#The year 1817 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lesmislettersdaily · 2 years ago

Text

The Year 1817

Volume 1: Fantine; Book 3: In The Year 1817; Chapter 1: The Year 1817

1817 is the year which Louis XVIII., with a certain royal assurance which was not wanting in pride, entitled the twenty-second of his reign. It is the year in which M. Bruguière de Sorsum was celebrated. All the hairdressers’ shops, hoping for powder and the return of the royal bird, were besmeared with azure and decked with fleurs-de-lys. It was the candid time at which Count Lynch sat every Sunday as church-warden in the church-warden’s pew of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, in his costume of a peer of France, with his red ribbon and his long nose and the majesty of profile peculiar to a man who has performed a brilliant action. The brilliant action performed by M. Lynch was this: being mayor of Bordeaux, on the 12th of March, 1814, he had surrendered the city a little too promptly to M. the Duke d’Angoulême. Hence his peerage. In 1817 fashion swallowed up little boys of from four to six years of age in vast caps of morocco leather with ear-tabs resembling Esquimaux mitres. The French army was dressed in white, after the mode of the Austrian; the regiments were called legions; instead of numbers they bore the names of departments; Napoleon was at St. Helena; and since England refused him green cloth, he was having his old coats turned. In 1817 Pelligrini sang; Mademoiselle Bigottini danced; Potier reigned; Odry did not yet exist. Madame Saqui had succeeded to Forioso. There were still Prussians in France. M. Delalot was a personage. Legitimacy had just asserted itself by cutting off the hand, then the head, of Pleignier, of Carbonneau, and of Tolleron. The Prince de Talleyrand, grand chamberlain, and the Abbé Louis, appointed minister of finance, laughed as they looked at each other, with the laugh of the two augurs; both of them had celebrated, on the 14th of July, 1790, the mass of federation in the Champ de Mars; Talleyrand had said it as bishop, Louis had served it in the capacity of deacon. In 1817, in the side-alleys of this same Champ de Mars, two great cylinders of wood might have been seen lying in the rain, rotting amid the grass, painted blue, with traces of eagles and bees, from which the gilding was falling. These were the columns which two years before had upheld the Emperor’s platform in the Champ de Mai. They were blackened here and there with the scorches of the bivouac of Austrians encamped near Gros-Caillou. Two or three of these columns had disappeared in these bivouac fires, and had warmed the large hands of the Imperial troops. The Field of May had this remarkable point: that it had been held in the month of June and in the Field of March (Mars). In this year, 1817, two things were popular: the Voltaire-Touquet and the snuff-box à la Charter. The most recent Parisian sensation was the crime of Dautun, who had thrown his brother’s head into the fountain of the Flower-Market.

