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blueiskewl · 11 months

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Archaeologists Unearthed Dozens of Roman Tweezers in Britain

Archaeologists have unearthed dozens of Roman tweezers in Britain, revealing the ancient culture’s obsession with hairlessness.

The collection has now gone on display in a new museum at Wroxeter Roman City, which in its prime would have been as large a settlement as Pompeii.

The simple tools would have been used not only for plucking eyebrows but for removing any unwanted hair – including in armpits.

The tweezers are part of a wider exhibition of more than 400 artifacts which illustrates the Romans’ preoccupation with cleanliness and aesthetic beauty.

Among the other items on show are a strigil (skin scraper), perfume bottles, jet and bone jewelery, make-up applicators and amulets for warding off evil.

English Heritage, which runs the museum in Shropshire, revealed the find on its website.

Cameron Moffett, English Heritage curator at Wroxeter Roman City, said online that the find was one of the largest of its kind in Britain, indicating that tweezers were a “popular accessory.”

“The advantage of the tweezer was that it was safe, simple and cheap, but unfortunately not pain free,” he said.

The Romans greatly valued personal hygiene, attending communal baths daily. Many people would have had their own personal cleaning sets, including an ear scoop, nail cleaner and tweezers.

Usually associated with eyebrow shaping today, tweezers would have been used for general hair removal, including to pluck armpit hair, said English Heritage.

“It may come as a surprise to some that in Roman Britain the removal of body hair was as common with men as it was with women,” said Moffett.

“Particularly for sports like wrestling, there was a social expectation that men engaging in exercise that required minimal clothing would have prepared themselves by removing all their visible body hair.

Often performed by slaves, hair removal could be very painful. According to English Heritage, Roman author and politician Seneca complained about the noise at the baths in a letter, saying “the skinny armpit hair-plucker whose cries are shrill, so as to draw people’s attention, and never stop, except when he is doing his job and making someone else shriek for him.”

Wroxeter Roman City, or Viriconium Cornoviorum as it was known, is one of the best preserved Roman towns in Britain.

Previous excavations have uncovered the forum, the market, the bath house, a large hall known as the bath-house basilica and the town houses of wealthy residents.

By Lianne Kolirin.

#Archaeologists Unearthed Dozens of Roman Tweezers in Britain #Wroxeter Roman City #Viriconium Cornoviorum #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #roman history #roman empire

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thatlittleegyptologist · 2 years

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rolling my eyes at that anon who sent the ask about the prime minister and the british museum - as if you hadn't made a post on that very topic as recently as last week.

To be fair to anon I've gained at least 500 followers in the last week so they may be some of the new intake. But hi, I'm thatlittleegyptologist, and I deal with museums regularly!

#as Egyptologists archaeological law and museum laws impact heavily #if you think closing museums is gonna help you are sorely mistaken #also if we're closing museums because Colonialism I nominate the Wroxeter Roman Villa museum. It's got Roman Imperialism and has to go /jk

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moris-auri · 7 months

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Still the memory of you (marks everything I do)

taglist: @arcielee @sylasthegrim @orcaunionleader @aemondx @lexwolfhale @barbieaemond @helaelaemond

Osferth x reader (she/her)

A/n: changed my mind on making it a series, but I hope you guys like it all the same!! 💕💕 line divider by @saradika and MDNI by @cafekitsune

Warnings; NSFW 18+, angst, death, smut

Summary: They were never meant to cross paths, yet fate worked in strange ways.

The hunk of bread in her mouth fell to the ground as she let out a yelp, eyes widening when something fisted the back of her tunic. A wave of panic crashed over her, the urge to flee growing when the weight vanished for a second before falling on her shoulder, spinning her around hard enough to make her stumble and bite the inside of her cheek when the not so blunted edge of one of the alehouse tables dug painfully into her spine.

“Well, well, well,” a voice rumbled above her gruffly, “Aren’t you quite the little thief?”

Narrowed eyes were focused on her intently, roving from the top of her head down over her threadbare tunic and the breeches underneath it.

A warrior, she noted, judging by the sword at his side and his leather armor. Unamused, she tucked her chin inward as she glowered at him. “So?”

His chuckle deepened as he grinned down at her, not missing the way her eyes flicked towards the door frame. “So?” he repeated, crow’s feet forming in the corners of his eyes. “Stealing from the Lady Æthelflæd is a crime, you know.”

