#but why women wore it for centuries

[a-room-of-my-own]

It's impossible to find a video about fashion history without an airhead who self-identifies as a fashion historian - because she LARPs on week-ends and owns a sewing machine - inserting a 5 minutes tirade in defense of corsets.

[zetsubobu]

hi!! May I ask ❌ for Percy?🌸

Of course!!

For percy the issue isn't the suit but rather the color since he prefers wearing muted colors (and green)

[marzipanandminutiae]

thinking about the infantiliztation and/or formalization of 19th-century women's clothing to modern audiences

like

our entire reference point for "wearing long skirts and outfits with decoration like lace, embroidery, appliques, etc." is either formalwear or fictional characters in children's media like Disney princesses. women's clothing is just so radically different now- not that those elements don't exist, but they're much less common in everyday clothing than they once were. some form of simple trousers and an equally simple top are de rigeur for everyday attire, and anything else is Fancy

combined with the fact- which is true! -that a lot of what survives to end up in big museums belonged to wealthy people, this ends up in wild assumptions like "basically our entire idea of what the Victorians dressed like is just Rich People Clothes really"

which has led to the eternal cry of "but what did NORMAL people wear?!?!?!" that will not be satisfied with real examples of middle or even working-class everyday clothing because it still looks too "fancy" to modern eyes

not Victorian, but a great example of this is what Abby Cox wore to portray a milliner (hatmaker) in Colonial Williamsburg. a working, middle-class woman:

(ignore the facial expression there)

this is the exact outfit she sported in a video that apparently got responses like "but that's just what rich women wore!" and it is, in fact, everyday attire for a working person. a person who worked in the fashion industry, it's true, but still

I had someone ask me about how to find examples of casual Victorian clothing because they were at their wits' end trying to research it. and I had to tell them that...what they were looking at WAS casual. in the sense of Clothing For Everyday Wear That's Not Especially Formal. there's nothing inherently formal, or exclusive to the wealthy, about a matched bodice-and-skirt dress, instep-length, with some trim. or even a trimmed blouse and skirt. obviously women working the absolute hardest outdoor, physical jobs might have adopted occupational trousers or similar, but we don't all dress like construction or farm workers all the time nowadays. why would they have back then?

Laundresses, probably 1850s or early 60s. Note that I can STILL date the picture based on their outfits and hair, and these are the furthest things from wealthy socialites.

Maid scrubbing steps, probably 1870s or 1880s. Note pleated trim on her skirt and what appears to be a peplum at the back of her bodice.

also, not all working women worked physical jobs any more than we do today. here is a teacher around the turn of the 20th century:

Teachers, 1887

"Breton Seamstresses," 1845, by Jules Trayer

were there differences in quality, type and quantity of trim, fit, etc? obviously. but some people are convinced that the basic outfit format can't POSSIBLY have been something ordinary women wore, because it looks formal and/or princess-y in a modern context

[jadwiga-abremovic]

The dumb, mildly fetishist "traditional wife" blogs like making posts about husbands choosing their clothes.

Throughout much of human history, WOMEN chose their husband's clothes, not the other way around.

Why? Usually, the women had made the clothes right down to weaving and colouring the fabric. Men wore the clothes their wives and mothers made for them, sewed for then, or even bought for them. They did that, and made damn sure to be happy about it, or they wore nothing at all.

That's why matching family sets of traditional folk costumes are a thing.

Never forget; he's not a ~trad husband ~, he's a loser that thinks the fucking stepford wives is a viable 21st century economic model and an accurate portrayal of history.

[acewritesfics]

The Clap | Tommy Shelby 

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader 

Request: No.

Warnings: Swearing. False accusations. People spreading rumours. For the sake of the fic there is some slight Lizzy bashing.

Word Count: 1,325

Tommy Shelby Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Tommy sat enraged as he watches Y/N sitting at a table in the centre of the restaurant, laughing and smiling while having dinner with a man he's never met before. He is having a dinner meeting with a potential ally in an up and coming business deal and couldn't afford for anything to go wrong. But through out the meal he couldn't take his eyes off Y/N. He hasn't seen her since before she left Small Heath a month ago. She looks absolutely beautiful in the royal blue silk and beaded dress she's wearing. It's the same dress she wore when he first took her to the races. It looked so good on her that he spent a majority of the day watching her instead of the horses.  

To say he is jealous of the man in her company would be the understatement of the century. He didn't often get jealous and when he did, he could hide it in his stoic expression and thinly veiled threats. But he couldn't deny his jealousy in this moment. He was jealous that it is no longer him sitting across from her, making her laugh and smile. He was jealous that it wouldn't be him taking her home tonight. 

Before he can stop himself, he's excusing himself from the table, ignoring the confused looks the potential ally was directing towards him, and walked over to the table Y/N was sat at with her date. Her look of shock didn't deter him either. "You don't want this one, mate." 

"Tommy!" she gasps, her eyes filled with confusion, anger and bewilderment.  

"And why's that?" the man replies standing up from his seat, not thinking about who he is standing up to. He's a good few inches taller than Tommy but the Shelby man isn't the slightest bit intimidated. He's dealt with taller and meaner looking blokes than Harold before.  

"She's beautiful to look at, but that's as far as it goes, trust me," Tommy's eyes dart towards her, taking in how beautiful she looks even when she looks like she's about to kill him, before looking back at the man in front of him. "Because she has the clap."  

Y/N's eyes grow wide with shock and rage as the patrons around them start to murmur to each other. Her cheeks heat up with embarrassment as angry tears build up in her eyes. 

"Fuck you, Thomas Shelby!" Y/N shouts at him and storms away from her date and the Peaky Blinder. She walks as hastily as she can away from the restaurant wanting to get as far away from Tommy and the embarrassment she is now feeling.  

But God wasn't on her side tonight because Tommy quickly caught up with the angry woman. "Y/N, wait!"  

"I've had enough of your shit, Thomas!" she growls as she continues walking, "I never want to see or speak to you again!" 

Tommy stops her by grabbing her arm and turning her to face him, his face remaining calm but she could see the agitation in his eyes. He wasn't going to let whatever was bothering him alone. She's going to hear about it, whether she wants to or not. 

"You end our relationship so you can go on dates with other men?" Tommy glares at his former love. 

She glares back, not believing what he was saying. This wasn't like Tommy at all. He's making a fool out of himself as people found what's going on between them more entertaining than what they were doing.  

"You're the one who ended our relationship when you went and fucked Lizzie Stark," she says smacking him in the chest with her handbag, when he wouldn't let go of her arm. "I told you Thomas, the one thing I won't tolerate is you fucking cheating on me!" 

Y/N was born to two parents who didn't love each other. They'd been forced to marry because of an unexpected pregnancy but neither of her parents wanted to end it officially. She watched many women as well as men come into her home as both parents had their fair share of affairs. Y/N didn't want to end up like them, she refused proposals from decent men because she was afraid of becoming her mother and marrying someone like her father. But from the moment she met Thomas Shelby, everything shifted. She fell head over heels for the intelligent and dashing but sometimes stupid Birmingham gangster. She opened up to him more than she did with anyone else. It was the same for him. The two found solace within each other as well as a peace that they never found before.  

And then it all ended a month ago, when she heard rumours that Tommy had spent a few hours in the company of the local whore, Lizzie Stark. When Y/N went to confront Lizzie, the tall woman gave her a triumphant look proud that she had come between Birmingham's most powerful couple. Unable to confront Tommy, her heart too shattered and broken, she went to stay with her sister out in the country for two weeks. It would have been longer but she longed to be back in Small Heath for reasons unknown to her, whether it was with or without Tommy. 

"I never fucked Lizzie fucking Stark!" Tommy yells at her after she manages to yank her arm out of his grip. "You are the only one who I have been with since we got together. I would never do that to you because I love you too much." 

"Then why is every body talking about it?" she yells back at him. "Now they're going to be talking about me having the fucking clap, thanks to you." 

"I'll let every body know it isn't true because it's not," he tells her. "You don't have the clap and I never slept with Lizzie. I went to ask her if she had a client by the name of Andrew Jenkins, that's all. I was with her no longer than a minute."  

She looks into his eyes, seeing no trace of a lie. Despite who he was, Tommy had never lied to her about his feelings or what he's done. "It's been a month, why didn't you say something?"  

"Because I'm a fool," he tells her. "and got inside me own head. Told myself this was your chance to find someone better, someone who doesn't have blood on his hands and someone who can bring you more happiness than heart ache." 

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Tommy. I shouldn't have listened to a bunch of rumours and believed Lizzie over you," She apologises. It was her fault they broke up. She should have faced Tommy instead of running away. "I should have stayed, spoken with you and listened." 

"I shouldn't have let you walk away," he begins to apologise also. "I am sorry for saying you have the clap, but I am not sorry for interrupting your dinner," he continues, moving his hands to her hips and pulling her close. "I'm a selfish man. I get what I want and what I want is you. It's always going to be you." 

"I only went on a date with him to shut my sister up," she admits. Her sister was happy when Y/N told her that her and Tommy were no longer together. She didn't wait a day before she was setting Y/N up with one of her friend's brothers. "All the dates I've been on have been to keep her quiet. They have taught me one thing, though." 

"Yeah? What's that, eh?" Tommy asks, cupping her face, his thumb stroking her cheek.  

