#he's quite clever and insightful!

[notebooks-and-laptops]

God I love Wrex. He's genuinely so insightful. Whenever I took him with me he's nearly ALWAYS the one who knew before it was obvious that we were heading into an ambush or that something wasn't quite right. When we met Vigil Wrex was the one who said as we headed down that he didn't think what was happening was Sarens doing. He says he knew Saren wasn't a good guy when he met him prior to the events of the game and he met him once for a few minutes. He speaks about only being good for fighting; but he was genuinely trying to do something about the genophage before he had to leave his planet AND he still DEEPLY cares about trying to fix it now even if he tells you it's a lost cause because krogans are too focused on other things. He claims his species is best at war and not things like science but he's just!! So clever and he clearly KNOWS on some level that a lot of what the Krogan experience is is based on their subjection/treatment in the galaxy. He enjoys jobs where his opponent is smart and good at what they do; and he is smart enough to be crafty and manipulate individuals such as when he got an employer to pay him to be a guard even AFTER he failed to kill the guy he was sent after. He is grumpy, but he cares about Shepard and he cares about stopping Saren. He's cynical and not sure that things can change for the better but he's also got this little nugget of hope in him that comes out so strongly at times. I love him. Best alien. Smart little guy. Best friend.

[disregardcanon]

finally got to see sweeney todd live (seen the movie and a few boots) and i have some Thoughts about utilizing sexism in your setting without the writing itself being sexist. because sweeney todd is SO good at it.

if you haven't seen sweeney todd, uh, both spoilers and trigger warnings for sexual assault, murder, cannibalism etc?

in sweeney todd we have three critical female characters

the entirety of sweeney todd happens because a man with wealth and power decides that he wants to rape benjamin barker's wife. he makes up a sham crime to get benjamin out of the picture and ships the man off to australia. this leaves young lucy as a single mother in victorian london.

he horrificly and publicly rapes her in a setting where other people jeer and laugh during the act. eventually she tries to poison herself, and the combination of poverty and cruelty is left to fend for herself on the streets, slowly losing her grip on reality due to the past trauma, ongoing trauma, and presumably brain damage from the poisoning.

when her husband, now calling himself sweeney todd, returns to their street, she is quite literally still there. he's cruel to her even before he "learns" from mrs. lovett that lucy died. the absolute revulsion he experienced towards her due to her being a homeless woman blinded him to even the possibility that this person who is in the right location could be his wife, even before she's "confirmed" as dead. she's just his beautiful, lost ideal. (but she isn't. she's there she's suffering she's insightful and caring and she's THERE-)

sweeney and lucy's daughter, joanna, has been stolen and locked away by the very judge that sent him to australia and raped her mother. she's spent all sixteen of her years confined to a single room, and the moment she catches the attentions of our young hero, the man she calls FATHER decides that he must marry her.

forcefully.

when she presents resistance and tries to run off with her young man, her captor forces her into an asylum where she will wait until she decides to become his wife the way that he is "owed".

sweeney never once acts to save her, despite both mrs. lovett and our hero's prompting. she, again, is the lost ideal. she would remind him too much of his lost love! oh no, however could he stand it! she is just something to mourn, even though she is here. breathing. singing frantically longing for freedom making connections with others and clever choices-

and then we have mrs. lovett, his wonderful, conniving soulmate. she's hilarious! she's far more clever than anyone gives her credit for, because she's just a silly woman after all! she snorts! she tells bad jokes! she's kind to children!

the dynamic between her and tobias only works so well because she's a woman. even if mr. todd was kind to him in a very similar manner, little boys don't show their affection for grown men with I Must Protect This Person. that is a way that little boys are taught to show their affection for the older women in their lives. because their grans and mums and aunts and older sisters, why, they're just so delicate! so kind! grandpas and dads and uncles and older brothers might need help and deference, but their favorite women need protection.

they can't be aware of the terrible things that are happening, or god forbid, a PARTICIPANT! that's just my auntie nelly! she's not capable of such a thing. she says things like "poor thing" and tells silly, bad jokes, and flutters around after the man she has an unrequited crush on.

surely she can't be in on this dastardly plot! she can't be its true author! the one that takes an angry, short-sighted man and gives him a purpose. that would be absurd!

sweeney never suspects her until seconds before he kills her. toby never suspects her at all. she's just a silly little cook with a crush that needs protection after all.

[meanbossart]

Hey, I was just thinking about Drow as a companion, you've talked a little about what you think he would be like. Have you thought about how he would act at the goblin vs. the tiefling party in act one?

Good question! Supporting the grove happens to be one of those unambiguously good choices that he is 100% behind. He finds Khaga (and the druids in general) to be insufferable, despises Minthara because she's a drow and a cultist, and most importantly cares about the tiefling children's safety. Because of this, he will likely be unhappy about the grove being raided... Yet, not enough to leave the party or strongly challenge a Tav on it. Massacring the grove would sate that blood-lust in himself, and he would draw pleasure from it, despite it going against his bare-bones morality. DU drow would be too conflicted about his own feelings about it to express himself strongly one way or another after the deed is done, kind of like Shadowheart reacts to the whole ordeal.

If you save the grove, you will find him sampling from Mol's secret wine stash. Mol tells you they cut a deal and you can either pay her the 100 gold you "owe" her for his antics, or tell her to sod off.

You can then find DU drow hidden away and drinking himself into a stupor. He's still coherent but occasionally slurring his words, clearly a really experienced drunk. He talks about Mol, how he thinks she's a riot and just thought he'd teach her a valuable lesson about business. If you ask him why he's isolated himself, he will jokingly say he's too humble to be showered in all this praise. You can succeed an insight check to find out that he's nervous about something.

If you ask what he thinks about what you've done, he's expresses indifference about the adults but, again, that he's glad the children are okay.

Tav: You're drinking like a man with a guilty conscience. Just to remind you - we're the good guys tonight. The drow: (Scoffs) The hellspawn aren't making it far. They are too... too bright-eyed. We've only put-off the inevitable. ...I only lament the fates of the children. The little sods didn't choose this life. Tav: They're clever enough. I'm sure they'll be alright. The drow: Cleverness can only get you so far. They're still little.

You can trigger his romance here, but you can't have sex with him yet. Through being flirtatious but not pushy he will promise you to pick this up another time, when he's not quite so indisposed. The scene would trigger during the next event-less long-rest.

In the goblin party, on the other hand, he will be found standing at his tent as normal. He's sober and there's no nervousness to be uncovered through any checks, in fact, he doesn't seem to be in too foul a mood - but he does treat you with a degree of coldness.

Tav: You seem a little pouty. Don't tell me you're sour about a few dozen dead tieflings. The drow: Not at all - the ceremony was quite lovely, I'm just finding the reception to be... Lackluster. Tav: Oh - the goblins aren't worth your company, your highness? The drow: They aren't even worth roasting for supper. To make no comment of the head-fanatic - you'd be spewing her out both ends for days, if you chose to indulge.

As long as you don't antagonize him for his diarrhea joke, you get to actually have sex with him that very night as well as trigger the romance.

As an addition - if he's in your party he will actually kill Minthara when she tries to turn against you in the middle of the night. You still have to fight all of the goblins after this, but she will have her throat slit by him during the cutscene. This means you can only recruit both of them if you knock her out at the goblin camp.

[satellite-evans]

The Artist

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: sometimes, an artist is far more interesting than the art itself.

Word count: 5.4k

Warnings: fluff, angst? Anthony not being able to mind his own business, briefly mention of parents passing away

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

Lady Danbury’s soirées were the heart of the social season—part chessboard, part battlefield, where every glance and whisper held strategic importance. Benedict Bridgerton, however, approached such gatherings as an observer rather than a player. He found the art on the walls more captivating than the posturing of the ton.

Wandering through Lady Danbury’s grand halls, Benedict stopped before a painting of a turbulent sea, his thoughts briefly drifting to his own half-finished sketches. A voice interrupted him, sharp and vibrant.

“It’s ambitious, but overworked. The sea churns, but the emotion feels... manufactured.”

He turned to see her: a young woman standing a few steps away, her posture poised yet unguarded. She wore her beauty with an effortless confidence, her eyes a vivid storm of intellect and intrigue. She wasn’t like the other women at the ball, fluttering fans and batting lashes. She observed the world with precision, as though she’d already decided it was hers to command.

“An intriguing critique,” Benedict replied, his interest piqued. “Though perhaps the chaos was intentional. Sometimes life demands a lack of restraint.”

Her gaze flicked to him, assessing. “Chaos is compelling, but it must be tempered with truth. This, Mr. Bridgerton, is a performance.”

“You know my name,” he noted, smiling. “You have the advantage over me, Miss...?”

“Y/N,” she said, a hint of amusement in her tone. “And I find that knowing one’s audience is the first rule of any conversation.”

He inclined his head. “A lesson I’ll remember. Tell me, Miss Y/N, are you always this direct?”

Her lips curved into a subtle smile, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she turned back to the painting. “Do you sketch? You look at this piece as though you’re searching for something beyond the surface.”

Benedict blinked, surprised by her insight. “I do, though I’ve yet to create anything worth showing. You?”

“I paint,” she admitted, her voice softening. “But my work isn’t for the ton’s galleries. Some things are too personal to display.”

“Now you’ve made me curious,” he said, stepping closer. “What would it take to see one of your pieces?”

She tilted her head, her gaze teasing. “Persistence. But I should warn you—I am not easily impressed.”

Benedict smiled, already intrigued by the challenge. “Good. I prefer earning my victories.”

Before she could respond, Lady Danbury’s voice carried through the hall. “Ah, Benedict, I see you’ve met Miss Y/N. And what do you think of her opinions? Sharp as a rapier, aren’t they?”

Benedict glanced at Y/N, his expression warm. “Quite sharp, indeed. But rapier wit is vastly preferable to dull pleasantries.”

Lady Danbury chuckled. “I agree. Well, don’t let me interrupt. Though, Y/N, your brother Charles is looking for you. Something about the carriage.”

At the mention of her brother, Y/N’s composure shifted slightly. “Thank you, Lady Danbury. I’ll find him shortly.”

As Lady Danbury swept away, Benedict offered Y/N a small bow. “Will you grant me the honor of a dance before you leave?”

“Perhaps,” she replied, her eyes glinting with amusement. “If you’re persistent enough.”

Before Benedict could craft a suitably clever reply, a deep voice broke through the moment. “Y/N, it’s getting late.”

Both turned to see a tall man striding toward them, his posture commanding yet measured. He was dressed impeccably, the weight of responsibility apparent in his expression. His resemblance to Y/N—sharp features and the same striking eyes—was unmistakable.

Charles stopped beside them and inclined his head politely toward Benedict before addressing his sister. “The hour grows late, and I believe Lady Danbury is beginning to hint that the soirée is winding down.”

Y/N offered her brother a cool yet affectionate look. “You always did have an impeccable sense of timing, Charles.”

Benedict, recovering quickly, stepped forward with a polite bow. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. Benedict Bridgerton.”

Charles’s gaze sharpened slightly at the name before he returned the bow with measured precision. “Charles Y/L/N, Earl of Whitestone.”

Benedict’s eyebrows lifted in recognition, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Whitestone? I believe my brother, Anthony, has spoken of you. He mentioned you were recently elevated to the title.”

Charles gave a brief nod, his tone guarded but civil. “Anthony and I have known each other for some years. He’s a good man, and an excellent Viscount.”

“As I’m certain you’re an excellent Earl,” Benedict replied smoothly, sensing the protective edge to Charles’s demeanor.

The corner of Charles’s mouth twitched upward, though he remained composed. “I do what I can, though the title comes with its share of burdens. And you, Mr. Bridgerton, seem to have a knack for engaging my sister in conversation.”

Benedict chuckled lightly, inclining his head toward Y/N. “Your sister is an extraordinary conversationalist, my lord. I find myself quite fortunate to have made her acquaintance tonight.”

Charles’s gaze flicked to Y/N, who appeared unruffled by the exchange but wore a faint smile of amusement. “Fortunate, indeed,” Charles said evenly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I believe it’s time to depart. Y/N?”

Y/N turned back to Benedict, her expression unreadable but her tone cordial. “Thank you for the discussion, Mr. Bridgerton. Perhaps we’ll meet again, should the occasion allow.”

Benedict bowed, his tone warm. “I certainly hope so, Miss Y/N.”

As Charles and Y/N walked toward their waiting carriage, Benedict watched them leave, his thoughts lingering on the sharp wit and quiet allure of Y/N.

Charles, walking slightly ahead of his sister, cast a glance back toward Benedict, then murmured to her, “He seems taken with you.”

Y/N’s lips curved faintly as she replied, “Let him be. I’m hardly an easy conquest.”

Charles smirked faintly, his tone fond but serious. “Good. Just remember, Y/N, you’re worth far more than simple flattery and fleeting interest.”

Y/N nodded, her gaze forward but her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

The clatter of carriage wheels echoed faintly as Charles and Y/N made their way back to their townhouse. The dim glow of gas lamps illuminated the streets, casting fleeting shadows across Charles’s pensive expression.

“You like him,” Charles remarked, breaking the companionable silence. His voice was even, but his words were laced with a quiet observation.

Y/N glanced at her brother, her expression unreadable. “He’s intriguing. Sharp-witted. But liking someone, Charles, is a luxury I can ill afford.”

Charles leaned back in his seat, watching her carefully. “Luxury or not, you seemed more yourself tonight than I’ve seen in months. There’s no harm in entertaining the idea—provided you remain cautious.”

Y/N’s gaze softened at her brother’s concern. “I appreciate your vigilance, my dear Earl of Whitestone. But let’s not rush to paint him as either hero or villain. Men of his world are not often held to the same scrutiny as women of ours.”

“True,” Charles admitted, tilting his head slightly. “But Anthony Bridgerton isn’t one to speak highly of a man without reason. If his brother is half as principled, I’d consider him worth the risk.”

Y/N’s lips twitched at his words. “Risk, indeed. But enough about Mr. Bridgerton. We’ve our own affairs to manage, and I’m certain our tenants won’t care for my musings about art or charm.”

Charles nodded, though he noted the faint pink flush that crept up her neck as she turned toward the window.

