#when it was 1817

[secretmellowblog]

The vibe Hugo was going for in “The Year 1817” chapter in Les Mis reminds me of tumblr on November 5th/DestielPutinElection Day….. the hysterical feeling of being Barraged with Too Much News about important world events AND news about goofy inane pop culture stuff, at the same time, until your brain starts to break

Like it’s difficult to explain why Biden’s election and Destiel are completely connected in my mind now; but they Are. And that’s kinda the vibe I get from the 1817 chapter— news about serious world events with massive traumatic implications, sitting right next to other news about which pop culture figures and dancers and tightrope walkers are now getting famous. It’s sad that the chapter is so difficult to read now because most of the references are now obscure or lost. I also imagine that someone reading “DestielPutinElection tumblr on November 5th” a century from now would find it similarly incoherent ASjdjjd.

Other people have compared this chapter to that song “We Didn’t Start the Fire” (which also does the thing of listing a barrage of information about random different Things that are all happening in the same time period) and YEE. As much as this chapter is full of broken references I don’t get and occasional factual errors on Hugo’s part, I do really love its last line. It captures a Vibe about what it’s like to live through major historical events.

Such was the confused mass of events that floated pell-mell on the surface of the year 1817, and is now forgotten. History neglects almost all these peculiarities, nor can it do otherwise; it is under the dominion of infinity. Nevertheless, these details, which are wrongly called little — there are neither little facts in humanity nor little leaves in vegetation — are useful. The features of the years make up the face of the century.

[pilferingapples]

I have a Historical Question for my Les Mis collage pieces! I prep which sentences/paragraphs I'm going to use 5 or so pages at a time. For the final page of 1.3.1, I want to use the second to last sentence, "It is the features of the years that makes up the face of the century."

I have an idea about portraying a face of someone actually from history using a couple of types of different collage media. The question is, I'm not sure whose face to try and portray! Do you or your followers have any thoughts/ideas/suggestions?

(I suppose if nothing else, I could attempt to portray Vicky himself!)

ooh! Vicky would certainly be a good pick! Very recognizable!

if you want less recognizable faces, you could always go with some of the people Hugo names in the chapter-- The Siecle has VERY conveniently linked a lot of the names to their wiki pages, or other info pages, and so you could find various portraits easily! It's where I'd start--there's some great faces in that bunch!

[radical-revolution]

“However mean your life is, meet it and live it; do not shun it and call it hard names. It is not so bad as you think. It looks poorest when you are richest. The fault-finder will find faults even in paradise. Love your life, difficult as it is...

You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island of opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land; there is no other life but this.”

~ Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862)

[writingwithcolor]

Non-offensive Historical terms for Black people in historical fiction

@pleasespellchimerical asked:

So writing historical fiction, with a white POV character. I'm not sure how to address race in the narration. I do have a Black main character, and I feel like it'd feel out of place to have the narrator refer to her as 'Black', that being a more modern term. Not sure how to do this without dipping into common historical terms that are considered racist today. Thoughts on how to handle this delicately, not pull readers out of the narrative? (fwiw, the POV character has a lot of respect for the Black character. The narration should show this)

There are non-offensive terms you can use, even in historical fiction. We can absolutely refer to Black people without slurs, and if slurs is all one can come up with, it’s time to go back to the drawing board. I cannot say which terms are best for your piece without knowing the time period, but hopefully the list below helps.

Historical terms to use for Black people (non-offensive)

African American documented as early as 1782 (documented in an ad in the Pennsylvania Journal). Note the identity isn’t accurate for non-American Black people.

African could refer to African people or “from 1722 as ‘of or pertaining to black Americans.’”

The place of origin could also be used. For example, “a Nigerian woman”

Africo-American documented as early as 1788.

People of Color documented as early as 1796 (with specific contexts, usually mixed people)

Afro American documented as early as 1817, 1831 (depending on source)

Black American documented as early as 1831 

Black was used in Old English to refer to dark-skinned people. Black was not capitalized until recent years, so “She was a young black woman.” would make sense to say, though “She was a young Black woman.” is the better standard today, although not universally adopted. I personally prefer it capitalized. 

Moor was used as early as the late 1400s for North African people, but had a somewhat flexible use where anyone visibly Black / Of African descent or the Afro Diaspora might be referred to or assumed as a Moor. Note, it has other meanings too, such as referring to Muslim people, but that doesn’t mean the person using it is going by the dictionary definition. Not really the way to go today, but okay in a historical setting (in my opinion).

Biracial (1860s), mixed race (1872), multiracial (1903) and multicultural (1940s) are also terms to refer to people of two or more races.

Occupation + description. Throughout history, many people have been referred to as their occupation. For example, the Carpenter, The Baker, the Blacksmith. Here’s an example of how you might go about using occupation and traits to identify a Black character in history. Here’s an example I came up with on the fly.

“You should go by Jerry’s. He’s the best blacksmith this town’s ever seen. Ya know, the real tall, dark-skinned, curly haired fellow. Family’s come here from Liberia.”

Offensive and less-sensitive terms for Black people 

Blacks was used in plural more, but this is generally offensive today (Even writing it gives me **Thee ick*)

Colored was mostly used post-civil war until the mid 20th century, when it became unacceptable. This is not to be conflated with the South African Coloured ethnic group.

Negro/Negroes were also used as early as the 1550s. Capitalization became common in the early 20th century. I'm sure you know it is offensive today, though, admittedly, was not generally seen as such until around the 1960s, when Black replaced it. It does have its contexts, such as the trope “The Magical Negro” but going around using the term or calling someone that today is a lot different. 

Mulatto referred to mixed people, generally Black and white, and is offensive today. 

The N-word, in all its forms, is explicitly a slur, and there is absolutely no need to use it, especially in a casual manner, in your story. We’ve written about handling the N-word and alluding to it “if need be” but there are other ways to show racism and tension without dropping the word willy-nilly.

Deciding what to use, a modern perspective

I’m in favor of authors relying on the less offensive, more acceptable terms. Particularly, authors outside of the race. Seldom use the offensive terms except from actual direct quotes.

You do not have to use those offensive terms or could at least avoid using them in excess. I know quite famous stories do, but that doesn’t mean we have to so eagerly go that route today. Honestly, from teachers to school, and fellow non-Black students, it’s the modern day glee that people seem to get when they “get a chance to say it” that makes it worse and also makes me not want to give people the chance. 

It goes back to historical accuracy only counting the most for an “authentic experience” when it means being able to use offensive terms or exclude BIPOC from stories. We’ve got to ask ourselves why we want to plaster certain words everywhere for the sake of accuracy when there are other just as accurate, acceptable words to use that hurt less people. 

Disclaimer: Opinions may vary on these matters. But just because someone from the group cosigns something by stating they’re not offended by it, doesn’t mean a whole lot of others are okay with it and their perspectives are now invalid! Also, of course, how one handles the use of these words as a Black person has a different connotation and freedom on how they use them.

~Mod Colette

The colonial context

Since no country was mentioned, I’m going to add a bit about the vocabulary surrounding Black people during slavery, especially in the Caribbean. Although, Colette adds, if your Black characters are slaves, this begs the question why we always gotta be slaves.

At the time, there were words used to describe people based on the percentage of Black blood they had. Those are words you may find during your searches but I advise you not to use them. As you will realize if you dive a bit into this system, it looks like a classifying table. At the time, people were trying to lighten their descent and those words were used for some as a sort of rank. Louisiana being French for a time, those expressions were also seen there until the end of the 19th century.

The fractions I use were the number of Black ancestors someone had to have to be called accordingly.

Short-list here :

½ : mûlatre or mulatto

¼ or ⅛ : quarteron or métis (depending on the island, I’m thinking about Saint-Domingue, Martinique and Guadeloupe)

1/16 : mamelouk

¾ : griffe or capre

⅞ : sacatra

In Saint-Domingue, it could go down to 1/64, where people were considered sang-mêlé (mixed blood for literal translation, but “HP and the Half-Blood Prince” is translated “HP et le Prince de Sang-Mêlé” in French, so I guess this is another translation possibility).

-Lydie

Use the 3rd person narrative to your advantage

If you are intent on illustrating historical changes in terminology consider something as simple as showing the contrast between using “black” for first person character narration, but “Black” for 3rd person narrator omniscient.

-Marika

Add a disclaimer

I liked how this was addressed in the new American Girl books it’s set in Harlem in the 1920’s and there’s a paragraph at the beginning that says “this book uses the common language of the time period and it’s not appropriate to use now”

-SK

More reading:

NYT: Use of ‘African-American’ Dates to Nation’s Early Days

The Etymology dictionary - great resource for historical fiction

Wikipedia: Person of Color

[burningvelvet]

Percy Shelley doodling while helping his wife edit the draft of her first novel, Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus (1818):

The idea for the story was devised in mid-June 1816. The draft shown here was written between August and December 1816, and it was revised until April 1817. The book was published January 1st 1818 when Mary was 20-years-old. She was only 18 when she conceived the story, as her 19th birthday was on August 30th 1816.

