#mid -late 18th century

[ltwilliammowett]

A mirco ivory ring with a harbour scene, owned by the family of Count Magnus Stenbock (1665-1717)

He was a Swedish Field Marshal and Royal Councillor who had to surrender to the Danish King during the Great Northern War and was imprisoned as a result. According to family legend, he made the ring during his imprisonment. However, such works with micro ivory were not made in Europe before 1760. It is therefore more likely that someone in his family commissioned it.

[jeannepompadour]

Portrait of a woman by Antoine Vestier (1740-1824)

[th3d0nutl0rd]

Renegade Nell POTC crossover when

[iamthemaestro]

^^ full of hatred for scotland and rigid moral complexes

[vinceaddams]

Someday, hopefully, when I have spare money and an actual studio space, I will get a nice detailed replica human skull and make a wig stand with it.

[mishkakagehishka]

But i'm so serious i believe in harpsichord supremacy, literally the only reason why i think unity's soundtrack is the best of the asscreed series - it has harpsichords in almost every track.

[coltonwbrown]

Hen and Chicks by Yamaguchi Okatomo, mid- to late 18th century

Masterpieces of Japan on Twitter: Source

[foone]

So the earth's magnetic poles reverse periodically, about every half a million years on average. Magnetic north becomes geographic south, and vice versa.

And pink wasn't a "girl color" until the mid-20th century, and dresses were common for boys and girls until "breeching", the ceremonial occasion when the boy got his first trousers, until the early 20th/late 19th century.

Heels date back to the 10th century when they were solely worn by men, to the 17th and 18th centuries when it was both men and women, becoming specialized and different for each gender in the 19th, and becoming predominantly (but definitely not exclusively) female by the later years of the 20th.

Hell, even the term is gendered these days! You say "high heel" and the feminine-coded shoe us assumed, but it just means the shoe has a sloped sole. You know what shoes count as that? Cowboy boots. The official boots worn by the marines in the 20s were technically "high-heels", by the same definition.

Anyway my theory is that similar to the geomagnetic pole reversal, the genders clothing inverts periodically over time. And I think we're due for a swap, soon.

[brassandblue]

This is a tag post--eras for my rep muses.

[kaiserin-erzsebet]

Since my last history related poll was fun, and the perception of time periods is fascinating....

(if you reblog and add tags, I'd also like to know where you usually study or read about)

Edit: for those who wanted more specific divisions of earlier periods: I wanted to add more but there are only so many slots allowed on a Tumblr poll.

[inlovewithregencyera]

My Fairy Lady: Sophia & Augusta 1790's mini set

Sophia & Augusta, a mid-1790s dress, hair, and ribbon (hat) overlay for your sims in celebration of me reaching 500 Tumblr followers last week, which is very shocking considering I had around 110 in the middle of January, so thank you :)

There are scarcely any 1790s items in the sims, especially mid to late, so here you go! I also think I'm the first person to make a 1790s hair.

I used mesh pieces from @the-melancholy-maiden @buzzardly28 @javitrulovesims @cringeborg and @vintagesimstress to make all of this.

Augusta 1790s Dress works from about 1794-1799.

Sophia 1790s hair works from about 1791-1798 (and is 14k poly, sorry). Hair isn't really that compatible with other hats aside from this ribbon overlay.

BGC, hair has all natural swatches, ribbon overlay, and dress both have 30 swatches. Everything is found towards the bottom due to my display index (you should see my thumbnail)

With the dress, all the patterns are historically accurate for the time and most are striped as stripes were very popular for the latter half of the 18th century.

Here are some different angles of everything

Now, here are some actual 1790s portraits and fashion plates

DOWNLOAD

[ltwilliammowett]

Ship’s complements

First rates             841 officers and men

Second rates        743 officers and men

Third rates            494-724 officers and men

Fourth rates          345 officers and men

Fifth rates              44 guns - 250-280 officers and men                                 38 guns - 250 officers and men                                 36 guns - 240 officers and men                                 32 guns - 220 officers and men

Sixth rates             28 guns - 200 officers and men                                22 guns - 160 officers and men

Ship- sloops         121-135 officers and men

Brig - sloops         80-121 officers and men

Others                   variable, as sizes of craft differed greatly; an armed sloop would have a crew of 42.

[jeannepompadour]

Hedvig Katarina de la Gardie (1732-1800) by Jakob Björck (1727 or 1728–1793)

[feyhunter78]

Split Lips and Busted Knuckles - Nerd!Miguel

Description: A chance meeting with Miguel's half-brother Kron leads to you seeing a different side of Miguel.

Nerd!Miguel masterlist here!!