As the Whitestone carriage disappeared into the darkness, Benedict stood at the edge of the Danbury estate, his gaze lingering on the path where Y/N had vanished. The warmth of the evening had cooled, but he hardly noticed the chill. His mind replayed their conversation—the sharp wit in her words, the spark in her eyes when she spoke of art, and the measured grace with which she had danced around his charm.

“Y/N,” he murmured softly, as if testing the sound of her name. It felt as striking as the woman herself, an enigma he couldn’t easily solve.

Lady Danbury’s sharp voice startled him from his reverie. “Well, Mr. Bridgerton, if you plan to stand out there all night, you might as well help me escort the remaining stragglers to their carriages.”

Benedict turned, an easy smile masking his contemplative mood. “I was merely enjoying the view, Lady Danbury. Your soiree is, as always, a triumph.”

Her keen eyes narrowed with amusement. “And yet your gaze was fixed on the road, not my ballroom. That young lady certainly left an impression.”

Benedict didn’t deny it. “She’s remarkable,” he admitted, more to himself than to Lady Danbury.

“Be careful with that one,” the older woman warned, though her tone was fond. “She has depth. And depth demands substance in return.”

Benedict inclined his head, her words sinking in. As much as he relished the challenge, he realized he wanted more than a fleeting encounter.

The ride home was a quiet one. Benedict sat in the carriage, the sounds of horses’ hooves a steady rhythm that gave his thoughts space to wander.

He’d encountered many women in his time—clever debutantes, bold widows, and those who wore charm like armor. But Y/N was different. There was a quiet power in her deflections, a vulnerability hidden behind her sharp observations.

His mind lingered on her smile, fleeting yet warm, and the way her brother, Charles, had watched over her like a hawk. Benedict respected that protectiveness—it spoke of loyalty, of family bonds he deeply valued.

When he finally reached the familiar halls of his family home, the house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of old wood and the soft rustle of wind through the trees outside. He retired to his room, but sleep eluded him.

Instead, he sketched—rough outlines of Y/N’s features, her poised stance, the energy in her eyes as she critiqued the painting at Lady Danbury’s. Each stroke of charcoal carried with it an urgency, an attempt to capture the essence of someone who refused to be defined.

By the time dawn’s light began to filter through his window, Benedict set the sketch aside, his resolve clear.

“I’ll see her again,” he murmured, more determined than he’d been in years.

The following morning, the Bridgerton family gathered around the long dining table, sunlight streaming through the tall windows. Despite the sumptuous spread of fruit, fresh-baked pastries, and piping hot tea, all eyes were on Benedict.

“Who was she?” Eloise asked bluntly, buttering her toast with unnecessary vigor. “Lady Whistledown was positively tantalized.”

Benedict sighed, taking a deliberate sip of tea. “Good morning to you too, Eloise.”

“Don’t dodge the question,” Daphne chimed in with a knowing smile. “It’s not every day Lady Whistledown dedicates an entire paragraph to your exploits.”

Anthony leaned back in his chair, an eyebrow raised. “Y/N Y/L/N, wasn’t it? I believe her brother, Charles, is the new Earl of Whitestone. Solid reputation, though he keeps to himself since inheriting the title.”

Benedict nodded, setting down his cup. “The very same. I had the pleasure of speaking with her—she’s sharp, insightful, and refreshingly candid.”

“And beautiful?” Colin teased, his grin wide.

“Extremely,” Benedict replied without hesitation, earning a round of laughter.

Anthony’s amusement faded slightly as he regarded his brother with a calculating look. “Charles is an old acquaintance of mine. We crossed paths during the early years of our titles. A good man, but fiercely protective of his family. Tread carefully, Benedict.”

“Always,” Benedict said, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of determination.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the grass of Whitestone’s modest garden, a sketchpad balanced on her lap. The cool breeze carried with it the faint scent of lavender from the nearby hedgerows, mingling with the crisp aroma of her graphite pencils. The gardens were her sanctuary—a reprieve from society’s endless noise and expectations. Today, her focus was on a half-finished drawing of a willow tree bending gracefully over the garden pond. Yet, as much as she tried to focus, her thoughts drifted back to Benedict Bridgerton.

She had replayed their exchanges from Lady Danbury’s soiree countless times in her mind. His words had been genuine, his curiosity sincere. Yet it was his gaze that lingered in her memory—the way his eyes softened when he listened to her critiques of the art, as though he truly saw her and not just another face in the crowd. Y/N frowned slightly, annoyed at her own vulnerability. He’s intriguing, certainly, but so are countless men who wander into my path. Why should this one matter more?

Her pencil faltered as the sharp rap of a knock echoed from the front of the house. She stilled, curiosity piqued. Guests were rare at Whitestone, and Charles had already mentioned he expected no visitors today. She heard the muffled creak of the door opening and the low rumble of her brother’s voice, but the words were indistinct. Setting her sketchpad aside, Y/N rose and dusted her hands off on her skirts, wandering closer to the house with light steps.

Inside the parlor, Charles extended a firm handshake to Anthony Bridgerton. The Earl of Whitestone and the Viscount Bridgerton cut striking figures in the modest room, both exuding a commanding presence, though Anthony’s was tempered by a composed air of diplomacy.

“Viscount Bridgerton,” Charles greeted, stepping back to motion him inside. “This is an unexpected visit.”

“I thought it past time we caught up,” Anthony replied with a faint smile, his eyes sweeping the room briefly before settling back on Charles. “Though I must confess, my errand isn’t entirely social.”

Charles raised an eyebrow as he led Anthony toward the parlor’s armchairs. “I assume this has something to do with your family’s estates bordering mine?”

“In part.” Anthony seated himself with practiced ease, but there was a guardedness to his tone that Charles didn’t miss. “The other part involves my brother, Benedict.”

Charles stilled briefly, his expression giving nothing away. “Ah, your brother,” he said smoothly, taking his own seat. “I must admit, he did make an impression at Lady Danbury’s soiree.”

Anthony’s lips quirked in a wry smile. “So I’ve heard. I trust my brother behaved himself?”

Charles smirked faintly, folding his hands over his knee. “Mr. Bridgerton was... eager to engage my sister in conversation. Though I’m not sure she was as willing to reciprocate.”

Anthony chuckled, but his tone shifted, his words laced with sincerity. “Benedict speaks highly of your sister. It’s rare for him to show such genuine interest, Charles. He’s not one to court frivolities.”

Charles leaned back, his gaze sharpening. “You understand, Anthony, that Y/N has had her fair share of shallow suitors. She’s cautious, and rightly so. My priority is ensuring her happiness and protecting her from anyone who sees her as a fleeting amusement.”

“Benedict doesn’t play such games,” Anthony replied, meeting Charles’s gaze head-on. “In truth, I’ve never seen him take such an interest in anyone. Your sister seems to have stirred something in him—though, knowing Y/N from your stories, I suspect she hasn’t made it easy for him.”

Charles allowed himself a faint chuckle. “No, she certainly hasn’t. Y/N is not one to be charmed easily. But it’s clear your brother is determined, which could either work in his favor or cause him considerable frustration.”

Anthony inclined his head, his expression softening. “Benedict values substance, as I’m sure Y/N does. They may both surprise you.”

Charles studied him in silence for a moment before offering a measured nod. “We’ll see. For now, I’ll judge him by his actions, not his words.”

Y/N lingered just beyond the doorway, her heart racing at the snippets of conversation she managed to overhear. Charles’s voice, steady and firm, carried faintly through the air. He’s defending me, she realized, a pang of gratitude swelling in her chest. Her brother’s protectiveness had always been her shield against the pressures of society. Yet, there was another voice—smooth and commanding.

The Viscount Bridgerton.

She had never met Anthony before, but his reputation preceded him. To hear him speak so highly of his brother was... surprising. Benedict’s charm had seemed effortless, but perhaps it ran deeper than she had assumed.

Careful not to draw attention, Y/N eased closer to the edge of the doorway, curiosity getting the better of her.

Anthony’s final remark, “They may both surprise you,” was met with a soft clearing of a throat. Both men turned to see Y/N stepping into the room, her expression poised but her gaze quietly assessing.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” she said with a faint smile, addressing Anthony. “You must be Viscount Bridgerton. I apologize for not greeting you sooner.”

Anthony rose immediately, his movements fluid and respectful. “Miss Y/N,” he greeted, his tone warm. “The pleasure is mine. I was just remarking to your brother on your keen sense of discernment. It seems Benedict wasn’t exaggerating.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, her smile deepening. “He spoke of me?”

Anthony’s smile mirrored hers, though he chose his words carefully. “Indeed. Rarely have I seen my brother so animated in recounting a conversation.”

Her gaze flicked briefly to Charles, whose stern expression had softened, before settling back on Anthony. “That’s high praise coming from you, my lord,” she said lightly, though her eyes gleamed with amusement. “Perhaps I should be flattered—or cautious.”

Anthony chuckled, gesturing toward the chair opposite. “Flattery or caution—either is warranted. But if I may, Miss Y/N, Benedict is many things, but insincere is not one of them.”

Y/N seated herself gracefully, her expression thoughtful. “Then it would seem your brother and I have much in common,” she replied smoothly, though her mind raced. What exactly has Benedict told him?

As Anthony and Y/N exchanged polite conversation, Charles observed his sister closely. Her tone was cordial, her posture poised, but he knew her well enough to detect the subtle sharpness in her gaze—a warning to anyone attempting to pry too deeply. She wasn’t rattled by Anthony’s words, but she was undoubtedly calculating her next move.

Anthony, for his part, seemed at ease. His diplomacy was well-honed, his remarks layered with subtle reassurances. Yet Charles couldn’t help but feel the quiet tension in the room. Anthony was here not simply to visit a friend, but to ensure Benedict’s intentions were made clear—or perhaps to defend them.

“I find it intriguing,” Y/N said, interrupting Charles’s thoughts, “that you’ve taken the trouble to visit us, my lord, when your brother has already made his interest known. Surely, you trust his judgment?”

Anthony’s brow arched slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I do, Miss Y/N, though it would be remiss of me not to learn more about the woman who has managed to hold my brother’s attention.”

“And have you drawn your conclusions already?” she asked, tilting her head.

Anthony leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady but not intrusive. “Not entirely. But I do know this: my brother is a man of passions—art, creation, and the search for something meaningful. He finds those qualities rare. I suspect he believes he’s found them in you.”

Y/N’s composure didn’t falter, though her chest tightened slightly at his words. Her response was deliberate, each word measured. “An interesting theory, my lord. I wonder what he might say if he were here to speak for himself.”

As the conversation unfolded at Whitestone, Benedict Bridgerton was oblivious to his brother’s bold intervention. He sat alone in the Bridgerton family’s drawing room, a half-finished sketch resting on the desk before him. It was an abstract piece—a hazy rendition of the way the light had played across Y/N’s face as she’d described the painting at Lady Danbury’s soiree.

Frustrated, he set the pencil down and ran a hand through his hair. He hadn’t seen her since the garden farewell days ago, and the memory of her enigmatic smile lingered like a half-finished melody. Every word she had spoken felt deliberate, each glance calculated. Yet, for all her guardedness, he had glimpsed something more—an intensity that matched his own.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the sketch with a mix of irritation and admiration. What is it about her that has me so utterly undone?

The door creaked open, and Colin poked his head inside, his ever-mischievous grin firmly in place. “Still brooding over Lady Y/N?”

Benedict scowled, though there was no real malice behind it. “I’m not brooding.”

Colin stepped inside, uninvited, and plucked the sketch off the desk. “Is that so? Because this,” he said, waving the paper, “tells a rather different story. Don’t tell me you’re losing sleep over one of Anthony’s sermons.”

Benedict frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Colin flopped onto the settee, clearly enjoying himself. “Anthony’s gone to Whitestone, hasn’t he? To visit Y/N and her brother. He practically ordered Newton to saddle the horse this morning.”

Benedict shot to his feet, his voice incredulous. “Anthony went to Whitestone?”

Colin’s smile widened. “Oh, yes. Didn’t he tell you? I’d wager he’s there now, making some long-winded speech about Bridgerton honor and the seriousness of your intentions.”

Benedict’s fists clenched, though it was more out of frustration than anger. “Of course he would meddle,” he muttered, pacing the room. “I don’t need him playing matchmaker.”

“Perhaps not,” Colin replied, his tone light. “But I suspect you’ll thank him in the end. Anthony may be insufferable, but he has a way of clearing obstacles—even those you’re too stubborn to see.”

Benedict ignored him, walking around in the room furiously waiting for his brother to come home. He did not need Anthony meddling with his business when even he didn't have the chance to visit you or buy you flowers. He prayed that his brother didn't scare or intimidate Y/N in any shape or form.

Back at Whitestone, Y/N’s mind churned as Anthony’s words settled. The sincerity behind them was disarming, but it also raised questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

She glanced at Charles, who was watching the exchange with his usual stoicism. Her brother was protective, and she valued his judgment, but she also resented feeling like a piece on a chessboard. Why should my life’s direction hinge on the machinations of two Bridgertons?

Y/N straightened, her voice breaking the charged silence. “You speak highly of your brother, my lord. But I can’t help but wonder if his interest is shared equally by the rest of your family. Surely a marriage, that you keep mentioning I might add, between a Bridgerton and an earl’s sister comes with certain expectations.”

Anthony’s expression didn’t falter, though his gaze turned contemplative. “You’re right, Miss Y/N. Family expectations can be... formidable. But we Bridgertons tend to weigh them against the matters of the heart. My brother is pursuing you not for duty, but for something far greater. That is why I came—to assure you that his pursuit is no fleeting fancy.”

Her breath caught for the briefest moment before she composed herself. “And yet you speak for him instead of letting him speak for himself. Tell me, viscount Bridgerton, is it a tradition of your family that the elder brother visit first before the man himself came here to court me or are you just more excited than Benedict?"

Anthony’s smile turned faintly amused. “Perhaps. But as the head of the family, it is not a tradition, but my duty to do so."

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the Bridgerton drawing room, where Violet sipped her tea, listening to Eloise debate some pamphlet on societal reform. Colin, seated nearby, was making a show of writing letters while sneakily trying to eavesdrop.

Suddenly, the front door opened with a sharp creak, followed by the heavy sound of deliberate footfalls. The atmosphere in the house shifted.

“Anthony,” Violet remarked, looking up from her teacup as her eldest son entered. His expression was stony, his movements clipped.

