#but why women wore it for centuries

[a-room-of-my-own]

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

#but why women wore it for centuries #GIRL #do you want to talk about foot binding? #because that happened for like a thousand years #or genital mutilation #or breast ironing #or forced feeding #all done by women for centuries #enforced by women on little girls #corsets literally caused chlorosis #and other health issues #some mothers forced their daughter to sleep in a tight corset and would tie their hands at night so they couldn't take it off #how fucking dense must you be to be unable to understand that when a woman's only value is in what men have decided is beautiful #she will torture herself and others to reach this status #every culture has something done to girl that ranges from painful to horribly mutilating #either to make them attractive to men #or pure in the eyes of men #it's everywhere #and it has nothing to do with women being 'stupid' #but with fucking patriarchal oppression #go wear corsets in a public park pretending you're Ariel at 38 years old but spare us your opinions gooooood

[zetsubobu]

hi!! May I ask ❌ for Percy?🌸

Of course!!

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

#kuroshitsuji oc #black butler oc #oc:_percy_arden #ceces_art #why do men wear pretty much the same thing they wore a century ago meanwhile women have so many different fashion styles

[marzipanandminutiae]

articles about the “wild new trend” of piercing from the late ‘50s and early ‘60s are fascinating to read. a selection of excerpts:

- one doctor cautioned that girls with pierced ears would be “required to constantly wear earrings to hide the holes in their heads” (or you could just not be weird about a tiny dot on someone else’s earlobe?)

- Genevieve Dariaux, then director of the Nina Ricci couture house, said in 1965 that “Pierced ears are unthinkable for an elegant woman, and even more dreadful for a young girl.” bear in mind that, as I’ve said, earrings that made your ears LOOK pierced were still common. what the difference was, nobody has yet made plain

- lots of evidence that going to a doctor was the preferred “safe” method for piercing at the time. but many doctors refused to do it, or said they would but that they strongly discouraged patients from having the procedure done. this checks out with my mother’s experience in 1965- her schoolmate’s anesthesiologist father did free piercing for all his daughter’s friends

- some teenagers around 1965 called clip and screwback earrings “chicken earrings” (implying that the wearers were too scared of pain to get their ears pierced, I think)

- one advice column, also from 1965, implied that pierced ears were just a passing fad. the previous several centuries of western history would like a word, Mx. Columnist...

- A GIRL WITH RESTRICTIVE PARENTS BRINGING UP THE ARGUMENT THAT HER GRANDMOTHER HAD PIERCED EARS. YES. FINALLY SOMEONE REALIZED THE LOGICAL FALLACIES HERE. the argument against that is, indeed, a sort of “that was the Bad Old Days and we know better now” deal as some other commenters have hypothesized

- one article mentions that the trend could be part of the Victorian revival that was just becoming popular in the mid-60s, which is a fascinating thought I’ve never considered before

- many doctors complaining that they were suddenly being called upon to pierce ears despite not really knowing how. this is interesting, because before the Great Ear-Piercing Taboo, jewelers offering piercing services were more like modern piercers than Claire’s employees (and doctors weren’t involved at all unless an infection set in). descriptions I’ve read of Victorian piercer-jewelers mention a lot of things we’re familiar with today- needles designed with a hollow for inserting the starter jewelry, for example, and even “freezing” solutions to numb the earlobe. so in those early resurgence days, going to a long-established jewelry store for your piercing might actually have been a better option than a doctor’s office

- two young women in a 1964 Canadian article (from Calgary) mention that they think screwback earrings look cheap and gaudy, and the pierced version is more conservative and tasteful, in an interesting reversal of mainstream thought

- a newspaper columnist saying pierced ears give him “the wim-wams,” so they are to be avoided. whatever the hell that means

- a LOT of people seem to think that ear piercing was popular in the Victorian era because wealthy women didn’t want to lose their expensive jewelry. sorry folks- my collection of Victorian costume earrings (all pierced) says otherwise

- much confusion as to why modern girls want to do something so old-fashioned

- one woman marvels at how comfortable it is to wear earrings in pierced ears, as opposed to clips and screwbacks. I feel infinitely blessed, as an earring-lover, to have been born when I could escape the scourge of ear-vises altogether

- apparently an eccentric elderly man on Salt Spring Island, British Columbia, literally bribed all the women of the community to pierce their ears because he liked the way it looked. one of them mentioned that she held out for $25- $244 CAD or $188 USD in today’s money. all because some rich Victwardian codger had a very specific fetish

- this absolutely incredible response of an Indian diplomat’s wife when asked, in New York, why she wore a diamond nose stud: “Because I feel [diamonds] become me more than rubies or emeralds.” QUEEN

- “when the fad changes, as it indubitably will-” are you certain of that, ma’am

#long post #ear piercing #fashion history #retro #vintage #dress history

[jadwiga-abremovic]

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

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

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

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

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

#feminism #proletarian feminism #womens art #traditional dress #traditional clothing #history #antifascism #anti tradwife #historical revisionism

[bbgliker-teehee]

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

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

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

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

THEY LOOK AMAZING 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

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

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

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

#answered #vivzipop critical #anti vivziepop fandom #hazbin hotel critical

[n3ptoonz]

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

absolutely not are you cra- gunshots

'That Can Be Arranged'

Pairing: Bi Han/F!Reader

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 1 (2023)

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

Word count: 2.5k+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"May the best one win."

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Marriage?"

"Love."

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

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

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

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

"It's getting late."

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

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

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

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

-

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

"Father, I am not ready!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I accept."

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

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

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

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

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

...Spoke too soon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That can be arranged."

