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mellowsadistic · 3 months

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The Magician's Game - Chapter 4

Susie’s New Life

“Come here, little one!” Susie’s mother called. “Come to Mummy!”

Susie immediately got up and abandoned the stuffed animal tea party she’d been forced to play with (“Would you wike some tea, Mister Snuggles?”), hurrying over to her mother as fast she could. Once she reached Mrs Taylor, she felt a sudden weakness in her knees. Against her will, her body did a submissive little curtsey. She lifted up the hem of her silly little frock and flashed her wet, drooping diaper. “Here Mummy,” she said. Normally she was allowed to wear cotton underpants and use the little plastic training potty in the living room, always under supervision, but occasionally her mother changed her into nappies and told her she couldn’t control her bladder. Susie had spent that whole morning dribbling wee-wee into her pants like a dumb baby. Her mother had told her she couldn’t hold her pee, so she couldn’t.

“Good girl,” Mrs Taylor cooed, smirking. Even after months of having her independent daughter back under her thumb, she was still delighted by the sight of the once mature, rebellious young woman reduced to an obedient little lady. She looked especially adorable in her soggy nappy, blushing crimson, her eyes fixed on her sweet little Mary Janes. “Come with Mommy, sweetie. We’re going to your nursery. We need to get you changed into your special dance clothes, okay princess?”

“Yes, Mummy,” Susie said again, with another curtsey. Then she waddled hurriedly after her mother, wrinkling her nose at the horrible, yucky wet feeling of her diaper squishing between her legs.

Once they reached her bedroom, her nursery, Susie couldn’t stop herself scrunching up her face in disgust at the baby-pink wallpaper, the large crib, the changing table, and the childish toys that littered the carpet. She didn’t want to pull a face, but Mummy had told her that was how she was supposed to react to things she didn’t like. No more superior sneers. No more cold stares. Just wrinkling her nose and pulling what Mummy called her ‘yucky face’.

Mrs Taylor turned around to her daughter and lifted her frock up and over her head, leaving her bare-chested. Susie tried to cover her breasts, but her mother smacked her hands away. “No baby. There’s no need to cover your boobies. You haven’t got anything Mummy hasn’t seen before.” Susie’s lower lip trembled as her hands dropped immediately to her side. Her mother slipped her shoes off her feet, leaving her in nothing but her squishy wet nappy and her frilly ankle socks. “What a soggy girl!” Mrs Taylor cooed, probing the discoloured front of Susie’s diaper with her fingers. “You’re Mummy’s widdle pee-pee pants, aren’t you precious? Yes you are! Yes you are! But I don’t think you need a change just yet. That can wait until later. Let’s finish getting you dressed.”

Susie could only stand there like a doll as her mother pulled a ridiculous tutu up her legs and over her nappy. The puffy frills stuck out from her waist, failing spectacularly to conceal her bulging potty pants. Next, a pair of ballet shoes over her socks, and finally a pair of glittery pink fairy wings that slipped into place over her shoulders.

“There we go!” Mrs Taylor announced happily. “Fully dressed! Come and take a look at yourself, cutie.” She led her daughter over to the floor-length mirror and stood her in front of it.

Susie almost started crying when she saw how absurd she looked. An attractive women in her early twenties (as her bare breasts made clear) dressed up like a little girl pretending to be a fairy princess, her wet diaper peeking out beneath the hem of her tutu, letting everyone know she wasn’t even mature enough for toilets. She gritted her teeth and fought to keep her face set. She didn’t want to give her mother the satisfaction of seeing her cry like a baby, but she still couldn’t stop herself from pulling her yucky face.

“Awww, what’s that look for, sweetie?” Mrs Taylor cooed. “Who’s Mummy’s pretty baby? Who’s my pretty little girl?”

“Me Mummy!” Susie blurted. The words spilled from her lips beyond her control. “Me a pwetty giwl!”

Her mother laughed. “That’s right, sweetie! Now let’s go and show you off to Mummy’s friends, and you can do your little dance just like we practiced.”

“Yes Mummy,” Susie said. She tried desperately to keep her feet rooted to the floor, but it was useless. She was nothing but a passenger in her own body when her mother gave her an order. She followed her mother out of her nursery and down the stairs towards the living room. The sounds of conversation reached her ears. Her mother’s twisted friends had been delighted to see Susie ‘put back in her place’.

A chorus of laughter rang out once Susie entered the room, and her lower lip trembled again. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor, wishing it would swallow her up and end this nightmare.

“Say hello to your Aunties, princess,” her mother ordered. “Just like Mummy told you to do.”

