good?”

“Amazing,” you chew. “You seem to know this place well,” you suggested.

“I take lunch here everyday,” he wipes his mouth on a napkin.

“I can see why. Is it a favorite?”

“No, my favorite is the Jamaican lady down the corner.”

You raise an eyebrow, setting your fork down as he blissfully kept eating. “But…you know everyone here, they know you, you come here every day.”

He blinks. His tone is slightly quieted. “I know. But the owner’s trying to put his daughter through college. Any penny I can give to him counts.” He talks as if the act of selflessness was the simplest thing in the world. It amazed you, how easily kindness and servitude came to him. In your short time with him, he was nothing but humble and friendly with everyone he interacted with. The small smile that spread on your face was one of admiration, and genuine mystique at the kindly man across from you.

You chatted for a bit longer, about growing up, your families, before you were both finished. He tossed your trash, and bid the teen at the register goodbye before walking you back to the Ecto. Once inside, you couldn’t help but lean your head against the glass, your lack of sleep the previous night manifesting after eating so good.

“I think that knocked me out,” you tried hard to suppress a yawn in your throat as he turned on the ignition, soft rumbling making it harder.

“There’s a word for that,” he laughed. That was the last thing you could remember, before waking back up. The car was still parked in the same spot, and as you sleepily looked around, Winston sat in the same spot, peacefully reading a small book. Your stomach dropped as you noticed the time- nearly 3 o’clock.

“I am so sorry,” you stumbled through an apology, sleep still sticking to your panicked words. He simply took his reading glasses off, eyebrows raised as you rambled.

‘I don’t mind. I had my book.” 

“I didn’t snore, right?” Your skin burnt.

He paused. "It made a good ambience.”

You threw your head into your hands, Winston snickering at your expense as he started the car again. He drove out the area, sidewalk now full of families coming from school and work, in addition to teenagers loitering for a bit before they headed home. The scenery became less cozy and residential, and slowly became more retail, tall buildings advertising clothes and businesses. You recognized it as being your downtown area- albeit the parts you felt too low-income to pursue.

“What’s next?” You wondered if there was dried drool on your chin.

“I doubt anyone is talking to anyone back home.” Winston bit the inside of his cheek. He kept his eyes on the road, thoughts behind his eyes. He had a bittersweet look on his face, before speaking again. “When we didn’t have anything to do- or any spare money to do it with, my mom took my siblings and I to the department store.”

You’ve heard quite a few personal stories in the last few hours. Maybe it was his way of connecting. You decided to probe. “What’d you do?”

His face softened a bit, recounting the positive parts of the memory. “All types of fashion shows. Found future gifts to our dad. Made our mom promise to find us shirts just like the ones on the rack- and she did. We pretended we were the richest kids in the world. Preacher’s kids, we weren’t…terribly poor. But there were reminders. Mom made it better.” He smiled fondly, despite the car being stuck behind a bus.

The car moved forward. “I’m sure she’s the reason you turned out so well.” The car suddenly stalled, and you were honked at from behind. Eventually, you were parked against the busy sidewalk of a wide, tall building. The sheer size was enough to intimidate, as you still sat in the car, gazing at the top of the structure as he had the door handle in his hands.

You were estimating the floor count, before you felt a hand grab yours. His palms were soft, slightly calloused, but warm nonetheless. He looked down at your conjoined hands, before simpering back up at you. “So you don’t get lost.”

As Winston guided you through the bustling floor, your anxiety was substituted for security. The makeup counter was absolutely packed, as were the prom dresses upstairs. That made a fair amount of sense, as the school year would be ending soon. While on the escalator, you can see all the patrons, hurrying in and out with their bags. At the top, something in the toy section catches your eyes. Winston lets himself be led over.

“What a find,” you take a rectangular box off the shelf. It’s a nearly identical Smokey the Bear plushie, just a newer model. There’s a tribute to the old one printed on the back of the packaging. Winston watched as you reveled in the coincidence.

You remember his presence, and the lack of context he has for you suddenly admiring a children’s toy. “Ray sleeps with an old one. Smokey’s seen better days.” Winston smiles as you place it back on the display.

“Why not get it for him?” 

You shake your head swiftly. “I’d be dishonoring your mom. I thought the point was to not  spend money?”

He picked the bear back up. “She also says that you can’t take money to the grave. Maybe it can be a goodbye present? We can find something for Egon and Peter, too.”

You think on it. At this rate, there wasn’t much for you to repay their kindness with. Well-thought-out gifts paid for with Winston’s money will have to do, for now. You agree, before disembarking to a clothing department. You end up in the men’s section, articulate and hip pieces you couldn’t even dream of affording. Winston gazes up at the flashy, electric purple suit vest on a mannequin, as you sit back on a chair behind him.

“You like that one?” You sit up.

