#victorain

[bajingoarts]

The Rathbones

Here they are! The Rathbones! Much smaller family than the Ratigan's by a mile.

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[tandlleather]

New coin purse. ⁣ Dm to order .⁣ .⁣ .⁣ .⁣ .⁣ #elpasotx915 #tandlleather #eloasotx #elpaso915 #victorianhouse #victorianera #rusticdecor #elpaso #vintage #rusticwedding #gothic #shoplocal #instagood #moda #thewomaninblack #photography #style #new #viral #victorain #cybermonday #sales #oldfashion #shopsmallbusiness #makeup #1881 #1800s #fashionable #smallbusiness #1920s (at El Paso, Texas) https://www.instagram.com/p/Ci_p4AJM3kS/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[diejager]

I saw something about Victorian COD so hear me out-

Victorian Price in the fanciest suit

I'm sorry but that man would be so hooooooooooot as a Victorian gentleman, it fits his vibe

p.s. Happy 2024!!!!!!!

I got to this 3 months later… Happy belated new year 😅

Cw: flirting? Price being a gentleman, older man/younger woman, established relationship, tell me if I missed any.

Your father’s business parties had always been boring, they were a chore for you to keep a perfect facade to the public, the frail yet strong lady of the house, donned in ridiculously frilly dresses and thighs corsets. Your mother had fussed over it your entire life, her rough fingers, brought from her commoner background, had made her harsher in every manner to keep her title, for you to keep yours as a noble born into a world of riches. But the upkeep of it was useless when you had no part in it, forced to play a part in something you had no right to be a part of. 

Granted, you had your reservation, understanding that being on the same side as your father had it’s perks, the power his title - soon to be passed down to your older brother once your father passed - and his money. You didn’t necessarily depend on it wholly, you might live in his home, eat from his cooks and call for the maids and butlers he employed, but you had your studio away from home, somewhere in the city where you painted under natural light and sold portraits to people who paid you for a commission. 

It wasn’t as grand as being a merchant, to sell the luxuries most nobles sought - gems, fabrics, gold and silver - but it built you connections, your work passed from mouth to ear, one noble at a time, and one town at a time. You had your clientele and your father had his, you had an image to keep for something you worked so hard for, but to invest an equal amount of face and finesse in a snobbish party was draining. Fortunately, a few of your father’s work affiliates were regular clients at your little studio, sending letters to you months in advance to organise dates for you to paint them, it varied between one and a few months.

Your��favourite was a British merchant company, lead by one bear of a man that you knew well, managed by three - a kind-hearted brit with beautiful skin, a boisterous Scot with his unusual haircut, and a broad and rugged man who hid his identity under a fearsome mask - other you were well-acquainted with and advised by a strong headed woman too advanced for your era. John Price was his name, a man a decade older than you, but treated you kinder than any man had before him, a gentleman in a beautiful suit and slacks, a red shirt and waxed shoes. He - coincidentally - matched your attire, your frilly, red chemise with a high and bowed collar, the sleeves long and rumpled in waves of red silk, waist high pants that hugged your body the same way your mother’s corset hugged her form and slick shoes that shone under the high chandeliers. 

“You seem bored, love,” his soft and baritone voice never failed to make you shudder, his hand on your back a reminder than he was with you.

He was always the gentleman, a man who worked his way to nobility, gaining a title and land through blood, sweat and tears. He was known for his trades, selling and shipping a large variety of items that some considered exotic simply because nobles hated interacting with foreigners, a kind of bred racism and xenophobia through generations to fear any uprising from their colonies and other countries. He was as broad as his company was known, every core member of it respected for climbing the echelon of society through hard work. Some purebred nobles might hate him for taking a title without being born into it, but none could object his craft, like an artist couldn’t do hate their canvas. 

“There isn’t much to do, is there, John?” You nodded towards your father, knowing that he was observant enough to see the slightest of movement, “My father is… he loves bathing in luxury, in the popularity his name brings.”

He hummed, a low rumble from his throat, his eyes narrowed almost threateningly, but you knew the amused gleam in his eyes. You had years to get to know him, once an occasional client - a man who stumbled into your studio wanting to let a newly risen artist a chance to paint him, admiring your work for the smooth and confident strokes - who brought his art trade to you, now a trusted friend, someone you were blasphemously closed too for someone your age. 

Your friendship hadn’t lasted long, the constant coaching from Kyle and Johnny, the silent push from Simon and the proud smile from Kate had both of you meeting halfway, throwing you into his open arms and fooling around at the back of your studio until John could take you away to marry.Eloping and always sounded interesting, you weren’t needed at home, your father had an heir and your mother had your younger sister to worry about.