“Anthony, you look—”

Anthony!" Benedict’s voice roared through the house, heavy with fury.

"Benedict," Anthony greeted cautiously, straightening. "What’s the meaning of this outburst?"

"The meaning?" Benedict spat, his voice echoing through the room. "You went to the Whitestone estate without even telling me. You had no right!"

Violet, startled by the commotion, stood. "What’s going on here?"

"Ask your eldest son," Benedict said bitterly. "Apparently, he’s taken it upon himself to play matchmaker or, worse, guardian of my personal affairs."

Anthony’s jaw tightened, though he remained outwardly calm. "Benedict, I was only acting in your best—"

"No!" Benedict interrupted, his voice rising. "You were acting in your best interest, Anthony. Or, at the very least, what you think is best. You didn’t consult me, didn’t even think to ask what I wanted!"

By now, the household was gathering in the hallway, drawn by the shouting. Eloise whispered to Colin, "This is far better than the last novel I read."

Anthony’s patience began to fray as he stood taller, his tone hardening. "I went because I thought you might care for her, Benedict! And if you do, it’s only natural to ensure the family is suitable."

"How dare you presume to know what I care for!" Benedict snapped. "And what of her? Did you think she’d appreciate you barging in, uninvited, to assess her worth like livestock? I don’t even know if I care for her, but now I may never have the chance to decide for myself because of you!"

Anthony’s face fell briefly into guilt before he rallied. "I wasn’t trying to ruin anything. I was trying to protect you—"

"Protect me from what, Anthony? From a young woman with a talent for art and a brother navigating his new title? Or perhaps from the whispers you always seem so terrified of?"

"You don’t understand," Anthony said sharply. "These things matter. Reputation matters. If you pursue her—"

"Stop!" Benedict’s voice was loud enough to make the rest of the family wince. "You don’t get to make this about reputation or family honor. You didn’t even think to come to me first, and for that alone, you’ve overstepped!"

Violet interjected, her voice firm. "Both of you, enough. This shouting is unbecoming."

"Unbecoming?" Benedict scoffed, his anger undiminished. "What’s truly unbecoming is my brother meddling in affairs that are none of his business!"

Anthony took a deep breath, his voice dropping but still heated. "I went because I thought it was for the best, Benedict. If I was wrong, then I apologize. But don’t act as if I’ve committed some great crime for trying to protect my family."

Benedict shook his head, his jaw tightening. "If you wanted to protect me, Anthony, you should have come to me first. You should have trusted me to handle my own life."

Without waiting for a response, Benedict turned and stormed out of the room, the sound of the door slamming behind him reverberating through the house.

Benedict rode hard, the crisp autumn air stinging his face as he left Mayfair behind. The rhythmic pounding of his horse's hooves against the packed dirt offered little solace, the anger from his fight with Anthony still churning in his chest. The thought of his brother making decisions about his life—his relationships—without so much as a conversation left him fuming.

The horse slowed as they approached Hyde Park. Benedict hadn’t meant to end up here, but the vastness of the greenery and the relative quiet of the park seemed preferable to the confinement of Bridgerton House. He dismounted near a cluster of trees, tying his horse to a low branch.

Wandering through the park, Benedict eventually spotted a familiar figure seated beneath a sprawling oak tree. Y/N sat cross-legged on the grass, a sketchbook balanced on her knee, her brow furrowed in concentration as her hand moved deftly across the page. She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t notice his approach.

For a moment, Benedict simply observed her. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on her face. There was a peacefulness about her that pulled at something deep within him, a stark contrast to the chaos of the morning.

He cleared his throat softly.

Y/N jumped, her pencil jerking across the page. Her head snapped up, her eyes wide before recognition dawned. “Mr. Bridgerton!” she exclaimed, a hand flying to her chest. “You startled me.”

“I apologize,” Benedict said quickly, stepping closer. “Startling you was not my intention. I... Well, I didn’t expect to find anyone here, let alone you.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, though there was a trace of humor in her gaze. “Hyde Park isn’t precisely secluded, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Touché,” Benedict conceded with a small smile. “Still, I seem to have a habit of interrupting you.” He gestured to the sketchbook in her lap. “May I?”

Y/N hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edges of the paper. Then, with a resigned sigh, she handed it over. “It’s not finished,” she said quickly.

Benedict took the sketchbook, his eyes scanning the page. It was a study of a fountain in the park, the water captured mid-flow, the surrounding trees sketched with delicate precision. “This is remarkable,” he said sincerely. “The way you’ve captured the movement of the water—it feels alive.”

Y/N flushed at the compliment, though she tried to mask it with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s nothing special. Just practice.”

“Your modesty does you no justice,” Benedict said, handing the sketchbook back to her. “This is more than practice. It’s art.”

Her lips quirked into a small smile, but she said nothing, her eyes dropping to the sketch.

They sat in silence for a moment before Benedict spoke again. “I owe you an apology, Miss Y/N.”

“For startling me?” she teased, though her tone was light.

“For that and...for my brother’s intrusion at your home earlier today,” he said, his voice more serious now.

Y/N looked up sharply, her expression unreadable. “You knew?”

“I only found out after the fact,” Benedict admitted, frustration seeping into his tone. “Believe me, if I had known what Anthony was planning, I would have stopped him.”

Y/N studied him for a moment, then nodded. “I won’t pretend it wasn’t unsettling to have the Viscount Bridgerton show up unannounced, but your brother was respectful.”

“That doesn’t excuse him,” Benedict said firmly. “He had no right to involve himself. Whatever this is,” he gestured between them, “it’s our business, not his.”

A flicker of something passed through Y/N’s eyes—surprise, perhaps, or even approval—but it was gone before Benedict could decipher it.

“Your brother’s actions are understandable, though,” she said finally. “Family often feels entitled to protect us, even when we don’t need their protection.”

“‘Entitled’ is the word,” Benedict muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

Y/N tilted her head, a trace of amusement creeping into her expression. “You sound angry.”

“I am angry,” Benedict admitted, though his voice softened as he continued. “Not just because Anthony went behind my back, but because I... I don’t want anyone to think I need someone else to make my decisions for me. Least of all you.”

Her brows lifted at his candor, and a small smile played on her lips. “I think I can decide what to think of you, Mr. Bridgerton, regardless of your brother’s interference.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink around them. There was an openness in Y/N’s gaze that felt like an invitation, though to what, Benedict wasn’t entirely sure.

“May I sit?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Y/N gestured to the patch of grass beside her. “Be my guest.”

Benedict settled himself beside her, leaning back against the tree trunk. The tension that had coiled in his chest all day seemed to ease in her presence.

“Do you often come here to draw?” he asked after a moment.

“Whenever I can,” Y/N said, glancing at the fountain in the distance. “It’s one of the few places in London that feels...free.”

“I can see the appeal,” Benedict said. “There’s a tranquility here. A sense of space.”

“And yet you seem restless,” Y/N observed, her eyes studying him intently.

Benedict chuckled, though there was little humor in it. “I suppose I am. My family has a way of...complicating things.”

“Families tend to do that,” Y/N said lightly.

He turned to look at her, a question forming on his lips, but he hesitated. “Do you...” he began, then stopped.

“Do I what?” she prompted.

“Do you find it hard?” he asked finally. “Being the person others look to? Shouldering the weight of their expectations?”

Y/N’s gaze grew distant, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her sketchbook. “I think we all bear expectations, whether we like it or not. The trick is deciding which ones matter and which ones don’t.”

Benedict nodded, her words striking a chord. “And have you decided?”

Her lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile. “I’m still working on it.”

They fell into a companionable silence, the only sounds the rustling of leaves and the faint splash of the fountain. For the first time that day, Benedict felt a sense of calm.

Perhaps, he thought, this wasn’t such a terrible day after all.

( part 2 anyone?)

[thebroccolination]

THAMEPO'S RELATIONSHIP (AS OF EPISODE 4)

Back when the teaser (made as an appeal to sponsors) aired in part two of GMMTV's 2024 showcase, and especially after the trailer (cut from the actual series) aired, I thought ThamePo looked like it would become one of the strongest series GMMTV has ever made.

So far, even though we're only four episodes in, it's well surpassing my expectations. Apparently, it's a passion project that the director had in the making for five years, waiting for the right casting to come along, so based on that alone, it's a series made with love. And I have a soft spot for passion projects. <3

Still, the top criterion I judge all series by is the quality of the writing, and since ThamePo's director is also a seasoned screenwriter who developed the script, this is one of the strongest aspects of the series so far.

Over the past four episodes, we've seen our protagonist's flaws (people-pleasing, projecting, temper) and strengths (resourcefulness, observational skill, cleverness), what he wanted (to return to the creative working world) and how it's changing (to reunite MARS). We've met the public version of Thame, the shallow version of Thame that Po misread, and the private version of Thame trying to make amends with his friends. We've met three of those friends (Jun, Dylan, and Pepper) and have hints about the fourth (Nano), and each friend we've met has given us more insight into the kind of person Thame is and what he's done to try and protect his group as the leader.

Since the main conflict of the story appears to be Thame being forced to choose between his band or his new boyfriend—

—Thame's relationship with Po has to move at quite a quick clip so he's emotionally invested enough in their relationship that it's a difficult choice. He's already extremely attached to his friends, so I'd argue one of the biggest challenges in the writing was having him fall in love with Po convincingly fast without it feeling forced by the hand of the screenwriter.

And daaamn has that been well-accomplished, in my opinion.

First, Po gets his Y/N moment.

It's established in the first episode that Thame saw Po at a fanmeeting once and remembered him because Po did something kind for someone when he didn't have to. Presumably because Thame's in a fairly cutthroat industry where people are constantly vying for his attention, maneuvering him like a chess piece, or flat-out ignoring him, that small act of kindness was probably one of the bright points of his day, week, or even month. Especially as things started falling apart with the other members.

In that same episode, we see Po projecting the heartbreak from his previous relationship onto Thame.

And in return, Thame—who spends most of the next episode docilely doing whatever he's told to do by the company—allows some of what he's hidden to show out of frustration presumably brought on by being so thoroughly misunderstood and chastised by a stranger he used to think well of and now suspects of being a sasaeng.

Because both characters are in such vulnerable places emotionally, it translates well to the narrative when they start to depend on one another.

On Po's end, his recent breakup has left him feeling foolish and exposed, taken advantage of by a man who refused to acknowledge Po's sacrifices or show any true appreciation for all the work Po did to see him succeed.

Meanwhile, Thame is alone in every way that matters.

His parents are neglectful,

his friends abandoned him,

and his boss is manipulating him.

At the start, Po is quite literally the only ally he has.

It's because Po kept at him to be honest, to be sincere, that Thame woke up and decided to fight for himself.

And because Thame is doing something for himself for a change, that's what wins back his closest friend Jun.

What I love about this whole narrative is that it's already established from Po's previous relationship that he's the kind of person to give himself entirely to a cause for someone else's benefit. He helped Earn to his own detriment, he picked up a small child so she could see, and he's risking his job to help Thame find happiness and peace.

So it's entirely in-character for him to, say, go through a whole room filled with boxes of rejected song lyrics trying to find one piece of paper that he had to tape back together. Only for it not to matter, because Thame mended fences with Dylan on his own.

I'd argue this is what makes Po think, Maybe I'm too emotionally involved in this. Especially after Jun has point-blank told him that Thame would never be interested in him that way.

We see the moment Po doubts his enthusiastic support of this whole project.

And it's clear that this could have been where it ended for Po.

Until Thame, observant and kind and the polar opposite of Earn, says exactly the right thing to him.

Because that was the major breaking point for Po in his relationship with Earn. He was made to feel disposable. Extraneous. Unnecessary. But Thame recognizes the work he's done, the effort he's put in. He may be reuniting the group for his own satisfaction, but he's not so selfish that he can let Po's contributions go unobserved and unappreciated.

Then, y'know. Thame talks to Po until he falls asleep—

—and serenades him in the morning.

And the thing is! Knowing all we know about Thame—that his parents don't seem to care about him, that he's been isolated from his friends, that he's been made helpless in his own career for so long after being manipulated into signing contracts that restrict his freedom—it makes sense for him to be the one pursuing Po this hard. Just as much as it makes sense for recently heartbroken Po to be interested and yet hesitant.

Setting all of this up in four episodes while covering the entire backstory of MARS and their gradual reunion is a feat of excellent writing. We have a reason to care about Thame and Po's relationship, because it's been clearly shown to us that they bring out the best in each other and that they're willing, even at this early stage, to take risks for each other. We've also got reason to care about MARS, because they seem to be more family to Thame than his own, and they're his current priority.

I'm genuinely thrilled to see such solid writing come from a GMMTV series because as I've said before, they seem more and more recently to chuck first drafts on an assembly line and just assume the fandom will watch anything regardless of the quality as long as certain khuujin are cast as the leads (which, y'know, isn't untrue).

While I enjoy some GMMTV QL series as mindless fluff to watch with friends, there are very few I'd say are written well. Apart from ThamePo, only five other series I've seen have what I'd consider well-executed scripts: Pluto (2024), Be My Favorite (2023), Dark Blue Kiss (2019), SOTUS S (2017), and SOTUS (2016). Sadly, I think Not Me (2022) was on track to be one of the best with its first half, but the production was infamously neglected with episodes cut by GMMTV at the last minute and the script deprived of major edits that left the second half almost shallow by comparison. (Of course, Not Me had a host of censorship issues as well, so we may never know how much that interfered with the quality. It's still an incredible series for its ambition and for Nuchy's directing, and I'll be mad every day of my reincarnation cycle that it didn't get the writing support it deserved.)

Otherwise, nearly every GMMTV series I've seen has at least one major basic storytelling flaw (no character arc, a sloppy resolution, unconvincing setup, weak characterization, excess filler, etc.), and they seem to be first drafts with very little depth. With that in mind, I hope to see ThamePo do well enough that it sends a message to GMMTV that they should focus more on the writing of their series. I think based on what we've seen in the first four episodes and in the trailer, the script quality is reliable, and ThamePo's relationship may be one of the best-written we've seen yet. <3

[rosettyller]

some analysis of this scene from 2x02, because i am going absolutely insane over it:

first up: it's 2 500 BCE. They've known each other for around 1500 years at this point, but they haven't been meeting up very often; it's implied at this point, that they've only met at the Garden, and the Flood, and now here (as well as in Heaven, but there's varying interpretations about how much they each remember of Heaven).

