#1820 rising

[paisleyphotographs]

New plaque commemorates Johnstone educator, musician and radical

A commemorative plaque has been installed at Johnstone Town Hall in honour of an educator, political activist and lifelong radical who hailed from the town. John Fraser, who lived from 1794-1879, was famed for his involvement in the Radical Rising of 1820, where he, along with a number of other ‘radicals’, was tried for treason, following a week of strikes and unrest throughout Scotland. Fraser…

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#1820 rising #2023 #john fraser #Johnstone #town hall

[the-ronan-cycle]

Okay but Will was so (fairly) angsty about how his blood killed Katherine, but she purified the sword!!! It was the Lady who killed Katherine because she wanted Visander to resurrect

#dark heir spoilers #dark heir #dark rise #cs pacat #Visander #my art #this raises so many questions for me #like #why was Visander returned and not the lady? #while we’ve seen the Light isn’t always the ‘good’ side #I think this is the first time we see the Lady as morally ambiguous #I had a lot of fun with the outfit in this #the book is set right after the regency era #dress silhouettes change drastically through the 1820s #so I did a more regency-y top with a fuller pleated skirt

[a-dotrivenitupontop]

i am a very normal person and do not become enraged when people call graces mind movie victorian (me when i lie)

#ITS FUCKING REGENCY BABES #LOOK AT THE DAMN DRESSES THAT SHITS NOT EVEN 1820 AT THE VERY LATEST #the afterparty #ugh when it’s compared to bridgerton.. #also saw some say the episode reminded them of dickinson. yes and hitler: the rise of evil was very derry girls core #i am soooooo normal about history

[navree]

"bridgerton said (correctly!) This History Boring" bridgerton fans you are never seeing heaven (except for the ones who are my friends because they wouldn't say smth like this to me anyway)

#personal #'this history boring' first of all fuck you so hard there has never been a more incorrect sentence ever regardless of the time period #second of all are you NUTS #you're telling me with a straight face and with your whole chest #that the period of time encompassing the french revolution and the subsequent european wars and then napoleon's rise and expansion #ISN'T INTERESTING??????? #the same period of time that literally had THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION #the entire continent of europe was in massive upheaval from like the 1770s until the fucking 1820s #it's a fascinating time period for anyone interested in western history #like american history. french history. british history. italian history. austrian/holy roman empire history. #i hate this show i hate this show i already don't like it for so many reasons both profound and nitpicky but like #if watching it makes you have these takes then you've made me hate the show now

[tragedybunny]

Loving Him

༺Synopsis ༻ You and Astarion are out travelling the world. Tonight you decide to spoil him with your attention.

༺Pairing ༻ Astarion x F!Reader

༺Warnings ༻ 18+ , fellatio, vaginal sex

༺Word Count ༻ 1820

Thanks to @bunnidarling for the Beta.

The sun was fading, pinks and oranges playing prelude to lavenders and indigos, then the velvety black finale of the night. A night of rest, you thought contentedly, just the two of you and this lovely little clearing you'd found to camp in. 

Normally, you would stay at what inns would have you, but you'd been between towns when daylight grew near. Just off the road through the woods you found a small, oddly shaped, clearing that was level enough so that you wouldn’t be sleeping in a mud puddle. “Do you think you can handle sleeping outdoors again, or are you too used to the luxury of a real bed?” Astarion had teased as the tent went up in the last hour before dawn. 

“I wasn’t the one who whined endlessly about it,” you shot back with a grin. Neither of you loved roughing it, but it happened sometimes on your journey across Faerûn. Thus, you’d dug your supplies out of the modified Bag of Holding that Gale had gifted you, and made camp. It was an extremely useful gift, modified into a small backpack one of you carried while the other carried a mundane pack with essentials you might want to access with ease, the Bag could be a bit tricky for finding things quickly. 

Though, you couldn’t complain as it also allowed you to indulge in a bit of luxury: a carpet spread out near your fire dappled with large cushions to lounge on, where you sat in nothing but a thin nightgown. The tent you shared bore a similar enchantment to the bag, making it larger and more luxurious on the inside, the cots and blankets disappearing easily into it as it was taken down. Tonight you’d spread out your cushion nest by yourself while Astarion tranced. It was a habit of his to wait until the last few hours before sunset, remaining awake throughout the day, either in your tent or wherever you’d found to stay. 

You were nocturnal yourself these days, staying up past dawn to visit markets that weren’t open at night and make any necessary arrangements, and finding sleep sometime after. Astarion would usually cuddle up to you until you drifted off, and then return to your side to trance. Today though, you’d had trouble sleeping and come out to enjoy the evening, watching the sunset. 

As soon as the light faded, your vampiric love emerged from the tent. It was a rare sight to see Astarion not looking perfectly put together, one only you were so regularly privy to. Curls disheveled, eyes hazy with sleep, he stood in the moonlight in nothing but a night shirt that came down to mid-thigh. “Good evening, darling,” he purred, voice thick and sultry. 

Heat came instantly to your core just looking at him. Tonight was a night of rest, such urges shouldn't go to waste. “Hello my love,” you crook a finger and beckon him toward you, a sinful smile on your lips. 

His crimson eyes light up, knowing you were up to something. Astraion’s reclaimed bodily autonomy had led you to finding ever greater physical pleasures in each other. Rising from the cushion you leaned on, you settle on your knees before him. “May I?” Your gaze peers up at him through your lashes to find his eyes already hooded and dark. 

“Go right ahead, you sweet little thing,” he invites, urging you on. If only he knew what you were thinking. 

The first touch of your lips is against his inner thigh, and you feel him shiver as they continue up his pale skin. Your teeth sink into his soft flesh in their wake, leaving little red marks blooming on him. He groans and you want to leave the kind of marks that would last, dark and beautiful, but you had other things on your mind. 

Pushing the night shirt out of your way, you reach your goal, his cock, already starting to stiffen for you. Gods, was there a more glorious sight in all the realms? You look up again, asking without words. “Don’t leave me waiting love,” he breathes, betraying the effect you were having on him. 

Grasping him in one hand, you stroke gently as your tongue darts out to lick along the sensitive underside of his member. His hitched breath spurs you on, and you lavish your tongue over him, long strokes, drawn out teasingly over the sensitive head, emerging from his foreskin. 

The temptation is too great to resist and you greedily take all of him into your mouth before long, pushing yourself as far down his length as you could without gagging. Your reward is a moan that leaves wetness blooming between your thighs. A hand tangles in your hair as you start to move, taking him again and again to your limit. 

The feel of him bumping into the back of your throat is always delicious, but you need more. You let him slide from your mouth to a disappointed sigh. “Lie down, I want you to just let me do everything,” you gesture to your abandoned cushion, “and get that night shirt out of my way.” 

“Feisty tonight,” he smiles down at you, but acquiesces to your whim. Typically, it was Astarion who took charge of your intimate moments, guiding you, instructing you, dominating you. But tonight, you want to lead, to let him simply experience pleasure. 

The night shirt is carelessly flung to the ground, leaving you with an uninhibited view of that body you’d learned to crave. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, holding back a hungry noise. Astarion settles himself down onto the cushion, his thighs spread enough to leave a perfect space for you. “You’re going to spoil me if you do all the work.”

“Hush,” you scold, pulling your nightgown over your head, and letting the cool evening breeze tingle your skin. Astarion makes an appreciative sound and you turn to find his eyes devouring and can tell he’s fighting the urge to grab and push you down to the ground and have his way with you. He’ll have to wait for that. 

You don’t leave the space he’d made for you empty for long, kneeling between his thighs and lowering yourself until your lips wrap around him and one hand encircles the base of his cock. Sucking, you work him both hand and mouth, bobbing up and down. 

No longer holding back, the night is filled with his little sounds of passion as you worship him with your mouth. Invariably, hands wrap back into your hair and he tries to thrust up, to take back control. Your free hand pushes him back down and you leave it resting on his hip, a warning you could stop if he doesn’t behave. 

Drool dribbles over the corner of your mouth as you're once again taking him to the back of your throat. The salty taste of precum tingles your tongue as you press it as hard as you can against him. The hand on his hip traces it’s way down his thigh, nails lightly skimming his skin, then back up, traipsing along his stomach, to his chest. 

In your mouth, his cock gives a little twitch. Too close, you pull off. The audacious bastard has the nerve to whine. Your hand wraps around him and you stroke a few times, not enough to alleviate what he’s feeling. “What’s the matter love?” You lock gazes with him from where you're still kneeling between his legs, daring him to try again to take the lead. 

Eyes hazy with lust, he pants, and words mix with incoherent noise. “You - absolutely maddening - tease.” 

“Should I stop?” You release him and sit back, hands resting on your thighs. 

An actual growl slips from his throat and he begins to sit, reaching for you. Hands on his shoulders, you push him back down to the cushion. “None of that.” 

How willing he’s been to play along surprised you, and it continues to as he yields, laying back down. “Just relax, enjoy this.”

Straddling his thighs, you nudge them back together, no doubt he can feel the heat and wetness of your core as it rests on him. Leaning down, you plant a searing kiss on him, lips parting and tongues entwining. Your grip still firm on his shoulders, you kiss your way down his neck, biting and sucking until a proper mark forms. His purpled skin is gorgeous and you kiss it again before moving on to leave another. Cool fingers dig into your hips but nothing more as he moans softy at your attentions. 

Hips slide over his, his cock running the length of your drenched slit. “Fuck,” he whispers, breath tingling your ear, and you can’t wait another moment. Reaching down, you roll your hips, and guide him inside you, whimpering when at last you’re filled.

Sitting back up straight, you move, hips grinding against his, and delicious friction filling you. “Gods,” you moan, he’s not doing anything and this man can still undo you. 

“My beautiful girl, you ride me so good,” fuck him and that mouth of his. “Can I touch you sweetheart, please?” 

