#yes i am on the 19th century thanks for asking

[jackredfieldwasmyjacob]

btw tumblrinas i am happy to go through this oposiciones journey with you. i like to think you see me posting about a specific thing during a couple of days and you go 'oh so vivi is on the art history section again can't wait for him to comment on his love of mudéjar again'

[7thleveldown]

Tumblr for Werewolves

So… If stiles existed you KNOW he would have had a Tumblr. In this essay I will…

Derek walks over to the dining table to pick up his laptop which Stiles had been researching on. Well, research? He's pretty sure this isn't research.

“Stiles, what the hell is this?” Derek gestures to the open webpage on the laptop.

“It's the internet Derek, I know I've explained this to you before.” The smirk from Stiles is so unbelievably arrogant Derek could slap him. But maybe he could have a little fun with this.

“Yes. I am aware,” he says, completely deadpan, “you took great pains with it. Or caused me pain anyway. But I meant this specifically… This… Does not look like pack research. I don't admittedly know what to does look like, but…” he scowled at Stiles 

“What are you…” Stiles muttered as he came back from the kitchen, looking confused, before barking out a laugh. “Nah, man, that's just Tumblr, I was taking a little break from the research to clear my head.”

Derek put on his best (hopefully) confused and grumpy expression at Stiles’ reponse. “But, what… Is it?” Derek saw Peter appear on the sidelines. His ability to pick up on mischief, whether he was creating it or not, was terrifying.

“Dude! Come on! Tumblr? It's probably older than you are!” Stiles laughed and then seeing Derek's face, he pretended to pout. “Aww, did they not have Tumblr for technologically backward werewolves who only want to scowl? Poor sourwolf, you don't know what you've been missing! The fanfiction alone! The memes! The in-jokes!” Stiles was gesticulating more and more wildly, pacing around the room.

“Oh come on Derek, you-” Derek shot Peter a look and a smirk that made Peter falter just a little as he realised what was going on, but not enough for Stiles to notice. “You must remember Tumblr, Laura was always on there.” Derek sent Peter the slightest nod of thanks, and Peter's eyes lit up in glee.

“Laura had Tumblr? Do you know what her username was? We could find it! I could find it, we could see what she…” Stiles trailed off as he realised what he was saying. “You know, I could try, if you wanted me to?” 

Stiles had stopped pacing, his voice softening and his arms wrapped around himself. This had taken a turn Derek had not expected.

“I guess I might be able to remember… Maybe if you explain it to me, because it just seems so…”

Stiles’ face lit up in response. “Course! I mean, we gotta start with bringing you into the 21st Century sometime, or at least the 19th would help, because the whole Heathcliff lurking in shadows thing is kinda old. We need to get you to understand our references!”

“I know who Heathcliff is, if that's any help?” Derek said, trying to sound a little coward and out of his depth. Stiles could be such an ass sometimes, and Derek would get his own back.

“Of course you do, big guy, of course you do.”

So, Derek sits back and makes Stiles try to explain exactly what Tumblr is, in excruciating detail. And then pretends to still not understand it. Peter has had to leave the room several times so he doesn’t burst out in laughter.

“Derek! Come on! This is not that hard! For the love of….” Stiles flounces around the room, getting redder and redder in the face, and even Derek is beginning to break at this.

“Stiles, what was it you were saying about codes? I think I remember something about that…” Peter asks, distracting Stiles’ attention from Derek for a moment.

“Yes! Yep, codes… It's one of those things so people would say a phrase, and it would identify them to other Tumblr users in the real world, but mean nothing to anyone else… it’s um…”

“Stiles, don’t tell me that great brain of yours has forgotten the code? Wasn’t it about liking something?” Peter was not holding back his smirk.

At that moment, in a moment of weakness, Derek replies “I like your shoelaces.” He screws up his face as he realises what he has just said out loud.

“I fucking KNEW IT!” crows Stiles, spinning on the spot to point the finger at Derek. “I will find you in there, you can’t hide from me, there is no getting away from me now, I will find you.”

Derek sighs. Great. “This isn’t Taken, Stiles. Stop trying to channel Liam Neeson.”

The sound that is emitted from Stiles could best be described as a squark. “But you don’t…. But you….” He flails between Derek and Peter, who is laughing so hard he’s struggling to breathe. Stiles spins himself around so much, he ends up making himself dizzy and ends up on the floor with a thump.

Peter stops laughing long enough to glare at Derek. “Did you HAVE to break him? He’s my entertainment!”

Derek raises an eyebrow.

A slurred "I'm okay" is heard from the floor.

[tarithenurse]

A suitable arrangement - 2

Fandom: MCU AU. Pairing/starring: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader. Word count: 1362. Content: The audacity! A/N: I WROTE 18th CENTURY LAST TIME – THAT WAS A TYPO: it should have been 19th. Also I don’t think this will be a super long series...but it’s something. Let me know if it’s okay, please. Send ASK if you want a tag and please reblog. Also using my old tag list so if you’ve been tagged but don’t want to be on the list, just let me know.

2.

You can’t breathe properly. Admittedly, that might have more to do with how tight the maid laced your corset but you probably still would have been short of breath as you prepare to head downstairs to the sitting room where Lord Laufeyson is waiting.

Father has been clear in his orders: don’t bore the man to death and for goodness sake speak up when spoken to. He doesn’t understand how it is his own doing that you are so quiet.

Braving the steps, you make it down in the foyer with a rustle of fabrics and try to stride confidently through the doors.

There’s your father, standing by the book case and sending you a heavy look to remind you of your role.

And there’s Laufeyson, getting up from the settee with a bouquet of flowers in his hand, the other stretching towards you as he bows politely and as the good girl you are, you hand him yours as you courtesy, allowing him to kiss your knuckle lightly.

Then he presents you the bouquet: red tulips. It’s a bold statement and you can feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you accept them with a soft “thank you”. Thankfully Maude is there right away to whisk the flowers away, she will most likely put them in a vase in your chambers.

“You will have me excused,” your father says and leaves the two of you alone quite contrary to etiquette – but then again, your father has never really concerned himself much with the needs of the ladies including you.

So you straighten up, taking on the role as hostess and offer Laufeyson the opportunity to reclaim his seat as you sit on the settee opposite of him.

“Tea?” you manage to offer.

There’s a smirk on his lips. “Gladly.”

Chiming the little bell, it only takes Maude a moment to return and accept the order for refreshments. Then you’re alone with Laufeyson once more and you can feel your nerves fray ever so slowly.

“You may be wondering what caused me to near you at the debutante,” Laufeyson begins to explain, “I saw you, deeply enthralled in the artwork and I am quite an admirer of the arts myself. My intention was so converse upon the subject as it is rare I find any with the same love for it as I hold.”

You nod. “I understand,” you manage to press out on a breath.

There’s a gleam in his eye. “Do you dabble in the visual arts?” he asks, forcing you to speak further.

“I...I draw, yes.” It’s hard to get the words to be more than a whisper and you try to fight down the wiggling in your discomfort. “Mostly charcoal sketches, though.”

“And what is your preferred subject?” he keeps pressing.

“P-people,” you eek out.

He smiles again, the same smile that many must find warm and endearing but you can’t help but feel more appropriate for a cat that’s caught a mouse. And you are the mouse.

“I suppose your father makes one of your recurring models, then?”

You shake your head. Although you’ve managed to sketch your father a few times, he never takes the time to sit down, allowing you to render him properly. No, what you do is you draw from memory or make quick sketches of people passing by that you see from your window. Maude is often depicted on your paper, mostly when you’ve made your way to the kitchen while she’s cooking but you have never dared to ask her to sit model for you. Thankfully, Elena is differently keen to assist, often striking silly poses in which she looks dreamily at flowers or her own mirror image.

“No?” Laufeyson seems genuinely surprised. “Then perhaps I may do the honour of sitting model one day?”

If you hadn’t felt flushed before then you do so now at the idea of anyone else seeing you work and, even worse, the result thereof.

“Oh, I couldn’t ask that,” you gasp.

“Nonsense!” he declares. “It would be my honour.”

He looks at you expectantly but thankfully you are saved from answering him just then as Maude arrives with the tray of tea and biscuits. Pouring for your both, she manages to catch your eye and discreetly nod towards the space next to the guest. Narrowing your eyes, you try to silently remind her of her place and she does leave right away, closing the doors softly.

“Diligent help,” Laufeyson comments.

“Yes, quite,” you whisper.

He turns to you. “Pray tell...what does it take to hear your voice ring true and clear like I heard that day? Must we sing?”

You nearly spill your tea at his boldness. “Lord Laufeyson!” you gasp softly.

But he is undeterred, coming to sit next to you on the seat and grasping your slightly trembling hand. “What I heard that day was not the shy sparrow I see before me now but a bold lark and I intend to win that mesmerizing creature over and have her sing my name.”

Snatching your hand back, you don’t dare meet his gaze. You get up and walk over to open the door, a clear indication that the visit is over. He does follow. Even accepts to go to the front door but that’s where he pauses as Maude comes rushing with his coat and hat.

“Until next time, miss [Y/L/N],” he smiles crookedly.

You have no way to ban him from visiting again unless you can convince father...and speaking up again him is beyond your abilities. So you just courtesy and see the bold visitor out the door.

---

In the days that follows gifts are delivered to you: flowers of ruby and pink hues, boxes of confection, even a delicate silken shawl that must be worth more than half your wardrobe.

Thankfully, though, Loki Laufeyson himself remains at a distance.

That is...until the next ball.

Lord Stark has invited and all of course attend. It had not been long before Elena had been swept up in the dances, leaving you to stand by yourself. You’ve half made up your mind to go exploring the halls for more art when a figure approaches: Laufeyson.

Smiling coyly, he extends an arm. “A dance, miss?”

You know it would be rude to refuse and so you accept, linking your arm in his and hoping that a dance will deter him.

Hand in hand, you float across the floor, finding that he is exceptionally good at guiding your movements despite your lack of familiarity with the steps. Sure, you’ve learned them, taking lessons like any young bachelorette, but you have never truly danced before as none have ever asked you. Now, not only are you dancing but you’re dancing with Lord Laufeyson and you feel the envious glares of many of your peers. Little do they know you’d love to trade places with them especially as his large hand supports your back, nudging you slightly closer to him.