"No other man could ever compare to you, Mr Shelby," she smiles softly looking into his intense blue eyes. 

"I'm one of a kind, love," he returns her smile, looking back into her eyes as he brings her into a kiss, expressing how much he loves her and missed her. 

[thelibraryghost]

A Young Person's Guide to 18th-Century Western Fashion

unabridged version at blogspot

General info Cox, Abby. "I Wore 18th-Century Clothing *Every Day for 5 YEARS & This Is What I Learned (Corsets Aren't Bad!)." YouTube. May 10, 2020. Cullen, Oriole. “Eighteenth-Century European Dress.” In Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2004. Glasscock, Jessica. "Eighteenth-Century Silhouette and Support." In Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2004. Accessories Banner, Bernadette. "Women's Pockets Weren't Always a Complete Disgrace | A Brief History: England, 15th c - 21st c." YouTube. April 10, 2021. Colonial Williamsburg. "#TradesTuesday: Men's Accessories." YouTube. June 13, 2021. Murden, Sarah. "The Georgian era fashion for straw hats." All Things Georgian. December 6, 2018. Cosmetics & hygiene Cox, Abby. "I Followed an 18th-Century Moisturizer & Sunscreen Recipe & it kinda worked??." YouTube. February 21, 2021. Cox, Abby. "We tried making *5* different 250 year old rouge (blush) recipes || [real] regencycore makeup." YouTube. August 29, 2021. JYF Museums. "Hygiene in the 18th Century | From the Farm to the Army." YouTube. August 21, 2021. Décor Heckscher, Morrison H. “American Rococo.” In Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2003. Munger, Jeffrey. “French Porcelain in the Eighteenth Century.” In Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2003. Formal wear SnappyDragon. "This dressing gown changed fashion forever : the feminist history of going out in loungewear." YouTube. April 15, 2022. Stowell, Lauren. "The Many Types of 18th Century Gowns." American Duchess. March 15, 2013. Zebrowska, Karolina. "Cottagecore Style Is Much Older Than You Think." YouTube. June 30, 2021. Hair care Cox, Abby. "I made 250-year-old Hair Products Using Original Recipes (and animal fat...)." YouTube. November 7, 2021. Cox, Abby. "I tried a 300-year-old hair care routine for a year & this is what I learned (it's awesome!)." YouTube. January 23, 2022. Cox, Abby. "What's the Deal with 18th Century Wigs? (and why Bridgerton really messed this up)." YouTube. June 1, 2023. Laundry Cox, Abby. "Making 300 Year Old SLIME for Laundry Day." YouTube. June 15, 2023. Townsends. "Historical Laundry Part 2: No Washing Machine, No Dryer, Hit It With A Stick?" YouTube. June 3, 2019. Outer- & working-wear JYF Museum. "Getting Dressed | Clothing for an 18th Century Middling Woman." YouTube. March 18, 2021. Major, Joanne. "The practicalities of wearing riding habits, and riding ‘en cavalier’." All Things Georgian. March 12, 2019. Rudolph, Nicole. "What did Pirates ACTUALLY Wear? Fashion at Sea in the 18th c & Our Flag Means Death Costumes." YouTube. May 8, 2022. Shoes Chin, Cynthia E. "Martha Washington's Shoes." George Washington's Mount Vernon. No date. Murden, Sarah. "18th-century shoes." All Things Georgian. December 15, 2015. Rudolph, Nicole. "Real 18th century Shoes? Historical Shoemaker Examines an Antique." YouTube. December 13, 2020. Textiles Cox, Abby. "18th Century Printed Cotton Do's & Don't's." American Duchess. December 23, 2019. Stowell, Lauren. "Fabrics for the 18th Century and Beyond." American Duchess. June 14, 2021. Townsends. "Oil Cloth - Waterproof Coverings for Your Campsite." YouTube. July 30, 2018. Undergarments Major, Joanne. "Quilted Petticoats: worn by all women and useful in more ways than one." All Things Georgian. November 20, 2018. Rudolph, Nicole. "Making 18th century Stays for the Ideal Body Shape : Historical Undergarments." YouTube. August 12, 2023. SnappyDragon. "RUMP ROAST : Ranking historical fashion's wildest fake butt pads." YouTube. October 27, 2023. Townsends. "Sewing Histories' Most Popular Garment - The Fabric Of History - Townsends." YouTube. September 3, 2022.

[firstservepercentage]

Carlos and Coco seem to be wearing a ming/qing inpired hanfu pattern? But in a very modern "stylization".

okay imma nerd out about chinese traditional clothing a bit (a lot)

so here they are both wearing mid-late Ming dynasty (roughly mid 15th century - mid 16th century)style traditional Chinese clothing. in this period the economy was good so everyone were wearing pretty cloths with fancy patterns (in a lot of the times peasants were not allowed to wear bright colours and complex patterns), and the clothes and their sleeves were quite long and wide.

Carlos here is wearing a Ming dynasty style round collar robe （明制圆领袍）and I am quite sure that this one is of the mid-late Ming period because there are added pieces of cloth to hem of the robe which started to exist in mid-ming. also they managed to cover up his pants and made the whole thing look a lot more proper lol 😭 and carlos' robe has dragon patterning, which would be extremely bold of him if he wore that in early ming (in that period of time only the emperor or very important members of the government could wear clothes wth dragon patterns) but in mid-late Ming the economy was good everyone were quite happy so people didnt really care anymore. But! looking at the cloth and the pattern design and print the maker of this particular robe probably did not think that much about it because this one is probably from the average try-on-some-tradtional-clothes type of stuff at tourist attractions, and would cost around 300CNY if you want to buy one. The better quality ones can easily go 2000+CNY.

Coco here is wearing a stand-up collar side opening short coat （竖领大襟短袄）. yes there is actually a stand-up collar, but this type of collar is usually super tight and shes taller and more muscular than the average asian women so no wonder why she wasnt able to buckle the buttons up😭 this type of collar stated to become popular around mid ming dynasty too. she is also wearing a horse face skirt （马面裙）, which is essentially a really large piece of cloth (its actually two pieces sewed together but anyways) with a lot of pleats but three of them are super wide, and you wear it by wrapping it around your waist with the wide pleats at the front and the back of your body. its the standard lower body clothing for women through out the Ming dynasty, and were also quite popular in the Qing dynasty too. on a side note this thing is actually super comfy and easy to move around in, i some times wear mine on a normal day with a shirt or a sweater or any top and they go together quite well

to explain the two pieces sewed together part ⬇️

and im getting a bit unnecessarily emo over this because when rafa and jcf and moya did that very similar photo shoot in 2005 they were wearing very historically incorrect costumes because knowledge about traditional clothings of the Han ethnic group (ie the majority of chinese people) was largely lost because of several historical events and also people genuinely didnt care. from around 2010 people started to recover knowledge about our traditional clothing again and it started with a very niche group of people (including me) making, buying and wearing very poorly made, quite ugly and historically incorrect clothes lol😭😭😭 so its quite nice to see even though they just pulled out several pieces form the average try-on-some-tradtional-clothes at tourist sites type of collections, these pieces are more or less based on actual historical clothing (tbh the patternings are still kind of sus but its still a huge step forward 😌)

[bbgliker-teehee]

(I actually sent this before, but something went wrong with my Internet, and I'm not sure if you received it, so I'm trying this again. Warning: long rant... again and possible grammar mistakes)

This... is starting to get concerning. Like seriously, what's up with Viv and her obsession with top hats? Almost all male characters wear a top hat: Lucifer, Husk, Sir Pentious, Vox, Valentino, Asmodeus, Stolas, Zestiel, GOD!?!?(I think?🤔) and now the hotel itself. 🤣 Am I missing someone? I'm sure I'm forgetting someone. And what's even more frustrating is that some of them wearing top hats don't make any sense. Lucifer is an easy example. He wore his top hat BEFORE HUMANITY WAS EVEN A THING!!!! We saw that at the beginning of episode 1. Like, WHAT? And don't get me started on Zestiel. Now, we don't know when he died exactly, but we can tell from what period he is by the way he speaks (and the fact that he is the oldest overlord right now also helps, kinda).

Early Modern English is the stage of the English language from the beginning of the Tudor period to the English Interregnum and Restoration, or from the transition from Middle English, in the late 15th century, to the transition to Modern English, in the mid-to-late 17th century. (From Wikipedia)

This man spider-man doesn't look that he lived in any part of the Tudor period. Seriously, what was going through Vivzipop's head when she designed her characters? And if she likes top hats so much, why hasn't she made a female wearing a top hat? I mean, look at those women:

THEY LOOK AMAZING 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

Lovesart23 in YouTube explains the situation with the character designs and fashion a lot better. Watch them if you haven't already 😉

The reason I really like Lovesart23 is because they actually do research!!!

And yeah...we NEED women in top hats!!!!!

[pumpumdemsugah]

" you guys forget women wore corsets for many centuries" Most women aren't white European or have significant or any European heritage to make corsets historically relevant and the average woman in history wore nothing to support her breasts if they covered them at all.

