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ongoing
cover me, cover you (m, modern au) [read on ao3]
Editorial photographer Beatrice Bridgerton, upon returning to Bloom magazine after a sabbatical, swears to her older sister slash boss, Anthonia, that she’ll finally take her job seriously. International supermodel Sophie Baek, a consummate professional and Bloom's newest cover girl, proves to be both a temptation and a challenge.
Sapphic Benophie
good kids (g, percy jackson au) [read on ao3]
Benediction, noun: the invocation of a blessing, an expression of good wishes, something that promotes goodness or well-being.
Benedict, proper noun: son of Apollo, speaker of poetry, healer of half-bloods, questioner of the Fates.
midnights (m, vampire/fairy au) [read on ao3]
London, 1815. Benedict Bridgerton, enchanted by an ethereal fairy at his mother’s masquerade ball, contemplates making a wish.
New York, 2026. Sophie Baek visits her vampire lover, concerned that he's finally grown weary of eternal life.
Two immortals, two centuries, and twelve midnights in between.
completed
a kind of merry (fan) war (m, 4.7k, social media au) [read on ao3] [read on tumblr] [playlist]
What everybody knows: Benedict is an actor making his film debut, Sophie is a drummer in a famous pop band.
What nobody knows: Benedict and Sophie are the secret admins behind each other's fan update accounts.
a proposal from an assistant (m, 16k, modern au) [read on ao3]
When ambitious book editor Sophie is faced with a career-threatening problem, her loyal assistant Benedict proposes a unique solution: They should totally get married.
I always thought what happened after benedict told sophie she needed a dress to the queen's ball. Like the reaction of benedict seeing sophie with a dress again, or him teaching her how to dance. I like all of your fanfics, you write soo well
Sorry for my English, I'm from latinoamerica
thanks so much for the prompt!
to everyone reading this: you may find my prompt submission guidelines here. you may also read this drabble on ao3.
also, consider this my submission for day 5 of #bennyrave @ourcottagehq on the themes of “society."
Benedict watched, helpless, as the door closed shut behind Sophie. His sisters, giggling, had pulled her into the guest room, along with a handful of Daphne and Francesca's old dresses, in search of something that might suit a simple country miss making her long-awaited debut in London society. Hyacinth, last he'd heard, was chattering on about spoon arrangement at a dinner party and how that spoke to each guest's social standings. Eloise, the most clever ways to evade unwanted potential suitors seeking a dance — something only Benedict knew Sophie already had experience with, but never the less, he wanted to hug Eloise when she offered the refresher.
This left Benedict alone in the drawing room.
He poured himself another glass of brandy.
Oh, there were ample justified reasons for his nerves. The crown's swift and punishing justice, a wicked stepmother, not to mention the cruel whispers of the ton — each obstacle hung over them like an albatross. For with all of his mother's fierceness, all of Lady Danbury's words of persuasion, and all of Mrs. Mondrich's scheming, there was still a non-zero chance they might not win the day. If so, the course before him was clear: He'd ride with Sophie to Gretna Green at once. Nothing in this world or the next would stop him from naming himself her husband, not when he loves her twice and loves her only. This clarity of purpose also does not diminish the ache he felt at the thought of the sacrifices he must make: His siblings. His kind mother. His nephews, multiplying by the day, surely to be soon joined by a niece or two.
Though, he reflects grumpily, sipping his drink alone while his sisters monopolize Sophie's evening behind a closed door, if he and Sophie were forced to abandon society to be together, at least then he'd get to spend more than five minutes alone with his love.
"Benedict?"
He looked up.
The sight of her cut through his tangled fears like a sword through the Gordian Knot.
It wasn’t her beauty that was enhanced greatly by an old dress of Daphne’s. He already thought her the most enchanting lady in the world in a maid’s uniform, in an old travel coat and some work boots, in a frock dirtied by a night spent in jail.
It was her joy, her smile, her wondrous ecstasy that stole his breath and captured him, heart and soul. (Well, okay, that revealing neckline also helped some. He was a simple man, with simple desires: Just some time alone for his lips and mouth to reacquaint themselves with his two favourite ... desserts.)
"Hyacinth thought something like this might suit for the queen's ball. I worry the shoulders might be a bit too low." Sophie twirled in front of him, her hair undone from that tight bun and flowing freely, a whiff of that vanilla-scented soap luring Benedict in, his mouth watering. "Oh, who am I to complain? This is the loveliest dress I've worn in ages."