He puffs out a laugh at the outfits' pure hedonism. “It’s a lot. Even for me.”

“And you want it,” you rise, skimming the racks for the matching pieces in his size as he protests. You wordlessly hand them to him, and he surrenders, disappearing behind the entrance to a men’s dressing room. In the meantime, you’d look for Peter’s gift. To be fair, you knew him the least out of the 4 men. But Winston had told you he messed around too much in the lab, and lost his favorite tie to a small fire. He apparently never had time to replace it, and Winston could remember the exact brand, style, and color, so you figured he could single out the one you were looking for out of a short stack of silky, red fabrics. 

As you waited in a warmly lit lounge area by the fitting room, he emerged, holding his arms out and up to model it for you. The satin of the cream colored undershirt fit around him nicely, the bright vest even coming in at his waist a bit. He had the full ensemble on, even down to the suede loafers. He looked like a moviestar, even if he was too humble to actually admit it himself, the price tag swinging underneath his arm. 

“It’s something,” He looked at himself in the mirror, hands on his square hips.

“It’s great, that’s what it is,” you say honestly.

“You like vampire-soul-train?” He turned.

You put your hands up defensively. “I love vampire-soul-train.” He continued to look indecisive about it, confidence visibly falling. “Are you gonna come back for it?”

“Where would I wear it to?” He peeked at the price tag one more time, dropping it like it burned his fingers.

You shrugged. “You don’t need an occasion. Sometimes it’s just fun to dress up. Ask Janine.”

He laughs. “I guess you’re learning from the best.” He looks down pleasantly surprised at what he’s seeing on the floor. “If anything, I’d come back for the shoes.” He looks at you through the reflection in the mirror. “Did you find anything?” 

You look around at the dozens of clothes behind you. “I guess not.” There’s a lot to choose from, and a lot of bright colors fighting for your attention. It’s all a little overwhelming, looking at clothes you’d fall in love with and never buy. You end up standing in the middle of the department, scratching your head swimming with uncertainty, until Winston taps you on the shoulder.

“They have it in your size.” So you matched. 

“We look like a magic act,” you tease him, remembering Peter’s tie situation. After he pinpointed the correct match, you admired yourselves a little longer- at least until the staff were tapping you on the shoulder and asking if you needed anything, courteous smiles twitching as they watched you saunter around in their merchandise. 

You looked at more things in different departments- jewelry that you tried to convince Winston to re-pierce his ears for, home decor you’d have if your place was bigger. Eventually, he gladly paid for the 2 gifts, the large bag in which they were placed sitting next to you at an ice cream counter. As you ate, you both came to the conclusion that Egon deserved a decadent little chocolate cake from the dessert store you were at, and you hoped it would keep in the fridge overnight. 

“You ready to go home tomorrow morning?’ He put his spoon in his mouth. Butter pecan. You groaned lightly. You wanted to give them their space- and their money back, but it was like the ending to a pleasant dream, going from companionship and a warm place to sleep in a hard time to a now-damaged apartment and job fairs.

“As ready as I can be. Thanks, for putting up with me this weekend.” You put your spoon down.

“You won’t get rid of us that easy. We’ll be there to help you clean up.”

“The 4 archangels. I promise, when I get back on my feet I’m finding new ways to repay you all.” He dismissed your offer.

“It’s the minimum. Louis’ office was in the boiler room for a bit, you know.” He lightened your guilty mood. As he smiled, you noticed the now dark bruise against his jaw. Impulsively, you reached out and manipulated his face gently. 

“Does it still hurt?”

There’s a crash from the first floor. You both rush to the balcony railing, watching as people run to the exit, as feral growls vibrate around the large store. Winston grabs your hand again, though less tender now, running down the steps of the now disabled escalator against waves of people running up instead. When you reach the bottom, you watch in terror as an angry alligator destroys the store. As you looked on, you could see that the tail of the beast was vaporizing in front of you, as it hissed out a slime like the one you worked to wash out early in the morning. This wasn’t just an escaped animal. It was a ghost. Winston came to this conclusion at the same time that you did, pulling you towards the exit and to the Ecto. 

“Should we call Peter and Ray and-”

He opened the door to get his equipment. “They won’t get here in time. And they won’t have any  of this.” He grabbed a proton gun, staring down at it before sighing. “I’m gonna ask you to do something very dangerous.”

Your eyes flickered down to the weapon in his hands, before your mouth fell open. “Absolutely not. Dr. Spengler said that it was ‘unregulated units of atomic energy.’” He ignored your protests, putting the proton pack onto you. He pulled the belt tight around your waist.

“It’s easier than you think,” he said hurriedly, adjusting the straps on your shoulders. “Have you ever flown a plane?”