In all fairness: it’s not that Loki Laufeyson is a sore on the eye or has a bad reputation. Quite the contrary. His features are beyond handsome, raven hair and sharp cheekbones and jawline match the air of nobility. And his stature! Tall, lithe, strong, slender. No, he truly is a wonder to behold. And you have only heard whispers of admiration about him.

So why your dislike?

You do not dislike him, actually. You fear him and his perfection. You know you can never measure with him. And now...now for some reason he has made it his mission to hear you speak or sing and it scares you beyond measure to be heard. Everything is so much easier when you can go about unnoticed.

As the music comes to a halt and the dance finishes, you are about to excuse yourself with yet another courtesy when he pulls the boutonniere from his coat and tucks it behind your ear. You hear the whispers and soft gasps at his actions, you feel the heat rise to your face unbidden...and you see the warmth in his eyes as he takes your hand, kisses it, and bows.

[enlitment]

top 5 frev women?

Thanks for the ask! Oh, this one's going to be tough as well. But let's see...

Lucile Desmoulins

Much more than a pair of fine eyes, Lucile was, like her husband, heavily invested in politics. She shared Camille's convictions and is even reported to have defended him in front of others. She did pay the price for her loyalty in the end, when she was only my age (though it should be noted that the whole Germinal/Indulgent business is much more complex to be accurately presented in this short overview of course).

I also really like her writing! Her 'advice' to Marie Antoinette is definitely quite something. Go read it if you haven't! Her diary is also at times quite relatable. ("I feel that I am born to live far from men. The more I examine them, the more I seek to understand them, the more I see that one should flee from them.”)

Bonus - my favourite quote of hers on women's place in society:

To hear [men] speak, we are celestial beings, nothing is equal to us. Ah! may they deify us less and leave us free!

2. Simone Évrard

I have to confess I was sleeping on Simone for the longest time, but she is such an interesting figure! She continued to be so supportive of Marat even when times were incredibly tough for him. I'm convinced he wouldn't be able to achieve half as much as he did if it weren't for her. She then went on to defend his legacy long after his death, despite the fact that it caused quite a few problems for her. I find her incredibly inspiring!

3. Charlotte Robespierre

Listen, I'm always going to appreciate a single lady who made it her life's mission to try and take charge of the narrative.

In all seriousness, I'm still not quite sure how her mind worked, but I find her incredibly interesting. Especially the way she seemed to be so protective or Maximilien (re: Éléonore?), both during his life and after his death. She also seemed to have been so strong-willed, much like her brother, perhaps even more so. The fact that she accompanied Augustin to suppress the revolt in Nice is still kind of mind-blowing to me. And the fact that she was supposedly going to marry Fouché at one point? One of my favourite historical what-ifs, honestly. Just imagine!

(That said, my knowledge of her is quite lacking. If anyone can recommend a good biography on Charlotte, I'd be really thankful!)

4. Olympe de Gouges

Okay, here's a controversial one!

Obligatory 'am not a Girondist!', but I feel that I still have to give her some credit for her feminist ideas. Yes, her feminism was centred on upper-class women, but I still see her contributions as an important first step. Déclaration des droits de la Femme et de la Citoyenne is one of the most crucial documents in the history of feminism in my opinion.

I also appreciate the fact that while classist, her feminism was much less 'white-only' than that of a lot of women that came after her (case in point a lot of the Seneca Falls suffragettes in 19th century America). Again, not all of her views on slavery probably stand up to the test of time, but I will always appreciate anyone in the 18th century who expresses abolitionists sentiments, which she did.

She is also the author of many of my favourite french revolution era quotes:

"A woman has the right to mount the scaffold. She must possess equally the right to mount the rostrum."

She has a point and honestly? Well said.

(Side note - also kind of obsessed with her address to Robespierre. "I suggest we should bathe together in the Seine but to entirely depurgate you of those blemishes with which you have smeared yourself since 10th June, we should attach sixteen or twenty-four pound cannon balls to our feet , and together race into the flood ….")

That said, the narrative that she was executed for her feminist views is both incorrect and extremely tiring.

5. Pauline Léon

How can I not mention the leader of female Sans-culottes herself? To counter de Gouges, let me mention another French revolutionary feminist that is - in a lot of ways - an antithesis to Olympe, since she was: a) a radical republican b) a member of the working class.

She seemed to have been incredibly courageous and always managed to find herself right in the centre of the action (Bastille, Champ de Mars...). There are unfortunately not that many resources on her as on some of the other female figures, but I think her story is incredibly important. More so for the fact that she was one of female revolutionary figures we know at least something about that wasfrom a working class - as opposed to upper class - background.

My favourite fact about her is that she wanted to establish all-female militia group to defend the country against counter-revolutionaries. Not going to lie, it was a wild proposal, but it would be kind of amazing to see it happen.

(It was not easy to find her portrait, but this should be her I hope?)

[maplewozapi]

hey, it's me, the anon that left the ask about studying Native American history and cultural appropriation. Thanks for the book recommendations, I've added them all to my to-read list.

It's crazy how much people seem to dislike the topic of history I've chosen, but you genuinely helped so much. Definitely reassured me. I've also bought bury my heart at wounded knee which is a *bit* outdated but was the first book I bought on the topic so I always think of it fondly, and another called Blood and Land, and also one called a Century of Dishonour, which was written in the 1880s (very outdated in areas but also. definitely against the government policies). I'm also trying to expand my reading horizons from what happened in the 19th century USA.

(Btw, wasn't Killers of the Flower Moon turned into a film recently starring Leonardo di Caprio?? I wondered if you'd watched it. I would like to find some more modern films/tv shows with good indigenous rep - I watched Annie Get Your Gun a while back but frankly it was shit. I want to purge it from my mind).

I hope you have a lovely day, I just thought I'd say thanks for the recommendations and the reassurance </3

Yes I am very excited for the movie to come out, and there’s nothing wrong with outdated books besides biases told by the white people at the time, you gotta be picky and not take everything at face value. I read so many old books and university papers of recounts of native history and it’s kind of an art to describe them and the bs some of them say and the crab meat of truth you’re trying to find. Or like by proxy of growing up and hearing stories, and then using those accounts to figure out "oh that’s what they mean" or "Oh they mean this thing not that, they mixed it up." Cultural and language mistranslations are just so prevalent.

Then here’s some movie and video recommendations, I’ll just say with Wind River and Bury my heart again be kinda thoughtful about them. Bury my heart has like this Hollywood kinda atmosphere, more cinematic it’s a great movie but it’s also based on events and they kinda dramatized some. Gives me the same feeling of "woman who walks ahead." Still great movies and a great way to get a feel for thing that happened back then. I really love news of the world too especially what they show with the buffalo and little girl, but I really wish they hired a native actress, it’s true that adoption of any race of people happened a lot in tribes but the representation of native kids in Hollywood is nonexistent and I think these movies would be so much better portraying native head leads. With Wind River if Jeremy renner and Elizabeth Olsen where switched out with native leads the plot would be so much richer. Like a city native and Rez native story would be so good. Movies that greatly follow white leads or have white characters for the yt audience to attach to just limits the movie for me.

[izzy-stradlins-harem]

Okay, so ... I wrote the best ask and then my phone died and I lost all of it. Damn! (Pay attention! Wake up! Stop drooling!)

I cannot ask anonymously for whatever reason. (Shells says it's turned on, but maybe I have to be a mutual in order to ask anonymously or something?) So, it would mean a lot to me if the harem sisters (or bros) would not reblog this and let it remain in the harem. Thank you so much, friends. ☺️🩷😆

So here goes.

I've never thought about guys' balls before. I mean, they're just there, you know? And the hope is they're not funky.

But when it comes to Izzy, I would gladly teabag the hell out of those balls and enjoy every damn second of it. I know he's enjoyed some hot tea before ... so I'd teabag 'em while he drank some hot tea for breakfast. I don't know what he likes when it comes to his balls, but I would fondle, kiss, cup, lick, or suck the hell out of them.

Yes - I'm sick. Very sick.

Am I the only woman who thinks about Izzy's balls and wants to see them, touch them, and put them in her mouth? Am I the only woman who sees Izzy's package and thinks his balls are probably big? Am I the only woman who is so nasty that I'd put them in my mouth after he got done boogie boarding and skateboarding and was a sweaty mess? Or came offstage - drenched and funky - after wearing super tight nuthuggers?

Am I the only woman who somehow, instinctually or anthropologically speaking, in the back of my mind, somewhere in the deep recesses, must think big balls equals virile or masculine or horny, or like, 'This man must have more testosterone or a higher sex drive than other men'? 'This man must have huge balls full cum that needs to be shot all over me or deposited inside me?

On a scale of 1 - 10, with 10 being the most sick, dirty, disgusting, 2.00 crackwhore that actually enjoys her job - how sick am I?

If I wrote a fic, I would be the raunchiest, nastiest female fic writer in the business. I'd be transferred to one of those insane asylums they used to put women in back in the 18th and 19th centuries. They would reopen them for me.

Okay, it's settled. I will write a disgusting fic based off of this ask. But you might never see it or read it. Because I might be banned for indecent speech, and impure, demented thoughts. It's probably catching, you know.

Oh honey...

I think we have drawn very different lines according to our beliefs on perversion.

I would get down on my knees and happily suck a pair of sweaty funky balls if Izzy said it was my ticket to getting to look at his. Let alone how I would fuck that old man up if I got my twisted debauched hands on him.

I would ruin him. I promise that this girl would show him some tricks his old rockstar ass has never even dreamed of.

Then we could also get into all the things I would let him do to me. I have a list of kinks longer than I am tall (5'10") and therapists who can't help me 😜😈

So no I think you are very healthy in your desires and express them admirably.

Anyone else want to weigh in? Let's start a convo.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

I know it is only anybodys guessing really, and I truly do not want to sound like 'the historian' but you would go as far as calling these relationships of napoleon 'homoerotic'? Why? Couldn't it be the case of him having just very warm attitude and be close to his friends like that?

Again nothing against it, but I needed to ask since I as well am the person to get alike towards my close friends and I don't feel it having any attraction undertones.

Thank you for the ask! As usual for me, my response got really long.