"You'll have more," Benedict said at once, hand palming her waist, finding the familiar groove and — yes — pulling her warmth into his. "You'll have dresses enough to fill our entire cottage. All tailored to your specifications." He couldn't help it: His hand roamed down to cup her buttocks, his mouth ghosting over hers tantalizingly. "I can help take the measurements."
"Oh?"
"If you'll allow me, I shall be devoted entirely to the task and become the world's only leading expert on the contours of your b —"
"Ahem." Eloise coughed loudly and obviously as she entered the room. "You have five seconds."
"What?" Benedict blinked.
"Four. Three."
"Wait a damn minute —"
"Two."
Sophie pulled away, most regretably.
"One —"
"Who's ready for dance lessons?" Hurricane Hyacinth burst into the drawing room, grin as wide as Benedict had ever seen it. "Benedict, you cannot be here!"
Benedict held his hand up in mock innocence, though he'd like nothing more than to get them back on Sophie this very second, thank you very much. "Whyever not? I am quite the dancing master." He shot Sophie a wink, pulling a laugh out of his betrothed-to-be, then turned back to his littlest sister. "Need I remind you, you were the one who asked me to be your recital partner."
"Yes, well, all my other brothers were either married or Gregory, so you were the last resort."
"Hey!"
"Besides, suitors aren't proper partners for dance rehearsals. That is the whole point of rehearsals."
"Who did you imagine would step in to dance the leading role then?"
"Well," Eloise said, "I can do it."
Three faces turned to her at once, expressions ranging from delighted to bewildered.
Eloise shrugged. "I don't always zone out at these lessons, you know, and the leading role reserved for men is far more fun. Who would've thought!"
Sophie did a light curtesy. "I would be honoured, Miss Bridgerton."
While Hyacinth and Eloise were momentarily distracted by an argument over which dance, exactly, they ought to teach Sophie in the one night they had available (ha!), Benedict closed in on Sophie again.
"This is madness."
"I agree," Sophie said, looking at his sisters. "A mad scheme, truly, even with Mrs. Mondrich's aid. A lady-in-waiting, coming to my aid. I can hardly believe it."
"Alice is a dear friend, not to mention an excellent judge of character. Of course she would wish to help you. Anyone would. But that is not what I mean." He leaned in to whisper against her ear. "I had not been prepared to share you."
Sophie bit her lower lips, still not looking at him. "You wish I were still your secret, then?"
"No," Benedict said, firm. He subtly brushed a hand down the back of her dress, fingers playing her spine like piano keys. "I wish to scream for the world to hear that you are mine, and I am yours, then take you back to our cottage and prove that fact." Sophie was ever so composed, ever so orderly. Benedict took every delight in the barest of shivers, the tiniest of attention she bestowed upon him now in the quickest of side glances. "Will you indulge me?"
A side glance turned into met gaze. Sophie peered up at him with those doe eyes, falling further and further into Benedict's orbit, but —
"Sophie? Eloise is ready for you now," Hyacinth said. "Finally."
"Oh," Eloise grumbled. "Don't make me regret agreeing to this ..."
"Agreeing? This was your idea!"
"Coming!" Sophie said, reluctantly tearing her eyes off Benedict. "Soon," she promised him, stealing a quick peck, an echo of another dance, another night, then hurried across the room to join his sisters.
Tags: Bridgerton, Percy Jackson AU, Benedict x Sophie, Benny Rave, Benny Rave 2026 (Day 4)
Benediction, noun: the invocation of a blessing, an expression of good wishes, something that promotes goodness or well-being.
Benedict, proper noun: son of Apollo, speaker of poetry, healer of half-bloods, questioner of the Fates.
Excerpt:
Apollo gave Benedict the gift of healing and poetry, but Violet Bridgerton taught him the value of good bedside manners.
“She was working as an immunologist in Brooklyn when she met my father — both of them, actually,” Benedict yapped away as he pressed a cool towel to the forehead of his latest patient.
Francesca was the one who found her that very morning, staggering past Thalia’s Pine with a dazed but haunted expression on her face. With a sharp whistle, supernaturally amplified by the grace of Apollo, Fran hailed for the rest of Cabin Seven to come to the poor girl’s aid. Approaching them from a distance, Benedict thought, ruefully, that he had met too many half-bloods like her.