You stare at him, eyes blown and wide, before burying your head behind your hands. He pries them off gently, placing them each on different points of the gun. “Well then it’s just like driving a car. You shoot the ghost with this, okay? Just keep holding onto him, and I’ll open the trap for you. We’re gonna do it, and we’re gonna do it together.” 

Before you could revel in him talking you through it, he’s pushing you inside. Herds of frightened customers cling to the walls, out of the way of the ghost, and make room for you and Winston as they quietly whisper to each other that help has come. The alligator is ripping up a display, the woman in the ad subsequently dressed in Victorian style dress. Winston creeps up towards it slowly, before advising you to stay behind one of the makeup counters.

“I’m gonna tell you when. When I do, hit this button. That’s all. Okay?” You purse your lips, nodding, and crouching despite the nerves being felt in your weak legs. He leaves you behind, the ghost with its back turned as it tears up the poster. From your hiding spot, you can hear it notice him, growling loudly as it charges. He signaled you, and you popped up like a toy, shaky fingers igniting the stream.

He did the same, exclaiming loudly as you immobilized the spirit. He advised you to raise it up slowly, as the phantom flailed around. 

“What now?” You called over the volume of the particle accelerator whirring like crazy on your back, separated from your skin by a spring jacket and a sweater. He didn’t have an answer.

He hesitated. “You didn’t manage to grab a trap while you were out there, did you?” You could have fainted.  You saw his stream falter. “I’ll be right back. Keep holding him- I’ll be two seconds!’

His stream stopped, as he sprinted out the door, nearly slipping on ectoplasm in the process. The ghost thrashed harder, trying to resist the force suspending it in the air. You felt like the weight of holding up an adult alligator suddenly, and your arms couldn’t keep up with its fight. Your stream gave out for a split second, and in that time it was free, and on the floor. It locked eyes with you.

Your cry for Winston echoed throughout the department store- hell, throughout the city as you ran as fast as your legs could take you around the floor once, then up one of the escalators. You skidded to a stop at the end, as the chaos of the escaping crowd managed to knock down a large glass case, sending glass all over the floor. Your momentum didn’t stop you soon enough, and you slid over the shards before falling to the waxed floor. The ghost got closer, sending your heart to your toes as it opened its mouth, expelling a wave of noxious green slime. You saved your pride, ducking out of the way at the last second. You only had a moment to celebrate your triumph, as a quick movement of its ghastly tail reminded you of its ability to interact- and harm, the physical world. 

You got back on your feet, before noticing Winston run back inside out of the corner of your eye. You needed to get back downstairs, but all of the possible ways down were blocked. A large decoration swung from the ceiling, reaching fairly low to the ground. The ghost was creeping closer, teeth bared. If you die, please let your soul haunt the firehouse. 

Your nerves steeled themselves for you, hesitating on the ledge, before taking your literal leap of faith as the ghost lunged forward. You squeezed your eyes shut, only opening them when you felt your sweaty palms make contact with the course rope. You slide quickly, before remembering you actually had to catch the violent apparition. You reach weakly for the gun swinging behind you, forgotten, and feebly aim your gun at the glass part at the railing where it watched you. The glass shatters in its wake, and as you continue your ride down the rope, the ghost is caught in your stream, the speed at which you’re moving dragging it through the air. You reach a safe enough distance to the ground, letting go of your hold on the rope and dropping on your knees unstably. 

Winston’s been watching from the floor, regaining his strategy as the ghost hovers ahead. He sets his stream on it, and kicks a trap directly below. Your ears are ringing, and your heart’s beating at a thousand miles a minute as he calls on you to lower the spirit. With diminished resistance, the ghost is caught in the trap, smoking rising to the ceiling. The entire store is quiet. The smoke reaches the alarms, setting off the sprinklers, and the hostages erupt in celebration.

Winston lays an arm around your shoulder, speaking low into your ear. “I told you, it was easy. You’re amazing.” 

But you're still in a daze, and Winston recognizes it as he gently guides you to the car, avoiding reporters and even a few policemen. Before he takes you to the passenger side and aides you down into the seat, he raises your hand for everyone watching the news in the tri-state to see. 

“Y/N came, saw, and kicked its ass!”

You don’t say much as he drives back to the firehouse, siren on. You suddenly startle back to consciousness, turning to him in disbelief. 

“I caught a ghost.”

“You sure did.”

You laugh weakly, rubbing your eyes. Your laughter picks up, before it turns hysterical. You crank down the window, sticking your upper body out in ecstasy. This was the most alive you’ve felt in your entire adult life, and you let everything in the car’s path know.

“I caught a ghost!” You cry out as the Ecto drives through the city’s streets.

