#workboots womens

[holylustration]

The edits continue, so have a snippet...

Predator & Prey's penultimate chapter's edits are a little unwieldy, as my mind keeps racing to add new tidbits to it. Still, I think it is coming together quite nicely.

But in the meantime, because my inbox is getting some traffic about My Knight So Daring, just know I haven't forgotten! In fact... I have a little treat as a show of good faith (especially for those of you asking about more Infernus Master :devil:)!

“Need a hand there, miss?” 

She turned, a wary gray eye half-shaded by the veil of the fascinator pinned atop golden curls spotted the figure she’d missed when she’d first entered the stables. Tall, perhaps a little taller than her husband, and just as broad, was leaning against a post. She saw flickering ember of his lho stick in the reflection of his eyes, cast in the shadow of the barn. Slowly, the figure leaned forward, and she saw the coarse pattern of stubble on his jaw and the weathered brow set with deep lines. He didn’t look like a stablehand, more like some worker pulled off the machine line, for two fingers were replaced with augments and he had splotches of grease on his loose shirt.

“I can manage on my own,” Aurelia replied. Somewhere, there had to be a ladder and a post. How else were ladies and their voluminous skirts supposed to mount their faithful steeds? “But thank you.”

“I see.” Around the lho stick, the man’s lips curved into a smile. His eyes followed suit, warm in their regard.  “Not Guisornian, then?” 

“Is my accent that obvious?”

“Maybe a little.” The hay crunched under a soiled leather workboot as he moved. The metal toe caps caught the faint reflection of the sun filtering in through one of the skyholes. “More like you haven’t already ordered me about.” 

As he spoke, Aurelia thought she heard the slightest familiarity in accent - the rhotic touch to his words, not unlike her own. A curious thing; she filed it away, not daring in that moment to give in to the sudden homesickness. “I like my independence.”

He chuckled. “I can tell.” He plucked the lho stick from his lips and gazed towards the paddock gate, where a few horses were grazing out of troughs and stretching their legs. “Just shout if you need me.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye; it traveled along her from head to toe. “Shame for that dress to get covered in hay.” 

A faint heat crept up her cheeks. He likely hadn’t meant it in that way, the way in which men and women might roll in the hay. Many were the stories of scandal of trysts with stablehands. And Aurelia was beginning to see why, if they all had strong hands, dark hair, and smile lines. She nodded. “I will.”

Aurelia listened to the retreating sound of his footsteps and the creak of the gate before turning her attention back to the task at hand: determining which of these stabled horses belonged to the de Gauvain family.

[herobeater]

Water Weight

The worst thing…

Dr F says – 

Her voice its usual mix

Of upbeat flippancy and hard practicality

And iridescent, pristine professionalism,

Tugged down by some truer, heavier anchor – 

…The worst thing

Is seeing a grown man cry.

All the rest of it I can deal with:

Being the one to push it through, the release of

Bladder and bowel, listening for 

The heartbeat. The women, the children,

The bag, the freezer – but when 

The men cry…

Bit sexist,

I think. 

But there’s

Truth there. 

Benito was one-hundred-and-fifty-plus pounds

Of gentle, nervous devotion. Oversized housepet – 

He should have been a rabbit, really, 

Instead of a Saint Bernard. Always patient,

He fretted as few dogs can through 

The prodding and the radiographs and 

The bone punch biopsy – all stoicism and dumb, 

Sweet incomprehension as we discussed amputation. 

He was no man’s dog. He could not have

Killed a squirrel. He could not have 

Defended livestock. He could not have

Gone to war. The only blood he’d ever have

On his soft, well-groomed coat

Would be his own.

But he was one man’s dog. 

Mr M was probably five-foot-three, topped out at

Probably one-thirty, small but sinew-strong

From the job that scuffed his sturdy workboots

And had not given him enough dental insurance

To fix his gappy, protruding teeth.

He listened to each gutting parcel of bad news

With resigned eyes and doom-stricken, understanding nod 

And one brown hand clutched

Like a soldier comforted by his rifle

In thick white fur. 

He was braver than Benito through it all,

And Benito was brave. 

