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aneurinallday · 16 days ago

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The Elster Man

The antique shop on Allenbrought Street was, to me, the most magical place in the world. Even though it was the first paying job I’d managed to get after university, I was in no particular rush to move on - it was preferable to the waitressing job I’d had at school, and it appealed to my love of the vintage and forgotten. For as long as I could remember, I’d been fascinated by the concept of antiques, so this was the closest I thought I would ever come to a dream job.

I’d only been working there for about six months, but to me, the shop had become a safe haven - a secret hideaway, where I could curl up with a blanket and a cup of tea, and lose myself in a Georgian adventure or a Gothic romance, while the minimum wage trickled into my pocket. The ticking of the grandfather clock was like a lullaby to me, and sometimes I would doze off with the book in my hands, until being woken by the sound of the bell above the door, signalling a customer’s entrance.

My life changed on a Monday afternoon - always the quietest time for our shop, since people were too busy with work or school to come and gawk at antiques. The owner was sick, so it was just me: the only employee, diligently manning the till, sweeping the floor, and dusting the shelves. I’d only had two customers that day - an old man searching for photo albums or soldiers’ diaries from the Second World War, and an elderly woman looking for vintage ornaments - but I didn’t mind. I liked the peace and quiet.

As I pottered around the shop, I was struck, as I often was, by the cosy, cluttered charm of the place. The shelves were stacked high with a beautiful chaos of miscellany - ballerina music-boxes, candlesticks, lampshades, silverware, egg cups, biscuit tins - while the walls were hung with framed photographs and wooden cuckoo clocks.

Sitting on chairs were stuffed animals with button eyes and porcelain dolls with real human hair, and looming over everything was a large, ornately carved grandfather clock, whose pendulum swung to and fro almost hypnotically. Every object had been crafted by skilful hands, whose owners were long-dead; and I took my role seriously as the caretaker of their legacies.

I finished rearranging a teapot, teacups, and saucers on a tray, then looked around for something else to do. I took advantage of the down-time to start unpacking a delivery we’d received the previous Friday: several beat-up cardboard boxes of items from Elster House, an eighteenth century manor-house somewhere in the south.

In order to fund the upkeep of the twenty-bedroom, twelve-bathroom mansion, the aristocrat who lived there was in the process of converting it from a private residence into a public attraction. Tourists and history buffs would come flocking to admire the topiary and old paintings, and hopefully leave a few coins in the donation box. But first, the attics needed to be cleared out.

And so here I was, kneeling on the floor, elbow-deep in a cardboard box stuffed with old bits-and-bobs, sorting the tat from the treasures.

Porcelain figurines of blushing cherubs and graceful Regency ladies gazed down at me as I worked. With a keen eye, I inspected each piece closely, looking for any scratches, scuffs, or discolouration that might decrease their value. I set aside a gilded snuff-box, and my gaze fell upon a rectangular tin at the bottom of the pile.

It wasn’t an antique, but a fairly modern storage tin, maybe from the 1970s or 1980s, painted with a rather gaudy floral design. It looked out-of-place among its Victorian companions.

I picked it up, and turned it around several times to admire the pattern. Then I attempted to open it, struggling to dig my fingernails under the lid. Gritting my teeth, I exerted more pressure. The lid finally gave up with a wheeze of escaping air, and the contents were revealed: a mess of old photographs, grey or sepia-toned, unmistakeably and authentically Victorian.

I scrambled to my feet, wincing as my stiff knees protested. I hurried to fetch a pair of cotton gloves, specially bought for protecting old, fragile documents from skin oils. Hastening back to the box, I sat cross-legged, put on my gloves, and reached into the tin.

The first photo I picked up was an unremarkable portrait. A young man sitting in a chair, wearing full Victorian garb, staring off into the distance in an aloof, regal fashion. His expression was dignified and stoic, his pose statue-like. When Louis Daguerre had succeeded in reducing a camera’s exposure time from hours to minutes, the popularity of portraiture had exploded; but having one’s photograph taken had remained a serious event, and smiling hadn’t yet become acceptable.

I peered more closely at the faded image. The man was strikingly handsome, in an angular and somewhat haunted way, his dark hair slicked with pomade. His large, shadowy eyes seemed full of secrets and deep, unknowable thoughts. A Gothic beauty, complete with an aura of mystery. Judging by his fine clothes and aristocratic bearing, he was probably an ancestor of the current owner of Elster House. The plain background and lack of other objects ensured that my gaze focused on him.

I turned the picture over. Written on the back in elegant cursive were the words:

Richard Mariah Elster

His Lordship on a fine Friday

October 13th 1843

To my chagrin, many of the photographs were heavily damaged - covered in splotches and scratches, the corners faded and curling. It seemed as though they’d been tossed carelessly in the tin with no regard for proper storage, yet a loose chronology seemed to exist. As I flipped through, I realised that they were all of Lord Elster. It was a collection dedicated to one man - one beautiful young man (or young to my admiring eyes, at least).

