#THIS IS THE FUCKING FOUNDATION OF CIVILISATION

[zilabee]

the roman fucking empire:

gif by @autechres

[dolphincultleader]

A fight between you and Joshua left you feeling unsettled. Thankfully, he was there to help you calm down

Word Count- 749

---

His voice had never sounded so cold.

It felt truly scary.

You knew he would never hurt you.

Never in a million years would he raise his hand on you.

You knew that.

But in that moment, you started doubted all your knowledge about everything. He was way taller than you. And the way his chest raised up and down as he breathed roughly while looking down at you with burning eyes made you scared.

What could had been a small argument at best turned into a full blown fight. You were tired, he was tired, neither of you were thinking straight.

You didn't realise that it would blow out of proportion like that. You thought this would be a calm and civilised argument. Well, you thought wrong.

Now, him standing in front of you, as hot as it was, it was also very scary. He wouldn't hurt you, you repeated in your head like a mantra.

After what felt like eternity in your head (it was 5 minutes), he let out a deep, shaky breath. You both stared at each other. And then, he broke the silence.

"I think I should get some air" he said as he passed you, walking straight to grab his coat. You swallowed, realising you both should take some space right now.

"Okay..." was all you said in a small voice. You didn't trust yourself to say anything else, fearing you'd break down. You stayed glued to your spot.

The sound of the front door closing broke you out of your trance as you realised he went out.

The next few hours were... suffocating. You decided to get some work done. Even while typing away at your computer, your mind kept replaying the argument.

Without Joshua, the apartment felt empty. It lacked life. Realising you weren't getting any work done, you decided to get ready for bed.

As you went on with your night routine, you couldn't help but want to text him or call him. Yet you stopped yourself every single time.

He wanted space. Thats why he went out in the first place. You had to respect him and give him the space. After all, respect was the foundation of your relationship, wasn't it?

Another hour went by. You were laying in your bed, trying to sleep. You kept turning and tossing. Yet you just couldn't seem to drift.

In those few hours, told insecurities started resurfacing. What if he had gotten tired of you too? Did you blow it? If only you hadn't bought it up tonight, you two wouldn't even be fighting.

The little bit sleepiness you managed to gather left as soon as you heard the front door open and close. You debated whether you'd wanna pretend to be sleeping.

As you heard the bedroom door open, you decided against it and your eyes drifted to him.

"hi" was all he said.

"hey..." the apologies were on the tip of your tongue. You debated how to say it as he placed his watch on the table. Pulling a chair with his hand, he sat in front of the bed. Legs on top of the bed as he sat comfortably.

"So..." he started.

"I am sorry for earlier" you blurted out in a rush. You both held each other's gaze for a few minutes. This time, he broke the silence.

"I am sorry too... I know you're really busy these days. I should had known and helped."

Unwillingly, you felt your eyes tear up. You hated crying. But the last few hours made you question everything. You felt like he was going to break up with you.

His eyes got soft. Seeing you cry, all the anger left him.

Was he still annoyed about the fight? Yes

Did he want you to cry? Fuck no.

He knew whatever he would say right now wouldn't help. Instead, he got up from his position on the chair and walked over to you.

After hesitating for a few seconds, he wrapped his arms around you, your face on his chest. You tried to regulate your breathing as he rubbed your back.

"I... I was so scared shua, thought you were gonna leave me. I am so sorry, i shouldn't had brought it up when we were both clearly very tired"

He felt his body stiffen at your words. Sure, the argument was tense, but he couldn't imagine leaving you.

He made gentle shushing noises as he continues to hug you.

"I'd never leave you love. Even if you wanted me to"

Having calmed down, you laughed at his words. As he slowly let go, he saw your face. Your red eyes made it clear that you had been crying.

"Missed you" is all you said.

"Well you're not getting rid of me so easily."

---

Masterlist

[kafkaesque22girlfriend]

The Damned P.1

Toji Zenin x fem! reader

Synopsis: forced to get in with the Zenin clan by your parents as a servant, Toji Zenin seemed to damn you more than himself….

Being a servant in the Zenin household was not for the weak-willed or the weak-minded, it took strong foundations of a strong mind to survive within these endless, lavishly adorned walls of the Zenin Compound. One of the three big clans in Jujutsu Society, blossoming the pure, clean bloodline of the strongest sorcerers in the modern and past Jujutsu eras.

Your parents pushed you into being here, young but not ditsy, focused yet polite. The Zenin really didn't care, they just wanted the free labour, but you did get a roof over your head when the Zenin took you in as a servant. Little did you know that your parents literally sent you off to serve strangers and live with them for God knows how long. Your cursed technique was strong and your parents wanted the Zenin to know that and get in with the family, even if you started as a lowly servant. To infiltrate? To gather information? To be married off? To destroy from the inside…? You didn’t know, nor did you care at this point.