#n3ptoonz #mk1 #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #bi han #fluff #bi han x you #bi han imagine #bi han x reader #bi han mk #bi han sub zero #bi han mortal kombat #arranged marriage

[thelibraryghost]

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

unabridged version at blogspot

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

#reference #history #abby cox #bernadette banner #fashion #hair care #hairstyle #youtube #video #nicole rudolph #townsends #us history #american history #colonial williamsburg #jamestown #georgian era #rococo #1700s #american duchess #mount vernon #bridgerton #the metropolitan museum of art #our flag means death

[acewritesfics]

The Clap | Tommy Shelby 

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader 

Request: No.

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

Word Count: 1,325

Tommy Shelby Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#acewritesfics repost #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #tommy shelby

[titleleaf]

so many words about historical men's corsetry

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

Onward, lads!

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

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

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

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

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

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

(image credit: LMM)

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

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

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

(image credit: USS Constitution Museum Collections)

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

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

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

#historical sewing #more information than you perhaps require #long post

[balkanradfem]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#radical feminism #feminism #linen #history of clothing #sexism #female oppression #the rights they TOOK from us #i'm so pissed #i knew there would be misogyny in history of clothing #but this made my blood burn #Sofi Thanhauser

[punisheddonjuan]

It really feels that more and more "leftists" have just gone full-on into "Lebensunwertes Leben" and "Unnütze Esser" whenever the topic of disability comes up in the last few years. The ableism has always been there under the surface, and you can theorize endlessly on why this is (e.g. ingrained cultural norms going back centuries, latent misogyny, the history of the left being the history of labor getting cross-wired with the view that disabled bodies are unproductive bodies, the "lumpenproletariat" a.k.a Marx's biggest fuck up), but it really does feel much more pronounced since COVID. You see it whenever the fucking DoorDash discourse pops off which everyone takes as an opportunity to attack disabled people. Some of it does feel extremely online, remember when someone accused me of being a defense contractor (when I happened to have less than $30 in my chequing account) because I had "disabled anarchist" in my bio and dared to suggest that a YouTuber with Covid induced ME/CFS wasn't faking it or using Patreon to funnel laundered money to Syrian militias? Honestly, there's a paper or two to be written about how the (heavily male) early online culture that would make fun of things like Morgellons or people who believed they were allergic to radio waves and wore special hats often and easily turned into into making fun of people with fibro or hEDS or ME. It's all fake women's diseases anyway.

It just feels completely everywhere these days in a way it wasn't just a few years ago, and I don't know if it's some sort of psychological defense mechanism because the idea of falling sick one day and never getting better and there not being a social safety net to catch you is terrifying or what. I do feel like some of the discourse around "trauma" hasn't helped things. There's a sort of vulgar version of the whole "body keeps the score" thesis that turns into "all chronic illnesses are depression and stress" that gets promulgated a lot by leftists more prone to "woo".

It's all just so incredibly depressing.

@3liza

#responding to asks like it's 2011 because shadowban #disability

[nexility-sims]

have been feeling listless and unmoored re: sims stuff lately, but i got a healthy dose of inspiration from @warwickroyals & @prydainroyals this past week, so i did a little succession / magazine-ish thing :^) obviously beatriz's 2023 death would be commemorated in uspanian vogue !!!!! obviously !!!!

transcribed text below:

Fashion is a Royal (and Family) Affair

That Crown Princess Barbie is a student of Uspanian style isn’t a surprise. For this issue, she recounts the historical episode at the heart of our memorial for the late Queen Beatriz. Pictured above in private photos are: Mother Desideria in 1860; Mother Zuriñe in 1885; Mother Rowena and then-Crown Prince Alfonso in 1926.

THE “BIRDIE” ISSUE OF VOGUE USPANA debuted in 1973. At the time, the magazine was in its infancy. An issue shaped by the queen—and it was, from cover to cover, driven by her desires and presence—ensured longevity. It proved to be a bestseller. Clothes, too, flew off the racks as Uspana’s designers received a boost among popular consumers. A textiles renaissance commenced among women of a certain class who had been looking elsewhere for quality fabric. Then and now, this was the mission of the magazine: loyalty to Uspanian fashion. The Birdie issue was a testament to this, from the sensibilities it imparted to the sourcing of its materials. The queen’s favorite designers, stylists, and photographers filled the issue; it made them iconic, and they would continue to set national trends for decades to come. More importantly, the Birdie issue fit into a larger project underway during Beatriz’s reign. Foreign fashion’s creep into the Uspanian mainstream had started two centuries before Beatriz obtained the Crown, but it reached its cultural apex under the sway of her mother. Uspana’s people had long reviled Queen Rowena’s taste in one breath and wished to emulate it in the second. The two women were not seemingly opposed in a diametric sense. They overlapped under the label of “extravagant,” namely, but Beatriz was forgiven her excess. The Birdie issue, in retrospect, shows why. In an initial meeting with the queen, she told then-editor Lluc Soler that she cared deeply about a “revival” of traditional fashion in the country. Soler replied that traditional fashion was alive and well—“in the mountains, with the grandmothers.” Some in the annals have suggested that this retort led to control of the issue being ceded informally to a team with whom the queen preferred to work. (By 1975, Papan Ibarra had risen from those ranks to become the magazine’s new editor-in-chief, a position she occupied until 1991.) Nonetheless, a certain truth in Soler’s statement formed the foundation of the issue. It did draw heavy inspiration from those grandmothers in the mountains. This included people such as the queen’s own grandmother, Mother Zuriñe, who readily embraced the aesthetics of Yaas and was a master weaver in her own right. The cover reflected the elevated homage orchestrated within. On it, Birdie herself posed in a wool rebozo hand-dyed with cochineal. This garment was a perfect duplicate of the so-called suncloths the queen’s great-grandmother, Mother Desideria, wore on a regular basis in the late nineteenth century. Fittingly, it was also topped with a replica inspired by the time. One of the many jewelry pieces destroyed during the 1880s had been the Shield Flower tiara with its red fire opal set in gold and symbolic allusions to the sacrifice and self-immolation of Uspana’s founding mothers. Queen Beatriz wore tiaras on many occasions, but it was widely known that she preferred to wear the true Uspanian symbol of elite regalia: the jade necklace. For that reason, jade

BIRDIE, 1973 Shield Flower tiara by Xiuhcozcatl for the House of Tecuani. Rebozo by Quilatzli Castañeda. Necklace creator unknown. Fashion editor: Papan Ibarra.