That hadn’t been your plan, but his soft plea along with the maddening feel of him inside you crumples your will. “You may,” you barely manage. 

He doesn’t need more encouragement for his fingers to quickly find your sensitive bud and begin rubbing rough circles over it. You’re both too far gone for gentleness, and you relish the firm touch. Pace quickening, you lean down, hips moving at a brutal rhythm, so badly you want to bring him to climax, but those masterful fingers have had their way with you and soon you’re close.

He can tell by the scent, he’s told you, and the way your pulse beats, exactly when you can’t stand it anymore. “Go on love, come for me.” 

With a keening sound, you give in, clenching around him, still rolling your hips. “Astarion,” you moan, almost unable to keep moving. 

Pulling you down, he finally wrests control from you, and fucks up into you with maddened thrusts. “My love, my sweet darling girl, you’re so good to me.” He stiffens and gasps, lips finding yours as his release fills you. 

Collapsing down onto his chest, you lay there in a warm daze, Astarion’s arms wrapping around you. “This was quite the enjoyable turn of events,” you feel his lips in your hair. “Though you’ll have to try harder next time to keep in control.” 

“Do you ever shut up,” you huff and try to glare up at him from where you lay. 

“Only when you make me,” he teases only to be cut off by your lips on his. 

The two of you fall silent and rest in each other’s arms, you’ll need to gather your strength if you’re to try this again.

  

Tag list, DM to be added

@micropoe10  @writingmysanity @mxxny-lupin @azu21

 @tallymonster  @dependsonthedream @sunfire-ancunin 

@bambamwolf87 @fayeriess @lumienyx @lisrelly

@elora-the-slutty-songstress @bhaalbaaby @spacebarbarianweird

@satanicspinosaurus @darlingxdragon

#astarion #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x reader #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #x reader #my fanfic #my writing #astarion x tav

[thepaperpanda]

A Promise Unyielding || Dabi x fem!reader

Summary: During a night patrol, you find yourself being pulled into a dim alleyway by your villainous boyfriend

Warnings: smut w/o plot

Word count: 1820

Authors: Cass & Rouge

During one of the night patrols, Dabi decided to simply snatch you off the street and pull you into a dark alleyway. "Look at you! Dressed so nicely. My little hero," Dabi purred, wrapping arms around your waist as he pressed you against a cold wall.

You looked shocked at Dabi, your hands instinctively grabbing onto his shoulders for support. "What are you doing?" You asked, your voice trembling with disbelief. "Brrr! Cold!"

"Oh, now you pretend to feel cold? Somehow you didn't whine like that the last time we fucked outside," Dabi chuckled, pushing his knee between your legs, parting them wider. "I missed my little hero. Don't tell me you didn't miss me."

Your cheeks flushed with a deep blush as you heard his words, and your heart raced in response. And then, as his knee pushed in between your thighs, a wave of desire and anticipation coursed through you. "Dabi..." You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Your bodies pressed together, intensifying the electrifying connection between you as you desperately started planting kisses on his jawline.

His hand grasped on your hip tightly, he picked you up, pressing you more against the wall. 

"Is that all you can say to me now? Or are we playing a hero and a bad, bad villain, huh?” Dabi purred, kissing your neck while his hands started working on getting rid of the costume you wore. "You look so pretty in it but I prefer you without too many clothes on."

You blushed deeply at his words, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. It was remarkable how Dabi possessed this uncanny ability to make you flush with just a single word spoken. His presence had a way of igniting a fire within you that you couldn't easily extinguish. "Not... here," you whispered, your voice barely audible as he began to work on your clothes. A mixture of excitement and apprehension coursed through you, and the thought of being caught in such an intimate act fueled your desires.

Dabi laughed shortly, hands moving along your back. "Not here? And why is that?" He muttered lowly, close to your ear. "What? Are you worried your hero friends will witness you getting fucked by a villain? Are you worried they will find out you are just a bad guy's slut?”

"T-they won't understand..." You whispered quietly, shivering under his every touch.

"Not that they would ever understand," he rolled his eyes. "The minimum we can offer is a small spectacle. Don't you agree, doll?" Dabi hummed, slowly removing the lower part of your gear.

You parted your lips, holding tightly onto his neck. "You'll be the death of me one day." You kissed his jaw again, soon aiming for his lips.

Dabi suddenly set you back on the ground and kneeled between your legs, putting one of them over his shoulder. "Oh, I don't think you deserved a kiss yet." Fortunately, with your costume, gaining access to your undergarments was a simple task. Two of his fingers pressed into the soft fabric of your panties. "Look at that. So against it yet my little doll is already wet, just for me. Interesting."

You slipped your hands into his black, spiky hair, relishing the soft texture as your fingers entwined in the strands. His hair felt slightly rebellious, matching his edgy demeanor. "Oh my Gosh," you whispered, barely moving your lips. "Please, I need you to fuck me, I won't hold it any longer... Do I sound like a needy whore? God, I hope I don't..."

"Oh, you do sound like this," Dabi teased and soon moved your panties to the side. Rough pads of his fingers pressed to your clit. "You sound like my needy, little, slut." 

Right after those words, his fingers moved lower, gently prodding at your tight entrance as his lips wrapped around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You arched your back, putting one of your hands over your mouth to muffle your moans. Dabi skillfully maneuvered, guiding you with a finesse that made it feel as though you were an instrument in his hands. Every touch, every caress, was orchestrated with precision, evoking a symphony of pleasure that resonated deep within you. "Can you stop teasing me?" You whimpered. "I want your cock in. Now."

Dabi frowned and pulled away, placing hands on your hips. "Do I need to remind you that I am the one in charge here? If you piss me off, I'll leave you here all alone and needy."

You looked down at Dabi, nodding your head. "S-sorry, Dabi..."

"That's my doll," Dabi praised you and dived back between your legs. His tongue licked and pushed into your entrance while his fingers pinched your clit.

To get some more friction, you tried to buck your hips back and forth, grinding your pussy over his face; soft moans escaping your parted lips.

He growled and pulled away. "You're really annoying tonight. Fucking needy whore."

Dabi got up to his feet and immediately turned you around so you faced the wall. "Telling me what to do, moving when I didn't allow you to." All you could hear was the sound of him unfastening his pants. "I wanted to make my doll feel good but fine. I’m gonna fuck you like the slut you are."

He pressed you hard against the cold wall and then pushed his hard cock into your tight pussy from behind with a low growl.

"Fuck," you moaned quietly. The way Dabi made you feel was overwhelming, like an intoxicating wave crashing over you. Every touch, every whispered word sent shivers down your spine and ignited a fire within your soul. The intensity of your connection was almost too much to bear, but you couldn't resist diving deeper into this all-encompassing sensation. It was a blissful chaos that consumed you entirely. One of your hands slipped between your thighs to rub little circles over your pussy. "Fuck, ohm, yes, yes! So good! Fuck me!"

"You really want me to fucking stop, don't you?” Dabi scolded you and grabbed your busy hand to pin it over your head. He didn't stop himself from using his quirk to slightly burn your wrist as a punishment. "You will never learn that I am the only one that can touch you."

His other hand moved from your hip to your abdomen, pressing hard on your skin to add the nice pressure to the place where his cock created a bulge. Dabi made sure he kept the hard and fast pace so you could feel every inch of his dick and how deep he was reaching.

You moaned loudly as Dabi quickened his pace, your voice echoing in the alley as pleasure surged through every fiber of your being. The intensity of the moment intensified, building up like a wildfire, as he expertly pushed us both towards the edge of ecstasy. The sounds of your passion mingled in the air, creating a symphony of desire; the sound of skin slapping against skin was almost enough to send you over the edge. "F-forgive me, Dabi! It's... So good! I couldn't stop myself!"

"I knew heroes were pathetic but you, doll?" He groaned, grabbing your chin to make you look at him. "I thought I trained you well, yet you still do stuff like this."

Hand from your abdomen swiftly moved to your clit to pinch it before he started to rub fast circles over it. 

His chest pressed against your back, pressing you even harder to the wall as his thrusts became even faster. "C'mon, you little slut. Come for me, come on my cock. Fuck," he growled, getting a bit overhelmed by the nice feeling of your walls tightening around him.

"Fuck!" You let out a weak moan, your legs trembling under the force of his hard thrusts. The intensity of your connection overwhelmed you, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Each powerful movement left you gasping for air, completely consumed by the raw passion between the two of you. Your lips went dry and even running your tongue's top over them wasn't helping at that point. "D-Dabi! Harder! Fuck, harder!" You pleaded, your eyes welling up with tears as you glanced at him, hoping he would understand.

With an eye roll he grabbed your hips and increased the pace, fucking you even harder and faster than before. His grip was so strong that he expected your skin to have a nice souvenir for a few days. Dabi groaned from time to time, feeling himself getting closer.

You reached your peak, your body trembling with pleasure despite the lingering pain from the small burn on your wrist and the intense sensations radiating from within your pussy as Dabi continued to thrust in you hard. The sheer ecstasy consumed you, overpowering any discomfort, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you breathless and utterly lost in the moment; the only thing to escape your lips was Dabi's name.

"Fuck!" Dabi growled and he shot warm ribbons of cum deep inside you.

Just for a moment Dabi rested his forehead against your shoulder, trying to catch his breath.

His palms let go of your hips and moved up your belly to hug you tightly from behind. "My little hero slut. Such a good girl,” Dabi purred against your ear before giving it a playful bite.

After Dabi pulled out of you, you turned in his arms, a sense of intimacy and contentment enveloping you both. 

Taking a moment to adjust and improve your gear, particularly the pants, you then wrapped your arms around him, savoring the warmth of his embrace. Nuzzling against him, you placed gentle kisses along his shoulders and the nape of his neck, cherishing the closeness. "I love it when you go rough on me..."