[pumpkinsy0]

Do u have headcanons about or what do you think about a 90s or 00s AU (maybe) where Curly Shepard is a punk and Ponyboy a goth or a babybat? ^_^ Like imagine purly but ponyboy tries to show his obsession for edgar allan poe and curly or the gang JUST DON'T GET IT 😭

wym anon that literally already IS purly🙄🙄

BUT YEA I DO HAVE HCS!!!! o(^-^)o

(for context who dont know, baby at is the name for like ppl who r newly goth basically, theyre just starting out listening to music n stuff like that)

•since curly is punk here and the whole idea of punks is essentially anti establishment and love individuality i will NOT make him make fun of pony for being goth, especially when hes a babybat hes just embracing himself

•also curly is curly i feel like hes a bit morbid himself and would be at the very least interested in edgar allen poe, so even if he wasnt punk he wouldnt make fun of pony for liking him, even if he does thats just bc hes being friendly and just does NOT like poetry

•ill place this in like, late 90s and early 2000s, so there is that huge thing against goths and punks for being ‘weird’ and against god or something along those lines

•curlys pretty used to being targeted for being different for his punk style and such while pony isnt exactly used to that so i imagine that hes more protective while ponys trying to figure himself out in that regard

•some bands pony would b interested in is evanescence, the cure, and siouxsie and the banshees, london after midnight, of course there IS more but these r like more so his favs

•how pony found out about gothic bands was like, a song was playing in darrys car radio and darry didnt rlly like it so he changed it but the song was already stuck in ponys head

•he brought it up to curly but pony was just like ‘idk maybe itll pass’, it in fact DID not pass and later they was just chillin in curlys car and the song came back on the radio and pony was like ‘neuron activated’

•curly was personally not rlly into the song, but hey, ponys happy so its whatever

•personally i imagine that pony doesnt have a gothic STYLE more so he has a love for gothic songs and literature, yknow what i mean??? but maybe he does borrow some clothes from curly thats more on the gothic side or thrifts some clothes

•other than edgar allen poe, he does like phantom of the opera, frankenstein, dracula, carmilla, dr jekyll and mr hyde, also he would like ruby gloom (thank my gf for this hc)

•his art style is kinda influenced by those media actually

•as for what type of goth he is i could mostly see him being like a geek goth, but he is interested in the looks of victorian goths and gothabilly goths

IVE BEEN TALKING ABOUT PONY FOR TOO LONG NOW ON ABOUT CURLY

•tbh, not much to add for this guy, punk curly is literally just regular curly but more understanding of who he is and what he wants in the world yknow??

•think of curly but actually a lil more, idk thought provoking in his own curly way with a better understanding of the world

•MAY I INSERT MY HC OF CURLY HAVIN AN AFRO MOHAWK HERE🗣️🗣️

•he is from a haitian household tho and haitian moms especially tend to be more, religious and all that jazz, so while tim and angela get their ears yelled off for well being them, its especially happening to curly bc in his moms eyes hes “turning away from god” n what not being a “vagabon” as many haitian moms would put it

•he likes customizing his own clothes, he thrifts and gets a bunch of hand me downs so might as well make them look cooler

•hes a graffiti artist and hes acc pretty well known, everyone knows its him but they dont rlly say anything cause 1) hes curly shepard but 2) his work rlly isnt that bad actually

•i could totally see him liking green day and he does NOT like fall out boy but he does like a coulle of songs from them (much to his dismay

•hes picking up guitar (how he afforded it??? i payed for it lets just say that)

WHEN IT COMES TO THE GANG, they dont rlly get pony being goth, they support him of course, but they do tend to make fun of him a bit</33 but darry, soda, and johnny do try to understand him more, its rlly just two

ps anon my gf said she loves u for ur idea (shes goth, u got the goth stamp of approval)

[resplendentoutfit]

A Night at the Opera, Part III

Mary Stevenson Cassat (American, 1824-1936 ) • At the Opera • 1878 • Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

Opera in the Victorian era was as much for the performance, as it was for the social display of socialites and their fine attire. The latter perhaps having been more important. To see and be seen was so much a part of the opera experience, that with the advent of electric lights and the ability to dim the hall during performances, was met with complaints that patrons weren't able to view their surroundings.

Opera glasses were an integral part of the opera experience. All the better for views of the latest styles and courtship couplings. Opera glasses were being manufactured in beautiful, ornate styles to appeal to fashionable Victorians.

Opera glasses, 19th century. Museum no. S.320-1981. © Victoria and Albert Museum, London

Gentlemen wore top hats and tails to the opera. Just as important as clothing were the rules men had to follow when escorting a lady. For example, during intermission, when many opera-goers left their seats to promenade in the halls, a gentleman was obligated to ask if his lady companion was interested in doing so. If she declined, it was considred unmannerly to leave her seated alone at a performance.