In most of them, he was alone, sitting or standing in various attitudes; but in some of them, he had companions - an elderly couple that I assumed were his parents, a male contemporary who was probably a university friend, a young woman whom he may have been courting. All of them seemed to pale in comparison; my eye was always drawn to him.

Each picture was its own little enigma. Who was he, and what circumstances had brought him to be photographed that day? Was he marking a significant event in his life, or had he simply wanted to show off his new clothes? My gloved hands carefully turned them over, checking for writing, but most of what I found was illegible.

As I searched, my fingers found something that wasn’t paper - something soft and ticklish. I withdrew a lock of dark brown hair, long and curly, bound with a red ribbon tied in a bow. I handled it with the utmost care, afraid of damaging the centuries-old strands. Then, on an impulse, I sniffed it. It may have been my imagination, but I thought I could detect the lingering, sweet fragrance of perfume. I wondered if he’d requested it as a keepsake, or if his lover had offered it as a token of her affections.

Picking up another picture, I experienced a momentary shock to see Lord Elster’s dead body propped upright, bereft of its head; but I quickly identified it as a joke photograph. In the 1880s and 1890s, there had been a humorous fad for “headless portraits”, in which the subject posed for two photographs in succession, and both photo negatives were combined to create the illusion that they were holding their own severed head by the hair or cradling it on their lap. Sure enough, the lord’s “decapitated” head was sitting nearby while his hand pretended to stroke its hair. I snorted with laughter, and put the picture aside.

The one that followed wasn’t a single image, but a collection of eight, arranged in two rows of four. I recognised it as a “visiting card” from the 1860s or late 1850s. At the time, it had finally become possible to take quick, casual photographs and print them onto a single sheet of thin paper, usually showing a person in the same setting but in different poses and attitudes. The low cost and simple production of such photos had led to their boom in popularity, as they could be easily traded among friends and family - one of the earliest examples of social media.

In all images, he was standing with a top-hat and cane in his hands. Sometimes he was posed in a serious and stoic manner, but sometimes he appeared grinning and playful. The images were too small to make out details, but I was struck by his humour - a long-dead man captured forever in a moment of amusement. It was a jarring reminder that people had been just as silly seven generations ago as they were now. Looking at him, I realised I was smiling.

But when I put it aside and saw the next picture, my smile died and my heart dropped. The young lord was sitting in an armchair, his eyes closed, his face slack, his mouth a sliver of blackness as it hung ajar. He looked like he was fast asleep, but I knew that he was dead. The sight came as a gut-punch to me. I’d been piecing together the jigsaw of his life, and in a strange and maybe stupid way, I felt like I’d gotten to know him. Now he sat in front of me, dead, motionless, his existence reduced to a scrap of paper.

There was nothing written - no date, no tribute, no expression of grief. I wondered what had happened to him. Had he died peacefully or violently? In bed after a terrible illness, surrounded by the tender care of his loved ones? Or in the middle of the street after a sudden accident, surrounded by gawking strangers? Morbid curiosity compelled me to peer closer at the photograph, looking for any clue as to what may have killed him - but he was fully dressed and immaculately hairstyled, hiding any possible sign of injury.

He was undeniably dead, and in accordance with the customs of the time, his family had decided to take one last picture of him.

I hadn’t come to work that day expecting to get emotional. Perhaps it was just the dust, but my eyes had begun to sting. I moved on, eager to shake off the image of his lifeless face.

The following photograph was decidedly less formal - probably a private memento. He was standing up, one foot crossed in front of the other, leaning his arm on the back of a chair in a casual manner. His hair had grown longer, and hung in easy-going curls to his neck - quite unusual for the time period, when most men had worn their hair short, slick, and sensible.

He appeared to be in an exquisite garden lined with marble columns, with a fountain in the background, but I couldn’t tell if it was a real place or a studio backdrop. Maybe it was a corner of the Elster estate, or maybe it was just paint on a canvas.

I held the precious picture in both hands, glad to see him alive again, then gently put it aside.

What I saw next caused me to freeze for a moment, as if my heart had skipped a beat. The young man was sitting naked on the floor, and smiling at someone out of frame. His long, dark curls were gathered loosely back, exposing his pale shoulders, and his expression was one of eager delight. Compared to the formality and pomp of its companions, the image was shocking in how alive and intimate it was. The subject was aroused, happy, and in motion.

I turned the picture over. Scribbled on the back in messy cursive were the words:

My darling, delicious Rick. A souvenir. Nothing tastes sweeter.

Something about the penmanship made me think it was a man’s. I felt a sudden guilt. This photograph was never meant for my eyes - it was a secret message between two lovers, who in their time period would’ve lived in the shadows.