Seriously you hate men, maybe not all of them, obviously not Miguel, but a lot if not most of them, and you really fucking hate Kron. Tall, blond, an extremely punchable face and an attitude that screamed “I waste my daddy’s money on cocaine.” He was a complete and utter rich asshole. One who seemed to be intent on talking to you.

You had a Mid-18th Century History class together, and he always tried to catch you after class. Luckily, you had a few sisters in your class as well, and you could hide within the pack to avoid him. Then he tried to catch you before class, but your professor called you over, safe again. But now here in the courtyard, an open space filled with frat boys you stupidly decided to wander through on your way to meet Miguel, there was nowhere to hide.

“Y/N, hey y/n, wait up.” Kron calls, waving wildly to get your attention.

You stop and press your lips together, before putting on a fake smile. He was the social chair for KA, and you know some of your sisters have been dying to be invited to their parties. “Hey Kron, what’s up?”

He gives you a smile, one that you think is supposed to be friendly, even nonthreatening, but it gives you the creeps. “Not much, just wanted to ask you about something I heard from a few people.”

“Oh?” You rack your brain trying to come up with some semblance of an idea about what he’s talking about but come up empty.

“Yeah, I heard you’ve been hanging out with my brother.” He says, his blue eyes hold you fast, like a butterfly pinned to a board.

“Your brother? I didn’t know you had a brother.” You say, brow furrowing as you try to remember meeting someone who looks like Kron but isn’t actually Kron.

“Well, he’s my half-brother, my dad is the ultimate stud, so you know, things happen and then Miguel just showed up.” He explains, not even seeming fazed or upset that his dad had an affair.

You blink owlishly, his words echoing in your brain as you try to put two and two together. “Miguel, as is Miguel O’Hara?”

He nods, “that’s the one, weird ass nerd, he refused to join KA with me, even though I told him that’s the only way he’ll make friends.”

“He’s not weird.” You bristle, crossing your arms over your chest.

Kron holds up his hands in surrender. “Whoa, whoa, chill, I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, okay, so I’ve been hanging out with him, who cares?” You glance at your watch; you’re going to be late.

There’s a very real and slightly concerning pain in your chest at the thought of Miguel sitting alone in the student center, waiting for you like a lost puppy, thinking you abandoned him.

Kron rests a hand on your shoulder, and you fight the urge to shrug it off. “Look Miguel, he’s my half-brother and yeah, he’s fucking annoying, and a try-hard, but he’s a nice guy, too nice. Don’t waste your time with him, it’s social suicide. He’s a nobody, a fucking loser who cares more about Legos and fucking science or whatever than getting laid.”

“I really don’t care about social suicide, but thanks, I think I can make my own decisions.” You tell Kron, giving him that same, perfectly crafted customer service smile.

“Y/N, you don’t get it, I’m trying to help you. He’s a loser, back in high school, no girls gave him a chance, he’s a total virgin okay, and you need a real man.”

And there it is, the real reason Kron doesn’t want you hanging with Miguel.

“A real man, huh? Well, you know what Kron, why don’t you let me know when you’ve found one and then get back to me.” You pat his hand that’s still on your shoulder.

His face goes red, then the color drains and his eyes harden. “I’m trying to help you, bitch.”

“Appreciate it, don’t need it, thanks though.” You walk off, head held high, hands shaking in anger as you shove them in your jacket pockets.

Miguel is sitting at your normal table, the one tucked in the corner secluded and shaded by large hedges, his head in a book, his glasses slipping down his nose.

You set your stuff down and push them up, smiling at his startled look. “Hey, sorry about the wait.”

He shakes his head, pink tinting his cheeks. “No worries, I was reading up on next week’s lecture for my genetics class.

You slide into the seat across from him. “Oh yeah? Anything interesting?”

You can’t believe he’s a virgin, he’s so…hot. Your mind starts to wonder for a second, imagining what it would be like, how he’d sound, how he’d feel, the flustered look on his face when you straddle him.

He nods, and begins to explain, talking wildly with his hands, pulling you from your lewd thoughts, then he freezes, his shoulders tensing, his hands deathly still.

“Miguel? Everything alright?” You ask, casting a glance over your shoulder in the direction of his gaze.

Fucking Kron.

When Kron gets closer you yell out, “so what are you like a stalker now or something?”

He laughs, it’s that specific laugh that reeks of arrogance and an inability to see women as people. “You wish.”

“I really don’t.” You grumble, turning back to look at Miguel.

His knuckles are white, his jaw clenched, his back ramrod straight, his shoulders set back, the expanse of his chest on display as if he’s trying to make himself look bigger than he already is, which is a feat in itself. There’s a look in his eyes that sends a shiver of something akin to fear down your spine. You’ve never seen Miguel look this way, ever, it’s like you’re looking at a whole different person.

