#ts4 1790s

[cringeborg]

Pana Evening Dress

This simplistic evening dress, with its awkward, transitional silhouette and less-than-modest neckline, is perfect for any fashionable 1790s lady, or any less fashionable 1800s lady.

BGC

Custom thumbnail

39 swatches

Tagged as feminine

Found in the Long Dresses category

Casual, Formal, Party, Hot Weather

Polycount: 4658

All LODs

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Color tagged

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[cringeborg-moved]

Long Men's Nightshirt

Happy Tuesday! Today you're getting a simple 19th-century style nightshirt, an edit of @historicalsimslife's Edwardian Men's Nightgown. I've finally sort of figured out weight transfers. I did not enjoy it. But the weights are fine, so that's good.

Just the one white swatch this time. Feel free to recolor if you want!

Found in the long dress and robe categories

All LODs

Vertices: 4081

Polygons: 6620

Tagged as masculine

Mesh is required!

Download (SFS)

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[esotericas-sims]

Manon Yvaine de Falstaff, 1789.

"It is the unique gift of the orphan: freedom from the burden of a family legacy. It is also their unique misery. The maintenance of a legacy is a laborious task. The creation of one has been known to drive men mad."

– M.F.

Chapter One

My name is Manon Yvaine de Falstaff. You have not heard of me.

By the time this book is published, I am either dead or as-good-as. This is by design. It is only with the knowledge that I will not live to suffer the consequences of my actions, that I can report them truly and honestly here.

There is a general narrative convention that a story starts at the beginning. I see no reason to break this pattern.

My story begins in France, 1785. I was born in blood and tears and disappointment. My parents were Conrad and Mathilde de Falstaff, Baron and Baronne of ----- (a vanity title, gifted to them by the King as reward for my father's friendship. We had no money, and no land.) My parents despised one another; Conrad, for his wife's inability to bear sons, and Mathilde, for her husband's inability to remain faithful. It was a marriage of equals, in terms of hatred.

They were divorced not long after I was born - Failure to produce a male heir - Four girls was four too many, and Ophelie and I were twins. It was more than my father could tolerate.

I was born last. I took pride, for some years, in being the straw that broke the camel's back. I learned in later years that the divorce was my mother's idea, not my father's. I can not blame her for wanting an escape, though my sisters resented her for abandoning us to him.

Neither of them, as far as I know, ever took credit for giving me my name. There is a significance to that, I think. A name is an important thing, and mine purports to be handed down from God himself.

Manon... a nickname, I was born Marie, though I have never once been called by that. It is a name I have always felt to be fateful, an act of God, determining my path. My mother could not have known about Mary, who I would meet many years after I left France, but perhaps the all-seeing eyes of the heavens observed our crossing-of-paths. Who's to say?

Yvaine... "North Star." The kinder of my elder sisters, Mathilde Junior - though we all called her Tilly - claimed it was my mother's choice, a reference to my odd appearance - shockingly white hair, and icy skin. The other, Emelie, insisted my father had meant to call me Yvonne, for my resemblance to our hideous aunt.

All these matters of fate and God and names were far from my mind as I grew, however. I was concerned almost entirely with my father, and my relentless pursuit of his love.

It was a game we played, the battle for affection. He praised me when I was clever, but scorned me when I won an argument. He played dolls with me only when my toys were soldiers, politicians, or clergymen. I begged to attend his meetings, balls, and dinner parties. Of all his children, there was no denying I took after him the most. It is one of the greatest shames of my life. For those golden years, however, I chased after him with the undying devotion known only to children. It did not last long, though. Change was coming.

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[antiquesims]

The wedding of Caroline Fletcher and Charles Davenport (in which I got way too invested)

[kieraplaysthesims]

Can now be downloaded HERE

Veronica Dress is a 1790s womens dress that comes in 22 swatches shown below

Download Patreon (always free)

[moon-simmers]

Redwood Family Tree

I was asked the other day if there was a family tree with all the characters in the Pride Flag Legacy Challenge. I’ve always had mixes with dates and everything from the beginning, plus family relationships between them. This is why I decided to create the ultimate familair tree and show it with you <3

(Right click to open the image to zoom in)

The Redwood tree comes from the parents of the founder of the challenge: Rosemary Redwood and her husband Cristobal Clermont. 

The sons of Cristobal and Rosemary did not adopt the paternal surname because the legacy of the challenge is Redwood. 

From here they intertwine with the Cushing, Barrow and Boneville families, spanning approximately 50 years of family history.

[peebsplays]

Totally loved @javitrulovesims Victorian townie sims so I thought I’d share my Rococo Sofia Bjergsen, who’s much older, an accomplished singer and has a family of her own.