Moving on, I jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire - the next picture was even more scandalous. His unrestrained hair tumbled in disarray about his face, and he was wearing an embroidered dressing gown that hung open, revealing that he was nude underneath. He was draped over a chaise longue in a languid pose, one bare leg crossed lazily over the other. To my modern eyes, the pose was no more shocking than a Greek statue, but for the time, it must’ve been outrageous.

Staring at him, I abruptly realised that it was his hair I had sniffed. His perfume I had imagined a whiff of. For some reason, the fact was embarrassing.

On the back of the scandalous photograph, I discovered the words:

To my dearest Rick. I found this and had to share the memory.

Wednesday 6th June 1866

This time, the handwriting felt feminine to me - painstaking, graceful, the result of years of strict schooling. I wondered how many lovers he’d had in his life, and which one he’d married to continue the Elster line.

Wait…1866? I squinted at the number. No, I’d definitely read it correctly.

I returned to the first portrait, dated 1843, and examined his face with a more critical eye. If I was generous and assumed he was in his early twenties at the time, he still looked remarkably youthful two decades later. Perhaps the hand holding the pen had made an error, or perhaps Richard was simply blessed with good genetics. Oh well, this mystery was above my pay-grade - correctly identifying the pictures would be the museum’s job.

I was approaching the bottom of the tin, and already wondering which museum to call first. These photographs belonged in a safe place, not a dusty antique shop, and I felt curiously protective of them. This man had been happy, beautiful, and by the looks of it, exciting; and the thought of him being forgotten hurt.

Suddenly, my eye was caught by a pop of colour. Something blue amid the grey and sepia. I reached for it, drew it from the pile, and my blood ran cold.

It was a Polaroid, and the face smiling back at me was Lord Elster’s. From what I could see, he was wearing a blue denim jacket over an unbuttoned tie-dye shirt, and his hair was gathered back in a loose mess. Seeing him in colour came as a shock to the system. Even in the faded, washed-out Polaroid, his curls were a rich and lustrous brown, his eyes a deep green. Even his pale skin seemed to be a dozen hues of pink.

My hands had begun to shake. It was the same person. Unmistakeably so. Indistinguishable, down to the slight asymmetry of his eyes. Even an identical twin wouldn’t be such a perfect match.

I knew it was him, but I also knew the idea was impossible. Although colour photography had ceased to be experimental in the 1930s, it hadn’t become the norm until the 1960s, and the Polaroid Corporation hadn’t dominated the world of instant cameras until the 1970s. If the man in front of me was the same man who’d sat patiently for a portrait in 1843, he would be almost two centuries old.

The sound of the shopkeeper’s bell jolted me from my reverie, a resonant chime informing me that a customer had entered. Sure enough, I heard the door swing shut with a decisive thud, and a male voice calling cheerfully:

“Hello?”

“One moment, please,” I answered, quickly returning everything to the tin and putting the lid back on. I heard his bouncy, blithe footsteps striding across the floor towards me, and realised I was covered in dust. I brushed myself off and emerged from behind the shelves, the floral tin in my hands. “How can I help - ” I began, but then I saw his face and the words died in my throat.

“Ah. I was looking for that. Thank you.”

His voice was youthful and sweet. He plucked the tin from my unresisting hands, paused, and peered closely at it. I realised I’d failed to rotate the lid back into the same position I’d found it, resulting in the flowery pattern being disrupted. My mouth opened and closed, but all speech had deserted me.

“You’ve been nosy, I see,” he said, “No matter.”

He smiled brightly, and slapped a stack of bank-notes down on the counter without counting them.

“There. Whatever awkward questions you have, this should be all the answer you need. If you feel it’s insufficient, please feel free to swing by Elster House whenever you’re in the area. I’ll give you a guided tour without the entrance fee, and I promise you’ll leave happy.”

He turned, and with a flick of his dark curls, was gone.

For @rmelster

#aneurin barnard #fanfic #victorian

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archinform · 3 months ago

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Pleasant Home, Oak Park IL

Pleasant Home (Farson-Mills House), 1897, 217 Home Avenue, Oak Park, IL 60302

Pleasant Home

George W. Maher designed this 30-room mansion for millionaire banker John W. Farson of Oak Park. Farson purchased the lot at the corner of Pleasant St. and Home Ave. in 1892 for $20,000, the largest price ever paid for a residential lot in Oak Park. Over the following years he acquired land to the south and west for a large garden.

Herbert S. Mills, the second owner of Pleasant Home, made his fortune in the amusement business. The Mills family sold the house in 1939 to the Park District of Oak Park, the grounds being designated as Mills Park in their honor.

The home today is operated as a historic house museum, an events venue, and serves as the headquarters for The Pleasant Home Foundation.