“Migs, how you doing, bro?” Kron asks, standing between you and Miguel, who both remain seated, resting his hands on the table.

“Kron.” Miguel says curtly, turning that ice-cold gaze fully onto his half-brother.

Kron rolls his shoulders back and glances at you. “I thought I told you there’s nothing to be gained from hanging with this loser.”

Your eyes flicker back to Miguel, who’s giving Kron a harsh look you can’t quite decipher, then to Kron. “And I thought I told you I can make my own decisions.”

Kron clicks his tongue. “What’s he gonna do for you, he’s a fucking virgin. Just gonna try to make you cum by explaining science facts to you? Build you a dildo out of Legos?”

You nearly choke on your own spit. “What the fuck is wrong with you?

“If you’re that desperate for dick, you can always swing by the house, I’d be more than happy—” Kron hits the ground with a strangled yelp.

Miguel is on him in seconds, fist cocked back, his back muscle rippling as he brings his fist down, again and again and again. “Di esa mierda otra vez. Dilo de nuevo, te reto a la mierda.” Trsl: Say that shit again. Say it again, I fucking dare you.

Kron manages to get one arm free and tries to grab Miguel’s face, shirt, arm, anything he can reach. “You’re fucking crazy, you and your sorority slut.” Kron lands a solid hit, and you wince at the sight of Miguel’s head turning—even if it’s ever so slightly—with the force, Kron’s smug laugh ringing through the air once more.

“You never know when to shut up, huh?” Miguel snarls, forcing Kron’s arm down with his free hand, the other connecting with Kron’s nose, a sickening crack filling the air.

The sound prompts you into action, and you ignore the way your stomach flips at Miguel’s tone, at the way he moves, like a panther, powerful, stalking its prey, delivering that fatal blow.

Be so for real y/n, you cannot be turned on right now, that’s so embarrassing.

You grab Miguel’s shoulders and try to pull him away, it’s useless, but you try anyways. “Stop, stop, you have to stop, fuck come on Miguel—if they catch you fighting on campus you could lose your scholarship.”

“Shit, okay, I yield, I’m sorry.” Kron coughs out, blood gushing from his nose as his voice joins yours.

But Miguel doesn’t stop, he’s cursing under his breath, and at Kron in Spanish, his hand bloody, Kron’s flailing helplessly in his vice grip.

You try to grab Miguel’s bicep, fear flooding your system. “Miguel, stop, please, you’re freaking me out.”

That catches his attention.

Miguel mutters something to Kron then gets up, shoving his stuff in his bag and walking away, his shoulders tense.

In shock, you grab a bunch of napkins and your things, before chasing after him.

Why is this still kinda hot? You wonder, before mentally smacking yourself upside the head.

Miguel’s legs are much longer than yours, his steps bigger, faster, and you grab onto the front pocket of his backpack, his name spilling from your lips. “Miguel, hey, wait up.”

He stops, and you drag him into a nearby alcove with a bench pressed flush against the stone wall.

You both sit and Miguel refuses to look at you, his hand and lip bloodied.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” You ask, taking his hand in yours and dabbing it with a napkin, trying to clean him up the best you can.

“I’m sorry.” Miguel says quietly, eyes downcast.

“Why?” You turn his hand over and start cleaning his palm.

“I scared you, and I—I let my anger get the best of me, I should’ve just walked away.” His eyes meet yours for a brief moment when you gently dab at his lip.

“You didn’t scare me, I mean yeah that was a little intense, but…” You trail off when you realize he’s trembling. “Hey, I’m not afraid of you, you’re Miguel, my sweet boy, who can apparently throw one hell of a punch.”

He laughs at that, albeit weakly, but it’s still a laugh.

“And Kron is an idiot, don’t listen to him.” You continue, spending maybe a bit too long cleaning Miguel’s split lip, mesmerized by him.

“I don’t care what he says about me, he’s been a jerk since we were kids, but…he can’t just—you don’t deserve that.”

You exhale forcefully out of your nose, a small, contained laugh. “He’s just a dumbass saying dumbass stuff, like really, who would build a dildo out of Legos? That would hurt like a bitch.”

“And you don’t—you’re not weirded out by what he said?” Miguel asks carefully, you can feel the embarrassed heat radiating off him.

You set the napkin down and grab his chin with one hand turning his face side to side, inspecting him. You know what he means, not the Legos, or the science facts, the virgin part. It’s such a dumb thing to make fun of someone about something you’ve always been against. Why shame someone for such a personal choice? It’s their body, they can do what they want.

Plus, it’s kinda hot, being the first one to have him? The first one who gets to hear him, see him like that? Fuck, you wish that was you. Maybe you should offer? No, no, y/n, seriously, keep it in your pants.