Source: The Shelley-Godwin Archive online

[munsonsmixtapes]

Paint Me

Benedict Bridgerton x inexperienced!american!fem!reader

summary: After a brutal critique of a newly displayed art piece in a museum, newly debuted reader finds herself apologizing to the artist who heard her. After multiple meetings, the time they spend together becomes precious to her. One slip up causes Benedict Bridgerton, a know “Rake” amongst the ton, to be left with the decision to marry the young woman or a duel.

part two part three part four part five part six part seven

cw: suggestive language

word count: 4k

January 28th, 1817

Your parents sat across from you in the carriage, both sets of eyes on you as you watched all of the scenery pass by in the window. You didn’t want to leave your old life behind, but you felt like you had no choice since you just wanted to please your parents. That was your biggest problem; wanting to please everyone around you so badly that you’d sacrifice your own happiness.

You were set to be debuted the night you had arrived and were a nervous wreck. You had no interest in being married off to a perfect stranger, but you felt like you didn’t have any other choice. Maybe if you played your cards right, though, you’d be Queen’s Charlotte’s diamond of the season.

But that wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want everyone’s eyes on you and honestly couldn’t bear to be the talk of the town or worse, a victim of Lady Whistledown’s latest gossip. You wanted absolutely no part in that.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” your mother told you, almost in a mocking tone. She never cared for how reserved you were and was always trying her best to push you into friendships with people you wouldn’t have touched with a ten foot pole.

“Oh, leave her alone, Vivian,” your father nudged her. “She’s allowed to be nervous, this is her debut.”

“Well, I’m not nervous,” your sister, Lilith piped up. Of course she wasn’t. Because Lilith was perfect. The perfect eldest child that your parents seemed to favor over you no matter how close you were to your father.

You didn’t like the feeling, but you envied your sister. She was very outgoing and not to mention beautiful, two things you didn’t think you were even close to being. At least, the outgoing part. You were more reserved and had been laughed at for it your whole life.

I’m sorry, could you speak up? No one can hear you.

You’re not very talkative, are you?

Why don’t you say something?

Those words always lived in your head, and no matter how hard you tried, you always found yourself either speaking too loudly about things you were passionate about or not speaking loud enough. That would have meant that you had to take authority and you knew absolutely nothing about that.

The carriage rolled to a stop and you turned away from the window, rubbing your hands together to remove the sweat from them. You then reached up and subconsciously fiddled with the diamond necklace that your father gave you before you left America. You always wore it and it was something you messed with when you were particular nervous or needed something to stimulate your mind.

The carriage door opened and you were the first to step out, your eyes widening as they took in your new home. It was far bigger than the one you lived in back home and you wondered why that much space was needed for your family of four. The place could have easily fit many families of your size and still have room for more.

You headed inside and briefly took in the main level before making a beeline for the upstairs, desperate to see your new room since that was definitely going to be where you spent most of your time. You had a lot of new books to read and were just looking forward to it having to share with Lilith anymore.

You claimed the first room you walked into which had to be about three times the size of your old one. It was already set up with your new furniture that looked much better than your old stuff. Maybe living there wouldn’t have been so bad.

You collapsed onto your bed and felt your eyes get heavy from the very long journey you had just taken, finding yourself quickly falling asleep right there and not even fighting it. It was what you had deserved for sitting through all of your mother and sister’s comments without a single complaint.

A knock on your door woke you from your nap and you opened your eyes to see your mother standing in the doorway. She had a stern look on her face and you wondered what you had done to upset her now. It seemed like you were always doing that despite your need to please her. She never agreed with the way you spoke or the words you liked to use. She just didn’t like that you were smarter than her.

“Y/n, what are you doing in bed, you’re supposed to be getting ready.” Her voice was more angry than it should have been and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes at her dramatics. You had plenty of time to get ready since the ball didn’t start for a few hours.

Just then your apparently new lady’s maid hurried into the room with your dress for the evening which you hadn’t even seen yet since your mother had picked it out, but you knew that you were going to hate it since you never saw eye to eye on anything, especially clothing. Your mother stepped into the room and closed to door with every intention of making sure that you actually wore the dress since you always seemed to want to change last minute.

The dress was a shade of green that wasn’t flattering on you in the slightest. Your mother fluffed up the sleeves as she looked at you in the mirror. If you were honest, you hadn’t even wanted to go to the ball, but you felt like you had to. You just wanted to make her happy even if you had to sacrifice your own happiness to do it. She had been so excited for you, but you knew that was just because she was interested in finally getting rid of you for good.

“Well, don’t you look absolutely beautiful,” your father complimented as you descended the stairs. He looked at your mother and gave her a slight glare when she hadn’t said anything to you. Your mother honestly didn’t like the way you looked at all and didn’t feel like she should have lied to you, so she just directed her attention to Lilith like always.

“Y/n, doesn’t your sister look beautiful?” You felt your heart break at hearing those words. How could she say that? Your sister did look beautiful but didn’t you as well? Why were you always second to her? Why did it always feel like it wouldn’t have mattered if you were there or not? Sure, your father cared for you like a parent should have, but it almost felt like he was only behaving that way because he felt bad for you. At least, that was what you were telling yourself.

“You do look beautiful, Lilith,” you practically whispered, staring down at the floor. You found it hard to maintain eye contact so you always settled for something else, whether it was the floor or the wall. Just as long as it wasn’t other people’s eyes, it was safe.

“Thank you, y/n,” she nodded. “I suppose you look beautiful too.” Her tone sounded annoyed, almost as if she was forcing herself to say the words. You almost wished she had said nothing, but Lilith always found an excuse to speak, no matter what came out of her mouth. You were convinced that she just loved hearing her own voice.

You said nothing and turned on your heel, keeping your eyes on your feet at you did so. You wiped a tear that had fallen down your cheek and headed towards the carriage that had been waiting for you and your family. You got inside and moved closer to the window, covering your face with your hand so no one could see you crying. Your mother and Lilith would have just told you that you were being dramatic and your father would baby you and you weren’t in the mood for either of those things. You just wanted to get the night over with so you could go to your room and paint. That was the only way you were able to deal with your feelings. You surely couldn’t take them out on your family, so you had to deal with them in healthy way and painting was the only thing that seemed to relax you.

The carriage door opened once again and your father slipped inside, taking the seat next to you. He silently wrapped his arm around you and you rested your head on his shoulder, suddenly having a flashback to crying into that very spot when your mother had said something you hadn’t particularly liked. He was always there when you needed him, the only person in that damn family that even bothered to understand you. He rubbed up and down your arm and you sniffled, holding back the tears that were threatening to spill.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said. That was all he always said when the cycle would repeat itself and even though it was nice that he was making an effort to make you feel better, you didn’t appreciate that he never stood up to your mother or your sister even. He didn’t defend them, but he definitely didn’t put a stop to their behavior either. Because to his core, your father was nothing but a coward. He’d rather just comfort you in secret instead of actually doing something useful. His words were becoming pointless and you were beginning to not believe them anymore. After all, they were only said to stop your tears, not because they had any actual meaning.

“It’s okay,” you nodded, leaning up to look up at him. The look on his face seemed apologetic at first glance, but you knew it was nothing but fake. Just a way to stop the waterworks so you could all be a “happy” family again.

Your mother and Lilith sat on the other side of the carriage and it rolled onto the path to take you all to the ball. The silence between the four of you was deafening and despite you looking out the window, you could feel your mother’s eyes on you. You could tell she was glaring at you, but you honestly couldn’t have cared less. She could be mad at you all she wanted, it was always going to be because you were just being yourself and not an exact replica of her like your sister was. You had tried so hard to be like her, but eventually you got tired of it and your mother couldn’t stand having a daughter that liked things that she didn’t. God forbid you had your own interests.

You swore that she was going to make a snide comment, but she kept quiet. You kind of preferred her speaking over the quiet, because at least then, you’d have something to focus on so all of your thoughts in your brain would mute a little bit. Anytime there was any silence or when you were alone, all of your anxieties would amplify to the point where you could barely think. You always needed some sort of distraction to keep you sane.

The four of you planted your fakest smiles onto your faces and entered the ball that Lady Bridgerton happened to be hosting, trying your best to look like you hadn’t just had the most tense carriage ride in history. That was all going to be left behind and you all had to act like you actually loved each other. Easier said than done.