The house is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

Illustration of Pleasant Home from The Inland Architect and News Record

Considered one of the earliest examples of prairie school architecture, Pleasant Home is often viewed as the finest surviving example of Maher's residential work. The house was completed three years after Frank Lloyd Wright's Winslow House in River Forest, an early expression of Wright's emerging design principles, later to be known as the prairie style.

The Prairie School developed in sympathy with the ideals and design aesthetics of the Arts and Crafts movement of 19th century England by John Ruskin, William Morris, and others. It is also seen as a successor to the Chicago School of architecture associated with architects William Le Baron Jenney, H.H. Richardson, Daniel H. Burnham, John Wellborn Root, Dankmar Adler, and Louis Sullivan.

The Prairie School attempted to develop an indigenous North American style of architecture, without the design elements and aesthetic vocabulary of earlier styles of European-influenced architecture such as the Queen Anne and Gothic Revival styles.

The smooth surfaces of Roman brick, the low-pitched, hipped roof and the broad entrance porch of the Parson House are characteristic features of Maher's work that link him to the early modern designs of his Prairie School contemporaries. In the Parson House Maher also introduced his personal design philosophy, which he called motif rhythm theory, to unify the decorative details of the house and its furnishings. The house retains its historic integrity in terms of materials, design and setting. Virtually all of the original decoration specified by George Maher is preserved and the lavish decorative treatment is everywhere apparent on the interior.

Kathleen Cummings, National Historic Landmark Nomination, 1996

Detail of front porch support column

Stained glass entrance and flanking windows

Entrance hall fireplace beneath Pleasant Home panel

Detail of lion head carving, repeated throughout the house, on entrance hall built-in bench

Carved screen in entry hall in front of the music room on the mezzanine

Stained glass entrance window

Reception room

Living room or sitting room

Dining room ceiling fixture

Dining room

Dining room corner, leading to summer dining room

Domed light fixture in the library

Library

Original Maher-designed dining table and chairs, now displayed on the second floor

The stunning original wall colors are seen in the above two photos of second-floor bedrooms

Vintage views of Pleasant Home, from the Ryerson and Burnham Libraries, Art Institute of Chicago:

Left: George W. Maher and John W. Farson in the garden of Pleasant Home

Right: Entrance hall

Left: dining room Right: sitting room

The Ryerson and Burnham Libraries, Art Institute of Chicago, house a copy of the 1902 publication "Farson, John, Residence; Farson-Mills Pleasant Home." The publication contains many views of the house, exterior and interior.

Collection Call Number FF Special NA7239.M34 A65 1902.

Access the digitized copy at this link:

#Farson #house #Oak Park #Illinois #Pleasant Home #George W. Maher #Maher #architecture #chicago #photography #Prairie Style #residential

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henrywintersdearestgirl · 2 years ago

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Cerasa et vinum

The first smut is here, doves! :) Have fun.

warning: sexual content

For the life of her, she couldn’t sleep.

She liked summer. The fresh fruits from the market, dresses everyday, warm nights, and just killing time away in the country house with her dear friends doing all kinds of things. It was heavenly, really. Having to go nowhere, drinking out of tea cups and smoking cigarettes all day. This was her favorite thing in the whole world, well… Almost. If she was honest, her favorite thing in the world was a certain person, with the name Henry Winter. The group altogether was really close, but her and Henry had a different type of bond. It was precious, really. Everyone saw it, but nobody ever said anything, there was no need to.

But back to that certain summer night, she was tossing and turning for what it seemed like hours. She thought that the drinking card game they played a few hours prior would guarantee her a good and long night of sleep, but to her disappointment it didn’t. She sat up and checked the time on her watch that was placed on the nightstand, 2 AM. She was used to sleepless nights, so she got out of bed and headed down to the country house’s library. It had plenty of good books and a nice book always relaxed her mind, if she cannot sleep a relaxed mind will do. As she walked across the huge hallway, looking at the paintings and as a routine admiring the gothic style of the mansion, Francis’s ancestors certainly had divine tastes. The hallway was dimly lit and the moonlight also gifted it a bit more light thanks to the large floor to ceiling windows, everyone else was out like a light, Everyone got stupid drunk, at least they got their beauty sleep, she thought. This house could never scare her, she had so many good memories in this house that she could not be afraid of the dark parts.

The library of the country house was one of the greatest thing she had the pleasure of seeing, it was huge. It even had little secret spots, that was her favorite, she had found a quiet hidden corner of the library. It had comfortable armchairs and a huge vintage desk, that she used for studying when they came up here on the weekends.

Her first stop was the kitchen, she didn’t plan on leaving her spot for a few hours so she needed some sort of snack. She found some sweet and plump cherries that she bought with Richard from the farmers market the previous morning, and an unopened bottle of red wine also caught her eye, it would be a shame to leave it in the kitchen all alone. Now with her sweet cherries and wine, she headed to her original destination. She must have looked like some ethereal spirit haunting the walls, with her hair sprawled freely across her back and her silky nightgown lightly jostling with the warm summer breeze that managed to sneak into the house.