They had begun to feel anxious at the Naval Department, on account of the lack of news from that fatal frigate, The Medusa, which was destined to cover Chaumareix with infamy and Géricault with glory. Colonel Selves was going to Egypt to become Soliman-Pasha. The palace of Thermes, in the Rue de La Harpe, served as a shop for a cooper. On the platform of the octagonal tower of the Hotel de Cluny, the little shed of boards, which had served as an observatory to Messier, the naval astronomer under Louis XVI., was still to be seen. The Duchesse de Duras read to three or four friends her unpublished Ourika, in her boudoir furnished by X. in sky-blue satin. The N’s were scratched off the Louvre. The bridge of Austerlitz had abdicated, and was entitled the bridge of the King’s Garden [du Jardin du Roi], a double enigma, which disguised the bridge of Austerlitz and the Jardin des Plantes at one stroke. Louis XVIII., much preoccupied while annotating Horace with the corner of his finger-nail, heroes who have become emperors, and makers of wooden shoes who have become dauphins, had two anxieties,—Napoleon and Mathurin Bruneau. The French Academy had given for its prize subject, The Happiness procured through Study. M. Bellart was officially eloquent. In his shadow could be seen germinating that future advocate-general of Broë, dedicated to the sarcasms of Paul-Louis Courier. There was a false Chateaubriand, named Marchangy, in the interim, until there should be a false Marchangy, named d’Arlincourt. Claire d’Albe and Malek-Adel were masterpieces; Madame Cottin was proclaimed the chief writer of the epoch. The Institute had the academician, Napoleon Bonaparte, stricken from its list of members. A royal ordinance erected Angoulême into a naval school; for the Duc d’Angoulême, being lord high admiral, it was evident that the city of Angoulême had all the qualities of a seaport; otherwise the monarchical principle would have received a wound. In the Council of Ministers the question was agitated whether vignettes representing slack-rope performances, which adorned Franconi’s advertising posters, and which attracted throngs of street urchins, should be tolerated. M. Paër, the author of Agnese, a good sort of fellow, with a square face and a wart on his cheek, directed the little private concerts of the Marquise de Sasenaye in the Rue Ville l’Évêque. All the young girls were singing the Hermit of Saint-Avelle, with words by Edmond Géraud. The Yellow Dwarf was transferred into Mirror. The Café Lemblin stood up for the Emperor, against the Café Valois, which upheld the Bourbons. The Duc de Berri, already surveyed from the shadow by Louvel, had just been married to a princess of Sicily. Madame de Staël had died a year previously. The body-guard hissed Mademoiselle Mars. The grand newspapers were all very small. Their form was restricted, but their liberty was great. The Constitutionnel was constitutional. La Minerve called Chateaubriand Chateaubriant. That t made the good middle-class people laugh heartily at the expense of the great writer. In journals which sold themselves, prostituted journalists, insulted the exiles of 1815.

David had no longer any talent, Arnault had no longer any wit, Carnot was no longer honest, Soult had won no battles; it is true that Napoleon had no longer any genius. No one is ignorant of the fact that letters sent to an exile by post very rarely reached him, as the police made it their religious duty to intercept them. This is no new fact; Descartes complained of it in his exile. Now David, having, in a Belgian publication, shown some displeasure at not receiving letters which had been written to him, it struck the royalist journals as amusing; and they derided the prescribed man well on this occasion. What separated two men more than an abyss was to say, the regicides, or to say the voters; to say the enemies, or to say the allies; to say Napoleon, or to say Buonaparte. All sensible people were agreed that the era of revolution had been closed forever by King Louis XVIII., surnamed “The Immortal Author of the Charter.” On the platform of the Pont-Neuf, the word Redivivus was carved on the pedestal that awaited the statue of Henry IV. M. Piet, in the Rue Thérèse, No. 4, was making the rough draft of his privy assembly to consolidate the monarchy. The leaders of the Right said at grave conjunctures, “We must write to Bacot.” MM. Canuel, O’Mahoney, and De Chappedelaine were preparing the sketch, to some extent with Monsieur’s approval, of what was to become later on “The Conspiracy of the Bord de l’Eau”—of the waterside. L’Épingle Noire was already plotting in his own quarter. Delaverderie was conferring with Trogoff. M. Decazes, who was liberal to a degree, reigned. Chateaubriand stood every morning at his window at No. 27 Rue Saint-Dominique, clad in footed trousers, and slippers, with a madras kerchief knotted over his gray hair, with his eyes fixed on a mirror, a complete set of dentist’s instruments spread out before him, cleaning his teeth, which were charming, while he dictated The Monarchy according to the Charter to M. Pilorge, his secretary. Criticism, assuming an authoritative tone, preferred Lafon to Talma. M. de Féletez signed himself A.; M. Hoffmann signed himself Z. Charles Nodier wrote Thérèse Aubert. Divorce was abolished. Lyceums called themselves colleges. The collegians, decorated on the collar with a golden fleur-de-lys, fought each other apropos of the King of Rome. The counter-police of the château had denounced to her Royal Highness Madame, the portrait, everywhere exhibited, of M. the Duc d’Orléans, who made a better appearance in his uniform of a colonel-general of hussars than M. the Duc de Berri, in his uniform of colonel-general of dragoons—a serious inconvenience. The city of Paris was having the dome of the Invalides regilded at its own expense. Serious men asked themselves what M. de Trinquelague would do on such or such an occasion; M. Clausel de Montals differed on divers points from M. Clausel de Coussergues; M. de Salaberry was not satisfied. The comedian Picard, who belonged to the Academy, which the comedian Molière had not been able to do, had The Two Philiberts played at the Odéon, upon whose pediment the removal of the letters still allowed THEATRE OF THE EMPRESS to be plainly read. People took part for or against Cugnet de Montarlot. Fabvier was factious; Bavoux was revolutionary. The Liberal, Pélicier, published an edition of Voltaire, with the following title: Works of Voltaire, of the French Academy. “That will attract purchasers,” said the ingenious editor. The general opinion was that M. Charles Loyson would be the genius of the century; envy was beginning to gnaw at him—a sign of glory; and this verse was composed on him:—