Sources:

Victoria and Albert Museum

Victorian Etiquette - Etiquette at the Theatre, Opera and Concerts

Recollections

Pinterest

[amarguerite]

i am so c o n f u s e d

ive been seeing u reblogging/talking abt the gilded age among a couple others of ppl I follow/talk abt JA and like............ITS LOOKS PRETTY. SEEEMS LIKE ITS A VICTORIAN ERA THING WHICH IS NICE. but but would it be as inapp as bridgerton?? I can just skip through fucking scenes so I can look at the prett dresses but if theres outright fucking itd be age inapp BUT I need smth to watch while crocheting and this seems like the perfect kinda trashy show to watch

so so as a person whos seen it like should i watch it or not? 😭😭

It’s set in 1882 in the first season and 1883 in the second! It’s very mild, in terms of sexual content. Clothed making out between George and Bertha Russell and then in the second season their son has an ill-advised fling with an older woman that results in them making out while fully clothed and a scene of them chatting in bed while under the covers. I think the most you see is Laura Benanti’s bare leg. ETA: there is a scene in the first season where one character tries to seduce another by being naked in his bed but he gets real mad and immediately makes her get dressed and leave.

It’s a lot of fun, but admittedly it’s fun for me for some very specific reasons. If any of these resonate with you, I’d give it a shot:

1) great costuming

2) nearly every contemporary Broadway star is there to chew on scenery, be witty, and wear hats

3) ridiculous gilded age nonsense where ultra-rich robber barons and “old money” New Yorkers fight over who gets invited to what party. The overarching plot of the second season is about the construction of the Metropolitan Opera House

4) neat subplots featuring genuinely cool female historical figures who accomplished an incredible amount given the societal constraints under which they existed. Last season there was a long subplot about Clara Barton founding the Red Cross and this season there’s a subplot about the female engineer who was actually responsible for constructing the Brooklyn Bridge instead of her husband

5) fantastic scenery

6) a look at the Black elite of New York at the time— a group I didn’t know much about until this show

7) Nathan Lane giving one of the strangest and funniest performances of his long and varied career.

8) on location shooting at big Gilded Age mansions in New York State and in Newport, Rhode Island. The house belonging to the character played by one of my fave Broadway prima donnas, Kelli O’Hara, is actually Lyndhurst House, the actual Gothic Revival mansion of actual Gilded Age robber baron Jay Gould.

9) an insanely high props budget that they use to buy such outlandishly delightful things as penny-farthing bicycles and magic lanterns

Is it a good show? Honestly, I don’t know if I can answer that question.

Is it great if you’re a musical theatre fan who enjoys being able to say, “oh my god that’s Douglas Sills from The Scarlet Pimpernel and Little Shop of Horrors playing the Russell’s chef!” Yes.

[leporellian]

the il trovatore brothers are the funniest thing in the world to me. i don’t think this is a slight against the opera (no tragedy works without good comedy) but please i need you to take my hand and see my vision here

IMAGINE you are a commoner in aragon and you hear that the old count di luna, who for the sake of the argument i imagine as being roughly the human equivalent of a german shepherd, has died and his son frederic is now the new count di luna. Your first thought is “his son’s not dead?” because you were SURE that strange weirdly tall sickly boy you remember having a foot in the grave when he was like 12 was Gone by this point but apparently not. “No the other son died this one is alright” Sure. Yeah. Before you realize that everything is a sham operation in Aragon you’re willing to believe this one.

As a child frederic was like a sickly victorian boy who’s response to any unusual stimuli was to cover his head with his hands and shake violently, and who could Only tolerate a supper of mushy carrots and warm broth lest he lose his appetite and faint the next day, and who Always referred to everyone else by their full titles and would put on a strangely adultlike air lest his father take him around the back of the castle for physical punishment. you go to meet the new count, now that he’s an adult and in charge of the property, and you’re greeted with a man who is 1) Exactly the same height he was as a boy (he was 5’2” in the second grade, which was freakishly tall then, but then he just stopped growing when he was 7 apparently) and 2) Entirely decked out in sparkly clothing. “It’s a statement,” he explains. you don’t know what angle the statement is coming from. he cannot properly sit in chairs and has a variety of jointed wood toy animals on his desk he plays with when he gets listless. he’s suddenly full of energy, the sort that would have killed him as a young boy, but he still will respond to unusual situations by covering his eyes with his hands or just turning around to face the wall (or, alternately, hissing at people). he has an attempt at a mustache like his old man’s but it’s just sort of sad and because he’s extremely blonde it just looks like a variety of mold growth. unfortunately this man was born too early to throw all his riches into an eccentric but ill-fated theme park so you have to deal with this Thing until then.