A big dumb smile spread over Susie’s face at once. She looked up and waved enthusiastically at the five women sitting on the sofas and chairs. “Hewwo Aunties!”

“Awww!” they all cooed in unison.

“Hi baby!”

“Aren’t you just the cutest!”

“That outfit is much more appropriate than all those silly things you used to wear!”

“I could just gobble you up!”

“I’m so glad you’re back where you belong, little one!”

“Little Susie-wusie wanted to show you all the dance she’s been practising,” Mrs Taylor announced. “It’s a bit different from the dancing she used to do when she was out partying at university, back when she thought she was a big girl, but she’s still very proud of it. Go on, sweetie, sing your little song for us!”

Susie tried once more, desperately, to control her body. But no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t disobey her mother. “I’m a little baby,” she sang, to the tune of I’m A Little Teapot. “Wet and dumb!” She struggled to hold back her tears. “Here is my nappy…” She patted it. “And here is my bum!” She spun around, stuck out her padded bottom, and wiggled it at her mother’s cackling friends. “When… I get… all stinky…” she sang between grunts, sinking down into a squat and straining to fill her diaper just like Mummy had ordered her to do. She felt sick and disgusted at what her traitorous body was doing. The seat of her nappy bulged and sagged. “Here me shout!” she sobbed, getting up and turned back around to face her audience with tears running down her cheeks, her loaded diaper now sagging halfway down to her knees. “Mummy!” she cried. “I did a poo-poo in my pants!”

Her mother’s friends shrieked with laughter and applauded, while Mrs Taylor smiled, darkly satisfied, and pulled her tearful daughter into a hug. “There, there, stinky-bum,” she cooed. “It’s okay. Mummy’s very proud of you for doing your cute little song and dance. It’s only to be expected that you pooped your pants. You might have thought you were a mature, independent woman who was clever enough to go off to university, but now you know you’re just a big, silly baby who can’t even stop herself making yucky messes in her nappy.”

“But you made me!” Susie whined. All her complaints came out in an annoying, whiny voice now, ever since her mother told her that was how she was to complain about things. “I can control myself!”

“Awww, is my widdle Susie-wusie being a fussy-pants?” Mrs Taylor crooned. “I think she is!” Then she leaned close to her daughter’s ear and whispered an order. “Throw a tantrum, Susie. Right now.”

Immediately, Susie lost control of her emotions. “I’m not a BABY!” she screeched, stamping her feet and pumping her fists madly the moment her mother had pulled away. “I wanna go back to college! I wanna go to parties and have sex with boys! I wanna be a grown-up again!” She stomped about stupidly, looking utterly ridiculous in her tutu and fairy wings, her bare breasts and her stinky diaper both jiggling wildly as she bounced up and down like an overgrown toddler. “I don’t wanna be a stupid baby! I’m a big girl! I’m a BIG GIRL!”

Susie tried to calm herself down. She knew this was exactly what her mother wanted – to make her to look like an absurd, oversized two-year-old – but just as it had been for months now, even since the Magician had put her in this state, she was completely unable to disobey her Mummy. Even her little ‘rebellions’ were controlled, only a means to humiliate her further by forcing her to act like the anger she felt at her situation was merely typical toddler fussiness. So Susie could do nothing as her body dropped to the floor and started kicking its legs and pounding the carpet, bawling its eyes out and shrieking that it was a big girl.

“Uh-oh!” her mother sang, glancing knowingly at her friends. “I think little Susie just earned herself some smacky bum-bum time!”

They all laughed, even while Susie continued to scream and shout.

“That naughty girl definitely needs a red bottom!” said one.

“Babies are often like this,” said another. “I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised that Susie is too. I’m sure a spanking will sort her out!”

Mrs Taylor smirked as she dragged Susie to her feet, sat down in a chair, and pulled her flailing adult daughter over her knees. “Bad baby!” she scolded, bringing her hand down on Susie’s bottom. “Very naughty girl, Susie-poo! This is exactly why Mummy can’t let you grow up! Imagine, still throwing tantrums at your age!”

Susie cried and thrashed as her mother spanked her, alternating between smacking what little of her bottom wasn’t covered by her nappy, and bringing her palm down forcefully on the seat of her baby-pants to make the mess inside squish horribly against her bum.

This was her life now, Susie knew. Toddler activities and tantrums and spankings. No free will. Just a doll for her controlling mother’s amusement. All Susie could do was hope that one day her mother would let her grow up again, or the Magician would take pity on her and undo what he’d done. But Susie had a feeling that wouldn’t be for a very long time.