You slowly distanced yourself from your family before placing yourself by the nearest wall. You definitely weren’t going to speak to any suitors and most definitely weren’t going to dance with any of them either. That was all Lilith. You were sure she was going to end up engaged by the end of the night and you’d be alone just like always, but that was how you liked it.

“That is a lovely dress.” You turned to your left to see the most beautiful woman you had ever laid your eyes on. She had lovely brown skin and her pink dress complimented it beautifully. Her hair was put up in an elegant updo and you hoped that someday, you’d look half as pretty as she did. You looked around to see who she was speaking to and realized that you were the only one around.

“My apologies,” she smiled. “Viscountess Bridgerton, but you can call me Kate. And who might you be?” Bridgerton? So that must have been Anthony’s wife that Francesca had told you about in her letters when the two had tied the knot a few years ago. She was even more beautiful than she was described. You turned back to the woman in front of you and remembered that she had asked you a question. What was it? Oh right, your name. What was that again?

“I’m y/n,” you told her as your eyes moved to decorations that were on the wall a few feet behind her. Kate nodded, a smile on her face, thinking that you were nothing but adorable and found that you reminded her of her little sister, Edwina. And because of that, she felt the need to help you out. To protect you. She didn’t know you, but she wanted to help you find the perfect match.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Miss y/n,” she smiled wide and for whatever reason, it made you feel better. For once, talking to someone didn’t feel like a chore and it seemed like Kate was genuinely interested in having a conversation with you and not doing it just because she had to. She could see the anxiety and nervousness in your eyes and just wanted to help you out, to let you know that you had a friend. Someone who would make you feel less alone.

“You too,” you nodded and she gestured to the refreshment table with her hand.

“Would you like to get a drink?” All you could do was nod and she led you in that direction, greeting people on her way as she did so. Kate carried herself with such confidence that you were mesmerized by. You had confidence, but not in that way. You could have never just walked up to a stranger like she did and introduced yourself. That was a terrifying thought to you and the way she did it without a second thought was fascinating.

Kate grabbed a cup filled with lemonade and handed it to you before taking one for herself. You took a sip then looked around the room, your eyes catching on a familiar face. The gentleman made his way over to you, a wide smile on his face as he engulfed you in a hug.

“I see you’ve met the troublemaker,” Anthony winked at you and you felt yourself blush. It was a nickname the boys had created for you since you had been anything but a troublemaker. They just always liked to tease you as if they were your own brothers.

“Oh, have I?” Kate let out a laugh as Anthony draped an arm over her shoulder. They seemed to be just as in love as Francesca had said.

“It’s what we used to call her when she was little because she’s the exact opposite of trouble.” He was laughing a little too hard and your cheeks were flushing in embarrassment. Kate nudged Anthony once she caught sight of the embarrassed look in your face.

Looking at Anthony, all of the memories you had of him came flooding back. He was always there for you when you got hurt, acting as an honorary big brother when something went wrong. You honestly missed him and hated that you had been from him and his family for so long.

Benedict stood by the entrance of the building with his mother, Violet. He honestly had no interest in being there, but he couldn’t say no to his mother. Other than Gregory, he was the only Bridgerton son who hadn’t been married and even though he had expressed no interest in it, he still wanted to keep his mother happy by attending the balls.

If he had it his way, he’d be at the studio with one of the women he had been sleeping with or working on his piece for the gallery that was supposed to happen in a few weeks. He had barely even started it and probably would have been at least halfway through it if he hadn’t agreed to come to the ball that night That was his priority at the moment, not finding a wife like his mother had so desperately wanted him to do.

He locked eyes on you talking with Kate and Anthony and figured that you must have been one of the new debutants since he hadn’t seen you before. At least, he didn’t think he had. He would have remembered a beautiful woman like you. His brother seemed to be talking you like you were old friends so he wondered just who you were.

“Why don’t you ask her to dance?” Violet leaned over to him as she noticed Benedict watching you. Had he been staring? He swore he had only just glanced.

“Mother-“ He agreed to showing up, but he never said anything about dancing. He just liked to observe. And he wanted to observe you.

“Benedict.” Her voice was filled with warning and even at his age, he was still kind of afraid to disappoint her, even though he had done that enough already. He couldn’t do it again.

“Alright,” he sighed. “I’ll dance with her.” He turned to his smiling mother then made his way towards you, putting on his signature smile that always made women fall to his feet. He absolutely loved seeing the way they would do whatever he asked as soon as he gave them a flash of his teeth. He wondered if you would do the same.

The conversation halted as Benedict stood behind you. You turned around and your eyes widened as you caught sight of the man. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. You wondered what he wanted from you and began to fiddle with your necklace again, assuming that he was possibly going to ask you to dance. You were going to say no, of course. You couldn’t dance with anyone. You would just look weird and awkward and be too aware of your movements. You honestly weren’t even sure if you knew the correct steps.

“Benedict,” Anthony greeted his brother. That was Benedict? You supposed it made sense since you hadn’t seen him in eight years. He had gotten so much taller than you now, the top of your head coming to his chin. And he was attractive. Much more so than you remembered.

“Anthony, Kate,” he nodded in their direction then averted his gaze to you, a smirk kicking up at the corner of his lips. Anthony knew exactly what his brother was doing. He could see the flirty look in his eyes and was going to shut whatever was going on down as soon as possible.

He had seen to many women hurt by Benedict and he wasn’t going to let you be one of them. Anthony didn’t know you, but what he did know was that you were definitely out of his league. You were sweet and kind and Benedict was nothing but a jackass. Anthony wasn’t going to let your heart get broken by his stupid brother who never seemed to be able to keep his dick in his pants.

“And you are?” He didn’t remember you? You supposed that eight years was enough time to forget about someone, but you honestly thought he would have remembered you just like Anthony had. And you had spent much more time with Benedict when you were children so you didn’t know why the memories of your weren’t clicking in his brain.

“Benedict, this is y/n,” Anthony reminded him as if it was something that Benedict should have known, but that name was not ringing any bells whatsoever.

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss y/n,” he greeted, his tone more professional but still a little flirty. “Would you like to dance?” He held his hand out to you and you stared at it, knowing that if you didn’t, your mother would find out and give you a lecture, but if you did, all of three steps would mix together in your head and you’d fall flat on the floor and everyone would laugh at you.

You nodded and hesitantly put your hand in his, letting him lead you out onto the floor, looking back to Kate and Anthony, hoping that they would save you, but they just gave you warm smiles as you got further and further away from him.

Benedict stopped to the far left of the floor and rested a hand on your shoulder blade while the other took your hand. You turned your head to the side, looking around the room and he looked down at you, realizing that you had no idea what you were doing and decided that he was going to have to teach you how to do the dance.

He took your other hand and placed it on his shoulder, giving you a reassuring smile even though you weren’t paying attention. You were still looking around the room, nervousness obvious in your eyes. Weren’t you just a shy, little thing. He could have taught you so many things, but tonight, he’d stick with the waltz.

He leaned down so his lips were right by your ear and your breath hitched at his closeness. His hot breath on your skin as he whispered to you. No man had ever been that close to you and it was making you nervous.

“Just follow my lead, I’ve got you.” He leaned back up and watched you turn your face back to him, giving him a small nod. He smiled down at you as the dance began. You moved around the floor, Benedict taking the lead, looking down at you to make sure that you were okay as he did so. All he was focused on was you. It was as if nothing else in the room mattered and he had no idea why he was so captivated by you.

He didn’t know why you were so nervous. You were a natural when it came to the waltz. And he liked watching you move along with him, seeing your dress move back and forth, wanting to run his hands up your thighs as he spread them apart, watching you come undone as he buried his head between them, licking and sucking as you grabbed onto his hair. And he’d make sure he could see your head being thrown back, hearing the delicious moans fall from your lips.

He wanted so badly to remove your dress so slowly, hearing you beg for him because he wasn’t moving fast enough. Whining his name as he took off your under garments as slowly as possible, kissing every single inch of your body as he bent you over the nearest surface he could find, pounding into you as he told you what a good little slut you were.

You both continued to move around the room gracefully and you were avoiding his eye contact still, his hazel ones boring into you, a smirk kicking up at the corner of his lips as he watched you. Benedict knew he’d have to dance with you more than once to hopefully bring you out of his shell. You’d definitely be a different person by the time he was done with you.

The dance finished and Benedict brought you back over to Anthony and Kate, not wanting your time together to end, but knowing that he had to dance with the other debutants to please Violet. He bowed before you and you gave him a curtesy as he bid you a goodbye.

“It was a pleasure, Miss l/n,” he said once he stood back up.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr, Bridgerton,” you smiled shyly and the man swore he was going to melt. Benedict knew that you had meant the words in the most innocent sense, but his cock, definitely didn’t. There was no hint of flirting in your tone, but he was going to pretend that there was. That the attraction wasn’t one sided.