MEANWHILE one day you take a wander around and see the largest fucking man you’ve ever seen in your life carrying a good chunk of a whole ass tree. it’s not even that he’s Tall, although he is, he’s just the sort of man the phrase “built like a brick shithouse” was invented for. he’s hairy and gruff and weirdly youthful and you have No idea what this discount paul bunyan fuck is doing so you go to approach him. “Oh, Ma needed kindling”, he says in the manner of a well meaning farmhand. then you see him pluck an acorn off the part of the tree he’s carrying and eat it raw. he offers it to you and reasons they’re “quite good actually”. you’re too stupefied to actually respond either way. How old is he? Oh he’s only seventeen. Okay. Sure. later in the night you hear some beautiful but INCREDIBLY leather-lunged singing and come to find the giant from earlier has a wee lute that he plucks incredibly gently. you tell him he’s doing a nice job playing it but he needs to quiet down because you’re trying to sleep. “the lute is a she, not an it, you need to respect women,” he says. it sounds like the corny sort of thing you’d see on 2018 tumblr but somehow he’s completely serious. (does he respect women? what the fuck is he talking about? you don’t actually know the answer to either question.)

You are only going to realize the fictional nature of your life when you hear the news that one killed the other (despite the killed one probably being capable of crushing the killer’s spine on accident) and then it turned out they were secretly BROTHERS somehow,

[vcmpiiric]

Stuff that makes me, a vampire, happy:

•°•° Food •°•°

🦇 Any red juices (Gatorade, pomegranate juice, etc)

🦇 Strawberry uncrustables

🦇 General Tso's tofu

🦇 Red gushers 

🦇 Pomegranates 

🦇 Hibiscus tea

🦇 Red Velvet Cake

🦇 Cherry flavored candy (especially lollipops)

🦇 Watermelon juice

🦇 Cherry Vodka w/ Cherry Grenadine and Sprite

🦇 Pizza Rolls

🦇 Gnocchi w/ tomato sauce

🦇 Canned Sliced Beets

°•°• Non-food •°•°

🦇 Costume fangs. (Not the toy plastic ones but the ones from Scarecrow)

🦇 Victorian Piano music / opera

🦇 Red roses

🦇 Victorian goth clothing

🦇 Parasols

🦇 Black bedding

🦇 Bat Plushies

🦇 B&BW 'Vampire Blood' scent line

🦇 Black and red eyeliner

I'll add to this, but, here's what I have now.

[manorpunk]

Are you writing a book? Or which story format are you aiming to publish your story with?

WELL WELL WELL FUNNY YOU SHOULD ASK

I’ve spent this year bouncing several different ideas in my head (Manorpunk: The Rock Opera?) but lately I've been focusing on an outline for a novel, mostly because once the central idea got in my head it wouldn’t leave, and the ideas around it and related to it have been cohering well and I like how it’s developing. Let’s start with the one-sentence pitch! 

Manorpunk: To Seize and Hold - In a balkanized future-America, a small-town gay kid (in the adult sense) catches the affections of an eccentric military commander and becomes a pawn of the vtuber-president’s political schemes.

The Kid is Liam Hessian - Having suffered the thousand cuts of growing up gay in a conservative small town, Liam has become withdrawn and disaffected, retreating into a rich inner life where he may or may not be haunted by an wealthy ancient Roman woman named Leona. Beneath his aloof and disaffected shell, he struggles to maintain a sense of compassion and justice in a world that seems so cruel and nonsensical.

The eccentric military commander is Jacob Martin Rider - after leading a ragtag army to victory during the Quebec War, Jacob retired to a life of luxury, larping as a vainglorious Victorian dandy and living in a mansion full of strapping young men dressed as maids. His relentless charm and confidence hides a cruel, selfish, and cunning side - the sort of person with a smile so bright it makes you forget that he’s killed people. He takes a liking to Liam and sweeps him out of his small town and into a life of delirious indulgence.

And the vtuber-president is, of course, Sunny Roosevelt - the president of Usonia, who has cultivated an image as something of a tutelary deity, a ‘nationsona’ if you will, a bubbly cloth mother in public and a bratty child-empress in private. She has access to all manner of methods for hijacking electronic devices, appearing on people’s screens at a whim. She contacts Liam in private and ‘asks’ him to keep an eye on Jacob for her, to make sure he isn’t doing anything too irresponsible, given his reputation and previous experience.

I like this trio, not just because they’re my OCs and therefore they are my evil stupid babies but also because (I hope) they are thematically rich - each of them are a different take on the theme of one’s public vs. private persona, and each has a sort of historical resonance - Liam has his ancient Roman ghost-buddy, Jacob has his 18th century dress and demeanor, and Sunny’s avatar is a piece of future tech which also hearkening back to an age of patron saints and town protector-spirits (and Sunny is naturally quite happy to be perceived by her fans as something like a demigod).