#mellowsadistic

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chic-a-gigot · 3 months

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Beaux-arts des modes, mars 1936. New York, Paris, London, Milano, Wien, Bruxelles. Modèles Originiaux. Bibliothèque nationale de France

1360: Midsummer afternoon dress of printed canton crêpe. Graceful basque. Neck frill, tie and belt of cered ribbon. Wide coat. — 1360a: Vue of the frock.

#Beaux-arts des modes #20th century #1930s #1936 #publication #fashion #fashion plate #color #description #bibliothèque nationale de france #dress #coat #bow #gigot #devant et dos #march color plates

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theyungihven · 2 years

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Up to something ⁕ Yunho 🍅💓

pairing : husband yunho x wife reader

word count: 0.7k+

genre: suggestive

warnings : fem reader, hands as a bra ;)

synopsis : you text your husband, asking him an apology but he comes home to you watching other men

You stand in the open kitchen, making a sandwich for yourself as your hands smootly and effortlessly slice the tomatoes while leaning against the marble counter whereas your eyes are fixed on the idols dancing on the TV screen.

You are oh so lost in watching the television that you don't even acknowledge the front door opening nor you remember the text you sent to yunho, your husband, demanding an apology about something one of his suspicious acts at work. His acquaintance at work is your old friend, seeking every opportunity to report your husband's acts to you, even if it's just talking sweetly with a fellow employee.

Your eyes trail over the your favourite idol group member's as they lineup to greet themselves on the television.

At the very moment, you feel the apron lace tightening around your waist as someone pulls on it, pulling your body closer to theirs. Their arms slide around your waist, as they tighten their hold, trapping your breathe between your lung. When your back rests against their chest and you breath in their scent, you immediately recognise it.

It is familiar, oh! so familiar that you melt in it everyday, in the arms of your oh!, so sweet husband that's a perfect representation of your teenage fantasies. Like the fresh wind in the medows, his scent takes over your mind as it brings your inner desires to the surface, clouding your thoughts.

"So, my lovely wife is watching other men, while I'm at work working my ass off?" He breathes against your neck, his voice an octate lower than the one you last heard in the morning, when he left the house after pressing a goodbye kiss on your cheek.

His voice screamed danger; a sign for you to run but how could you? You were trapped between his arm's strong hold and the marble counter. Perhaps, you have been destined to endure your husband's fury in the most unfavourable conditions.

"I guess, men flirting with women outside of marriage doesn't count?" You ask him in a hitched breathing as you shiver under his hand's warm touch, that had sneeked inside the frill of your frock, caressing the supple skin of your waist.

"Does discussing the meeting with your co- worker, count as flirting too these days?" He whispers as his warm breathe flutters against your ear.

Shifting his arms, he moves to his hands further up your torso as they now caress your breasts, holding them instead of your not-so-available bra.

"It- it does" you say breathlessly as his fingers squeeze your breasts, arousing every inch of your skin with burning desire. His touch turns teasing, as his hands trail down the curve of your hips and inside the crease of your parties.

"yuyu stop- I need to focus"

"Focus on what, whore? Other men who aren't your husband?" He almost growls and you gulp nervously at his tone. "be the obedient slut you are, and thank God for not getting punished. You really thought you could get away with accusing me?"

#jeong yunho #ateez #underworldnet #yunho smut #ateez smut #yunho #yunho imagines #yunho scenarios #yunho fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez yunho

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royal-confessions · 1 year

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“I'm really excited to see the wales children at the coronation. Thankfully, after so long we will get to see Charlotte in something other than her pink or blue patterned frock. A change would be nice, especially with frills and satin. And oh, to see Louis winning hearts again!” - Submitted by Anonymous

#Prince George #Princess Charlotte #Prince Louis

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gentlyepigrams · 2 years

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A frocking fabulous favourite makes an appearance at Friday night frills! This court suit was worn by Sir John Thomas Stanley, 6th Baronet, c.1770-1785. Via Manchester Art Gallery.

#historic fashion #court fashion #color: green

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mimigoey · 2 years

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Happy Frilly Friday ❤️

the first Goemon plush I made ❤️ he's wearing my little frock. Mom and papa didn't want to throw it away so now he can wear. 🥰 Frills of love ❤️

#gap Goemon #gaap Goemon #garp Goemon #Mairimashita Iruma kun #mairimashita! iruma kun #welcome to demon school iruma kun #mairuma

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hekateinhell · 1 year

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The way Armand narrates in TVA how he saw Louis when they first met is so evocative to me:

What did I have to tell this sweet-faced vampire, Louis, this all too human creation of the stronger and brasher Lestat, except that in the world Louis would find enough beauty to sustain him, and that in his soul he must find the courage to exist, if indeed it was his choice to go on living, without looking to images of God or the Devil to give him an artificial or short-lived peace.