In the back of her mind she expected that she was not going to be alone in the library, and she didn’t mind at all. In fact, it made her heart happy. If there was something small she really cherished, it was the intimate moments between her and Henry. The hour long talks they had, sometimes they talked without any words said, their eyes told it all. And of course, let’s not forget about their very sexual affairs. As she was wondering about him, she barely realised that she made it to the corner of the spot. Just like she expected, many candles were lit in a very warm and comfortable light.

There he was, in black trousers and a white shirt, reading a book as usual. At the noises of her arrival he lifted his head up in her direction and let out a warm boyish grin that only a very few people saw.

“Hello, melilla.” he said, looking up at her.

She flashed a smile to him as a response and put her treasures on the desk beside him. When she turned back to him he was shamelessly getting lost in her figure, so she did the same. His hair was looking perfect, as always, what was quite unlikely of him was that his shirt was rolled up to his elbows and the first two buttons were unbuttoned, making his collar loose, and was he looking divine. He lifted his wrist up and motioned her to come to him wiith two fingers, and who was she to not listen to him. He uncrossed his legs from their previous crossed position and she stood between his spread legs. She put one of her hands on one his broad shoulder and let the other get lost in his hair, while she did that he ran his hands up from her bare thighs to her waist and caressed her silk covered body.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked him while her eyes roamed all around his face, he shook his head in answer.

“You neither?” she did exactly what he did seconds ago, she shook her head.

He gave her a gently smile, his fingers crawled over to the small of her back and he suddenly pulled her body close to his. His head was resting against her stomach, she loved these soft moments with all her heart, she soothingly began to stroke his hair,

After a few moments, he pulled his head back and spoke while diving deep into her eyes.

“You are the most divine little thing, do you know that?” he never failed to make her feel like a goddess, she replied with a nod and a shy smile.

“I mean it, Y/N. Tu divinissimus es, et meus es adorare.”

“Scio, me tuum adorare in aeternum.” he slowly stood up and towered over her. He took a hold of her hips, like a predator with precise movements he started pushing slightly at her, which made her walk backward. Blindly listening to his silent command, when her lower back met the desk, in a smooth movement he dipped his palms under her thighs and lifted her up to the desk as if she was only a feather. Not many would assume how strong the once injured classics student is, but she knew it.

His fingertips were either caressing her features or stroking the hair away from her face.

“Tell me, who got you this nightgown?” the bastard, he already knew the answer very well.

“You did, Henry.” she was drunk on this whole scenario. She had flashbacks about how she got this nightgown. One sunday dinner Francis overpoured the alcohol in her drink, and she accidentally overshared that she finds it hard to see how someone could see her in an erotic light. The next night a big box was in front of her door, full of silk and lace with a note.

To my sweet goddess, and the nymph to all my desires - H.W

“And how happy I am that I did, you look absolutely ravishing in silk, melilla.” a certain look in his eyes and his words were making her clench her thighs together, but she failed considering that his hips were between them. When he realized what she tried to do, a smirk sat on his lips. “What is it, darling?” as if he hadn’t known. “You love it when I tell you how beautiful you are? How I think that you must be Aphrodite’s favourite? How I could just eat you up right here and now? Oh, right. I can do that, because you” he leaned closely into her ear “are mine to please.” he whispered to her, in her ear and pressed a long kiss on her temple, then her forehead.

His movements went from slow to impatient. He captured her lips between his own and gripped her hair, the suddenness of it all made her heart beat faster, or maybe it was just him.

When she pushed back into their kiss, all hell broke loose, he pulled her hair a bit, just enough to make her gasp and when her lips opened a bit, he let his tongue explore her mouth.

Then he went to her neck and collarbones. Kissing and sucking love marks into her soft skin. The scent of her made him a starved and impatient man, he was starving for a taste of her, he knew that he would starve for her taste for an eternity, and he would be happy to if at the end of the day he could get it from her.

His fingers took a hold of the straps of her silk gown and pushed them down her shoulders, exposing her now bare breasts. “Beautiful, my prettiest girl.” He sponged kisses to every inch of her chest, he looked up at her and when their eyes met he pressed a kiss to her throat. After this little moment he leant down and went straight to her nipples with his mouth, his other hand was preoccupied with her other breast, massaging it. She tried to keep her moans down, but he made it very very hard for her to do that. After he was satisfied with the amount of bite marks on her breast he went lower and lower, kissing her stomach are through the silk. He was looking at her when he slowly went down on his knees in front of her, as if he was about to pray to her. He smoothed his hands under the lacy bottom of her nightgown and him palms nearly covered all of the soft skin of her thigh, they slipped to the insides of her thighs and spread her legs ever more apart, now revealing her lace underwear.