Then, he saw her face, and realized she was not like any half-bloods he’d ever met.
Miraculous Ladybug is about what if you gave a girl with extreme anxiety the superhuman capability to actually prepare for every scenario of What Could Go Wrong
Content warning: sex, and briefly, sexual assault, but Benedict would likely give you that too-tight smile and tell you he's fine.
When Benedict turns eighteen, his brother hands him a piece of paper.
There is an address on it.
“Ask for Christine,” his brother instructs.
He doesn't tell Anthony about the nights he's spent with other boys at Eton. He doesn't tell him that he was dragged to a house party last fall and was very merrily had by two young women whose names he doesn't remember.
He does go to the brothel. He has a drink. He spends a few hours getting to know Christine, who is quite beautiful and has the funniest, most scandalous stories Benedict has ever heard. She eventually grabs him by the dick and declares that she's tired of talking.
The sex is fine. About as fine as it was with the girls at the house party. As fine as it was with the boys at school.
Though one winds up suspiciously dead soon after, and Benedict decides maybe women are a safer bet.
*****
He doesn't go back to the brothel, but he does fall into bed with a few friends.
There's one young lady of the ton. Emily.
She's funny, and mean, and witty, and Benedict might love her a little.
The sex is raucous. She hurts him, but he doesn't mind. The bruises and bite marks and verbal stings. It's…
It's not his favorite, the way she tells him she hates him when she comes, but maybe this is what love is.
Or not. Because when he brings up marriage, she laughs in his face and tells him she would never settle for a second son.
Asks if Anthony was looking for a wife.
*****
“Is this about Ms. Dorset?” Anthony asks as he watches the valet help Benedict pack his things.
“A little,” Benedict admits. “But also…” he shrugs. “At some point, mother has to be responsible for her own children.”
Anthony nods in agreement. “I am sorry about Ms. Dorset. She uh…inquired about my current prospects.”
Benedict gives him a tight smile. “Enjoy.”
*****
Sardinia is incredible.
Oddly, he spends most of his time either helping on farms in exchange for home cooked meals, or by the sea.
He'll never need to know how to pick figs or trim sheep wool or fish back home, but here…
Here.
He thinks deeply about staying forever. Here, there are no siblings to raise. There is no estate to help run. There's just sunshine and the sea and everything between.
Including Lillia.
She's older. Not that much older, but still. Beautiful and joyful. She laughs at his attempts to speak her language, but thankfully knows a fair amount of English. She's the daughter of a sheep farmer.
She beds him regularly.
It is…
Indescribable.
She shows him what it means to give pleasure - real pleasure. She kisses him like it's a game they play. She wants him. Truly, just him. Just Benedict.
They do other things, too. Work, obviously. She tries to teach him to cook and it goes so poorly she winds up on the floor of the kitchen, laughing.
They walk through the gardens one day, and Benedict freezes at the sound he hears.
Buzzing.
It's not that he doesn't hear bees all the time. He does. It just sometimes hits him funny.
Lillia squeezes his hand. Leads him over to a patch of daisies where a few bees are going about their business.
“No fear,” she encourages in English. “Beautiful. Important.”
They stand there in silence for a while.
“Dangerous,” Benedict tells her a little shakily in her language.
She nods. “Us, too.”
They stay there for a long time. Long enough for the bees to get tired. Some move along. Others fall asleep in their flowers.
Lillia reaches out, using a finger to pet a rather chubby bumble bee, and she smiles at him. “No fear.”
He watches her and nods. “No fear,” he agrees.
And he means it.
*****
Six months go by too quickly, but he promised Anthony he'd be home.
And a promise is a promise.
He makes none of those to Lillia, who just embraces him at the docks as he leaves. Plans on marrying one of the other local farmers. Will miss him, but not enough to uproot either of their lives.
Doesn't love him.
That's probably fine.
*****
Life is fine.
He mostly stays in the country.
When he turns twenty-four his inheritance becomes his own and he buys a little estate in Wiltshire. It gives him a place to get away. It gives the Crabtrees a place to call their own.
He still goes to London for the season. It's mostly just him and Anthony. Sometimes their mother.
In watching Violet Bridgerton struggle to keep her foot in society without the love of her life, Benedict comes to realize that perhaps it isn't what he wants.
If true love only ever ends in heartbreak, he would rather avoid sporting the haunted look in his mother's eyes.