[...]

He mourned the loss of grace of one human lifetime. I mourned the loss of the grace of centuries. Amenable to the styles of the age which had shaped him-given him his flaring black frock coat, and fine waistcoat of white silk, his high priestly-looking collar and frills of immaculate linen--I fell in love with him hopelessly, and leaving the Theatre des Vampires in ruins (he burnt it to the ground in a rage for a very good reason), I wandered the world with him until very late in this modern age.

'The courage to exist' has always resonated with me on a personal level, but also I think it really contrasts with what Armand tells Daniel in QotD about fearing what happens after you die. It's more of a stick rather than a carrot situation if you're looking for a reason to keep on living, isn't it?

On a less serious note: the most religiously traumatized vampire describing the Most Catholic Vampire™️ as a priest is too much for me -- too literal... Anne, please.

#can't believe i survived these books almost a decade before trinity gate was written...#tva really is such a beautiful book and one that i think perfectly compliments tvl in tone and style #he looked like a priest!!! WHERE'S THE FIC #i'm sorry i'm going now i'm going #vc #the vampire chronicles #armand #louis de pointe du lac #armand/louis #quotes

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le-loup-et-lion · 1 year

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This black velvet evening dress was worn by Jane Johnstone (1803-1847), niece of William Jardine founder of Hong Kong merchants Jardine, Matheson & Co.

The wide neckline and short sleeves of the dress are typical of fashionable evening wear of the mid 1820s. Although it retains remnants of the high-waisted, neo-classical shape popular at the beginning of the century, its construction shows the move towards the lower waists and fuller skirts of the 1850s. The use of velvet demonstrates the trend for more sumptuous fabrics after the dominance of cotton and muslin in the previous two decades.

The death of Princess Charlotte, the only child of George IV, in childbirth in 1817 plunged the whole country into mourning and set the high standards for mourning dress of this period. Fabrics such as silk and velvet were too shiny to be worn for the first stages of mourning, however, official mourning guidelines issued by the Lord Chamberlain decreed that black velvets and silks were permissible in the third and final stage. This dress would have been worn with an evening turban, long gloves and a pelisse cloak, often lined with chinchilla fur. It is likely that it was a gift from William Jardine and was worn when mourning the death of Jane Johnstone's grandmother, Elizabeth Johnstone who died in 1825.

-Via The V&A Museum

On children's roles in mourning:

From the perspective of costume, children were required to follow the stages of mourning and wear the appropriate garments and also attend funerals. For twelve months, children were required to mourn a parent, with the first six months in dull black or crepe to show deepest mourning. For the following three months of this period, the Ordinary mourning phase meant that they could wear black silk without crepe. For the final three months, children were allowed to wear half mourning colours. In General Court mourning periods, children wore mourning according to the mandated requirements, as well as for all relatives.

During this post-1760 period, girls would wear plain silk or muslin dresses with wide sashes. Boys wore ‘skeleton’ suits with soft falling frilled collars. Under the age of six, white dresses were acceptable for boys and girls, even under deepest mourning.

Throughout the 19th century, black was still the standard of mourning, particularly for children over six, and highly required for girls. Boys would have worn white dresses trimmed with black until the age of breeching (four to six). Breeching was when a small boy wore dresses before wearing breeches or trousers and was considered more of a rite of passage, rather than an eventuality.

Mourning regulation went through different permeations in the 19th century and became longer and more rigid. It was on the 7th of November, 1817 upon the death of Princess Charlotte that Lord Chamberlain ordered official Court mourning: ‘the Ladies to wear black bombazines, plain muslins or long lawn crape hoods, shammy shoes and gloves and crape fans. The Gentlemen to wear black cloth without buttons on the sleeves or pockets, plain muslin or long lawn cravats and weepers [white cuffs] shammy shoes and gloves, crape hatbands and black swords and buckles.’ For undress wear, dark grey frock coats were permissible. The Second stage was decreed two months later, with the allowance of black silk fabric, fringed or plain linen, white gloves, black shoes, fans and tippets, white necklaces and earrings, grey or white lusterings, damasks or tabbies and lightweight silks for undress wear. Men’s dress was unchanged. The third stage allowed women to wear black silk and velvet, coloured buttons, fans and tippets and plain white, silver or gold combination coloured stuff with black ribbons. Men could wear white, gold or silver brocaded waistcoats with black suits. The rules set by Lord Chamberlain crossed Europe, the United States (from the 1860s / 70s) and colonial territories, but Court mourning was longer than General mourning. General mourning was growing in popularity due to the accessibility of mourning costume and the cost.