Once you’re done with your inspection, you turn him to face you. “No, I’m not, who cares if you have or haven’t slept with someone, it’s not a big deal. Though I am surprised, a smart, handsome, sweet guy like you? I thought you’d have tons of girls under your belt. Bunch of math and science prodigies following you around like groupies, fighting to get in your pants.”

Because that’s who Miguel deserves someone smart, someone who can keep up with him—shit pull back, you’re making yourself insecure.

Miguel ducks his head, nuzzling into your palm as a result of the movement. “Thank you, for cleaning me up, and...you know.”

You smile, heart fluttering as Miguel leans into your touch. “No problem.”

You’re in wayyyy too deep.

Virgin Miguel bitchesssss

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer

[city-of-ladies]

"In the mid-1700s, a seawoman in Iceland named Björg Einarsdóttir composed a poem teasing men on her boat for their weak rowing:

Do row better my dear man, Fear not to hurt the ocean. Set your shoulders if you can Into harder motion.

Einarsdóttir was not only a talented poet but an excellent fisher. She often caught more fish than other crew members, and people believed that her ability to lure the animals was supernatural. When she was dying, she reportedly passed on this uncanny skill to a farmer by writing a poem about him catching trout.

Her work at sea may seem unusual. After all, fishing is generally considered a man’s job. But recent work by an American researcher, Margaret Willson, suggests that Einarsdóttir was one of hundreds of Icelandic women in the 18th and 19th centuries who braved towering waves and icy waters to catch fish. Willson’s team combed through historical archives and publications to gather examples ranging from a female captain who led crews made up entirely of women, to expectant mothers who rowed late into pregnancy.

The sea “wasn’t a male space,” says Willson, a cultural anthropologist at the University of Washington in Seattle and a former seawoman. “It was not a feminist act in any way for them to go to sea.” It was just part of everyday life."

[victoriansecret]

Servants and Upward Mobility

This is focused on paid servants in England in the mid-late 18th century. One thing I find fascinating about the structure of domestic service roles was the existence of what essentially we might call a career ladder today. It was not uncommon for a servant to start their career near the bottom of the hierarchy as, say, a boot boy who cleans the shoes and boots of the household, or the scullery maid who does all the dirty kitchen work like scrubbing iron cooking vessels or plucking chickens, but progressively move up the list to better positions.

Part of why this was the case was that it was typical in England to hire servants for one year terms at a time. Often they'd be hired at festivals on the quarter days of the year, which as part of the festivities would often include what today we'd call a job fair. For some reason, Michaelmas (September 29) seems to be the most common as far as I can tell. I had never really thought about why that might be until I started planning this post, and I now wonder if it might have something to do with that being right around when harvest time usually comes in England. I could easily imagine people, especially young people, being on the cusp of another labourious harvest and thinking that maybe they could find another job instead. Related tangent: There are a number of remarks in the period that servants from the northern parts of England were considered to be much more respectful than servants from more populated, urban areas. Those communities were (at least considered to be) a lot stricter about remembering one's place and respecting your social 'betters', and their behaviour as servants was believed to reflect that. Some people would actively have their agents look to hire people from those rural areas, and apparently it was easy to attract potential employees: there are a number of remarks about how when a fancy carriage would drive through a small town, with the fancily-liveried footmen riding on the back, it would bring young people to stare in awe and want to be part of that. Which as someone whose interest in domestic service started in part because of my obsession with livery, I can understand. Anyway, back to the main point: because they often served one-year terms, there was an annual chance for both parties - the servant and the served - to review and determine how to move forward. A servant who was favoured might negotiate for a new position in the household, at least one step higher on the ladder (if not more), and they had leverage because they could leave the field entirely or possibly go off to a new household and find a higher position there. There was also a practice of asking for your master or mistress to provide a "character", essentially what we would today call a reference: a letter to show potential employers detailing their behaviour and skill in their role. Certainly there were times that some employers refused to give a good character, and sometimes that was explicitly because they wanted to keep the servant because they were a valuable asset to their household, but it was considered part of the obligation of the master class to be honest in these.

And it is not at all uncommon to find people who have served many different people/households throughout their career. The most I have seen is 28, although that's slightly misleading: that was a man who decided he wanted to travel, so hired himself to gentleman going on journeys for the duration of the trips, many of which were only a couple months. (The book he published, which he wrote about his travels and the "exotic" places and people he encountered, is interesting, and for my purposes super helpful because he turned out to be a narcissist and wrote a lot about himself, including his career as a servant. It's the only quasi-memoir of a paid servant from this time I am aware of. I might write a post about it/him sometime. I digress.) [continued in next post]