“He flaunts it foolishly, yes,” he agreed, raising the cup to his lips, tipping it until the champagne flowed down the glass rim, “But we have a contract, one I intend to uphold until he complete his end of it. And I met you.”

He turned to you, a tender smile hidden under his beard, his stormy blues softening as he peered down at you, adoration gleaming in his eyes. You wished you could kiss him, to grip him by the collar and pull him down to press your lips against his course ones, to kiss him deeply and show him the love you felt for him. 

“I would, love, but we’re in public,” had you spoken out loud? It seemed you did if John answered you, his chuckles shaking his shoulders, “Would you come home with me once I’ve finished my business?”

“Of course, John.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[witchyfashion]

https://amzn.to/4a7CqJx

[pinkyhaert]

If I ever get sad or feel like my stuff is cringe and will never be as popular as (x) or it will never make the cut for being published as an official piece of media or smth like that-

I remember that there are some of the worst ever films/books/Games/shows known to man that have gotten published and multiple people FUNDED IT AND SPENT ACTUAL MONEY ON ITS CONSTRUCTION.

Sometimes I'll even watch or read an OLD something and be like "this is rancid and I automatically now feel better about anything I could ever create ever."

Alternatively- You can't tell me that a good solid 80% of old literature was someone's fanfiction/ hallucination/ imaginative gossip at some point.

[floof-byrd]

The lovely nymph of the night.

Miss Maude O’Malley

[purrlockholmesbooks]

BBC Sherlock doodles

BORED. I can't harpoon anything, so I'll have to settle for drawing cracked cat Sherlocks.

(BBC's Sherlock is responsible for my weirdness. If I hadn't watched it, I wouldn't have read the ACD canon and I wouldn't be the Victorain-obsessed kook I am today.)

For more BBC Purrlock drawings, see Hound of Baskervilles screenshots redraw HERE, Meowriarty with the crown jewels HERE.

[willowmaidsworld]

Bit late to share my Nanny Astoreth cosplay, but here we go! More info under the cut.

To all the folks who attended the Talent show and/or submitted: loved seing your creations! Can't wait for a next year!❤

The main part of the cosplay- the coat, was made by me. From black wool, satin and burgundy nylon lining. I sewed by machine and by hand. The pattern is roughly 1890s. I wanted to make a coat that is also wearable for a normal day, not only a cosplay. (It will have it's premiere in about a week when I go to see very good production of Hamlet in the theatre.)

I always wanted to have a coat like this, so I added a little Nanny Astoreth magic to the mix and made one of my dreams come true.

Edit: I was asked about some sewing info, so there you go! Warning: I'm not a seamstress, I start and complete my sewing projects only by the inaffable audacity I posses, usually by the method of trial and error. So if you're a seamstress, please don't execute me or burn me at the stake for this, please.

The pattern is from Black Snail Patterns, it's their Victorain 1890s coat. I made few alterations: I combined the two patterns you get (with the skirt or peplum). I picked sleeves from the peplum variation but kept the skirt. (More about the skirt later.)

I made no mock up. That's it, you can crucify me. I just went for it and hoped for the best. Probably don't do that.

This was my "first" in many ways: first time using pattern with included seam allowance, first time working with interfacing, first time doing an overcoat. There were some easy part and some hard ones. I won't go over the whole process, just share a few tips I found helpfull.

Here's the whole coat with the inside. (Colours are a bit brighter then in real life, I had quite a different lighting. It also isn't so shiny.)

Before I even started sewing, I ironed in interfacing. This makes the coat stiff and strong. (I sadly have no pictures.) The pattern will tell, where to do that. I used baking sheet, so it wouldn't stick to the iron.

To ensure I have the bodice pieces all lined up, I marked the waist-line by thread. Chalupa wouldn't hold and thread made it so easy to work with the pieces. Over all, sewing the bodice together wasn't a problem, but here comes the hard part...

The satin lapels. I had a breakdown over these. I'm not kidding. First, I just sewed them in, and to make them all nice and smooth I ironed them to the ineterfacing on the wool outer layer. That turned out to be a disaster. The seams were showing on the corners because there was more fabric. I had to carefully rip it apart and think of another solution.

I decided to iron in new Layer of interfacing, sticking just to the satin. This was achieved but putting baking sheet between the two fabrics, so it doesn't stick together. There are some photos of the interfacing pinned and not ironed and then when I ironed it. (It was honestly going back and forth, trying not to overheat and melt the fabric whilst making it stick. It took forewer.)

(As you can see, the collar is stitched on with red thread. That was just to hold it in place, I later handstitched it with black one. I used the same "two interfacings" method for the collar as on the lapels. You can also see a tiny bit of the interfacing in the upper left corner of the second photo.)

Sewing and sewing in the lining wasn't much of a trouble. The sleeves took a while to figure out, but it was mainly my thread ripping while I gathered them.

