#victorian tea

[magazinescans]

Mint Memories™ Barbie® Victorian Tea Porcelain Collection

Barbie® Bazaar - April 1999

[barbielore]

Victorian Tea Barbie was an Avon-exclusive Barbie themed around, well, a Victorian-era Barbie having tea. However, this was not the only Barbie that Mattel used the phrase "Victorian Tea" for.

The Victorian Tea Porcelain Collection Barbies were two Barbies from the late 1990s depicting rather more elaborate Victorian-era fashion - and, of course, tea.

The two dolls in the collection were Orange Pekoe and Mint Memories.

I can't speak to exactly how accurate these fashions are, but they certainly look a lot more detailed and, well, less cheap than the Avon collaboration. Plus, as with all Barbies in the Porcelain collection, they came with absolutely beautiful box art.

Interestingly, the special care instructions enclosed with Mint Memories proclaimed that she was the first porcelain Barbie to have a moveable head so she could be posed with different "attitudes".

It also details that the teacup contains 22 karat gold paint and that, although her hand is posed to balance the teacup, they recommend adhering the cup and saucer to her hand with adhesive.

[theroyalsblr]

[thegrandteapot]

Party Time!

Photo by LionessLeesha

[ominouspuff]

Fwoom (intimidatingly)

[beggars-opera]

It's been a hot second since I've seen a picture of a Victorian mustache cup on here so look at this one in all its glory

This is a sippy cup. You just invented a sippy cup for manly men who want to go to tea parties and not feel emasculated by drinking too fast and getting their perfectly coifed mustaches droopy I can't

[frostedmagnolias]

Silk chiffon tea gown

c. 1895-1905

Chertsey Museum

[descendinight]

Nuryniíth - Rosemary and thyme

[edwardian-girl-next-door]

Granada's The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes S1Ep11, "The Resident Patient" (1985)

[thegnomelord]

I was talking with some friends and kinda came up with an original story idea where you're the new groundskeeper for a wealthy Victorian gentleman who is definitely not some kind of eldritch abomination.

Here's some touch and go snippets of what I thought of, lemme know if y'all want to see me turn this into an actual story.

CW: NSFW at the end, gay, homoerotic pining, Victorian gothic, mentions of murder.

Now I'm thinking ab a dark gothic Victorian gent who is *definitely* not some kind of eldritch abomination who marries wives who mysteriously disappear or die soon after and you're the new garden keeper who moves to work there because your old man is ill and the Victorian gent lets you live there and through no fault of your own you catch his interest and the way you smile as you handle the newly born lambs makes his, definitely not dead, heart beat.

----

You'd snuck in a 'friend' from the local brothel after your friends badgered your ears off about being a 'real man'. The night had gone poorly, she was a pretty woman, yes, but you just couldn't bring yourself to have sex no matter how hard you tried. You had to beg her not to tell anyone about your problem before paying her and sending her on her way yet. . . you can't find her anywhere.

It's as if she'd dissapeared in thin air (or was dragged by the carpets down into the maw in the basement) — Don't question the thing in the basement, you don't have to worry about that and it's probably just rats. Besides the door for the basement is never where you last remember it to be.

You could have sworn it was down the hall past the master's study but when you go to look all there is is just another grandiose painting, this time portraying the whore of Babylon riding on the many headed beast. And the master of the house appears before you can recognise the face of the whore, asking if you can fix the old light in his study that keeps flickering

---

You notice the master starts asking for you or going out of the house more often, usually to go horse back riding through the wide hunting woods you maintain behind the house. You're never sure why most of the animals shy away from the master like a devil from a cross, but there is one dove white steed that is the master's favorite. It's the only one who doesn't shy away, the one that you're not sure was in that empty paddock last night but you'd rather not lose your job by telling him you'd probably lost his horse and it came back.

The horse is sweet to you but you've seen it try to bite the other farm hands that get too close. Maybe it's just a temperament thing, animals feel more than you do after all, but. . . Hmm, where's that new farmhand that had slapped your ass gone to? And was the horse's muzzle always dyed red like that? Eh, someone must have just fed it some strawberries.

____

You get bullied by the chamber maid into helping her with cleaning the numerous bedrooms because the other two have come down with the seasonal flu and you were *sure* the nth bedroom you go to clean is empty, you'd checked it twice, but somehow when you pass through the very same door you enter the master's private bedroom and he's there in only his sleep clothes smiling at you and you can only stutter out weak apologies with your face a flame while your eyes stare at the other man in a way that would get the old town's priest rolling in his grave.

Oh yes, your ma and pa were extremely religious, dressing you up in your Sunday's best, taking you to church every Sunday regardless if it's rain or shine. You remember seeing the new master of the house when your parents were allowed to attend the previous master's seventh wedding. The master's family has long since supported the church and the local community, gaining favour from everyone despite the, erm, eccentric decorations and continuous wife deaths.

But death in child birth or from disease can happen to anyone, and what is a peasant like you supposed to understand the gentry?