Dabi pulled his pants back up and made himself look presentable again. "Yeah but I don't like when you act bratty," he scolded you and then smacked your ass hard. "Next time I really will leave you in such a state." Dabi warned.

You kissed his nape, inhaling his scent. "I promise to be a good girl, Toya."

He chuckled lowly. "Oh, we'll see how long you're gonna keep that promise," Dabi patted your head. "Now, better go before someone realizes you went silent. You can be sure I'll find you later."

"You promise?" You whined, becoming clingy. 

You despised the moments when Dabi had to depart, when the weight of your clandestine relationship became painfully evident. The reality of your position as a hero, bound by duty and responsibilities, meant that you couldn't be together openly. It tore at your heart, creating a constant ache within your soul.

"Of course I promise, little doll," Dabi patted your head. "Though others may perceive me as an aberrant being, I would never break my promise.”

#touya todoroki #dabi x reader #dabi x reader smut #bnha x reader #dabi smut #dabi #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #mha x reader #mha smut #todoroki x reader #todoroki toya x reader #x reader smut

[y3ager]

MATERIAL GIRL.

— and what do you give the girl who has everything? two rich boyfriends!

jean k. x eren y. x black!fem!reader

tags: modern au, fluff, polyamorous relationship. socialite!reader. lovergirldeepdown!reader. 4k word count. inspired by this blurb.

HAILING FROM OLD money— your father the CEO of a century old automobile brand and your mother the third generation runway model—you have seen all there is to see, worn what there is to wear, had every priceless stone dangle from your neck and fingers, and tasted the most decadent of foods. the belief that just superficial things would be enough to sway you offends you greatly. if you don’t have it, you will have it as if it’s your right at this point. it takes much more than dinner and a yacht ride to make you squeal.

and that’s what’s so tiring about the whole dating scene. the pool is filled to the brim with arrogant nepotism babies in khaki shorts and sweaters around their shoulders. they’ll never worry about a thing because daddy kisses the ass of this man and mommy grins in the face of that woman, and by god, do they make it known. if another man brags about owning original modigliani pieces over dinner, he’ll be met with an oyster shell to the eye. who are you supposed to be, some bright-eyed influencer? please. check the pedigree.

things changed when you met them, however. one in the summer, and one in the winter.

you were on the jet back home from italy when hitch, a girl you’ve known since you were a tyke, bombarded your phone with messages about christening her new penthouse with a pool party you just had to come to, lest she’d drag you there. after confirming your attendance, you rolled back over in the white leather reclining seat and pulled your silk eye mask back down, making a mental note to get your braids refreshed and place an order for a new bikini.

you’re reborn as a literal doll, the braids on the left side of your head coaxed into an intricate butterfly while the others lay flat against your scalp in faultless rows and hang low to your hipbones. white, white, white everywhere, from the nails, the strappy swimsuit, the miu miu sandals; a beautiful contrasts against your glistening ebon skin dusted with body shimmer for good measure. perfect, as usual.

hitch’s new high rise penthouse is something out of a multimillion dollar budget drama, with its dozens of crystal clear windows and modern interior. sitting far away enough from the city to avoid the hustle and bustle, but close enough to gaze at the twinkling lights, it’s practically a palace for the dreyse corporation heir.

champagne flute filled with 1820 juglar cuvée, you mingle amongst the next generation of the one percent. hitch’s friends, and your friends by proxy you assume, are a breath of fresh air. human.

but there’s one person amongst the gaggle you don’t recognize. from your spot next to the slightly tispy miss dreyse, your dark eyes glance over the rim of your ivory framed sunnies, glass rim tapping absentmindedly against lined, glossed lips. light brown mullet, slightly tanned skin, dark brown eyes...

“hitchie...” your elbow gently bumps into the blonde’s sides, snatching her out of her mild stupor. “who’s that?” you ask innocently, gesturing with your half full flute. it’s casual, inquisitive.

hitch squints a little bit, pure concentration written all over her features as she tries to put a name to the face. “oh!” when the name comes to her, her hand meets the back of your shoulder in a kinda hard slap, totally unintentional, of course. “jean, kirschtein! you know, from-” a hiccup interrupts her introduction, making her burst into a quick giggle. “-the oil company.”

the pieces begin to come together, you know the names all of the elite; the braun’s, the leonhart’s, the ackerman’s, names listed amongst yours and names you close deals with. clans with power, influence, wealth, distinction.

he, jean, is walking over now; casual with an easy stride that shows he’s in no rush, he’s confident. he pays his respects to the girl of the hour, congratulating her on her new playhouse before her attention is diverted by another guest calling her name to get her to come over there. hitch slips off, but not before discreetly tapping your lower back in excitement; an unspoken ‘get him.’

“jean,” he introduces himself, extending his hand in a polite greeting. “i wanted to speak to hitch, but i wanted to talk to you, too. you are breathtaking.” his eyes drink you in, from head to toe, even though they’ve been roaming your frame since you first caught his attention. the heir simply cannot get enough. “but you get told that a lot, yes?”

“thank you.” your lips spread into a small smile, one hand slipping into his larger one as the other pulls off your sunnies, sticking one of the arms down into your top. “i’m ___” jean bore a lean swimmer’s build, dark navy beach shorts hung low on his hips, and his tanned skin decorated with a dusting of faint, brown freckles over his body. years of private villas and yachts, no doubt. he was impossibly tall, too, you find yourself having to gently tilt your head back to see his face fully. it was cute from afar, maturely handsome up close. was that a faint hint of a mustache? it was hot.

jean repeats your name slowly, enjoying the feeling of that line of syllables rolling off his tongue. “i’d love to get to know you more. ___, you’re so beautiful. i have to impress you somehow. name it,” his other hand comes up to rest of top of yours, successfully encasing it in a gentle hold. an excuse to touch you just a little bit more. “i’ll make it happen.”

your smile becomes a grin, and your dark eyes glint mischievously under your delicate lashes. one quick test, because where’s the fun in not initiating one? you just want to see what he’d say, pick at his brain. what sweet words will he spin from his golden cords now? “but jean,” you begin softly, “what if i was the type of girl that liked a man that took control? told me we were doing this, at this time, on this day, and in my prettiest red dress?”

“it’d be rude, ___, at least in my eyes, to so quickly assume i had a right to your time, and drag you around this way and that. allow me the privilege of occupying your time, and space.”

before you can catch it, one of your expertly threaded and sculpted eyebrows quirks up in mild surprise. you beckon him a bit closer to your face with a wave of your acrylics. “good answer,” you tease, honeyed voice playful and whispery. “phone? i can put my number in, and we can talk about how you can try to romance me when i have my schedules laid out in front of me.” you watch as he fishes the device out of his shorts pocket.

you were captivating afar, but up close with your tawny skin soft, glittery, and emanating an intoxicating vanilla scent, your dark eyes glistening with mirth and playfulness… it makes jean’s body go into some type of shock, his heart plummeting to his feet and his blood running cold but racing through his veins at the same time.

“well then,” you chime as you save your digits into the millionaire’s phone, the contact simply your name with no bells or whistles to adorn it. “i hope we can get to know each soon, mr. kirschtein.”

jean thinks that pearly white smile will be the death of him.

…

every year, no matter what, your father throws his annual christmas party. you long assumed that it brings him a special type of happiness because your normally humble father goes all out for them, each year being better than the last. he flies out the best chefs in the world to cook for hours, orders the tallest, greenest tree for the foyer, and has the house cleaned til someone could check their reflection in the perfect marble floors. when it comes to this, the man skimps on nothing.

you take it upon yourself to make the most of it, requesting custom design dresses from the most exclusive sewing tables over in Europe, shoes fresh from the runway. only the very best for you, the heiress, the crème de la crème, the girl who has never known the word no.

“dance with me?”

you had been absentmindedly swirling your wine glass by its delicate stem, attempting to place its origin (red, tart-like with its cranberry flavor and a strange orange bite near the end), when you’re approached. once you turn your head, you’re meet with striking green eyes and a sharp little smile.

“you looked bored, and that’s what these parties are for, right?”

eren yeager, the german-american son of grisha and carla yeager, 2nd generation genius neurosurgeon with a net worth in the 7 figures, and the just-as-talented, third generation wedding gown designer. according to the rumor mill, after graduating in the top of class in one of those ivy’s upstate, he gallivanted across the country (no, the world) as the not-so-favorable yeager son. of course, there are entirely too many eyes on the yeager clan for grisha to do too much of anything and a son can do no wrong in a doting mother’s eyes; so eren is left free to his disagreeable desires. everyone wonders how long that will last.

steely dark eyes and your naturally neutral face does nothing to deter him. you decide to indulge him, slipping your hand into his and raising up, allowing him the luxury of whisking you to the dance floor. “i guess i don’t see why not.”

“great.” his hand is soft and a little cool against your own, the woody, cedar notes of penhaligon the inimitable gently wafting off his skin and pressed shirt. unbeknownst to you, a few pairs of eyes bore into yeager’s back. the arrogance he has to whisk you away so early into the party, especially with it being his first one. if eren was the wiser, he’d revel in their envy.

there’s a handful of other couples waltzing across the floor when you two arrive. your fingers thread through his as his free hand finds a respectful place on your waist, blessed with the feeling of the smooth skin exposed by the opening in your dress.

no matter how much money your father makes, he’s an old black man at heart. old r&b plays from the expensive sound system he had installed, tevin campbell’s can we talk playing through the speakers. the irony of the situation isn’t lost on you. nonetheless, you hum nonchalantly to the tune and glide around the floor with your partner.

“i gotta ask, do you enjoy these things? or does your dad put you up to it?” your arm is held above your head and you’re spun around in a quick circle before being guided back to eren’s chest. face still impartial, you nod your head towards your five o clock, the wavy blonde strands dangling from your delicate updo tickling your face. a table teems with gifts for you and you only, bachelors from afar vying for a wisp of your attention with shiny, expensive gifts. they fail to realize that a girl like yourself isn’t so easily bought. but, it’s their money not yours, and few things in life bring you greater joy than pulling ribbon and wrapping paper from luxury brand boxes.