(worth noting that these meetings are all bible-related meetings)

So, they don't know each other very well at all. This is why Aziraphale approaches Crowley so cautiously (apart from the fact that he thinks Crowley's going around murdering goats and soon kids). He doesn't know what happened to Crowley when he Fell, how he changed when he fell in with Lucifer, how God's rejection has warped Crowley's perspective or changed his morals (their meeting at the Flood seemed quite short, not enough time to get a definite picture.)

Aziraphale is still seeing Crowley as demonic, although there's already that thread of doubt - can you really see him trying to talk Hastur or Ligur out of this the way he does Crowley?

Aziraphale clings to the memory of Angel Crowley - Crowley gets quite defensive.

Here, Crowley reinforces that he's changed - personally I don't believe that he did fight in the War, but his views of God's Plan definitely got more extreme than "thats terrible god should get a suggestion box".

But, I also believe that here, Crowley is reinforcing that he is no longer an angel, and therefore no longer has to play by angel rules. He can do what he wants. He's a demon, it's in his job description.

And of course, that he is a demon, and he is Evil, and of course he would kill goats.

(more under the cut, because I just can't stop talking)

This shot is very yellow. Crowley's hair being the season 1 orange rather than red, the yellow walls, all accentuate the colour of Crowley's eyes, highlighting the physical reminder of Crowley's demonic nature.

I couldn't be bothered to gif it, but here, Crowley leans forward into Aziraphale's face. There are two reasons for this:

Get his yellow Demon Eyes right in Aziraphale face, just to hammer home his point.

It's an aggressive action, moving into someone's personal space like that. Saying, I could hurt you, I'm violent and aggressive and dangerous, I killed those goats, the kids are next.

The way the light hits Crowley's eyes in the above shot and the below shot also make them a very bright yellow. (Edit: I think someone pointed out that Crowley is making his eyes glow, but the overall yellowness of the scene serves to highlight this)

Clever wording on Crowley's part, because as we will find out, he faked the destruction of the goats to keep them safe, while making himself sound very evil.

You'll notice the repetition of "blameless"; this makes him seem even more evil, hurting the innocent, but also gives deeper insight into one of Crowley's biggest issues: hurting the innocent. What have they done to deserve this? Nothing.

This ties in quite nicely with what we have seen before of Crowley and free will; he gives people the option to sin. It's their actions that decide whether they end up in Heaven or Hell; they get what they deserve for their actions. He just makes it easier to choose Hell. (see: phone lines being down making people crankier and encouraging them to be horrible to each other, but it still being their choice, setting the holy water bucket above the door, so it's Ligur's choice to come in after Crowley that gets him killed.)

Note also the use of "long":

Aziraphale says to "tell me you want to do this". "Long" has rather stronger connotations than "want", but also rawer, more fundamental. Crowley is reminding Aziraphale that he is a demon, and that he has the traits of a demon, this is what he is now. He longs for violence, for destruction.

Aziraphale looks quite sad here. If you watch the video I linked, his previous conviction that Crowley doesn't want to do it is very strong. He fully believes in Crowley, that all he needs to do is reframe not killing the kids as within the rules of Hell, the way Crowley so often comes to do for Aziraphale ("Then you can't be certain that thwarting me isn't part of the divine plan too. I mean, you're supposed to thwart the wiles of the Evil One at every turn, aren't you?" "If you put it that way, Heaven couldn't actually mind me thwarting you.").

Aziraphale believed Crowley was still good, that the angel he remembered was still in there. But Crowley rejects it - and it hurts. Crowley has become what a demon should be.

Crowley looks quite sorrowful here, too: he already cares for Aziraphale (he fell in love at the Garden), and it hurts to decieve him, to disappoint him, to hurt him.

I would argue that here, Crowley is scared.

He's in shadow, which dims the yellows; his undemonic nature is about to be revealed.

And that is not safe, because Hell does not send rude notes. And here, Crowley is not doing just any temptation, but trying to help Satan win a bet (supposedly). And out of every demon in Hell, Satan is the one you want to piss off the least.

But here, Crowley is scared because Aziraphale could reveal him - because Aziraphale is on God's side, and because it is revealed that Crowley is not nearly as demonic as he makes himself out to be. He's vulnerable. Aziraphale could scorn him, hurt him. But instead:

Aziraphale is incredibly smug. "I knew I was right", he says. "I knew you were still good".

And here is another issue: Aziraphale conflates God/Heaven/angels with good, and demons/Hell with bad.

And Crowley does not see Heaven as good. He doesn't want Aziraphale to see his angelic core past the demonic exterior. He's on his own side.

This, for Aziraphale, confirms that "the angel you knew is not me", is not correct.

And I think, out of the three minisodes, it's this one that does the most for fleshing out Aziraphale and Crowley's frames of mind this series, and why they choose what they choose in ep6.

Aziraphale has been proven right about Crowley's angelic nature, and that he wants to do good, but can't, for fear of Hell's retribution.

And Crowley does not see Heaven as good. He recognises that being an angel again will not allow him the freedom to do good. (as Aziraphale had to try and talk a demon into helping him save the kids from God.)

[elodieunderglass]

I can't resist bothering you with more questions. I'm sorry! I want to put Killie in a basket and carry him around with me like a purse dog. Did Charlie always know that he wasn't going to be a horse pilot forever and that he would find a way out of his family's net, or was he never going to escape if him being kicked out hadn't forced him into it? My heart breaks for him a bit, even though he seems the most well-adjusted person in that family. How old was he when he ended up on his own?

(In reference to Killie the jockey OC, crown prince of a horse-obsessed family, and his identical twin brother Charlie, who was disowned/ escaped the orbit of the Horse Planet)

You are never a bother. Nobody could be anything but grateful to have such insightful, brave, witty and inspiring people to talk about their OCs with! Are you kidding?

That’s such a good and deep question - I don’t think that Charlie knows the answer himself. He certainly was quite a talented apprentice jockey. In terms of his place in the family, his parents and siblings all adored him - he is warm and charming and funny - and thought they understood him. He has that special child-of-rotten-parents survival-mode sensitivity to reading a room, that in Charlie translates into useful skills, like “changing the mood of the room” and “sensing what people want him to say”.

But Charlie has a strong sense of identity, and with it, a hard internal limit on personal sacrifice; there are parts of Charlie you can’t have.

And despite being a fifth-generation jockey of impeccable pedigree, the whole “stoic, fearless, impervious to pain” thing appears to be a state of mind - not a physiology thing, but a mental one, engendered by passion for the sport. Charlie has had passages of his life where he’s carried off the Jockey Constitution (TM), but a problem with armouring yourself with a mental state is that if you are an especially clever little liar yourself, like Charlie, you catch on to the trick.

And the sport is inextricable from the horses in their family. So Charlie stormed out (was thrown out) of both family and sport… but I think he does like horses and he was good at it. And it would’ve been hard, in that family, in that immersive and passionate world, to break out naturally - especially when you are so beautifully built for it. It would again come down to Charlie’s strong sense of self.

I think a lot of his sense of identity and resistance came, early on, from connecting honestly with his bisexuality. He’s clever and sneaky, and likes mind games and code-switching and putting on characters, and when he realised the necessity of masking early on, it felt like a secret identity. He was simply Built Different, and couldn’t change it, so he made a game of tap-dancing on the tightrope.

Then he left to build that secret identity into his real self, on purpose, and he threw himself into The Opposite of Being a Jockey. He was not only the first in their family to go to university, he went into academia. He covered his bills by bartending and busking (take that, Dad). He eats cake. He is valued for his mind and brain. He is NOT COMPETITIVE AT ALL. HE’S COLLABORATIVE, EVEN.

…He was just about eighteen. And perhaps it affected him more deeply than he’d say. But what saved him - what always would save Charlie - was a sense of identity.

[syndrossi]

And now for a continuation of what I'm calling the Rescue AU aka "what if Ser Thoren successfully extracted the boys from the Gates of the Moon?" Part 1 and premise can be found here. It ended pretty abruptly, and so we pick up pretty abruptly! This one has a more proper "end" to it, though it's not finished.

x~x~x

“May we go to the market on River Row?” Rhaegar asked. He seemed to pick up on Daemon’s surprise at the request, adding, “Laenor mentioned it before. He said they have all manner of wares from within the realm, and even from across the Narrow Sea.”

“We may,” Daemon said, warmed by the pleased smile he received in response. “Do you seek anything in particular?”

He had presented them with gifts for three of their name days thus far, but that still left five. And some of his other planned gifts would not be ready for months. Any insight into what his children enjoyed was sorely welcome. They spent so little time at play, too serious about their studies.

“Princess Rhaenyra said that your name day is in less than three moons,” Rhaegar said, smile turning stern. “So you must not look if we choose something for you.”

Daemon had not celebrated his name day in nearly a decade, other than alone with Caraxes and one of the few barrels of good wine that made it on occasion to the Stepstones by way of Driftmark. His last true celebration had been a pleasant supper with Viserys, Aemma, and Rhaenyra, followed by a drunken night of debauchery in Flea Bottom that had earned his brother’s disapproval in the morning upon hearing of it.

It had been only two moons after Viserys had quietly taken him aside and “suggested” that he take Lord Beesbury as an advisor in his yet-new position of master of coin. Daemon had known the true source of the suggestion: Otto Hightower. Daemon had been only three moons in the office and still learning its scope; bringing in the former master of coin to all but do his job for him had been clearly intended to undermine him by implying he could not manage on his own.

That was the one office Daemon had resigned from before his brother could directly dismiss him, as he made a habit of. That had been before he’d realized just how short his leash would be for any office while Otto Hightower whispered in his ear simultaneously of Daemon’s immaturity and ambition.

A hand squeezed his, jolting him from his thoughts. “Father?” It was Rhaegar’s voice, gentle with concern, rather than stilted as it could sometimes be when addressing him.

Daemon smoothed wisps of light hair from his son’s forehead, then rested his hands on either cheek, heart a jumbled mess between the sentiment and the barest trace of wariness that lurked in his eyes whenever Daemon behaved in a way he did not expect. He kissed his brow, vowing that one day Rhaegar would come to expect only love at the hands of family, rather than the cold indifference—or worse—he had suffered under the Royce household.

“You can give me no greater gift than your company that day,” he said, transferring a hand to Jon’s cheek as well.

Jon gave a solemn nod. “But if I wrap Rhaegar to leave outside your door, who will wrap me?”

Daemon nearly choked on his laugh, the humor entirely unexpected. His eldest was quite sneaky in that regard, though both had a similarly clever wit. He feared for whoever might earn their wrath once they reached adolescence.

“Would you like a small purse apiece for the market, then?” he asked. “So that you are spared solving such a riddle?”

“There is no need,” Rhaegar said, revealing a bulging purse beneath his jacket. “Uncle Viserys gave us an allowance for it.”

“That was very generous of him,” Daemon said, smiling to mask a sudden flood of resentment at the reminder that nothing that he had to offer them was his own. It was all through Viserys and the royal treasury. He had no holding of his own to build an income, nor would he.

Curious stares followed them through the streets, news of the strange circumstances of his sons’ birth having traveled beyond the court. Laenor had informed him with great enthusiasm that a troupe of mummers were at work on a new play with a working title of “The Hidden Princes and the Witch of Runestone.”

If his sons were uneasy with the attention, they did not show it, more fascinated by the sights and sounds of the city. I should have taken them out sooner, Daemon thought fondly. There was a minstrel at one corner, playing the lute outside of a tavern to lure travelers in, and Rhaegar’s head tilted a moment, listening, before his eyes brightened. He hurried over, Daemon and Jon a few steps behind, and joined the minstrel in his song, his higher pitch shifting into an effortless harmony.

The minstrel looked startled by the sudden accompaniment, and even perhaps dismayed to find himself outperformed by a small child, but his eyes took in Daemon as he approached, and the princely attire his sons were wearing—as well as the growing crowd, drawn by the unusual spectacle as well as the sweetness of the song—and the man seemed to then accept the situation as one of good fortune.

Daemon smiled as he watched Rhaegar, enjoying his son’s obvious joy at an excuse to sing. The song was familiar to him, one of a wandering hedge knight in search of a maiden he had spied bathing in the moonlight and fallen in love with, but rendered nearly haunting with the addition of Rhaegar’s voice, which made it into a duet of man and maiden.

At the final verse, the minstrel made as though to bow, only for Rhaegar to continue on alone for another four, and the tale went from one of happy reunion to bittersweet loss as the maiden revealed the true reason she had evaded the hedge knight’s pursuit: the waters had told her that when she found love at last, they would have but a year before death claimed them.

There were very few dry eyes in the crowd at the song’s conclusion, and there was a light ache in his own throat, but the ending seemed to upset Jon in particular, so Daemon wrapped him up in his arms. “It is only a song.”

“If he had not gone after her, they both would have lived,” Jon said into his abdomen.

“Perhaps so,” Daemon murmured, stroking fingers through his hair as he pondered why the song had touched him so. Elys and Corwyn had died two years after the twins’ birth, and his sons had thought them their parents most of their lives. Rhea’s death was still fresh for them as well, he supposed. “But the life of a hedge knight is not without peril. Perhaps he would have found death another way.”

Jon frowned, not liking that response, and Daemon sighed, releasing him. “Come, let us collect your brother from his admirers.”

The minstrel was splitting his attention between collecting the shower of coin that had fallen at the song’s conclusion and interrogating his son on where he had heard the additional verses.

“From a harpist who wandered through the Gates of the Moon,” Rhaegar said, beginning to look uncomfortable.

Daemon quickly moved into the man’s view, fixing him with a look that halted further questioning.

“My prince,” the minstrel said, bowing with a flourish. “What an honor to have the privilege of sharing a song with your son.”

“Indeed,” Daemon said, beckoning Rhaegar back to his side. “I suggest you content yourself with your good fortune.”

“I am sorry,” Rhaegar said once they were away from the gathered crowd, flicking anxious glances in Daemon’s direction. “I did not mean to—”

“Nonsense,” Daemon said firmly. “You may sing whenever you like. You upstaged that minstrel and he knew it.”