Besides, the current master knows best what the wealthy people invited to his party expect from a man servant that you were commandered to be this evening. And if the young lord decides to tug off your cross necklace in favour of tying his own tie around your throat, slowly tightening it until the knot sits firmly at your Adam's apple and his ungloved fingers brush against your skin, and his smiling face is inches away looking at you like a man should not look at another man while purring how dashing you look tonight, who are you to argue?

----

The dairymaid had asked you to go get some honey from the beehives they keep. The door slowly budges open as you're forced to use more strength than you should, as if the house refuses to let you out this early in the morning, you were certain you'd oiled the hinges but it's an old house, it's bound to happen.

You go to the hives and for some reason the bees are not as violent as you remember your pa telling you about them being. They just buzz around you lazily as you carefully remove the frames with the honey.

You're nearly given a heart attack when you turn and the lord is there, behind you, staring at you with eyes you swear glint like the surface of an oil spill after a rainstorm but that must just be the light.

"Let me try some?" He asks, closing in, as if you have any ability or want to refuse.

He reaches out to grip your hand. Your fingers are still sticky with honey and for a second your blaspheming mind thinks he'll lick the honey off your fingers (god smite you down for that thought, you don't even know how many 'hail Mary's you'll need to recount for that).

He dips his fingers in the honey, rivulets of the golden liquid trickling down his knuckles as he slowly brings them up to his face and sticks them in his mouth. You know enough of the gentry and their weird customs to know this would be seen as unsightly, but you're neither gentry nor do you find yourself caring when he keeps his gaze locked on you even as his lips part, pink tongue swirling around his fingers to lick up all the honey in a way that makes you think it's purposeful. (It can't be, he's the lord for crying out loud, you can already hear your ma reaching for the lord's word to bash those sinful dirty blasphemous thoughts from your skull)

He pulls his fingers from his mouth with a loud sound that goes straight from your ears to your chest and down to where it shouldn't. Your hands itch to grab the cross around your neck and hold it but you only now remember the lord still has it, his tie still loosely wrapped around your neck. His eyes sparkle like stars "You should try some." He says, and he's tugging you by the arm before you can even start spouting your excuses about how it's not your place for such things.

----

Getting down on your knees in prayer, only for him to appear and gently grasp your chin - murmuring lowly how worship can be done later, that he needs you to do one more task before you pray and head to bed

That 'one more task' turns out to be a simple fix that for some reason takes longer than it should. The house does not want another's name to be spoken by your tongue and isn't above petty childish ploys of constantly flickering the one light in the lord's private chambers regardless of how many lightbulbs you change. The lord doesn't mind despite your growing emberassment, he likes the sight of your muscles tensed to stay balanced on that rickety ladder and how, despite your annoyance, you still treat the house - him- with care.

And it's late at night when you finish, so late everyone is asleep and there's no point in waking everyone up by trying to maneuver through the dark house with a candle.

"Stay the night." He says, order clear even without his hands tugging on your shirt. It's improper to sleep in the lord's bed in your work clothes after all, and you swear you see his eyes harden when he noticed that cross you'd managed to find, but it's soon discarded when he pulls the shirt over your head, cross dropping to the floor to be quietly swallowed by the carpets.

----

The only prayer he allows to be uttered in his house is the one you mutter when you fist your cock, squirreled away in your tiny room in the house. The only time he allows you to pray to your god is when his name is right next to Jesus and God the father, asking them for forgiveness for your sinful thoughts while you rut your cock into the sheets and moan his name as quietly as you think you're able to get away with.

He's learned not to 'stumble' on you in such a state, humans and their privacy, you were stone cold like a nun for a month when he'd did that once, and he'd missed the sweet prayers you sing him late at night when you think he's not listening.

[jewellery-box]

Two aesthetic movement tea or maternity gowns, 1894-1898

One sienna silk faille Aesthetic movement tea gown with chemical lace faux bolero, velvet band collar, front panels and deep cuff, watteau inspired center back pleat, 1898; One blue silk satin maternity tea gown with raised chartreuse warp stripe and pleated chiffon overlay, collar and center front embroidered with jet beads in floral motifs, watteau inspired center back panel, 1894-1896. Deaccessioned by the Valentine Museum.

Augusta Auctions

[vizreef]

Maplin 5600S // Analogue Synthesizer (UK, 1979)

[fannyrosie]

Last weekend, @apple-salad invited me to her amazing Rococo Bouquet afternoon tea. Victorian Maiden released many versions and cuts of their Rococo Bouquet series over the years, and I own the Bustle Long Skirt (2011 edition) and the Mermaid skirt (2007 edition), both in blue flowers.

@apple-salad did an incredible job at hosting and preparing everything on the menu (she even handmade the bread for her sandwiches and the clotted cream, on top of the scones and cake). Thank you again for all the hard work!

My outfit in details and rundown HERE

[thegrandteapot]

Victorian Tea Party

photo by LionessLeesha

[my-darling-boy]

Sma’ Shots Cottages: Foreman’s house details

Paisley, Scotland

[tinydoly]