And you had to be attracted to him, right? He knew when a woman had fancied him, but for some reason, he couldn’t get a read on you. You were going to be a tough one to crack. He’d have to spend more time with you to figure you out.

Even after he had moved on to other debutants, his mind wouldn’t leave you. He wanted to do the most filthiest things to you and knowing that you were most likely a virgin made it even more exciting. Knowing that he could have been your first sent a rush up his spine.

But he couldn’t do that to you. He just couldn’t. Considering how protective Anthony had been of you, Benedict wasn’t looking to get killed, especially not over a woman. So, after he finished the dance, he left the ball, on the hunt for someone to hook up with since anything with you was definitely off the table.

You spent practically the entire night with Anthony and Kate and for the first time, you felt like you had real friends. They both seemed interested in what you had to say and didn’t treat you like a child just because you were young. And they were respectful of your soft spoken voice, neither of them asking you to speak up or telling you that they couldn’t hear you.

You entered your bedroom with a smile on your face and got ready for bed, thinking about the new friends you had made and that you actually had a good time at the ball despite not thinking that you would. You laid down thinking that maybe, just maybe you’d actually like it there.

[mommageto]

Domestic Hashira: Part 2 (Himejima x Reader)

Title: Domestic Hashira: Part 2 (Himejima x Reader)

Word Count:  1817  words

Description: (Y/n) and Gyomei navigating the unfamiliar territory of an arranged marriage. 

Warning/s: This fan fiction may contain disturbing or implied sexual content that may not be suitable or sensitive for readers. Read at your own risk. 

Part 1

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The sun is veiled by haze, and the sound of bushes dancing as the freezing breeze passes by. You were sitting on a rock beside a river that flows from the feeble waterfalls. It was one of those walks you enjoy taking with Himejima when neither of you was occupied with any activity on that day. The walk you always have with him to enjoy the nature surrounding you always ends up with interesting conversations to get to know each other better. 

As newlyweds, it seemed too far to build a relationship with a man you barely knew in the beginning. Nevertheless, you both had a mutual apprehension about starting over. Throughout the days, you and Himejima opened up to one another, starting with both your pasts, where you found comfort in each other. 

“I couldn’t accept all of the things that happened that day. My parents were everything to me. It was difficult to lose both of them. I miss them so much,” you said to Himejima while looking down on the stream of water passing through your feet. With your words, Gyomei turned to you and gently placed his large hands on your head. He rubbed your head tenderly. “(Y/n), your parents loved you deeply. They may not be here, but their memory lives on in you,” he replied.

Himejima’s words of affirmation have always filled your recent days with delight and a sense of security. There is something about his use of words that tells you it is exactly what you need to hear. That healed a part of you and allowed you to look forward to your future with clarity. Gyomei’s line of work may be risky, but you have faith in him. 

Gyomei informed you that he will be away for a week for a mission on a farther land south, where there were incidents of demons attacking a huge village. This is the part of your relationship that you dislike the least. It is not because of how he is constantly putting his life on hold, but because of the loneliness that comes with his absence that you have to endure.

To doubt his skills is merely an act of foolery. Himejima always trained with relentless determination. He is committed to every single thing he does, from his training to his relationship with you. Himejima ensures that he is trying his best, if not becoming better. This is a part of him that makes you admire him even more. 

As you’ve accomplished your social duties as a wife, you went straight home. This was the day Himejima ought to arrive. Nothing but the pure longing to reach out and be in your husband's arms is what you desire. With such haste, you went to the training area by your house. Himejima frequently goes to the training area. This is how he usually finds consolation to meditate after a long mission. There he was standing on his feet, and you approached the giant man from behind. 

Gyomei, a subtle shift in his massive form, tells you he knows you're there around the place. Even before you and Himejima became closer, he never failed to sense whenever you were around. He surely did possess quality senses, and they were useful in his relationship with you. The stone hashira has put his boulder to a halt and turned to greet you. 

With you closer to him, he pulled you in for a warm and delicate embrace. You can feel the tears in his eyes falling down. “I’ve missed you so much,” you whisper in his ear. His arms tightened around you, offering a comforting warmth against the chill of the evening. For a moment, there were only the two of you in an intimate embrace, leaving only the soft rhythm of your heartbeats echoing in the quiet space between you.

 As you slowly move away from Gyomei’s grasp, you look up to him and see a delicate smile painted on his face. This offers you a bundle of joy. His hand cups your face to feel your being. “I’m so glad to be back home with you,” he says. You leaned on his hand and rubbed it. You never fail to appreciate the physical love you share with Gyomei.

“I apologize for having kept you waiting.”

“No, you don’t have to. I’m just happy you’re here with me now.”

“That reminds me,” he says. With a small pause, he pulled out a rectangle-shaped box from his pocket and gave it to you. “I got you something while I was away,” he continued. You opened the gift to see a sakura kanzashi. Your eyes lit up at how mesmerizing it was.

The smile on your face has doubled from what it was a while ago. You simply cannot help but be flattered by his gift. “I thought you were just the strongest and biggest Hashira there is,” you teased him. “You never told me that you’re also the sweetest Hashira.” 

A gentle chuckle escaped his lips. “I may be a hashira, but I am your husband too.”

You loved every moment you shared with Gyomei. It didn’t take long for your relationship with Himejima to flourish. Both of you were well respected by everyone in the Demon Slayer Corps. With your lineage as a relative of Kagaya Ubuyashiki and Gyomei’s position as the leader of the hashira, people tend to be attentive whenever you and your husband are both around. The other people thought you were a beloved couple. 

After you had dinner with Himejima, he held your hand on the way to your shared bedroom. The night was still young, and both of you decided to cozy up before sleeping together. This is something you enjoy with Gyomei during the night. He's lying at your back, and you're in his arms, watching the moon’s watchful gaze from your window. The size difference between both of you has made you feel like a stuffed toy for him. Himejima does not like to admit it, but he loves your size. He perceives you as a fragile being for him to forever protect and hold. 

“Are you comfortable enough, (y/n)? ”He asks you. You turned your head at him and nodded in response, only for him to plant a kiss on your forehead afterwards. The way his lips filled your forehead made you feel the love of Gyomei’s physical affection. 

It didn’t take long for you to face him and start kissing his cheeks one by one after another. Himejima could feel your kisses all over his face. Until you reached his lips, this caused him to be surprised and stare at you for a while. The eye contact you both had was full of tension until you both gave in to the pleasure of kissing each other on the lips. 

Your body was leaning at Himejima’s huge form with arms wrapped around his being, and you could feel the heat of his body pressing into you. His arms moved down from your hair, slowly reaching to your waist, feeling the moment he shared with you. It didn’t take long for your hands to feel his hard and muscular form, moving your hands from his shoulder to his biceps. You can feel Gyomei’s hands tighten his grip while holding your waist. This encouraged you to explore more of his built form with your hands while not holding back from the intimate union of both of your lips. 

Every part of him is bulky and strong; you can appreciate Himejima’s athletic physique as you continue caressing his body. Despite his large, hard chest, you felt the fast beat of his heart’s palpitation. As you were in the moment, you felt greedy for Himejima. You wanted more of him, and you needed more of Gyomei. Your left hand was supposed to feel his abdomen, but it dropped between his legs, where you felt the heat of his hot and large manhood. 

Himejima pushed you away. It took a moment for you to catch your breath. The tension, the heat, and the feeling were there, but Gyomei stopped them. For a while, you felt the feeling of embarrassment creep up from your head to your toe. ‘Was I pushing myself onto him? ’ you thought to yourself. 

This made you feel uneasy. For a woman, it is unlikely for this to happen or for you to feel this way. Numerous thoughts filled your head, and you questioned why Himejima stopped. He is your husband, and you have undergone the sacred act of marriage; you didn’t understand how it felt wrong. Not only that, it seems to you that Gyomei doesn’t feel as ‘attracted’ to you as you thought.

“(Y/n)—“ he uttered, but the embarrassment you felt made you not want to face your husband. 

The night felt like your first day; it was silent, and not much conversation was involved, which was different from how you fixed it to be. It also felt like a long night, as you could not put yourself to sleep. However, it felt like the stone hashira did not get to rest peacefully either. As you’ve noticed, Gyomei does not sleep silently. He has a deep, rumbling snore, and that is something you have observed after several nights of sleeping beside him.

The next morning, you can hear the morning chirps of the birds, and the sun rays hit a part of your room. Your eyes slowly opened to wake you up. Your hand reached out to your side to find the familiar being you sleep with. Himejima’s presence beside you was nowhere to be seen as you opened both your eyes. You sat down to collect yourself and saw his bed area fixed already. Thus, your brain recollects the memory of last night. You were hoping for that night to be just a nightmare. 