I mean correct! It’s literally anyone’s guess. Who knows? Certainly not me! Certainly no one who is alive right now!

I’m just a queer on the internet having fun who sees Napoleon and goes "ah yes, a chaotic bisexual even though the concept of modern sexual identity wasn't a thing in his time etc. etc. [insert all the other usual disclaimers required on this webbedsite]" so that's why.

[How do I know he’s a chaotic bi? Well, it’s very simple, he couldn’t sit properly in a chair, liked to sit on his secretaries’ laps, pull their ears, and tell them Fun Facts he learned that day, and wanted to make the tsar of Russia his mistress. He also dearly loved Josephine and wrote about how he liked going down on her. This is clear proof that he was a chaotic bi king and we should be so lucky to know this about him. ;)]

I'm also a writer who likes to slap a queer lens onto most things because that's how I role and I'm very unapologetic about it. Which most people who follow me know.

I’m also someone who has incredibly deep, intimate friendships with a close selection of people in my life that are not romantic/sexual or whatever in their nature—but they are incredibly intimate. They are friendships where partners of my friends have been jealous and insecure because of how close we are—which is a them problem, not an us problem.

I would go so far as to argue that friends are more likely to slot into that problematic category of “soulmate” than anyone romantic (ymmv). And from the outside, I’m sure people might read my friendships with a few people (have read them, in fact) as romantic/homoerotic and frankly I don’t care. Whatever. I know what my friendships are, why does it matter what other people read them as? More to the point, why does it matter that someone reads a dead person’s friendships as homo-something? How does that impact my friendships which may, or may not, mirror that dead person’s friendships? Who cares? One should love one’s friends however one wishes to. Fuck everything else.

--

In an effort to avoid the Great Queer Napoleon Discourse War of 2013-14 I shall include a disclaimer because hot damn do people get REALLY uppity about this: I’m a writer, first and foremost in all things. I’m not a historian. As noted above, I’m a queer fag on the internet having fun. Take what I say with a grain of salt.

(Honestly, doing anything with Napoleon’s sexuality aside from He Was the Straightest Straight Who Ever Straighted, gets everyone’s hackles raised. I think that says more about those with hackles up than it does the person going: maybe he might have had a bit of a queerness about him, it’s not implausible.)

--

Some general stuff on Napoleon & That Doesn’t Seem Entirely Straight, Even For the 18th and 19th Century:

From Cronin’s biography on Napoleon:

“Napoleon found that his friendships with men often began with physical attraction, and this took a curious form. ‘He told me,’ says Caulcaincourt, ‘…that for him the heart was not the organ of sentiment; that he felt emotions only where most men experience feelings of a different kind; nothing in the heart, everything in the loins and in another place, which I leave nameless.’ 

The feeling Napoleon described as ‘a sort of painful tingling, a nervous irritability…the squeaking of a saw sometimes gives me the same sensation’.���

In addition, Talleyrand speculated Napoleon and Bourienne were, uh, intimate in all senses of the word. Talleyrand, of course, well—one should treat his hot takes with some caution.

There is also the (in)famous letter Napoleon wrote to Josephine about Alexander where he said that he and Alexander were inordinately pleased with one another and if the tsar were a woman, he’d take Alexander as his mistress (Napoleon, honey, don’t write that to your wife).

I mean, do what you want with that. Take it for what it’s worth /shrug

---

Of the three friendships under discussion: Lannes, Duroc, Junot—I always read Lannes and Napoleon’s friendship as just friendship. Duroc and Junot though. That’s where we start getting into arguments for a homoerotic friendship—or romantic friendship, if one prefers that term.

I’ll do a little ramble for each, because they all deserve it.

Lannes

Napoleon’s friendship with Lannes was intimate, close, and they loved each other dearly—but as said, I always read them as friends. Even if they lived today and were free/able to be whatever they wanted to be to one another, it’d still just be friendship.

People did make Achilles/Patroclus references to them—particularly around Lannes’ death—but that was the mode of how people spoke back then. It’s the 19th century version of comparing everything to LOTR or Harry Potter (read another classical epic people, jeez).

Their friendship was volatile for sure—these are two hot headed, strong minded, opinionated men who were not afraid to snap and snarl at one another—but at the end of the day I do not doubt their love for each other. But it’s what we would term a platonic love.  

Brian Martin writes this in Napoleonic Friendship: Military Fraternity, Intimacy, and Sexuality in Nineteenth-century France:

Napoleon’s grief for Marshal Lannes took on the very public character of open lamentation. Rather than grieve behind closed doors and conceal his personal vulnerabilities in order to show public strength, Napoleon’s mourning for his beloved friend became a matter of great public spectacle. Like Achilles mourning his beloved Patroclus, Napoleon wept publicly and openly expressed his affection in a way that was widely reported, discussed, and admired by the officers and soldiers in his armies.

[…]

Napoleon’s public grief at the death of Jean Lannes represented a new model for social relations between soldiers in the early nineteenth-century France. weeping over his friend’s broken body, Napoleon demonstrated how the revolution and empire had made it possible not only for an emperor to grieve openly for a fallen marshal, but for a soldier to love his comrade. This uncharacteristic expression of affection between Napoleon and Lannes was echoes in similar relationships between officers and foot soldiers in Napoleon’s armies. Military memories of the first empire bear witness to a wide range of intimate relationships among generals, colonels, and captains as well as sergeants, corporals, and grunts (grognards), the infantry soldiers who made up the majority of the imperial armies. Napoleon’s love for Lannes might thus be said to represent a broad spectrum of masculine affection and intimacy in the ranks of the Grande Armée, or what could be called Napoleonic friendship.

So yeah, I’ve not much more to say on them. Their friendship was loving, affectionate, intimate, and complex. Lannes could be frustrated with Napoleon (often was, the longer Napoleon remained in power—because Lannes loved Bonaparte not the emperor), but Lannes loved his friend and Napoleon loved Lannes. But my read on them has always been that it was what we would term platonic.

------

Junot

This one is messy. Because Junot and Napoleon are messy people. I also think this one is the strongest case for “something more than friendship”. I personally believe Junot loved Napoleon in a deep, phenomenal, possibly obsessive fashion that absolutely was romantic—maybe sexual/erotic—and Napoleon for a time may have returned at least some of those feelings. Then it all went south.

I’m ripping a lot of this from a previous ask I received about Junot—since it covered a lot of the more romantic aspects of his and Napoleon’s relationship.

Junot and Napoleon were close friends when they were in their 20s. Incredibly close. Laure Junot, whose memoires one should treat cautiously, intimated that there was more than just friendship between them at this point. But if that is the case, we’ll never know for certain.

Brian Martin sums it up well (and saves me from having to dig out my copy of Laure’s memoir):

Soon after his imprisonment, Napoleon was released and exonerated, but with little money and no desire to take on a new military post in Brittany, he returned to Paris where, as Laure Junot explains, he lived with his comrade Junot and depended on his friend’s emotional and financial support … The 1794 letter from Toulon initiates a half-year period in the lives of the twenty-five-year-old Bonaparte and twenty-three-year-old Junot when … these ambitious young men relied on each other during their impecunious days in Paris. Describing how Junot “loved Bonaparte as one loves at the age” (1: 188), Laure Junot implies that the young Jean-Andoche developed an adolescent crush on Napoleon, as the two young men grew in intimacy.

[…]

Laure Junot tactfully observes many years later that it was difficult to assess the nature of these friendships [with Duroc and Junot] without offending their masculinity: “These are the very profound and abstract mysteries of the human heart. It is difficult to explain them without first wounding a man’s dignity” (11: 131).

In relegating Napoleon’s military relationships to the realm of the mysteries, Laure Junot defines Napoleonic friendship — long before “the love that dare not speak its name” was articulated by Lord Alfred Douglas in 1894 and invoked at Oscar Wilde’s trial in 1895 —as an enigmatic and unspeakable love incapable of being articulated without shaming a soldier’s manhood. Amid such ambiguity, it is unclear if such “mysteries” encompass both the emotional and the erotic. What is clearer is that Napoleon and Junot shared a degree of affection during their youth in Paris that was undeniably intimate.

As Napoleon climbed up the greasy pole, the power dynamic changed and expectations of interpersonal relationships became more formal putting a strain on his and Junot’s friendship. Junot, like many who knew Napoleon from the early days, loved Bonaparte, not the emperor. As Laure put it in her memoire: “Now let me explain the sadness and pain which afflicted Junot on learning that Napoleon was no longer his General Bonaparte of Toulon. Perhaps the affair simply followed a natural decline. But Junot … did not see it this way. He wanted reciprocity, which he craved even more as his own affectionate fantasies increased … He loved the man, not the emperor.”

In 1800, Napoleon named Junot Commandant of Paris on the condition that he marry because, it seems, there were too many rumours flying around about the two of them. (As noted above, Talleyrand was already making some “huh. Interesting closeness, there” comments about Napoleon.) Dutifully, Junot married Laure.

Junot always exhibited some signs of mental illness throughout his life and at one point he received a head wound (I forget which battle) that massively exacerbated whatever existing mental health troubles he had. (And note that this was one of many wounds - nor was it his first head wound. It’s just the one people in his own life pointed to as a moment of change.)

Junot had jealous and possessive tendencies, something that drove Napoleon a little batty, and they got worse. While Junot was in Portugal, and later Spain, he wrote Napoleon a series of desperate letters begging him to reappoint Junot as his aid-de-camp. We unfortunately don’t have these letters anymore, Napoleon was notoriously secretive and private when it came to personal correspondence and had a habit of burning lots of it. However, we do have Laure’s account of Napoleon’s reception of Junot’s pleading. Laure writes:

"Look here, Madame, what your husband writes to me!’ said the Emperor, ‘Read this and tell me if he sends you such letters."

I read these letters, and this caused me some pain: my husband sent me affectionate missives, but never in the tone of a lover; here were letters that resembled those between Julie and Saint-Preux, or those of the Portuguese nun.*

Napoleon then goes on and says:

“In admitting that Junot loves me more than anything in the world … [he demonstrates] that he does not love me more than his own ambition”

To which Laure replies:

“He loves you, Sire, more than all the honours that you can give, more than your crown, more than me perhaps, for it was pride that made me say the contrary just now, perhaps even more than his children!”