“of course i do. i’m not ‘put up’ to anything. i dress up, i get my presents. what isn’t there to love?” manicured hand splayed across the man’s back, you’re dipped towards the floor. you’re one to give credit where credit is due, yeager is a good dancer; the confidence in his movements isn’t a lame front and he maintains the delicate balance between taking the lead and dragging his poor partner around. since this is suddenly an interview, you have questions of your own. “when i have time to go through them, will i find your name on anything?”

“of course you will. be pretty damn rude to show up to a party empty handed. especially when it might be my only chance to get a gift for the princess.” a name your normally cringe and scrunch your nose at sounds surprisingly nice passing by his lips. he grinned boyishly. “no hints.”

“i can wait. for your sake, i hope it’s no ring. it’s going straight into the garbage.” just the thought of such a “present” makes your blood want to boil. who raised these “men”? i mean honestly, what brain dead fool buys a ring for a girl who didn’t even know his face? and expected her to wear it? you would sooner die and go to hell first.

“no way someone is that dumb. you’re fucking with me.”

“what do i have to lie for?”

"well, taking a look at these guests, i take it back. some of these bastards look dumb enough to pull a stunt like that." eren scans the array of guests over your shoulder, and you can't even feign offense for your father's sake. scanning over a guestlist for former flames and explaining why you didn't want them in attendance would take too much time, and you really didn't feel like explaining "relationship troubles" to your dad of all people. loved him as much as you did that really wasn't his business. besides, watching them shiver and skulk away from your disinterested and annoyed glance made up for everything. "are you a betting woman?"

"did you waste grisha's money on a degree in journalism?" your eyebrows furrow and eren laughs again.

"you're funny, ___. most of our peers aren't so witty. and if it so pleases her majesty, i want to bet on the odds of one of these dumbasses putting a ring under your tree." eren's green eyes stare down into yours, gleaming with playfulness, mirth, and confidence. "what do you say? someone does, and we can go on a date, just us two, and you can smile and laugh a little bit."

"and if there's no ring?"

"i'll leave you alone and fall in place in your long string of broken hearts."

luck has always been on your side. look at the family you were in born in, the riches that are your birthright! the universe has never dealt you a bad hand and surely wouldn’t start now. and worse case scenario, you hang out with one of the few men that can mark your plump lips twitch in the shadow of a giggle. “fine.” your brown eyes meet his green, and neither of the waver. “deal.”

several days later, gifts from around the globe surround you. handbags, shoes, dresses, envelopes bursting with cash; you’ll have to tell your dad you need some walls knocked down in your already spacious closet to make room for more. amidst all this, though, a godforsaken ring is gripped between your fingers. if looks could kill, it would melting and dripping from your grasp. holding it like it’s contaminated, you snap a picture to send to yeager:

‘i’m free the 3rd weekend and tuesdays.’

…

as temperatures rise again, you spend the next few months allowing jean kirstein and eren yeager the luxury of whisking you away when your schedule permits.

the former is a bit... old fashioned, in a good way! you're led off to slow paced, cozy dates; the two of you roaming italian streets, attending shows in their original opera houses, he never strayed you out of the bubble you two were born in. it was casual, soft, predictable in a good way.

eren on the other hand, spent money like it would burn through his pocket if it sat there too long. he spent money like a man who just felt its crispness in his palms and was addicted to the feeling, knowing deep down it'd never stop flowing for him. you're frequenting the night scene in your tight, revealing dress, his firm hands on your hips as you two grind to the pounding beats. shopping spree dates that lasted all day, if your hand so much as brushed it, it was bought, packaged up, and in the car. spontaneous flights abroad, stealing you away for weekends. it was exhilarating.

they both provide the things you're looking for. jean is the type of man you imagine yourself settling down with one day, when the whole young and turnt shtick melts away into something more domestic and slow paced. he has gentle hands and treats you so delicately, softly. his reliability will be something you can learn to lean on and need.

eren could possibly be that type of man too, but for now he has a fire, impulses that keep you oh so entertained. having everything in the world gets boring, and eren brings that spark that you crave.

you ruminate at your vanity. hair tied down and tucked away under a silky soft bonnet, you run your gua sha across your moisturized face, long sweeping strokes that end with a gentle tug. eye masks rest on your face, your feet clothed by a exfoliating mask, and a fluffy robe envelopes your body. you stare at your reflection, you're the only one who gets you.

you're really at a crossroads. you choosing between something is unheard of. you're ___, you get everything you deserve and want tenfold. you like jean, you like eren. the way they look at you with such adoration, how their hands and lips caress your body, the sweets words they declare, and how every promise they've made to you remains unbroken, oh how they must certainly feel the same for you.

as greedy as it may make you sound, you want both. your cake and to eat it too. two of your richest peers fawning over you day in and day out, them caring for you and you caring for them. them loving you, and you loving them. it’s a dream that will be your reality.

…

after a long day at sea on one of many jean’s yachts, the sun beaming down on not only the beautiful blue water but the two of you, entangled in each other’s arms, docks at the private harbor.

you’re running your fingers through your french curl braids as jean talks to one of the dock’s attendees, slightly sleepy from your sunbathing session. the gentle breeze of the day brings the smell of saltwater up to your nostrils and you hear seagulls squawking from spots on the wooden posts. obviously, a day at the water leaves you craving seafood, juicy lobster tails with a decadent pasta on the side. your daydreams of the soon to be dinner are interrupted by an extremely familiar “yo!”

heads turn, and it’s none other than eren striding across the dock’s walkway towards where you and jean are standing. his green eyes shine at the sight of you, the hot pink of your two piece bikini a perfect contrast to your skin and showing curves and bends he’d worship for the rest of his life. oh, and jean’s here too.

another woman might falter, her heart catching in her throat and sweat beading up on her flesh as her suitors stand before her, but you’re the epitome of calm, brown eyes smoothly meeting eren’s. there’s no ring on your finger, and besides, you know what you’re after right now.

“haven’t seen you in a while, yeager.” knowing it’d be cliche, jean fights against the urge to wrap a protective arm around your waist. “done gallivanting the world?”

“seen all there is to see kirschtein, and you say that like it’s insult. what use is money if it just sits in accounts collecting dust.” eren looks at you again, god you’re a sight for sore eyes. “especially when there’s a woman like her to spend it on.”

jean’s eyes can’t help but to roll. what a cornball. “well, good chat, but ___ and i are on a little time crunch. i’m taking her to niccolo’s, especially after being on the water.” his hand slips into yours, taking charge but not tugging you along. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this side of him.

“well, now that you mention it, i could go for some niccolo’s too.” eren’s grin is shit-eating. what a cute dynamic these too have, one you know has a bit more bite to it when a lady isn’t in their presence. “how about i join? matter of fact, my treat.”

“that won’t be necessary.”

“i insist.”

“you two would argue all day if i let you,” you interrupt this small tussle, and now their attention is back on you. a manicured hand raises up to cover your small yawn. “like an old married couple.”

“it’s all in good fun,” eren’s shoulder nudges jean, and if jean had lasers for eyes, the youngest heir to yeager fortune would be a pile of dust before your feet. “we go way back.”

jean ignores him entirely, but eren finds it hilarious. “what he’s suggesting is insane, ___.”

you give a gentle shrug of your shoulder, coyness at the ready. “it’s nothing serious, it’s a lunch date between friends, and i bet you’d like to catch up.”

jean’s jaw tenses. he turns to you completely as eren looks on curiously. “i think it’s a sign that you say that, ___. i’ve been meaning to have this conversation with you for a while. yes, we are friends, but i want to be more with you.”

this moment, with the waves crashing across the dock, the sun illuminating the two of you, jean clasping your hands tight, would’ve been a soft, tender, picturesque one had it not been for eren’s booming laughter.

“oh, so now this is a pissing contest, huh, jean? well, since we’re confessing feelings, i have my own to speak for you.” his outburst breaks your gaze, and you and jean both turn in unison. “___, i want you to be my girlfriend, and i’ve felt this way for a while. i’ve been waiting for just the perfect moment, but i can’t let this jack-off take this one for himself right?” comically, you’re put between them, each of your hands in theirs.

“i…” this takes tact, a delicate way of stringing together words and honestly, with their eyes boring into yours, you find yourself falling just a touch short.

“i respect any decision you make,” jean assures.

“___, i will do anything for you,” eren promises.

any decision. anything.

you bit your bottom lip, hands minutely twitching in their clasp. you lean in neither direction, at the center of them. “any?”

and then there’s a beat of silence. and everyone’s looking at each other. this feels like a scene in a sitcom, something that should be accompanied with a laugh-track, but there’s no closed mouth that’s been fed.

“because in the time i’ve gotten to know both of you, i’ve begin to care for both of you. and i’ve made great memories with the two of you. i know i could make even more. i don’t value any time spent with you over each other’s.” your voice shakes just a tiny, tiny bit, vulnerability creeping in. “you too make me… so happy.”

eren cuts the silence first, ever the impulsive one. “i’ll do it.”

“you cut me off,” jean quickly interjects. eren really puts him on his toes, ignites an aggressive fire deep within, steps on just the right nerves. “i’m doing it too.”

“i said i’d do anything.”

“and i said i’d respect any decision.”

“okay!” you voice crashes down like a gavel. “okay. i’m glad that you two are hearing me out,” a smile tugs at your glossed lips, this feels so easy and lighthearted, a stark contrast from the seriousness you impose upon yourself. already, you feel yourself loosening up, because the two of them bring out the true, relaxed you like nothing else can. “but for our sanity the bickering needs to come down a notch before we all kill each other, yeah?”

two strong pairs of arms envelop you. it takes some effort, but you wrap your own around the two of them. three heads together, you find yourselves laughing. a weight eases of your shoulders, but not because you got your way, but because you know this is the death of a mask created by the circle you were born in. a mask that hides the love you can feel in an attempt to guard it.