It was still too early in the morning. The thought of where your husband is is bothering you. ‘Did he leave for a mission?’ you pondered. You walked around your house to search for him. You peeked at the training area by your house, where Himejima usually does his morning meditation and training. There was no sign of him there. 

“My lady, are you looking for Himejima-sama?”You were startled by the voice of your older servant, Yoko. “Himejima-sama woke up early to train near the waterfall.”

It didn’t take long for you to go there and watch your husband do intense training. You can only watch from afar, as you do not want to talk to Himejima for now. The view of the stone hashira withstanding the pressure from the waterfall. With the time you spent knowing your husband, he only does intense training when he’s stressed after a battle where he could’ve saved many lives. However, to your knowledge, something like that did not happen previously.

This story has a Part 3.

[petermorwood]

Potato Crisps / Chips on Tasting History

So we've just watched Max's latest...

...and I was grinning a bit because I posted about Dr Kitchiner's 1817 (non-US, definitely non-Saratoga) crisps / chips recipe a month ago.

That image was from an American edition of his book; I've found a pic from the original - NB that these slices are floured before frying.

For reference, here's a two-penny piece from about 1797; the coin would still be current 20 years later:

...and here's how thick the potatoes should be sliced. That's 4mm, which is 2mm less than "a quarter of an inch" (6.25mm).

The slices will get even thinner as their moisture evaporates during frying, and, given the nature of recipes, potatoes cooked this way are probably even older than 1817 and Kitchiner's is just the first appearance found so far in print.

*****

The first recipe for "Game Chips" (an accompaniment to grouse, pheasant etc.) appeared, per the Wikipedia link, in a 1903 book published by famous chef Auguste Escoffier (1846-1935):

"Chip potatoes - these are potatoes cut into thin slices; this is usually done with a special plane. (A mandoline.) They are put in cold water for 10 minutes; then drained, dried in a cloth and fried until very crunchy. They are served hot or cold and generally accompany game roasted in the English style."

However, per Escoffier's Wikipedia page, much of his work was based on that of Anton Carême (1783-1833), whose dates are squarely coincident with Dr Kitchiner's Potato Slices.

Given the amount of cookery to-and-fro between England and France after the Napoleonic wars were over, it's impossible to say who first came up with the idea of potato crisps.

The French loved dainties - "un petit quelquechose", a little something - which the English pronounced and dismissed as "kickshaws", something over-fussy yet insubstantial. Yet those same English also loved roasting things with their appropriate accompaniments.

(I'm writing this just over a week after Christmas, and have been well reminded that the phrase "Roast (turkey / goose / beef) With All The Trimmings" is still in common 21st-century use.)

If those roasted things were game birds, only those above a certain level in society would be eating them, so it's not unreasonable to assume a rich-person game bird would attract fussy, time-consuming rich-person trimmings like, okay, Game Chips.

One thing's for sure, Potato Crisps - and Game Chips too, so hard luck, Escoffier - are almost certainly older than even Tasting History could prove.

*****

BTW, they also existed at a time when "English Food Was Bland" is more fake history.

Sauces put out on the table in fancy bottles had fancy labels ("bottle tickets") showing what was in them, and the contents were often far from bland.

Quin sauce was anchovy-based, hot and pungent.

Harvey's was a spicy sauce similar to Worcestershire, ketchup was probably mushroom and also spicy; the other two need no elaboration.

AFAIK the two crescent-shaped ones in the next pics are deliberate imitations of an officer's rank-gorget.

Finally a generic Not-Bland label that would go on any number of modern bottles (antique silver, yours for £250)...

*****

And after all of the above, I could do Very Bad Things to a packet of Tayto Cheese 'n' Onion. A packet?

Why stop at a packet when A Pack takes less time to say?

After all, It Is Written that:

"Reading One Book Is Like Eating One Potato Crisp Chip."

And also that Nothing Exceeds Like Excess...

[w--zii]

gam3 bo1

bf!seungcheol x fem!reader x dom!wonwoo

[minors dni]

smut warning: 3some vc sex, edging, reader gets called slut a lot, wonwoo is acting dominant, degrading, unprotected sex, riding... let me know if theres more.

vc: 1817

as chinese new year is getting closer, all members got a week free. first day of the holiday was how it should be, you and seungcheol took a good rest and enjoyed each other’s company.

after dinner seungcheol got bored and called wonwoo to play LoL with him. “baby im gonna play some with wonwoo” he shouted from other room, letting you know.

while you are doing your work in kitchen, you can hear him yelling and complaining about how he died for the nth time.

you went to bedroom, smiling to his back, thinking how cute he is when he acts sulky, hopping in bed. you watched some videos and did other social media things but when searching through pinterest, it started to overwhelm you after a while and you can no longer stand the temperature. although its winter, whole house was burning.

you switched to some shorts and continued looking through social media. doing one of your favorite things; looking for hot seungcheol pictures. you literally had at least one folder for sexy kinda photos of seungcheol in your every social media account. not only these of course, you literally try to collect every picture of him on internet. how can you not? this man is stunning.

like right now too. he doesnt have a top. you didnt mind at first but as you kept looking at photos and videos of him, it started to make you dizzy. seungcheol removed his headset and slipped his hair back, his movements showcasing his back and biceps for you. he continued his game and you tried to ignore everything.

until you heard him asking “baby can you bring me water” with a groan. you went to kitchen, took slightly cold water and brought it to him. “here” handing the glass to him, now having a full view of his abs and shoulders. this man is huge. your hand reached for his locks, tugging them softly.

“whats it pretty?” you didnt bother to answer him. shyly settling on his lap, thanks to his big thighs, it was comfortable, more than enough. and in seconds you found your mouth on his neck, giving him kitty licks. he put the glass on table as he let out a scoff, a smirk forming on his lips. his hands caressing your back, they landed on your hips. one movement from him and you are breathy, panting like you've just ran 5 kilometers.

in the mean time wonwoo acting like he is not hearing anything and minding his business in game home page, at least trying to, as he paced out in his toughts seungcheol’s voice woke him up. “trying to put on a show for wonwoo? are you?” wonwoo smirked to what his friend said, he leaned his head back in his gaming chair and stared at the ceiling for a while, wishing he was there. he knows how much a slut you are, of course, you loved teasing the members since seungcheol don't mind it but it was wonwoo making you want to tease him more than you do to other members. the look he has, his calmness about what you are trying and doing his best to ignore you. he doesn't want to give you what you want that easily. but he knows, the day where he will brat-tame you will come. just letting you have fun, for now.

“are you okay baby? mhm?”

trying to make you look at his eyes but you refuse. “you don't seem okay.”

smiling to you, he started to move your hips making you feel his growing bulge, when you felt some friction you let out another breathy moan.

“don't do this to me scoups.” wonwoo's words made seungcheol grin.

you started dry humping him and chase the feeling you want most, lips never leaving his skin, you made your way to his jawline and then his plump lips where he needed you most. your eyes meet but seungcheol didn't have enough patience so he starts kissing you. with all his love and adore he has for you, he kisses you so hungrily like that's his last chance. as your mouths move, it makes the most erotic noises wonwoo ever heard. the sloppy kissing and all soft moans you make has no good on him.

wonwoo's right hand reached for his hardness, letting out a whimper. hearing wonwoo only causing seungcheol getting more horny, its not that he likes hearing wonwoo but the dirty mind you three have.

seungcheol's hands moved up to your face to stop you. “needy slut.” he whispered towards your mouth, just enough for wonwoo to hear. you bit your bottom lip as seungcheol made you wear his headset, he turned up the volume too. now you can hear both your boyfriend and wonwoo's voice. “tell him how needy you are.” a smile appeared on his face. knowing you won't be able to talk and hearing wonwoo will make you more horny.

“seungcheol, please.” you sobbed. you like being a brat and hearing him call you filthy things, but not feeling brat enough to face wonwoo right now. you're just so wet and shy for that. as expected from you, seungcheol thought.

“y/n,” wonwoo called your name in the most horny way, “let me hear you.” he ordered. “wonwoo-ya” you whined, in mean time seungcheol unbuttoned his sweats, letting his cock out, your mouth watered. seungcheol gave his shaft few strokes, hissing and looking at you, he pulled you to another sloppy kissing section, moaning between.

while his left hand on your hip, keeping you still, seungcheol's right hand met your panties, he teased you through clothing, his fingers finding your clit and pinching it, making you jolt, “cheol-,” you whimpered and let your head fall on his shoulder.

“y/n? you okay there?”

“mmh,” making breathy moans in order to communicate with them.

“use your words.” wonwoo ordered, now palming his fully out length, “you are such a slut you know that?” he groaned, “having no shame and coming to scoups while he is in voice chat with me, only to get yourself fucked.” seungcheol continued playing with your pussy and teasing you more, it formed a wet spot on your panties,

“hmm, wonwoo, she's soaking.”