“Even when Loyson steals, one feels that he has paws.”

As Cardinal Fesch refused to resign, M. de Pins, Archbishop of Amasie, administered the diocese of Lyons. The quarrel over the valley of Dappes was begun between Switzerland and France by a memoir from Captain, afterwards General Dufour. Saint-Simon, ignored, was erecting his sublime dream. There was a celebrated Fourier at the Academy of Science, whom posterity has forgotten; and in some garret an obscure Fourier, whom the future will recall. Lord Byron was beginning to make his mark; a note to a poem by Millevoye introduced him to France in these terms: a certain Lord Baron. David d’Angers was trying to work in marble. The Abbé Caron was speaking, in terms of praise, to a private gathering of seminarists in the blind alley of Feuillantines, of an unknown priest, named Félicité-Robert, who, at a latter date, became Lamennais. A thing which smoked and clattered on the Seine with the noise of a swimming dog went and came beneath the windows of the Tuileries, from the Pont Royal to the Pont Louis XV.; it was a piece of mechanism which was not good for much; a sort of plaything, the idle dream of a dream-ridden inventor; an utopia—a steamboat. The Parisians stared indifferently at this useless thing. M. de Vaublanc, the reformer of the Institute by a coup d’état, the distinguished author of numerous academicians, ordinances, and batches of members, after having created them, could not succeed in becoming one himself. The Faubourg Saint-Germain and the pavilion de Marsan wished to have M. Delaveau for prefect of police, on account of his piety. Dupuytren and Récamier entered into a quarrel in the amphitheatre of the School of Medicine, and threatened each other with their fists on the subject of the divinity of Jesus Christ. Cuvier, with one eye on Genesis and the other on nature, tried to please bigoted reaction by reconciling fossils with texts and by making mastodons flatter Moses.

M. François de Neufchâteau, the praiseworthy cultivator of the memory of Parmentier, made a thousand efforts to have pomme de terre [potato] pronounced parmentière, and succeeded therein not at all. The Abbé Grégoire, ex-bishop, ex-conventionary, ex-senator, had passed, in the royalist polemics, to the state of “Infamous Grégoire.” The locution of which we have made use—passed to the state of—has been condemned as a neologism by M. Royer Collard. Under the third arch of the Pont de Jéna, the new stone with which, the two years previously, the mining aperture made by Blücher to blow up the bridge had been stopped up, was still recognizable on account of its whiteness. Justice summoned to its bar a man who, on seeing the Comte d’Artois enter Notre Dame, had said aloud: “Sapristi! I regret the time when I saw Bonaparte and Talma enter the Bel Sauvage, arm in arm.” A seditious utterance. Six months in prison. Traitors showed themselves unbuttoned; men who had gone over to the enemy on the eve of battle made no secret of their recompense, and strutted immodestly in the light of day, in the cynicism of riches and dignities; deserters from Ligny and Quatre-Bras, in the brazenness of their well-paid turpitude, exhibited their devotion to the monarchy in the most barefaced manner.

This is what floats up confusedly, pell-mell, for the year 1817, and is now forgotten. History neglects nearly all these particulars, and cannot do otherwise; the infinity would overwhelm it. Nevertheless, these details, which are wrongly called trivial,—there are no trivial facts in humanity, nor little leaves in vegetation,—are useful. It is of the physiognomy of the years that the physiognomy of the centuries is composed. In this year of 1817 four young Parisians arranged “a fine farce.”