Rhaegar moved to walk at Jon’s side, whispering something quiet to him—another apology, perhaps? Jon shrugged, the motion stiff, but he summoned a small smile in response. Fortunately, the distraction of River Row seemed to take their minds off the matter. The street stank of fish, and was awash in colorful stalls loudly peddling their goods.

They were not even at the market square yet, and he had to corral them back within reach several times with stern warnings of pickpockets and unsavory characters who grew in number as Aegon’s Hill grew more distant.

The chaos was nigh unmanageable by the time they reached the market. They still drew glances, Daemon’s hair and attire—and Dark Sister at his side—making his identity plain. But the people in the market were here for one of two purposes: to sell or be sold to. They kept their gawking to sideways glances for the most part, aside from one very bold hand that curiously reached for his hair before being swatted aside.

The strong scent of cooked meat and vegetables from the side of the market that served tempting dishes that could be held in one’s hand to eat while walking covered up the worst of the encroaching smell of raw fish and nearby sewage. There were sweeter fares as well, including a stall that spun sugar into elaborate shapes to cool and be sold.

The peddlers’ calls grew particularly loud whenever they were noticed, to the point where Jon was beginning to look overwhelmed. Daemon was not without his own tension. Every voice that carried an accent from the Free Cities, and especially the occasional spoken Valyrian, transported him back to the crush and throng of the Stepstones.

They eventually reached a portion of the market that was less frantic, where he was no longer touching four different bodies at once, and Daemon slowly relaxed. The boys went from stall to stall with Daemon looking on a few steps back, moving with them. Occasionally they would lean in for hushed discussion, dark hair against light, then turn to him in unison with appraising eyes before resuming their conversation.

Daemon had no idea what they would decide upon for gifts, but he was greatly looking forward to finding out what they had deemed worthy. They had found something at the present stall, which seemed to be an assortment of leather goods ranging from cow’s hide to more exotic sources.

Jon looked back toward him. “Turn around,” he ordered. “She has to finish making it and then wrapping it.”

Daemon gamely turned away. “Tell me when it is safe to look.”

He contented himself with scanning the rest of the current extension of the market, occasionally meeting the quickly averted gaze of an onlooker startled to be caught. That was nothing he wasn’t accustomed to when walking about openly, though years ago in Flea Bottom, the denizens had come to view his frequent presence among them as something to be expected. When he truly wished to walk about without fuss, he went cloaked and hooded.

A startled cry rang out back toward the portion of the market they had just left, and Daemon glanced that way to see that one of the food stalls had caught flame. He could make out the shouts for water, and a few nearby peddlers flapped with cloth at the fire, seeking to smother it. It seemed to only inflame it somehow, the fire almost dancing from one stall to another, which then caught.

Daemon recognized in the louder murmurs of the crowd the sound of unease yielding to panic, his own alarm growing with it. Panic was unpredictable, and the crowd would seek whatever outlet they thought offered safety, willing to trample whoever got in their way.

He turned back to the stall, ready to sweep his children up and leave before the chaos reached them, only to find the stall empty and his sons nowhere in view. His mind blanked with incomprehension for a moment, breath catching in his throat, and he closed the distance to the stall in an instant, looking around wildly. His sons were nowhere to be seen, but there was a woman’s body in rapidly pooling blood slumped at the other side of the stall.

No. Daemon’s hand closed around Dark Sister’s hilt, an icy fear flooding his veins. He took a deep breath to call for them, only to freeze at the sudden prick of something sharp and metal against his back.

“Quiet,” a voice said behind him, soft and unaccented. “Do you wish to see your sons?”

“Where are they?” Daemon asked, holding perfectly still. He might be quick enough to move before the man behind him sunk his blade in, but he did not know if there were more. There must be, to have taken his sons away. “What do you want?”

“If you do as I say, I shall take you to them. Fight, and you will never see them again.” The man waited, as though to see if he intended to put up a struggle. “Remove your hand from your blade.”

Daemon stared forward, paralyzed by indecision. He could mean to kill me anyway. This may be intended to buy time so that they may take the boys further out of reach.

But what could he—or they—even want? If it was ransom they sought, then the more captives, the better. If it was revenge, they would have killed his sons, and Daemon after.

“That dragon blood of yours is worth a great deal,” the voice said with a hint of impatience. “But only balanced against the trouble you might cause. Remove your hand.”

Ransom, then. Daemon clutched that hope to his chest and released his grip on Dark Sister. His hand was grabbed and twisted behind his back, firmly but not painfully so, and he was guided between stalls, out of view. Then, something smooth and rounded was pressed into his hand.

“Drink this.”

The shouts in the market square had grown louder, and the wind was beginning to blow smoke in their direction. Daemon had spotted the occasional gold cloak earlier, but there were none to be seen now, the men likely moving to seek control of the fire or the crowd. There were far more pressing things for the people milling about the market to pay attention to than a prince tucked just out of view, a blade to his back.

“What is it?” Daemon asked, though he could guess. If it was not poison, then it was something intended to dull the senses and render him easy to move without struggle.

“Drink,” the man repeated. “Or I spill that royal blood onto the cobblestone, which would be a shameful waste.”

Daemon brought the bottle into view, its milky glass obscuring its contents save for a faintly darker line where the liquid within sloshed. A tiny cork served as a stopper.

I cannot see them again if I am sliced open in River Row.

Ransom could be paid. Daemon knew that Viserys would not hesitate on his behalf or his sons’, whatever objections Otto might raise.

He brought the cork to his teeth, and pulled it loose, then tipped the liquid back. He held it in his mouth for a few seconds, debating whether he could feign swallowing, but a hand closed over his lips and pinched his nostrils shut until he swallowed, at which point it moved to grip his right arm again. The man made no move to lead him anywhere, seeming content to wait for the potion to take its effect.

“You have not hurt them?” Daemon asked, unable to keep the desperation from his voice.

“They are not harmed,” the man said with a hint of amusement. “Though I cannot say the same for some of the others. I did warn them about Jon.”

A dizziness rolled over Daemon, followed by a heaviness that came in waves that settled deeper each time. At last he was prodded forward, and it took all his concentration to put one foot ahead of the other. Then another. Then—

[whencyclopedia]

Nih'a'ca Tales

Nih'a'ca tales are Arapaho legends concerning the trickster figure Nih'a'ca, who, according to Arapaho lore, is the first haxu'xan (two-spirit), a third gender, often highly regarded by many Native American nations, including the Arapaho. The Nih'a'ca tales are similar to the Wihio tales of the Cheyenne and the Iktomi tales of the Sioux.

North American Panther

Rodney Cammauf /National Park Service (Public Domain)

Circumstances and situations differ between the Nih'a'ca tales and those concerning trickster figures of other Native peoples of North America, but the central character of the trickster plays the same role – sometimes as sage and mediator, sometimes as schemer and villain – in them all. In the case of Nih'a'ca – always referred to by the male pronoun in English translations of Arapaho tales – he is frequently depicted in legend as someone who tries to better himself, usually at the expense of others or by trying to take shortcuts, and suffers for it.

At the same time, Nih'a'ca can be wise, offering advice, or clever, as in the story Nih'a'ca Pursued by the Rolling Skull, in which he must find a way to escape death. His identity as a haxu'xan is often, though not always, central to the story's plot – as in Nih'a'ca and the Panther-Young-Man where he, identifying as a woman, marries a panther – and, in stories where his gender is highlighted, serves to teach an important cultural, moral, lesson.

The Nih'a'ca tales are still told in Arapaho and Cheyenne communities, as well as others – including LGBTQ organizations – not only for their entertainment value but for the lessons they offer on personal responsibility and the proper respect and treatment to be shown to others. Like the trickster figures of other nations, Nih'a'ca is often depicted as, or associated with, the spider – spinning webs to catch others which often wind up entangling himself.

The Two-Spirit & Nih'a'ca

Two-Spirit is a modern designation, coined as recently as 1990, for the third gender recognized by many Native American nations for centuries before their contact with European immigrants. Because the term is so new, the two-spirit is often, incorrectly, assumed to be a recent 'discovery' made by anthropologists when, actually, European accounts going back to 1775 reference a third gender among North American Native peoples and the oral histories, myths, and legends – like the Nih'a'ca tales – also attest to the long-standing recognition of two-spirits in a given community.

As the term implies, a two-spirit is someone who recognizes both a male and female spirit dwelling within and often, though not always, dresses in the clothes and performs the duties of their opposite biological sex. Because they are understood as both male and female, two-spirits are recognized as possessing especially keen insight and often serve as mediators – in the present as they did in the past – in resolving personal or communal disputes. They were, and are (or can be), also regarded as holy people – "medicine men" and "medicine women" – serving as mediators between the people and the spirit world. Scholar Larry J. Zimmerman comments:

The relationship between a holy person and the spirit world is almost that of a personal religion. The first meeting with the spirits becomes the personal myth, and the power of this myth is important for establishing the holy person's credentials with the tribe, on behalf of which his or her skills are used to locate game, find lost objects, and, above all, treat the sick. The holy person can enter a trance at will and journey to the sacred world.

(132-133)

While Nih'a'ca is sometimes depicted as a holy person, he is more often quite the opposite, possessing characteristics such as selfishness, cruelty, and a blatant disregard for cultural norms. Through the Nih'a'ca tales, which frequently conclude with the central character suffering for his misdeeds, higher values including selflessness, kindness, and respect for tradition and the feelings of others are highlighted.

Nih'a'ca, then, usually serves as an exemplar of bad behavior and is given the identity of a two-spirit – in fact, the first two-spirit in the world – because the recognition of the sacred aspect of the two-spirit further emphasizes just how misguided Nih'a'ca's choices and actions can be. The tales themselves are a kind of 'trickster' turning expectations upside down and, in so doing, offer an audience the opportunity for reflection on their own behavior and the possibility of transformation.

Continue reading...

[ariaste]

*sidles up to* hello! I need you to know the absolute death grip Running Close To The Wind has on my psyche. I have listened to it at least 9 times and read it at least twice. As a disable polyamorous kinky queer with 1 nb partner and one golden retriever boyfriend I have never felt more more lovingly courted by the narrative.

I thought it had been long enough for me to be normal about my emotions but it has not!!!! Instead please have this list of things i admire.

Every Single Character clearly has a rich internal life and develops and changes!!! I can't think of a single character that speaks in more than one scene that doesn't develop. Even Lt Viyan goes from cheerfully neutral to "stressed about the cake festival"

This goes double for how much of Tev's we can see even without the Captain's Log!!!! Tev has SO MANY FEELINGS.

I love the implication that the thing that finally broke their relationship the last time is that Avra sung a song in public that talked about Tev's body, and he never cottons on to the problem! Tev's body and Tev's gender are so thoroughly uncoupled to him that it never even crosses his mind it could be a problem, but it destroys Tev's trust. You would not believe the amount of time I have spent chewing over that one.

And all of that is before the story!!!!! There is never a moment of "Tev and Avra had been fucking off and on for 13 years, since Avra first came to the island of Lost Souls for work etc etc etc" but there is so much backstory that rewards you for paying attention, plus the tension of not knowing things at first.... beautiful

Julian is one of the things I have not processed sufficiently yet. I love him and his dom voice and how his emotional Journey starts off much more oblique to the reader because Avra doesn't know him as well and then the bar scene and and and. Aaaaaah. Special mention also to the lake scene

They're all adults with careers!!!! Not just adults, but adults of diverse ages and life experiences. Except Ellat, who is baby.

Pirate Society really does feel like a it's own distinct cultural group while also maintaining the sense that all of the Pirates came from somewhere with their own traditions, names, and values. You're so good at diversity that doesn't feel like just checking boxes and also doesn't fall into stereotypes.

You have made your own posts about disability in this book and I have been at this for an hour so I will leave it at: yes, thank you

The possibility that the goddess of luck is directly interfering with Avra (possibly deliberately trying to expose the secret) not just making him lucky, for example Avra's overwhelming need to go for a walk when they get to the hotel. I like that this is ambiguous mainly bc Avra just refuses to engage in that conversation

Avra is very smart actually!!!!! He talks about keeping his head empty but he is clever, insightful, educated, and curious about the world

Tev and Avra's murkey understanding of BDSM and aftercare - they have been doing both! But they are not good at it and Avra clearly has no idea what Julian's dom voice is doing to him. Tev knows enough about aftercare to cuddle Avra through the worst of it but also is Anti Touching. Cat's line, "and every so often having the honor of being entrusted quite profoundly with caring for you for an hour or two," implies a lot of trust and some hardcore emotional fallout!

I am going to send on this now before I lose my nerve about being perceived but thank you for writing My Favorite Book

[Second message postscript] Also I forgot to mention the absolute scathing critism of captialism, imperialism, and institutional power. Those things are. Also. Important to me.

I am truly and genuinely honored by these messages. Thank you for the absolute cornucopia of lovely compliments, thank you for taking so much time to write them out, and particularly thank you for all of your excellent insights! And listening to it NINE TIMES and reading it at least twice!! that is so many!!!! It only came out eight months ago! Wow, that is incredibly flattering. <3

I will respond to a couple of your points with the number of your comment: 1 & 2. Yes, Tev has SO MANY FEELINGS, thank you for noticing! I think it is easy to overlook how many feelings Tev has because most of them are expressed as Angry, but that doesn't mean they are Angry. Tev just copes with every emotion by also being mad at whatever caused it.

3. Y'know, I was about to say "To me it was more about Tev feeling shame and humiliation because Avra had exposed part of their sex life and one of Tev's kinks (their collection of spooky dildos)" but then I thought about it for two seconds and! No yeah, you're kind of right actually! Because that IS related to Tev's contentious relationship to their body, isn't it. And so is the Tev Doesn't Like Being Touched thing as you mentioned later -- it is all bound up in the trauma and psychic damage they took from growing up in Tash. Avra's song in particular I think just hit one of those triggers that is both personal/individual and cultural, and... as stated before, Tev copes with every emotion by also being mad, and those were some very, very big emotions they had. But yes, all that was going through Avra's mind was "Breaking News: Captain Teveri az-Haffar is so fucking hot, you guys, let me tell you ALL ABOUT IT" -- because to him, that's a praise song, that's the sort of thing people say about Xing Fe Hua (that he was an incredible pirate and "he kissed me full on the mouth") so why would it not be fine to also say it about Tev? He was using very Scuttle Cove culture-logic, and in THAT contexts, he was right, it does increase Tev's word-fame. But he also stepped on a major landmine in the Tash culture-logic. So... I feel like that illustrates one of the great tragedies of human interaction -- you can set out with the best of intentions and nothing but love in your heart and still manage to hurt someone you care about. That shit keeps me up at night, let me tell you what.