When the bell had been lifted from that broad chest,

His knees met the ground in a great plangent clang

And when he finally got up, I had to support

The dense and meager weight of him

As if he were the corpse. 

He sleeps in my bed.

He’s always slept in my bed. 

Impossible not to picture it:

The pup growing and growing

Until it dwarfed the man,

The snores and the drool and the hair,

The significance of the familiar weight

As habitual as the pressure of the ocean 

For some toothy deep-water fish.

How will I sleep now?

And the cry that sprang from him – 

The uncontrollable, truth-shattering howl – 

The sobs that wracked his small body

As if they could transform him

Into a newer, fiercer creature that might have

Seized the cancer like some precious pearl

And pressed it into himself instead – 

The slow, sleep-walking erosion of something great

Into thin, honest courage, 

Hemorrhaging itself

Into vicious, fang-baring desperation,

And then – salt water,

Heavier by milligrams per liter

Than the pure thing,

The paltry sum so much less

Than the ocean that was.

[thehutpoint]

Today, ladies and gentlemen, we will speak about the proper etiquette at the horse races, focusing on what a gentleman should wear there in year 1910 and why the outfit worn by certain cavalry officer was outrageous. Let's look at the picture:

It's from Canada, but the dress rules there were the same as in Australia. I know, the gowns and the hats on the ladies are eye catching, but try to focus on the gentlemen, especially at the one in the center of the picture. As you can see he is dressed very, very formally.

The coat he wears is called the morning coat (or cutaway coat for the US dwellers), the name has it's roots in the horse riding being the morning habit of a gentleman in Ye Very Old Times, as it was worn for that activity. Later it morphed into a formal wear. It has one button and the front curving away gradually into a pair of tails behind.

The morning coat is worn with a waistcoat, usually dark, immaculate white shirt, that in 1910 would be topped with tall collar, either made of celluloid, or starched stiff, tied neatly with a silk tie. Pants, of course are also required, but not any pants, the formal trousers. They are woolen, usually delicately striped, and ironed with surgical precision. Gentleman's feet should be clad in patent leather shoes, shinier than Koh-i-noor, the head gets covered with a proper, black top hat.

Well, what Titus Oates wore at the races in Australia, in 1910?

Why, yes, that. Going from bottom to the top, the hobnailed workboots with traces of coal dust on them as he wore them when he was shoveling the coal on Terra Nova, the, um, very much not formal trousers, worn out norfolk coat (and I can bet my arse there was no waistcoat under it, as it looks he avoided waistcoats like a bubonic plague, probably the tiniest collar available on the market, but at least it is white, a tie and, uhm, a hat. A tweed bowler looking like it was made in Roman times and went for some crusade time with Richard the Lionheart. This headgear had to scare many good British ladies in Mhow, India, where Titus stationed with his regiment before going south, as allegedly, Captain Oates riding his horse like a lost member of Odin's Wild Hunt, with coat wildly flapping and fatigued bowler on his head was a normal view in the area.

Kathleen, who was also attending, of course with her Con in tow, got an eyeful of Oates's sartorial glory and didn't exactly like the view.

Cannot say I warmed up to her after reading that because, lady, Laurie was not an idiot, he was fully aware of what he was wearing. He just didn't give a flying shit about the dress code and the etiquette at the moment.

Dear Kathleen of course had to make a sarcastic remark aimed at Titus and Atch, who also didn't have much penchant for elegant outfits and of course was near Oates. What can I say, she, a woman who wanted to be perceived as unique, intelligent and not like other women, displayed there shallow mentality of a dumb lady who never ventured away from her drawing room.

Let's go back to Titus, though. His dislike of stiff collars, equally stiff societal norms, and his issues with all the social subtleties put him in quite uncomfortable position. Born as a gentleman he wasn't made for this lifestyle. The army that looked like a good career option, failed spectacularly, because a cavalry officer of British Army during the peace time got up on the career ladder more by his efforts in drawing rooms than in the saddle. A life of a lord of the manor was out of the question as it would oblige Titus to have that social life he so much hated (and momma dearest would not allow even a hint of a lax attitude in the etiquette department). I think he felt a bit trapped, not yet ready to cut that umbilical cord and go against momma's will, but already fully aware he couldn't be what she wanted and expected.