This overcorrection wrt corsets physically inactive white American women have is embarrassing. Get a different hobby. All this because they think something looks nice so they need to pretend it's a panacea. How are you going to tell somebody about how it feels to do something in their own body ? Women don't need to use their spine now ??? The stupidity around the corset has reached a point I really saw people scolding a professional ballerina for saying the worst part of getting a new tutu is the corset is tight, restrictive and uncomfortable so she shows herself running around to make it work. How are you lecturing someone whose job it is to use their body because a YouTuber told you corsets are the best thing ever ? Actual losers

Not being able to mobilise your spine is restrictive and just because you can work around this doesn't make it adequate, ideal or recommended. We have better options. How is a woman being unable to use the full range of a movement not a feminist issue ? Especially for fashion. How is encouraging more consumerism good? You can learn to lift correctly without buying a corset. You don't need a corset to gain any of the "benefits" these idiots push

Corsets can make your core muscles weak, for most people the best solution for back pain is to get stronger, not a corset. Everyday women come on social media and make themselves look stupid because men don't like something so now they're overcompensating and every other woman needs to act dumb with them

What level of parasocial brainrot do some women have wrt corset YouTubers because why this hill? She looks ridiculous bending over like this because the corset is restricting her movement

[aquarelliwrites]

Go For Broke, Chapter 1: First Loser, Second Loser

the Monaco 2022 Grand Prix weekend retold. // series masterlist

Picture the Monaco riviera on a Thursday morning. Mechanics buzzing around cars and stacks of tyres, reporters and photographers streaming in through the gates, and a Ferrari driver sitting squeezed between the pit wall monitors and the wall on the second story of her garage. A thick pane of glass muffling the chatter and racket growing louder by the minute.

Away from the overwhelming sea of rich tourists, camera lenses and microphones, sleep clawed at the edges of her vision and the cobwebbed peripheral hallways of her mind. The iced coffee and half-eaten pastry on the floor next to her weren’t doing a good job of holding it back on their own.

A long, quiet stanza shattered with the note of a simple “Ciao.” 

“Fuck!” Her hand came up sharply - to punch her teammate in the face, or rest over her heart to calm it? She couldn’t know.

“Wouldn’t have pinned you for fight, puzzone. You seem more like a flight type of person.” He - Charles - laughed, fiddling with the vlog camera in his right hand. “Good morning, by the way.”

“Good morning, my ass. Gave me the scare of my life just now.”

The liar grinned. “I’m terribly sorry.”

“Sure. What are you doing up here, anyway?” Giving the floor right next to her a little pat, she prompted him to sit down and join her behind the wall of computers. It’s not like anyone was there to tell them they were in the way.

“I’m recording a behind-the-scenes vlog this weekend. This seemed like a good place to get some aerial footage, but I was going to go up to the terrace as well, to see which was better.” His answer was enthusiastic, and she smiled and nodded as he continued to talk about his camera specs and when the lighting on track should be the best. Alas, it didn’t distract him as well as she’d hoped. “Why are you sleeping up here?”

“I couldn’t sleep very well last night.” Understatement of the century. The heels of her palms rubbed her eyes in a vague attempt to somehow rectify an entire night’s worth of tossing and turning.

“How come?” Finally setting his camera down, he glanced back at her. “Oh, you smudged your, um..”

“Eye pencil? Of course I did.” With a sigh too deep to be indicating exclusively frustration over her messed-up makeup, she swiped whatever smudges she could from her under eyes. “I don’t know. At first, everything was too loud. Then it got too quiet, so I had to put on music. Then it was too hot, then too cold. I think I also spent a while staring at the ceiling.” And crying. That part went unsaid, though. “I’m just a bit nervous about the weekend, I think.” 

Did she say ‘understatement of the century’ earlier? She was fairly sure this beat the record. It was a miracle she'd managed to keep down the few bites she did.

He grimaced slightly, extended his hand to hold hers, gave it a slight squeeze even. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ll do well.”

“No worries. Not your fault, monello.”

A smile reappeared on his face at the childish nickname. “Come on, you’re the only one of us who actually likes media day.”

“Yeah, I guess.” She managed a small smile. Now that she was distracted, he managed to swipe the rest of her pastry - not without earning a slap to the wrist in the process.

“Hey!”

“You weren’t eating it!” He yells in complete defense of his actions. Had she been actually hungry, she might have killed him then and there. 

“It’s fine. I was done with it.”

Media didn't suck as much as she expected it to. Not that it usually did.

There were the ever-present questions, of course. It was a mental checklist, maybe bingo card, every week: 

Are she and Charles dating? (No.)

How does it feel to be the first woman in Formula 1 since Lella Lombardi to score points? (Good, but there should have been women before her.)

Which brands of haircare or skincare did she use? (Lots, but what did it matter when she wore a helmet most of the time?)

Does she feel like she can keep up with the rest of the grid? (This one usually just received a blank stare until the interviewer got too uncomfortable to wait for an answer.)

Was it sad that she got excited to actually talk about the car she'd be driving? Incredibly.

The rest of the interviews were crammed full of hopes that Charles would finally do well, that the team would do well as a whole, that- well, you get the point.

Minutes later, the photographers that managed to walk out first got treated to a great shot of supposedly sworn enemies - two Ferrari drivers and two Red Bull Racing drivers - standing near the exit of the media pen and watching reporters file out.

Chatting with Sergio - Checo, she and everybody else called him - was the best way to spend the, seemingly, geological eon Charles and Max took to debrief each other about… well, about everything. Those guys didn't talk all that much outside of the paddock, and they were practically neighbors. It's weird.

She always found Checo more approachable, anyway. Whenever she even walked past his Dutch teammate, she could practically feel his icy gaze shooting daggers through her. If looks could kill, she'd have died a hundred times over.

Not that she didn't return the glares - she found it quite enjoyable to produce a staring contest out of thin air, and it would usually end up with him looking away, the slightest of unnoticed blushes settling upon the tips of his ears.

Today, Checo had a delightful surprise - a guy on Twitter doing imitations of F1-related personalities. She laughed along at the stuttering blunders of Will Buxton and the monotone accented voice resembling Checo's uncannily, and even the one of Max struggling to open a can of Red Bull and swearing profusely upon receiving radio instructions, but what really got her to look aghast was the next impression. Of her.

“Come on, that's no girl voice!” She was sure they were attracting attention with their laughter, since their teammates both looked over in confusion. “He sounds like he inhaled helium!”

“No, no, he sounds correct to me.” Checo faux-wiped a tear from his eye.

“It absolutely does not!”

“Here, Charles, Max, take a look at this.” They complied - and unfortunately, did not agree with her.

“I don't know, that pretty much sounds like you. Whenever I hear you speak it's like a caffeinated chipmunk squeaking at me all angrily.” Max laughed, and she felt blood rush up to her face, embarrassment and anger mixing dangerously.

“I don't know, Verstappen, you not being able to open a can of Red Bull on your own also seemed fairly accurate.” Her sweet tone did nothing to disguise the way the words dripped with acid. He grimaced like they actually burned.

“Sorry, schat, my mistake. Truly, will you ever forgive me?” He turned away - to speak with her teammate once more. 

The guy was fucking insufferable. And the nicknames he gave her only fueled a desire to crush him out on the track. What the hell did schat even mean?

Charles squinted behind his sunglasses. “What in the fresh hell are they doing?” 

A long, obnoxiously loud slurp identical to that of a nearly empty plastic cup that used to store iced coffee sounded off from next to him. “Will you stop that?” He huffed a laugh.

“Stop what?” The second slurp managed to sound more ear-grating than the first. He wasn't sure how that was possible.

“Just… look over there, right?”

The pair stood on the third-story terrace of the Ferrari garage - a feature unique to the Monaco race - and stared out into the harbor. The Red Bull Energy Station was a raft, and it was huge, so the commotion near their swimming pool was easily visible to anyone higher than the second floor.

“That's Max and Checo, Charles.”

“No, idiot, I know that. Look at what they're doing.” He gestured, exasperated, so she cocked a hip and leaned forward over the railing to get a better look.

“They're putting rubber ducks in the pool. Or just a bunch of…” she squinted as well, “tiny yellow blobs. I’m guessing ducks, though?”

“I'm at a loss for words.”

“Charles, you are so dramatic. They just had me blindfold you to drive a sim lap in Imola a couple of weeks ago.”

“That's different.”

“We've done shit more insane than releasing a couple dozen yellow duckies into a pool.”

“Okay, and?

They observe as Max seems to… fish one out of water? A couple of moments later, he's speaking to someone on the phone, and Checo looks like he'll burst if he doesn't let go of his laughter.

“This has to be for the YouTube channel, right?” She half-turned to him to see the confusion and disbelief visible all over his face.

“Definitely. Max wouldn't agree to do that if it wasn't some sort of PR.”

“Okay, loverboy.” His encyclopedic knowledge of Max would annoy her to death if she didn't know every fact she could dig up about him. Some would call it obsessive - she'd just explain it as studying her rival's weaknesses. 

“What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Okay, see, he just looks like he's crying again!” Charles’ voice raised a little.

“I don't understand why you're so worked up over this.” It was his turn to observe his teammate's nonchalant, if a little curious, exterior.

“You're- ugh. Whatever. Now he's just calling someone again.”

“Oh, to be a fly on that deck. I'd kill to know what Checo was laughing at.” With a final slurp, she rediscovered one last sip of her drink that had missed her entirely.