-

*Note: She’s referencing Guilleragues’s Portuguese Letters (1669) and Rousseau’s Julie or the New Héloïse (1761)

Also, as I said above, treat Laure’s accounts cautiously. As with all memoirs, she is positioning certain scenes with a purpose and some things are downplayed, or exaggerated, accordingly.

-

In 1813, Napoleon dismissed Junot from military duty and sent him off to be governor of Illyria which Junot, rightly or wrongly, saw as a form of exile. During his ambassadorship he famously entered a ballroom wearing nothing but his epaulettes and his medals. [above para' edited per conversation in the notes]

Brian Martin:

While one could blame Junot’s naked diplomacy on his progressive dementia, his shocking entrance can also be seen as a kind of buff rebuff to Napoleon. After a lifetime fighting for Bonaparte, watching shrapnel rip into young men’s bodies, leading thousands of soldiers to their deaths, and suffering twenty-seven wounds* of his own, Junot offered his own ravaged body as a hideous and spectacular product of Napoleon’s violence.

-

*Note: Junot says he had 17 wounds, not sure where Martin got 27 - unless there were wounds Junot wasn’t counting.

-

After this incident, Junot was swiftly recalled back to France where he soon after died by suicide.

In his final letter to Napoleon he wrote:

“I who love you with the affection of a savage for the sun, I who am entirely yours. Well then: this eternal war that we must fight for you, I want no more of! I want peace! I want finally to repose my tired head, my sore limbs … to enjoy that which I earned … with my blood! The blood of an honest man, of a good Frenchman, of a true patriot. I therefore ask, at last, for that tranquillity that I earned through twenty-two years of effective service and seventeen wounds from which my blood has flowed for my country, and for your glory.” (emphasis in original)

After Junot’s death, Napoleon ordered that Junot’s personal papers be seized and destroyed as he was afraid their personal correspondence might make its way to a public forum.

So yeah, Junot’s love for Napoleon was definitely on the romantic side, I would say. Because Napoleon burned all their correspondence we don’t know what he sent in reply to Junot—especially in the early days of their relationship. I suspect it was intimate and possibly in line with what Junot continued to send him throughout their life and like hell did Napoleon want that escaping to the public.

Anyway—Junot and Napoleon, I would argue definitely had some homoerotic/romantic undertones and such to their friendship. I think it was mutual in their 20s then Napoleon’s feelings retreated to more platonic but Junot’s never changed.

It just man, gives me strong flashbacks to when I was a teenager and one of my best friends at the time  declared herself my soulmate and carved my initials into her arm and left me a million and a half messages on the home answering machine and said that I was cold like Napoleon and she loved me for it etc. etc.

When I look at Junot and Napoleon I see myself and my old friend in all that glory of the strange complexities of young, intensely emotional and intimate friendships that absolutely blur the line into romantic/erotic.

------

Duroc

Ah sweet Duroc! Duroc who regularly compared himself to Junot in terms of his relationship to Napoleon.

Duroc to Laure Junot in May of 1813:  “Poor Junot! It’s that he’s like me! The Emperor’s friendship is our whole life.”

And again, this is from Laure’s memoirs:

‘Junot and some others,’ Duroc said to me, ‘misjudge me and misjudge my position as well. The Emperor would disgrace me if he made me a marshal of France. What would I do away from him? No doubt it’s a great honor; but my attachment to him, how could it not be affected by that distance? I love the Emperor as Junot loves him. And isn’t he going to choose the post of first aide-de-camp instead of that of governor of Paris? So why judge me otherwise!’

-

Duroc’s a hard one to pin down because he was such an exemplary marshal of the palace, in addition he left us no diaries or memoirs so we have the word of others and what survived of his letters, little else to go on.

However, I think it telling that Duroc compared himself to regularly to Junot—who everyone was aware of how he felt about Napoleon—and that Junot was so jealous of Duroc. That Junot saw Duroc as a rival for Napoleon’s affection and love but not Lannes tells me that clearly Junot could see the similarity of what Duroc and Napoleon had to what he and Napoleon may have once had but didn’t anymore. And, that Lannes was different. It was a different relationship and one that Junot didn’t find threatening.

It's also worth nothing that Duroc was the only one of Napoleon’s officers, aside from Lannes, who was allowed to use tu with Napoleon. Las Cases writes: “I’ve heard the Emperor say that in all of his military career, Duroc alone possessed his blind confidence and received all his affection … Duroc loved the Emperor for himself; he was devoted most of all to the private man, even more than to the monarch”

Duroc’s role as marshal of the palace also put him in an interesting position as a sort of quasi-wife to Napoleon. The role he played was very much a “wife” role—Cronin summarizes Duroc’s duties thus:

"Napoleon was struck by Duroc’s sweet nature, his beautiful manners and the patience which he himself lacked. So he employed his friend as a diplomat and when he became Emperor chose him to run the household and court. […] He had his hands full ensuring that the grocer did not overcharge for the Chambertin, since Napoleon would be sure to notice, and, as Napoleon put on weight, tactfully persuading the Imperial Tailor not to make new clothes but to let out the old ones a couple of inches. He also had to make peace when Napoleon lost his temper: pushing over the table, for example, when he saw crépinettes of partridge. He did this admirably, because he was devoted to Napoleon. Many a time, when the Emperor had hurt a visitor with a sharp word, Duroc would murmur on the way out: ‘Forget it. He says what he feels, not what he thinks, and not what he’ll do tomorrow.’"

No one else of Napoleon’s intimate friends really takes on that wifely role—even after Duroc’s death. Bertrand has the same role, Marshal of the Palace, and he was damn good at his job, just as Duroc was, but there was a difference in their relationship and Bertrand doesn’t read as so close and devoted on a marital level to Napoleon. Not that Bertrand didn’t love Napoleon, he did, gods know he did, but it was more in line with Lannes than Duroc or Junot.

Napoleon describes Duroc to Las Cases:

‘Duroc,’ concluded he, ‘had lively, tender, and concealed passions, little corresponding with the coldness of his manner. It was long before I knew this, so exact and regular was his service. It was not until my day was entirely closed and finished, and I was enjoying repose, that Duroc’s work begun. Chance, or by some accident, could alone have made me acquainted with his character. He was a pure and virtuous man, utterly disinterested, and extremely generous.’

[…]

When he [Napoleon] went to see Duroc, after he had received his mortal wound, he attempted to hold out some hopes to him; but Duroc, who did not deceive himself, only replied by begging [Napoleon] to make them give him opium. …

After this recollection, the emperor, with an apparent effort, began abruptly to talk of something else.

I believe that Napoleon and Duroc were able to see each other’s interiority in a way that few others were able to and that formed the basis for their affection, love and friendship.

Duroc’s letters to Napoleon, anytime they were apart, are also more intense than usual. Plenty of Napoleon’s friends wrote about wanting to be by his side when they were sent off on diplomatic missions or what have you. But Duroc’s express a particularly intense form of devotion:

Duroc to Napoleon, May 29, 1801:

I am waiting to leave, Citizen Consul, until I receive a response to the letters that I had the honor to write you, unless the circumstances or the letters I receive from Paris let me judge that I can leave earlier. I beg you to remember that I am eight hundred leagues from you and, although I’ve been well-received here, I am never better than when I am near you. (Emphasis in the original)

Duroc to Napoleon, July 7, 1801:

I have sought to conduct myself here, Citizen Consul, in a manner that would satisfy you. I am well-regarded and thought highly of everywhere because I belong to you particularly, but I will not be happy until I’m sure that I deserve your approval. I am waiting to set my departure until I know that you’ve received the letter that I had the honor to write you and that I sent with Captain Leclerc. I very much want to find myself near you as soon as possible. (Emphasis in the original)

When Napoleon offered to have Hortense marry Duroc, Napoleon’s proposition was that Duroc would receive five hundred thousand francs and be named commandant of the 8th military division and would be stationed in Toulon (Napoleon was against having a son-in-law in the house).

When the proposition was passed on to Duroc he turned it down because he didn’t want to be sent away from Napoleon’s side and if marriage meant being apart, he didn’t want it, even though from all accounts he was quite fond of Hortense (and she was fond of him).

Later, when Napoleon was having to negotiate his name in exile he said to Barry O’Meara:

“The name of General Bonaparte was the one which I bore at Campo Formio and at Lunneville, when I dictated terms of peace with the Emperor of Austria. I bore it at Amiens when I signed the peace with England. I should be proud to bear it still, but the honour of France forbids me to acknowledge the right of the King of England to annul the acts of the French people. My intention was to take the name of Duroc.”

But he felt he had to keep Emperor Napoleon in order to Make A statement.

In another account, I forget to who, he repeated his intent to have taken on Duroc’s name in exile in order to be a little more incognito/not draw attention to himself, but because England refused to acknowledge that he had been emperor he was like “fuck that, I’m going to insist on being called emperor”. So, had England not been like “you were never emperor” it’s possible Napoleon would have taken Duroc’s surname as his own.

How very married of them.

------

Apologies for the long reply. Not sure this will really answer anything, but it's an amalgamation of my thoughts.

Junot is the clearest of the homo-something friendship between Napoleon and another man. Like, I think that's a tough one to read as anything other than a messy break up. Which is why, when we were all nattering on about queering Napoleon in film yesterday, I focused so much on Junot over the others.

But same sex intimacy, even in Just Friends, can have homo-something undertones to it. Friendships can be complex, multilayered and include some romantic and erotic aspects to them. This doesn't mean those friendships are Romantic Relationships as we think of them, but if there's a romantic tinge to it, or a strong homoerotic tinge to it, then why not explore it? See where it takes the story or the interpretation and undestanding of the person and their actions. Maybe it'll go no where useful, maybe it will. Only one way to find out.

Thank you for the ask!

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

For the Vampire au

Can you do (trick) for vampFinrod x reader

With prompt "Why are you impressed? You should be terrified."

Not dark please and thank you

"Revelation"

Pairing: Vampire! Finrod x Reader (Guest of Finrod / Second person POV)

Location and time: 19th century England

Prompt : 6 - " Why are you impressed? You should be terrified."