“well, we won’t kill you.”

nov 13. 2021. nov 9. 2023. i nearly gave up. i almost threw in the towel. but goddammit she’s done. praise god.

#eren jaeger x black reader #eren x black reader #eren yeager x you #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x black reader #jean kirschstein x black reader #jean kirschtein x reader #jean x reader #jean x black reader #🏙.aotmodern #🧸.aotfluff

[whencyclopedia]

Child Labour in the British Industrial Revolution

Children were widely used as labour in factories, mines, and agriculture during the British Industrial Revolution (1760-1840). Very often working the same 12-hour shifts that adults did, children as young as five years old were paid a pittance to climb under dangerous weaving machines, move coal through narrow mine shafts, and work in agricultural gangs.

It was very often the case that children's jobs were well-defined and specific to them, in other words, child labour was not merely an extra help for the adult workforce. The education of many children was replaced by a working day, a choice often made by parents to supplement a meagre family income. It was not until the 1820s that governments began to pass laws that restricted working hours and business owners were compelled to provide safer working conditions for everyone, men, women, and children. Even then a lack of inspectors meant many abuses still went on, a situation noted and publicised by charities, philanthropists, and authors with a social conscience like Charles Dickens (1812-1870).

A Lack of Education

As sending a child to school involved paying a fee – even the cheapest asked for a penny a day – most parents did not bother. Villages often had a small school, where each pupil's parents paid the teacher, but attendance was sometimes erratic and more often than not the education rudimentary in hopelessly overcrowded classes. There were some free schools run by charities, and churches often offered Sunday school. Not until 1844 were there more free schools available, such as the Ragged schools established by Anthony Ashley-Cooper, 7th Earl of Shaftesbury (1801-1885). These schools concentrated on the basics, what became known as the 3 Rs of Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic. Compulsory education for 5 to 12-year-olds, and the institutions necessary to provide it, would not come along until the 1870s. Consequently, "at least half of nominally school-age children worked full-time during the industrial revolution" (Horn, 57).

Some factory owners were more generous than others to the children in their employ. An example is the Quarry Bank Mill in Styal in the county of Cheshire. Here the owner provided schooling after the long working day was over for 100 of its child workers in a dedicated building, the Apprentice House.

An indicator of better education, despite all the difficulties, is literacy rates, rather imperfectly measured by historians by recording the ability of a person to sign one's name on official documents such as marriage certificates. There was a great improvement in literacy, but by 1800, still only half of the adult population could sign their name to such documents.

For those children who could find work in the Industrial Revolution, and there were employers queueing up to offer it, there were no trade unions to protect them. For the vast majority of children, working life started at an early age – on average at 8 years old – but as nobody really cared about age, this could vary wildly. Working involved at best tedium and at worst an endless round of threats, fines, corporal punishment, and instant dismissal at any protest to such treatment. In one survey taken in 1833, it was found that the tactics used with child labourers were 95% negative. Instant dismissal accounted for 58%. In only 4% of cases was a reward given for good work, and a mere 1% of the strategies used involved a promotion or pay rise.

Continue reading...

#History #BritishIndustrialRevolution #ChildLabour #Children #WHE #[ #]

[publicdomainreview]

Celebrate #WorldBookDay with a look at some of the most beautiful and unusual examples from the first 100 years of the “modern” book cover, since the rise of publishers' bindings circa 1820: https://publicdomainreview.org/collection/the-art-of-book-covers-1820-1914

[xcrust]

ELEGANCE

Meeting Stolas

This is part of my new fic that i’m starting. Here is one of the Chapters! I hope you enjoy it!! I’m god awful at spelling and grammar so bear with me. Please tell me if there is anything I can improve on in the comments!

(WARNING: Im making Andrealphus a pompous spoiled brat. This chapter does make him very creepy)

WORD COUNT: 1.9K

The carriage was quite a smooth ride. Though it made you stuck with your thoughts a little bit longer than you anticipated. It didn’t help that coming here was a part of some of that royalty. Being the youngest of the Magne family meant getting the short end of the stick. All. The. Time. 

The beautiful night sky shone above the bustling party full of the elitists of the elite. It was a party dedicated to the birth of new life. Since Paimon had long passed away, the new Leader supposedly named Stolas had now gotten married with a beautiful baby on the way. A precautionary heir but even with that case it is tradition for all the royal to have a party. In times of celebration it was always you that was sent instead of the family. Well instead of Charlie in this case. To keep good ties. Not that it was needed though, Your family could take out the entirety of hell in a heartbeat.

Approaching the castle was such a beautiful sight to behold. So lavish it was incriminating. You may be royal but It was so extremely lavish that it was almost incriminating. Stars were dancing on the ground where people walked. It is almost a sight that would make you cry. Cant get too excited, you haven't even entered the building. With how many carriages that were out front you could only assume that the party has already started. These haughty nobles are so going to get a rise out of this.

The doors automatically opening when you walked in seemed a little over the top. But what else can you expect from this place. 

"Announcing your Majesty, (Y/n) youngest of the Magne household" 

Well that's a little bit more over the top. That is so 1820s? Going down the stairs enjoying the building even more every passing second. As annoying as these nobles were, they sure knew how to decorate a place. As expected, at the base of the stairs everyone flew over. 

"hello your highness" "looking ravishing tonight" "Such a queen of the night" And many many more comment were being thrown at you. 

"Ladies and Gentleman, this isn't the way to welcome our most esteemed guests." A tall goetia entered the scene. One would think it was the host of the party if it weren't for the distaste of the other people that are attending. His aura definitely contradicted the purples of the room. 

"My name is Andrealphus, I would gladly give you a tour around the place." Oh this man reeked of slimy gold digging waste. Though he intrigued you enough to venture around.

"You know my name. Please take care of me" and so you locked arms deeper into the ballroom. 

...

Meanwhile at the back of the room stood a man looking hopeless onto the scene in front of him. Seeing a proper royalty of hell made it all feel a little too real for comfort. When the real deal shows up it really just cements what was hoped to not be a reality. He had a wife and child on the way. With a woman he's known for merely a few months. Before that he had only seen photos of her being a literal savage. 

"Stolas, you're boring up the room" the witch herself appeared. "Why dont you be pitiful anywhere else; you're ruining my party"

Well as unpleasant as it was, that's the cue he was waiting for. 

...

"What's your connection to the host" So far the conversation has been flowing very well and he seemed genuinely sweet

"Im actually the brother of Stella, she's about the give birth to that cocksuckers child" 

You froze not knowing what to say. definitely spoke too soon. "ahhh well i'm sure that your niece will be a very elegant character in the future." 

"Well if she takes after her mother then im sure she'll be amazing" a very clear bias here. abort mission. abort mission. This guy only makes you think of Charlie's current boyfriend. Big jerk Chad. Otherwise known as Sevianthan von Eldritch. probably the most ignorant guy in all of hell. Actually you wondered if he was here at this party. 

"well as much as I enjoyed our time together, I think im going to take a look around by myself" You'd think that could be the end of it but when has it ever been easy for you? Immediately long arms wrapped around your waist pulling you close.

"I've had such excitable time with you today" was that a growl? "I would adore for us to continue this more intimately" but this point he was so close you in all shapes and form that it felt violating.

What was going on? yes this place is full of freaks but this is a little extreme for the standards of nobles. They were birds in the end. Probably as territorial as most birds as well.

"Ill think about it" aggressively patting him on the chest while escaping his hold should've given you a reward.

Walking away never felt to fulfilling in your life.

"playing hard to get? I do like the tricky ones"

...

The thought of laughing at the nobles was such a fun thought at first. However, after spending an hour with Andrealphus. You've had your share of nobles for the next century. the feeling of all the royals being so fake was so incredibly suffocating.

As much as you wanted to bask in the glory of the designs around you. it was for sure time to head home. however, you knew better than to leave early from a nobles party. We may have the power but as someone without any actual power in hell its better to wait for their egos to be fed first. Going down the halls there were so many places to go in but seemed way too close to the party. The music was still booming no matter how far you went. For a high class party, it showed the evident trashy mess of the Goetia.

Further down, the craft was mesmerizing until there was this archway with beautiful purple curtains at the entrance. Going in it was just like standing on the moon. As beautiful as the room was there was a sound of hyperventilating to your left. To you it only looked like pile feathers. That's kinda mean in this current building but alas.

"Hello? Are you alright?" That probably wasn't the best thing to say at the time because clearly he was not but what else is a person supposed to ask in instances like this.

Immediately standing up he looks at you with panic. All of his feathers were fluffed out with his eyes holding so much sorrow.

"Your Highness, I apologize, would you like the room?" Dragging his cape to his front so he could bow but being stopped by holding his chin. Considering he towers over you it was a shock for him.

"No need for sorry. It's your home and your party. It seems like you need the space a little more than me"  as you were letting go he stumbled in front of you. 

"By all means, you came this far so you must have had a reason to be here as well" His accent was so full it took you a second to process what he said.

"Well yes, but it was more me exploring what this place has to offer" Really just to find a place of refreshment away from mister creep back in the big room.

"By all means of respect I dont believe you in that sense" He's so elegant. It would make anyone fumble onto themselves

"Sorry um, no you're right. I needed a little escape from the party, no offense to you though! It's a beautiful party. Some of the nobles seemed to be a bit much and i've been to tons of these in my life." The way you delivered that could be compared to a socially awkward introvert speaking for the first time. Stolas had more of a comfortable aura after seeing you are equally as nervous as he was.

"I'm sure my wife isn't helping with that" he silently scoffed out distastefully. "Let's sit down, this room is big enough for the both of us" As he went to sat down you became a little more curious about him.