7. Ahhhh THANK YOU! This is something I work very hard at, because I too really dislike the "checking boxes" approach to diverse representation. It never feels sincere, for one thing -- as if the authors care more about diversity (the abstract concept) than they do about people (the living, breathing individuals they're writing about (or the ones who are reading the book)). I think it was particularly easy to do in the case of Pirate Society specifically because I went into it thinking, "Man, every single person on this island has a Story. NOBODY is here by accident except for the people who were born here, but even that is a Story in this context. How many different reasons can I come up with for someone having to throw their life away and move to the Isles of Lost Souls as one of its eponymous lost souls?"

11. Yeah the problem that Tev and Avra run into with their sex life is that they're both profoundly bad at intimacy. All the fraught bits of their relationship stem from that underlying wound they have to work around. Fortunately Julian is very good at intimacy. It is Julian's whole jam.

Anyway THANK YOU AGAIN for the truly lovely message -- the points I didn't respond to were only because I was like "mmm [sage nod] yes that's true" or "ah what a kind comment!" or both. :)

(Side note, but if you would enjoy talking to some other people who also love this book very much, there is an official fandom Discord server here: https://discord.gg/DTyee9HRR9 Come join us!)

[nesiacha]

Napoleon and the Babouvists

I have chosen to translate Victor Daline’s 1970 article “Napoleon and the Babouvists”, which examines the relationship between Bonaparte and the Babouvist movement, as well as the repression they faced under his regime. Although the article dates back to 1970 and therefore lacks access to some more recent research or updated sources, it remains highly relevant and insightful.

That being said, the article notably overlooks the role of politically active women who were connected to Babeuf and who suffered repression under Bonaparte. These include Simone Evrard, Albertine Marat, and Marie-Anne Babeuf—the widow of Gracchus Babeuf—along with Madame Dufour, who lost her husband following his arrest under Bonaparte ( plus she was Jacobin woman who publicly opposed Bonaparte). Once again, women’s political agency during the Revolution is marginalized.

Furthermore, it is important to remember that repression under the Consulate was not limited to Babouvists. It also targeted liberal revolutionaries who opposed Babeuf’s ideas and were supporters of the Constitution of Year III. One such figure was Bernard Metge, an opponent of both Sieyès and the Consulate. Others were prosecuted simply for what historian Natalie Petiteau refers to as “insults and threats against the government.” There is no mention of the Dagger Plot in which the neo-Jacobin Topino Lebrun, friend of Babeuf, was executed among the "conspirators."

In addition, the article makes no mention of the well-known republican revolutionary Antonelle, a Babouvist who opposed Bonaparte and was quite possibly a member of the Philadelphes society.

Just so there’s no confusion: in his correspondence with Émile Babeuf, Buonarroti responds to someone who, by 1816, had already converted to Bonapartism. Later in life, Émile even adopted some rather reactionary positions—a surprising turn, considering that his father Gracchus Babeuf strongly disliked Bonaparte, that his mother Marie-Anne was persecuted at least twice under Napoleon, and that Émile himself was the subject of an arrest warrant during the first Malet conspiracy. since he frequented Buonarrotti, Antonelle and other opponents. He avoided arrest only because he was abroad at the time he was to be arrested.

Here is the article translated into English

The rise of Bonaparte began during Babeuf's lifetime. Did he notice it? Did he mention Bonaparte's name? Did Bonaparte attribute any importance to the Conspiracy for Equality? Did he consider it even the slightest serious threat? Ultimately, the trial at Vendôme dealt a painful blow to the Babouvist movement, yet it continued to exist nonetheless. What was the attitude toward Napoleon among the Babouvists who survived? In the vast literature dedicated to Napoleon, we find only a few scattered mentions regarding these questions, and no dedicated study is known to us. This is what determines the focus of our inquiry: what were the relations between the "last Gracchus" of the French Revolution and Napoleon?

The men of the Revolution were well-versed in the lessons of Roman history. They were also not unaware of the English Revolution, particularly the experience of General Monk. From the earliest days of the Revolution, many among them foresaw the threat of a "military government." “All revolutions end with the sword,” said the counter-revolutionary Rivarol, who was as clever as he was cynical. The fear of a general becoming “the hope and idol of the nation” was one of the main arguments used to oppose the war in 1791–1792—not only by Maximilien Robespierre, but also by the humble feudal law clerk from the small Picardy town of Roye, as early as 1790. In the draft statutes for the National Guard, the “citizen-soldier,” as Babeuf called himself, defended the principles of the most rigorous form of democracy. Commanders should be elected. To “preserve and secure the sweet fraternity, the only guarantee of liberty” between soldiers and officers, there should be no external distinctions. Uniforms and weapons were to be the same. All of these restrictions were dictated by the fear that otherwise “the colonel of our guard would behave like a sovereign.” Instead of “a detachment of free soldiers,” it would become “a herd of slaves.” ( 1) At the time, in Roye, the concern was only about “colonels.” But by the autumn of 1792, when France was at war, Babeuf clearly emphasized the threat a “military government” posed to the future of democracy. In his speech to the electoral assembly of the Somme department, he insisted that an article be added to the constitution stipulating that “a sufficient number of generals shall alternate monthly in the supreme command of the armies.” The first draft of his manuscript demanded that the supreme command “not remain in one person’s hands for more than two months.”(2)

During the insurrection of 13 Vendémiaire, Bonaparte and Babeuf (who was at the time imprisoned at Plessis) found themselves, it is true, on the same republican side. But the early signs of the rise of the “Vendémiaire general” already caused Babeuf deep concern. In theTribun du Peupleaddress to the army, published in issue 41 of his journal, he mentioned Bonaparte’s name for the first time and openly voiced his suspicions: “...Isn’t it foolish to believe that the Revolution was made for us? All right then, for our leaders. Should we not have felt flattered to see the Directory grant our General Buonaparte 800,000 francs to set up his household?” Babeuf contrasted Jourdan with Bonaparte: “It is said that the same tactics were tried on Jourdan... But it is claimed that Jourdan, being little impressed by such flattery, remains the general of Liberty and continues to deserve the trust of the People and the soldiers.”(3)

Babeuf voiced his suspicions regarding “Buonaparte” one month before his final arrest. Yet it is remarkable that even from his prison cell in Vendôme, Babeuf continued to follow Bonaparte’s actions. Upon reading the Ami des lois by Duchosal, dated 16 Pluviôse Year V (February 4, 1797), he made the following note: “Buonaparte, conqueror of Lombardy, believed this title authorized him to dictate the organization of the government of that country. He requested a list of good citizens from all classes to form a provisional general council representing the Milanese people, pending their self-constitution. There is no doubt,” the journalist adds, “that he will unite with the Cispadan peoples and form with them a one and indivisible republic.” (4) The hostile tone of this note is unmistakable. The guillotine’s blade already hung over Babeuf’s head. He had only three and a half months left to live, but he still had time to observe the transformation of the “conqueror of Lombardy” into an absolute sovereign—exactly what had frightened him as early as 1792. Babeuf had a clear vision of the danger of a “military government,” and he had time to observe how victorious generals most clearly embodied that threat.

A year later, another Babouvist, Sylvain Maréchal, spelled out that danger in very concrete terms. His actions during the final phase of the Babeuf movement remain unclear. However, his anti-Bonapartist pamphlet, Corrective to Bonaparte’s Glory or Letter to that General, written in Frimaire Year VI (between Campo Formio and the Egyptian campaign), when Bonaparte's republican reputation was still beyond doubt, does credit to Maréchal’s political insight(5). In it, Maréchal criticized Bonaparte’s Italian policy, the compromise with Austria regarding Venice, and his refusal to go to Rome. Above all, however, Maréchal feared the general’s ambition: “Bonaparte! Your glory is a dictatorship... If you allow yourself this tone in Italy when addressing the Cisalpine Directory, I don’t see what would prevent you from using the same tone one day when addressing the French Directory. I see nothing to reassure me that next Germinal, during our primary assemblies, you won’t say from your chambers in the Luxembourg Palace: People of France! I shall appoint you a Legislative Body and an Executive Directory. I see nothing to stop the general who toasts His Majesty the Emperor before toasting the French Republic from saying at the National Palace: I shall give you a king of my own choosing—or tremble. Your disobedience shall be punished.” It is true that Maréchal ended his pamphlet by softening his criticism, expressing hope that Bonaparte would contribute to the creation of a European republic led by France. But even in Frimaire Year VI, Maréchal predicted 18 Brumaire with considerable accuracy.

We will not dwell here on Marc Antoine Jullien’s attitude toward Bonaparte. Although closely associated with Babeuf in 1795, Jullien broke with the Babouvist movement well before the arrests in Floréal. At the time of his arrival in Italy, Jullien could be considered among the “conscientious Bonapartists,” although his criticism of Bonaparte’s Italian policy—serious and sharp—was quite close to the judgment expressed by Buonarroti. (6)

It is precisely to Buonarroti, one of the leaders of the “movement for equality,” and at the same time the man who knew Bonaparte closely and well from their time in Corsica, and later up to 1795 during preparations for the Italian campaign(7), that we owe the most accurate and clearest characterization of the Babouvists' attitude toward Bonaparte. Buonarroti wrote in Conspiracy for Equality: “…Through several such instances, the new aristocracy came to recognize in this general… the man who could one day offer it solid support against the people; and it was the knowledge of his haughty character and aristocratic views that led to his being summoned on 18 Brumaire, Year VIII, alarmed by the speed with which the democratic spirit was then resurfacing. Bonaparte was brought to supreme power by a sort of backward step that the 9th Thermidor, Year II, had imprinted on the Revolution… Bonaparte, by the firmness of his character and the influence of his military exploits, could have been the restorer of French liberty; an ordinary ambitious man, he preferred to strike the final blows against it: he held the happiness of Europe in his hands and became its scourge through the systematic oppression he imposed upon it.”(8)

This “diffidenza verso Bonaparte” (mistrust of Bonaparte) took root in Buonarroti well before 1795 and lasted until the end of his life (except for the Hundred Days). “Do not speak to me of the great man; he dealt the Revolution its death blow and completed to his benefit the work of iniquity that immorality and aristocracy had long since begun. He could have repaired everything; he lost everything. That is his great crime,” Buonarroti wrote to Babeuf’s son in 1828(9).

Buonarroti shared his memories of Napoleon with the Turgenev brothers, Alexander and Nikolai, in 1836, shortly before his death. These appeared in the first issue of Pushkin’s Sovremennik (“The Contemporary”): “February 16. The old man Buonarroti… had lunch at our house. He is a living chronicle of the last half-century… He characterizes many people wonderfully and tells little-known details about events and individuals. In his youth and later he knew Napoleon: in Corsica, he lived in his mother’s house and, when Napoleon came to visit her, the last night that Sub-Lieutenant Bonaparte spent in his family home, they slept in the same bed. Ever since, they quarreled at times but never reconciled. Bonaparte rose to the throne. Buonarroti, for his part, was thrown into prison.” (10)

“Never reconciled” – this phrase precisely defines not only Buonarroti’s attitude toward Napoleon but that of all the Babouvists.

On the 9th of Ventôse, Year IV, Bonaparte, as Commander-in-Chief of the Army of the Interior, personally closed the Panthéon Club. Buonarroti attributed to him not only the execution but also the initiative of this action. Three days later, on the 12th of Ventôse, Bonaparte was appointed commander of the Army of Italy. The Babouvists considered these two acts intimately connected.

At Saint Helena, Napoleon recalled these events and his encounter with Buonarroti at the time: “…After Vendémiaire, he was among the Babouvists. I had him summoned. He responded proudly. ‘That’s fine,’ I said, ‘but you have professed communist views to have the commander of Paris executed—this does not suit me, and I will have you tried by a military commission and shot.’”

Napoleon recalled this meeting with Buonarroti on January 5, 1819 (11). Whether he truly threatened Buonarroti with a military commission in 1795 is difficult to say, especially since negotiations for the “Italian mission” had occurred beforehand, evidently with Napoleon’s knowledge. But Bonaparte did indeed threaten the Babouvists with military commissions and execution during the famous State Council sessions of Nivôse, Year IX, after the explosion of the so-called “infernal machine.”

As is known, two days after the explosion, during the session on 5 Nivôse (December 26, 1800), Bonaparte—who was clearly preparing to purge the revolutionary cadres—categorically affirmed the terrorists' guilt. “These are the Septemberists, the remnants of all the men of blood... This is not a royalist conspiracy nor an English plot—it is a terrorist conspiracy.”(12)

The time had come to “cleanse France”: “I am ready to serve as a tribunal on my own, to have the guilty appear before me, interrogate them, judge them, and execute their sentence…” In that same speech, he declared: “There will be no avoiding blood. We must shoot… fifteen to twenty people, expel two hundred, and take advantage of this occasion to cleanse France.”

According to Roederer and Thibaudeau, this scene stunned the Council of State, which—according to Thiers—was “frozen in surprise and fear.”(13) A heavy silence followed, broken only by Admiral Truguet. The Brumairians were willing to judge the perpetrators of the attack severely, but the prospect of summary justice for a whole group of active revolutionaries alarmed them. Where would Bonapartist terror end?

Among those who took heed of this warning was even the most devoted of Bonapartists—Pierre-François Réal, former comrade of Chaumette and Hébert at the Paris Commune, defender of the Babouvists at Vendôme, and future count of the Empire.

Taken aback by such resistance, Bonaparte flew into a rage. According to Roederer, he turned pale, his voice broke, and he completely lost control of himself, even interrupting Cambacérès(14).

It is striking that when calling for extraordinary measures against terrorists, Bonaparte always recalled the Babouvists. In all versions of his speech that reached us, and in all accounts by those present, Babeuf is invariably mentioned: “The tribunal will conclude everything in five days. I have a dictionary of the Septemberists, the conspirators, Babeuf and others who played their part during the worst moments of the Revolution.”(15)

Transported by fury, Bonaparte threatened Council members: “Don’t you know, gentlemen of the Council, that except for two or three, you are all considered royalists?... Shall I send Citizen Portalis to Sinnamary, Citizen Devaisne to Madagascar, and then form a council à la Babeuf [emphasis ours]? Come now, Citizen Truguet, don’t try to fool me… They wouldn’t spare you either; and you could tell them you defended them today at the Council of State, but they would sacrifice you like me, like all your colleagues.”(16)

Enraged, Bonaparte suspended the session.