“keep teasing her, hyung. i don't think she deserves more”

“oh baby your pussy is dripping, all for us? mhm?”

their words making you clench around nothing, that cuases more wetness on your clothing, “please.” you begged.

wonwoo's cock twitched in his hand, “please what slut?”

“you can't even say it? are you that needy? tch.”

“please, p-please, touch me, i-i need it inside.” you begged.

you sound pathetic, and you know you are, humping your swollen cunt against his hand, hoping he will let you ride him.

“good girl.” seungcheol is keeping his mouth shut because he knows it makes you more aroused like this, being controlled by someone that isn't even here, just letting younger one have some fun.

you can hear how wonwoo panting, moaning your name between his dirty words. he really didn't want you two's first time to be like that, but he won't count this. he squeezed his pre-cum coated tip with his fingers, imagining it as your lips sucking him.

seungcheol put your both shorts and panties aside and now teasing your entrance with his head, smearing all his slick and mixing it with your arousal. you're flustered that he's not putting it in nor touching your clit,

“fuck, please.” you're so done with them. as you are about to complain and beg for anything seungcheol slides his tip inside, “oh, baby, fuck-” he can just cum there, “you are dripping, love.”

and you sit completely, getting a loud moan from him as you clench, at the same time you can hear wonwoo breathing and cursing.

you start riding him slow, almost on the edge because of all the teasing, seungcheol’s hands guiding you by your hips, “you feel so good baby, my little whore.”

“c-cheol-” you sutter and your boyfriend starts speeding up the pace, now thrusting into your needy cunt.

“are you close, dirty thing?” wonwoo never shutting up about how dirty slut you are, “y-yes, please let me c-cum, ah-” seungcheol hitting your g-spot and making you see stars.

“you can't cum until i say so.” wonwoo finds a way to edge you every time, such a tease he is. your mind going blank.

“i wish i was there to shove my cock in your mouth, i bet you would like that, am i wrong y/n?” you lick your lips to the tought of it, not capable of responding him at the moment, all you can think of is how much you want to take them both at the same time.

“talk to me slut.”

“yes! yes, yes, please,” tears sliding down your cheek as you cry out for wonwoo.

three of you having the best time ever, moans and names in air, sweats dropping, both men's cock twitch to the tought of you.

“you are so hot like this baby,” seungcheol wipes your tears away and grips your throat as he starts being more rough with you, “come for us, pretty.”

younger one comes first, cumming on all of his hand and table, making a literal mess. he wished you were there to lick everywhere clean. “oh- f-fuck!”

you can hear wonwoo's deep breaths through headset, “our little cumslut, come for us, show your love.”

your eyes roll back as you reach your climax, trying to keep yourself steady while holding seungcheol’s neck, walls cleching around him, not much later you feel his seed spilling inside you. seungcheol letting you both ride through your orgasm, his pace slowing and pressing you down on his cock before he moans your name. “fuck- y/n.”

“good girl, you did so well for us.” wonwoo praising you. now he is sitting all clean, still having a problem with his hardness though.

all your arousal dripping on your boyfriend's balls, you can't form a single word or move any part of your body, your eyes close, just letting yourself be there. seungcheol caresses your back and takes-off headset from you, “you were so good baby, i love you.” he leaves a kiss on your cheek.

“i will text you later,”

“okay hyung, tell her i had fun.” wonwoo ends the call with a smirk on his face. but his face drops when he sees his bulge again. sighing, it's never enough for him. he can't get enough of you.

seungcheol takes care of you like he always do, after helping you to take shower and putting new clothes on you, he lays you down like a baby, he strokes your hair gently, his eyes full of love.

on the other side he can't wait to talk with wonwoo about you. and hear wonwoo's complains on how slutty you are.

not proof read. © w--zii. do not repost.

[bethanydelleman]

Jane Austen isn't relatable to people toda-

"Now I have done," cried Captain Wentworth. "When once married people begin to attack me with,--'Oh! you will think very differently, when you are married.' I can only say, 'No, I shall not;' and then they say again, 'Yes, you will,' and there is an end of it."

-Persuasion, Jane Austen, 1817

[warwickroyals]

↬ Warwick Wives (1/7) | royal wives during the reigns of Louis I & Louis II, 1782 - 1817

W I L H E L M I N A was fifty-six at the time of her husband's enthronement, making her one of Sunderland's oldest queen consorts. Despite this, she was famed for her beauty and sharp wit. She had protruding, restless eyes, with a pleasant demeanour. Her representation was a source of stability during the monarchy's early days.

C H A R L O T T E was less shrewd than her mother-in-law. Undereducated and neglected, she came from an obscure German duchy on the brink of extinction. Charlotte’s desire for an informal and relaxed domestic life greatly influenced the upbringing of royal children throughout the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. She remains the most prolific of Sunderland's queens, giving birth to fifteen children—seven boys and eight girls—over twenty-one years.

A M E L I A is the earliest example of a Sunderlandian consort causing a media sensation. Emily, as she was affectionately called, was beloved by the country and her husband, Louis, then Duke of Woodbine. Her marriage stemmed from Sunderland's new alliance with the United Kingdom. This alliance ultimately outlasted the marriage, for Emily would die at age twenty-seven. Her death complicated Sunderland's succession; she and Louis had one son, five-year-old Prince Frederick, who was also of weak health.

M A R I A - C A R O L I N A was the antithesis of Emily—even their hair colours highlighted this. Where Emily was pleasant and free-spirited, Maria Carolina was moody and introverted; Emily was the daughter of a King, a product of the world's largest imperial empire, Maria Carolina was the daughter of a low-ranking prince from Sweden's waining Holstein-Gottorp dynasty. Where Emily was adored by her husband, Maria Carolina hated. The two cousins had never wanted to marry and Louis, still grieving his first wife, waited two years before consummating the union. Over time, Louis grew hostile toward his wife. Running hot and cold, he alternated between ignoring Maria Carolina and tormenting her mercilessly, sometimes driving her to tears.

"If I were to suffer such maltreatment would have hung myself from the balcony at Chester long ago" - Princess Wilhemina, writing on her sister-in-law's troubles

To escape her husband's bullying, Maria Carolina undertook a wide variety of public duties. Today, several institutions and charities bear the name Queen Mary Caroline. Despite her husband's apathy and her own shyness, Maria Carolina formed a loyal circle of close friends at court. It was only after Maria Carolina died in 1841, that Louis III expressed remorse for her mistreatment. He outlived her for another ten years.

King Louis III and Queen Mary Caroline had no surviving children together. When Louis's only son, Hereditary Prince Frederick, died without issue Sunderland was left without a clear successor, promoting the 1835 Succession Crisis. This crisis would last for twenty-five years and put an immense amount of pressure on the next generation of royal wives.

[TRANSCRIPT]

insp (1) (2)

[zucchinitart]

skinty LJ 💕

finally gonna make a ref sheet for this man!! repurposing an old sketch cuz I still generally agree with the design…I actually intended to render that old sketch but never did 😭

now here’s some never-before-revealed lore and headcanons!! (this all takes place in a story I’ve never created except in my head 💀 also some have been told, I’m just reiterating them):

-This is how LJ generally looks between the years 1817 to 1886. He was “born” in 1803, stayed with Isaac for one year, got stuck in the box for 13 years, and only started wearing bandages in 1817 once he became a target to the public. As he started getting more wounds, he found out that they would open up easily and opted to wear bandages most of the time.

-He can’t eat as he lacks a digestive system. Instead, he feeds on human interaction. The more positive the interaction, the better it is for him. Because he had such a poor relationship with humans during these years, he ends up looking starved. He’s quite weak in this state, and the only thing keeping him alive is his wit and his sharp nails for weapons.

-His limbs are black right above the connection of his joints (knees and elbows). The rest of his skin is white.

-His hair would be naturally curly, but due to improper care and the long length dragging it down, it ends up looking wavy and sometimes even straight, albeit very frizzy and/or greasy.

-In 1886, that’s when LJ and Lillian first meet (omg OC and canon??? gross 😰🤢). They create a pact, and he starts getting more positive interaction with humans. As he gets more “sustenance,” his wounds start to heal properly and he gets stronger. Unfortunately, most of his wounds have scarred over at this point and they remain on his body as it’s now recognized as “healthy” tissue. (Placement of scars will be in another post)

-Lillian is 23 when she first meets LJ.

-Before his strength improved, Lillian could actually beat LJ in an arm wrestling contest!! But after about a few months of being together, that was no longer the case. (Lillian’s ego was a little hurt, but it was inevitable 😞)

-Although it looks like it, he never actually felt starved. He doesn’t experience typical feelings like hunger or fulfillment.