Maybe it was the way that this man was a clear open book. No need to read the back of it because it’s all open and torn out.

So you decided to sit closer to him in hope to spark up a bit of conversation. The seats were pure clouds which was very on theme. As much as the Ars Goetia were trashy royals, their job was the most beautiful of it all. Got to learn and observe the star for all of eternity. That is the probably the luckiest job in all of Heaven, Hell and Earth.

"So Sir Stolas, why are you holding such a long face?" He tensed up again, looking anywhere but at you at that moment. Maybe a little bit of teasing could bring a more welcoming aura. Being a higher rank can be so annoying when making friends. Breaking the ice might be the way to go here. Though with the lack of experience on both parts, it’s really no telling how it will play out.

"You can be honest with me, I don't bite. Unless you want me too"  Practically giving himself whiplash looking at you, this time fluffing up in response. It seems you've gotten a slightly bigger reaction than anticipated. Time to tone it done a bit.

"It would be inappropriate to discuss with someone of your status but I appreciate the worry" The Goetia looked at you to find an innocent look. 

"Ok… fine, the reality of my entire reality is slowly sinking in, my life will be like this for all of eternity." Assuming he's referring to the lady Stella. Considering you haven't seen her the whole night and if she's anything like her brother you're definitely sure you can understand where he's coming from.

At that you had a look of pity because you know that feeling all too well. He was so young in the grand scheme of things. With Paimon gone he had the rest of hell's time to exist. The only people he had would be his wife and future daughter.

Immortality isn't what its all chalked up to be. Take Vampires for example, everyone wants to be you but being immortal just means you're trapped with yourselves and those around you simply wither away. Unfortunately, for people like him its like losing the lottery of life for the most part.

So you did the best thing you could think about something you wished that you could've gotten while you were growing up; you squished further towards him and laid on his arm for now. The height difference was severe due to him being so tall so it was a little awkward. Unlike your parents you  were not blessed with being above six foot.

It was definitely strange since this has been the first time you have talked to each other. You weren't really sure if it was the right thing to do until you felt a weight on your head. For the rest of that night you guys had each other and that was all that mattered.

#helluva boss x reader #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin hotel x reader #stolas #stolas x reader #ars goetia #y/n

[werewolfetone]

Hi! So this is gonna sound weird, but I’ve kinda been learning about Irish history backwards? Like, I started with the Troubles (bc of family involvement), then back to the 1916 rising which got me more interested in the people involved which took me further back and etc etc. I know I’ve been doing it “wrong” but I’m just starting to come up to the 1798. Do you happen to have any recommended readings or particular persons of interest to read? Any collections of primary sources would be more than welcome!

Secondary sources I would recommend:

The Year of Liberty by Thomas Pakenham - about the rebellion in general

The People's Rising by Daniel Gahan - about the rebellion in Wexford

The Summer Soldiers by ATQ Stewart - about the rebellion in Ulster

Wolfe Tone: Prophet of Irish Independence by Marianne Elliott - about Wolfe Tone

The Life and Times of Mary Ann McCracken by Mary McNeill - technically this is just about Mary Ann but I think it's pretty good for Henry Joy McCracken too because there aren't many biographies of him

Orangeism in Ireland and Britain 1795 - 1836 by Hereward Senior - obviously exercise caution on whether or not you think you can mentally handle this subject but book about loyalism during 1798

Castlereagh: War, Enlightenment, and Tyranny by John Bew - about Lord Castlereagh

2 things that I would also recommend reading about for context are the French Revolution and the British radical movement of the late 18th century. for the French Revolution 1 book I would say is good is Liberty or Death by Peter McPhee and for the British radical movement... the book The English Jacobins by Carl B Cone does a good enough job

Primary sources:

The Memoirs of Theobald Wolfe Tone by Theobald Wolfe Tone - title is pretty self explanatory. It's Tone's account of his own life + his diary

The United Irishmen, Their Lives and Times by RR Madden - this is considered to be the 1st history of the rising & was written with the help of many people who lived through it, so it includes a lot of first hand accounts. HOWEVER. beware that Madden was your archetypical mid 19th century Catholic Irish nationalist and the bias created due to that shows through in every single part of these books

Memoirs of the different Rebellions in Ireland by Sir Richard Musgrave - this is another very early history of the rising, also written with the help of people who lived through, also including a lot of first hand accounts. HOWEVER. Musgrave is like Madden's Orange counterpart in that this book is also wildly biased and should also be read with a degree of caution

Personal Narrative of the "Irish Rebellion" of 1798, Sequel to Personal Narrative of the "Irish Rebellion" of 1798, and History and Consequences of the Battle of the Diamond by Charles Hamilton Teeling - 3 accounts of politics in Ireland in the 1790s written by someone who as a young man led the Catholic paramilitary the Defenders

The Drennan letters (a collection of letters that Belfast doctor William Drennan and his sister, Martha McTier, wrote to each other between the 1770s and 1820s), if you can find them, are another great primary source on both the United Irishmen & on what life was like back then in general, as are the McCracken letters, which I know are available free online somewhere I just can't remember where exactly I got the pdf from

There are a lot of them but if you're interested in primary sources you might also read some of the political pamphlets/books that were going around back then -- the most famous that come to mind in this context are Wolfe Tone's Argument on Behalf of the Catholics in Ireland, Thomas Paine's The Rights of Man, and Edmund Burke's Reflections on the Revolution in France but there are wayyy more than that and at least some of them are on the internet archive

#1798 rebellion #united irishmen #asks #anon #irish history #jory.txt

[evermore-grimoire]

The Evermore Grimoire: 🎃 Halloween Monsters 🎃

The Headless Horseman is a mythical figure who has appeared in folklore around the world since the Middle Ages and is traditionally depicted as a rider upon horseback who is missing his head. Depending on the legend, the Horseman is either carrying or missing his head altogether, and is searching for it. In American folklore he is a fictional character from the 1820 short story ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow’ by American author Washington Irving. The legend of the Headless Horseman begins in Sleepy Hollow, New York, during the American Revolutionary War. Traditional folklore holds that the Horseman was a Hessian trooper who was killed during the Battle of White Plains in 28th October 1776. He was decapitated by an American cannonball, and the shattered remains of his head were left on the battlefield while his comrades hastily carried his body away. Eventually, they buried him in the cemetery of the ‘Old Dutch Church of Sleepy Hollow,’ from which he rises as a malevolent ghost, furiously seeking his lost head and wielding a Jack-o'-Lantern as a temporary replacement and/or weapon. Modern versions of the story refer his rides to Halloween, around which time the battle took place.

artwork by Kilaarts

#MythEdit #MythologyEdit #American Mythology #FantasyEdit #Headless Horseman #The Legend of Sleepy Hollow #Halloween Monsters #Halloween #My Edit

[redgoldsparks]

March Reading and Reviews by Maia Kobabe

I post my reviews throughout the month on Storygraph and Goodreads, and do roundups here and on patreon. Reviews below the cut.

Delicious in Dungeon vol 4 by Ryoko Kui

I'm reading these books so fast I can barely remember which parts of the plot happened in which volume but know that I am still having a great time!

Delicious in Dungeon vol 5 by Ryoko Kui

Oh, this story has taken a darker turn, and also just introduced a whole bunch more characters. Will I be able to keep track of them all? I hope so!

Dragon Keeper by Robin Hobb, read by Anne Flosnik 

Unfortunately, this is definitely the weakest Robin Hobb book I've read so far. I was expecting to like it less than the glorious, 5-star previous trilogy, but I actually think I'm going to skip the rest of the Rain Wild Chronicles and read summaries online to get to the next Fitz books. This book follows five main POV characters. This works fairly well for the first half, when the characters are all in different physical locations. However once all of the characters meet up, we start getting the same scene from multiple different POVs, which feels extremely repetitive. Also, almost EVERY SCENE includes a flashback, often a lengthy flashback, sometimes to something that happened only the previous day and could have been told as present-moment action. This writing choice baffled me. It's something I can't remember struggling with in any of Hobb's previous books, but by the end it was driving me up a wall. The book also moved very slowly; the stakes feel lower, and the character far less emotionally true than in the two Fitz trilogies. Disappointing, but I will keep moving forward towards the next part of the series I want to read.

Delicious in Dungeon vol 6 by Ryoko Kui

Damn, a lot of characters get murdered in this volume! Good thing almost everyone who dies in the dungeon can be revived. Also, very excited to finally meet the cat ninja I've been seeing fan art of since before I even started the series :3

Delicious in Dungeon vol 7 by Ryoko Kui

I am still completely caught up in this series. I love the glimpse of Senshi's past revealed in this volume, and the lore of the dungeon that is still being revealed. There was a line in here about how the dungeon leaves you alone if you don't ask much of it, but that if you have strong desires it throws even more obstacles into your way. Our heroes have such big goals right now, but they're marching ahead regardless!

School Trip by Jerry Craft 

A satisfying new installment in the New Kid series from funny, talented, charming Jerry Craft! I appreciated how this volume started to complicate some of the students who had been left a bit one-dimensional in previous books. Several people stood up to and called out a bully; new friendships were built; and Jordan Banks left Paris even more inspired than ever to follow his dreams of becoming an artist. This series has a lot of jokes, but also a lot of heart!

A Frog in Fall (and Later On) by Linnea Sterte 

Minor frog is less than a year old, and is dismayed when winter begins to steal all of the light and warmth from his world. Instead of bunking down safely with his mentor to wait for spring, he sets out on a journey with two vagabond toads passing by on a quest to make it all the way to the tropics. They tramp through the Japanese countryside, encountering tree spirits, new friends, dangers, and views the likes of which minor frog had never even imagined. This is a gorgeous book; every page worth pouring over, an economy of line and detail building a beautiful and mysterious world of talking animals and miniature packaged foods. Made me want to draw.

