#late-19th century

[distinctlywhumpthing]

In League — Another Strike

Masterlist

CW: Late-19th century, explicit language, indentured servitude, starvation/isolation as punishment, beating. Whumper pitting whumpees against each other and being a bully.

August wasn’t very good at waiting out his week-long punishment in the attic. 

By the fourth day, he thought he would go mad from staring at the same walls and eaves. Shivering on the thin mattress, hunger gnawing at his belly and only fistfuls of snow to stave off thirst. Fionn hadn’t so much as glanced at him, let alone spoken to him, since the caning. All his walking-dead-ringer did was sleep. Or at least that’s what he pretended to do while August was awake. 

So, August started pacing. 

The full length of the attic. Making a narrow circle as wide as the steep angle of the roof would allow without having to stoop. Back and forth, back and forth. 

He once saw a lion at the fair down in the village square. The older boys from Elmwood had goaded him to stand nearer and nearer the bars of its cage but the beast had no eyes for him. Focused only on pacing back and forth in its prison where it had already worn a track into the grass, heavy paws treading an endless tight loop. Eventually, he’d wrapped his fingers around the bars to the ill-intentioned approval of his audience but the lion never paused. The rest of the servants peeled off while he lingered, feeling sorry for the poor creature. 

August nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned to find Fionn sitting up, staring at him. 

Colour rose to his cheeks and he felt himself wilt under Fionn’s gaze. “I—I’m sorry,” he said lamely, “‘twasn’t my intention to wake you.” Just another strike to add on top of the previous twenty-four mercilessly beaten into him for August’s mistakes.

Fionn shook his head, eyes already falling. “It’s too late.” His voice was barely a whisper. 

Hopelessness welled up in August’s throat, carrying with it the tide of shame and dejection he’d held at bay until his eyes filmed with tears and there was no way he could open his mouth without crying.  

But Fionn didn’t want his worthless apologies and he hadn’t been speaking of disrupted sleep anyway. Keats burst through the door and within seconds, Fionn was on his knees again and August was gasping for breath because the lackey charged with holding him this time did so with all four thick fingers down the back of his shirt collar. 

As though no time had passed at all. 

Except for some reason, Fionn took off his shoes and stockings this time, and Keats shoved him so he fell onto his hands and stayed there. August’s stomach dropped as Keats pulled off his belt, doubling back the thick leather but when it rained down on Fionn it was not at all where August expected.

Keats drew blood before August could pull himself together to voice any manner of protest, it trickled down Fionn’s bony ankles to disappear into his trousers. Droplets of it sprayed onto the walls and ceiling with each swing of the belt. 

Fionn eventually fell onto his elbows, holding his head. He cried out in time with each lash, sound muffled by his arms, but somehow still managed to keep his feet in the air for Keats to whip. 

Again and again and again. 

August had never even started counting and now he was too afraid to speak. He couldn’t make this worse with more thoughtless, impulsive stupidity. He had already made everything so much worse.  

He flinched when something landed on his cheek and, even though he knew what he’d find when he lifted a hand to his cheek, he was unable to mask his distress when his fingertip came away stained with Fionn’s blood. 

Keats winked. 

Just as quickly as they came, they went. Without a single word.

After a few beats of silence, August made a half-start toward Fionn. If only to fall onto his knees and apologise or help him find a way to lie comfortably. But as if he could sense August’s intentions, Fionn turned to glare up at him, hatred plain as day on his tear-stained face. 

August backed away, biting his lips together and willing himself not to let any of his own undeserved tears fall. He folded himself against the far wall, facing the corner and hugged his knees to his chest. 

Even he could understand what was being left unsaid, by Keats and Fionn alike. 

He was entirely alone here.

@whumpy-writings @writer-reader-24 @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @maracujatangerine @painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @briars7 @gala1981 @redwingedwhump @whumpflash @poeticagony @annablogsposts @fleur-alise @magziemakeswhatever @neverthelass

[frostedmagnolias]

Black Satin Brocade Bodice with Yellow Flowers and Green Velvet Bows

c.1890

made by American designer Miss Foley

brocaded silk satin, cotton net, and beads

Phoenix Art Museum

[desimonewayland]

Clement Massier

Beetle lustre vase, circa 1900 Ceramic, lustre glazed vase

Bonham's

[life-imitates-art-far-more]

Ramon Casas (1866-1932) "A Decadent Girl" (1899) Located in the Museum of Montserrat, Barcelona, Spain

[sentientsky]

guess who’s been wading thru the archives again

[escapismsworld]

Gran Hotel Ciudad de México, Mexico City built in 1899

[solcattus]

Ireland, 1887

By Edwin Long

[ltwilliammowett]

The deck of the 'Birkdale' in a storm, by John Everett, 1920

[genderpink]

[historical-fashion-polls]

[the-melancholy-maiden]

Gilded Age Garden Set

This set is inspired by The Gilded Age tv series, based on the January CC poll. This will probably not be my last Gilded Age themed set, there are so many amazing hats and hairstyles! Enjoy :)

DOWNLOAD (Free)

[frostedmagnolias]

Evening dress made of silk and cotton

c. 1893

unknown maker

National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne

[fayriequeene]

Victorian Christmas at Tyntesfield 🎄

[fashionsfromhistory]

Fireman's Coat

Late 19th Century to Early 20th Century

Japan

Japanese firemen's coats are reversible. When fighting fires, the coat was worn as shown, together with close-fitting trousers, a hood, and gloves. Saturated with water, these garments gave protection against flames. A bold, legible pattern on the back identified the fireman’s brigade. For festive occasions, the pictorial side faced outward. This coat shows the Toad Spirit offering to teach the robber Jiraya magic, provided he used it only to benefit humanity.

Denver Art Museum (Accession Number: 1999.265)

[life-imitates-art-far-more]

Albert Edelfelt (1854-1905) "The Parisienne (Virginie)" (1883) Oil on canvas Realism

[larobeblanche]

Gari Melchers (American, 1860 – 1932) • Marriage • 1893 • Minneapolis Museum of Art, Minnesota