#Napoleon did a thing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

skitskatdacat63 · 10 months

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Aforementioned Napoleonic AU! Martian !! I said it would just be a wip but then oops, I basically finished it! Ty to everyone who was interested :D

Really really proud of these I'm ngl! I rendered in a really different way than ever before and I'm very satisfied with it :D

Ramble about historical influences(basically me being a nerd about who I consider the F1 drivers of the Napoleonic era):

So I wanted to explain my thought process because I think that the specific context behind the uniforms I drew is very relevant, as I didn't just pick them on a whim.

I drew them in Hussars' uniforms(Austrian Empire = Red Bull, but like obviously not 100% accurate because the uniform colors are based off the RBR racesuits.) Hussars are, in my opinion, the F1 drivers of their time. Let me quote several things that led me to this conclusion:

"During the Napoleonic period, hussars, as in all armies, were employed as scouts, given raiding missions or despatched to harry and pursue a defeated enemy on the run. Mounted on light, nimble horses..."

"...Their flamboyant costume and their reputation for daredevil acts..."

"...developed a romanticized image of being dashing and adventurous.

Okay....so they're dashing and adventurous, riding specifically on fast, light horses, dressed in flamboyant outfits committing daredevil acts...sir that is literally an F1 driver!!! Tell me they aren't the historical predecessor to F1 drivers!!!

I have this big book of Napoleonic uniforms(yea I'm a nerd) and I was paging through it to see what uniforms I wanted to draw(I have a habit of drawing my one oc in the Napoleonic era. So when I started drawing fanart, I'm like of course I must draw them as this!) Austria's normal uniforms in this era are soooo boring compared to France's, so I was really 😒 about drawing them, but then I came across the Hussars, and then started noticing all these similarities and thought it was perfect. Also I need to mention the fact that Austria's royal cipher at the time was literally this:

IT'S "F1", IT IS LITERALLY FUCKING F1, WHAT THE HELLLLL!?!?!?!? I had like a partial mental crisis coming across this, at that point it was destiny for me to draw this

*I forgot to include actual ref images 😐, so here you go!!

*I wrote most of his around when I started this drawing, which was all the way back in April. And it's really interesting to consider now that I was basically immersed in the history of the Austrian Empire for a month. I apologize to everyone in my life who had to endure my lecture on why Hussars are the F1 drivers of their time. But god I could not hold it back when I saw some of these uniforms in person. And it was cool to pull out this drawing, even if it was just a wip, and be like "oh hey I've drawn these!!" Anyways, I digress.

Obviously the martian drawing is a direct reference to this pic from Malaysia 2010:

My thoughts on this picture:

I almost wanted to draw Seb in the Austrian Kaiser's outfit, but it is nowhere near as slay as the Hussar uniform, so Hussar uniform it is!

I have many thoughts and opinions on the lore of this au so pls ask if you're curious but it's also just a lot.

#me: i will draw anything but their racing suits idk how to draw that :(#also me: then procedes to draw them in the most complicated uniforms ever #like seriously how is this easier to me than fucking race suits????#catie will draw anything but normal f1 fanart #you will only get weird AUs that have even me going 'why did i make this???'#as ive said before i have burnout most of the time but then will be able to draw for hours at a time every once in a while #this was one of those times.#ty to everyone who said theyre interested!! you guys made my brain kick into gear #like the before of what i was gonna post compared to what i actually finished is pretty insane #i drew that seb drawing and discovered a method of rendering that was easier to me #so then i was able to go back and finish that drawing and not go mental over it #i just have a habit of being overly meticulous and then not being able to finish things #so these are great cause it was kinda just 'fuck it'#but god i genuinely actually love drawing napoleonic uniforms its very soothing to me #as if you couldnt tell my weird obsession already when i said that napoleon painting is my fav painting ever #anyways please take my weird obsession fanart !! i am pleased w it :D #i asked if anyone was interested bcs i think i couldn't just post this without preface LOL #martian #sebmark #mark webber #sebastian vettel #f1 #formula 1 #f1 fanart #formula 1 fanart #catie.art.#<- i use that tag every once in a blue moon fr #hussar au

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fluentisonus · 5 months

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napoleon movie was not good tbh