Dark Rise by CS Pacat read by Christian Coulson 

In 1820s London, orphaned Will tries to earn enough as a dockworker to survive- and evade the killers pursuing him. Violet dresses in her half-brother's clothes and sneaks onto a ship in the Thames to watch a man be branded with his master's mark. Katherine excitedly anticipates her engagement to one of London's richest and most mysterious lords; his gallantry nearly makes up for the fact that he's twice her age. And in the bowels of one of that lord's ships, James tortures a man for information. All of these characters are 16 or 17 years old, but all of them are tangled in an ancient conflict between the Light and the Dark which stretches back into an age of magic before history. This is CS Pacat's YA fantasy debut, and it contains a lot of tropes very familiar to both YA and high fantasy- there are shades of both Tolkien and Rowling in this. Its fast-paced and action-packed, but especially in the first third of the story, the characters all felt fairly thin. None of them have quirks, hobbies, career hopes, relationships outside of immediate family, school, or work; or much more than a brief sketch of past. It took until the mid-way point for what I consider Pacat's major strengths as a writer to emerge: intense, homoerotic interpersonal sparring between characters operating under major power imbalances. Every scene in which the seductive, manipulative, powerful evil gay faced off against the good boy chosen one crackled with energy. Unfortunately, there were only four of these scenes in the whole book. It ends on a cliff-hanger, because of course it does, with a tempting set up for book two; but that doesn't entirely excuse the fact that the first 50% felt like set up. I will definitely keep reading, but long-time Pacat fans should take note that this is toned down version of what I expected based on Captive Prince.

Feeding Ghosts by Tessa Hulls (re-read before event)

What an accomplishment! I savored every page of Feeding Ghosts, absolutely floored by the labor and courage that went into the writing of this book. The inking is gorgeous, the history is clear, digestible, and devastating. This book threads the line between honesty and compassion in a way that I appreciate so much in any memoir, but especially one dealing with family. Hulls lays out the story of three generations of women starting with her grandmother, Sun Yi, a Shanghai journalist who faced intense persecution during the rise of Communism in China, who penned a popular and scandalous memoir and then suffered a mental breakdown. This left her only daughter, Rose, a student at an elite boarding school with no parental figures and no other family to lean on. Eventually Rose earned a scholarship to an American university and in the end moved her mother into her California home. Sun Yi haunted that home during the author's own childhood. The unexamined trauma and codependency of Sun Yi and Rose drove the author to the extreme edges of the Earth, seeking freedom from their ghosts. But in the end, she stopped running from her family history and turned, instead, to face it. Shelve this book with Maus, Fun Home, Persepolis and The Best We Could Do. Re-read it for a second time and got even more out of it on a second pass.

Delicious in Dungeon vol 8 by Ryoko Kui

Laios and company realize that their encounter with changling mushroom rings had more consequences than they'd realized- its the body swap episode! This visual humor is contrasted against increasing dangers from both above and below, as nastier monsters and political machinations begin to close in on our heroic adventuring party. I'm now over halfway through this series and almost feel like I should start reading it more slowly to savor it, but I'll probably just keep devouring it instead.

Lunar New Year Love Story by Gene Luen Yang and Leuyen Pham

High school senior Val grew up knowing her family was unlucky in love; for generations, relationships in her family have ended in heartbreak. Her childhood love of Valentines Day ends with a shocking family revelation and what feels like the beginning of a curse. Then her Vietnamese grandmother sweeps her off to a Lunar New Year celebration in downtown Oakland and a pair of cute lion dancer boys catch her eye. Could one of them break the spell on her heart? This story offers a classic and satisfying rom-com, with Val torn between an outgoing, rich, but flaky boy and a broody, shy, loyal one. The story takes several kdrama style twists and includes ghosts, saints, red envelopes, confessions, fights, reunions, tears, and kisses. For a comic, its wordy; the pages are dense with small panels and thick with dialogue, but also illustrated with such warm, humor, and realism. I really liked that the story included as much of Val's relationship with her family and best friend as romance. And the lion dancing scenes practically leap off the page with color and energy!

Witch Hat Atelier vol 10 by Kamome Shirahama

This series remains as visually stunning as ever but I'm struggling with how every single book expands the cast. There are so many characters now that I don't care about that much, and have trouble remembering from volume to volume. I wish the story line would stick more closely to Coco, her classmates, and their main mentors!

Delicious in Dungeon vol 9 by Ryoko Kui

Oh the stories are all converging! The savior at the bottom of the dungeon is probably a demon! Ituzumi saves the day! I am still having a great time reading this series.

A Dowry of Blood by ST Gibson read by Abby Craden 

A short, very queer, very poly retelling of Dracula focusing on his coven of enthralled lovers. I liked the way the book breezed through history, as the dysfunctional little family moved from one major European city to the next, with snatched moments of glittering joy interwoven with violence and plague. The story is fairly simple, and has a happier ending than I expected, or honestly think the characters deserved.

City of Dragons by Robin Hobb

I DNFed the previous book in this series and just read a summary online before skipping ahead to this one. I think that was a very good choice for me. This third one was more engaging and a bit more action packed, with some cool discoveries about the city of Kelsingra and the nature of Elderlings. But the Rain Wild Chronicles as a whole do not stand up to the quality of the Farseer books. There are so many POV characters that a few of them get only two or three scenes in this whole book. I don't feel that I deeply know any of these characters; while at the same time watching Hobb pair them off at an extraordinary rate- in the last book five sets of characters got together and in this book an additional two couples are developing feelings for each other. Between this and a kidnapping, a birth, a murder, and a lot of blackmail, this series feels like a soap opera.

Delicious in Dungeon vol 10 by Ryoko Kui

Almost two TPKs in this volume, yikes!

Delicious in Dungeon vol 11 by Ryoko Kui

You know shit's getting serious when the character who has been the series main villain up until now is partially devoured by a different, worse villain. Exciting changes coming to this dungeon under it's new lord and master!

Squad by Maggie Tokuda-Hall and Lisa Sterle

When Becca gets invited to sit with the popular girl clique at her new high school, she's thrilled. But the friendship turns bloody and complicated when she learns that her new friends are actually werewolves who need to kill and feed on a human once a month. If she joins them, Becca will gain superhuman strength and a pack; she'll never have to fear a male predator again, because she will be a predator herself. I loved the queer rep and the twist on werewolf lore; I wish it had been a little longer and more developed. Give me multi-page transformations sequences!

Delicious in Dungeon vol 12 by Ryoko Kui

I love seeing all these plot lines come together! Building towards a wild climax.

Delicious in Dungeon vol 13 by Ryoko Kui

I went out and *bought* vol 13 of this series because my library didn't have it yet, that's how hooked I am. And now I have to wait until JULY for the final volume! (But also, thank goodness I didn't get into this series any sooner or I'd have a much longer wait).

#book reviews #books #reading #comics #manga

[telekinetictrait]

"How the sparks fly – here and there, downward and upward – souls! Shooting stars! Before I struck a light, one could see the grass and a streak on the horizon..." (Frühlings Erwachen – Frank Wedekind, 1891)

woohoo we're in a decade i know at least semi well – and we're closing out the nineteenth century.

in this decade, we saw the return of puff sleeves, eventually forming the iconic leg o' mutton shape thats synonymous with women's fashion in the 1890s. the shape of the skirt started close to the body, and then widened out into a "bell", with hemlines nearly always reaching the ground or just above it. the hat craze continued, and hats would often be made to match the outfit or the circumstance one would wear it. while there was an intense amount of social norms regarding dress, restrictions loosened as the decade went on. why, some women were even wearing trousers as they played sports! we also saw the rise of the iconic gibson girl, a fashion icon that would persist through the 1890s and the 1900s.

1800-1809 / 1810-1819 / 1820-1829 / 1830-1839 / 1840-1849 / 1850-1859 / 1860-1869 / 1870-1879 / 1880-1889

cc links under the cut!

see my resources page for genetics

jasmine : saurusness' granny bun / gilded-ghosts fine feathered hat / sychik's 1890s womens jacket / gilded-ghosts victorian visions skirt

jeanie : gilded-ghosts fine feathered hat / the romantique riding dress

jhansi : vintagesimstress's hats / linzlu's calico dress / chere-indolente's accessory puff sleeves

jieva : ivkasims charlene hair updated / simverses' hat with plumes, bow, and roses / simsfromthepast's 1890s walking suit

j'marie : ivkasims charlene hair updated / pinkpatchy's sunless walks hat / linzlu's alice dress (download here)

joan : buzzardly28's imogen hair + accessory / hanalinori's aas dress conversion

jrelle : ivkasims charlene hair updated / vintagesimstress' 1896 puffy spring dress

j'tella : simstomaggie's becky hair / gilded-ghosts victorian visions hat / jewishsimming's gibson girl vest / gilded-ghosts perfectly plain skirt v1 / historysims4 victorian shoes

judith : birksche's fanny hair updated / simverses mistress mysterium hat / vintagesimstress' 1898 spring day dress

jyd : ivkasims charlene hair updated / marigold's frill boater / gilded-ghosts victorian visions shirtwast / gilded-ghosts rather ravishing skirt / waekey's crochet collar

thank you to @saurusness @gilded-ghosts @sychik @vintagesimstress @linzlu @losts4cc @chere-indolente @blueplumbbob @simverses @simsfromthepast @pinkpatchy @buzzardly28 @hanalinori @simstomaggie @jewishsimming @historysims4 @birksche and @waekey !!! woohoo yall, we made it through the 1800s!!

#my sims #sims 4 lookbook #ts4 lookbook #sims 4 historical lookbook #ts4 historical lookbook #sims 4 victorian #sims 4 victorian lookbook #223 years #historical #victorian #1890s

[scotianostra]

On 5th April 1820 government forces defeated Radical weavers at what became known as the Battle of Bonnymuir.