-Sadly, he’ll never retain his curl pattern. Lillian tries very hard to get it back as she has her own experience with her hair, but she can never get more than a few curls on his head. She gives up at some point and just accepts his wavy/straight hair as is. LJ truly doesn’t care either way. If he had his way, he’d probably forget and never wash it again.

-the dickless look is on purpose!!! No reproductive system means no dick!! Yippee, no nsfw 🤗 Unless I feel freaky, which will most definitely happen…so if you ever see him with a dick, it’s just for my own nefarious purposes 😞

-When Lillian first found out how old LJ was, she said “wow, you could be my grandpa….” LJ didn’t take too kindly to that and scolded her like a grandpa.

-His body stopped aging once Isaac died. In this version, Isaac dies at the age of 21. LJ is physically around 5 years older than Isaac, so his physical age is stuck at around 26 (but it’s not rlly trustworthy as his body isn’t comparable to a typical human’s…I’d say it’s probably between 25-35 though)

I want to get into so much lore, but I wanna save it for when I draw a comic or something. Ty for reading if you read this far!! 💕

[pilferingapples]

IT'S HERE IT'S HERE THE YEAR 1817 when it was 1817 , in 1817 that year

Please go check out The Siecle's excellent breakdown of the references in this chapter! The episode is David Montgomery reading the whole chapter aloud, so you can follow along with the references in the posted transcript if you want--or just use the transcript along with your own reading. Go! Read! Find the needlessly elaborate Hugo Puns!XD

[softenedsunbeams]

asks you about the year without summer

OKAY. SO

in 1815, the largest volcanic eruption in recorded human history happened. mount tambora in indonesia erupted with a 7 on the VEI index, ejecting giant amounts of debris into the atmosphere, killing about 71,000 people and completely wiping out anything and anyone living on the island. the explosion itself was heard from as far as sumatra island, 1,600 miles away, where they thought it sounded like gunshots.

^ what the crater looks like today!! very pretty

i dont really care as much about the volcano itself. what i care about is the absolutely batshit societal effects this had on the entire world, because it was a HUGE volcanic eruption that ejected massive amounts of ash into the atmosphere that proceeded to block out the sun and cause famines all over. it made frosts in july for an entire year. it genuinely caused a volcanic winter. i cannot understate how weird it is that absolutely nobody remembers or cares about it

it caused food riots, famines, flooding, disease outbreaks, so much. it's not like it didn't effect the u.s either, because snow was falling in june in new england, crops were dying of frost in mid may, and for that month almost every day the temperatures were below freezing. it caused rapid swings in the temperature too, going from summer temperatures to mid winter within hours

in asia it messed with the monsoon cycle, causing giant floods in china and india that killed even more people. in europe it caused waves of typhus because of the famines, and in switzerland the summers of 1816 and 1817 were so cold that an ice dam formed below a glacier, forming a lake that later collapsed and killed forty people in the flood. in south america it caused major droughts that killed even more people.

it even influenced and changed the art of the time. the debris in the atmosphere that was causing all of the famines and temperature changes made sunsets look different for years, so they were brighter and more vibrant and it was big enough that it's noticeable in paintings. things like this:

the influence of the eruption went on for years as well. this wasn't just a brief thing, it changed history, caused massive migrations of people, may have even led to the end of a chinese dynasty i think? i think it's so so interesting im very very normal i love when natural disasters shape history like this it's so cool!!!

[orionremastered]

Anon here! I just saw that your requests are open for Batfam? If you’re still taking requests can you do a regency era Damian Wayne x reader. If you don’t want to do Damian I wouldn’t mind any of the batboys!

xxx

I am always taking requests (they're for my sanity) except for the next three days because I'm on a plane, busy, or sleeping :/

(for this fic, they are Bruce's biological kids) (not completely historically accurate. like at all. but i tried)

Masterlist

Jason Todd x (probably fem due to the law back then unless you want to dream that being gay was allowed in 1817 (some sources also state that lesbianism was never illegal, but I don't know for sure. Just found it interesting))!Reader

Regency Era AU

The poor man is being swarmed by potential— and in all honesty, very desirable— women and their family members who are desperate to introduce the most suitable option for his wife from their family line. Constantly ignoring beginnings of phrases such as "this is the honourable—" and "perhaps you would like to be introduced to my lovely daughter—", and with each one his jaw ticked.

You hide your smile behind your fan, gazing at him from across the ballroom. It is the marriage season and your childhood friend clearly hated it. But that was expected of him as the second son of Bruce Wayne, Duke of York and member of the royal family. Especially since the duke's eldest, Marquess Richard, had recently married a young woman, Marchioness Barbara.

Locking eyes with the green you have known for so long, you tap the top of your open fan. I wish to talk to you.

With abundant relief, he shoos off one particularly frustrating Earl and almost rushes to be by your side. "Thank you," he says sincerely, a smile stretching his face.

"Why do you not wish to talk to them?" you inquire, Jason's smile dropping subsequently. "They are fine young women, after all."

"They're boring," he sighs, "I do not wish to be married to someone who's personality is dull."

"They're not dull," you chide, and he raises a brow. "They are just taught to be agreeable and respectful, my Lord."

"If I asked them about my theory of a novel I am reading, they would simply say, 'Well if you think so, it must be true' and not..."

"Something like I'd say?"

"Exactly."

You suspect it's a common theme with the Waynes; they're seemingly more inclined to look for a spouse that challenges their opinions and joins them in their love of science— the recently wedded Wayne couple bonded over their love of physics, in fact. A quality like that in a women was usually seen as undesirable.

When you were younger and your father made you visit the Waynes, you learned about sciences that your father would've frowned upon; even the daughters, though there were only two, enjoyed the conversations like you did. With Jason and the youngest son, Damian, you would have lengthy conversations about the novels you were reading altogether; these conversations happened so often that their father was tired of having three copies of every novel he owned.

"I have an idea," Jason says, straightening to his full height beside you— tall enough for you to need to tilt your head up if you wanted to look him in the eyes (you always did— something that beautiful was designed to be looked at). "What if you and I get married?"

"You can't be serious."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

You consider him for a moment— you really do— and see no sign of a lie or joke behind his offer. And now that you think about it, it wouldn't be terrible. It was better than your father marrying you off to some old man you didn't know.

Or weren't attracted to.

"Usually there's a dance or two before the proposal," you point out almost teasingly, "And then courtship. For at least a few months. Don't forget, a man should dance with multiple women before deciding who he wishes to wed—"

"Fine," he sighs, rolling his eyes. Yet a small grin remains on his face. "Would you like to dance, then?"

"Hmm, let me think—"

Jason pointedly fake-yawns while playfully glaring your way.

"I would appreciate a dance, yes." And with that, he leads you to the centre of the ballroom, passing his father who watches the two of you with confusion as you begin to dance.

"Are they—"

"Relax, dear," his wife Selina interrupts while lightly leaning against him, also watching the two of you dance, a smile on both of your faces as you whisper quiet yet teasing words to each other. "Don't tell me you couldn't see it before?"

Her husband's silence answers for him.

[unformula1]

drunk text, drunk call, drunk oscar (LS2 x OP81)

oscar only calls logan when he’s drunk. logan goes to get oscar, he overhears things he doesn’t want to.  w/c: 1817 day 45 of loscar posts until we get a loscar podium(series masterlist) masterlist | a/n: man i really should post more, also sorry if this is an inaccurate depiction of being drunk. this was not supposed to be this long.

Logan’s phone vibrates on the bedside desk, his ringtone playing softly. He sighs, almost grumbles before he sits up and grabs his phone.

oscar piastri🐨 is calling

Logan sighs and checks the time. 11pm, right on cue.

He picks up the phone and takes a deep breath before speaking.

“Hello Oscar.” Logan says, smiling, hoping the energy transfers correctly, “Where are you right now, and how many drinks have you had?”

“Oh hi…” Oscar says, his voice slightly slurred.

“Is Lando there? Alex, maybe?” 

“Nooo, I want you-” Oscar says before abruptly cutting to take a breath.

Oscar’s drunk. Of course Oscar’s drunk, Oscar only calls Logan when he’s drunk.

Logan lets out a chuckle, “No… Is anyone with you?”

“Uhm- Lando’s here, I think.” Oscar says with deep breaths, “But I really want you here…”

“No, no you don’t Oscar, you’re just drunk.” Logan says, his voice slightly cracking.

Of course he wished Oscar actually liked him, but Oscar was too good for Logan. Logan was just some nobody on the grid and Oscar was the grid’s golden child. 

“Logieeeeee….” Oscar pulls out the nickname, the old nickname.

Logan sighs.

“Osc. I need you to find Lando.” Logan says slowly.

“Lando calls me Osc too!” Oscar says cheerfully. Logan wipes the single tear that he shed. 