If loving someone that much, that hard, is destined to end in the destruction of oneself, then he's not certain he sees the point.
Emily Dorset married a baron. Benedict gives her a polite smile when she informs him.
“Good for you,” he says, more amused than anything else. He can't imagine being married to her now. He knows now he would have been miserable with her.
Emily watches him, expecting him to have more of a reaction.
He just sips some lemonade.
*****
Genevieve. Lucy. Tessa. It all feels very much the same. Nice. Pleasant.
Fine.
The revelation about his art school acceptance hurts more than Genevieve's rejection.
He is starting to feel as though he has been superfluous this entire time. The sibling herder. The second son. Sometimes his family looks at him with such disappointment he thinks maybe they'd be happier if he left again.
He misses Sardinia sometimes.
He'd be out of place there, too.
Anthony marries, and they'll start having children soon, and then Benedict will be truly put out to pasture.
Tilley is beautiful and daring. He thinks maybe this is where his future could lay. With her. She's fun. A little focused on being not like everyone else. His family likes her. He starts to enjoy her more and more. Starts to think…
And then he meets Paul.
Paul is handsome. Charming. A lot like Tilley.
When he catches them kissing, he realizes that Tilley was never serious about him.
More games.
Emily.
Lillia.
Tilley.
He can play games, too. He doesn't tell them about the boys at Eton. Doesn't let on that he's familiar with that part of himself but chose to lock it away.
Beds both of them and it's good. Paul is certainly more skilled than any other sexual partner of the male persuasion he's had.
It's nice.
Maybe he doesn't need to lock that part of himself up so tightly anymore.
Tilley offers something more serious, out of the blue, and Benedict lets her down gently. He'd rather explore. He'd rather not be tied to someone who was so ready to play with his feelings.
*****
He meets lots of people. He beds most of them.
Paul pops up here and there, but there was a night where things got out of hand, and while pain can sometimes be pleasurable…
Benedict left that night feeling as though he'd been torn apart bit by bit. He had been something to be used, and not a willing participant.
They never spoke again.
His family don't seem to notice that he stays away from Grosvenor Square for a week while he heals up.
Louis is nice. Consistent. Fun. Virginia, too. Others.
It's good.
It's fine.
It breaks up the monotony of running the estate while Anthony is gone.
Anthony, who had a son.
Anthony, who doesn't really need Benedict anymore. Will never need him again.
That's fine.
*****
A young lady dressed all in silver stares upwards at the chandelier at his mother's masquerade, and Benedict's brain clicks over. Sees her in sketch strokes and charcoal curves on paper.
She asks him to wade into deeper water with her. Challenges him. Makes him feel a little seen for the first time in…
Well.
It's so strange. This woman in his arms who feels like she has always been there. Should always have been there. Should always be there.
When she runs, it's like she's running out with his heart trailing behind her.
When she kisses him it's like a bolt of lightning.
Fuck.
Fuck.
*****
He can't find her.
He finds Sophie Baek instead.
Rigid, beautiful, infuriating, clever, lovely, courageous Sophie Baek.
They kiss by the lake, and it takes every shred of common sense he has not to pin her to a tree and ruck up her dress and-
That's a new feeling.
But he knows he has to put a stop to it. Mrs. Crabtree is right.
She is.
She’s right.
That doesn’t stop him from touching himself to the thought of her right next door in the guestroom. In her chemise. The possibility that she could slip into his room again at any moment. This time to crawl into bed with him.
It also doesn’t stop him from convincing his mother to employ Sophie at Bridgerton house or…running into her all the time, or comparing every young lady he runs into to her.
“Compared to what?” Sophie had demanded weeks into her employment after a particularly mortifying afternoon with Ms. Hollis.
It’s never felt like this before. He’s never been so completely and utterly entranced by anyone. Not anyone, and hearing how happy Hiscox is with his mistress…
It seems sensible. Realistic. A way to be with this woman he can’t seem to get off his mind.
They practically collide in the stairwell that night, and when she comes against him, pressed to the wall, her calloused, strong fingers in his hair, she sounds so relieved that he nearly does as well.
When she walks away, reality comes crashing back into him.
It twists him up for days. She refuses his offer. She pushes him away.
As he struggles with her rejection, he realizes that this is what love is. This is that feeling his mother cannot stop talking about.