She prayed he didn’t notice the flash of nervousness in her eyes at the mention of the Lady of Mercia. His mouth twitched at the sound of her stomach starting to grumble, the noise loud enough to make him chuckle and gesture at her stomach unhurriedly. “You’re hungry. Come.”

She didn’t move, keeping her feet planted on the floor as she grimaced. “Either come with me or pay the fine.” With that he shrugged, turning around to go back the way he’d come, “Your choice, little thief.”

She scrambled after him, the bread forgotten in her haste to catch up to his loping strides.

That had been months ago.

Possibly a year, even.

She didn't remember; couldn’t remember from all the time they spent traveling from one town to another, more often than not sleeping on blankets beneath the open sky, the quiet of the land broken by bursts of laughter from Sihtric or Uthred or Finan.

They’d been in the same place longer than she expected, though a part of her, bone weary and tired, was glad for it. She turned her head, glancing at him from the corner of her eye, watching the way the torchlight sent his profile into stark relief. “You’re staring,” he teased, keeping his gaze straight ahead, “Again.”

Her mouth twitched as she grinned amusedly, “Can I not admire you, Osferth?”

He choked, spluttering on the mouthful of ale before turning wide blue eyes on her, a flush rising over the curve of his cheeks. “You-”

She glanced back at the others again, huffing a breath out in relief as they were otherwise occupied with something. The corner of her mouth lifted as she turned back, grinning at him slyly.

His breathing deepened, nostrils flaring as his eyes darkened, pupils dilating with desire. "Come with me." His fingers wrapped around her hand as he pulled her away from Uthred, Finan and Sihtric, his steps sure-footed and determined as he led her outside.

“They took stones from the ruins in Wroxeter to build this place,” he murmured quietly when he'd finally stopped by a lone corner of the watchtower. His breath fanned over the top of her head as he stood over her, making the strands that had fallen from her braid flutter softly.

Awed, she listed her hand, tracing her fingers over the old rough hewn stones. "It's beautiful."

"Isn't it?" Her head lifted, catching the strained undertone of his voice, lips parted at the look on his face when she turned her face up to his. His eyes were dark, darker than she’d ever seen them, the clear placid blue turned into a shade like the sky before a storm.

No man had ever looked at her like he was. Her eyes widened, heartbeat roaring loudly in her ears as she breathed his name under her breath. He had not yet let go of her, and for a brief, fleeting moment, she hoped he didn’t, warmth shooting down her spine at the sensation of the callused skin of his palms scraping lightly over her knuckles.

"I want you," he exhaled hoarsely, his chest heaving with each ragged breath he took, “More than I’ve wanted anything.”

Her lips parted, palms itching with the overwhelming urge to twist her fingers into his hair and tug roughly on the short strands growing as she shivered at his words, heat pooling in her stomach at the thought of being so wholly desired by him.

“Then what’s stopping you?” she breathed, instead tugging her hand from his hold and pressing it directly over his heart, feeling the steady thump of it under her splayed fingers as she let out a breath, not pulling her gaze from his. How could anyone be so beautiful?

His grin broadened as he bowed his head to catch her mouth in a kiss that was messy and inexperienced, yet still heated enough to make her toes curl in her boots. She responded to it eagerly nonetheless, digging her fingertips into his shoulders as she stretched up on her toes, suddenly ravenous to taste him.

She grunted, knocked breathless for a brief second when her back hit the stones behind her. She gripped at his shoulders, biting her cheek to keep the low whine at bay as his lips slid from hers, skirting over her cheek and down her jaw.

But it came anyway when he retreated yet again, panting and wide eyed as his breath puffed between them, white and opaque. “I cannot marry you. No matter how I wish to.”

She knew what he meant. What he refused to elaborate on, having been witness to his almost nonexistent relationship with the man who had sired him. She remembered their first conversation like it was yesterday, stilted as it had been, the mention of Alfred doing little but make it more awkward.

It was one thing she’d never forget, the way his demeanor had shifted so rapidly, going from shy and subdued to something harsher and more severe. She had flinched when his cup had thumped harshly on the table, jarring and loud as it sent the wooden utensils into the air.