The skirt was the easy part. I pinned it on and tried it, saw the waist was too low and made my proportions weird. I just moved it up and trimmed the rest of the fabric. Here you can see how the inner seam is done. It was pretty easy.

About the additional stuff - buttons, buttonholes and the buckle and belt. Buttons were made by me. I wanted them to match, so I bought a little box for making custom fabric buttons. Easy and fun! Buttonholes were supposed to be easy. First two were. The third was a disaster. What can I say? Check your foot and settings. You don't want to be undoing that. I bought the buckle in the shop, sewed the belt. The wholes for the buckle were done by sewing tiny buttonholes. I did the same for the prog of the buckle. Worked surpridingly well.

That's probably all the tios I have.

Last but not least, I have a tiny fun detail. I embroidered a little star for the starmaker! And I love it dearly!

[the-cricket-chirps]

Gerald Leslie Brockhurst

Victoraine

[marylily-my-beloved]

Hii! I was wondering what your favorite Marylily fics are! Maybe you've already answered this question before, but I'm looking for some recommendations!

Also, I just read the first two chapters of your She-Ra AU and loved it! ♡"

OMG IM SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG IT KEPT DELETING WHATEVER I POSTED I THOUGHT I POSTED THIS AGES AGO ANYWAYS <333 ofc! thank you so much <33

READ:

still king's cross (and pulling heartbreak out of hats) by onelastgo ( @youcouldsayimalesbian on tumblr) Word count: 50,000 - I love this fanfic a lot, it's my favourite marylily fanfiction. It's about Mary and Lily figuring out their relationship and friendship in Hogwarts while so many other happen, and each chapter stars with a letter they wrote to each other during the summer break. I actually am obessed with the style of writing, of everything, and also the letters inspired me to write something of my own...

Running to the end by friendofthefrogs (@friendofthefrogswastaken here on tumblr!) Word count: 82,180 - I really like the lily and Mary dynamic in this story, and this is also them figuring it all out with the threat of the war and Hogwarts. A lot of angst, which I really love, and a lot of fluff

Silver Springs by tastenostalgia Word count: 168,161 - I love this one, it has so many different POVs and so many interesting stuff

ON MY TBR:

forget me not, mary by goldmoons Word count: 17,101 - Ok so I've read a chapter of this, and I really enjoyed it, I like the writing style. its canon, so you know Lily and James die...

Two birds on a wire by ilbartiz Word count: 44,102 - I really liked the concept of this one, angst, it is a fix-it fic. Next to my to be read, I'm acc rlly excited for this one.

LAST BUT NOT LEAST!!! The train ride to the end of the world by RavenBird_e Word Count: 25,644 - This is an in progress fic, but it's probably one of the only AUs I've seen on marlily and been instereted. This is victorain era marylily, where Lily escapes from her soon to be marriage with James and meets Mary. I'm anxiously waiting for updates

If you wanted them on Wattpad or anything else I'm really sorry, I only read ao3 and reccomend you to get an account, it's easy

[nullbutler]

interesting things I have learned on the job:

manhattan clam chowder and regular clam chowder are not the same. mostly because the manhattan clam chodder has so much tomatoes in it it makes you go "hey dude i thought we were supposed to have clam chowder today, why did you make vegetable soup"

cream of x is the stuff of legends and its sooooooo easy to eat the right amount of vegetables if its dipped in a sinful amount of butter and cheese

boston cream pies are cakes having an identity crisis. no one from boston actually likes them

green tea has slightly less caffiene than black tea, but unless its uncaffinated, it will still have a minor amount! it also makes you cramp when youre on your period!

caffiene can have a calming effect on some people with ADHD and anxiety disorders (case in point: me)

black tea tastes like basic ass boba tea if warm minus the boba, but that taste is ruined the moment you add sweeteners, then it becomes a very very very underwhelming latté

small portions of applesauce can remedy a stomachache

bread makes you feel fuller longer

similarly you dont have to piss right after you drink water if you drink water on a full stomach

baked potatoes taste good. as in. potato and spoon and maybe butter. like a victorain peasant

[namunull]

Jekyll modern edition

(He owns some Victorain science stuff too, on the right side of the desk)

[diejager]

wdyt of the idea of high society victorian cod characters cus i saw one glimpse of the idea and thought hmmm occult ghost and im praying we get it

I can’t believe I went google searching for this Drabble XD

PS. I wrote this before seeing @justadeadreaper ‘s AU!

The Past Cw: SLIGHT DARK, DUB-CON, spiritualism, occult, sex magic, smut, cunnilingus, fingering, oral sex, tell me if I missed any.