Hair | Jewellery | Dress

[moon-simmers]

I love everything you mention in this post, I totally agree with how creating a male sim is usually complicated. In addition to the mention that male townies are... strange in some way

Here is a small compilation of my male sims as they ✨deserve it✨

YOUR CC ARE AMAZING!!! finally a new active male sims lover!!!! love it

Hello! I'm back from my CC hiatus! I'll be releasing new items this week.

Also, thank you, I am indeed an active male sims lover. I love creating them, sharing them and seeing how people react to them in my stories.

But as we know, lots of people just straight up HATE male sims. Which just intrigues me.

I decided to explore the topic about their "ugliness" rather than the lack of hairstyles/clothes as that's been covered a lot; read more if you'd like to kill a few minutes reading yet another rant about Sims 4.

I think the main problem is not the lack of clothes or hairstyles; It's the faces.

I don't blame anyone but EA, as they missed the mark with their male sim faces and presets, as we all know. But I still decided to test this out myself.

''Could it be that bad?'' I told myself.

I went into story-creation to see what male sim the game would generate after answering the quiz....oh boy.

I generated a female sim with the same quiz method both times to compare.

I don't think the male sims are ugly, but they just looks villanous, pompous and unapproachable, it's such a weird artistic choice to make male sim presets be so unnecesarily rough looking. I don't want to get to know these two characters, I don't even want to see them, they look dead. The girls look charming.

It's kinda like EA's saying masculine features can't be youthful, average, goofy, soft, next-door or warm. They're not even masculine either, the facial presets are botched. There's no softness, but no sharpness either, they're shallow, dislodged (like their lips, chins and jaws) and worst of all; empty.

The Sims community is full of talented people who make gorgeous male sims, and creators who make it possible to create male sims that can fit into the game's style a lot more than whatever the game generates. But not everyone in the community knows how to handle the awful presets and sliders for masculine framed faces. And it can be pretty frustrating to work with such crunchy and difficult faces like...these two male generated sims.

So that's why It makes me happy that the effort I put into my male sims is something a lot of you guys love and support, and I'm happy I can offer simspo for y'all to explore male sims a bit more and make the game just a little bit more diverse.

[cringeborg]

AM Handsome Suit - Regency Conversion Set pt. 2

Woe, suit be upon ye. Yes, that's my only comment. No wait. it's really not.

This is a 2t4 conversion and recolor of this suit by Berg. I don't have much to say. It's a nice suit. Was pretty fun to convert. I'm getting the hang of this stuff. Oh, and I made two versions. The breeches of the original were slightly too short to tuck into boots, so I made a V2 with longer breeches. I would still recommend getting both versions.

BGC

33 swatches

Found in the Sets category

Tagged as masculine

Everyday, Formal, Athletic, Party, Hot Weather, Cold Weather

Color tagged

Vertices: 3287

Polygons: 3058

All LODs

Display index by decade

Disabled for random

Download .zip (SFS)

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[cringeborg]

AM Elegant Bicorne - Regency Conversion Set pt. 3

This is a 2t4 conversion of Wawa's bicorne hat. Every swatch is based on a real European country from the 18th-19th century. Said swatches are all the ones of the original, except the Baden one which seemed to be identical to the Austria swatch. I really don't know a lot about military uniforms, but I guess that means you could use the Austrian bicorne for a Baden uniform as well.

Each swatch has a custom thumbnail that says what country's uniform it corresponds to (though I realize the text isn't super visible in CAS). I've attached all the thumbnails at the end of the post if you're curious. Now then!

BGC

19 swatches

Custom thumbnails

Shadow map

Tagged as masculine

Everyday, Formal, Athletic, Party, Hot Weather, Cold Weather

Color tagged

Found in the Brimmed category

Vertices: 3915

Polygons: 6415 (a polycount which I would argue is too high for a hat, but it was originally 9k so I think I did a good job reducing it)

All LODs

Disabled for random

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[cringeborg]

Simblreen Treat Two - Simple Mobcap

A plain cap suitable for any historical lady to wear while being chased by ghosts in her home.

BGC

Found in Hats

32 Swatches

Vertices: 816

Polygons: 1102

NOT compatible with all hairs (this would be impossible to achieve without changing the look of the cap completely)

Download (SFS)

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[esotericas-sims]

Chapter Two

“How could Papa have already found a new wife?” Tilly said, tears brimming at the edges of her eyes. We sat the four of us bunched at one end of a pew, limbs tangled together in a mess of girlish affection. The cathedral was ghostly, empty save for ourselves, our father, the priest, and our future stepmother - a lovely woman, Ioanna Basrid. An Italian - a nebulous, foreign thing to sheltered creatures like ourselves, accustomed then only to the walls of our own home, and the gardens beyond. It was, I would later learn, a very rushed wedding. No surprises as to why. My father was predictable in his pleasures.