“Will you let me, my sweet goddess? Will you let me taste and please you in a way that you should be?” she nearly moaned out at his sentence, he already knew that he would, even though he was the one on his knees he was still in charge, it made her dizzy with desire. She nodded eagerly and at that he chuckled and went straight in. At first he pressed a few kisses to her crotch through the lace, then he hooked her fingers into the band and pulled it down her dove legs, to her surprise he just stuck it in his trouser pocket. He slowly leaned in and deeply inhaled her scent. “Divine.” he whispered to her. He ran his tongue all the way from her slit to her clit, he stopped at her pearl and went from kissing to sucking and back and fourth. He went back down to her slit and opened her up with his thumps, and when she was wide open for him he stuck his tongue into her. Boy, he really knew what he was doing, always the right amount of tempo at the right spots at the right time. After a few minutes, he teased his middle and ring finger at her opening, gathering her wetness and pushing them in and out at a light pace.

“Oh, Henry, oh.” she couldn’t keep herself up, her back arching off the dark wood desk, her fingers gripping at his hair. They were far away from the others and they were out like a light so she was not holding her breathy moans down, and it was the most beautiful music to his ears. He even fastened his pace up, moved his fingers at a rapid pace and his mouth on her clit was working magic. He knew she was close, her walls were closing on his fingers and her moans turned to breathless gasps.

“Come on, darling. I know you are nearly there, let go. Let go, my sweet girl. She let go and made a spasming movement, he slowed down to really savor her high. When her breathing got even again he stood back up, leant down to her laying body and kissed her open lips. She hummed pleasatly at her own taste on his tongue.

She let her hands wander across his chest, her fingers unbuttoned the rest of his buttons, smoothing his skin up and down.

“I am aching for you, Y/N, I really am.” He stood up straight and she could see the tent in his pants. It made her smirk at him, she knew that she was the only one who could get him going any second she wanted to. “Oh, don’t you get evil with me, help me out.” he had her chin in his palms. She reached down and unbuttoned his pants, he pushed it down his legs along with his underwear, it always surprised her how big he was, I mean, down there. She looked deep into his eyes while she spread her legs for him, an invitation only for him. He felt like he was on fire, he needed her, so he didn’t spare a second and stepped closer, his length was right at her opening, twitching and pulsing to feel her warmth snug against him.

“Go on, Henry, I am yours, make us one.” She whispered, he leaned down to devour her lips and suddenly snapped his hips forward in a sudden movement, entering her and even the desk creaked at his sudden move. They both gasped, and he didn’t go at a fast pace right away, he really savored the movements of his hips.

One of his favorite feeling was making love to his muse, his everything. Holding her tightly in his arms, feeling her warmth all around her, hearing her cries of pleasure for him, caressing her face and her soft locks. He loved her, he would do anything to protect the girl that he was making love to. As the minutes went by, his pace fastened, his drawn out movements went to rather impatient ones.

It was a heavenly sight to see, two ethereal creatures, who loved each other so much that they would be willing to die for the other, now being one. Her nails were clawing at his back, the pain made him even more excited and motivated in fucking her. He was either kissing her lips or her swan neck.

“Damn right you are mine. You like that don’t you? That you belong to me, that I am the one that gets to fuck you.” he didn’t swear much, but when he did it made her blood heated.

“Yes, yes I am.” she whispered in an out-of-breath tone. She loved it when he claimed her like that, both with his words and actions.

“Of course, and the others think you’re so innocent, well well well. They don’t know how many times you climbed into my bed, letting me worship my goddess. My sweet sweet girl.” he was near his high, and so was she, again. He could feel her walls grip him and she could feel his hot member pulsate inside of her, he could feel her up so very perfectly, the perfect angle of his hips hitting every dear spot of her. “Let me tell you a little secret, I am yours too. My soul and heart is yours, only yours for eternity, no one will ever live up to you and I don’t want anyone else other than you. Everytime I lay eyes on you, I thank the Gods for gifting you to my life. I love you.”

“I-I love you, Henry. I love you.” it made him truly smile, and then he reached down and started rubbing at her clit to get her closer.

She threw her arms over his neck, her legs closed at his waist and she pulled him close to her. With his free arm he reached under her arching back and did the same as her. Suddenly he came to a halt and she felt his hot thick seed spill into her, moaning out of ecstasy

As they reached their own highs in their loving embrace, and held it until their hearts stopped beating so fast and they could breath properly again.

He kissed her on her forehead and rest his own on hers. She sat up and he slipped out of her, he watched as his creamy load dripped out of her.

“Hm, you really did fill me up.” she softly laughed.

“Only for you, my darling.”