#script was not good didn't make a good use of history & didn't really justify being 2hr40min long imo #it had some nice cinematography in parts but.#idk maybe I'm just being mean but even as a long historical movie enjoyer i wasn't a fan #thoughts #i felt like sometimes also it was trying to do that sort of modern humor slant to history thing which Can work (eg the favourite) but didn'#also it was weird abt the french revolution in a way I didn't rlly enjoy but I'd have to chew that one over before making any serious crit #& my knowledge of napoleon is v patchy so I can't really say anything there except it didn't really feel like it developed him much at all #which. idk how. it feels like it should have done #overall an extremely meh altho sometimes pretty film tbh. idk #<- i did smile seeing the rain at waterloo though thank you victor hugo she is like a celebrity to me #sorry adding more as I wait for the bus but. how do cut the entire peninsular war & invasion of italy etc etc & still have it drag #also again i felt like the dialogue was quite bad but maybe I'm being too mean #esp bc the other people in the theater did seem to enjoy it ajskdjkgky. so who knows #wait i Will say that I did quite like the mysuc though. that was good.#*music #also we got a ship interior w middies at the end #the french revolution bit really did leave a bad taste in my mouth though

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set-phasers-to-whump · 1 year

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spent your life bracing for the crash land (everything is alright)

prompt: accidentally hurt by friend

whumpee: napoleon solo, illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hi!! this one's for an anon who requested illya accidentally hurting one of his teammates. i hope you like it, it's my first time hurting napoleon lol. it's pre-ship ish and i think that's all you need to know! (title from dreams come true by brandon flowers)

He hadn’t been expecting the tackle. Not that anyone is ever particularly expecting to get tackled. But he’d just been minding his own business, cracking a safe, easy job, really, almost no security to the thing, and then bang. Literally and metaphorically.

A gunshot and a body slamming into him. The air knocked out of his lungs. Impact with the ground, trying to get his hands under him. His wrist pinned. Snap. Sensation and sound. Hot pain shooting from his fingertips through his elbow.

Movement on top of him. A second bang. Echoing in the small room. Ears already ringing, the bang only making it worse.

Silence. The weight of Illya pressing down on him, his wrist trapped between his arm and the ground. Burning.

Illya moves, rolls off of him.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he lies. He gets to his feet, dimly registers the body on the floor, the blood spreading across the concrete. He needs to move. Get back to work.

Illya stands guard again, gun trained on the door. Napoleon resumes his job. They have to get these documents.

His wrist is broken, he reflects as he works. He’d be able to tell just by the way it looks, if for some reason the burning pain wasn’t enough. Every slight movement sends a shockwave through his hand and up to his elbow. And he’s making a lot of slight movements.

By the time he gets the safe opened, he almost can’t see straight for the pain. He grabs items blindly, gathering everything together in a jumble - they can sort through it later. He shovels the mess into a briefcase, barely stopping himself from crying out when his wrist brushes the handle.

He snaps the briefcase closed and then they’re off. Napoleon keeps his left hand close to his body, protected. His right hand clutches the briefcase handle so tightly his knuckles are going white. They’re almost out.

A shout. Illya, in front of him, stops, turns around, and grabs Napoleon by his left wrist, tugging him around a corner.

The pain that this causes is the worst yet, worse than the initial impact, than all of the micromovements of safecracking put together. He gasps, would make a louder noise, but he can’t. He clamps his mouth shut and tries to breathe through it.

They stay behind the corner for a moment or two. Footsteps pass. No one appears in front of them. They’re safe.

Illya lets out a soft breath, then steps back out into the hallway. Napoleon takes a deep breath and follows.

They make it outside, almost to the car. And then there’s a burst of gunfire behind them and Illya - in any other situation Napoleon would find this endearing, the way Illya keeps grabbing hold of him. Now, though. He can’t bite back a cry of pain this time, and he wrenches his wrecked wrist out of Illya’s grasp.

They’re both running for the car and Napoleon can’t see straight anymore but he sees Illya stumble and Napoleon almost stops in case he falls but then he regains his balance and then they’re at the car and he barely even registers the pain as he wrenches the passenger door open.

Illya floors it. The gunfire recedes. The car is full of silence, apart from their panting breaths.

Napoleon cradles his broken wrist to his chest and looks out the window. The adrenaline is fading. The pain isn’t. He thinks to distract himself on the long, quiet drycleaning run. He imagines a nice drink. Several, maybe. Until the pain is dulled. He imagines a cast, a splint, a brace, whatever they decide to give him. Something limiting.

There’s a certain appeal in that, he has to admit. In not being able to do this job for a little while. Not that he doesn’t like it - actually, he likes working for UNCLE very much. The CIA though? That he can do without. And if his wrist is broken…

Well. He’s not going to complain about a bit of time off.

They’re almost back to the safehouse. Napoleon shuts his eyes against a particularly harsh pulse of pain.

And then they go over a bump, and he’d moved his wrist just a bit, and fuck, that hurts. He hisses in pain and for the first time Illya actually looks at him.

“What is wrong?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Napoleon says breezily, as Illya steers the car into an abandoned lot. They climb out, Napoleon doing everything with his right hand, slowly but not clumsily. The safehouse is just a few blocks away.