“Ooh, be careful.” His voice was laced with a teasing undertone behind her.

She shot Charles a confused look.

It's Friday now, and all their successful data gathering in both practice sessions earned them the privilege - she'd beg to differ - of an ice bath. She's tried and failed to kick, scream, and claw her way out of them (metaphorically, of course) before.

It was, however, a relief to finally get to take her hoodie off. It had been sensible clothing mere hours earlier, but it was positively stifling then. She let out a dramatic gasp at the freedom of weather-appropriate attire.

“What do you mean?”

“Getting changed? In front of everyone? What will the media think?” His voice was nothing but crystal clear sarcasm, with his face distorted in an expression of faux disapproval. “Scandalous. I thought I taught you better.”

A puzzled laugh escaped her. “Wh-? Why the hell are you shaking your head at me? I have a top on.” She gestured to the, realistically, fairly modest swimsuit top on herself.

“Did you even think of the poor engineers who will be so distracted from working on our cars?” 

The level of this man's theatricality was show-stopping and infuriating simultaneously. “Charles. Darling.”

“Hm?”

“You were literally flashing your tits to, oh, I don't know, about… what, half the paddock? And thousands of SkyTV viewers? Like, ten minutes ago?”

“What? Me? I could never.” He even did a pearl-clutching motion at the very implication. She rolled her eyes.

“You are literally wearing less clothing than me right now. Like, if you turn around, you'll count approximately… two dozen Paddock Club girls drooling over your biceps as we speak.”

“No… Well, touché. They want us in the tubs now, though.”

“That's- yes, why else did you think I was undressing?”

“You can never know with you.”

She rolled up the towel in her hand in order to smack him as hard as she could, but he only laughed. “Prick.”

The ice bath was terrible. Awful. She wished she could be poetic and compare it to a breath of winter's night, or a fireless hearth - that would not do it justice. Plunging into the tub was the ninth circle of hell, with Dante and Virgil observing her slow and painful eternal fate.

The media people were having a field day with Charles. She didn't know how he managed to keep his composure enough to let them film thirst traps.

“Fuck me, this is miserable.” Her teeth were chattering so hard that she thought her lower jaw would soon start creaking on its hinges from the motion. She watched the goosebumps blooming all over her thighs and arms. And Charles was fucking laughing, the bastard.

“Mon dieu, I don't know what I did to wrong you,” she uttered through gritted teeth towards the sky, “but I swear never to do it again.”

The sky, of course, didn't respond. Her teammate thought it was a good time to pipe up, though.

“You took me out two years ago, in Alfa Romeo. This is karma.”

Her head snapped towards him, if only to lower her sunglasses and glare at him over the tops of the frames. He didn't bother looking up from checking his fingernails.

“That wasn't even my fault- Fuck, this is so cold.”

When the Ferrari social media girl let her know she'd start filming her then, the only thing she could do is nod curtly, jaw clenched.

“How are you feeling after FP1 and FP2?”

“Very… very positive about the weekend.” If nothing else, every single muscle in her body seizing at the freezing water might finally be the thing to give her better abs.

“And how are you feeling?”

“What, right now?” The girl nodded. “Arguably worse than before I got in. I'll be loving it when I get out in- when can I get out?” 

The small gaggle of Ferrari employees around her laughed. “Oh, yes, hilarious, I bet.” 

“Ah, you're being dramatic now. It's not a duck's cold.” His badly translated French idiom forced a small smile onto her face. Both of them being multilingual more often than not meant one of them being stared at in confusion over a poor choice of words that got mistranslated on its way over their tongue. 

“I'm just saying, it's a perfectly pleasant and sunny day. I don't understand what need there was for a plastic tub colder than a Siberian lake?”

An ice cube hit her head. Her glare only made Charles smile sweetly.

“If I wasn't under threat of all of Monaco skinning me alive at any harm done to you, I'd throttle you right now.”

He blew her a kiss. Bitch.

Champagne bubbled past her lips on the second step that Sunday. It was a Red Bull 1-3, with an incredibly disappointed Charles down in P4. She only managed to spot his melancholic expression down in the crowd of navy and red when the Mexican anthem was playing its last notes. 

The race was a spectacle by Monaco standards - an incredible 21 overtakes and a fight for P2 for the entire duration. She had barely managed to drag the Ferrari over the finish line on mediums so torn up, they might have punctured on the following lap. Really, she was just counting her lucky stars.

She blinked rapidly, wiping alcohol from her eyes. Or was it still sweat from the race? Taking a long drag from the bottle seemed to cool her down enough. Checo was chatting with Max, both of them soaked just like her. She was delighted at his win, and happier more when she realized she beat Max. A smile grew on her face uncontrollably at the thought of the way she practically skipped past the third step and straight into second place - his eyes burning holes in the side of her head the entire time. If looks could kill, they’d be cleaning her dead body off the floor before any trophies could even be handed out.

Had she glared back at him, he’d have turned his head abruptly to avoid notice.

To be entirely honest, she wasn’t even sure when a rivalry between them began to form. They never karted together - maybe she only saw him a couple of times when she was very young and he was in a category above hers. While he had skipped F2 altogether and left Charles his F3 seat, she was still fighting through regional F4 championships. When she was in Alfa Romeo with Kimi in 2020, he was already winning with Red Bull.

Maybe she had grown tired of the news of his wins; or he had had it with her successfully playing the media darling; or both of them started growing abrasive every time the other flaunted a better result as proudly as a championship win.

To put it shortly: If the two of them were involved, it tended to be tense.

Flashing Max a proud and mocking grin from behind Checo’s back only resulted in a scoff and a roll of his eyes. Or at least she guessed - the champagne stuck to her lashes made her vision a kaleidoscope a little more than she would’ve liked.

After they had their picture taken, she gathered her trophy against her hip and the open bottle limply in her other hand. Had she walked off the podium any faster than she did, she wouldn’t have caught his muttering.

“You always have to one-up everyone, huh?”

“Not everyone.” She smiled, sweetly. “Just you.”

“Aw, I’m honored.” He spoke in a tone that was anything but honored. “You only try so hard to keep up with me, schat?” Again with the ridiculous nickname. Was he calling her shit?

“In your dreams, Verstappen. S’not my fault I’m just so naturally talented, and you’re… you. You know?” Anyone who heard her dry reply might have doubted she even believed the praise she threw at herself. Except Max.

“Was it natural talent when-”

“Alright, children, enough.” Checo’s arms came around both of their shoulders as he led them off the podium. “Kid, do you want to come to the energy station- Max, don’t look at me like that- do you want to come watch the pool dive? Horner said he might wear a… what’s it called? The swimming underwear?”

“Um, Speedos?”

“Yes!” The snap of his fingers rang behind her right ear. “A Union Jack Speedo.” 

“That’s… supposed to be enticing?”

He shrugged, letting go of both of them now that the trio was away from cameras. Max left immediately. “Invite Charles. I’ll see if I can get any other drivers to come.”

“Me and Charles? I thought we were practically Public Enemies #1 and #2 over there?”

“Ah, well… yes. Maybe don’t come in red.”

“Incredibly helpful as always, Checo.”

Raising his pointer finger at her, he looked more like a dad than ever before. “Don’t give me that tone.” He received only a sly grin and an eyeroll.

“Any plans for tonight?”

“You’ll see it in the groupchat.”

The Red Bull Energy Station ended up looking more like a millionaire’s- no, billionaire’s college pool party that afternoon, with more and more people filtering in by the minute.

In a show of solidarity towards her teammate, she had stolen the P2 champagne for him and herself to share in a walk around the marina. Already, they observed yacht owners getting ready for the afterparty of the year all around them.

“You look surprisingly somber.” He said after a long silence. 

She simply took a long swig of lukewarm alcohol to avoid answering.

“Are you-” He stopped. Hesitated. “Is- Um, how are you doing?”

“Good.” A response typical for someone who most definitely was not good. “Very good.”

“Are you su-”

“Y’know, I’m very excited for tonight. I don’t get to party it up in Monaco much.” Cutting him off looked to be the best option right then. “Last year was more chill.”

“...Yes, we went for a picnic up to that viewpoint with Charlotte and… who were you dating then?”

“Oh, Antonio? I wasn’t serious with him.”

“Oh?” He gratefully took the bottle when she offered it. “I thought you were.”

“It’s hard to be. You of all people should know how the media reacts to our relationships.” Among other things.

Having not even realized it, they were now standing before the Red Bull hospitality - if that was a correct term for the frat raft it appeared to be.

“Shall we?” He said. She swallowed.

“Might as well.”

To be fair, the deck was comfortable. And loud. Incredibly loud. They were offered Red Bulls - which they accepted, as they weren’t, y’know, animals. In a few minutes, she found herself sitting on the railing to get a better look over everybody else’s heads, while he leaned against it right next to her. 

And to her mixed disappointment and relief, Christian Horner did not wear a Union Jack Speedo while jumping into the pool. He didn’t even jump - Max shoved him in after Checo.

The little party went on for a little while, but her social battery was dying and relying on Charles’ charms didn’t work as well as she’d hoped. When she announced her decision to leave to him, he agreed quickly, still carrying her souvenir bottle for her.