#this wasn't gonna be a whole thing #but i decided Why Not #this is what the kids call worldbuilding after all :^) #rip queen birdie )^: #no but why are the vogue layouts kinda ugly sdfkdsg #ch.arnaut #ch.german #ch.malena #ch.barbie #ch.lorraine #ch.beatriz #reyes.worldbuilding

[marzipanandminutiae]

Madame Marzi I must defer to ur wisdom

Recently you rb’d a painting with some younger ladies and in the tags talked a bit about short hair in Victorian Times

Do you have any reference for how shorter hair was styled at the time? I’ve seen plenty of paintings and such with VERY short hair (post illness or perhaps childbirth) where all you can really do is smooth it back, but what about that awkward, past the shoulders sort of stage where it’s too long to just brush back but too short to do much to? Surely they had some styling guides..?

(Also, a side question— how old would one be before going from shorter skirts to adult/full length ones?)

The two little girls in the garden (probably preteens-young teens)? Yes, I did!

It's hard to find images of women with in-between hair lengths, and I'm not sure why. Possibly because they'd find ways to put it up with false hair, whereas hair too short to put up is more obvious in photos. This could also have to do with the type of woman who has pixie- or bob-length hair voluntarily vs. mid-length: the latter is more likely to be attempting a grow-out, and thus to try her darndest to do The Culturally Accepted Long Hair StylesTM where a lady who chose a much shorter look wouldn't care. If that makes sense? Because, indeed, some of the women with very short hair were not ill or postpartum: ladies could, and did, choose to eschew long locks back then. It wasn't very common, but it happened.

(Nicole Rudolph has an excellent video about localized short hair trends for ladies during the Victorian era.)

You see a lot of these bob-type looks in photographs where the hair is center-parted and either naturally curly or curled on purpose, around the mid-19th century:

(1850s or 60s)

(Author, feminist, and abolitionist Anna Elizabeth Dickinson- no relation to Emily that I know of, though Anna was also a queer female writer around the same era -c. 1860s. She wore her hair short all her life, so it was voluntary in this case.)

(Also 1860s.)

Pre-Raphaelite muse Fanny Eaton frequently appears to have chin-to-shoulder length hair, though given that she was Black with a corresponding hair texture, it's hard to tell what the actual length is- it may be long and looped up in the 1850s-60s styles popular when she was most commonly painted (most free Black women in England and the US wore styles also popular with white women, to the best of their abilities given that fashion plates assumed European-textured hair as the "norm"):

(Fanny Eaton, 1861. Also worth noting that we have no images of what her hair looked like when she wasn't posing for fantastical paintings.)

I've never actually seen an image of a Victorian woman with mid-length hair outside the context of theatrical or artistic images from the end of the century, now I think of it. Huh. It's a mystery, I suppose!

As for skirts, while in earlier periods children had basically worn miniature adult clothing, it became fashionable around the 1830s-40s to dress girls in short skirts and boys in short pants. The usual rule was knee-length until around age 10, then mid-calf-length until somewhere between 16 and 18 when skirts would be "let down" and the girl would start wearing her hair up, becoming a young adult in the eyes of society. (Contrary to popular belief, this had nothing to do with marriage- while you were theoretically eligible for it when you started dressing as an adult, girls/women younger than 20 were still often considered a bit too immature to marry. It wasn't forbidden, but many people thought it unwise. And yes, unmarried young women did still wear their hair up and their skirts long.)

...unless she preferred her hair short, which as you can see, was an option!

#ask #anon #victorian #hairstyles #fashion history #dress history #short hair

[separatist-apologist]

How The Mighty Fall

Summary: In the centuries after the war, a treaty demands humans are compensated for the horrors wrought on them by their Fae overlords. A maiden is chosen from a village, her family cared for, in exchange for immortality.

Or so the stories go.

But beneath the pretty promises and the lush, magical world of Prythian, something is rotting. Elain Archeron has found herself swept up in the mystery, racing against the clock and a ritual that promises to end her human life for something better. What happens on Fire Night?

And where are all the missing women?

Read On AO3

Thank you @velidewrites for the moodboard and @highladydawn for betaing this for me back in 2021.

Choosing Day was always a big deal in the village. Elain helped her sisters with their hair, having bathed in frigid water the night before. Their dresses—unchanged for the last five years, were laid neatly atop the bed they shared. Elain helped Feyre and Nesta helped Elain just so Elain and Feyre could work the complicated laces and buttons on Nesta’s own dress.

Choosing Day was practically a holiday for the villagers. One woman was picked each year to accompany the High Lord and though the Lords did not speak to the humans any longer, the story was told that the treaty erected between humans and Fae demanded the High Lords be allowed to change one human to Faerie in exchange for peace. He didn’t always come to their village of Wol, just one of many that dotted the stretch of land between the Fae and human territories, and there was no way to know if this year he would, either. 