It terrifies him, and he should run. Back to the countryside; away from Sophie Baek and her big brown eyes and her calloused fingers and her sweet lips.
She is a maid, and even if she weren’t, he has no business falling in love with anyone. He isn’t Anthony or Daphne or Colin or Francesca. He’s never been the one before and nothing has really changed.
Except that there is Sophie.
Her very existence seems to turn his life upside down. Make him determined to be with her in whatever way he can.
They fight in the hallway, during Hyacinth’s recital, Sophie clearly doesn’t understand; thinks that this is passing fancy for him, when it’s not.
It’s not.
“I love you,” he whispers, arms outstretched, and it finally seems to sink in.
He’s never said it to anyone. No one has ever said it in return before.
She is so beautiful. The most beautiful woman Benedict has ever laid eyes on. Being with her like this, truly being with her, is like nothing he has ever experienced. This is not just fine. This is not just a nice time.
This is everything.
Feeling her clench around him as she reaches completion a second time rips his own release from him, and his vision whites out.
When she falls into an exhausted sleep in his arms after, all he can think about is what their lives will be like now. How happy they can be together.
He wants this.
He wants this so much, he no longer gives a good god damn about how he gets it. He plans for My Cottage to be their home; to travel between two worlds. To be with Sophie. To give her a life. To love her for the rest of his.
When she makes the decision to leave eight days later, he’s not really surprised, but he is heartbroken. He offers her support anyways. For her to stay on at his mother’s home, or to pay for a place for her to live. To give her something; anything.
Show her in some way what she truly means to him.
She turns down all of it. It’s just who she is. She calls what they had a mistake.
And he knew, deep down, that that was true for most of the people in his life. That he had likely just been a clerical error somewhere along the way; that Colin should have been the spare.
Sophie’s words hurt more, somehow.
His life will go back to what it was. Everything will be fine. He will fill in for Anthony in town while Anthony enjoys his wife and his child at Aubrey Hall, and it will be like none of this ever happened, and Benedict will-
He’ll-
He’ll live, he supposes.
*****
John dies.
Sophie stays longer.
He nearly kisses her in the study. Wants so desperately to take comfort in her, and can’t. Won’t. It’s not what she wants. Or it is, but she’s determined that she cannot have it.
Him.
He loses it a little.
It’s just too fucking much.
He yells at a barrister. He yells at his mother. Admits to loving Sophie when he doesn’t mean to.
It earns him her blessing and a promise ring to use, but when he tries, he’s too late. Sophie is already gone, left a necklace Benedict recognizes far too late, and a very specific glove in her wake.
Fuck.
Fuck.
*****
He doesn’t sleep for a few days. Searches for her at the docks. Is ready to throw himself into the sea to find her. Finds out she’s been thrown in jail by her wretched fucking stepmother.
Of all the things he thought he’d be doing, bailing the lady in the silver gown out of jail wasn’t really one of them but here they are.
She didn’t tell him; didn’t feel like he could swallow the truth of who she was. He fell in love with her twice, and still…
Again. This isn’t surprising. This is just more of the same.
Except it’s not. Because Sophie is Sophie. There are reasons behind everything she does. None of it is done on a whim, or for her own gain. It’s all in the name of protection. Of shielding herself from harm.
She pushes him away so hard because she's been hurt over and over and over again. It's a familiar story, sadly.
“We cannot risk it,” she whispers in the bath, after they’ve put some puzzle pieces together. After she kisses him within an inch of his god damned life. She practically threw him against the back of the tub. He can't say he's mad about it.
He touches her, giving her what she needs; what he needs to give her. When she reaches back to grip him in return, it’s an overload of sensation. Too much. She gets distracted, though, as his fingers press more firmly into her clit, as she starts to spiral into completion. The sounds she makes spur him on, and he kisses her after, as she slumps back against him.
He knows now. He knows that for once in his life, his feelings weren't misplaced. This woman is all he wants. Will ever want, or need. That life he imagined weeks ago may not have felt attainable to either of them then, but Benedict no longer cares.
There is nothing but Sophie.
*****
They get the queen’s approval by the skin of their teeth. They get engaged quickly.
This is forever. This is what he’s been looking for, this whole time. Simply someone who loves him; who isn’t more interested in their own prospects or their own pleasure than avoiding hurting his feelings.
It’s probably too low a bar. Benedict isn’t sure he cares.