He helped her put her nightgown back in place and he gave his shirt to her, so she would be nice and warm. Pulled his trousers back up and got her panties out of his pocket, he held her waist as she got back on her wobbly legs, she held on to his shoulders as he pulled her lace up her legs. They got some tissues and cleaned up.

He sat down back into the armchair where he originally sat before she came here, she got the cherries and the wine from the table and made her way to him. He pulled her in his lap and she rested her head on his chest, his heartbeat soothing her.

Henry fed her a few cherries, so she could get some of her energy back and ate some himself. While he read his book he caressed her hair, he looked down at the nearly sleeping goddess in his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Sweet dreams, my love.” and with a smile, she fell asleep in her lover’s arms, in the country house’s library.

#henrywintersmut #henrywinterimagine #henrywinter #henry winter #thesecrethistory #the secret history #francisabernathy #camillamacaulay #charlesmacaulay #bunnycorcoran #richardpapen #henry winter smut

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sacrificial1-lamb · 1 year ago

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“𝔚𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔱𝔶, 𝔰𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔫𝔡 ℑ” @mothercain

large format 4x5 photo of the Randall house🖤

#ethel cain #film photography #gunne sax #abandoned church #vintage clothing #southern gothic #black and white film #35mm photography #medium format #large format #american gothic #abandoned homes

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vintage1981 · 8 months ago

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Dark Shadows Remembrance Weekend - July 5 & 6, 2024

Dark Shadows reunion with original cast members David Selby, Kathryn Leigh Scott, Nancy Barrett, Jerry Lacy, Roger Davis, James Storm and Lisa Richards

Plans are now complete for a very special Dark Shadows Remembrance Weekend to celebrate the life of Lara Parker, who played Angelique, and pay tribute to the 100th birthday of Jonathan Frid, who played Barnabas Collins. This rare and very special occasion reunites original Dark Shadows cast members to celebrate the lives of beloved colleagues Lara Parker and Jonathan Frid and meet devoted fans of the 1960s Gothic TV series that “kids ran home from school to watch!”

To be held at the Marriott Burbank Airport Hotel, July 5th, Dark Shadows cast members, including David Selby, Kathryn Leigh Scott, Nancy Barrett, Jerry Lacy, Roger Davis, James Storm and Lisa Richards, will be celebrating Lara Parker, who passed away last October at age 84.

July 6th, Dark Shadows cast members will celebrate Jonathan Frid’s centenary with a lunch, entertainment, autographs and collector gift bags. Eventbrite tickets: $60, inclusive.

Hotel accommodations at special rates: Marriott Burbank Airport Hotel PH: (888) 236-2437

To receive special Dark Shadows discount Marriott Burbank Airport Hotel sleeping room rates, call the Marriott reservation line 1-800 or book via the following link before June 13 at https://bit.ly/3PZu92v. A complimentary hotel shuttle from the Hollywood Burbank Airport (aka the Bob Hope Airport) to the nearby Marriott Hotel is available. Dark Shadows attendees receive discounted parking at the hotel.

Dark Shadows was an American gothic soap opera that aired weekdays on the ABC television network, from June 27, 1966, to April 2, 1971. The show depicted the lives of the wealthy Collins family of Collinsport, Maine, where a series of supernatural occurrences take place.

Dark Shadows became popular when vampire Barnabas Collins played by actor Jonathan Frid was introduced ten months into its run. It would also feature ghosts, werewolves, zombies, man-made monsters, witches, warlocks, time travel, and a parallel universe. A small troupe of actors each played many roles; as actors came and went, some characters were played by more than one actor. The show was distinguished by its melodramatic performances, atmospheric set designs, unusual storylines, numerous plot twists, adventurous music score, broad range of characters, and heroic adventures. Dark Shadows developed a large teenage audience and a dedicated cult following. By 1969, it had become ABC’s highest-rated daytime series with viewership in the millions!

The original network run of the show amassed 1,225 episodes. The success of the series spawned a media franchise that has included two feature films (House of Dark Shadows in 1970 and Night of Dark Shadows in 1971), a 1991 TV remake, a 2012 film reboot directed by Tim Burton, and numerous spin-off novels and comics. Kathryn Leigh Scott has narrated all 27 vintage Dark Shadows novels by Marilyn Ross for Oasis Audiobooks, available on Amazon.com.

Press inquiries:

Billy James Glass Onyon PR +1 828-350-8158 [email protected]

#Dark Shadows #Barnabas Collins #Jonathan Frid #Lara Parker #House of Dark Shadows #Night of Dark Shadows #Dan Curtis #Marilyn Ross #Nancy Barrett #Jerry Lacy #Roger Davis

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lumenniveus · 1 year ago

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"The world is what you make of it, sir! If it doesn't fit, you make alterations."

RuneStone my dark love letter to you this year. I have put love, blood and many hidden secrets into these objects. Some you can only find during gameplay, others will only show themselves when you aren't directly looking.

