#LONDON 1812

[ask-de-writer]

I would like to thank Delightfully

EAGER BINGE READER

@furislupus​ for READING and LIKING

LONDON 1812

Science Fiction, Alternate History

[clove-pinks]

A gilded ship on the cover of The Square-rigged Cruiser, or Lorrain's Sea-sermons by Alfred M. Lorrain. This is the same War of 1812 veteran whose autobiography The Helm, the Sword, and the Cross describes his time at Fort Meigs.

Lorrain is clearly drawing on the "helm" portion of his experiences for his sermons, and an introduction to the book mentions the near-universal appeal of "every thing belonging to the watery world." I couldn't find anything in the text directly referencing his time as a soldier [ETA: there is a brief mention], but he made an interesting choice on the title page:

"Free grace and sailors' rights"??

"Free grace" is a reference to the Christian theology of God's blessings and salvation being a free gift, but more to the point it's an obvious riff on the American slogan Free Trade and Sailors' Rights that was a pro-war rallying cry during the War of 1812.

Lorrain's autobiography was written 10 years after The Square-rigged Cruiser, at the end of his life. Maybe he was still trying to make sense of his war experiences in 1853; it's obvious that he was traumatized by what happened at Fort Meigs. There's a shadow of war even in his book of sermons.

I can't help but compare Lorrain to another War of 1812 veteran whose trauma seeps into his writing: Captain Frederick Marryat. Some of the best parts of Diary in America are Marryat revisiting "the late war."

[eva-eyre]

thank you @mistressaccost for the tag! 💙

here’s the first ten songs that came on when i shuffled my spotify ‘on repeat’ playlist

1. Dust and Ashes — The Great Comet of 1812

2. Dance Macabre — Ghost

3. The Ballad of Sweeney Todd — Sweeney Todd

4. Cirice — Ghost

5. Spirit — Ghost

6. Lovesong — The Cure

7. Overture — Phantom of The Opera (alw musical)

8. Deus in Absentia — Ghost

9. Sacrifice — London after Midnight

10. Kiss the Go-Goat — Ghost

I tag @kissing-the-abyss @unamazing-sheep21 @brontes @burningvelvet @danielkahndyke

[asexualmusicalnerd]

First performance of great comet in London has been postponed due to needing more rehersal time. 😭😭😭 I managed to get opening night tickets as well, and now need to find a way to get another seat! Can't believe this, sobbing.

[sneepsnoopboopideeboop]

GREAT COMET COMING TO LONDON?!?!

[monkeyssalad-blog]

n262_w1150 by Biodiversity Heritage Library Via Flickr: A companion to Mr. Bullock's London Museum and Pantherion [London] :Printed for the proprietor,1812. biodiversitylibrary.org/page/28995358

[autumnstormsablowin]

ohmygod ohmygod how do i get to london holy shit

great comet west end this december who else is crying and shaking and screaming

[sparklycupcakegladiator]

Ein Diamant, der Leben fordert

Ein neuer spannender Fall für Sebastian St. Cyr Dieser Text kann Werbung enthalten Die Geschichte: Sebastian St. Cyr wird in seinem neuen Fall gebeten, in einem Mordfall zu ermitteln. Das Opfer: Daniel Eisler, berüchtigter Diamantenhändler mit Kontakten in die obersten Gesellschaftskreise. Verschwunden ist ein großer äußerst seltener blauer Diamant.  Russel Yates der, über die Leiche gebeugt…

[schmergo]

Historical house tours are so confusing. They’ll be like, “When we head upstairs, pay special attention to the Blue Room, where Colonel Thomas J. Shmoshington carved a suggestive message on the bedpost.”

And you’ll walk into a room with bright blue walls and be like, “Oh, I guess this is the Blue Room?”

And they’ll be like, “NO! This is the Red Room! It’s called the Red Room because of the red velvet curtains and canopy bed!” Then they take you into a white room with yellow floral wallpaper trim and go, “THIS is the Blue Room!”

And when you humbly ask why it’s called the Blue Room, they’ll scoff at you like you were born yesterday (rather than in 1789) and be like, “It’s called the Blue Room because it USED TO BE blue! The entire mansion is painstakingly restored to its appearance in the year 1812, which happens to fall during the two-year span in in which Abigail Shmaddison redid the room in white and yellow in a flight of fancy. After spending some time away in a sanitarium, she regained her senses and changed it back to blue. An archaeologist found an original scrap of the yellow wallpaper beneath 13 layers of paint and we were able to match it perfectly with this pattern, which was of course developed by Q.B. Zippitydoo & Sons in London and available for purchase only in 1812. Any more questions?”