The walk is quiet. Illya seems…distant. Not that he’s usually a chatterbox or anything, but. This feels different. Even through the haze of pain Napoleon can tell that something isn’t quite right.

He waits, politely, until they’re inside. Until he’s gone to his room and changed. Until he’s wrapped his wrist in bandages to keep it steady. Until he’s taken a couple of painkillers. Until he’s had the first and second of those aforementioned nice drinks. Until the pain dulls into something still unpleasant but very much tolerable.

He meets Illya in the kitchen. He’s leaning his elbows on the counter and staring at nothing.

“Hey,” Napoleon says softly, putting his right hand on Illya’s shoulder.

Illya turns around. He looks upset. And then he looks at Napoleon’s wrist.

He grabs it again, gentler this time. Napoleon winces anyway.

“What…?”

He shrugs, carefully extricates his hand. “Broken. Landed on it funny, I suppose.”

Illya stares at him. At his bandaged wrist. Blinks. “I…” he says, and then stops. Napoleon waits for him to say something else.

Instead, Illya steps past him, strides down the short hallway to his bedroom, and slams the door.

Napoleon, for several seconds, just stares after him. “What the hell?” he mumbles to himself. What was that all about?

His curiosity and his concern are far stronger than his desire to respect his partner’s personal space. And so, after a moment, he walks down the hall to Illya’s room. The door isn’t even locked - Illya therefore must not be opposed to Napoleon’s presence. (Not that locking it would do much good as far as Napoleon’s skill set is concerned - at least, on a normal day where he hasn’t just broken his wrist).

He opens the door and steps in. He isn’t sure what he’s expecting.

It isn’t this, though. It isn’t Illya sitting with his back pressed to the corner of the wall with his face to his knees and his fingers tangled into his hair so tightly it looks painful.

Napoleon is across the room in no time, dropping to his knees beside his partner. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, feeling his heart beating faster than usual. This - this isn’t normal by any stretch of the word. Something must be really wrong.

Illya doesn’t look up at him. His hands are shaking against his head.

They’re all Napoleon can focus on. His hands. And so he reaches out his good hand and carefully, slowly, disentangles one of Illya’s hands from his hair. He holds onto it, lightly, letting Illya choose whether to pull away.

He doesn’t, and so Napoleon very gingerly transfers Illya’s hand from his right to his left, so that he can remove Illya’s other hand from his head.

The second Illya’s hand makes contact with the bandages on Napoleon’s wrist, though, he pulls away, curls further into himself.

“Sorry,” Napoleon whispers. “Didn't mean to startle you.” He’s pretty sure there’s something else going on, but he has no idea what. No idea how to help.

Illya offers no explanation himself. “Are you hurt?” Napoleon asks. He hopes not. He doesn’t know whether he can do stitches with only one hand.

At this, Illya’s head snaps up. He looks about ready to cry, and something in Napoleon’s chest feels wound up so tightly it’s painful.

“I hurt you,” he says. His voice is low and angry but not at Napoleon.

“Well, yeah, but you didn’t mean to. You were just moving me along.”

Illya stares at him. “I hurt you,” he repeats. “I - you said you landed on it. I did this. And I - I should have kept better watch. Should not have needed to tackle you.”

It’s Napoleon’s turn to stare. “Peril,” he starts. “Illya. You tackled me so I wouldn’t get shot. Yes, I landed funny on my wrist, and yes, it wouldn’t be broken if you hadn’t tackled me, but I also might not, you know, be alive.”

Illya shakes his head. “I should have reacted faster. Shot him before he shot at you.”

“That doesn’t matter. You stopped him from shooting me. I don’t care how.”

Illya looks at him like he’s speaking gibberish. “I hurt you. And then I hurt you again. This is my fault and I’m - I'm sorry.”

He buries his face back in his knees and takes a shuddering breath. Napoleon looks at him. Tries to figure out what to say.

In a manner of speaking, yes, this is Illya’s fault. But only in an extremely technical sense. Because sure, Illya had tackled him to the ground and Napoleon had gotten his wrist trapped and broken. And sure, he’d grabbed Napoleon by that very same wrist a couple of times and yeah, that had hurt like a sonofabitch, but.

He’d done these things to protect Napoleon. To stop him from getting shot. To pull him out of danger, towards safety. Napoleon will gladly take this broken wrist in exchange for his safety. Hell, in exchange for knowing that Illya cares about him enough to get him out of harm’s way.

“You were protecting me.”

He waits a beat. Illya looks up, ever so slightly.

“Yes, you hurt me. But you didn’t mean to, and you stopped me from getting much more badly hurt.”