[rogha]

soemtkmes ill get dressed and ill be like. i cant possibly be attracted to men looking like this. i love women. im a lesiban. theres no way i can find men attractive. and then ill see a little guy and im like. do u think he could be into coveralls and workboots.

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections.

(Masterpost. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 597. Rating: all audiences. Note: none of the locations or nobles featured are canon. I like making up names.)

Prologue, Addendum

The office of Lady Josephine Montilyet was, as far as the rooms of Skyhold were considered, one of the most pleasant to be in.

And this was quite purposeful, of course. It quite befit the role of Ambassador of the Inquisition to have a place in which their esteemed guests would be more than happy to spend some time, being talked into whatever favour Lady Montilyet would have them do for the sake of the cause. The seating was plush, the rugs so ample that they all but silenced her heeled shoes when stepped upon, and the hearth-fire crackled with warmth. The perfect atmosphere.

That was ruined, this morn, by an abrupt knock at the door.

“Come in,” Josephine sang from her desk, far too professional to be perturbed by such a thing.

The door swung open, and the Commander of the Inquisition strode in. Where Josephine represented the elegance of the finest breeding, Commander Cullen Rutherford represented the average Fereldan. His workboots thumped against her lovely rugs, as he stormed toward her desk. Unfazed, she continued to work.

“Josephine, who is Lady Tam Erridge?”

“The daughter of Bann Erridge, of West Coldon,” she answered dutifully.

Cullen growled. “And why has she sent me a letter saying how much she looks forward to seeing me?”

Josephine glanced up from her work, and noted the letter he brandished. “Ah.”

“What is going on, Josephine?”

Josephine rose, and held out a hand. Cullen placed the letter into it, and waited as she read it for herself. When she had finished, she nodded, folded up the letter, and placed it onto her desk.

“I had noticed how discomforted you have been by the postal attentions of the Orlesian court lately, and thought of a way we might… reduce their interest.”

Josephine moved from behind the desk, to pace toward the fire. Cullen followed her path with narrowed eyes.

“The plan was,” she explained, “to invite some of those interested nobles here—the most level-headed, of course—and have them get to know you, and once the allure of the mystery was gone, send them back home to tell all of their friends how not interesting you were. It is a long investment, I admit, but the pay-off will be strong.”

Cullen listened to this explanation. Yet, the moment she was done, his eyes flicked to the letter on the desk.

“You already invited them, didn’t you?”

Josephine employed a tactical pause: “Well, I might have… made some enquiries.”

“Josephine.”

“It’s just four women.”

Cullen choked on what was supposed to be a scoff. “Four!? I barely have time for my work, I don’t have time for four noblewomen to disturb me all day.”

“It won’t be all day—I have already begun adjusting your schedule so that you can fit them in around your work.”

“I’m not doing this,” he stated firmly, “send them letters and tell them not to come.”

Matter-of-factly, she replied, “They’re already on their way.”

“What?”

“Cullen, trust me. This will work. Let them spend five minutes with you; I’m sure you are capable of being off-putting enough within such a timespan that they will stay no longer than a day.”

Cullen hesitated—but sighed. “Who are they, these noblewomen?”

Josephine hurried to collect a list from her desk, and read with pride, “Lady Erridge of West Coldon, whom you already know; Lady Samient of Samient—daughter of the Duke Samient; Baroness Touledy of Val Misrenne, holder of her own title; and”—she found the last name—“daughter of the Bann of Ostwick, one Lady Trevelyan.”

[foxbirdy]

hi!! i looked up the boots you mentioned a bit ago and they seem amazing, but they aren't made small enough for me :"| do you have any similar recommendations for folks with smaller feet?

Hi!!! I'm sorry to hear that :( work boot sizing can be really frustrating for folks with small feet. I don't have personal experience working with any of these shoe companies for personalized sizing or small sizes, but I've heard glowing reviews of Keens, Xena Workwear, Blundstones, Servus, and Caterpillar for workboots in small sizes. Redwing also will do in-store measurements for small or custom sizes, and makes some shoes all the way down to a women's size 5 (men's 3.5), but they're pricy!