It also (again, I hope) gives the story a sturdy backbone to build off of. “Oh no, I like you but also I’m supposed to spy on you (and also I’m not sure if I actually like you)” gives the story some stakes to support all the pondering about the fall of American exceptionalism, the goofy Pynchonesque names, and the yaoi.

Right, I haven’t even mentioned Webersberg yet! That’s another big plot thread. Actually, that’s a handy way to transition into an overall plot summary. 

We open on Liam Hessian in his hometown of Webersberg, in the year 206X. 

Back during the Polycrisis - the period in the 2030s when the US federal government collapsed - Webersberg was a mall-fort run by a local gang of bandits, but now it’s an isolated little farming town (the joke here being that bandits are the larval stage of landowners). The initial exposition is justified by having Liam sit up too fast after getting too high, based on personal experience. Liam works at the local Denny’s managed by his father, Roy Hessian, where he waits tables for a handful of bit-characters who help flesh out the setting: local schoolteacher and wine mom Aubergine Poot, affable black-market goons Liquor & Gusto, and the Tractor Samurai, the fourth-best tractor salesman in Manistee, none of whom are deserving of bold text.

We are also introduced to Remington Weber, the boss of Webersberg - calling him a governor in any capacity would be giving him too much credit, he’s in charge by virtue of having a cadre of large adult sons and a monster truck with a gun rack; we also meet Liam’s friend and pseudo-intellectual stoner Solomon van Gekkenhuis.

But, as tends to happen to small towns in the beginning of stories, everything is about to change. All the internet-connected screens in Webersberg are suddenly hijacked to announce the inauguration of president Sunny Roosevelt, who’s here to put America back together again in the form of Usonia, an EU-esque union of independent states There’s a 25% off sale in her merch store to celebrate. The unanimous response to this news is “wait, there was an election?”

Yes, there was an election, but Webersberg was never officially incorporated into the Great Lakes Republic, despite selling their produce all over the state. (I once heard that fascism is ‘the frontier coming home,’ taking techniques of colonial governance and applying them to the imperial core, and I’ve been chewing on the idea ever since. Unrelated, but also there’s an annual fee for ‘citizenship subscriptions,’ and if you have a Platinum tier subscription or higher you get one free hit-and-run a year.) Thus begins a spree to finish centralizing and consolidating the territory within Usonia, which brings us to Bogdan Comprendo, governor of the Great Lakes Republic. Bogdan meets with Remington to discuss the options for town’s future, and the big catalyst ‘things are happening’ scene is their meeting in the Denny’s, which includes this exchange that I’m rather proud of:

“Are you at all familiar with how the construction sector operates, Mister Weber?” Bogdan said, precise and punctilious with a hiss of the s and a click of the t, “the construction sector employs millions of people across every economic stratum, from day laborers to architects to investment bankers, and consumes vast quantities of steel, timber, concrete, rubber, copper, glass, and aluminum. This hunger for raw material creates entire industries which exist just to fill its needs - scores of miners, loggers, refiners, manufacturers, purchasers, and distributors, each industry employing more and more millions of people. If construction were to stop, not only would those construction workers be out of a job, but the demand for all of those raw materials would plummet, causing the price of those materials to plummet as well, ruining the profit margins of those industries which depend on the construction sector's demand. Businesses would go bankrupt. Unemployment would skyrocket. The economy would collapse. There would be chaos and riots. Construction must continue… but there is only so much land to build on. Do you know the best way to ensure continued employment in the construction sector, Mister Weber?”

Bogdan folded his hands and rested them on the table. Remington leaned back and folded his arms and smiled, looking rather satisfied with himself, like a mouse who was so excited to find an unguarded piece of cheese that he hadn’t noticed the cage hovering right above his head.

“By getting my permission to build some shiny new development here, isn’t that right?” he said.

Bogdan flashed a thin, poison-tipped barb of a smile.

“No. The best way to ensure continued employment in the construction sector is to find some shithole, bomb it to the ground, and rebuild it from scratch. That is option A. We are here to discuss option B, Mister Weber.”

Needless to say the construction begins shortly afterwards, giving Liam a glimpse into the new amenities of 206X, first in the form of the NomBox: a vending machine which dispenses fully-cooked meals in conveniently edible box shapes, like a naan cube stuffed with butter chicken or a spaghetti cube stuffed with bolognese sauce. Also, it won’t dispense your food until you say “baby wants a treat.”

On a slightly less whimsical note, Webersberg also gets an Aivrcade cafe - it’s the future, so VR is finally good now, finally, and Liam immediately gets sucked into playing Eternal Frontier, the massively popular fantasy VR MMO. Liam has finally escaped into a comfortable but stagnant routine of working at Denny’s, playing Aivrcade, and sleeping, but Bogdan’s gunboat diplomacy has wounded Remington’s ego, and he won’t take it lying down.