So you hold your tongue until you enter a big green room that is so incredibly green that it can’t possibly be anything but the Green Room. It has acid green walls. It has bright green curtains. It has forest green tablecloths. There are ivy motifs carved in the ceiling. Cautiously, you venture, “So this is the Green Room?”

And they say, “NO! This is the parlor!”

[ask-de-writer]

I would like to thank Delightfully

EAGER BINGE READER

@furislupus​ for READING and LIKING

My whole MASTER STORY INDEX SECTION,

finishing off the MLP Fan Fiction

section moving on to Classical Fantasy

And from thence to Science Fiction

T'LASS’ QUESTION (Parts 3 to 4 of 4)

WAR DECLARED! 1812

SUBMARINE! 1812

LONDON 1812

Beginnings - Spies! 1812

Sir Clarion Maldimer - 1812

Finishing with the Alternate

History/Science Fiction, he moved on

to Dirkhan in the Desert

SLAG

The Treasure and the Serpent - a poem

Carnelian Carvings - the poem

CARNELIAN CARVINGS

THE  GOD'S FANGS

THE HOLY DAY

THE LOTTERY

IN THE DESERT

THE MERCHANT'S CURSE!

Finished with Dirkhan in the Desert

He moved on to the Bizarre Borderland

MAD - IRRITATED SCIENCE!

TRIGGER TREATS

MEETING WITH A STRANGER

GENII’S JUNK

[kramlabs]

Debt Trap Diplomacy in 1812

:

:::

:::

Lots of easy to spot errors here but interesting story:

[pensbridgerton]

On the sixth of April, in the year 1812—precisely two days before her sixteenth birthday—Penelope Featherington fell in love.

It was, in a word, thrilling. The world shook. Her heart leaped. The moment was breathtaking. And, she was able to tell herself with some satisfaction, the man in question—one Colin Bridgerton—felt precisely the same way. Oh, not the love part. He certainly didn’t fall in love with her in 1812 (and not in 1813, 1814, 1815, or—oh, blast, not in all the years 1816–1822, either, and certainly not in 1823, when he was out of the country the whole time, anyway). But his earth shook, his heart leaped, and Penelope knew without a shadow of a doubt that his breath was taken away as well.

For a good ten seconds.

Falling off a horse tended to do that to a man.

It happened thus:

She’d been out for a walk in Hyde Park with her mother and two older sisters when she felt a thunderous rumbling under her feet (see above: the bit about the earth shaking). Her mother wasn’t paying much attention to her (her mother rarely did), so Penelope slipped away for a moment to see what was about. The rest of the Featheringtons were in rapt conversation with Viscountess Bridgerton and her daughter Daphne, who had just begun her second season in London, so they were pretending to ignore the rumbling. The Bridgertons were an important family indeed, and conversations with them were not to be ignored.

As Penelope skirted around the edge of a particularly fat-trunked tree, she saw two riders coming her way, galloping along hell-for-leather or whatever expression people liked to use for fools on horseback who care not for their safety and well-being. Penelope felt her heart quicken (it would have been difficult to maintain a sedate pulse as a witness to such excitement, and besides, this allowed her to say that her heart leaped when she fell in love).

Then, in one of those inexplicable quirks of fate, the wind picked up quite suddenly and lifted her bonnet (which, much to her mother’s chagrin, she had not tied properly since the ribbon chafed under her chin) straight into the air and, splat! right onto the face of one of the riders.

Penelope gasped (taking her breath away!), and then the man fell off his horse, landing most inelegantly in a nearby mud puddle. She rushed forward, quite without thinking, squealing something that was meant to inquire after his welfare, but that she suspected came out as nothing more than a strangled shriek. He would, of course, be furious with her, since she’d effectively knocked him off his horse and covered him with mud—two things guaranteed to put any gentleman in the foulest of moods. But when he finally rose to his feet, brushing off whatever mud could be dislodged from his clothing, he didn’t lash out at her. He didn’t give her a stinging set-down, he didn’t yell, he didn’t even glare.

He laughed.

He laughed.

Penelope hadn’t much experience with the laughter of men, and what little she had known had not been kind. But this man’s eyes—a rather intense shade of green—were filled with mirth as he wiped a rather embarrassingly placed spot of mud off his cheek and said, “Well, that wasn’t very well done of me, was it?”

And in that moment, Penelope fell in love.

When she found her voice (which, she was pained to note, was a good three seconds after a person of any intelligence would have replied), she said, “Oh, no, it is I who should apologize! My bonnet came right off my head, and . . .”

She stopped talking when she realized he hadn’t actually apologized, so

there was little point in contradicting him.

“It was no trouble,” he said, giving her a somewhat amused smile. “I— Oh, good day, Daphne! Didn’t know you were in the park.”