The clan leader, Naobito Zenin, sent you off on your way as if he didn't give a single thought, as if he was washing away the dirt on his hands. You were young and inexperienced and you didn't deserve the reward of the bigger duties so you were sent Toji Zenin's way, the black sheep, the damned one in the Zenin clan. You would be the personal servant of Toji Zenin.

Which leads you here now, standing by the foot of his bed, ready to wake him up like you usually do. Late. It was nearing 11 am and the clan needed to be in the training quarters in about half an hour. You glanced at Toji, seeing the drool escape from his mouth, his hair roughed up, and the sheets that barely covered his naked chest. These were the only times you felt Toji not be intimidating. You opened up the curtains and the windows, letting the fresh air ventilate the room. He grunted when the light hit his eyes at the most perfectly uncomfortable angle.

“Get the hell out.” He groaned angrily as he covered his eyes with his bulky forearm.

“Rise and shine, Master Toji.” You say with a faint warmness, anything to keep this civilised and polite knowing he could lash out quickly. The light seeps through the room and bathes it in the sunlight. He looked peaceful lying there, it's shame you had to wake him. He never looked so peaceful while he was awake, and, sadly, we all know the reason why. Toii grumbled and groaned, lifting his arm from his eyes.

“Can't even fuckin' sleep in this damn house.” He opened his eyes and was met by the sight of the sun hitting against your silhouette. He then looked at your face and rolled his eyes, a sour expression filled his face once more. “And do me a favour, and don't call me 'master' if you don't want your teeth punched in.” Toji fucking hated that, fucking hated it all.

You immediately frown. “It's not like I want to call you that, you are my superior. I work for you, I have to refer to you as that.” You explain to Toji as if he didn't already know it clear as day. “Would you like me to bring in a gong and wake you up like that?” You say, a small smile tugging at your lips at the insane hypothetical.

“I don't give a damn if you have to call me that, just drop it.” He growled against his pillow, glaring at you in the process. Toji then sat up from the bed, resting his head on his right hand as he looked at you blankly. He couldn't help but believe that there was some charm to you in how you were so polite. Your expression had an innocence to it that he had never come across in the cesspit that was the Zenin compound. “If you dare bring a gong in here, I'll break it and then your ribs.”

You knew that he was very much capable of doing that, so you didn't push further. But your mouth ran faster than your brain.

“Well then Toji, if you break my ribs...who will be making you breakfast every morning? Speaking of which, if you want food, I'm making some. So get up.” You say a little more firmly this time, you've never been this challenging towards your superiors, part of you wants to take it back, what if the clan deject you for being disrespectful? You frown slightly and leave the room to head back to the kitchen and finish preparing his breakfast.

The first thing he did when you left the room was let out a groan of frustration. It was always like this, you were being too much of a pushover to him. Always too kind. That was what irritated him the most. Maybe he was projecting. He needed to stop thinking that. Toji got dressed into his montsuki and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and freshen himself up, he hated how every day started the same.

-

Soon, you heard his footsteps walking towards the kitchen, a few seconds later his hulking figure appeared at the doorway, leaning against the frame as he crossed his arms.

“I can make my own breakfast.” He declared in a low and husky voice.

“No, you can't.” You say politely but your words carry some weight to them that resounded throughout the whole room.

Each clan member had a specific section of the compound to themselves, so you had an entire kitchen to yourself to prepare food for Toji. He couldn't make his breakfast even if he tried, servants were solely assigned that duty.

You glance up at him leaning against the doorway, you finish plating up his Teishoku and serve them, you place it on the kitchen island in front of you. “Coffee sir-? I mean Toji..” You say softly, fumbling over your words but correcting yourself.

Your words irked him like nothing else, you were so nice to him. He loathed it. What made you so kind in the face of someone like him? “Quit this 'sir' bullshit.” He was trying to play it cool, his eyebrows slightly raised as he spoke. Internally he was confused by your ongoing kindness, you were like this from day one. He didn't like the fact that he had to work around your kindness.

“I apologize. Bad habit.” You let out a nervous chuckle, trying to ignore the burning green gaze zeroing in on you. Your expression was trying to hide the fact that you were uncomfortable with his presence. Toji was a little more than impressed by how you were handling him like this still. After all, most people would be scared shitless already.