+++++

Whew, that’s a lot, and Jacob Martin Rider hasn’t even shown up yet. Felt good to get this all out, I’ve been rotating these shapes in my head for months and now I get to see it all pay off. Stay tuned for act 2!

[justlarkin]

It's why Christine is one of my favorite females. I love that she's based on the phantom of the opera, (she even has the main characters name, or was it the actress? I forgot) but she has the mask and everything. Hell they gave her Victorian Era clothing too. People crap on bombom I've seen but honestly he's not a bad artist. Also her OG design is honestly pretty baller too, gives me butterfly vibes with her old mask and dress color.

Also let's not forget maria, who is in another class of her own. Man I love all the females in this 😭 (Same anon from before btw)

Yeah, Christine was the name of the character!! Off topic, but I can't believe that, despite being such a musical-eating dweeb, I still haven't watched or listened through the entirety of POTO smh.

Gosh yes!! I understand why they changed Christine's design into a more toned down look, but both are still very pretty! And Maria is so cute and you have to respect that she carries tf out of the Missionaries!

I'm such a BomBom defender frfr 😪 He's not even a terrible artist and he has clearly improved over the years. I'm not taking a bullet for some of the hands on these characters, but still. I think that BomBom just happens to shine when he's drawing what he's really interested in (medieval fantasy core). Seriously, if you take a look at any of his characters with that fantasy look going on, you'll see the crazy amount of detail his puts into the outfits alone.

And BomBom female characters? Don't get me started. I've said this before, but I really do love BomBom women. They look so cute. The way he draws eyes really makes them pop. Also, like, I don't know how to word this, but the BomBom girlies are so pretty in a casual way? Probably not the word I'm looking for, but iykyk. Plus they didn't even need to be lewded to get simps?? Can't even explain myself. Just know that I love women.

[tarynisbunhead]

Man, CGI has really ruined Hollywood.

I've said how much I hate CGI in the past. How at this point I can't see the movie but just CGI blobs, or how about the fact that CGI takes away jobs like Make-up artists and costume design? "Hey if the computer can do it, why bother to wear the costume at all?" This is why corporations now turned to AI, and it's backfiring.

So why even bring this up? This summer I decided to watch Young Indiana Jones Chronicles again. I watched the first half of volume one, so far the first four adventures follow 10 year old Indiana Jones as he travels the world with his parents and tutor. Eventually the series tackles what happened to Indy's mother and the bitter relationship between father and son but as for right now Professor Jones is traveling and lecturing. This series was released in 1992 and as a kid when this series was released I didn't miss an episode, it was one of my favorite shows - why the fucking hell is Hollywood stupid now? This isn't some crummy nostalgia trip because I have the set and watch it on occasion, in the last 20 years Hollywood has given us reboots and self inserts, I'm not entertained watching someone's fan fiction play out.

This show starts off with a monologue explaining how Indy got to be an adventurous kid, and how he ended up with his dog. It then slides into how the family started their trip around the world - their house is a Victorian style house so you know the rest of this will be shot on location. Even as a kid I loved the location shots and costumes, I wanted to go back in time and wear Mrs. Jones clothes, I thought she was so pretty.

Okay now first of all, Professor Jones. George Lucas had to know after releasing Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade in 1989, and having Sean Connery as Indy's father, that wasn't going to be easy. The actor, Lloyd Owen, not only has the look but his acting style follows Mr. Connery. Right down to saying "Junior!" almost exact.

Shoot on location or green screen? I understand budget, but if you were given the money to show off the beauty of a country, why destroy it with computer generation?

I mean even the silent film Phantom of the Opera, that music hall set was designed using sketches. People thought that scene was filmed in an actual music hall. Lucas filmed on location in several episodes, using props that fit the time period, with 10 year old Indy the journey began in 1909.

Props and costumes really make a difference in transporting the audience back in time.

But even at that, through the series Indy meets several historical figures. Some show up several times like T. E. Lawrence and Howard Carter, so of course they had to look like the person they were portraying but what about Sigmund Freud? Tolstoy? Even a young Norman Rockwell?

This is the first episode, Carter and T. E. Lawrence are at a digsite. The crafty thing about Lucas is the characters mention King Tut so yeah you're gonna see these guys again

Here's a young Norman Rockwell

Here's Puccini, the opera composer who gave us Madame Butterfly. I watched the episode last night and didn't realize just how much it showed the actual Puccini - in the episode he went after Indy's mom, the real Puccini was a womanizer so there was no holding back

You can say I'm nostalgic and defend 2024 Hollywood but look at Who Framed Roger Rabbit that was released in 1988

Or how about Dick Tracy, released in 1990

Then there's Rocketeer in 1991

And then the same year that Young Indiana Jones Chronicles was released to TV, there was Newsies - 1992

Can we go back to movies and TV shows that look like the time period they were set in?