Download it now on SFS: Merged | ZIP

As always, there is more info below the cut for you 🦇

RuneStone is an 68 asset large set full of Gothic, dark and mostly functional items. I'm going to list a few highlights below the catalog. It is mostly BGC, but what needs a pack will be properly named as such.

* not pictured here are: 2 wallpapers, 1 stone wall, 2 wooden floors, 1 ceiling tile *

A pocket door is a door that slides into walls. It's especially nice to look at in dark academia builds and haunted mansions.

A SHROMP that acts as an anti-monster toy. Many thanks to @surely-sims for the original iconic SHROMP!

A rounded bar to fill out small rounded spaces. These are seamless, so don't hesitate to put them into your turrets or belfry.

Lots of visual effects that you can toggle on and off.

A see-through dungeon floor, anyone?

Two TVs that don't look like TVs. Who has a flatscreen in an medieval castle? One slots to things, the other has slots.

Stairs. As in, a staircase you use in BB mode. Not much else to say there.

Dormer windows and matching fake roofing, as well as enough stained glass to make a cathedral weep in joy.

This set is tagged as Vintage and Storybook furniture style and will behave appropriately in-game.

Will you build something grande and majestic or will you settle down in grimdark catacombs? Your choice, really. Have a preview

With everything up, let's begin @simblreenofficial 👻

#sims 4 #maxis match cc #ts4 download #ts4 cc #ts4 maxis match #ts4cc #ts4mm #sims custom content #maxis match #sims #custom content #ts4 #ts4 simblr #gothic #dark academia #simblreen #simblreen 2023

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erikaskblog · 5 months ago

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Chatgpt made me a phantom of the opera cafe

@fymo-blogs

**Phantom of the Opera Café**

**Interior:**

- **Entrance:** The exterior of the café resembles the Paris Opera House façade, with grand arches and intricate detailing. The entrance features a red velvet carpet leading to heavy, gilded doors.

- **Lighting:** Chandeliers inspired by the iconic one in the movie hang from the ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow. Candles and vintage lanterns add to the romantic and mysterious atmosphere.

- **Seating:** Plush, red velvet upholstered chairs and booths with gold accents. Each table has a small candelabrum and a rose in a glass dome.

- **Décor:** Walls adorned with vintage opera posters, framed movie stills, and musical scores. Large mirrors with ornate gold frames reflect the candlelight, creating an illusion of space.

- **Stage:** A small stage for live performances, complete with a grand piano, where musicians play classical pieces and songs from the movie.

- **Phantom's Lair:** A cozy corner designed to mimic the Phantom's lair, with dark, gothic furniture, draped fabric, and a pipe organ prop.

**Menu:**

**Drinks:**

- **Masquerade Martini:** A signature cocktail with a mix of gin, vermouth, and a hint of absinthe, garnished with an olive.

- **Christine’s Charm:** A sweet, floral tea blend with lavender, chamomile, and a hint of vanilla.

- **Phantom’s Brew:** A dark, rich coffee blend with a touch of dark chocolate and cinnamon.

- **Opera Punch:** A refreshing non-alcoholic punch with cranberry, orange, and a splash of soda.

**Appetizers:**

- **Music of the Night Bites:** A selection of fine cheeses, grapes, and crackers.

- **Masquerade Masks:** Puff pastry shapes filled with brie and raspberry jam.

- **Rooftop Bruschetta:** Fresh tomatoes, basil, and mozzarella on toasted baguette slices.

**Main Courses:**

- **Phantom’s Feast:** A decadent beef Wellington served with roasted vegetables and a red wine reduction.

- **Christine’s Delight:** Pan-seared salmon with a lemon dill sauce, served with wild rice and asparagus.

- **Raoul’s Choice:** Chicken Coq au Vin, a classic French dish of chicken braised with wine, mushrooms, and onions.

**Desserts:**

- **Angel of Music Cake:** A rich chocolate lava cake with a molten center, served with vanilla ice cream.

- **Opera Crème Brûlée:** Classic vanilla custard with a caramelized sugar top, garnished with fresh berries.

- **Rose Petal Macarons:** Delicate macarons flavored with rose and filled with a creamy ganache.

**Specials:**

- **Masquerade Dinner:** A themed dinner event with a fixed menu, live opera performances, and costume contests.

- **Phantom’s Afternoon Tea:** A selection of finger sandwiches, scones with clotted cream, and petit fours served with a variety of teas.

**Other Features:**

- **Live Performances:** Regular live performances featuring classical music, opera singers, and dramatic readings from "The Phantom of the Opera."

- **Themed Nights:** Special themed nights where guests are encouraged to dress in period costumes or masquerade attire.

- **Private Events:** The café can be booked for private events, including themed parties, musical performances, and intimate weddings.

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