#les mis #les mis letters #volume 1: fantine #book 3: in the year 1817 #chapter 1

13 notes · View notes

coralreeferband · 10 months ago

Text

I respect Victor Hugo because no one else is brave enough to write a chapter that’s just a list of all the stuff they know about a particular year

#the year 1817 is essentially just a wall of text #I appreciate its valuable context but also like….ok bud thanks

0 notes

fremedon · 2 years ago

Text

If you are interested in even more notes, The Siècle podcast annotated this chapter !

Today's Les Mis Letters, 1.3.1, "The Year 1817," has a full 87 notes in the Rose translation. I'm not sure I have the fortitude for this...

#1.3.1 #the year 1817

12 notes · View notes

pilferingapples · 2 years ago

Note

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!

#LM 1.3.1 #The Year 1817 #when it was 1817

7 notes · View notes

writingwithcolor · 1 year ago

Text

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

#Black #terms #words #historical fiction #Black history #Creator Responsibility #racial slurs #slurs #asks

2K notes · View notes

burningvelvet · 1 year ago

Text

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

2K notes · View notes

milk-tea-sakura · 3 months ago

Text

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

𝘜𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 - 𝘠/𝘯: "𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦." 𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯: "…𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘸."

𝓒𝔀: 𝓑𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼, 𝓯𝓮𝓶! 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻, 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓼𝓲𝓬𝓴 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼, 𝓯𝓵𝓾𝓯𝓯

𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 1817

𝓔𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮: 7 𝓶𝓲𝓷 6 𝓼𝓮𝓬

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

Bangchan walked through the park alongside Y/n, their shoulders brushing as they strolled. The sun was setting, and the sky was painted with hues of orange and pink.

Bangchan turned to look at Y/n, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You know, you look beautiful in this light," he said, his voice low and smooth.

Y/n blushed, ducking her head. "Thanks," she said, feeling a flicker of something unfamiliar in her chest.

As they continued to walk, Bangchan couldn't help but notice how Y/n's hair shone in the setting sun and how her laughter seemed to fill the air with a melody. He had always found her attractive, and over the years, his feelings for her had grown into something more than friendship.

Y/n was feeling equally conflicted. She had always known Bangchan as a close friend, someone she could trust and rely on. But lately, his words and actions towards her had been different - more romantic, almost. She found herself blushing more frequently at his compliments and seeking his company more often.

As they reached a bench, Bangchan gestured for Y/n to sit down. He sat down next to her, their legs touching slightly.

"I have to tell you something," he said, his voice suddenly serious.

Y/n looked at him, surprised. "What is it?" she asked, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest.

Bangchan took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "I...I don't know how to say this, but...I've been feeling something for you," he said, his eyes fixed on her face.

“This sounds like you’re flirting with me.” Y/n says as she looks over to Bangchan. “...I’ve been trying to do that for three years now.” Bangchan says back.

Y/n blinked, her mind scrambling to process his words. "You...you've been flirting with me for three years?" she repeated, disbelief mixing with budding hope.

Bangchan nodded, a sheepish smile on his face. "Yeah. I've been trying to drop hints and show you how I feel, but I guess I'm not very good at it," he said, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

Y/n couldn't help but laugh at his confession. "Wow, I had no idea. No one's ever tried to flirt with me so subtly before," she said, still trying to wrap her head around the fact that her best friend had been secretly flirting with her for years.

Bangchan chuckled, relieved that she was taking it well. "Yeah, I didn't want to scare you or make things weird," he explained. "But I couldn't keep it to myself anymore. I needed to tell you how I feel."

Y/n was silent for a moment as she processed everything. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. On one hand, she wanted to be happy that someone as wonderful as Bangchan had been silently pining after her for years. On the other hand, she felt a nagging worry that things might change between them now that their feelings were out in the open.