He didn’t even know he shed a tear, it just happened. Guess a lot of things just happen. Logan really missed Oscar, and he missed when Oscar would call anytime, not just when he was drunk or out of his mind.

“Yes…” Logan fakes a chuckle, “Find Lando please.”

“I don’t know where he is…” Oscar says, slurring more words, “Can you just come over…”

“I can’t. You know what, I think Alex is there.” Logan says, thinking out loud.

Oscar doesn’t respond.

“Yea,” Logan says, “Stay where you are Oscar.”

Logan hopes Oscar heard him and hangs up.

He’s immediately faced with their call log, which is once every few weeks, at 11pm or around there. All of them, just because Oscar was drunk.

He quickly closes it and calls Alex.

“Hey Alex, you’re at the party… thingy- whatever.” Logan asks, awfully happily.

“Yes, question is, where are you?” Alex says.

“Tired, in my room.” Logan quickly diverts, “Well, Oscar is there somewhere and drunk, please make sure he doesn’t die or anything.”

Alex chuckles, “Okay. I’ll find him, he’s probably with the rest.”

“Yea… yea. Cool.” Logan says.

“Mhm, I see him…” Alex says after a while.

“Great. So take good care of him, okay?” 

“Mhm, but why don’t you just come over, you could join the party too- I mean, win win.”

“Wasn’t invited, didn’t wanna go anyway!” Logan says, his voice crack betraying him once again.

“Really?”

“Gotta go!”

Logan hangs up before he gets a response, he instantly buries his face into the pillow, placing his phone back onto the bed-side table.

He screams into his pillow.

Yea, he wasn’t invited. That was the truth. The lie was that he didn’t want to go. Truth was he wanted to go.

Everyone was there, except Logan. What a loner Logan was.

Logan sighs and sits upright on his bed. He stares into the blank space, hating every detail of his life.

—

“Mate, where’s your teammate?” Lando asks, pointing at Alex.

“Uh…” Alex hesitates, “He’s tired.”

“From DNF-ing?” Lando comments and Carlos almost instantly smacks his shoulder.

“He’s drunk, sorry, he didn’t mean that.” Carlos quickly says.

Alex nods, “It’s all cool.”

Oscar is laid down next to Alex, well he’s not really laid, he’s just sprawled over the bench.

Alex whips his phone back out, opening Logan’s chat.

Alex: seriously, where are you.

—

Logan grunts, his phone chime snapping him back to reality. Okay, maybe that was for the better, his mind was spiralling.

He violently picks up his phone and opens the message.

Logan: my room Alex: you should come over Alex: its not too late

Logan’s fingers hover over the keyboard, he doesn’t know what to say. Going there would just be social suicide, no one would talk to him anyway.

Alex: everyone’s asking where you are Logan: mourning

Logan gives himself a small chuckle at his joke.

Alex: mateeee Alex: please just come over Alex: it’s like 5 minutes from the hotel Alex: pleaseeeee

Logan doesn’t know everyone on the grid really well, but he knows them well enough to know they don’t want him there.

Logan: it’s not like me being there would make any difference Alex: mateeee what are you sayingg Logan: would anyone talk to me Alex: oscar would Alex: he’s a lil eepy now though

Logan lets out a self depreciating chuckle.

Logan: he would only talk to me BECAUSE hes eepy Logan: he’d go back to lando after 2 seconds anyway Alex: dont say that Alex: just comeeee Logan is adamant about not going. Alex: oscar just asked me where you were Alex: what do i say

Logan scoffs and then sniffles slightly.

Logan: say i’m not there and he can talk to lando

A few seconds pass, which Logan assumes Alex is using to tell Oscar what he sent, or he’s telling Oscar that Logan was a bastard.

Alex: yea no he wants YOU Alex: so you should come over Logan: no. Alex: at least come to bring him back to his room Logan sighs. That wouldn’t hurt him, and would also give him an opportunity to talk to Oscar, even if he was slightly not present in the mind. Logan: fine. give me 10. Alex: yay!

Logan slips on a sweater, which he thinks looks half decent, slips on some shoes and quickly walks over to the bar.

—

He double checks the bar for the 3rd time before walking in.

He scans the crowd quickly and sees the whole bunch of them gathered around in a circle.

He swiftly makes his way over.

Logan finds himself walking in on a conversation which is most likely about him, none of them really notice he’s there yet.

“...and so, I’m just saying he should probably take a few weeks, or years, off!” someone (one of the driver’s friends, probably) says, his hands speaking more than his mouth.

Carlos notices Logan’s presence and whacks the person.

“I raise a point! Being slow is normal but being that slow is just not ok. DNF after DNF.” he repeats.

Carlos clears his throat violently.

“He’s not talking about you.” Carlos says to Logan.

The drivers look up and see Logan standing there. He’s still standing there stupidly, processing what he just heard. They all exchange glances, not sure how they were gonna save this situation.

Logan’s lost in thought. That was about him. They were talking about how Logan shouldn’t be in F1. 

Logan musters every remaining bit of strength in him to not break down, but to smile innocently.

Alex stands up, lifting Oscar up as well. Oscar groans before seeing Logan and waves.

Logan smiles and subtly nods to him.

“So you decided to come?” Lando says.

Carlos prepares his hand just in case he needs to whack Lando.

Alex answers for Logan, “He’s here to get this eepy Oscar out of here.”

“Really? Just that?” 

Logan nods.

“C’mon! Where’s the life in you? Just cuz you didn’t finish doesn’t mean you can’t join us.” 

Carlos facepalms and whacks Lando again.

Logan forces another smile.

A strong assumption to start.

“I’m just… tired.” Logan says.

The tension grows ever so slightly as each second passes.

Logan sighs. He knew coming here was a bad idea. His presence probably ruined whatever vibe they had going on.

“I’m- uh,” Logan points to Oscar, “Gonna take him and go.”

Oscar walks over to Logan and stumbles into him. Logan supports Oscar as they walk off.

“Way to ruin it.” Alex glares at Lando.

“What!? I didn’t mean any harm!” 

Alex rolls his eyes.

“Now he thinks we hate him.” Carlos says.

—

“Logie you came!!” Oscar says as Logan walks with him on the sidewalk.

Logan nods, he doesn’t know how long he can last before he tears up.

“I missed you!!” Oscar smiles and hugs Logan. The positions are awkward since they’re both walking.

“You’re very drunk.” Logan comments.

“Just a few drinks.” Oscar says.

Logan nods.

—

The duo eventually get to Oscar’s room. Logan slowly leads Oscar over to his bed and sets him down. 

Logan hesitates asking a question he has been keeping in his head, he’s not very sure if Oscar would even know.

“What…” Logan starts, which piques Oscar’s interest, “What did they say about me?”

Oscar takes a deep breath, “Uhm, I don’t know, it was pretty blurry.”

“Yea… that’s okay then…”

Logan’s mind can’t help but replaying what the person said about him, and everything else. Lando’s comments, his race, the different things he’s heard people say about him.

Logan’s too tired for it, he unknowingly starts tearing up.

“Aw. Why are you sad. I’m sorry.” Oscar says.

Logan snaps back and quickly wipes away his tears. 

“No- Nothing.” Logan quickly assures.

“I’m sure they all love you!” Oscar does his attempt at comforting.

Logan chuckles dryly.

Oscar pushes himself up and hugs Logan. Logan’s a little surprised but he hugs back shortly after, gripping tightly.

He doesn’t want this to end. He wants to stay here. He doesn’t want to wake up tomorrow and not have Oscar anymore. 

Everything would’ve been so much easier if he wasn’t such a shitty driver.

“I love you.” Oscar says.

Logan doesn’t know what to say, but he starts tearing up again.

He knows Oscar doesn’t mean that. He’s said it a million times, only when he’s drunk. 

Logan sniffles, “Yea… yea I like to think you do.”

Oscar doesn’t fully process that so he just continues hugging Logan.

It doesn’t take long before Oscar’s back to lying on his bed and about to sleep. He looks at Logan one last time as Logan smiles and leaves the room.

Logan gets back to his room quickly and there, he cries.

His back is pressed against his door as he slowly descends to the floor.

He presses the bottom of his palms onto his eyelids.

This isn’t fair. Nothing is fair.

His mind is just a mess of all the flashbacks, all the things he’s heard today.

Logan was trying his best to be better, he really was. He put his effort into everything, but nothing ever good came back. 

He’s not a bad driver, right? 

He can hear his sobs echoing in the room.

Oscar loves him, right?

He would like to believe that.

Oscar only called him when he was drunk, Oscar only said “I love you” when he was drunk. Every other day was as if Oscar never knew who Logan was.

He wanted everything to just be in his favour for once.

Logan begged for that.