They marry on a sunny day when the weather isn’t quite warm, and it’s perfect.
Sophie is perfect. Mostly because she isn’t, but that’s a thought process or another day.
Benedict promises her forever. He intends to make good.
Tags: Bridgerton, Canon Compliant, Benedict & Kate, Minor Anthony x Kate, Benny Rave Day 2 ("Benedict as a sibling")
Shortly after Kate and Anthony's first honeymoon, Benedict and Kate contemplate a birthday present for Anthony.
Excerpt:
What do gift the man who was able to acquire anything money can buy? Such was the conundrum presented to Benedict and Kate as they approached Anthony's twenty-ninth birthday.
"A new quill? Fresh ink?" Benedict offered his suggestion, along with a glass of brandy, as the two of them took their seat in one of many drawing rooms at Bridgerton House one afternoon.
"I wish to present my new lord husband with a gift, not a replenishment of his office supplies," Kate argued.
"But that's precisely the point. You'll be removing one more burden from Anthony's shoulders, and there are very few material possessions he treasured more than the inventory of his study," Benedict joked, then, pausing for a second, reconsidered his words. "Except, of course, his watch."
reading a historical romance novel and reflecting on the way these stories often present woke nobility for the contemporary reader. a big thing is servants. you can’t not have servants in those times but many modern readers think “but I would never have servants. it would be so weird to have servants” and in order to make the protagonists of the story more relatable they are actually friends with the servants. but flip your perspective and think of it from the side of the servants. wouldn’t it be so awful if your boss was always trying to be friends with you. a really common thing you’ll see is the woke baronet having tea in the kitchen with the servants bc he’s not like other baronets. but what if your boss wanted to hang out and talk during your lunch break every day. not so charming when you think about it that way
#okay but now what is the optimal way to be a good boss in this situation i genuinely wanna know#its easy to guess what makes a bad boss or a mid boss. but what is a good boss#specifically in such a highly structured hierarchal situation (via @rainbowroach)
HELLO you are asking questions that literature and poetry THROUGHOUT the middle ages has asked, and it is from this questioning that we derive things like the Codes of Chivalry (which is not "how to treat a noble lady really nice" but is actually "how to be an ethical person when you're rich and you own a horse" and includes such things as "don't run people over with your horse")
In fact I daresay you already know instinctively just from cultural osmosis what a good boss -- a good liege lord -- is and does based on the tropes that have survived to the current day and the kinds of things that get Hugely Praised in things like legends of King Arthur.
A good boss (liege lord) is:
Merciful. He is not having his peasants killed for things like poaching rabbits during a famine. In fact, he is working to mitigate famine. During times of individual hardship, he might negotiate with a peasant for a payment plan on their annual rent.
Patient. He is not impulsive, he does not lose his temper.
Prudent. He makes choices that are thoughtful, considered, conservative (in the sense of not needlessly risky--he's not investing his entire fortune in having everyone plant an unproven crop). He is making sure local infrastructure like roads and public buildings are maintained and kept in good nick.
Gentle. He doesn't haul off and slap a servant or a tenant for breaking a dish or making a mistake. He doesn't abuse animals, his wife or children, or his employees. He doesn't rape the servants.
Generous (both in money and in spirit). He is not extorting the peasants for an amount of rent that is beyond their means, he is not raising taxes every year to cover his own lavish lifestyle. He is paying his servants a living wage (or, if wages are low, he's giving them room/board/clothing to make up the difference). If someone in a tenant's family dies, the lord is sending a gift of condolence, or helping to pay for the funeral, or possibly even ATTENDING the funeral and speaking a few kind words about the deceased, ESPECIALLY if they were a really upstanding and important member of the community. If one of his tenants is gravely sick, the lord is sending a basket of food or paying for a doctor. He is giving charitably (generally this will be, like, a bequest to the church so that they can run a hospital or an orphanage or a school for the local village children).
Pious. This classically means "goes to church, submits with humility to God" but to me this quality is subtextually standing in for "maintaining an ongoing sense of Perspective that HE'S not god, that there are higher powers he is Accountable to, that he too can be Judged, etc, so that he doesn't end up going on a weird fucked up power trip"
Humble. One of the most admiring things you hear about a lord doing in literature and epic poetry is, "He ate off of wooden plates while his followers ate off of gold and silver." Humility isn't about being meek, it's just about not thinking so much of yourself that you turn your nose up and sneer at what "lesser" people do. In other words: Don't be a fucking diva. If your carriage gets stuck in the mud, climb out and help everybody else push, you're not gonna die from getting mud on your shoes.