Unfortunately for them, nobody else had. The crowd was still there, much like a great number of immovable concrete walls, and they struggled to make their way to the stairs. Charles, being a bit taller and more broad-shouldered, went first in an attempt to push his way through. She, however, got separated fairly easily and had little control in being accidentally herded to the pool’s edge like cattle.

“Hey, wait-” Someone she had no time to see collided with her, sending her right into the water.

Or they would have, if her arm wasn’t abruptly grabbed by the most irritating, bothersome individual who she could have possibly crossed paths with at that moment.

He had an annoyed look in his eyes. “Watch it.”

“...Thank you.” It was painful for her dignity to say while he pulled her back to a standing position. Not waiting for a response, she hurried after Charles.

And left Max standing alone in the crowd. 

NOTE: Honestly, I'm not that happy with this but I am glad that I finally got it out. Slightly anticlimatic for a first chapter? Yeah, nothing I can do about that now. Also this wasn't beta read, sorry for the mistakes you were forced to endure lol

TAGLIST: @falk0r3

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[n3ptoonz]

WOULD U BE DOWN TO WRITE BI-HAN IN AN ARRANGED MARRIAGE WITH THE DAUGHTER OF A GRANDMASTER FROM ANOTHER CLAN?

absolutely not are you cra- gunshots

'That Can Be Arranged'

Pairing: Bi Han/F!Reader

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 1 (2023)

Warnings/tags: None, angst if you squint, Bi Han sucks at feelings but it's all good, reader has an older brother, reader's father is a cryomancer, reader got jokes, Bi Han in love, sphinx has to stop writing after midnight, 3/4 proofread might be some typos in this mf

Word count: 2.5k+

Bi Han was to accept an arranged marriage to bring peace to the centuries long clan war between the Lin Kuei and your clan; both have Grandmasters that wield the power of cryomancy. Overwhelmed with stress and self doubt, he snuck away to his favorite place to train and meditate and has been going there ever since before time ran out.

You were to be the one to get married in order to bring peace to the two clans. You didn't even know the name of the enemy clan due to your father favoring your older brother more your whole life. Overwhelmed with stress and being fed up with both of them constantly in your ear, you snuck out to wander around and see what or who you could find.

You were the rebel between you and your brother. There's no surprise he's favored more, but it's mostly because he's older and has to carry on the title once your father passes. You kept questioning your father, asking why not just find him a wife? And it was always the same old "but war" "but this" "but that", and tried to instill you with fake confidence to believe you were the only way peace could be achieved.

It was a beautiful night with clear skies and shining stars. The world was quiet. The more you walked through the woods, the more you appreciated the outside before you had to be bound to the enemy clan's temple. You stopped in your tracks at the sound of what sounded like someone exercising. There were grunts and shouts only a fighter would have between each move. You quietly got closer, peeking behind a tree to see a tall, handsome man with a defined body under the traditional fighting attire he wore.

You just sat and watched him channel his energy into his punches and kicks. The way his muscles tensed when he wasn't getting a move right was fascinating. You were always sheltered since childhood, so finding another person on without your father's influence was the absolute highlight of your night.

He stopped for a moment, standing straight up and looking in your direction. He saw your shadow move right as you hid behind the tree.

"Can I help you?" he said. His voice was deep and raspy, and he asked that question like you just bothered him. He figured you weren't initially a threat due to the fact that he's usually just attacked by his enemies, while you hid. Also he could see a bit of your flared sleeve.

You peeked from behind the tree before fully stepping out, a sheepish smile on your face.

"Didn't mean to interrupt, I was just admiring the view. Looks like you could use a sparring partner."

You saw his brows furrow at your suggestion. Just who did you think you were? Thinking you could take on the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei?!

"I am not some entertainment for you to watch. And I don't 'spar' with women-"

"-who could whoop your ass? I wouldn't either." you cut him off mid sentence and crossed your arms with a smirk. The only person you've ever sparred with was your brother, otherwise with one guard that you've been close with since a kid. So to take on an outsider was like a rush.

Whatever you were doing worked, cause now he was offended and wanted to put your pride in check.

"Alright," he said, taking a small weapon out his shirt when you put a hand up to decline. You took out your own blade and flipped it in between your fingers.

"May the best one win."

-

You two had been meeting up and sparring for about three weeks now, and with every encounter, you both had just talked more and more about yourselves. You talked about your life as a daughter of a stubborn father who favored your brother all your life, while Bi Han talked about his rift with his brother and the stresses of filling in his late father's position as head of his clan. Neither of you really thought to reveal your roles in your clans, afraid the other would be put off.

"I get married off next month." you said bluntly after you sat in silence. You both had been sitting together and stargazing in the grass. Honestly, you never thought he'd be down for something like this, but you certainly weren't going to complain. "So...I won't be able to come here anymore. I am to prepare to be bound to the enemy's temple and probably bear his children. Ugh, it's probably some old fuck--who I won't be fucking."

Bi Han wore a slight bit of a smile at how crass you were. You laughed it off, but you were dead serious. You looked over at him already looking at the side of your face.

"How our fates aligned like this, I am getting married tomorrow. Also an arranged marriage. I guess we both won't be coming out here anymore." he said, his voice slightly disappointed as he turned his eyes back to the sky.

"Really? I thought the men were still able to do as they please. It's what my brother says."

"He's not entirely wrong, but I am not that kind of man. I wouldn't be that kind of husband. Even though I don't know this woman and I don't know how long it'll be before I actually love her, I would still respect her in some way."

You could tell he was genuine in his response. He couldn't even look you in the eyes upon saying what he really felt. When you first met, he was cold but an odd hint of welcoming, even if you did come off as immature. He didn't want to admit it to you, but he was slowly falling for you. It was wrong, as he's literally about to get married to somebody else, but it's what his heart says.

"Wow..." you muttered, unable to stop looking at him even though he was focused on the stars. "Didn't think you'd be into that sort of thing."

"Marriage?"

"Love."

He looked down at the ground, resting his elbows on his elevated knees and sighing. "I may be cold and reserved, but I am also human. How I choose to express affection is usually the problem. It's why I don't focus on things like that."

You then looked up at the stars, fidgeting with your hands before speaking.

"...Is it wrong to fall in love before an arranged marriage?"

Bi Han's head raised, but he still didn't look at you. He then stood up and dusted off his clothes, choosing not to acknowledge your question.

"It's getting late."

Your heart sank a little as he said that, going back to his cold demeanor. You wanted to apologize if you made him uncomfortable, but like he said, he didn't focus on things like that. You just nodded stood next to him, extending your hand as a farewell.

"This is goodbye." you said, fighting back the urge to shed a single tear. These last three weeks had been the best time of your life, and it was all to dissipate all over again. As he looked at your hand, knowing this was a farewell, he too wanted to shed a tear. He just couldn't do it. He can't shake your hand. He's too afraid he'll end up vulnerable in front of someone he's only known for three weeks, and he hasn't cried since he was a child.

"You should get home." he promptly said, walking past you as he gathered his things and left. Feeling the wind hit the side of your face from how fast he took off made you want to sob and throw a fit. How could he be like this? Ah...remember, he just doesn't focus on things like this. You stood there as your hand just fell to your side, holding back a flood of tears that could flow at any moment.

After five seconds had passed, you turned around just to see that...he was gone.

-

"What?!" you exclaimed. It was 9 in the fucking morning and your father just let you know out of the blue that you were actually getting married today. You stood in his office now fully awake in your sleep attire and angry. Why would he decide now to tell you such a thing? Your brother tried to make sense of it while you just ignored him.

"Father, I am not ready!"

"Sure you are. It's just a 3 week difference, why are you so worked up at this hour?" he sat back in his chair so casually as your brother stood next to him. You got so worked up you stormed towards the door and knocked over some important looking books on a shelf.

"I'm running away!" you shouted, slamming the door behind you. This was beyond belief. He really loved keeping you out of the loop. Right before you were on your way, you saw a pair of gauntlets that your father was going to give to your brother...and they grant the power of cryomancy. Hell, what do you have to lose?

Unfortunately, the guards kept getting to you before you could escape a few times, locking you in your room until it was time. For a few hours all you could do was throw a tantrum and emptily threaten the guards lives.

Eventually, there came a knock at your door. You didn't answer, just sitting in the corner of your room with your face buried in your pillow. It was the same guard you grew up with. You thought aw damn, you couldn't lash out at him.

He simply offered you words of comfort and sat on the edge of your bed, letting you know your father wants you to be ready in 15 minutes. He even offered to help you pick your best outfit.

A long 15 minutes later, you cleaned yourself up and made yourself look presentable. Though, you still stepped out of your room with a scowl, glaring at the guards that were on standby. You slyly hid the braces under your flared sleeves. If you needed to use it, you wouldn't hesitate to. Who cares if you weren't trained to use them? You'll figure it out.

"You look lovely, miss. I know you don't think you're ready, but I trust that the Grandmaster didn't choose someone twice your age. Your mother was actually younger than him by 2 years, if that helps." he said, trying to cheer you up. The corner of your mouth lifted into a half smile, appreciating his efforts.

You escorted yourself to sit with your father and brother before the gates that opened up to the temple. The usual traditional practice had started, and you looked the most uninterested among the rest--even resting your head into your palm.

It was a rather nice day. How convenient that it wasn't snowing to all hell on a day you were pissed off.