Themes: Angst-ish | Happy ending

Warnings: Vampirism

Wordcount: 1000+ words

Summary:

Minors DNI | You are responsible for the media you consume

A/n: this is for the @fellowshipofthefics October challenge. Two more slots are available for requests, but prompts 4 and 6 (for Vampire! Manwë and Vampire! Finrod) are out. The rules and prompts for requests can be read here.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Finrod's study was a dimly lit sea of wonders, full of ancient treasures. There was an impressive tapestry covering the expanse of one wall. A dark but mighty beast lay on the ground. Above it, a magnificent white horse reared, its rider bringing down their sword to deliver the killing blow. You could not help but walk up to it and admire the scene portrayed in centuries-old wool.

The tapestry was always there whenever you called on your mentor of an evening, but you never thought to observe its beauty so closely till now.

“Ahh! I see you have found the Demon of the Island."

You shivered. “Was that its name?”

“That and worse.” Finrod appeared by your shoulder without even making a sound. It was as if he moved without even stirring the air around him. You startled. “My ancestor slayed it many a century ago and was richly rewarded for it.”

You turned to face him and gave him a measured look. “What happened?”

“A werewolf happened. That was what the beast was. A werewolf.” Finrod walked over to a chest of drawers by the window and picked up a crystal decanter full of clear, amber liquid. He offered you a glass. You refused. “He terrorized the good people of Tol-in-Gaurhoth for months before my ancestor brought it to heel.”

“Your ancestor slayed him?” You looked at the tapestry again. The warrior was exceedingly fair to look upon, and his hair fell free about his shoulders like molten gold. His eyes were a vivid cornflower blue. They also looked familiar. Too familiar. You study it even more, taking in the warrior’s countenance, the shape of his eyes, his lips. Finrod’s own was a replica of them all.

It is as if I am staring at the same person. 

“Indeed.” Finrod moved to sit by a large fireplace, and invited you to join him. “Lord Edennil was the only warrior who challenged the creature and lived to talk of it.”

“Edennil?” Fear slowly bloomed and surged just beneath your skin, prompting you to stop mid-stride. “Is that not one of your names, sir?”

It was Finrod’s turn to startle, but he quickly regained his composure. “I do not know what you mean, y/n.”

“Yes, you do.” You continued with growing alarm after stealing another glance at the tapestry. The hair, the sword, and the demeanor all screamed of him. “Edennil. It was what that stranger called you when they stopped by your door two nights ago. I know of that word. My governess taught me. It means friend of men.”

Finrod took a step toward you, his eyes widening in shock. “That visit was in the dead of night! How did you even know of it?”

“I was in the library searching for a book.” You took a step back and looked for the doors. They were near, but if Finrod was not what he appeared to be, a mild-mannered wealthy nobleman from a foreign land, would you have time to make it to the doors and the outside world? “And that warrior looks like you in every way. Is it you, sir? Are you the warrior in that tapestry?"

Finrod blanched.

“What are you, sir?” You demanded and took a another step toward the doors. “The truth, now. All of it. That is all I ask.”

The nobleman made no move to come near you. He stood where he was, his eyes full of gloom, and said, “Yes. Yes. I am the warrior in the tapestry. Is that what you wanted to hear? I slayed the werewolf. All of that was my doing.”

“And your late-night visitor?”

“A fellow warrior met by chance on the road. He stood beside me, shoulder to shoulder, as we fought the beast and its minions. Beren was badly wounded, and I…I saved his life. He has been a faithful friend since then.”

“That is all well and good, but it still does not answer my question.”

“Which is?”

“What are you?”

Finrod sighed in defeat. “I suppose my secret would come into the light sooner or later. Very well. You desire to know the real me. Well, this is the real me, y/n.”

He hissed like a large, wild cat and bared his teeth. Pearly white fangs glistened in the light of the fire. You took a step toward him, curious despite your fear.

A vampire. My host is a vampire. After so many years of us writing letters and him teaching me music, I remained in the dark until now.

“Most impressive,” you declared after your curiosity had been satisfied.

"Why are you impressed?” Finrod sputtered in disbelief. “You should be terrified."

“Should I be terrified?”

“No. I would never harm you, y/n.” He went back to his place by the fire. “But I cannot let you go, either. Not when you know what I am.”

Can I blame him for wanting to shield himself from the judgment and fear of others? And perhaps living with him may not be so terrible, after all. I could learn so much from him.

“Then... Then perhaps I can make myself useful to you,” you offered. “You rarely go out during the day because—"

"Sunlight weakens my constitution," he supplied.

"I see." It certainly provided more clarity and explained some of his strange behavior, like the thick curtains that were always drawn together during lessons in his music room. "I could run errands for you. See to any visitors that come calling during that time. Mind the house and the servants for you while you rest.”

Finrod regarded you with suspicion. “Is this a trick?”

“No, sir,” you told him. “I give you my word that it is not.”

He turned away and took his time to consider your proposal. Finally, after what seemed like an age, he said, “There will be a ceremony binding you and me as master and familiar. No harm will come to you, but this ritual is necessary. Do you understand?”

You nodded and wondered what this ceremony would entail and what you would have to dress. “I accept.”

“Good. Now come, join me by the fire.” Finrod smiled mildly. “I have much to tell you about me and my strange life."

[bisexualgirlie]

Hii)) can I request?? William James Moriarty x fem. dazai (reader). How they meet each other and how he react when he realized that he fall in love with fem! Dazai. Also what was his reaction when he founds that dazai(reader) was the well known port mafia member??

Your wish is my command! Although I'm a bit confused but I'll make it worth! (Also this is still in the 19th century, also I'll make reader a bit more kind and caring)

(also thank you for the request! I really need some)

Key word with '(hi)' is author's note

William James moriarty x gn!dazai reader

You inhaled a sigh as the warm air of tea filled your nose, you were casually eating at the cake shop. At some point you were lost in your thoughts dreaming about suicide, and how you could stab the fork you're using to your heart, but. You thought again that it would hurt you and it would be no good so you just sighed ignoring the thought.

You were now looking at the window and you saw a young man about the age of 20 stepping on a child and hitting her, you thought, is she an orphan perhaps? It was not a good sight. So you decided to step in, you rose up from your seat and paid, you hurriedly ran exiting the bakery. Once you've reach the front of the bakery you cough a little to gain their attention.

“it's a bit rude hitting a little girl Infront of the bakery is it? It's pathetic to see such thing! Would you please kindly leave that child pretty boy?~” you kindly asked your deep-like honey voice coating your venomous words. You stepped in front of the child, protecting her. “huh? Who are you to tell me such things! Do you know who I am? Leave us wretched woman!” you gasped in disbelief as the man grabbed your wrist. You were about to punch him until a man stepped in.

He steps Infront of you and the little girl. “that's not a proper attitude Infront of a lady, baron asshat”(iykyk the reference(⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)is actually from eminence in shadow) said the man with a smile on his face. “what's wrong brother?” you shifted your gaze to a young man that ran up to him, as he finally stood beside him, you could almost feel the young man glare at the baron called 'asshat', you were quite confused but kept quiet and observe them out of curiosity.

After they had done talking the supposed baron had left with an angry expression on his face. “are you okay miss?” he asked worried “my my!~ a handsome man has come to save us? How lucky! Might I know your name?” you asked in your usual flirting tone. “ah.. my name is William James Moriarty and this is my brother, Louis James Moriarty, my lady.” he sweated, it was clear that he was used and not used to this kind of flirting.

“how delightful! My name is y/n l/n! And I thank you for saving me and this child.” you smiled cheekily at him, kneeling to pat the head of the child and giving her some money to let her buy food. “now if it is alright with you, may I have a nice chat with tea?” you grin with a smile still intact on your face.

And that's how you met the two, sometimes you would even go to their home to pass boredom, and with the constant coming there, you eventually met Albert James Moriarty the older brother of Louis and William. Along with their 'servants' Fred, James, and sebatian. And eventually got acquainted with everyone in the mansion. While exploring you did know the secret of the Moriarty household and about the plan to change the world. Also about the crime consultant thing, they eventually settled things and let you in the missions. Oh and also I'll let you in on a secret!

William fell inlove with you at first sight and had realized it when he was eating at your favorite bakery which reminded him of you btw. And that man had never widen his eyes and coughed out his tea that fast. He then confessed and you said yes and eventually you guys started dating. When he figured out that you were once involved with the underground mafia this man was shocked! Well not that shock because your name was quite familiar and your skills with knives and guns was impressive, talented even. He eventually confronted you and asked you to clarify his suspicion.

“i knew you'd figure it out! And yes infact I did am involve with the mafia a few years ago” you confirmed as you were watering the flowers of the garden. “sooo. How'd you figured it out hmm?” you asked gazing away from the flowers to look at him. “well I looked into your background and your quite skilled with weapons which had led me to figure it out” he replied and you hummed, now looking back at the flowers. “well is that all you'd like to ask?” he nodded which you smiled and continued watering the flowers.

God you were so lucky this man is your boyfriend

And that's all! How would you this fic from one to ten? Also please give me some request I really need them. And thank you for reading hope you are in good health!

[scienceoftheidiot]

hello! thank you for that really informative post on the uniforms! I definitely have a better understanding of them now (not sure if that means I'll learn to like drawing them though lol) If you don't mind me asking, what got you into historical costuming (or the era you're into)? It's a really interesting subject and I'd love to know more ☺️

Oh well thank you ^^" I was just indulging in something I find interesting, as well as keeping my brain busy, I'm glad you found it interesting too !

I would say I don't know if I'm into historical clothes or the specific era. Probably the era itself, but as we're reenacting using uniforms, I am especially versed into the clothes and objects of WW1. I am not especially interested in the battles themselves, more in the life in and out of the trenches, on and off the front (I of course have a WW1 AU for Royai that I've been writing for months lol, but I'll get back to it once I'm done with my current long fic).

It's mostly random circusmtances that got me into it, I grew up with history buff parents who loved late 19th-early 20th century stuff (they still do lol and they always have had a lot of objects around), and then met my now husband who's really into reenactment. He used to do so only for WW2, but his focus has shifted now and he's way more interested in the same period than my parents, including WW1.