Penelope whirled around to find herself facing Daphne Bridgerton, standing next to her mother, who promptly hissed, “What have you done, Penelope Featherington?” and Penelope couldn’t even answer with her

stock, Nothing, because in truth, the accident was completely her fault, and she’d just made a fool of herself in front of what was obviously—judging from the expression on her mother’s face—a very eligible bachelor indeed.

Not that her mother would have thought that she had a chance with him. But Mrs. Featherington held high matrimonial hopes for her older girls. Besides, Penelope wasn’t even “out” in society yet.

But if Mrs. Featherington intended to scold her any further, she was unable to do so, because that would have required that she remove her attention from the all-important Bridgertons, whose ranks, Penelope was quickly figuring out, included the man presently covered in mud.

“I hope your son isn’t injured,” Mrs. Featherington said to Lady Bridgerton.

“Right as rain,” Colin interjected, making an expert sidestep before Lady Bridgerton could maul him with motherly concern.

Introductions were made, but the rest of the conversation was unimportant, mostly because Colin quickly and accurately sized up Mrs. Featherington as a matchmaking mama. Penelope was not at all surprised when he beat a hasty retreat.

But the damage had already been done. Penelope had discovered a reason to dream.

Later that night, as she replayed the encounter for about the thousandth time in her mind, it occurred to her that it would have been nice if she could have said that she’d fallen in love with him as he kissed her hand before a dance, his green eyes twinkling devilishly while his fingers held hers just a little more tightly than was proper. Or maybe it could have happened as he rode boldly across a windswept moor, the (aforementioned) wind no deterrent as he (or rather, his horse) galloped ever closer, his (Colin’s, not the horse’s) only intention to reach her side.

But no, she had to go and fall in love with Colin Bridgerton when he fell off a horse and landed on his bottom in a mud puddle. It was highly irregular, and highly unromantic, but there was a certain poetic justice in that, since nothing was ever going to come of it.

Why waste romance on a love that would never be returned? Better to save the windswept-moor introductions for people who might actually have a future together.

And if there was one thing Penelope knew, even then, at the age of sixteen years minus two days, it was that her future did not feature Colin Bridgerton in the role of husband.

She simply wasn’t the sort of girl who attracted a man like him, and she feared that she never would be.

Romancing Mister Bridgerton - Prologue

[artschoolglasses]

Cotton dress, 1812-18

From the London Museum

[thebeautifulbook]

THE POETICAL WORKS OF ROBERT BROWNING WITH PORTRAITS by Robert Browning, 1812-1889. (London: Ballantyne, Hanson: 1899) Art binding in red morocco with gilt design of interweaved stems, flowers, and leaves. Gilt edges, gauffered with watercolor paintings of ships, a garden, and an aqueduct in arabesques by Fazakerley. with fore-edge and embossed cut edges.

[transbookoftheday]

Most Ardently by Gabe Cole Novoa

In the Remixed Classics series, authors from marginalized backgrounds reinterpret classic works through their own cultural lens to subvert the overwhelming cishet, white, and male canon. This bittersweet Pride & Prejudice remix follows a trans boy yearning for the freedom to live openly, centering queerness in a well-known story of longing and subverting society’s patriarchal and cisheteronormative expectations.

London, 1812. Oliver Bennet feels trapped. Not just by the endless corsets, petticoats and skirts he's forced to wear on a daily basis, but also by society's expectations. The world—and the vast majority of his family and friends—think Oliver is a girl named Elizabeth. He is therefore expected to mingle at balls wearing a pretty dress, entertain suitors regardless of his interest in them, and ultimately become someone's wife.

But Oliver can't bear the thought of such a fate. He finds solace in the few times he can sneak out of his family's home and explore the city rightfully dressed as a young gentleman. It's during one such excursion when Oliver becomes acquainted with Darcy, a sulky young man who had been rude to "Elizabeth" at a recent social function. But in the comfort of being out of the public eye, Oliver comes to find that Darcy is actually a sweet, intelligent boy with a warm heart. And not to mention incredibly attractive.

As Oliver is able to spend more time as his true self, often with Darcy, part of him dares begin to hope that his dream of love and life as a man to be possible. But suitors are growing bolder—and even threatening—and his mother is growing more desperate to see him settled into an engagement. Oliver will have to choose: Settle for safety, security, and a life of pretending to be something he's not, or risk it all for a slim chance at freedom, love, and a life that can be truly, honestly his own.

[viric-dreams]

1812: A sailor takes a routine trip to London, unaware that this would be the last time he'd ever see Flanders. Many lasts were soon to follow.

1861: A boy proudly joins on with the Royal Navy, signing his new name for the very first time. This is a first of many ill-advised decisions.

I can lie and say that the last ES has me thinking about what my characters looked like back on the surface, but it's actually because of a WIP sent to me by an artist I will not name.