Would never forget what Finan had said to her after, one hand loosely gripping her shoulder. I would not say that name in his presence again if I were you, little thief.

She had listened, and never uttered Alfred’s name again.

She smiled anyway, nothing more than a brief twitch of her lips. “I see,” she murmured, swallowing back the lump in her throat. The expression on her face must have shown some of what she felt, the feeling akin to a knife twisting in her chest.

“It is not that-” He blustered, flushing as color rose high on his face when he noticed her eyes lingering on him. He pressed forward again, his frame all but bracketing her against the stones, a barrier between the wall behind her and the structure in the distance.

“You do not have to say it if you do not want to, Osferth-” her voice came out weak as his eyes darted over her face, searching for something. Whatever he was looking for, or if he found it, she didn’t know, content to savor the here and now with his thin frame pressed flush against her like this.

He swallowed, his mouth twisted as that same anger he had then returned. “I am a bastard.” The word hovered between them like a weight, the bitterness in his voice making rage swell in her chest.

She had never known the dead King, nor did she wish to now.

“That was a choice he made, Osferth, to lay with your mother,” she bit out, raising her head to meet his eyes. “His sin, not yours. Our God knows you did not choose this.” She soothed as she pulled her hand away, fingers moving up to curl against the back of his neck, nails scraping lightly across his skin. His mouth twitched, a rueful smile appearing and disappearing just as fast. “I cannot help but-” she cut him off, digging her fingertips into his skin as she pulled him down to kiss him again, smiling against his lips when he responded instantly, fingers digging into her hips as he groaned against her mouth.

A greediness had awoken in him after that, something that had him turning to her and touching her every chance he could. And when they were alone after the sun fell, he would be on her, hands finding the curve of her waist beneath the stiff leather of her armor.

It was always something different each night he spent with her. Pressing his face between her thighs. Licking at her until she was keening and oversensitive. Rutting against her until they were both sweat slickened and panting.

If there was one thing the siege of Winchester had proven, it was how fleeting life truly was.

It was no different now.

The seasons change, one after another as they follow Uhtred, settling into Coccham easily. Yet a part of her hates the peace, an after effect of the expanse of time she had spent with a sword in her hand.

Yet the one thing she would never regret was the constant of waking with him at her side, the memory of the previous night still fresh in her mind.

The tangle of limbs and teeth and tongue. The feeling of his fingers dipping between her thighs as he gathered her slick on the pads of his fingers. The cacophony of noises he had made against her skin. The sharp, near brutal snap of his hips against her backside before he collapsed against her, head pressed against the back of her neck.

"If this is heaven," he had grunted, long fingers gripping her sides hard enough to leave bruises, "Then I do not want to leave it."

“Where is Osferth, Finan?”

Her brow furrowed as her eyes darted between them, dread pooling in the pit of her stomach. She could practically taste the unease in Uthred’s voice, like sour ale.

His face flashed in her mind as she had seen him only days before, with color bleeding over his cheekbones and his blue eyes soft as he looked down at her, his fingers clasping hers loosely, stood a distance away from the others, hidden by the tree’s low hanging branches.

Before they had separated.

She had been loath to leave him, his reassurances the night before and the next morning doing little to dispel the uneasy feeling building in her gut.

They'd been seated at the same table for hours, listening silently as Finan spoke, recounting everything that had happened. She stared down at her folded hands as she listened, knowing that she would never step foot in Rumcofa again.

Her grief was a blade buried hilt deep in her chest, twisting as it turned, slicing her open from her chest to her navel, the agony of it burning underneath her skin, white hot and blistering.

"He asked of you, you know."

He head shot up, startled again by the sound of Finan's voice. He had not moved, staring blankly at the mug of ale situated in front of him, barely touching a drop of the liquid. "He was dying, and the only thing on his mind was you."

"Finan-" Uthred warned, mouth tight, “Enough.”

The stool toppled over behind her as she stood up rapidly, the growing tightness in her chest becoming a stranglehold. She stumbled, the words playing over and over and over in her head.

The only thing on his mind was you.

The stifling atmosphere inside the tavern faded slightly as she stumbled past the door on unsteady legs, sucking in lung full after lung full of air. A quiet creak of boots on old wood sounding from behind her. She didn’t bother turning around, knowing exactly who had followed her. “What do you want, Sihtric?”