Illya looks up a little more. There’s a single tear streaking ever so slowly down his cheek. Napoleon is filled with the almost insurmountable urge to reach out and brush it away.

He resists, somehow. Takes a breath in the silence.

“I thought -” Illya begins, then stops. “You are not angry?” He looks like he can’t quite believe this. Like he’s been waiting for this - waiting for the moment when he has done something that is going to tear everything apart.

Napoleon thinks that maybe he understands. He knows a thing or two about anger and about getting left behind. And he also knows that he would never do anything like that to Illya. And so he shakes his head, puts as much feeling, as much trust and affection into the words as he possibly can. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Of course I’m not angry.”

“But…”

“Listen. Yes, it hurts. But it’s manageable. We’ll go back to London and I’ll get a cast or a splint or whatever they decide and I’ll get some nice painkillers and then I’ll enjoy some light duty for a couple weeks. Maybe I’ll study up on my chess.” He offers up a grin, a slight nudge of the shoulder, a signal that nothing at all has changed.

“I’m sorry,” Illya says again, but it’s different this time. A sort of acknowledgement.

“I accept your apology,” Napoleon replies, keeping his tone light but sincere. Maybe Illya needs this, he thinks. Needs to be forgiven. He can do that.

With this, Napoleon shoves himself to his feet with his good hand, which he then extends back down towards Illya.

“Come on,” he offers. “Our dinner awaits, but I’m gonna need an extra hand in the kitchen.”

For half a second, he’s afraid Illya won’t take it. That he’s going to keep sitting here in the corner blaming himself for stopping Napoleon from getting shot.

And then Illya reaches up and grabs Napoleon’s hand, gently, not actually using him to pull himself up at all, and he gets to his feet.

“Okay,” he says, and he doesn’t quite let go of Napoleon’s hand. “What are we making?”

thank you for reading!!! i hope this was alright, i've never written napoleon quite like this before so i'm hoping he read ok. also sorry i was awol for a hot minute, midterms. now i'm done tho and hopefully will finish out the card this month! love u guys <3

#bad things happen bingo #accidentally hurt by friend #the man from uncle #napoleon solo #illya kuryakin #broken bones #emotional whump #comfort #my writing #i say things #i have been busy as hell but strangely im not all written out. even if i did write like almost 20 pages over the past week #plus assorted applications and regular classwork #the pain and suffering of fully expected schoolwork.

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josefavomjaaga · 1 year

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Major général des armées d’Espagne

On September 16, 1809, while Napoleon was negotiating the peace treaty with the Austrians after the Fifth Coalition War, in Spain one marshal Soult had briefly been declared major général des armées d’Espagne, i.e., the guy in charge for all things military in Spain. Presumably because he was already doing the job anyway. On December 1, 1810, however, that title was taken away from him and given to – one Louis Alexandre Berthier. So Berthier was in Spain at the time? No, of course not, he was in Paris and would soon set out on his journey to Vienna, in order to bring home a bride for Napoleon.

To say Soult was hurt by this would be somewhat of an understatement. He felt disconcerted enough to send one of his aides to Paris in order to see Napoleon. And Napoleon, while mostly concerned with getting his first marriage annulled and his second on the way, felt obliged to write an answer.

Paris, 14 January 1810

I receive your letter brought to me by your aide-de-camp. This aide-de-camp tells me that Berthier's nomination caused some uncertainty as to the confidence I have in you. I have full confidence in you. I named the prince of Neuchâtel because I wanted the correspondence to pass through him to be quicker than through the channel of the Minister of War and because there are a great many accounts to make and he is used to them. You must take the same title as Jourdan took, all the time I was in Spain. I am very upset, because of the pain this may have caused you and especially because of the influence it may have had on my affairs, that there was any uncertainty about this.

Napoleon: Oh, nono, it’s not that I distrust you, I distrust, uhm, Clarke, and Berthier is really good with the numbers and he can tell me stuff over dinner, also, you can have Jourdan’s title, that one was pretty, too, right, and … listen, just don’t go all Roi Nicolas on my brother now, okay? Joseph is very able to loose a kingdom on his own.

So, from then on there were two commanders for Spain: Soult on the ground, and, superior to him, Berthier in Paris. Plus one king Joseph, officially the political head of the country, always trying to meddle with military affairs as much as he could.

Fun. Not.

#napoleon's marshals #jean de dieu soult #louis alexandre berthier #to be fair napoleon really loved to exclude clarke from all things important #he did the same thing when he had important matters to discuss with eugene #still doubtfull soult took this well #berthier probably also would have preferred anything better than dealing with soult again #who came up with the idea that a war like the one in spain could be guided from paris?

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