As you hand him his coffee, Toji notices the band-aids on your fingers. The skin looked red and brittle and it made him raise an eyebrow. “What happened to them? And don't say 'nothing' or 'it's nothing.” Toii muttered under his breath, trying to distance himself but still be curious at the same time.

“Oh, I burned myself by accident, the stove was too hot.” You respond a little curtly, turning your back and starting cleaning up and clearing away. It was clear you didn't want to talk about it, the real reason was rather daunting as Naoya Zenin threatened to break your fingers because you didn't do a task correctly.

Toji watched with intent simmering eyes as you turned your back to him. The first thing was that your reasoning behind it was obvious bullshit. You were lying through your teeth but quite frankly he didn't car enough to pry even further. "You're really clumsy, aren't you?”

Your shoulders relax as you sigh out, thankful he wasn't reading into it. “I am...I am. ..quite clumsy.” You breathe out.

You both know damn well you were the opposite but for now, it'll do. You turn around and take his empty tray once he finishes eating, giving him an agreeable smile. “Your training starts soon.”

Toji raised his eyebrow as an unamused look was engrained on his face. Why was his rudeness not affecting you in any way? Maybe you weren't listening to a thing he said, which made him even more annoyed. So he decided to try another approach. He just...didn't like how you...talked to him. “Can you stop being so polite to me? I never understand why servants are like this to their masters. Just do your job and stop acting like this.” He grunted.

You turn around and glared at him, annoyed that he didn't realize that you’re just doing your job. Anything less than perfection and obedience would be punished. But then again...who the hell were you to argue with a Zenin? “If that's...what you prefer.” You shrug your shoulders. You thought maybe he would appreciate some form of kindness considering the way his family actively despised him.

“Good...because there's no reason to be nice to me when I'm anything but.” He warned me you lowly. Toji was expecting you to break and lash out at him. Yet your reaction and expression left him feeling a little off-put. Why? Why weren't you saying anything? Why aren't you letting him walk all over you? He didn't like those thoughts.

Reluctantly, you nod your head, lips thinning into a straight line, and you try to stay as neutral as possible. If this is what he wanted, who the hell were you to argue? After finishing cleaning the kitchen, you make a move to leave the room. As you made your way to leave, Toji couldn't help but notice that your back was as straight as an arrow. Your body looked so proper and elegant, unlike others. Just your simple back in that tight-fitting kimono was enough to make him stare a few moments longer than necessary. That's when he called out to you and spoke with a neutral expression: “Do you always have to be so proper and respectful?”

Yet his voice was...softer.

You stop in your tracks. “I'm just doing my job.” You reply quietly, trying to get him to grasp that you're just doing what you're supposed to do. You walk away and leave him wordless from the kitchen, letting your words linger in his brain a lot longer than he should have.

-

pt 2 coming soon, get ready for angst and sexy times in the near future.

[benedictscanvas]

stop looking at me like that - roy kent x reader

pairing: roy kent x reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: a lot of language, of course, and some very slight allusions to smut

a/n: and we're right back with a roy version! i didn't intend to write both, but the lovely @ironmanmagnetfridge sent in an ask to try a roy version of 'saved you a seat' and i couldn't refuse. i loved writing this, so thank you endlessly for the request and my ask box is currently very open for more roy or jamie requests in particular! <3

---

“We saw a windmill!” Jamie announces loudly, to which the whole coach cheers, yourself included. It was nice to see him so happy as he bounded down the aisle high-fiving everyone in sight. Roy may have sounded as grumpy as ever when he’d boarded the coach moments beforehand, but when he sank into the seat next to you near the back, you could definitely see the hint of a smirk on his face that he’d never admit to.

“Good night?” you asked him teasingly, only to hear him growl as he turned to you.

“Thought I said not to fucking ask?”

“I’m not asking, I’m inferring,” you hummed, undeterred by the attitude you’d become so used to, “You don’t have to confirm or deny anything. I’m glad you had a good time.” “You’re very fucking presumptuous, has anyone ever told you that?”

“You have. Many times,” you supply, grinning up at him and grateful for the fondness in the eye roll that you just managed to catch, “You like windmills?”

He doesn’t speak for a moment, and when he does, his voice is even lower, gruffer than before somehow.

“Fucking love ‘em.”

You nod, satisfied, and settle back into your seat to watch the boys fool about. They manage to get a song going, and you join in quietly albeit happily. When the same song dissolves into a chant that Dani seems to be leading in Spanish, you bow out and instead pull out your laptop to catch up on the vital emails you knew you’d missed during your time abroad.

“Do you ever stop fucking working?”