Bangchan seemed to sense her hesitation. "Y/n, you don't have to say anything right now," he said, reaching out to take her hand. "I just needed to get it off my chest. And if you don't feel the same, that's okay. I'm happy to just be your friend."

Y/n's heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest. The touch of his hand on hers sent a flutter of emotions through her body. She looked at him, seeing the mixture of hope and uncertainty in his eyes.

"It's not that I don't feel something," Y/n spoke carefully, her words measured. "It's just...I never thought you saw me that way. You're one of my closest friends, and I don't want to ruin what we have."

Bangchan nodded, understanding her concerns. "I know, I feel the same way," he said, his thumb stroking her skin. "But I also know that I couldn't go on pretending to just be your friend when I feel so much more. I had to take the risk."

Y/n looked down at their hands, intertwined on the bench. She took a moment to really consider her feelings. Her heart was a maelstrom of conflicting emotions, but one thing was clear: she cared deeply for Bangchan. She cared for him more than just a friend.

Y/n speaks up, "I... I like you too." Y/n confesses.

Bangchan's eyes widened at her words, a mix of surprise and joy on his face. He had hoped for this, but hearing her say it sent a wave of happiness coursing through him.

"Really?" he asked, his voice soft. "You're not just saying that because I just confessed?"

Y/n shook her head, a smile growing on her lips. "No, I'm not," she said, her voice steady. "I've been feeling something for you for a while now, but I was just as confused and scared as you to say anything."

Bangchan's heart felt like it was soaring. He couldn't believe that this was happening, that his secret feelings were reciprocated. He squeezed her hand slightly, his thumb tracing patterns on her skin. "I'm glad you feel the same. For a while, I was worried I was going crazy, feeling these things for my best friend," he admitted with a chuckle.

Y/n laughed softly, "I know what you mean. I felt so silly getting all flustered whenever you were around. And I could never figure out if you were actually flirting with me or just being friendly."

Bangchan grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, most of those were definitely intentional attempts at flirting," he said, chuckling. "I was testing the waters, trying to see if you'd pick up on it."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on her lips. "You sneaky devil," she teased. "You had me all puzzled, trying to figure out your strange behavior."

Bangchan chuckled again, his shoulders shaking. "Well, it looks like my cunning plan worked," he said, his tone lighthearted. "After three years of subtle flirting, I finally got you to admit you like me back."

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully, shaking her head in mock exasperation. "You're insufferable, you know that?" she said, though her words were without malice. She found his self-satisfaction endearing. "But yeah, your plan worked. Congrats, Chan."

Bangchan wiggled his eyebrows at her. "I should get some credit for my persistence," he said, a playful smirk on his lips. "Three years of flirting is a lot time invested, you know."

"What would you like then? Me being your girlfriend?" Y/n jokes to Chan.

Bangchan pretended to think for a moment, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Hmmm...I suppose that would be a suitable reward for my years of effort," he said dramatically, leaning back against the bench. "You being my girlfriend - yes, I think that will do nicely."

Y/n couldn't help but laugh at his overacted response. But the thought of being his girlfriend made her heart flutter. "Well, in that case, I guess I have no choice but to officially agree to be your girlfriend," she said, jokingly feigning reluctance.

Bangchan smiled widely, unable to contain his joy. "I'm glad you've decided to give in to my charms," he teased, pulling her closer to him on the bench.

As the night continued, the two of them talked and laughed like old times, but the undercurrent of their new romantic feelings added a thrilling element to their banter. When the sky grew dark, Bangchan walked Y/n home, holding her hand the entire way.

As they reached her doorstep, they paused, both reluctant for the night to end.

"This was a great night," Bangchan said, still holding her hand.

"It really was," Y/n agreed, leaning against her door. She looked at him, feeling a mix of emotions - excitement, nervousness, and a deep affection. "So, officially I'm your girlfriend now, right?" she asked, a smile playing on her lips.

Bangchan grinned, stepping closer to her. "Officially my girlfriend," he affirmed, his voice softer now. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his touch gentle.

Y/n's heart skipped a beat at his tender gesture. She felt a wave of warmth spread through her. "Well, I guess I should get inside," she said reluctantly.