It was why there was so much excitement. The families of those who were chosen were sent wealth far beyond anyone’s expectations and that was what motivated Nesta, Elain, and Feyre to get dressed and go out. Their father was badly injured with a leg that kept him from working. They were always on the brink of starvation, always worried about money and food. If one of them were picked, they’d never have to worry again. 

He was lovely and unchanged. In the fifteen years of memories she had of him, the blonde High Lord looked exactly as he always had. A young man, perhaps no older than twenty-five, stepped from the woods in his fine green tunic. She didn’t find him particularly attractive but it hardly mattered when the end result was still the same. Besides, she reflected. She could always fake attraction if that was what was required. He wasn’t tragically ugly…but there was a hardness about him that Elain did not prefer.

He paused in front of her and her sisters, reaching for a strand of Feyre’s golden brown hair. She watched, fascinated, while he inhaled the air. and she wondered what he smelled. His eyes drifted towards her and that was how she knew it would be her. Something sparked in his gaze even as his nostrils flared. Elain was grateful she’d bathed.

Beside her, Nesta stiffened as if she’d protest but there was no point to it. He could kill them all if he wanted, judging by the baldric of knives across chest. They’d decided, five years before, that they’d continue to try and hope the High Lord chose one of them in an effort to lift the rest of the sisters out of poverty. Elain was grateful to be picked at all—there were more than a few beautiful women in the village that might catch his eye.

“You,” he murmured, offering her a broad, calloused hand. Elain couldn’t help the tremor in her own, nervous when he lowered his lips and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. “Do you require a moment to say your goodbyes?”

She nodded, grateful when he released her. Heart pounding, Elain swiveled in the tight, lilac dress she wore to race into the house. Her father sat on his familiar stool by the fireplace, an unfinished wooden carving in his lap. Feyre and Nesta were just behind Elain, hugging her first. They’d always had an uncomfortable relationship but this was done because Elain loved them and knew they would trade places if the Fae Lord demanded it.

“Write us,” Nesta urged, face buried in Elain’s shoulder. “Just so we know you’re safe.”

“Find us, afterwards,” Feyre added, squeezing Elain from behind. “Swear it.”

“I swear,” Elain told Feyre. “We’ll be together again.”

“Elain’s been chosen?” their father asked and a zap of frustration arced through Elain’s stomach. She swallowed it, swallowed her anger like she always had and nodded instead. She went to him, kneeling at his side. “This is a good thing.”

He shook his head. “Fifty years that Lord has been taking girls. He pays their families…but not one ever returns.”

“Oh shush!” Nesta snapped. “Returned to what? Besides, plenty of families move. How do you know they never reunited?”

“Tell him no,” her father urged, caressing her cheek. Elain shook her head no.

“This is a good thing, papa. There will be no more hungry nights after this.”

“At what cost?” he lamented mournfully. “This isn’t what your mother hoped for you…for any of you.”

“We’ll never know what mother would have wanted,” Feyre said with uncharacteristic bite. “Tell Elain goodbye, Papa.”

He pressed a warbling kiss to her cheek. “Parents aren’t supposed to outlive their children.”

Elain smiled. “And they won’t. You’ll see papa. I’ll be back.”

He didn’t attempt to get up and follow which disappointed Elain. Instead, it was Feyre and Nesta who acted as her parents, standing guard while the High Lord waited. He stood without moving, without fidgeting at all and the lack of motion set the fine hair on the back of her neck on edge, though brushed it off and accepted his hand after hugging her sisters one last time. All eyes were on her, envious for the most part though she caught more than one father watching with relief that his daughter had been spared this year. She watched, using her free hand to hold the hem of her dress so she wouldn’t drag the mud that coated the wide, uneven streets. The houses all seemed the same to her, tiny wooden cottages that had weathered one too many storms. 

If the poverty bothered the Fae Lord, he gave no indication of it. Perhaps he’d grown used to such things or maybe he was so far above it he just didn’t care. She tried to focus on keeping her steps balanced and elegant, but more than once, Elain stumbled over a loose stone or a clod of dirt. 

He marched her into the forested tree line where the wall was held and, absently, she wondered if he intended to walk the whole way. There was no horse that might indicate any other mode of transportation. Elain screamed when, without warning of any kind, swirling darkness gobbled her up. The pressure squeezed at her ribs, stealing the air from her lungs. Mistake! Her brain cried with panic. She felt clawed hands around her waist, felt the warmth of another body too close to her own. For one horrible moment, she was certain she was about to die—to be eaten, or worse. 

She relaxed when the darkness ebbed, revealing cool, rose scented air and rolling green hills of lush, swaying grass. She stood on evenly cut gravel rock that led into a sprawling marble estate. Elain blinked, her fear ebbing to awe as she took in the true majesty of this man’s home. Crawling ivy crept up the east side, snaking up carved pillars towards a glittering white roof. Balconies jutted from the sides, overlooking an expansive garden that only magic could have made possible. 

“Welcome home,” the Lord murmured softly, his tone satisfied by her awed reaction. “Let me give you a tour.”

“I’ll be living here?” she asked breathlessly, following behind him. He nodded, his shoulder length blonde hair falling into his handsome face.

“For the next six months, my home is your home.”

“Is that how long before you turn me?” she questioned, swallowing nervously. He glanced down at her, lips twitching as if her fear amused him.

“Yes. Calanmai is the name of the ritual, but you needn’t worry yourself with that.”

“And…and my family?” she questioned, stepping onto a vast, black and white checkered marble floor. He set his hand on her shoulder.

“I will ensure your family is well cared for.”