“She doesn’t even look like Maman,” Ophelie added. She sat slumped against Tilly’s side, head on her thin shoulder. Tilly was distraught, though I recall her tears more being for the drama of it, than out of actual grief. We were all too young then to truly understand our parents’ divorce, and what it would mean for our lives. 

“I think Papa scared her away,” Tilly said, wrapping an arm around Ophelie. I sat at the edge of the group, largely distant from the pile of tears and elbows. Ophelie, my twin, claimed memories of our mother, I assume out of some desire to take after perfect golden Tilly, but I knew she didn’t remember her any more than I did. I was the only one who professed to like Ioanna. She was an enigmatic, foreign woman - smelling of unusual spices, and wafting around in strange fabrics. I’d heard whispers that her family were Ottomans once - a word I didn’t know, but which felt good on the tongue. I concluded she had to be some sort of royalty. Even dressed in the French fashion, pastels awkward on her tanned skin, Ioanna shone.

I don’t recall the proceeding of the ceremony itself - a minor thing, compared to the whines of my sisters. I do remember that my father was smiling, and my new stepmother was not.

“Maybe Papa killed Maman,” Emelie added. My mother had been beautiful, it was certain; I liked to look up at her portrait on rainy days, when the view out the window was dull, but she was nothing to rival Ioanna. Tilly burst out into tearful, startled laughter. 

“Don’t say that, Em!” 

“That’s awful,” Ophelie added, though the three of them had crumbled from solemn tears into little bursts of laughter.

Emelie settled smugly back in her seat on the pew, looking mightily satisfied with her joke. “Maybe she’ll be nicer than Maman was.” Vague, doubtful murmurs emerged from Ophelie and Tilly. The priest cast a scathing glance towards us, but didn't stop the ceremony to silence our chatter.

The rest of the day fades into the blur of memory, but I will never forget the fearful set to my new stepmother’s face as the priest slid the ring onto her finger.

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[esotericas-sims]

Chapter Four

Some weeks later, I awoke in the early hours of the morning to a faint rustling of fabric, and the murmur of voices in the hall. My father's I knew by heart, and Ioanna's I was beginning to recognize the feel of. Murmurs of "stay with your sister" and "Rome" and "revolution" were all I caught through the walls of the nursery.

I slipped out of bed, and waited at the door for my father's footsteps to recede - hurried, harried - before entering the hall. I tailed him silently, watching always for someone who might spot a child out and about, and make noise in protest. There was nobody.

Once my father made it through the doors, he began to run. He was dressed in commoner's clothes, simple and brown. A carriage was waiting for him.

Once he was inside, he slammed a fist against the wall, and shouted, "Go!" At the driver. "Go now!"

By a trick of marvelous fortune, the driver was a dear friend of mine. He said nothing when he saw me climb carefully onto the back of the carriage, just whipped the horses and set off. The wind whipped at my hair as we rode, and the early-morning chill drove me to huddle against the wood, clutching onto a rail to prevent myself from falling off.

We came, after nearly a full twenty-four hours of ceaseless travel, to a house. I gathered we were no longer in France. Different flags flew here, and the air was warmer, even at night. Italy, then? Rome, as Ioanna had spoken of?

The house was nothing against Versailles, of course, but it was a beautiful thing, covered in statues and frescoes and green growing things. I followed my father up to the gates. The driver had been a great help - throughout the journey, my father had yet to notice my presence. Or so I thought.

"Manon," He said, scowling as I approached. "What in the name of God do you think you're doing here?"

"I'm coming with you," I declared, head held high. "I want to know what you're doing."

"You shouldn't have left! You're not supposed to be anywhere outside of Versailles right now, Manon. It's dangerous out here, especially for people like us."

"What do you mean, people like us?" I asked, arms crossed over my chest. I had yet to understand the honest truth of the revolution brewing around us, or to understand that we were the enemies of the revolutionaries, not their friends. I saw only a just cause, and wanted to align myself with it. Justice was paramount in my mind, back then.

"Nobility, Manon. We are not common people, which means that the common people despise us. Your mother..." He loved to place the blame on her. It was a clumsy attempt to turn us against her, though completely ineffective. All my sisters mourned the divorce, and longed for her company. My father cleared his throat, and glanced up at the house. A man stood there, fully dressed despite the late hour, and was staring down at the both of us.