My husband is from the Chemin des Dames, which is to the French the same thing as the Somme for the British. So he actually grew up surrounded by this history, and yes, even almost (then) a century later, you still see the traces of these everywhere - in monuments and cemeteries of course but also in the land itself, the way it's shaped, and we find things every time we go pick mushrooms in the woods there. Including unexploded bombs. So it's something kinda vivid still, and we now want to keep the history living by doing reenactment.

So, FMA happening in a nondescript European country in the 1910s? Can't help. It's there. I need to make the link XD

Feel free to ask questions if you have them ! thank you so much for showing an interest in this and asking me :)

[sunnyhoneyshimmermagic]

(Dee Dee and Teddy are at town square, selling apples and introducing our story):

Dee Dee: Get 'em while they're fresh! Apples! Christmas apples!

Teddy: We got Mclntosh!

Dee Dee: Get your Christmas apples.

Teddy: Red Delicious. Tuppence apiece while they last. Whatever the fuck that means.

Dee Dee: We... They won't last long the way you're eating them.

Teddy: Hey. I'm creatin' scarcity. Drives the prices up. Read all about it in Ladie's Home Journal

Dee Dee (sighs): Teddy... (sees us) Hello! Welcome to The Big Nate Christmas Carol! I am here to tell the story, in my usual dramatic fashion!

Teddy: And I am here for the food and bantz! This Christmas, I wanna be written with an actual character!

Dee Dee: My name is Charles Dickens.

Teddy: And my name is Teddy Ortiz! Hey, wait a second. You're not Charles Dickens!

Dee Dee: I am too!

Teddy: No. Dickens was called that for a reason!

Dee Dee: omg it's 2023

Teddy: your name isn't even Charles!

Dee Dee: good, cringe name

Teddy: Dickens was a 19th-century novelist! A genius! God I hang around Francis too much.

Dee Dee: Oh, you're too kind. :3

Teddy: Why should I believe you?

Dee Dee: Well... Because I know the story of "A Christmas Carol" like the back of my hand.

Teddy: do I smell a wager?

Dee Dee: I hope, otherwise I didn't brush my teeth well.

Teddy: ugh, just prove it! Prove you know it!

Dee Dee: All right. Um, there's a little mole on my thumb, from when I tried to taste the wood on my stage, and, uh, a scar on my wrist, from when I fell off my bicycle performing as Lance Armstrong: licence to juice.

Teddy: No, No, No, No, Don't tell us your hand. Tell us the story!!

Dee Dee: Oh! Oh!

Teddy: Thank you. Yes.

Dee Dee (ahem): The Betancourts were dead to begin with.

Teddy: Wha, Wha... Pardon me?

Dee Dee: That's how the story begins, Teddy. The Betancourts were dead to begin with. As dead as a doornail.

Teddy (getting into it): ooh! It's a good beginning! It's creepy and kind of spooky. Like Mrs. Godfrey in a conga line.

Dee Dee: Thank you, Teddy!

Teddy: You're welcome, Mrs. Dickens!

Dee Dee: now, where was I? Ah, yes. In life, the Betancourts had been business partners... With a shrewd moneylender named Gina Hemphil-Scrooge. You will meet her as she comes around that corner.

Teddy: Where?

Dee Dee: There. See, next to the klassic komix and Mr. Pretzel?

Teddy: Uh huh! When?

Dee Dee: Not yet... Not yet... Let the tension rise...

Teddy: I am, I am!

Dee Dee: ...Now!

(Gina enters, draped in a black coat and top hat, carrying a cane. Every step calculated and cold)

Dee Dee: There she is! Ms. Gina Hemphil-Scrooge.

Teddy: Say, Is it gettin' colder out here?

(Song)

Emmit the custodian: When a cold wind blows it chills you

Chills you to the bone

Czerwicki: But there's nothing in nature that

Freezes your heart

Like years of being alone

Rosa: It paints you with indifference

Like a lady paints with rouge

Clarke: And the worst of the worst

The most hated and cursed

Is the one that we call Scrooge (yeah)

Chester: Unkind as any

And the wrath of many

This is Gina Hemphil-Scrooge

Miranda, Angie, Kelly, Trudy, Kim, Jenny: Oh, there goes Ms. Humbug

There goes Ms. Grim

If they gave a prize for bein' unfair

The winner would be her

Brindle: Oh, Gina loves her money

'Cause she thinks it gives her power

If she became a flavor you can bet she would be sour

Staples, Shipulski, Calhoon, John, Galvin: There goes Ms. Skinflint

There goes Ms. Greed

The undisputed mistress of

The underhanded deed

Marty: She charges folks a fortune

For her dark and drafty houses

Vern and Marge: Poor folk live in misery

Uncle Ted: It's even worse for louses

Miranda, Angie, Kelly, Trudy, Kim, Jenny: She must be so lonely

She must be so sad

She goes to extremes

To convince us she's bad

She's really a victim of fear and of pride

Look close and there must be

A sweet girl inside.

...

Naaaah!

Everyone: There goes Ms. Outrage

There goes Ms. Sneer

Ahe has no time for friends or fun

Her anger makes that clear

Don't ask her for a favor

'Cause her nastiness increases

No crust of bread for those in need

No cheeses for us meeses

There goes Ms. Heartless

There goes Ms. Cruel

She never gives

She only takes

She lets this hunger rule

If bein' mean's a way of life you

Practice and rehearse

Then all that work is paying off

'Cause Gina's getting worse

Every day

In every way

Gina is getting worse!

(Gina sharply turns, giving a cold stare)

Everyone: OH, UM, I HAVE SOMETHING TO DO SUDDENLY

(They escape)

Gina (quiet rage): ...Humbug.

[dionysus-complex]

hello! I read you're "predominantly a Romanist" so I'm not really sure if you can help me but I have this question bugging me for weeks and I thought some clarity from people more expert than me could probably be insightful, so here's the tea: many generations of Italian high schoolers have been taught that Sappho was the headmaster of some sort of college (the term used in lit history books is "thiasus", but I'm 99% sure this is some wild anachronism, and that if such institution even existed it was certainly not called that); according to Ye Olde Books, this thiasus was some sort of bon ton academy to prep young girls for womanhood and marriage, and Sappho's homoerotic poetry must be therefore viewed through this "socratic" lens. Herein lies the issue, that while there seems to be no ancient evidence to prove or disprove this fact, every Italian schoolbook I've stumbled upon either in high school or university never provided a source for this (they all mention the Souda which is problematic in itself, but even there it's only said that her pupils were so and so and so, not that she was actually the head of any formal institution). Plus, looking over on wikipedia, the Italian one takes the thiasus claim at face value without even giving a source (again), while the English wikipedia goes at a length to explain that this idea has no historical grounds and it's just a xix century suggestion. I've even stumbled upon this Maximus Tyrius rhetorician from the second century and he quotes Sappho's views on love and the women she loved, without explicitly saying they were her pupils or part of an academic circle.

So, here's my question: is this concept actually still taught in the Anglo world, and is there any substantial evidence for it? Is it just a weird little straightwashing lie that is still taught in my home country to try and justify any homoerotic reading of the Lesbian, or is there possibly any truth in it?

Sorry for the long ask but I'm going kinda insane here, and i thought one thing i could do is hear from some non Italians cause it's clear to me that all Italian texts are more or less a copypaste of each other on this subject; if you could please tell me anything about this I'd be so thankful, thanks a lot xoxo

Hello! It's been a minute since I've been seriously engaged with Sappho scholarship, but this is something I am familiar with.

The short answer is, no, as far as I know there is no real ancient evidence for it and the concept has generally been regarded as debunked in English-language scholarship since the 90s. The oldest source we have for the concept is the 10th c. CE Souda, which (as you mention) is deeply problematic for a variety of reasons, and it seems probable that the idea of Sappho's thiasos originates with one of the many Greek comedies about Sappho (Sappho was something of a stock character in Greek comedy, with the joke typically being her excessive (hetero-)sexuality rather than homosexuality). The idea seems to have been picked up by 19th century German scholars, and the argument for it relies on the testimony in the Souda along with apparent parallels between Sappho's expression of homoerotic desire and the homoerotic language between women and girls in Alcman's parthenaia, which do have a context of chorus trainer/trainee relationships. However, there is probably no good reason to assume that Alcman/Sappho parallels make for a strong argument considering that the texts come from entirely different city-states and social contexts. I do know that Renate Schlesier has argued for a much less heteronormative and IMO more plausible version of the thiasos idea, which is essentially that the circle of women mentioned in Sappho's poetry is not any kind of "academy to prepare (aristocratic) young women for marriage" but a circle of enslaved sex workers/courtesans (hetairai). Schlesier cites the fact that the female personal names mentioned in Sappho's poetry are all names that would typically be associated with enslaved women and hetairai, at least prior to the Hellenistic period, and considering that the symposium was probably the main venue for the performance of erotic lyric in antiquity this seems to make a good deal of sense.

I won't recommend the article that essentially debunked the thiasos idea on account of its author being a truly awful person for unrelated reasons, but I would recommend this excellent Eidolon piece on "Re-Queering Sappho" as well as Melissa Mueller's 2021 chapter "Sappho and Sexuality" in The Cambridge Companion to Sappho (link here, but probably requires a library subscription) which covers the history of the idea very well and presents a compelling reworking of the idea of Sappho's circle in a way that embraces rather than resists the queerness of Sappho's poetry.

[grandhotelabyss]

In an old interview with Tyler Cowen, Knausgaard called Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius the greatest story ever written—a sentiment with which Cowen agreed. (Cowen seems to read everything, but there's something about an economist—an orthodox heterodox economist, no less!—making pronouncements on literature that makes me suspicious of the claim. Then again, he once wrote, "Shakespeare is very likely the deepest thinker the human race has produced." No argument there.)

Personally, I might bestow the honour on The Dead, but it's really more of a novella, and I'm admittedly quite the Deadhead. (To be clear, in the high arts a "Deadhead" is the moniker we attribute to readers obsessed with the poetic intensities of swift cessations: Death in Venice, The Death of Ivan Ilyich, the deaths of Sula, Septimus, Billy Budd, and Pierce Inverarity, etc. Indeed, poetic intensities and swift cessations may simply be the novella tout court. On the subject of jam bands—and cheese—I remain mysteriously silent.)