Elain beamed, exhaling with relief. He dropped his hand to her elbow, guiding her through the house. Elain noticed the servants kept their eyes firmly on the floor and said nothing at all save for one small child, perhaps no older than five. She smiled, disappointed when the little, pink cheeked cherub vanished into her mother’s skirts. It was the Lord, Elain decided. He made them nervous, likely didn’t venture into their designated areas often enough. He took her to the dining room, to the ballroom, and a drawing room, all beautifully crafted of marble and wood. Huge windows allowed glittering shafts of sunlight into the room, making everything seem warmer and brighter. 

A winding set of stairs took Elain up to a library so grand she nearly wept at the sight of it. Nesta would have loved it, she thought privately, though she offered the Faerie nothing but a polite murmuring of thank you. He seemed to realize it meant something to her and offered her a bedroom just the hall over. 

“It’s empty over here…none of my court prefers this wing so you will have it yourself,” he informed her. Elain nodded. He knew the room was larger than the cottage she’d grown up in and she thought if she thanked him again, he might snap at her. 

“What’s your name?” she asked instead, her feet snug against a round, white rug. 

“Tamlin,” he told her, bowing at the waist. “Consider me at your disposal.”

She very much doubted that. Surely he was too busy to worry himself with her, though Elain also had no intention of bothering him. Six months would pass quickly and she was adept at keeping herself busy. 

“Alis will take your measurements for some new clothing but for now…the estate is yours and you may roam as you wish. I only ask you for one thing in return.”

She looked over at him, dragging her eyes from the double doors that led to her own private balcony. “Yes, lord?”

“You don’t wander off the grounds. There are sentries posted at the edge of my estate to let you know if you’ve gone too far.”

She opened her mouth to ask what lay beyond his estate, but decided it wasn’t worth starting a potential argument. His generosity overwhelmed her and the request was small.

“Of course.”

He smiled then and she thought perhaps she’d been hasty in thinking he wasn’t handsome enough for her. There was something disarming about him despite the coldness that seemed to lurk in his eyes. Perhaps he was uncomfortable with the treaty or was just awkward in general. 

“My emissary will see to anything else you might require,” he added absently, turning his back to her before closing the door and leaving alone Elain in the room. She giggled, flopping atop the four poster bed draped in breezy, lush curtains and covered in a pretty floral and cream bedding. The walls were trimmed in soft gold and green and when she managed to drag herself off the mountain of pillows, she found a bathroom with taps that pulled hot water directly into the basin. 

Elain bathed in scalding hot water for the first time in her life.

She was nearly finished when the Alis strode in. She was pretty in that Faerie way, her dark haired braided around a round, sweet face. She didn’t need to introduce herself as she grabbed a towel from the nearby closet and held it open. 

“Come on now,” she said crisply, not bothering to avert her gaze as Elain stepped out. “You’re a thin little thing, aren’t you?”

“I uh…” Elain wasn’t sure how best to respond to that. Alis clicked her tongue. 

“We’ll fix that right up. Sit,” she added, shoving Elain into a chair at the vanity. Elain watched Alis expertly trim her waist length hair before winding it in fat curlers. Elain stood, naked as the day she was born, while Alis wrapped a tape measure around her body, jotting down each number with a put-upon sigh. 

“We can take this in,” she murmured, flinging open the armoire doors and pulling out a swirling blue and green gown.”

Elain learned that taking it in meant lacing it around her abdomen within an inch of Elain’s life. Alis took the curlers out and pulled half of her hair off her face with golden combs. 

“You’re lovely. Far lovelier than the last few girls,” Alis murmured, admiring her work with a satisfied smile. Elain almost asked where those girls had gone, but sensed Alis missed them. Offering a smile instead, Elain asked, “Can I go to the garden?”

Alis gestured towards the door. “Go wherever you like,” Alis murmured. “Just stay on the grounds.”

Elain didn’t need to be told twice. She flew down the hall, practically running despite the soft material of her shoes and the length of her off the shoulder dress. It took her a minute to realize she’d gone the wrong way and was in a part of the house Tamlin hadn’t shown her. She turned with a frustrated sigh, intending to retrace her steps.

“Lost?” A deep, masculine voice asked. Leaning against a wall, a half-eaten apple in hand, the most beautiful man Elain had ever seen was watching her. Like Tamlin, this man was dressed elegantly in a silver tunic and a pair of well fitted black pants, his boots stopping just beneath his knees. She could see his muscles flex beneath the fabric as he straightened. His skin was golden, a golden brown that was just a shade too dark to have been warmed by the sun itself and he’d tied long red hair from his face in a neat ponytail that made the elegant cut of his features seem almost rakish.

The only thing that marred his beauty was a series of scars cut against his right eye, which had been replaced by a strange, mechanical golden eye. Elain thought the shade complemented his coloring perfectly, adding to the luminescence that seemed to radiate from him. How had he gotten it? Strange, that starkness against the otherwise luminescent perfection of him and his kind. Did it bother him? That didn’t seem like the right sort of question to ask him, so Elain remained silent, nervous and alert as he drank her in. 

“Are you lost?” he asked her again, taking a fraction of step towards her.

“I ah…yes,” she replied, flustered by his presence. “I was trying to find the garden.”

He nodded, amusement sparking against his features. “You’re quite a ways up. Allow me.”

He gestured for her to follow him, offering his elbow. Elain accepted, breathless when the contact zapped through her fingers, making her heart race as though she’d been burned. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, too overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the man who walked beside her.

“So you’re the new human, hm? Are you looking forward to Fire Night?”

“Fire Night?” She asked breathlessly.

“Calanmai,” he prodded. “The ritual? You humans have so many names for it I can hardly keep track.”

“Calanmai, of course. I haven’t thought about it much,” she lied, her stomach clenching. All she did was think about it. 