She could feel the weight of his gaze on the back of her head, “To talk.”

She kept her back to him. “What if I don't want to talk? Hmm?”

“You’ll find another,” Sihtric interrupted quietly, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Someone who will make you happy like he did.”

She shifted away from him at that, rounding on him with glassy eyes, seeing half of the agony she felt mirrored in his mismatched eyes. "This world takes and takes and takes and now-" a sob welled in her throat, tears stinging her eyes. “Finan can’t even look at me-”

“Because he thinks he’s failed you. He looks at you and sees him.”

She ignored him, choking on the words that tumbled out in a rush as her hands shook at her sides. "What is this life without him? I can't-" for how could she, when the very thought of being happy with someone who wasn't him left her ill, and feeling like a knife twisting in her stomach?

“You can,” he insisted as she shook her head, “He would not want you to mourn him forever.”

“As if it were that easy,” her voice rang hollowly in her ears. Osferth, who at the beginning had flushed whenever he saw her, ducking his head to hide the splotches of red covering his cheeks.

Osferth, who for seven years had been so wholly hers. Osferth, who should’ve been here with her now, not buried in some distant grave in Wessex, leaving her with nothing but memories and the knowledge that now she would forever be haunted by the ghost of him.

By the memories that she had had all of him, and now none of him.

They were never meant to cross paths, a royal bastard and a thief, yet fate worked in strange ways, but they had. Two vastly different fates woven together, and now she would be haunted by what could've been.

By what should have been.

#my fics #osferth #tlk fanfic #the last kingdom #ewan mitchell #osferth x reader #osferth x oc

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illiaburakov · 5 months

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Chester (placename element)

The English place-name Chester, and the suffixes -chester, -caster and -cester (old -ceaster), are commonly indications that the place is the site of a Roman castrum, meaning a military camp or fort (cf. Welsh caer), but it can also apply to the site of a pre-historic fort.

source: WIkipedia.

I found the book on the English place-names by Charles Whynne-Hammond. Direct quote about fortified places which ended up as the name of cities/towns with suffix (somewhere altered) -cester.

"The most common elements which refer to defensive sites are those meaning army camp, fort or fortified place. The Romans built many a defensive or military base, most of which were taken over by later peoples. The ‘colonia’ was an army establishment, usually a colony for retired soldiers (hence the present name of Lincoln) and a ‘castra’ was a fortified camp or walled town. The latter was very common indeed and most were re-established under the later Saxons, who called them ‘ceasters’ or ‘caesters’. Their walls were rebuilt, their gates and towers restrengthened, their streets resurfaced. The settlements today which began as Roman ‘castras’ are legion. Normally they can be recognised by their suffixes, which derive from the Saxon version of that word. Thus, we have all those places ending in ‘-chester’, ‘-cester’ ‘-caster’ and ‘-xeter’: Winchester, Worcester, Manchester, Doncaster, Exeter and so on. Some of these have prefixes from older Celtic words (sometimes tribal names or physical features), others have prefixes purely Saxon. Rarely, if ever, are the prefixes from a Roman or Latin root."

More examples: Acaster Malbis, Acaster Selby, Alcester, Alchester, Ancaster, Bicester, Binchester, Brancaster, Caister-on-Sea, Caistor, Caistor St Edmund, Casterton (Cumbria), Casterton (Great, Rutland), Casterton (Little, Rutland), Castor (Cambridgeshire), Chester, Cheshire (Chester-shire), Chester (Little, Derby), Chesterfield, Chesterford (Great), Chesterford (Little), Chester-Ie-Street, Chesterton, Chesterwood, Chichester, Cirencester, Colchester, Dorchester, Dorchester-on-Thames (Oxfordshire), Ebchester, Frocester, Gloucester, Godmanchester, Grantchester, Hincaster, Ilchester, Irchester, Kenchester, Lancaster, Lancashire (Lune-caster-shire), Lanchester, Leicester, Mancetter, Muncaster, Portchester, Ribchester, Rocester, Rochester (Kent), Rochester (Northumberland), Silchester, Tadcaster, Towcester, Uttoxeter, Woodchester, Worcester, Wroxeter.

Since there are a lot of "-shire", and it's popular place name all over GB, I'll make next etymology-of-places post about this suffix.