The gates finally opened, and here came your supposed future husband. You rolled your eyes and looked away for a moment. As you refused to look at the man walking up to the throne, your father stood up and greeted him.

"Bi Han, Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei. My now...former rival. I welcome you to our temple."

You froze in place. Did- Did you hear him right?

"Excuse my daughter, she is a little shy. I offer her to you as a gift of peace. We mustn't fight any longer, two cryomancy clans should stick together, not separate."

As your father rambled, you slowly looked over at the man. It was...really Bi Han. He is the man you were arranged to marry...and you were the woman he was arranged to marry today. No wonder your marriage was pushed back.

You quickly stood up and just stared at him. As his eyes fixed onto you, his gaze went from a slight shock to softening. He couldn't believe it himself. It was really you. He was arranged to marry the same woman he fell in love with in a span of 21 days.

"...but, to make this interesting, what do you say to a duel? You and my eldest son, for my daughter's hand?"

It's like you got water splashed into your face after a dream sequence. Did you hear him correctly? A duel?!

Your brother was the fiercest fighter you knew. You never could stand sparring or generally physically fighting him, he would always go low when he thought he was going to lose. Just what is he going to do with a cold Grandmaster who usually only has regard for himself?

"Seriously? For my hand? That's unnecessary, it was neither of our choi-"

"I accept."

Your eyes snapped to Bi Han, whose look of determination was back onto his face.

'I will not lose' he thought, chanting over and over in his head. He will earn your hand to prove he's worthy, even though he didn't need to. He couldn't lose this fight or you.

"Splendid. May the best one win." your father said, sitting back down and gesturing for you to follow. But you just stood there in awe. He was actually doing this.

"Sweetheart, I know you're excited, but let's sit for this. Who knows how long this'll go on for?" he motioned for a guard to push your chair in behind your knees. You decide to comply, truly curious as well.

It's been an hour. Both parties evenly matched and no telling who had the upper hand. However, you watched your brother with close attention. He hadn't done anything suspicious just yet...

...Spoke too soon.

As soon as Bi Han was gaining on him, he pulled a hidden weapon from his pocket, slicing Bi Han's cheek. You just sunk into your chair, in utter disbelief at the sight.

He did another sequence of dirty moves, and the next one was bound to be fatal. You knew this because he has already told you before, this wasn't going to end well for either side. At the next slash before his big move, you got up in fit of rage and used the braces to create a large wall between them two made completely of ice.

"Must you be so damn cowardice?!" you yelled. You turned to your father who had a look of pure confusion. "You raised a fool. And it wasn't me."

You ran down the stairs and over to Bi Han, who had a bunch of cuts on his face and arms.

"Are you alright?" you kneeled in front of him, who was on the ground in pain, but didn't want to make a big deal about it. He looked up at you with such love and respect in his eyes.

"I'm in love with you." he said, shocked at how blunt he was with his own feelings, but he didn't care.

"Thought you'd say that." you smiled. Standing up and looking through the ice, you helped him stand and held his face, mindful of the cuts splayed across his cheek and nose bridge.

"I do. You do. Boom, we're married." you said, kissing him without an ounce shame. Once you heard the clamoring on the other side of the wall, you quickly backed away and took his hand to make a run for it out of the gates. Now this, was now the most fun you've ever had in your life.

As you kept running, Bi Han caught up with you and couldn't help but process everything that just happened in the last two hours.

"Are we going to have a proper wedding?" he asked.

"That can be arranged."

[yourpersonaljaskier]

Hello hello! I watched Whitepine and now I'm insane! I also watched a theory video! I'm very insane and I need to ramble as to what I think is going on

Theory will be under read more, spoilers ahead

First things first:

Who is mrs. Hemlocke, and how long has she been dead?

So, some things to establish the estimated time period:

- steam locomotives and steam engines are around (meaning it's past the year 1712)

- The colour black may be associated with the mourning period (early roman period til the 20th century, now very well known because of Queen Victoria, who mourned her husband for 4 decades til the the early 1900's and wore black daily)

These bring us to a rather specific time frame between 1712 and before the 20th century

Black doesn't seem to be a very 'fashionable' colour, as the theory video I watched relied quite heavily on the idea that the Hemlocke family is in mourning. While the idea in of itself isn't a bad idea, I heavily disagree with this notion for 3 simple reasons:

1. The family isn't in ACTUAL mourning! They wear black clothes, yes, but there's no other indication they're in active mourning. They wear colours not permitted by the mourning rules created by Queen Victoria (assuming they're in England due to the name Whitepine and the general outlay of architecture), which was from 1861 til 1901 iirc, which is a HIGHLY likely time period they were in. Zam participates in hunting, the household isn't in mourning (the women aren't wearing any amount of mourning regalia, ie, veils, jewelry, full black attire, similar with the men), the HEAD BUTLER doesn't tell Ivory about the passing of the hear mistress (which MEANS the mourning period is long over and the topic is dead at this rate, Ivory doesn't need to be a genius to figure out why the mistress is never mentioned), Izzy permits Ivory to be the piano, so on and so forth

2. Serapter doesn't know why the piano room was empty. Her death was before his time, and he seems plenty adult to me.

3. There were no search parties (if she had disappeared), there were no funeral arrangements, no active mention of her or her recent passing, and black clothes are not an indication of a mourning period.

These, to me, are clear signs that the family, at least the children, have long moved on.

Now, how long has mrs. Hemlocke been dead?

Well.

Let's look at the Hemlocke children. So far, we only know that Pyro is the oldest, with the others having to clear indication of when they were born. But, to me, the Hemlocke children all seem to be of a similar age. There are no tutors or extra teachers for the women to learn etiquette, Zam goes hunting and invites Pyro with him, they seem to go out semi regularly as known bacherlors (as none of the children are married), and seem to have a close bond with how they interact with one another

None of the children seem teenage-d to me, but we'll see as the show progresses

In my mind, mrs. Hemlocke died when the youngest was a few months old. It makes the most sense with how the family and household act around her death and items. The piano was moved but is still taken care of. It's tuned with no obvious dust, out of sight and out of mind but with instructions to keep it in good shape

Izzy easily absolves the previous order to not let anyone touch the piano, meaning it's been long enough where she finds it doesn't matter if someone plays it, and as Clown mildly implies, it seems that the order was given by Zombie, as he advises Ivory to not make too much noise

Obviously, as mrs. Hemlocke was the mistress of the estate, all the older staff would have been relatively fond of her and followed whatever wish Zombie made about her items, but as Serapter doesn't even seem to know as to what some of the rooms are for (like the piano room), and that he 'forgot [the piano] was down there,' quite heavily implies her death was wayyyy before his time

To compress: Mrs. Hemlocke died perhaps decades ago, to a point where none of the household is in mourning and have seemingly moved on, with new servants being unaware of the affects her passing had on the family (ex. Serapter)

Who killed Mistycat, and why do people think it's the forest?

I personally think the forest has got absolutely nothing to do with Mistycat's death, and that there's a different perpetrator at hand with no supernatural element. I'll explain after this segment as to why the forest is such a focal point to Ivory, but for now:

The forest is an ominous 'character' and looming figure during the whole episode. Multiple shots include Ivory spacing out and simply staring at the woods in some sort of trauma reaction

The forest is ominous, dense and is eerie due to the atmosphere

Forests are easy ground to get lost in and die

Supernatural activity can easily be tied with a supernatural forest

Misty's death is sudden and seems out of nowhere after a bit of a long shot with the woods

From Misty's injuries, it seems like the attack was quite violent, but it's not above that she fell down the stairs after being attacked. The injuries on the back of her head could suggest a blunt force blow, while the rest of her injuries were amassed from her tumbling down the stairs, which would draw someone to check out what happened, and of course, then the freak out

Do I have an idea as to who it could be? No. Fuck no lol, I'm not a psychic, I just don't think it's supernatural for now. There's absolutely zero reason as to why a supernatural entity would be killing the household now and not then

Why is the forest such a big deal, and Ivory's behaviour

Now. Hear me out on this: Ivory is from a cult like environment, where a settlement was in a similar forest, quite like the surrounding area of Whitepine

Her behaviour, past being autistic, is very submissive, with a fear of authority, the fear of disobeying orders to such an extent that she asks a fellow coworker permission to go outside, and a general reclusive behaviour that I associate with a want to conform and not cause issues for the ones in power

Obviously, all of these can be attributed to Ivory's implied autism, but I think it makes more sense with Ivory's behaviour towards the woods and other people

She seems afraid of talking, saying anything outside of what is asked of her, and even then, she struggles greatly and panics about being in trouble to a near panic attack level. Her dissociation with the sight of forests seems trauma related, along with the buzzing noise she gets after people rush to see why someone screamed

She seems afraid but in an abstract sense. She stares for seemingly hours after being dismissed her first day, just staring at the woods that caused her to zone out first thing

It's not normal behaviour. Even from a neurodivergent standpoint in my opinion. Her anxiety seems to come from an outside place, and Minutetech not knowing anything about her, past where he found her and what she did on the train ride gives me the impression she ran away from her cult, and now associates forests with them, causing her to have bad reactions when on edge or stressed

And that was it! Thank you for the read, hope you enjoyed my unhinged thoughts!!