“Hm,” he hummed softly. “For the best, I suppose.”

They walked in silence towards a familiar path and she wondered how many other humans had walked beside this man, awed by his beauty. How many had walked this path with him, had asked the same questions?

“Where do they go?” she asked him when he’d taken her back outside.

“Not far,” he replied easily, a smile on his face. “Who wouldn’t want to live out their days in eternal Spring, after all?”

Eternal Spring. That did sound nice. “Are there other territories?

“Six others,” he agreed with an amused smile. “Do you prefer a different season? Warmth? Snow?”

In truth, eternal Spring was probably the best place for her to live out her days, too. She shook her head no, momentarily silenced by the sight of the sprawling garden laid out before her.

“Is there anything else I can assist you with, Lady?”

Inclining her head to look at him, Elain asked, “Is that your job?”

He grinned, one hand on his chest. “For you? Yes. I am Lucien Vanserra, Tamlin’s emissary.”

“Oh!” she cried, clapping her hands together with delight. “He mentioned you.”

Lucien grinned. “My reputation precedes me, then. If there is nothing else, I will leave you to the safety of the garden.”

He bowed deeply, eliciting the strangest sensation from her body. It was only a moment, though it might have been lifetime. She had the strangest feeling they’d met before, that they’d lived an entire life together…that she knew this man better than she knew herself. The feeling raced through her body, heating her blood with recognition. Lucien, too, was no longer smiling when he straightened, his brow furrowed.

It passed with a lavender scented breeze, leaving her confused. 

Magic, she told herself, watching his retreating form.

But uncertainty lingered.

**

Lucien blew out an unsteady breath. Another human and another Calanmai. Elain was doe-eyed like the rest of them, blissfully unaware of what Calanmai truly was. The humans used to know why the High Lords were still allowed to collect one human a year, but that knowledge had become eroded over the centuries until their little fairytale was all that persisted. Not all High Lords participated anymore, the prophecy considered more legend than truth at this point. Lucien’s own father in Autumn had abandoned the tradition at the behest of his wife, who was tired of burying bodies. Dawn and Day had also stopped when their younger, more progressive High Lords took power. Summer had very recently joined them, which left Winter, Night, and Spring still collecting human women.

Lucien did not enjoy the role he played. Keep them docile, amused and unaware right until that final night of Calanmai. It didn’t matter, then, if they learned the truth of the matter. There was nowhere they could run that the High Lord could not track. Not many unraveled the truth in time which, to Lucien, made things a little easier. They were already in love with Tamlin and believed every promise he made.

They went to the grave believing in that love. Tamlin, to his credit, dealt with their bodies in the aftermath but it was Lucien who attended to them in the months leading up to their demise. He helped facilitate the falling in love with the High Lord and Tamlin’s courtiers watched the entire thing as though it were an amusing play they were seeing for the first time.

There were bets placed already on how long it would take the newest human to offer Tamlin a dance, a kiss…and everything else.

Lucien sighed, sitting at the dining room table by himself as he ticked off what he needed to do. A virgin sacrifice was required for Calanmai, untouched until the rightful Lord came to claim her, more beast than male. Most humans didn’t survive the coupling but those who did were then sacrificed at the stone altar in the hopes she would be the one from the prophecy. 

Seek out the maiden, untouched by man

Bring her forth to the golden land

A kiss that glows hot with fire

Only one is worthy to sire

When she turns the sky from day to night

A High King will emerge to set things right 

Hundreds of girls had died in service to a prophecy that could have been interpreted wrong or been pure nonsense from the start. Lucien wondered how much longer Tamlin intended to try and find the right human woman in an effort to be chosen High King of Prythian. Lucien suspected Tamlin would stop when Rhysand did, determined not to let the High Lord of Night rule all of Prythian. 

The prophecy never said the maiden needed to die—that had come later. In five hundred years, the tradition may have shifted entirely, but for now, it was generally agreed the fires of Calanmai were what was needed in order to absorb enough magic that would crown someone High King. 

The previous year had been a disaster for Spring. Their maiden had not been a maiden at all but a married woman with a child, invalidating the entire ritual. Lucien had watched Tamlin rip the female into pieces, furious at the deception. The memories still lingered, infesting his nightmares until Lucien woke in a cold, miserable sweat.

Elain though…she had the look of innocence about her. She smelled like honey and jasmine without any hint of a male on her. She didn’t seem like the type to fight back, either. She’d go willingly to her death, gazing upwards at Tamlin with those sweet eyes. Lucien had no intention of getting close to her or learning anything about her that might make him feel sympathy. 

Tamlin stepped in, closing the doors softly behind him. “How did it go?”

“She’s in the garden,” Lucien replied, grateful when Tamlin uncorked a bottle of wine and slid him a glass. 

“Did she know anything about Calanmai?” Tamlin questioned, his eyes flashing with fear. They had dungeons, of course, but generally it was believed the humans should offer themselves willingly, at least in the beginning. Chasing one down, while fun, was thought to ruin the ceremony. It also made the entire ordeal worse. Killing wasn’t borne of enjoyment, afterall—killing a female shaking and begging was too much, even for battle hardened, centuries old males like Tamlin.

“Nothing. It seems the humans have completely forgotten why we come.”

“Good,” Tamlin breathed, pacing the room. “And her scent?”

Lucien glanced at his friend. “I didn’t notice anything male about her.”

“But you’ll ask?” Tamlin prodded.

“Shall I court her, too?” Lucien bit back, irritated that so much of leading the humans to the slaughter fell on his shoulders. Tamlin shrugged. Neither of them truly wanted the job, but Lucien’s resentment burned hot given he was the only one to mourn them and one day Tamlin would be High King. 