Condescending. This word has changed wildly in meaning/tone over the last couple centuries -- it's now a rude thing to do (because we've done away with legal social hierarchies, so someone acting like they're lowering themselves to your level IS insulting), but in older times, a high-ranking person "condescending" to a servant was worthy of praise and admiration: it means they were setting aside rank and privilege to speak to them with the easygoing, friendly respect and compassion they'd give a peer. This is things like... Treats those beneath him with courtesy and respect (ie: listens soberly and attentively when one of his servants or tenants comes to complain about a problem). Having a sense of humor and kindness about it when the lord and a servant both come around a corner at the same time and run into each other and the servant gets knocked to the ground and starts babbling apologies--the condescending (positive) lord helps them to their feet with his own hands and cracks a joke to show them that it's ok (as opposed to just walking off without a word or insulting/scolding them). This is also things like trusting a farmer, woodcutter, or artisan to speak with expertise about their own livelihood and taking their advice into consideration if they tell the lord that one of his ideas won't work.
Good boundaries. The ethical liege lord knows that it's normal for the staff to probably be softly bitching about him in private (even with a really good boss, we all grumble from time to time). He's not eavesdropping on them, he's not going into the staff areas where they should reasonably expect to have a degree of privacy, etc.
Righteous and protective of "the weak". The "weak" here doesn't necessarily mean physically weak, this is often used in the sense of someone politically or socially weak, aka The Marginalized -- the poor, the disabled, women, children, the elderly, etc. If a lord sees someone like this being mistreated or abused, he's supposed to step in and put a stop to that.
Committed to reciprocity. In a highly hierarchical system like feudalism, every person (from the lowest peasant all the way up to the crown prince) legally OWES their liege lord certain things (taxes, labor, service, loyalty, etc). A good liege remembers and takes very seriously the idea that this should be a balanced and reciprocal relationship -- in other words, he owes something BACK. Feudalism is modeled very strongly on the family system: If children owe their parents obedience and service, then parents owe their children care and protection. This still applies when the "child" is a farmer and the "parent" is a local baron. Or when the "child" is a duke and the "parent" is the king.
Basically, we get so caught up in the aesthetics of nobility that we forget that it literally is a managerial position that comes with responsibilities that were... very similar back in the day to the same ones we have now. Humans have not changed all that much. At the end of the day, a really good boss in the 1400s versus in one from the 2020s displays most of the same qualities of personality, even if the details of execution are different.
The next question is, of course, "well, but this theoretical liege lord is HIGHLY idealized -- how often did that actually HAPPEN? Wasn't it more likely that everyone was exploited all the time?" and to that I say: Well, maybe. But again, I don't think humans have changed all that much. Just like the bosses of today, there's a SPECTRUM: A really really good boss is rare and precious and one that you tell stories about for years after you've left that job, but a truly, genuinely, homicidally nightmarish boss is also pretty rare. Most bosses are sort of meh -- they have their good moments, they have their shitty moments, but they're tolerable and you can get along with them well enough to do your job, and then you roll your eyes at them behind their back. Generally, humans don't take outright exploitation lying down. Being a bad boss in the historical period is how you get peasant uprisings and revolts, and you know that to be true because your parents raised you with that knowledge, so unless you are very stupid or inbred or an egomaniac, there is literal personal incentive to at minimum be a Tolerable liege lord. And that means hitting at least SOME of the above bullet points.
TL;DR: In the words of Honore de Balzac, "Everything I have just told you can be summarized by an old word: noblesse oblige!"
(for more discussions of the ethics of fealty and what it means to be a good boss when you are an exquisitely beautiful twink of a prince with a hot beefy bodyguard.... [fingerguns] read A Taste of Gold and Iron)
Bridgerton Barbie (2023) // She’s everything. He’s just Ben.
“Sublime day in the country, is it not? ”// “Sublime!”
“Hi Sophie!” “Hi Ben!”
“Sophie, hold my hand! Stay with me, Sophie!”
“This shall henceforth be known as Ben’s Mojo Dojo Cottage House.”
“Can you feel the Benergy? Feels so real, my Benergy…I’m just Ben, and I’m enough.”