[motsimages]

I think muscles still do things. Like, sure maybe the corset is helping relax certain muscles or release certain tensions but if you move, muscles work.

I have a corset (19th century style, more or less) that I wear mainly for work or when my back hurts so that it actually holds my weight instead of me doing the work, but if I go for a walk, the muscles involved in walking are doing the work. And it doesn't even press my abdominal muscles so much, I can tense them or make them relax.

I wouldn't be able to do my yoga routine with that corset, nor could I harvest grapes or wash in the river comfortably with it, but the women who would be doing those jobs probably also didn't have the same type of corset (if at all) than noble women at a party.

So I don't know, maybe it's not the corset but the levels of physical activity the corset wearer has. If all they do is sitting in a chair to do embroidery, those muscles will be atrophied with or without a corset.

Wait, it’s actually NOT especially likely that habitual corset wearing without core strengthening exercises can contribute to muscle weakness?

While this is good news for me as someone who does enjoy wearing a corset often, I can no longer call the final showdown in Crimson Peak “two women with the abdominal strength of tagliatelle fighting to the death“

Comedy L there

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Immortal Love

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader x Sam Winchester (no wincest)

Word Count: ~1k

Warnings: none

Request by anon: Hi can you do a imagine with both the Winchester polyamory, where the reader is a immortal hunter (a demigoddess of Kali, Hecate or etc) that is a big deal in the supernatural everyone know about her and the monster are scare about her and meet the Winchester in a bar? Fluff with funny

Summary: You're Kali, the Goddess of Death and Destruction, and you're an immortal hunter. Monsters fear you. When you walk into a room, heads turn, and two very handsome ones catch your attention.

Square Filled: love triangle (2022) for @spndeanbingo

Author’s Note: i appreciate any and all comments! <3

x

Your style of clothing has evolved with the rest of the world. There was a time when you wore frilly dresses with underwires to make them puffy and tight corsets that made your breasts push up uncomfortably. It was always dresses of different styles until about the mid-20th century when women were allowed to wear pants. That opened a new avenue for women all across the board. It wasn’t normal for women to make those styles your own but you did whatever possible to stand out.

If you’re going to walk into a room, you’re going to turn heads.

The other reason why you’d turn heads is because you’re a Goddess who has made herself very well known in the supernatural world. You’re Kali, the Goddess of Death and Destruction. Not to mention immortal and a hunter. You’ve been hunting monsters for centuries and love every bit of it. You love being immortal because you get to see humanity thrive and evolve into the best versions of themselves.

Your sleek high heels click against the floor when you enter the bar, your skinny jeans are tight against your body, your shirt flows around you with ease, and your black leather jacket completes the look. The bell on the door rings and heads turn to see who is entering. On the outside, it’s a normal bar for the public. On the inside is much more sinister. It’s home to demons, angels, and other monsters. Only the best hunters dare to enter this place.

As soon as everyone sees you, three demons smoke out of their meatsuits and run straight back down to Hell. Being there is better than being in a room with you, and you smile at the thought. The people you pass by look away in fear that you’ll kill them on the spot when in reality, you couldn’t care less about them. You’re not a monster. You don’t go around killing people left and right, but it doesn’t hurt for people to know what you’re capable of.

You walk to the bar and watch as the bartender refuses to meet your eye. He kind of cowers behind the bar counter at the thought of serving you, and you give him a sweet smile.

“Give me your strongest drink. Make it a double.”

He mumbles something you can’t recognize as he makes your drink. As you’re waiting, you hear someone whisper your name from across the bar. The chatter was loud before you entered and has quieted since your arrival. You can hear a pin drop from across the bar. You turn your head slightly to get a glimpse of the gossipers and find the King of Hell with two men you’ve never seen before. They’re not demons or any kind of monster you’ve seen so they must be humans… Hunters.

“Who the hell is she?” Dean asks and knicks a striped ball into one of the pockets.

“Her name is Kali, the Goddess of Death and Destruction. She’s immortal so nothing can kill her. She’s dangerous and lethal and she shows no mercy. She’s done a number on my demons, and if you’re smart, you’d stay the hell away from her.”

“She doesn’t look all that scary,” Dean scoffs and hits the cure ball again, but it misses the pocket.

“Are you an idiot? The bad ones never look scary and she is the baddest there is. She’s an immortal hunter.”

“A hunter, huh? Time for introductions.”

Dean leaves Sam hanging even though the younger brother just took his turn. Crowley whispers a quiet prayer and touches his forehead to his chest to both of his shoulders. Dean gives him a weird look as he walks with Sam to the bar counter. Dean takes a seat to your right and you look straight ahead.

“That seat’s taken,” you mumble and sip your drink. Dean gets up and takes the seat to your left. “Can I help you?”

“My buddy over there says you’re a hunter.”

“Goddess hunter,” you correct and swirl your chair around to look at your visitors. God damn these are two very attractive men. Who the hell are their parents? They must have really good genes if they look like Gods themselves. “If you want to be technical. Kali but call me Y/N.”

“You’re immortal?”

Your fangs slide from your teeth and you grin to show them off.

“Yes.”

“See, Sammy? She’s not so scary,” Dean shakes his head. “I’m Dean and this is my brother, Sam.”

“If you knew what was good for you,” you chuckle, “you’d know I’m as scary as they come. You should be afraid of me.”

“Sweetheart,” Dean smirks and leans in closer to you, “I’m not afraid of anyone. They’re afraid of me.”

You smirk and down the rest of your drink, so you lean back and cross one leg over the other.

“Sam and Dean? As in Winchesters?” Both of them nod. “I’ve heard of you two. Nearly destroyed the world.”

“True, but we didn't,” Sam points out.

“You’re cute,” you grin and let your eyes drink him in, “like a puppy dog. I like puppies.” Sam’s cheeks darken deliciously and you move onto his brother who hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you. “You’re like a teddy bear, and I love to cuddle with teddy bears at night.”

“Listen, do you want to hunt together? Sam and I are on our way over to one right now if you’re not busy.”

“You sure you can handle me?” you chuckle.

“Sweetheart, are you sure you can handle me?” Dean flirts.

You laugh like you haven’t done in a while.

“Challenge accepted. However, on one condition. I’ll hunt with you if your friend doesn’t go.” The demon the brothers were with hasn’t stopped staring at you since you entered. “He’s kind of creeping me out.”

“Crowley’s scared of you.”

“You wanna see something funny?” Sam and Dean shrug as an answer. You get up and disappear from sight only to reappear behind Crowley. He’s looking frantically around for you when you tap on his shoulder. When he turns, your eyes are bright red, your fangs are out, and you give him a malicious grin. “Hi, Crowley.”

He screams like a little girl and disappears from the bar altogether. You, Sam, and Dean laugh as if you’re friends and that was the funniest shit ever.

“I like her. Let’s keep her,” Dean declares.

“Dude, she’s not a dog.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Come on, we got a hunt to get to.”

x

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[titleleaf]

so many words about historical men's corsetry

(This got way too long to send via Discord -- Dangimace in the Renegade Bindery server asked about men's corset sewing/resource recs so here is my half-assed and non-exhaustive rundown. Most of my historical sewing is focused on fashions of the UK, US, and Europe for the second half of the 18th century and first half of the 19th century, so that bias is reflected here; also disclaimer overall that "menswear"/"womenswear" are socially constructed categories and real people's bodies have always looked a wider variety of ways than fashion and other social forces would dictate. I sew historical garments with enthusiastic disregard for the historical gender binary and I'm barrel-chested, thick-waisted, and narrow-hipped no matter what I'm wearing.)

Onward, lads!

Ok wrt men's corsetry: there's a whole lot of fogginess around how historical men's corsets were constructed for a bunch of annoying reasons but that means there's lots of possibilities to explore in pattern drafting and project planning. Stays and other stiffened body-shaping garments have a whole complex conceptual relationship to the body basically as soon as they start appearing. 16th and 17th century garments do a whole lot of shaping (both compressing and building up) for men and women alike, but things really kick off in the 18th century in terms of the symbolic weight placed on stays and (later) corsets. Whole lot of stuff about gender, social class, race, fatness, morality, etc. getting projected onto these garments. So I'm a little leery about people taking obviously satirical illustrations of fashion-victim dandies or Gross Corpulent Libertines getting laced into corsets as truthful and indicative of the way men were really dressing -- scurrilous gossip and exaggeration are both a pain to sift through if we want to know which men wore corsets, what kind, and why.

In the very late 18th/early 19th century corsets were part of the repertoire for achieving highly fashionable shapes in menswear. (Along with a whole lot of padding.) They weren't mandatory for all dudes, but for fashion-forward dandies and equally fashion-forward military men, male corsets/stays were definitely a thing. The whole Romantic-era pigeon-breasted, narrow-waisted silhouette can be emulated by shapewear worn beneath the clothes, pads in the garments themselves, or both; in addition to waist reduction it helped to maintain smooth visual lines underneath close-fitting garments.

(look at these minxy 1830s dudes and their tiny waists)

As the century goes on the desired menswear silhouette becomes boxier and less fitted, and male corsetry recedes into the background; we start to see patents and advertisements for men's corsetry, so they still seem to have been worn, but there's a lot more language around vigorous manly athleticism and supporting the structures of the body. It can be hard to tell whether a particular piece is intended to be worn primarily for some medical purpose or for its perceived aesthetic benefits. This is giving me such flashbacks to trying to find post-surgical compression garments.