Might Joyce have authored the greatest story, the greatest novel, and the greatest love letters? (Forgive me, sweet Jane, for such futile superlatives against your soul-stirring pen. I am half agony, half cope.) I suppose Borges is more Beethovenian in his revolutionizing of the form, whereas Joyce aimed for a Bach-like perfection as it existed at the time.

Of course, one mustn't forget the dozen or so contenders from Poe, Kafka, and Chekhov, not to mention The Lottery and A Good Man is Hard to Find. What do you think? As always, thank you for your splendid insights! And to the anonymous hundreds reading this, or, at this point in my unsolicited soliloquy, the anonymous dozen skimming, please subscribe to John's serialized novel!

Thank you, David! Yes, I find Cowen dispiritingly, exhaustingly, demoralizingly well-read. Someone I admire on Substack recently gave a list of 10 pieces of advice for undergraduates, and I liked nine of them, but I didn't like the first: everything, he said, is interesting. But everything is not interesting. The undergraduate, the veritable ephebe, is right to be bored by some things. If I found everything interesting, who would I be? I almost cultivate my non-interests. With so many books I do want to read in the world, it's a relief to know there are also many books (books about economics, for example) that I do not want to read. Really, only obsessions matter. The personality, to be a personality, must have its limits, as must the work of art, even if as a novelist, I do aspire in my own way to the "everything and nothing" Borges imputed to Shakespeare, or to the Homeric as against the Virgilian in Mark Van Doren's line that Virgil is a style, Homer a world. Only Borges could be Homeric in a short story, though; for the rest of us—yes, even for Joyce—it takes a novel. A fellow Deadhead, I agree with you that that is a novella in the death-obsessed ranks of the great novellas. I add Heart of Darkness, The Metamorphosis, and Nella Larsen's Quicksand to your fine catalogue.

(Incidentally, when I was in college, a friend dragged me to see a jam band called The String Cheese Incident. They played a theater on the ground floor of Soldiers and Sailors Hall on the University of Pittsburgh campus, upstairs of which the great Gothic scene of Lecter's escape in Silence of the Lambs had been filmed a little less than a decade before. Jam bands don't do it for me; I was heavy bored at that concert, I have to tell you; Chesterton's neglected cheese be damned, poets have their right to silence on some subjects—because, again, everything is not interesting.)

Now to your question. When I think of great short stories, I do not, like George Saunders, think of 19th-century Russians. (19th-century Russians are better at length, when they go on and on and on—even, if you ask me, Chekhov, as I said earlier this year in praise of his novella, The Duel, a great novella not quite belonging to your catalogue inasmuch as it defeats death, more or less.) No, I think of 19th-century Americans. I think of "Ligeia" and "The Fall of the House of Usher" and "The Man of the Crowd," and I think of "Bartleby, the Scrivener" and "The Paradise of Bachelors and the Tartarus of Maids" and "Benito Cereno," and I think of "The Author of Beltraffio" and "The Middle Years" and "The Figure in the Carpet." Above all, I think of Hawthorne, of "Young Goodman Brown" and "The Minister's Black Veil" and "Ethan Brand" and "Wakefield" and "The May-Pole of Merry Mount" and "The Artist of the Beautiful" and "The Birth-Mark" and (my favorite) "Rappaccini's Daughter." A great deal of Borges is already in those stories, these tales or parables or half-allegories—I do agree with both Knausgaard and Cowen that Borges's "Tlön," or maybe "The Aleph," must be the paradigm of the modern story—and a great deal of Kafka, Jackson, and O'Connor, too.

Honorable mention: I am not an expert on the 19th-century French, but "The Unknown Masterpiece" by Balzac is a new favorite, which I read for the first time just this year. A good tale in its own right, but to have anticipated, almost to the point of clairvoyance, the whole future course of art in one short story from the 1830s—!

Caveat: "Rappaccini's Daughter" has 3000 fewer words than The Dead; and "Benito Cereno" is double the length of "Rappaccini's Daughter." Why type some titles in italics and some in quotation marks? The distinction between novella and story must be qualitative rather than quantitative, with the distinction not quite only about death, since all three narratives at least include if they do not dwell upon swift cessations. "Rappaccini's Daughter" and "Benito Cereno" seem to me to be stories because they are about one thing, as opposed to The Dead, which, like The Scarlet Letter, is about several things—and as opposed, of course, to Moby-Dick and to Ulysses, which are, Aleph-wise, about absolutely everything ("[A]ny man unaccustomed to such sights, to have looked over her side that night, would have almost thought the whole round sea was one huge cheese, and those sharks the maggots in it"; "Cheese digests all but itself. Mity cheese"), and make everything as interesting as ever everything can be.

[jonahmagnus-research]

Hello Mr Mangus.

First off, let me say I am beyond honored and glad we get to enjoy your presence in this time. The histories have painted a rather charming image of you, and I am excited to find out what is truth and what might not be.

My inquiry concerns one such piece of history I have gotten acquainted with during my research on the figures of 19th century british paranormal experts.

It regards your friendship with Mr Barnabas Benett, or lack there off. My source seems rather certain your acquaintance was more of the "there was only one bed" "they were roommates" "making out until we black out" "strenuous exercise" kind. Sadly, nothing has been confirmed by either parties and as you might expect, digging more into people who died two centuries ago is somewhat complicated.

Mind shedding a bit of light on this?

Wishing you the best acclimatation to our time. By the way, as you may have noticed, you can kiss boys on the big screen now.

Good evening, 'anonymous'!

I am flattered by the honour you feel, though it is, frankly, an utterly bizarre feeling to have to live up to oneself. But I do hope the truth (or, at least, part of it) matches your expectations.

To answer your main query: I am, frankly, insulted by the implication that me and Barnabas are not—ah, were not—friends. Even had we been in any way involved, I do not know why that would in any measure end our friendship. And frankly, I do not wish to air the private details of my relationships with the public. I will grant you that there were a few instances of bed-sharing when travelling, but these were largely for the sake of frugality.

But—in all honesty, I'm actually rather surprised you ask merely after Barnabas and myself. If you are researching myself and my acquaintances (a bizarre thought) and have found only that relationship suggests something by the standards of the times... perhaps you need to research a little more.

I thank you for your well-wishes, and yes, I am aware of the legal status of homosexuality.

[mybones537]

Time chapter 2

Moriarty the Patriot x fem reader

I have posted this on Wattpad under the same username mybones 537

                  London, England 1875

Drip drip

There is a pounding in my head 

Drip drip 

I can feel the beating of my heart 

Drip drip 

My whole body hurts 

Drip drip 

I slowly open my eyes 

Drip drip 

I squint my eyes because of the light 

Drip drip 

I slowly sit up

Drip drip

I lift my hand to the back of my head 

Drip drip

I feel something wet and sticky

Drip drip 

I pull my hand away

Drip drip 

I see it’s covered in a crimson liquid 

Drip drip 

“Blood?”

Drip drip

I scan my surroundings 

Drip drip 

I’m in an old apartment, it’s giving 19th century (1800) style 

Drip drip 

What’s making that noise? 

Drip drip 

I stand up and close the tap 

“Finally”

I see my first aid kit and a duffel bag with my things in.

“What is going on?… How did I get here?… Where am I?”

“The body is in here sir”, I hear muffled voices on the other side of the door.

“Shit.” I put my bags on my back and move to the window.

I see I’m on the second story.

“Here goes nothing” I climb out the window and slid down the pipe on the side of the building 

“Hey! Where did the body go?”someone shouted from the building.

I ran away. As I’m running I take some clothes off a washing line and grab a pair of boots. I eventually get to a river and wash off the blood. I splash my face trying to clear my head.

“What the hell is happening? This place doesn’t look anything like Pietermaritzburg.”

I’m trying to make sense of everything that’s happening,

 Where am I?

I change out of my bloodied uniform and stuff it in my duffel bag.

Calm down, I breathe in and out trying to calm down 

It’s not working! 

I slap myself to get myself out of my panicking state 

Okay that’s better 

Let’s go and take a look around maybe I can find something to indicate where I am

I walk into the street and I see something shiny on the floor. I squat down to pick it up .

A shilling? Didn’t England stop using these in the 90s? 

There’s no way I would find one of these in South Africa, they stopped using these in the 60s.

 How would I even get to England? It’s a 10 hour flight at least.

When was this coin made?

I turn the shilling over

1871!

How is that even possible?

You know what. I need more evidence, I doubt I could have travelled back in time. It’s scientifically impossible.

I get up and walk into the street . The buildings are old fashioned, the people are wearing suits and dresses 

Okay this is getting ridiculous. 

Why is everyone wearing old fashioned clothes?

“Newspapers! Come get the latest news! Freshly printed today! Only one shilling to get the latest news today!”

I walk to the paper boy and give him a shilling 

“Thank you ma’am. Have a good day “ he gives me the newspaper.

“You too” 

I leaned on the wall of a nearby building and took a look at the newspaper 

5 June 1875

What?

How … is that even possible?

Did I really travel back in time?

But how? 

The last thing I remember, I was on my way to a heart attack victim in Victoria street…

Then we were on the bridge but what happened after that?

How did I end up in the 18 hundreds? In England?

How did I travel to another continent and back in time?

I… I… I don’t know what to do 

How… how 

“Ahhhh! Someone help! Call a doctor!”

I run to where the scream came from and see a crowd around a man on the ground.

“I’m a doctor” I say and the crowd lets me through.

“What seems to be the problem sir?” I ask as I put my bags on the ground.

“You're a woman? How could you possibly be a doctor?” The man on the ground says.

“Yes I am. I don’t see what my gender has anything to do with it.” I say, l now sir if you want help I suggest you stop worrying about my gender and more about what is wrong. Now what is the matter sir?”

“He was fine a moment ago and then he suddenly stopped walking, turned pale and fell,” the woman next to him tells me as she takes his hand in hers.

“My chest… hurts and my shoulder is… painful” he says as battles to breathe.

I put my hand on his forehead, I noticed he has a cold sweat.

“Sir, can you describe the pain in your chest please?”

“It almost feels full but it is very tight and my heart is racing” he says. I take out my stethoscope and check his heart rate, he is right, his heart is beating at an unbelievable speed. I take out an aspirin.

“Sir I need you to chew on this and then focus on your breathing”

“What is that?” He asks slightly sceptical of the tablet.