“I wish you could. Give her what she asks for and keep her occupied.”

“Do you plan to take her to the starlit pool?” Lucien asked, creating a timeline of events in his mind. 

“Yes, and the Winter Solstice ball,” Tamlin added. “Keep her away from the servants. They’re still upset about last Calanmai.”

As they should be, Lucien thought privately. It had been their job to clean the mess Tamlin made when he tore the girl to shreds. 

“And the courtiers?” Lucien pressed. More than once, someone tried to dally with the human sacrifice either from boredom or attraction. They also weren’t above dropping little hints to amuse themselves, betting on everything from when the human might kiss Tamlin all the way if she’d figure out their deception. 

“I’ll deal with them,” Tamlin growled softly. “Let’s avoid the same hiccups as last year.”

“Have you paid her family?” Lucien asked, wondering if that task would fall to him as well. Tamlin waved his hand. 

“It was done moments after she arrived, along with the usual glamours. If you asked them, they would tell you she is visiting a sick relative. After Calanmai she’ll run off with a suitor, just as they always do.”

“And her memory?” Lucien continued, ticking each thing off in his mind.

“Alis knows to pour a tonic into her beverages with each meal. She won’t remember them in a month.” Lucien nodded. “Do you require anything else of me?”

Tamlin collapsed into the chair at the head of the table, face buried in his hands. “Can you fuck her for me, too?”

Lucien was grateful he didn’t have to. 

#elucien #i forgot what an asshole lucien is for the start of this #oh well

[prolifeproliberty]

As we enter Lent and many Christians are setting aside additional time for prayer and devotions, it’s a great time for Christian women to talk about head covering in the context of 1 Corinthians 11.

”Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ. Now I commend you because you remember me in everything and maintain the traditions even as I delivered them to you. But I want you to understand that the head of every man is Christ, the head of a wife is her husband, and the head of Christ is God. Every man who prays or prophesies with his head covered dishonors his head, but every wife who prays or prophesies with her head uncovered dishonors her head, since it is the same as if her head were shaven. For if a wife will not cover her head, then she should cut her hair short. But since it is disgraceful for a wife to cut off her hair or shave her head, let her cover her head. For a man ought not to cover his head, since he is the image and glory of God, but woman is the glory of man. For man was not made from woman, but woman from man. Neither was man created for woman, but woman for man. That is why a wife ought to have a symbol of authority on her head, because of the angels. Nevertheless, in the Lord woman is not independent of man nor man of woman; for as woman was made from man, so man is now born of woman. And all things are from God. Judge for yourselves: is it proper for a wife to pray to God with her head uncovered? Does not nature itself teach you that if a man wears long hair it is a disgrace for him, but if a woman has long hair, it is her glory? For her hair is given to her for a covering. If anyone is inclined to be contentious, we have no such practice, nor do the churches of God.“

‭‭1 Corinthians‬ ‭11‬:‭1‬-‭16‬ ‭ESV‬‬

If we read this carefully, we do not see any evidence that this passage was only meant for the church at Corinth. Paul specifically says “every woman” and “every man.”

The argument that head covering was the norm in Corinth also doesn’t make sense, as Paul refers to traditions being delivered to the church at Corinth by him. Why would he be delivering a local Corinthian pagan custom as a tradition? We also don’t actually have historical or archeological evidence that head covering was the norm for Corinth.

It’s also not specifically a modesty issue, as the instruction for women to cover is connected to the doctrines of headship and order of creation. If it were a modesty issue, instructing men to uncover wouldn’t make sense.

In addition, when we look at church history surrounding this topic, we can see that head covering was the normative practice for nearly every Christian church from the 1st century to the 1960s, when feminist groups like NOW pressured churches to end the practice and staged protests during church services, like one where women went to Communion, removed their hats, and left them on the communion rail.

So for about 1900 years, Christian women around the world covered their heads at least during church services and prayer, if not all the time. Then in the 1960s feminists decided we shouldn’t do that anymore.

I began covering my head during prayer a little over a year ago now. At first, I wore coverings during church and Bible study, and would also put them on for private prayer and devotion time. Now I cover almost full time, mostly because it’s easier and it encourages me to pray more throughout the day, rather than just at designated times.

If you are interested in exploring head covering, The Head Covering Movement has a lot of great additional reading and resources, and their Instagram is full of beautiful examples of what head covering can look like.

For getting started, I recommend wide headbands or nice bandanas/square scarves that are simple and don’t necessarily call attention to the fact that you are covering. Mantilla veils can be a beautiful option for church services and home devotions. I personally like bandanas and larger scarves like the ones from The Scarf Bar. But you can find what you like and what works for you!

I’m not here to guilt or pressure anyone into covering, but I feel the need to share what I have learned about it and invite the Christian women who follow my blog to read 1 Corinthians 11 carefully and listen to what Scripture says about it. Study it, study the church history, and pray about it.

And of course, please feel free to ask questions!

#head covering #lent #Lutheran #Christian #Christian head covering #1 Corinthians 11

[blnk338]

COD Headcanons!!

Pt 2 b/c you guys loved these sm

Relationship hcs!!