Meanwhile, it became clear that the terrorists had no part in the Rue Nicaise explosion. At the Council session of 11 Nivôse, Bonaparte no longer linked the attack to anti-terrorist measures. “The government has its convictions, but without proof it cannot impute the attack to these individuals. They are being deported for September 2, May 31, Babeuf’s conspiracy [emphasis ours], and all that has happened since.”(17)

At this session, Réal and others again raised objections to the list of people to be deported, drawn up by Fouché(18). Bonaparte held firm. The proscription list came into effect on 14 Nivôse.

This list of 130 names included well-known Babouvists like Rossignol and Massard, leaders of the Babouvist military organization; “agents” from the Paris districts: Mathurin Bouin, Claude Fiquet, Mennessier; individuals indicted in the Vendôme trial and others linked to the Babouvist movement: Convention member Choudieu, Félix Lepeletier, Marchand, Chrétien, Lamberthé, the Babouvist literature publisher Brochet, Cordas, Dufour, Vatar, Goulard, Paris, the Belgian Fyon, Vanneck, and many others.

Seventy people were deported to the Seychelles. Some remained on Anjouan Island in the Comoros, where, within two weeks, twenty-one of them—including Rossignol and Bouin—died of disease. According to survivor Lefranc, Fescourt, author of a book on the deportees’ fate, reports Rossignol’s final words: “I die overwhelmed by the most horrible pain; but I would die content if I could know that the oppressor of my homeland, the author of all my misfortunes, suffered the same torments and pains.”(19)

Hostilities with England prevented the deportation of the second group of terrorists. Only in 1803 were 40 people sent to Cayenne, where a third died in the first year. However, the police failed to arrest everyone sentenced to deportation. Claude Fiquet and Menessier, former administrators of the Paris Commune police, as well as Babouvists Didier, Marchand, Fyon and others escaped. Some managed to flee, including Fournier l’Américain, a close associate of Babeuf in Paris in 1793 (20).

The arrests of Floréal, the repression at Grenelle, the Vendôme trial, and finally the list of 14 Nivôse dealt heavy blows to the Babouvists. But did Napoleon completely suppress them? Was opposition to the Consulate and Empire limited to military and ideological circles? Who created the Philadelphes organization, and did it even exist? Was Buonarroti truly connected to it and involved in General Malet’s two plots? These questions demand further research.

Fifty years ago, a historian as capable as Léonce Pingaud could still consider the Philadelphes a fabrication by Charles Nodier, and General Malet a “loner” with occasional accomplices(21) . Regarding Malet, E.V. Tarlé held the same opinion. However, later studies confirmed the Philadelphes' existence. Destrem’s hypothesis—that during his deportation to Île de Ré, Félix Lepeletier became linked to Colonel Oudet, its commander, and became involved with the Philadelphes—is more than plausible (22). Lepeletier escaped in 1803.

Andryane’s testimony about Buonarroti’s links to General Malet(23) finds strong confirmation in Buonarroti’s Elenco dei grandi uomini, published by A. Saitta, where Oudet is praised as “founder of the Philadelphes society instituted against Bonaparte’s tyranny,” and Malet as “a passionate republican-democrat who, from the depths of prison, rose up against imperial despotism to restore the people to their rights.”(24)

Buonarroti was the living link connecting the movement of the Equals to the resistance against “imperial despotism.” Other evidence exists of Babouvist activity(25). Napoleon did not succeed in breaking this “Macedonian phalanx”—chief among them Buonarroti himself.

At Saint Helena, he paid tribute to his adversary. Let us recall these words, which J. Godechot was the first to highlight(26) . According to a note by Bertrand dated 1819: “Napoleon reads Le Moniteur. He reads the Babouvist trial and finds it interesting… Buonarroti was a man of great talent… He was a friend of the common good, a leveler. I had him released. I don’t believe Buonarroti ever thanked me, or ever addressed me. Perhaps it was pride on his part, perhaps he thought himself too insignificant. Maybe I forgot he wrote to me—I was so busy then! Buonarroti was a leveler so far from my system that it’s possible I paid no attention. Yet he could have been very useful in organizing the Kingdom of Italy. He would have made a very good professor. He was an extraordinarily talented man, a descendant of Michelangelo, an Italian poet like Ariosto, writing French better than I did, drawing like David, and playing the piano like Paisiello.”(27)

This judgment seems objective and impartial. What a pity Napoleon expressed it so late…

Victor Daline

(1) Archives IML, fonds 223, inv.I, number 134

(2) Archives IML, fonds 223, inv.I, number 333

(3) Le Tribun du Peuple, number 41, page 276, “Adresse du tribun du peuple à l’armée” 10 Germinal

(4) Archives IML, fonds 223, inv.I, number 473

(5) Cf. A. Mathiez, “An anti-Bonapartist pamphlet in Year VI. The predictions of Sylvain Maréchal”, La Révolution française, 1903, vol. XLIV, pages 249–255; M. Dommanget, Sylvain Maréchal (1950). The text of the pamphlet was reprinted in 1913 by O. Karmin in the Revue historique de la Révolution française.

(6) Cf. V. Daline, “M.A. Jullien after 9 Thermidor”, Annales Historiques de la Révolution Française, 1966, no.185

(7) J. Godechot, Les commissaires aux armées sous le Directoire (1941), vol. I; A. Saitta, Filippo Buonarroti (Rome, 1950–1951)

(8) F. Buonarroti, Conspiration pour l’égalité (Paris, 1957), vol. I

(9) Archives départementales de la Somme, F 129/106, “Brussels, 30 July 1828”. It is interesting to compare Buonarroti’s opinion to the attitude of Ch. Fourier toward Napoleon (cf. Rob. C. Bowles, “The reaction of Ch. Fourier to the French Revolution”, French Historical Studies, Vol. I, No. 3, 1960). “Fourier was particularly disappointed by Napoleon, for he acknowledged that this conqueror was a remarkable genius and held the key to universal harmony and happiness.”

(10) Sovremennik, 1836, vol. I, pp. 275–276, “Paris, A Russian’s Chronicle”. See also A.I. Turgenev, Chronique d’un Russe. Journaux (Moscow, 1964)

(11) General Bertrand, Cahiers de Sainte-Hélène, 1818–1819 (Paris, 1959), page 225

(12) P.L. Roederer, Œuvres (1854), vol. III, p. 355

(13) A. Thiers, Histoire du Consulat et de l’Empire (1845), vol. I, p. 255. Cf. Thibaudeau, A.C., Mémoires sur le Consulat par un ancien conseiller d’État (1827), ch. II “Explosion de la machine infernale”. Also Histoire de la France et de Napoléon Bonaparte, vol. II (1835), page 46

(14) Roederer, op. cit., p. 357

(15) Roederer, op. cit., p. 359

(16) Thiers, op. cit., p. 257

(17) Thibaudeau, Mémoires…, page 47. Cf. Thiers, op. cit., page 266

(18) Desmarets, in Témoignages historiques sur quinze ans de haute police (1833), pp. 48–49, probably based on Réal’s account, reproduced this scene: “Napoleon: Who made those lists? There are still enough of those incorrigible remnants of Babeuf’s anarchy in Paris. Réal: Precisely. I’d be on that list too… if I weren’t a Councillor of State — I who defended Babeuf and his co-defendants at Vendôme.”

(19) Fescourt, Histoire de la double conspiration de 1800: contre le gouvernement consulaire, et de la déportation qui eut lieu dans la deuxième année du consulat; contenant des détails authentiques et curieux sur la machine infernale et sur les déportés (1819). Chateaubriand in his Mémoires d’outre-tombe mentions this same phrase by Rossignol and Fescourt’s book

(20) Cf. J. Destrem, “Les déportations du Consulat”, Revue historique, May–June 1878

(21) L. Pingaud, La jeunesse de Ch. Nodier. Les Philadelphes (1919): “Oudet is the fictitious creation of a whimsical imagination” (page 179) “Malet… only ever had occasional accomplices; a solitary figure driven by his passions or personal grudges, and not acting on behalf of any known association” (pages 170–171)

(22) Destrem, op. cit., page 94

(23) Cf. Andryane, Souvenirs de Genève

(24) Cf. A. Saitta, op. cit., vol. II, page 45. See also A. Lehning, “Buonarroti and his internal secret societies”, International Review of Social History, 1956, no. 1

(25) Cf. J. Dautry, “Saint-Simon et les anciens babouvistes de 1804 à 1809”, Babeuf et Buonarroti. Pour le deuxième centenaire de leur naissance. Also by the same author: “La tradition babouviste après la mort de Babeuf”, Annuaire d’études françaises, 1960 (Moscow, 1961)

(26) Cf. A. H.R.F., 1952, pages 177–178: “Thus, Napoleon was more closely connected with Buonarroti before 1796 than Saitta and Galente Garrone believed”

(27) General Bertrand, Cahiers de Sainte-Hélène, 1818–1819 (1959), p. 297. Cf. ibidem, p. 255: “He finds Buonarroti’s name, admits he knew him, and says he should have used his knowledge. He was a clever man, a liberty fanatic, but sincere, a terrorist and yet a good and simple man. It seems he never changed character.” See also notes for 1816–1817: “Buonarroti… had known me in his youth. He was a talented, eloquent, honest man… He would have been very useful to me in Italy” (General Bertrand, Cahiers de Sainte-Hélène. Journal 1816–1817, pp. 177–178)

Here is the source for Victor Daline's original article in French:

[marvel-starwarsfangirl]

Hit by Hunger Games brainrot

No surprise that Sunrise on the Reaping, much like the flint striker Lenore Dove gave to Haymitch, reignited by interest in The Hunger Games series. I've read the books and watched the movies a very long time ago. Like, we're talking almost a decade ago. I loved the movies (especially Finnick) and SotR made me want to revisit the whole series.

And the first book is absolutely amazing. Katniss' POV is so in depth and detailed. For reference, I watched the movie soon after I finished the book and the book is just so much more satisfying and fulfilling. You understand everything about Katniss and why she acts the way she does. Everything she does is for Prim. That little girl is the person she loves more than anything in the whole world.

The reason why she's distant with her mom and Peeta relates back to trust issues. Asterid essentially lost herself when Burdock died, leaving Katniss to fulfill that role despite food being so scarce. And with Peeta, that day when he gave her bread still sticks with her. Then, she's sent into the Games, knowing she'll have to kill him all the while he's supposedly selling this narrative that he's love with her. Truth is, he's always loved her. But she doesn't fully believe that. (This book also made me a certified Peeta fan bc he’s such a green flag and I love him).

The books also show the full length of how hard it is to survive in District 12 or in the Games. It's not just a walk in the park and you either have the skills/means to survive or you're toast.

Suzanne's writing is a goldmine because of how's she's able to suck you into the world she's created.

I love Katniss' cleverness as she struggles to survive in the Games; she figures out that there's water nearby and how to keep herself safe from the other tributes. She is a survivor through and through. Meanwhile, Peeta is often dubbed the performer who had to fight and that's so accurate. He's a natural at wooing the Capital and even manages to "ally" with the Careers. Together, he and Katniss compliment each other quite nicely and balance out their skills.

And of course, Haymitch. This poor man is struggling and it shows. He shows up to the reaping drunk and then face plants and who can blame him? It's his birthday and for him, it's another year he gets to watch two tributes die. Snow saw to it that he would pay the price for his defiance.

People say that Haymitch is very much like Katniss, but I'll also add he's also very much like Peeta. Sunrise shows us how loving and kind Haymitch is to the people around him. Peeta is naturally very kind, helping Haymitch clean himself up no questions asked. Furthermore, Haymitch is very aware that the Games are all one big act just like Peeta does and is able to play that side up during the interviews. If anything, Haymitch is a good balance between the two.

Honestly, I just loved how detailed the book is; I really felt like I was there with Katniss. The movie just doesn't go that deep (and I know it can't for timing reasons) and you can feel it. Character interactions are explored much further and established in ways that movies can't without being like 3 hours long.

I will say this about the movie (which I still enjoy): Rue's death scene still is emotional, District 11 revolting was a good preview of what was to come, and I do like that Seneca was our Capital POV. It gave us insight into how the Games are run and his scenes with Snow were great. Snow tells him that he knows District 12 and how they're underdogs, a line that hit way harder after Ballad. Even when Seneca is locked in a room with only nightlock berries, it solidifies how evil Snow is. You could be head game maker, one of the most powerful positions in the Games, but the moment something goes awry, it's your life on the line. Seneca paid the price for letting Katniss and Peeta go.

Haymitch's warning that Katniss is in grave danger because of her stunt with the nightlock also hit way harder after Sunrise. Haymitch knew first-hand what could happen.

Anyways, Suzanne is an incredible writer and I loved diving back into this series. I don't think it every hit me how detailed her writing was until now because I haven't touched the series in forever. But it is amazing and I can't wait to start reading CF.

[utilitycaster]

Been burning through the third campaign of NADDPOD recently off of your recommendation and it's been incredible. Though it has made me think of what exactly makes its callbacks and references to the previous campaign work so well compared to C3. As you pointed out in your post about the podcast, they share more than a few similarities. I'd guess that the lighter tone overall helps quite a bit, though the Irondeep Saga and Hardwon's return to the adventuring life is genuinely very effective!

To me, most if not all of C3's returning characters and callbacks were self-aggrandizing and distracting. The initial return to Whitestone for Laudna especially.

I have not finished NADDPOD's C3 yet so maybe I'll be proven wrong, but I was just wondering if you had any insight on why it just, works better than its counterpart? Also, big fan of the blog! Your meta post have kept me sane during the various errands that Bells Hells half heartedly accomplish.