(Side note: there's also a vigorous tradition of fetishist writing about corsetry all through the 19th century, in fairly mainstream channels, which is fascinating. Due to the relatively private and deeply horny nature of fetish tightlacing we don't necessarily know as much about what those same letter-writers may have "really" worn at home, but I hope they were having fun.)

I've seen very few specifically men's corsetry patterns from historical pattern-makers-- not even really big names like Redthreaded. I sewed my 19thc menswear corsets from the men's underbust pattern in Laughing Moon Mercantile #113 which afaik is speculative rather than reproducing a specific historical garment, but it's not too different from the women's late-19th-century underbust patterns in the same pattern pack.

(image credit: LMM)

However, a lot of underbust and waist-cincher patterns from more general historical patternmakers could be made suitable with some minor alterations. Here I'd also rec books like Jill Salen's Corsets: Historical Patterns And Techniques and Norah Waugh's Corsets & Crinolines, though their focus is definitely on womenswear and you need to be relatively comfortable scaling up or drafting from pattern diagrams.

The structural features and desired results for a man's corset are pretty much the same as any other corset (back support, compression in some areas, etc.) even when the desired silhouette is different; commercially-created patterns are drafted with the expectation of certain bodily proportions so like with all corset-sewing it's important to make a mockup for fitting purposes. (I ended up liking one of my mockups so much I finished the process and made it a whole separate corset.) I don't know much about this area but I seem to see a lot more belt-and-buckle closures and criss-crossing straps in corsets designated as being for men -- this might be a byproduct of gendered differences in how people got dressed, but it might be nothing.

There's some weird and wonderful historical examples, both extant and in images -- I appreciated this post at Matsuzake Sewing, "A Brief Discussion Of Men's Stays", and its accompanying roundup of images on Pinterest though the tone wrt historical fetishwear corsets in the blog post is a little snippy. I really want to make a replica of Thomas Chew's 1810s corset (which you can read more about here at the USS Constitution Museum) but it incorporates stretch panels made with a shitload of metal springs and I'm not ready for all the trial and error trying to replicate that.

(image credit: USS Constitution Museum Collections)

There's a pretty rich vein of modern men's corset patterns which seem like they could be easily pattern-hacked for historical costuming purposes, like these with shoulder straps from Corsets By Caroline or DrobeStoreUpcycling's waist cincher which also looks like it could be altered pretty easily to cinch with straps and buckles like some 19thc men's corsetry does. This pattern for a boned chest binder in vest form by KennaSewLastCentury is also really cool but I didn't get a chance to sew it pre-top-surgery. (I think I've also seen someone who made a chest-compressing variation on Regency short stays, but I can't find it now.) 

In general a lot of underbust and waist-cincher patterns should work just fine for silhouette-shaping without much bust/hip emphasis -- my usual resource for free corset patterns (Aranea Black) recently took down all her free patterns but they're definitely still circulating out there. For general fashion purposes the sky is the limit and there are a lot of enthusiastic dudes in corsets out there. This Lucy Corsetry round-up shows a variety of modern corsetiers'  styles designated as being for men or more masculine silhouettes (including a SUPER aspirational brocaded corset with matching waistcoat made by Heavenly Corsets that I'd love to sew a historical spin on) and you can see some commonalities and possibilities for body-shaping.

I can also give some more general corset-sewing resources but I'm very much in the learning process here and I'd love any recs or input from people more experienced in pattern-drafting and corset-sewing.

[balkanradfem]

"Growing flax to make linen was one of the oldest human activities in Europe, particularly in the Rhineland. Archeologists have found linen textiles among the settlements of Neolithic cultivators along the shores of Lake Neuchâtel in the Jura Mountains west of Bern, Switzerland. These were elaborate pieces: Stone Age clothmakers of the Swiss lakeshores sewed pierced fruit pits in a careful line into a fabric with woven stripes. The culture spread down the Rhine and into the lowland regions.

The Roman author Pliny observed in the first century AD that German women wove and wore linen sheets. By the ninth century flax had spread through Germany. By the sixteenth century, flax was produced in many parts of Europe, but the corridor from western Switzerland to the mouth of the Rhine contained the oldest region of large-scale commercial flax and linen production. In the late Middle Ages the linen of Germany was sold nearly everywhere in Europe, and Germany produced more linen than any other region in the world.

At this juncture, linen weavers became victims of an odd prejudice. “Better skinner than linen weaver,” ran one cryptic medieval German taunt. Another macabre popular saying had it that linen weavers were worse than those who “carried the ladders to the gallows.” The reason why linen weavers were slandered in this way, historians suspect, was that although linen weavers had professionalized and organized themselves into guilds, they had been unable to prevent homemade linen from getting onto the market. Guilds appeared across Europe between the twelfth and fifteenth centuries but many of the items they produced for exchange, like textiles and soap, were also produced at home right up through the nineteenth century. The intricate regulations of the guilds—determining who could join, how they would be trained, what goods they would produce, and how these could be exchanged—were mainly designed to distinguish guild work from this homely labor. That linen making continued to be carried out inside of households—a liability for guilds in general—lent a taint to the linen guild in particular.

In the seventeenth century, guilds came under pressure from a new, protocapitalist mode of production. Looking for cheaper cloth to sell on foreign markets, entrepreneurs cased the Central European countryside offering to pay cash to home producers for goods. Rural households became export manufacturing centers and a major source of competition with the guilds. These producers could undercut the prices of urban craftsmen because they could use the unregulated labor of their family members, and because their own agricultural production allowed them to sell their goods for less than their subsistence costs.

The uneasiness between guild and household production in the countryside erupted into open hostility. In the 1620s, linen guildsmen marched on villages, attacking competitors, and burning their looms. In February 1627 Zittau guild masters smashed looms and seized the yarn of home weavers in the villages of Oderwitz, Olbersdorf, and Herwigsdorf.

Guilds had long worked to keep homemade products from getting on the market. In their death throes, they hit upon a new and potent weapon: gender. Although women in medieval Europe wove at home for domestic consumption, many had also been guild artisans. Women were freely admitted as masters into

the earliest medieval guilds, and statutes from Silesia and the Oberlausitz show that women were master weavers. Thirteenth-century Paris had eighty mixed craft guilds of men and women and fifteen female-dominated guilds for such trades as gold thread, yarn, silk, and dress manufacturing. Up until the mid-seventeenth century, guilds had belittled home production because it was unregulated, nonprofessional, and competitive. In the mid-seventeenth century this work was identified as women’s work, and guildsmen unable to compete against cheaper household production tried to eject women from the market entirely. Single women were barred from independent participation in the guilds. Women were restricted to working as domestic servants, farmhands, spinners, knitters, embroiderers, hawkers, wet nurses. They lost ground even where the jobs had been traditionally their own, such as ale brewing and midwifery, by the end of the seventeenth century.

The wholesale ejection of women from the market during this period was achieved not only through guild statute, but through legal, literary, and cultural means. Throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries women lost the legal right to conduct economic activity as femes soles. In France they were declared legal “imbeciles,” and lost the right to make contracts or represent themselves in court. In Italy, they began to appear in court less frequently to denounce abuses against them. In Germany, when middle-class women were widowed it became customary to appoint a tutor to manage their affairs. As the medieval historian Martha Howell writes, “Comedies and satires of this period…often portrayed market women and trades women as shrews, with characterizations that not only ridiculed or scolded them for taking on roles in market production but frequently even charged them with sexual aggression.” This was a period rich in literature about the correction of errant women: Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew (1590–94), John Ford’s ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore (1629–33), Joseph Swetnam’s “The Araignment of Lewde, Idle, Froward, and Unconstant Women” (1615). Meanwhile, Protestant reformers and Counter-Reformation Catholics established doctrinally that women were inherently inferior to men.

This period, called the European Age of Reason, successfully banished women from the market and transformed them into the sweet and passive beings that emerged in Victorian literature. Women accused of being scolds were paraded in the streets wearing a new device called a “branks,” an iron muzzle that depressed the tongue. Prostitutes were subjected to fake drowning, whipped, and caged. Women convicted of adultery were sentenced to capital punishment.

As a cultural project, this was not merely recreational sadism. Rather, it was an ideological achievement that would have lasting and massive economic consequences. Political philosopher Silvia Federici has argued this expulsion was an intervention so massive, it ought to be included as one of a triptych of violent seizures, along with the Enclosure Acts and imperialism, that allowed capitalism to launch itself.

Part of why women resisted enclosure so fiercely was because they had the most to lose. The end of subsistence meant that households needed to rely on money rather than the production of agricultural goods like cloth, and women had successfully been excluded from ways to earn. As labor historian Alice Kessler-Harris has argued, “In pre-industrial societies, nearly everybody worked, and almost nobody worked for wages.” During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, monetary relations began to dominate economic life in Europe. Barred from most wage work just as the wage became essential, women were shunted into a position of chronic poverty and financial dependence. This was the dominant socioeconomic reality when the first modern factory, a cotton-spinning mill, opened in 1771 in Derbyshire, England, an event destined to upend still further the pattern of daily life."

- Sofi Thanhauser, Worn: A People's History of Clothing