Bangchan nodded, equally reluctant to end the night. "Yeah, I should head back too," he said, but he didn't move away. He was standing mere inches from her, the closeness making her breath hitch.

They stood there for a moment, neither wanting to break the spell. Y/n's eyes kept drifting to his lips, wondering what they'd feel like against hers. Bangchan's gaze was fixed on her face, his eyes dark with an unmistakeable desire.

Finally, Bangchan spoke, his voice low and hoarse. "Can I..." he began, then he cleared his throat and started again, "Can I kiss you goodnight?"

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest at his words. She had been waiting for him to ask, her own longing mirrored in his eyes. "Yes," she breathed, her voice almost a whisper.

Bangchan didn't need any more encouragement. He stepped closer, closing the small gap between them. One hand came up to cup her face, his other arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her against him. His eyes met hers for a brief moment before he leaned down, his lips gently pressing against hers.

The kiss was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure through Y/n's body. Her eyes fluttered closed and she leaned into him, one hand coming up to clutch his shirt. The feeling of being against him, his strong arms holding her close, was intoxicating. The kiss deepened, both of them losing themselves in the sensation.

When they finally pulled away, breathless and a little dizzy, Bangchan rested his forehead against hers. "God, I've wanted to do that for so long," he murmured, his fingers tracing feather-light patterns along her cheek.

Y/n nodded, her eyes still closed as she tried to catch her breath. "Me too," she agreed. "I can't believe it took us this long." They stood there, still in each other's arms, trying to calm their racing hearts.

Finally, Bangchan reluctantly withdrew, his hands lingering on her waist. "I should really go," he said, though his tone was anything but decisive.

Y/n nodded, equally reluctant to let him go. "Yeah, it's getting late," she agreed.

They exchanged a lingering look, silently saying goodbye for the night. Finally, Bangchan took a step back, breaking the connection. "Goodnight, y/n," he said, his voice carrying a hint of regret.

“Goodnight, lover boy” Y/n jokes as she turned to head inside. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, and text me when you get home, please.”

#skz #stray kids x y/n #stray kids #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #straykids x reader #straykids #bang chan #bangchan x you #bangchan moodboard #bangchan x reader #bangchan fluff #bang chan imagines #bang chan x reader #straykids x y/n #straykids x you

399 notes · View notes

inlovewithregencyera · 10 months ago

Text

My Fair Lady: Alexandrine 1820's Dress

Alexandrine, an early 1820's Dress for your regency ladies.

I've decided for every set or series of dresses I make they'll be a part of a collection called 'My Fair Lady'. I will release more dresses and sets from different eras in the future : ) I have a late baroque big set that'll be coming towards the end of the month.

This is a frankenmesh of a dress from @peebsplays & @historicalsimslife

BGC, with multiple swatches

I'd like to add that the dress comes plain without any flowers or added jewels. I used flowers and jewels from @acanthus-sims @royaltysimblr and @batsfromwesteros

Now I say it's 1820s as the silhouette aligns more with the silhouette of the years 1820-1822 but in reality, this could work from about 1817-1823

Pics of dresses from my Pinterest board from 1817-1823 : )

DOWNLOAD

#ts4 regency #sims 4 regency #regency sims 4 #sims 4 historical #simblr #sims 4 regency era #historical sims 4 #historical cc #my cc #regency ts4 #historical sims

417 notes · View notes

petermorwood · 11 months ago

Text

Potato Crisps / Chips on Tasting History

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

youtube

...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...

#food and drink #potato crisps #game chips #Tasting History with Max Miller #Diane Duane #Reading one book is like...#...like eating one potato chip #wise words maxims and apothegms #Youtube

607 notes · View notes

w--zii · 9 months ago

Text

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.

#choi seungcheol #scoups #choi seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #seungcheol x reader #jeon wonwoo #jeon wonwoo x reader #wonwoo #wonwoo x reader #wonu x reader #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #seventeen smut #wonwoo smut #scoups smut #seventeen scenarios #seventeen drabbles

371 notes · View notes