So I do want to note my issue with Whitestone and Laudna's resurrection isn't so much seeing Percy and Vex and Pike and Keyleth; it's much more that having that available so early cut off some notable opportunities in Marquet. Going to Jiana would have probably made the Delilah issue much more of a factor (since I doubt anyone she'd have known would have been a L20 cleric familiar with Delilah), would have done interesting things for Ashton's story, and would have kept the party on the continent and in the city, possibly spending more time with Eshteross and maybe even giving them an additional chance to encounter Otohan in person. In retrospect this could have fixed like five different things. I actually found that the previous character callbacks were one of the strongest elements and increasingly I also feel the original NPCs of C3, Otohan and Ozo aside, while few and far between, would have been great if Bells Hells like, cared about them and spent time with them.

I think the more important part is that Murph is not trying to wrap up an overarching plot across multiple campaigns; he's simply telling, well, the campaign after the campaign. He was pretty clear about that in the initial discussions for NADDPod C3 - it's heavily influenced by the decisions in the initial Bahumia campaign but like, the plot isn't to end the astral plane god-battles that set off; it's to save Bahumia from Mothership (and those two factions evolve to have other implications, but the core conflict is introduced early and remains as is). Now, I also think that having a smaller party that is generally absolutely fearless when it comes to decision-making is an important part and they deserve credit (just as, while I think Matt's errors were most significant for C3's issues, the cast's waffling and fear of picking the wrong choice is a factor - even a "wrong" choice would have been better in most cases), but a lot of it is that it's a pretty standard D&D style plot executed well. (This would be another really long post but I really do think D&D can handle a range of plots and genres, but it's still a limited range of plots and genres, and if you try to subvert it, as people increasingly try to do, it will not reward you for cleverness but rather backfire. I don't think C3 tries to subvert D&D nor do I think D&D is the problem here; also just to stave off dumb comments, Pathfinder has the same exact limitations and Daggerheart likely will have very similar ones - this is about a combat-skills-forward fantasy game with level progression in general of which D&D is the most prominent but by no means only example. However since I just answered about Neverafter, while that's not the question, I think Murph has a particularly good understanding of what D&D can do.)

I think it's a few things but I think one reason Murph has such a track record is first, he identifies pretty strongly as a comedy writer, though he's also obviously a performer; secondly, he is as far as I can tell cautious and surly and he came to TTRPGs as an adult; and thirdly, two major influences he has that others tend not to cite are gaming and wrestling, and I really think this is important.

I think as a writer, he tends to have a good sense of narrative and where things have to go. That doesn't mean there aren't unexpected turns, but I think he does a good job of planning for contingencies and having a confident hand in turning the story back. And again, I think having a 3-person party makes it easier to get back on the rails (or to build a new track very quickly) but I think he, to quote a truly stupid but not entirely wrong self-help quote, begins with the end in mind.

The cautiousness and surliness are in my opinion the secret to NADDPod. Look. Niceness is, well, nice, though Brennan has a great bit that I watched recently and have since forgotten the source of about how kindness and niceness are two separate concepts. I think Murph is really willing to tell his players "No" and I think it is always to his benefit. I think making your players explain what they want to do, or being willing to turn your player's riffing into something that might not be their intention (Sol and Albie and the whole reveal that the Academy made everyone feel like a hero while essentially churning out manufactured duos stands out to me) is important. I don't want to say every home game should have this because it shouldn't - if you are playing at home casually and just want to make your friends feel like the coolest people ever, you don't have to do this! But if you are an actual play show you should be telling a story, and to tell a good story you do have to kill a few darlings and make a few edits, and Murph is willing to do that and Matt is sometimes too generous for his own good to the detriment of story (and, imo, I think it's ultimately less rewarding for the players in the long run much of the time too!)

And thirdly, games and wrestling. Now I am obviously no expert in games, but from a complete beginner's perspective, something that keeps striking me is how many people become affronted when the side quests (or, more accurately, ignoring the side quests) impact the main quest in significant ways, even though it's simply good writing to have side quests that enhance your understanding of the main quest and make you stronger or better able to approach it because of your experiences. This is in fact one of the biggest reasons why C3 is so weak, and one of the reasons why I think NADDPod is consistently strong. And then as for wrestling: I am even less of an expert here, but wrestling requires clear storytelling and especially clear motivations, (hard to be subtle in that medium) and story told primarily through combat that better have a great conclusion. It's also, notably, a remarkably unpretentious thing to be into, even though it's popular with a lot of nerds (Danielle Radford is the guest from last week; Ify's a wrestling fan as well). As a result, I think Murph isn't afraid to be blunt and unsubtle in service of actually making something good and entertaining and cohesive, instead of trying to say something deep and failing. Because nothing crashes to the ground and burns than trying to say something deep and failing. I mean I love pretentiousness, but I know when to drop it, and I think NADDPod on the whole does too.

[dorizardthewizard]

Reading the Shrek novelisations and the third one has quite a few interesting differences and additions! These books are usually not based on the final script so it's fun to see what tidbits got changed or cut.

Like here during the conversation on the ship, Donkey brings up Shrek's childhood. This didn't make it into the movie - the only reference was during the campfire scene.

I honestly wish they'd focused more on this and it's one of the many things brought up in the movie that had potential but weren't expanded on. It would have been so much more interesting if Shrek's nightmare incorporated his parents and fear of making the same mistakes, rather than the gross out humour we got.

The first interaction with Artie is also a little different as he plays a prank on Lancelot in this version. This was also in the video game and one of the OST's is called Peaches, so it must have been cut pretty late. I guess the joke isn't all that funny but maybe Artie would have been more well liked if they'd let him be more clever and cheeky? He had some more sassy lines in the game too!

Merlin used to be married to a fairy associated with bubbles? Could it be......????

Charming wanted Rapunzel to wear his mother's dress 💀💀 Where do I begin.....

Also how would he still have it when she completely turned into bubbles? Or did she just have multiple?

Artie's coronation is cute here with everyone cheering him on, but I do prefer what they went with in the end. It's a bit too casual this way.

Also the novelisation actually has more of a conclusion for Puss and Donkey's switcheroo, even if it is a bit cheesy.

According to this novelisation, they've ALL gone to high school???

Confirmation the captain was indeed a drunken sailor lmao, explains the weird comments

Looks like the journey to your soul bit originally just played on Artie's fear of becoming king and failing at it. It's a bit goofier though so I'm glad they went with the bird imagery, which gave us more of an insight into his backstory

Snow White asking what we were all thinking lmao

[shatcey]

Azel's route

Before I start, I want to make a small warning. This route was dedicated to religious issues and believers. It's not surprising, considering that the main character claims to be a God. Some of the thoughts contained in this route may seem offensive to true believers. For me, religion is a kind of philosophy that always has its pros and cons. So I consider the very harsh words in this route as part of a story (which has nothing to do with real life) or a demonstration of the flaw of this philosophy.

I thought I'd add some more jokes from this route, but to be honest, they're not that good (I guess I'm tired), so I decided to end with this route… at least for now.

Since I don't want to spoiler too much, I'll just say a few words unrelated to the main plot. If they are related, then without any specifics.

The first and most important… I feel so sorry for Ennis. I'm really sorry, Ennis. I was so wrong about you. This guy has two bosses who give him opposing orders, and he has no idea how not to offend either of them.

Great, now he has three bosses! I'm so sorry, Ennis. And yes, I will continue to write his name with the two "N" because I LIKE IT BETTER.

His position is very nervous, and he considered a king, but in the end he's just nobody. The only thing he was allowed to do is… to create a new generation of descendants of the gods… Azel gave him his harem. Yes, Azel originally had a harem, but he gave it to his brother. Maybe Ennis' life isn't as bad as I think it is, but… it's very nervous for sure…

The developers have created many side characters for this route. We see Izzet in the sequels. But apart from him… two maid girls, a guy who organizes tourism, the couple who created the most jokes at the beginning of the route, Basil and Kamal. I don't remember any other route where so many side characters were added. And all of them are very remarkable, and all of them at some point played a huge part in story.

This route contains very vague, but still recognizable references to the Disney cartoon "Beauty and the Beast". And I find it very cute.

Throughout the entire route, I noticed very familiar lines or thoughts that were in the events or in the teaser. And this is not a repeat of the story, but just a confirmation that this is a fairly common occurrence. And none of this seems out of place, they are like threads connecting all the story. And these recognizable moments make us fully immerse ourselves in this world.

Belle in some moments very soft and easy to manipulate, but at others pretty strong-willed and stubborn. She is very observant and has a very strong opinion about what true love is. And her point of view is not naive, it is very correct. I didn't really like Belle at the events, but I really liked her on this route. What's the difference? She's not as stupidly naive as I thought, that's for sure.

Azel is simply adorable. At first, he reminded me of Silvio. Money-money-money… but at some point, I start to see Ally in him. Maybe I just see Ally everywhere… But it seems they do have a lot in common. Azel combines the best qualities of both of these guys, and I really like how it turned out in the end.

I really like this story. The concept of story, the logic in it, the slow disclosure of facts from the past… the chemisty between the main couple (which began after the aphrodisiac incident and was like a constant electricity). The interaction of the main pair. How extremely good the other characters are. The jokes of Clavis, the clever comments of Luke, the insight and cunning of Silvio and… the shadow or Gilly-bee, which actually remind of something completely different from what they quite decisively impose. And again… they all play a role in this story, they all shine. Love it.

I'm still in shock how they managed to fit so much into a regular-sized route. It's really good. I think this is the best main route I've read so far. I get the same feeling from the sequels… it seems that the next one is better than the previous ones. But I still haven't read Clavis' sequel, maybe in the end I'll like it more than Sariel's.

The only problem I see is whether they can continue to maintain this level? They have really set very high standards with this route.

I guess we'll see.

And a very nice spoiler.

...

...

...

...

...

Azel is not greedy!

I'll probably write about it when the route is released in English… if I remember (make a note not to forget!!!)… but that's not what it looks like.

Now live with this information.

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🔝 𝕊𝕋𝔸ℝ𝕋 ℙ𝔸𝔾𝔼 🔝

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[dekariosclan]

Dear Dekariosclan, (I drafted this before Midwinter lol)

Thank you for blessing Galemancers constantly with your witty and poignant insights! I'm here to join the pilgrimage with some kinky thoughts, and would like to place this Ask in your hands🤲 Of course, only if you feel comfortable answering it.

——— 18+ / mature ask below ———

Related but seperate scenario 1:

Perhaps a relatively shy Tav who wasn't too good at addressing their desires, and Gale noticed his practiced tongue etc. were received with love but a hint of unspoken something. One day, maybe it was some special occasion like an anniversary and Gale has prepared a new set of grand gestures to wow his love, when Tav finally worked up the courage to be like, "Actually...all I wanted is to...try sticking things in your butt...

...

...Youknowwhatnevermind--"

Related but separate scenario 2:

Now, what if this time it's a Tav that has some hard-core kinks, receiving or giving. They know Gale is not into pain and degrading stuff (from the Goblin Camp interaction) way before they started a relationship, so they keep it to themselves well even when they are lovers, never mentioning it once.

But Gale notices that Tav did daydream, or read, or even write/draw about it (and may or may not involve daydreaming Gale in these scenes).

What do you think he'll do??

Thanks for reading this long-ass Ask, have a nice day! I would like to draw something for you in return as well XD

This ask is from the wonderful @inglorionamy-ammy! (I had to resubmit it as an anon because tumblr messed up the formatting of the original submission for some reason).

So, Ammy has given me a cheeky Gale question! Hopefully my answer takes the cake…

For scenario 1, How would Gale respond to Tav’s shy/embarrassed ask?

Here’s the thing: Gale wants nothing more than to shower his beloved Tav in love and affection. He strives to give them the pleasure that they desire, he wants to give them ‘sensations beyond reckoning,’ he wants to ‘wow’ them.

I firmly believe that he reaches his own heights of pleasure from pleasing his partner to the best of his ability. Not only because ‘generosity is a noble virtue’ as he so memorably put it, but because much like his skill as a wizard, he takes pride in his skill as a lover.

And in addition to all that—he likes to be adventurous with his beloved! He likes to explore new cultures, new experiences, new knowledge. Therefore, new sensations—especially potentially stimulating/pleasurable ones—Gale would consider with a very open mind. (As he himself says: it’s one of his finest qualities.)

Now, how would he react to Tav’s flustered admission?

I think, after the first few seconds of Gale blinking and processing and realizing exactly what was being asked (which he would understand quite quickly; he would already have knowledge on this subject from books he’d read) he would be intrigued.

I think beads would be a real possibility for Gale to agree to; the potential for heightened pleasure while making love to Tav would be a win/win in his mind. And of course, he would sweetly and lovingly help Tav through their initial shyness in order to discuss it with them further.

I am sorry/not sorry for this, but I can see him taking this opportunity to say something that is both completely ridiculous and, at the same time, 100% straightforward. Something with a dash of his clever Gale wordplay added in. Something like: “My love, please elaborate on what sort of derring-do you desire for my derrière?”

Which, of course, would work wonders to help Tav open up fully about their desires.

Scenario 2: How would Gale respond to a Tav who had more hardcore tastes/desires?

Now this scenario is really tough, because I do think Gale has some firm boundaries on what he will and will not do for sex and erotic play.

As you mentioned, he is a firm ‘no’ on receiving pain as seen in the Goblin Camp. He’s also a firm ‘no’ on adding other partners (the terribly uncomfortable drow scene solidified that, imho).

But I also believe he would refuse to do anything harmful or degrading to Tav—even if they desired it.

He would not judge them negatively for their tastes at all!—he would apologetically reassure them of that—but I can’t see him agreeing to do anything by his own hand that would leave bruises or gashes on Tav’s skin. He also wouldn’t wish to do anything degrading to them, be it physical or verbal.

At most, I could see him agreeing to LIGHT playful spanking, and perhaps some firm scolding in Githyanki tongue (or any gruff-sounding language). I can’t see him agreeing to choking Tav—even lightly—at all.

However! As I mentioned in the first scenario, Gale really does want to give Tav the pleasure they desire. And so I think he would try to figure out a way to put his amazing illusion skills to work to conjure or create a scenario for Tav that they would enjoy, perhaps with a non-sentient image of himself. That way Gale could still adhere to his own firm boundaries of not allowing even the slightest lasting harm to come to Tav (regardless of what Tav would choose to have happen in the illusion) while still giving Tav what they wanted.

And, as a bonus—during their next lovemaking session I’m sure Tav would repay him very, very generously for his ingenuity.

Thanks for the ask Ammy! And you’ve already drawn me this amazingly sweet piece! I couldn’t ask for anything more, it’s perfect! 💜