"I can not have this conversation now. Go back to the carriage, wait with the driver," He said, meeting eyes with the man now standing on the house's balcony. "I must go. We will discuss your punishment when we get home, Manon."

He set off without another word, not even checking to see if I'd made it back into the carriage. I watched the two of them disappear into the bright warmth of the house, and was alone.

Barred, by iron and by my father's word, from pursuing my curiosity. I wanted desperately to know what they were meeting about, why my father had come all this way on foot. Why not just send a courier with a letter?

I didn't know, and the not-knowing burrowed at me. Being aware of your own ignorance but being unable to solve it is one of the greatest pains a person can feel.

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[esotericas-sims]

The Book of Manon

Part One: In The Beginning

Being, by nature of its name and writing, a thorough but likely incomplete retelling of the events of my own life, starting in the year 1790, and proceeding to the present day.

Published 18--, Rome, Italy. Corna & Sons publishing. First edition.

Preface

All resemblance to real persons, locations, and events is entirely intentional. This story is true. Details have been modified only where necessary to preserve the privacy of those still living.

I have written this story not to condemn myself or those around me, (except, of course, those I do intend to condemn,) but instead to attempt to put to words that nebulous thing we call truth. Honesty is a game I have long struggled to win, and before you is my latest attempt. If this version of my book ever makes it to print, you will know I have won.

This book is not a moral lesson. It is a true story about a real woman. Whatever you take from my tale, do not let it be advice.

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[esotericas-sims]

Chapter Six

Magda left me a series of directions to get myself back to Villa Battaglia. They were, apparently, a rather well-known family, in Rome. I passed by a girl as I left, though I do not now recall if we spoke. Hers was a face I will remember forever; even now, with her blood on my hands. Round and soft, with large, sleepy blue eyes. She was always barefoot.

Mischa.

We must have met, that night, because no formal introductions were ever made between us. She simply knew my name, and I hers.

As I walked, I heard my name called from somewhere beyond me - distantly, accented.

"Marie?" It was a young man, voice deep but without the gravel of proper adulthood. And he was as un-Italian as I was - a German, I thought.

Perhaps my father had sent people to look for me. That would be a pleasant surprise.

I set off in the direction of the voice. My arm still ached, but the wood remained, even out of the strange little paradise of Magda's home, magical. And indeed, the person I found when I arrived was not a man, but a teenage boy - fifteen or sixteen, sandy-haired.

"Bist du Marie?" [ Are you Marie? ] He asked me. Certainly a German. I did not know the tongue then - I still only know the beginnings of it. Hideous language, German - but I knew enough to understand him. I nodded.

"Mein Name ist Wolfgang. Mich hat dein Vater geschickt, Conrad. Ich soll dich zurückbringen." [ My name is Wolfgang. Your father sent me, Conrad. I'm supposed to bring you back. ] The words washed over me, alien in my ears. I stared at him for a moment, and then caught my father's name. Again, I nodded. What was a German doing in Italy? What was I doing in Italy, for that matter? This all seemed so odd. Contrived; a German and a French girl walk into a bar. The bar is in Italy. The year is 1790! What an absurd turn of events. This felt less believable than the beast in the woods, or my dreams of fire.

Still, I had already lost track of Magda's directions, and was hopelessly lost. There was nothing to do but follow him.

It was some time before we reached Villa Battaglia again, longer than I remembered walking. But perhaps Magda had walked some distance when she saved me? I could not say. A guard allowed me in, and I barely had a chance to bid Wolfgang a clumsy "Danke-" before I was dragged off.

My father waited within, I was told. And he was not pleased. Above us, though I learned this only later, was a gallery of observers: the children Battaglia. We will meet them formally later.

I tiptoed over to my father, cautious of the mud on the hem of my dress, and nervous of what he would say about my new wooden limb. Still, I was glad to see him. The house was warm and beautiful, a beautiful terrarium in which I was a butterfly, protected from the night and the elements outside.

I sat down next to him, and he turned to face me.

"That was utterly irresponsible of you, Manon! I can not believe you would do such a thing. Disobeying me, and wandering off. You could have been kidnapped, or attacked." I did not know how to tell him that I was attacked. How could he not see the heavy, glaring wood of my arm? But he didn't seem to notice.

"If you pull something like that again, you'll be sleeping in the stables with Ophelie again. Do you hear me?"

"I did not get lost on purpose!" I said. "You should have let me come in. What sort of father leaves his daughter alone at night?"

"What sort of daughter-" He began to retort, but fell silent. He just stood, and turned away from me. "We were going to leave in the morning, but we are leaving now. Come."

Our spectators watched from above, silent.

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[esotericas-sims]

Coming soon...