#english #words #grammar #history #culture #philology #language

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wormancer · 10 months

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I hear Wyawot Wells has a great gambling scene

Black Lantern informants aren't allowed in town, even if they're not actually getting any work done.

Mid-conversation, she swapped her cards from right hand to left, grabbed the collar of her jacket, and hiked it up to hide her face. It was to no real avail - if anything, the movement drew the governor's eye. Ines stopped, lingered a moment, then changed her path to approach the table of gamblers. She stopped at the table's side with a curious smile. "Agent Wroxeter!"

Maggot swiftly dropped her collar and spread an arm wide in friendly greeting. "Governor Tezel! What a surprise!"

"Isn't it! Aren't you banned?"

Continue

#cannot believe pyre was the last time i posted writing this is almost 10 months old swear i posted it #wahtever. archive blog. wawa wa.#writing #ines #maggot

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protestantfaceofanglicanism · 1 year

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Gosh, we LUV Wroxeter! (Ancient Protestant interior)

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laurapeters · 2 years

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⚡️♥️JAZZ ♥️⚡️ (at The Wroxeter Hotel) https://www.instagram.com/p/Ch4j_cHIzGA/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 1 year

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'"JUST GOT OUT A WEEK AGO' HELD FOR CAR THEFT TRIAL," Toronto Star. March 23, 1943. Page 7. ---- Auto Skids Into Police Cruiser, Charge Burglar Tools Found ---- TO GO BEFORE JURY ---- "A" Police Court at the City Hall.Magistrate Gullen. Testifying in the case of William C. Turner, who elected trial by a jury on charges of theft of an auto and having burglar tools. P.C. Leslie Foster said he and P.C. Thos. Nimmo were on Southwood Drive. at 1.30 a.m., March 16th.

"The street was icy and a car coming south skidded into the police car," said P.C. Foster. "Two youths got out. One ran and accused attempted to follow him but was caught. The car was stolen the night before from Front St."

"Did accused say anything when caught?" asked Crown Attorney McFadden. "He said. Just my luck. I just got out a week ago."

Turner was committed for trial. "The students from whom your stole these articles can ill-afford to lose them." Magistrate Gullen told John McLarty, up for sentence on three charges of theft of a radio, overcoat and underwear, from students attending Hart House. "You have a bad record." He was sentenced to six months on each count, to run concurrently. Det.-Sergt. Wilson's evidence was that McLarty took the articles while students were attending lectures and sold them."

The underwear was purchased the day he stole it and accused attempted to exchange it at the store," related the officer.

DOZED AT WHEEL ---- D Police Court, City Hall. Magistrate Tinker Convicted of careless driving by Magistrate Tinker. Arthur Glass was fined $20 and costs or 10 days." Glass pleaded not guilty.

Constable Taylor told court he had observed accused driving on Yonge St. in an erratic manner. When the auto stopped, he found accused slumped over the wheel partially asleep. Glass smelled strongly of liquor, he added.

Glass said he had worked since 6 a.m. Monday and was very tired as he was driving home at 2 a.m. today. He said he had not been drinking.

"You should not be driving a car in the condition you were. It is lucky you were not in an accident," said the court.

ADMITS BREAKING IN ---- County Police Court. County Building, Magistrate Keith. Pleading guilty to charges of shopbreaking and theft, John Auld was remanded for sentence until March 26, pending investigation of his record.

Det. W. McLellan told court accused had entered a Kingston Rd. garage and taken 100 coppers and eight packages of cigarettes.

"Accused," said Det. McLellan, "also took a purse belonging to Andrew Brown of Midland Ave... and entered a home on Shaw St.. where he pilfered a purse of $10.48."

Accused had nothing to say. FACE SERIOUS CHARGE ---- "C" Police Court, at the City Hall, Magistrate Prentice. John C. McCharles. 34. and Eric McCharles, 24. of Wroxeter Ave., were charged with a serious offence against a 23-year-old woman. They were remanded in custody. The brothers were arrested last night by Detectives James Ledlie and Charles Martin of Pape Ave. division and Chief of Police Thomas Draycott of Scarboro.

Police said the arrests followed investigations made into the complaint of the woman that she was driven to a churchyard on Dawes Rd. She told police she ran through the church grounds but was caught by the men. On the way back she escaped from the car, police said.

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