-Via The Art of Mourning

#historical fashion reference #children's fashion #dresses #mourning clothes #women's fashion

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fixomnia-scribble · 2 years

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WHOO!

I get to teach Forensic Sciences again next semester! With a prof I really like and have previously TA’ed for! It’s a super fun course - Intro to Criminalistics - so it’s a little bit of everything. Prints, bones, blood, DNA, drugs, mapping, and more. She’s also researching Forensic Anth, so we can dork out about bones.

AND I’m teaching Crim Theory, too, which is a designated writing-intensive course. I have not worked with the prof for this course, but I hear she’s awesome. Not only do I get to dive into the history of Criminology again, but go absolutely ham on essay-writing technique and tips. (YOU WILL LEARN TO STACK AN ARGUMENT. I can’t guarantee you will learn to love APA, but you will come to grips with it and develop a personalized checklist with samples of in-text citations and title page contents, in order.)

Lesson 1: Who Are You? (Who who? Who who?)

[Text ID: An antique parody of a double mug shot, in sepia tones. A 23-month-old infant with curly light hair sits in a plain wooden high chair, a winsome expression on his face. He is dressed in a typical child’s white frock of the period with a frilled collar, sleeves and skirts. The first panel is in profile, with the child facing right. The second panel is face-on. The inscription reads: François Bertillon, âgé de 23 mois. 17 - oct - 93.]

This infantile mug shot, now in the MOMA collection, is commonly known as: “François Bertillon, 23 months (Baby, Gluttony, Nibbling All the Pears from a Basket)”

Alphonse Bertillon, a French police officer from the late 1800s, sought to revolutionize criminal identification by statistical means. He developed a system, which he called Bertillonage, of body measurements - anthropometry - that could be tabulated and compared with others, under the assumption that no two people would share the exact same measurements.

Now, this idea was an offshoot of biological determinism, a theory that the body itself predicted behaviour and the state of the mind. Biological determinism was actually a revolution in its day: it represented a split from the previous belief that aberrant behaviour and physical infirmity were proof of demonic influence and a directly-involved God. However, biological determinism, itself an offshoot of Platonic essentialism, led to such notions as Lombroso’s “atavistic”-bodied criminal with a hulking body, a lowered brow and a “stupid stare”, as well as pseudo-science parlour fun like phrenology. Not to mention the blatant eugenicism and superior-more-developed-race blather that still persists in many branches of social sciences.

But two hundred and some years into the European Enlightenment, empirical science was moving slowly towards the acceptance of provable, testable hypotheses based in reason and repetition. So Bertillon reasoned that, if you went about the task scientifically, with enough detail, you ought to be able to prove that no two people had the same bodies, and could therefore be told apart. (And just maybe prove that you could tell a criminal from looking at them.)

But no. The collection of Bertillonage data was incredibly painstaking. Subjects had to have a long series of measurements taken, in the exact same postures, using the same equipment. Then, the subjects were required to have photographs taken, from specific angles: the first mug shots. Bertillion spent years perfecting his photographic system. The above photos of his little nephew François are just one example of Bertillon bringing his whole family into the process - an excuse to combine his work with his hobby of photography and his love of his close-knit family.

(Note the implication here: “My family is the control group, the ideal specimens. Normal people look and behave like us.” When thinking about data, always ask yourself: who’s taking the photographs? Who’s collecting the samples, and from where, and how, and why those samples in particular?)

Bertillonage didn’t take off. People have too many similarities as well as differences, and the human error involved in the measurements and photography was too great. But he did create a stunning longitudinal study of his family and friends over a couple of decades, as well as of local criminals. Here’s François a few years later. Can you see details that persist through out his aging? How would you describe them?

You can see here some of the prescribed measurements in the Bertillonage system - and they didn’t have spreadsheets to look up and compare cases!

Bertillon’s underlying idea had merit. No two people are exactly alike. Even identical twins develop epigenetic differences over time. Fingerprints form in the womb, with randomized development due to the uterine environment. We can only measure these things with technical tools - low tech like magnifying glasses, high tech like digitized pattern recognition and molecular amplification. But we’ll get to that later.

Before you leave! Your homework this week is to write a description of yourself that is detailed enough that it would help investigators identify your remains. Under 500 words please. Point form is fine. Post to Canvas by midnight Sunday.

#forensics #forensic science #alphonse bertillon #Adventures in TAing #school school school

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