[erotetica]

Re-Reblogging, bc women are stereotyped as Clothes Horses, men are Not, therefore men’s products must be made to last & this applies to other items:

Sneakers for men are also better—if u hv small feet put some upholstery foam/other soft foam in the toe. Or bunched socks, that night be uncomfy but I’m not ur mom. (RE: WORKBOOTS MAKE SURE YOUR FOOT ISNT SLIPPING, if you mean to wear them on a job-site & not just for aesthetics)

Most button-up shirts of non-stretchy fabrics still fit me, a fat E cup’d person, fine. You may need to size some up, to fit ur tits; if the waist becomes baggy and that isn’t the look u want, tuck the shirt into pants OR find a sewing hack for taking in side-seams OR find a tutorial for gathering/ruching a hem*

Pants, ESPECIALLY jeans and cargo-anything, are better quality in menswear. To make them work for a body with an ass, u basically need to know how to sew tho. A) sorry, B) custom tailoring isn’t AS expensive as you’d think, if u hv some disposable income. If you approach an independent tailor with a bunch of items needing fixing, they might give you a bulk discount.

(Re: undies: for anyone wondering, the Magic Fit of men’s underwear is bc there’s an extra piece of fabric, a couple of inches wide, between the ‘leg tubes’, which is absent from the women’s boyshorts/boxers I’ve seen. A general rule is that fabric folds/bunches where seams are, so seam placement is behind the ^cameltoe mentioned above.)

*both mentioned strats/most clothing edits don’t require a sewing machine & are easier than they seem with the right tutorial)

very funny things happening on the afab underwear post in the form of idiots in the comments tryna explain how "it's physically inconvenient for afab bodies to wear anything other than womens underwear" do you know how many cis lesbians wear walmart boxers you people are unsaveable. UN FUCKING SAVEABLE

[ihatehousework]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Timberland Pro Steeltoe Waterproof ASTM certified Workboots women’s size 8m.

[degibusdesigns]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: UGG Weylyn Black Suede Sheepskin Cuff Winter Ankle Boots 8.

[ipsofacto580]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: 9West Moc-toe Boots.

[gwensslutcorner]

I do have some steel toe workboots, leaving a bootprint would be easy but maybe you should also grind against the toe of the boot to show your appreciation to the masc trans women stepping on you

masc trans woman stepping on me with combat boots instead of heels ?? maybe ??? please leave ur bootprint on my stomach WHATTT ??

[tradiesworkwearandsafety]

Womens Work boots

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[aeide-thea]

a question for those of you who are fashion-inclined & feel like pondering it: if you were me (so like, ~soft andro~ i guess), and interested in buying one (1) pair of probably-lace-up leather boots to go with everything from black jeans to not-excessively-crisp slim-cut chinos in various dark colors, what would you go with? assuming, of course, that the above doesn't strike you as too impossibly-wide a style divide to straddle, because obviously something refined enough to suit even a casual chino is going to tend to look a little incongruously effeminate with jeans, unless of course you're an Elegant Italian Gentleman, none of which descriptors happen to apply here, hélas... for context, i have hitherto been filling this gap in my wardrobe with a hand-me-down pair of clarks desert boots, which isn't actually a bad solution, being a shoe that can mingle with both prepsters and hipsters depending on how it's styled, but i'd love to find one with a little more panache, you know? (plus honestly crepe soles get real grody real quick, idk why people have accepted them as a Classic!) anyway i've been looking at everything from various thursday boots to frye laceups to grenson wingtips to blundstone chelseas, so like, obviously i haven't got my style concept quite hammered out yet—

[baravaggio]

all the men in bristol dress like mac demarco if he was a paper delivery boy and wow ladies i’m glad i’m a dyke!

[amongussexgif]

Those tire treads are from a tractor. This hole could fit a whole ME in it.

You can see my boot in the bottom. That's a US womens size 12 workboot

I could put whatever i want in the hole

look at the hole I made