Price:

Good chef, GREAT at bbq

Taps his phone screen too hard and squints at it

Googled “Pegging” because Soap told him to

Regrets it dearly

“I’m just going to rest my eyes” and falls into comatose for 8-10 years

Was the best man at Laswell’s wedding and still cries today thinking about it

Does the dad-sneeze thing

Supporter of small businesses

Vanilla > chocolate ice cream will get into a heated argument over this

Will put on a 19th-century oil tycoon accent when asking questions about technology to make light of the situation

This started when he didn’t know how to change the wallpaper on his iPhone

Laswell does an incredible impression of his impression

Crazy emetophobia

HOLIDAY DAD! Absolutely shite with gifts but will wake up at 3 am to set up everything and give you a good holiday

Very comfortable in his masculinity from raising two daughters, made sure to teach himself how to raise them to be smart and safe, and actively does his best to keep himself in check and support the women in his life

Ultimate straight ally

His oldest, 15, made him and her little sister go to pride and he voluntarily wore a shirt that said “free dad hugs”

Gaz:

Got Price to say “Girl trust you will be dealt with” and had to get Soap to punch him so he could breathe again

Fluent in French!

Bisexual w/ a preference for women

Needs two triple-shot espressos every morning

Hates oat milk; thinks it's grainy

Is lactose intolerant though

But he’s not the shit-your-brains-out lactose intolerant, he’s the wallow-in-pain-on-the-bathroom-floor-for-eighty-minutes lactose intolerant

Turkey hater. Not the animal, the food. Thinks it’s dry and flavorless

Okayish cook, phenomenal baker.

Will leave baked goods in the sergeant's/lieutenant's and captain's offices/breakrooms and act surprised when he sees the plate of freshly baked brownies

Tried smoking weed, hated it.

Middle child of an older sister and a younger brother

Didn’t like The Office

Soap:

Can make balloon animals out of anything balloon-like (condoms included)

Has a TikTok, makes TikTok references

Loves cats and dogs equally, but had only dogs growing up so he’s not really sure how to deal with cats

In a constant state of "trying his best"

Dick stick-n-poke tattoo on his calf

30-minute night routine

Double exfoliates

Disgusted at Ghost’s hygiene

Loves the holidays; this man goes fucking insane for Christmas lights and his house is the biggest source of light pollution in the entirety of the UK

RELIGIOUSLY a supporter of small businesses. Loves little family-run stores and buys local produce/groceries all the time

Highlighter kid in grade school

Blamed a fart on Gaz and asked him if he was feeling “Gazzy” (Garrick smacked the shit out of him)

Makes gagging noises over comms to fuck with Price

Knows what kinning is, kins Rainbow Dash

ADHD

Coffee does the opposite for him; he’ll be bouncing off the walls and you’ll hand him a double shot espresso and he’s calm as all fuck

GREAT AT READING SOCIAL CUES THOUGH

Really knows how to read body language and will step back if anyone gets uncomfortable

Youngest of 3 brothers and one older sister (she’s second to oldest amongst his siblings)

König:

Will literally sit at home in full tactical gear

Chess master

Loves horror movies but gets super scared

Likes Scrabble

Bug kid!!!!!

Hates birds. No one knows why.

Doesn’t drink, prefers virgin versions of alcohol

Drunk König is a sad König

Wore headgear because of his teeth when he was in middle school

Favorite color is yellow but does love green!

Will accidentally man-handle people because he forgets his strength

Always so terribly sorry about it

Ghost:

Has had his license revoked an uncountable number of times (currently does not have a license)

Drives

No rizz

Horrifyingly good aim with anything and everything. Will chuck trash across the house and somehow land it in the bin

Will lean his head down slightly if someone he respects (and is shorter than him) is talking

One of those dog people that’s like “I fucking hate cats.” And then you find them napping together, and he’s carrying the cat in the hood of his jacket, and he sneaking them treats, and he’s talking to them in a baby voice…

Wins staring contests, always

Knows his staring is bad, but doesn’t really do anything to change it

Speaking of which, he’s got a horrible German stare (google it)

Spaces out and sways side to side slightly, unaware that he’s been glaring lasers into an unsuspecting private for like a solid forty seconds.

Doesn’t know what kinning is but would kin Winter Soldier / Bucky Barnes

Likes sensory toys but will never buy one because he thinks they’re too obvious.

Really wants a sensory slug

Definitely the jealous type but will not say a single fucking word

Soft spot for animals and young children

Likes drinking for a buzz, but will easily stop himself. He doesn’t like being unaware of his surroundings

Edibles > mass amounts of alcohol

Little fidgeting -> rubbing his thumb across the side of his index finger, squeezing his hands, twitching his feet but not enough to tap them, playing with the hems of stuff

Mirrors in his house are covered/removed

Wants a pet but won’t get one because he doesn’t like the idea of something relying on him, only to abandon them or discard them. He’s away for work often so it’s not like they would be taken care of

Doesn’t actively seek partners because he doesn’t think he’s worth it

Behind the confident, stoic attitude, he’s a man who doesn’t value himself and therefore, if he does have feelings for anyone, doesn’t put in the effort to pursue them or he tries to kill the warm feelings in him.

Better to be alone than to hurt someone he cares about

Graves:

Screams at Football (US) games

Thinks he can out-grill Price; cannot.

Lost his kids in the divorce

Thinks no-sock loafers are the way to go

Doesn’t wear socks that much, actually

Can’t handle spice

Mint n’ chip ice cream kinda guy

Fav beer is Natty Lit

Likes egg salad

Dog guy

Divorced twice, btw

“But if the roles were reversed…”

Doesn’t have a problem with climate change, and thinks that the weather is getting nicer so, if anything, the climate is just getting better

Uses Crest toothpaste

Left-handed and makes a big deal out of it

Gets really up in the ass about calling soccer “football” (not ironically)

#cod mwii #cod mw2 #john price #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #soap mactavish #call of duty #phillip graves #konig mw2 #konig #mwf2 headcanons #headcanon #cod headcanons #yes these all apply to Reap What You Sow #rwys ff #rwys #rwys könig #rwys soap #rwys price #rwys ghost #rwys gaz #rwys graves