You’d heard from other women that the dark and mystery-shrouded man was one of the best spiritualists in England —if not the only man practicing the dark arts. You were warned through loose lips and gossiping whispered that he was a giant for your time, dressed in the finest silks a man could buy for himself and portrayed an aura of pride and excellence, holding an air of finesse and savagery in every words he spoke. You had your own expectations before you met him, fingers trembling as you wrote your letter, a grieving tear rolling down your powdered cheek.

You waited with bated breath and tense shoulders for his reply, and when a letter arrived, the little skull wax seal playing a part to your excitement, you ripped in open and settled in your desk in an unladylike manner. For a man you didn’t know, you couldn’t help but admire his calligraphy, the hand which he used to write was skilfully gentle, his words curled with a gracefulness you envied. In the black lettering, he gave you a date and location, touched by your plight, he invited you to his house in an unknown part of Manchester.

You rode out a few days early to meet him, being aware that he’d extended his invitation to a week long stay after your second exchange. He expressed his solemnity and sympathy towards you, promising that he’d be able to help you and you couldn’t be any happier to be able to let the past rest.

But your expectations of him fell the moment he greeted you at the wide mahogany doors of his house, he was broad and talks, a giant dressed in black. The cuffs and collar of his long coat were woven with silver roses and vines, gracing pant-clad thighs, thick and strong as a tree’s tough bark. He wore leather gloves - black as the rest of his attire - and a gem-clipped cravat stuffed under his black waist coat, buttons holding it to his sculpted chest and a flared end with silver intricacies, silver flowers and plants sown into the fabric. He was dressed beautifully, like a phantom of the opera, but when you gazed up, his dark eyes stared back, skin painted black and face hidden with a mask, a smooth skull stitched into the fabric of his cover.

He was a masterpiece in dark garments, handsome and mysterious when he ushered you in, the rumble of his voice making your body tingle, warmth filling your abdomen. He was a quiet man, eyes expressing more than words could, he had a gentle silence to him with tender and guiding hands, herding you to his seance room —or so you thought. There weren’t any tables, only plush cushions and soft-padded chairs in the dimly lit room, shadows dancing on the dark walls when he laid you down, coaxing you to relax under his care.

“I need you to relax,” he whispered, pressing his covered mouth you your forehead, brushing your locks off your sweaty skin, “do you trust me, love?”

You felt light-headed, mind dazed with the warmth and comfort he provided you, you choked down a sob, your voice dying in your throat. So you gave him a small nod, shuddering when his hands grazed up your hips to cradle your cheek, brushing away your stray tear.

“Good, close your eyes for me, yeah?”

Darkness embraced you with soothing calmness as he cradled you in his arms, feeling you up until his hands slipped under your petticoat, his calloused - when had he taken his gloves off? - fingers hooking the band of your lacy underwear. He spread your legs, hanging them over his wide shoulders, his hot breath hitting your sensitive mound. You flinched when he pressed his lips to your covered slit, burying his nose in your thick bush as he drew a calming pattern on your inner thighs.

The fire brewing in your core boiled, strong and coming forth in giant waves. It was unknown, a strange sensation that rocked you whole. He dragged his tongue up your wet hole, circling your blinking cunt and to your twitching clit, lifting the hood to have better access to your sensitive nerve. You shuddered and jerked with every touch, little mewls and whimpers slipping past your painted lips and graced his ears with your pretty sounds.

His tongue was skilled, nimble as he dove into you, pumping your tight cunt with his hot muscle, slurping up your slick and rolling your virgin clit with his thumb, rough and calloused, yet gentle with you. You squirmed and murmured incoherent words, something about it feeling weird, about your body burning and your mind lost to it, but he only coaxed you further, praising you for being so good and compliant for him.

“Good girl, telling me how good you feel,” he panted, diving back into your gummy walls, tongue brushing your softness before he replaced them with his strong and thick finger, plunging into you and hitting your sweet spot, “M name’s Ghost, love. Scream my name, yeah?”

His soft praises and talented fingers had you tipping over, the fire spilling over the edge with a blinding light. You cried out his name - is moniker - with mewls and gasps, arching beneath him and wrapped your legs tightly around his head as you came, gushing around his fingers. He slowly pumped his fingers, tongue lapping and drinking up your slick, gorging on your drooling cunt as if it were the sacred waters of the fountain of youth.

He left you limp and numb, lashes fluttering, peering at him with tired eyes, bathing in the adoring eyes of the spiritualist that made you come with his mouth and fingers alone —something new to you, a stranger in your heart and throbbing core. With his mask pulled over his tongue, mouth and chin still wet with your slick, he mumbled to you, tender words coaxing you to sit up for him.

“Reckon we get started, love?”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx

[junewongapologia]

Catherine Moreland is certainly the type to saddle her kid with an unfortunate name.

Even so Albion Tilney is absolutely the name of a future Victorain politician, sorry Catherine.