“It’s an aspirin, it will help calm your heart down”

He chews on it as I take out the defibrillator.

“What is that contraption?’’ l his wife asks.

“It’s a defibrillator for in case his heart stops but I doubt it will”

 I say as his heart stops, “never mind”

I begin to perform CPR to keep the blood flowing as I wait for the defibrillator to charge up.

“What are you doing?” The wife asks as tears form in her eyes.

“I’m trying to keep his blood flowing” I answer as I push down on his chest, “ma’am I’m going to need you to let go of him please”

“Why is he dead!” She shouts as tears flow down her cheeks, her makeup smudging.

“I’m going to shock his heart back into rhythm” I say in a monotone voice, “when I say clear, I need you to not be touching him at all”

The defibrillator beeps saying it’s charged up. I stop performing CPR and pick up the defibrillator pads and rub them together 

“1…2..3… clear’’ the shock doesn’t work.

“1…2…3… clear’’ the shock goes through, ‘’ come on work!’’

“1..2…3…clear’’ the electricity goes to his heart, he jolts awake breathing heavily.

“Thank you!’’ The woman shouts and hugs me. I freeze from the hug, I’m not used to physical contact.

“You saved my life. Thank you” he says. There is a flash of a camera and a reporter with a pen and notepad.

“What's your name miss?” the reporter asks as he gets his pen ready.

“Dr (name) (middle name) (last name)” I say. As I look up a camera flashes taking a picture of me. I see a street sign saying Victoria street.

Looks like I got to the heart attack victim after all.

[frevandrest]

Hello, did you read https://ar.crimethinc.com/2019/04/08/against-the-logic-of-the-guillotine-why-the-paris-commune-burned-the-guillotine-and-we-should-too ? I wanted to ask someone who has knowledge about the french revolution's facts, from the little I know I feel like it's simplistic to a bad degree but I don't know much.. to me, it's worse when an idea I agree with is supported by false/refuctive statements, and I do believe in the core conclusion of this essay.

Thank you.

Alright, so I am not knowledgeable about the 19th century and 1871 Paris Commune so I can't speak on that, but the article itself does include numerous simplifications and errors. It doesn't even contextualize the guillotine in its original context, the way it was invented, to provide a quick and egalitarian death for everyone.

While guillotine sure overstayed its welcome (it was officially abolished only with the abolition of the death penalty in 1981, wtf), the context in which it was first implemented is important to keep in mind. The article doesn't even mention that. It does not paint it as an attempt to move away from what was before it: gruesome executions and only aristocrats being privileged enough to receive beheading (the quickest death). The article jumps straight to 1793 and the execution of the king, so we don't get any context.

Now, I am not sure what to think of the article as a whole. It seems to argue that the guillotine isn't/should not be a symbol of liberation because it includes bloody revenge (?) and a state-inflicted violence, which the author doesn't see as a correct anarchist (?) approach. Which, fine, but it is YMMV and a highly personal opinion. But the author's take on history and the French Revolution context of the guillotine is misleading (and often completely wrong). The article seems to see the guillotine in frev as the weapon of the state against its people, which misses the entire point of guillotine being used in frev to prevent (very real) direct killings committed by the people. While yes, we can talk about the role of the guillotine as a state-inflicted violence, a lot of context is missed by ignoring the fact that the people were eager to do their own revenge, and the government trying to prevent those random murders on the street by giving it at least a semblance of the legal process. It might not fly as fair legal process today, but the opposite was not peace and quiet; the opposite was sans culottes taking justice (or what they saw as justice) into their own hands. They did it during September massacres in 1792, and they were ready to do it again. And when told "hold on, the republic will take care of that", people demanded more and quicker executions. The article never mentions this; on the contrary, it contextualizes the use of guillotine in frev as a bureaucratic state murdering citizens "from afar". Which the article argues is what people today want when they talk about guillotining billionaires or whoever. Which is YMMV and highly personal opinion. But this opinion (about politics today and what to do about social change) is very different than the late 18c situation in France. It's anachronistic and, well, ethnocentric, to view the French Revolution through the lens of our own culture. Whatever one thinks about the use of guillotine during frev, it's not really relevant unless they (try to) understand the context, the time and the cultural circumstances. That not to say that anyone has to support the idea of guillotine (I for one am terrified of the thing and I rarely, if ever, post guillotine memes). But it's not possible to understand what was going on during frev (or Paris Commune 1871 for that matter) unless you understand the context. The article you linked doesn't even seem to try to do that. On the contrary, it openly interprets the past through the present and tries to explain frev through today's cultural sentiments, which is not a good way to go, imo. (Well, if you wish to understand history, which I assume was not the goal of this article). Errors and simplifications under the cut.

The guillotine is associated with radical politics because it was used in the original French Revolution to behead monarch Louis XVI on January 21, 1793, several months after his arrest.

Is this really why it's associated with radical politics? Is it really all about the king (and queen)? Even if so, it is a misleading way to put it: guillotine was implemented so there is at least some legal proceeding (trial, death penalty). The opposite is letting people punish with their bare hands whoever they deem guilty (look at the September Massacres). Whatever we think of direct action, it is clear why government could not allow that to happen (for people to go on the streets and punish whoever they want).

Which is a hugely, immensely important point behind the executions in frev. The article doesn't even mention it, even though it talks about doing revenge yourself vs distant revenge (the author seems unaware that sans cullotes in frev very much wanted a direct revenge and were ready to implement it). The article argues that people today want a distant, impersonal revenge where they don't dirty their own hands "with all the paperwork filled out properly, according to the example set by the Jacobins and the Bolsheviks". This shows a profound lack of understanding of what was going on during frev, when there was a very real struggle between the government and the people over "direct revenge". The "Jacobin procedure" was an attempt to prevent more September massacres; it wasn't something created in a vacuum because Robespierre (or whoever) just wanted to kill people with bureaucratic precision.

Maximilien de Robespierre, sometime President of the Jacobin Club, continued employing it to consolidate power for his faction of the Republican government.

This is an interesting way to describe Robespierre (not incorrect, but misleading, because so many people were presidents of the Jacobin club). At least it doesn't claim he was the president of the CSP. Minus for incorrect use of "de Robespierre" (it's typically done to SJ, so this one is rare). Still, it makes it seem like Robespierre was the mastermind behind the guillotinings (and he somehow achieved that by simply being the president of the Jacobin club?)

As is customary for demagogues, Robespierre, Georges Danton, and other radicals availed themselves of the assistance of the sans-culottes, the angry poor, to oust the more moderate faction, the Girondists, in June 1793.

Plus for mentioning Danton in this context (he is typically spared the Robespierre treatment). While it's true that there was a big Girondin vs Montagnard thing going on (both sides wanted to crush the other), the text misses to point out that: 1) Girondins had the power majority in early 1793; 2) What is "moderate" is debatable - Girondins were for the war that caused so much mess, and it's rarely mentioned as "not moderate"; and 3) (most misleading, imo) It ignores the fact that sans culottes were the ones doing the insurrection, barging into the Convention to demand Girondins be punished, "or else" (= "September massacres again"). The people (sans culottes) were very active in their ideas and demands, and the government (Montagnards included) often had to make careful moves to placate them - there is so, so much about the tensions between the sans culottes (Paris Commune) and the Government that the article doesn't even take into account. (Like seriously, it needs to be well-known.)

By early 1794, Robespierre and his allies had sent a great number of people at least as radical as themselves to the guillotine, including Anaxagoras Chaumette and the so-called Enragés, Jacques Hébert and the so-called Hébertists, proto-feminist and abolitionist Olympe de Gouges, Camille Desmoulins (who had had the gall to suggest to his childhood friend Robespierre that “love is stronger and more lasting than fear”)—and Desmoulins’s wife, for good measure, despite her sister having been Robespierre’s fiancée. 

(Was she really Robespierre's fiancée? And since we're there, should we also mention that Robespierre's sister was the fiancée of the man who killed Robespierre?) Anyway. This paragraph is super misleading because it makes it seem that it was Robespierre "and his supporters" doing all of this, when it was faction fighting where, say, Danton was pushing for the fall of the opposing factions. Yet, everyone is lumped together as Robespierre's victim. (And why is Olympe de Gouges not grouped with Girondins? Of course, we hear that she was an abolitionist, but we don't hear that the rest of them were, too, Robespierre included. Not to mention de Gouges' horrendous take on how black people should not "go too far" to liberate themselves. Like if there is one person in frev that should not be hailed as a great abolitionist it's de Gouges. But I digress).

To celebrate all this bloodletting, Robespierre organized the Festival of the Supreme Being, a mandatory public ceremony inaugurating an invented state religion.

Now they're just making shit up. I've heard many bad takes about the Festival of the Supreme Being, but that it was a celebration of the guillotinings???

After this, it was only a month and a half before Robespierre himself was guillotined, having exterminated too many of those who might have fought beside him against the counterrevolution.

Eeeh. This is more what happened to Thermidorians after the death of Robespierre, but sure we don't talk about the White Terror because it's not important (?) (It's true Robespierre miscalculated by alienating sans culottes, but not because he killed so many that he lost supporters. Again, this is what happened to Robespierre's killers, the Thermidorians, and not to Robespierre).

But it is a mistake to focus on Robespierre. Robespierre himself was not a superhuman tyrant. At best, he was a zealous apparatchik who filled a role that countless revolutionaries were vying for, a role that another person would have played if he had not. The issue was systemic—the competition for centralized dictatorial power—not a matter of individual wrongdoing.

This paragraph is not completely wrong (except it sees Robespierre and frev as being much more organized and eeeh, USSR-like than it was - a common mistake. It was a fucking anarchy where nobody had proper power and control - that is the main problem. But to understand this, one has to understand just how disorganized things were, with no institutions and with no proper bureaucratic apparatus - that was a huge problem. But the article seems to equate frev with USSR so... nah).

To a certain extent, we can understand why Robespierre and his contemporaries ended up relying on mass murder as a political tool. They were threatened by foreign military invasion, internal conspiracies, and counterrevolutionary uprisings; they were making decisions in an extremely high-stress environment. 

Oh, now we are mentioning the context, which was supposed to go to the start of the article to explain wtf was going on. That's abut it for frev. After, the article talks about 19c and I am not knowledgeable enough about that.