The ‘Radical Rising’ or ‘Radical War’ of 1820, also known as the Scottish Insurrection of 1820, was a week of strikes and unrest in Scotland that culminated in the trial of a number of ‘radicals’ for the crime of treason. It was the last armed uprising on Scottish soil, with the intent of establishing a radical republic.

Based in Central Scotland, artisan workers (such as weavers, shoemakers, blacksmiths), initiated a series of strikes and social unrest during the first week of April 1820. This pushed for government reform, in response to the economic depression. The Rising was quickly, and violently, quashed, and the subsequent trials took place in Scotland from July to August 1820.

The events of the Rising followed years of economic recession after the end of the Napoleonic Wars and considerable revolutionary instability on the European continent. As the economic situation worsened for many workers, societies sprung up across the country which espoused radical ideas for fundamental change.

In the early nineteenth century, Scottish politics offered power to very few people. Councillors on the Royal Burghs at this time were not elected to their position, rich landowners controlled county government and there were fewer than 3,000 parliamentary voters in the whole of Scotland, hardly a democracy.

It was recognised that the key to change was electoral reform, and the events of the American Revolution of 1776 and French Revolution of 1789 helped to promote these ideas. Radical reformers began to seek the universal franchise (for men), annual parliaments, and the repeal of the Act of Union of 1707.

Between 1st and 8th April 1820, across central Scotland, some works stopped, particularly in weaving communities, and radicals attempted to fulfil a call to rise. Several disturbances occurred across the country, perhaps the worst of which were the events at Bonnymuir, Stirlingshire, where a group of about 50 radicals clashed with a patrol of around 30 soldiers, while Bonnymuir is the most famous, or should I say infamous of the events during this period, it was by no means the only “uprising”

On Monday April 3rd a strike took force across a wide area of Scotland including Stirlingshire, Dunbartonshire, Renfrewshire, Lanarkshire and Ayrshire, with an estimated total of around 60,000 stopping work.

Reports were made of men carrying out military drill in Glasgow while foundries and forges had been raided, and iron files and dyer's poles taken to make pikes. In Kilbarchan soldiers found men making pikes, in Stewarton around 60 strikers was dispersed, in Balfron around 200 men had assembled for some sort of action. Pikes, gunpowder and weapons called "wasps" (a sort of javelin) and "clegs" (a barbed shuttlecock to throw at horses) were offered for sale.

In Glasgow John Craig led around 30 men to make for the Carron Company ironworks in Falkirk, telling them that weapons would be there for the taking, but the group were scattered when intercepted by a police patrol. Craig was caught, brought before a magistrate and fined, but the magistrate paid his fine for him.

Rumours spread that England was in arms for the cause of reform and that an army was mustering at Campsie commanded by Marshal MacDonald, a Marshal of France and son of a Jacobite refugee family, to join forces with 50,000 French soldiers at Cathkin Braes under Kinloch, the fugitive "Radical laird" from Dundee.

Government troops were ready in Glasgow, including the Rifle Brigade, the 83rd Regiment of Foot, the 7th and 10th Hussars and Samuel Hunter's Glasgow Sharpshooters. In the evening 300 radicals briefly skirmished with a party "of cavalry", but no one came to harm.

The next day, Tuesday April 4th, Duncan Turner assembled around 60 men to march to Carron, while he carried out organising work elsewhere. Half the group dropped out, however the remaining twenty five, persuaded that they would pick up support along the way, set out under the leadership of Andrew Hardie. They arrived in Condorrat, which was on the way to Carron, at 5am on April 5th. Waiting for them was John Baird who had expected a small army, not this bedraggled and soaking wet group. He was persuaded to continue the March to Carron by John King, who would himself go ahead and gather supporters. King would go to find supporters at Camelon while Baird and Hardie were to leave the road and wait at Bonnymuir.

What the leaders didn’t know is that the Government had placed spies and agitators among the crowds and they were lured to the confrontation with well-armed, trained soldiers on Bonnymuir,

The authorities at Kilsyth and Stirling Castle had however been alerted and Sixteen Hussars and sixteen Yeomanry troopers had been ordered on 4 April to leave Perth and go to protect Carron. They left the road at Bonnybridge early on April 5th and made straight for the slopes of Bonnymuir. As the newspapers subsequently reported:

"On observing this force the radicals cheered and advanced to a wall over which they commenced firing at the military. Some shots were then fired by the soldiers in return, and after some time the cavalry got through an opening in the wall and attacked the party who resisted till overpowered by the troops who succeeded in taking nineteen of them prisoners, who are lodged in Stirling Castle. Four of the radicals were wounded".

The Glasgow Herald mocked the small number of radicals encountered, but worried that "the conspiracy appears to be more extensive than almost anyone imagined... radical principles are too widely spread and too deeply rooted to vanish without some explosion and the sooner it takes place the better."

The end of the Rising

On the afternoon of April 5th, before news of the Bonnymuir fighting got out, Lees sent a message asking the radicals of Strathaven to meet up with the "Radical laird" Kinloch's large force at Cathkin. The next morning a small force of 25 men followed the instructions and left at 7 a.m. to march there. Among them was the experienced elderly Radical James Wilson who is claimed to have had a banner reading "Scotland Free or a Desart"

At East Kilbride they were warned of an army ambush, and Wilson, suspecting treachery, returned to Strathaven. The others bypassed the ambush and reached Cathkin, but as there was no sign of the promised army they dispersed. Ten of them were identified and caught, and by nightfall on April 7th; they were jailed at Hamilton.

I’ll leave things there for the moment, the aftermath will be told in further posts, one in a few days, and more as the ringleaders were made examples of as they were tried for their parts in the events.

The large memorial stone to mark the 200th anniversary of the Battle of Bonnymuir was unveiled in April 2021.

#scotland #scottish #history #weavers #socialism

[dwellordream]

“The impact of both new technology and the growing influx of immigrant workers can best be seen in the New England textile mills. In the 1820s and 1830s, young women from the farm country of New England went to work in the massive brick textile factories springing up along the Merrimack River near Lowell, Massachusetts, and other New England towns. In 1820, Lowell--then called Chelmsford--was a sleepy village of about 200 farm families, located about 25 miles northwest of Boston. Six years later, it had grown into a town of 2,500 and was incorporated as the town of Lowell. In 1830, the population surged to 6,000, and tripled to 18,000 just six years later. By 1850, Lowell boasted a population of 33,000.

What created this booming growth was the rise of the textile industry. Other New England mill towns also grew, but Lowell quickly became the center of the New England textile industry and drew workers--mostly single women as young as 16 or 17--from across New England. These women generally came from the middle ranks of farm families, those that were neither impoverished nor wealthy. The desire to be financially and socially independent, to finance an education, or to simply experience the pleasures of living and working in a larger town drew many young farm women to the mills. Some women did contribute their earnings to their families, but mostly they worked in the mills to earn their own income.

…Mill owners insisted that their female hands be in their boarding houses by 10 o’clock each evening, and they urged boarding house keepers, usually older women, to report any violators to the management. In the early years, women were required to attend church services regularly, and some mill owners even deducted pew rent from the women’s earnings and paid it directly to local churches. These close living and working arrangements created a camaraderie among the women workers, a community of like-minded women who eagerly wanted to improve their minds and their lives. Throughout the 1830s and 1840s, they organized and attended lectures, language classes, sewing groups, and literary ‘improvement circles’--after working a 12-hour day. From one of these circles was born the Lowell Offering, the first journal ever written by and for mill women. The journal published poetry, short stories, and commentary penned by the female workers.

Workers also organized themselves into labor-reform groups to crusade for better working conditions and shorter workdays. As technological innovations enabled women to work faster and produce more, mill owners assigned more machines to workers--without raising wages. For example, at Hamilton Company, one of the mills in Lowell, the average number of looms per weaver more than doubled between 1840 and 1854. The workload for spinners increased as well. Workers were expected to operate more machines at a faster rate. But wages remained the same--although the company reaped higher profits from the workers’ increased productivity.

…In 1846, Elias Howe introduced the first sewing machine. Five years later, in 1851, the addition of a foot treadle for easier operation made the machine an indispensable tool. But instead of easing the sewer’s burden, the sewing machine increased it. Hand sewers could no longer compete with the sewing machine. In one day, one sewing machine operator could do as much work as six hand sewers. Hand sewers were forced to buy or rent sewing machines, or work in garment factories, where they had no control over their wages or hours.

To make matters worse, seamstresses, like the mill workers of New England, were expected to work faster and produce more while working for the same wages. New technology, such as the sewing machine or improved looms, enabled consumers to buy manufactured goods at reasonable prices--but at the expense of factory workers, who were not paid a fair wage for operating this new technology.

…Despite the long hours and low wages, women still preferred working in factories to being domestic servants. At least factory workers had some free time; servants were on call 24 hours a day. Domestics worked up to 16 hours a day, with one afternoon off each week. They earned $1 to $1.25 a week plus board. Servants’ duties varied according to their employers’ requirements and the number of other servants employed in the house. But in general, the work was very demanding. Domestics devoted entire days to washing, baking, ironing and cleaning each room. They were accustomed to heavy physical work--cleaning out fireplaces or emptying chamber pots--and trudging up and down staircases several times a day.

Besides enduring the back-breaking work, servants also had to endure the snobbery of their social ‘superiors.’ During the colonial era, servants were treated as part of the family and joined in all household activities. By the mid-19th century, however, they were regarded as mere hired hands, and were viewed as an inferior class. The Boston census of 1845 categorized servants as part of the ‘unclassified residue of the population.’ No wonder that young women wanted to avoid the social stigma of being a domestic.”

- Harriet Sigerman, “‘I Never Worked So Hard’: Weavers, Stitchers, and Domestics.’” in An Unfinished Battle: American Women, 1848-1865

#harriet sigerman #history #american #class #servants #gender #19th century #1840s #1850s #an unfinished battle