“Hey, you chose this seat,” you reminded him, still unsure why he’d chosen to sit next to you when there were a few empty seats he’d passed on the way. The thought made you a little too nervous to dwell on it though, “You should have known better than to sit next to the workaholic.”

“If I hadn’t sat here, I couldn’t do this,” he said simply, gently taking your laptop from your lap despite your protests and attempts to snatch it back. He held it over his head to the seat behind him and Rebecca caught on quick, taking it from him without a word. You pouted at him, then turned to glare at her through the gap between your seats.

“Rebecca! You know preventing the director of your charity foundation from working is probably a pretty shit idea?”

“I literally brought you with us for you to take a mandatory break,” she said firmly, “So fucking take it!”

She muttered something about you being a nuisance then went back into the dreamy trance she’d been in since she entered the coach, your laptop safely tucked away behind her. You sat back in your seat with an exaggerated huff.

“Being childish won’t help anything,” Roy reminded you, although he was definitely teasing you now if the light in his eyes was any indicator. You turned your glare on him, but soon relented, sinking back into your seat.

“You’re a bastard,” you say instead of replying.

“Yes, and…?”

You hesitate. He’s so annoying when he’s right. You’ve always hated him for it, particularly how effortlessly attractive he looked when he was gloating.

“And thank you. Happy now, you prick?”

“Very happy. Now we can talk on a coach journey like civilised fucking people rather than you having your fucking head buried in work every second.”

That one hit more of a nerve. Funnily enough, Roy had also found the seat next to yours on the coach from Richmond to Amsterdam, but you really had been preoccupied by your laptop then. Possibly the only time you’d spoken to him was to ask to squeeze by to get to the shitty bus bathroom. You had the decency to look embarrassed.

“I wasn’t the best seatmate last time, was I?” you said, “I am sorry about that, actually. When I’m planning these school visits, they often get a little all-consuming.”

“Don’t fucking apologise for all the fucking good work you do. Christ, that would make me a proper bastard. I saw some of the stuff you were doing on our way out and it’s important. Doesn’t mean you can’t take a fucking break, you know?”

You so want to take his obvious compliment in a cool, effortless way but you can already feel yourself getting hot.

“You were spying on my work?”

“Course I was. It’s a boring fucking bus and my seatmate wasn’t fucking talking to me,” he said, although this time he nudged you gently to let you know he wasn’t really annoyed, “I meant to say, put me down for the next school visit, will you? I know you’ve probably got enough, but…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. You’re always surprised by how often Roy wants to be involved in what you do, but you shouldn’t be. He’s such a thoroughly good man wrapped up an unsuspecting exterior. You hadn’t asked him because he’d done the last four visits, but maybe you should have.

“I would put your name down, but some prick stole my laptop,” you said, teasing him this time. You finally managed to get a smile out of him, however brief, as he shook his head at you, “I’m kidding. Thank you. I should have asked, but I didn’t want to bother you. I’ll make sure you know about them from now on.” “Good,” he confirmed, a single nod of his head, and then a few moments later - “You don’t fucking bother me by the way.”

“Not even when I’m trying to work on my mandatory holiday?” you joke, and he just grunts, so you’re forced to continue more sincerely even though it isn’t in your nature, “I’m guessing that might be why you chose to sit with me yet again even though I proved to be shit last time. Tell me if not, or I’ll end up being flattered.”

Yes, you loved bantering back and forth with Roy, but there was some hidden truth, some vulnerability behind your words. You were desperate to know why Roy had chosen to sit with you not once but twice, when he had plenty of people on this coach that he was close to. The two of you had become firm friends, you liked to think, over the past year or so, but there was a spot next to Isaac he could have taken, or with Ted, Beard and Rebecca at the very back. Part of you needed to hear what exactly had driven him to sit next to you, so you could eliminate the tiny hope at the back of your mind that maybe he thought about you as much as you thought about him.

“I don’t fucking know,” he started, but you knew him well enough to know that was his typical response when he was trying to work out what to say, “You’re…you know. We’re…fuck.”

And he stopped there. For some reason, you were speaking before you thought about it.

“We’re fucking, did you just say? Could’ve let me know.”

You didn’t know what made you say it, but the way Roy’s eyes almost bugged out of his head, you decided it was worth whatever awkwardness it might create in him. You burst out laughing at his expression, biting your lip to try to curtail it but not succeeding. At your reaction, he seemed to calm a little, and there was even a little huff that sounded almost like a laugh from him.

“You’re fucking awful, you are. I was trying to say something fucking nice about you and you fucking ruined it.”

He was kidding, but you could tell he also wasn’t. Matching his energy, you leaned in to him and gave him your best puppy dog eyes.

“No, don’t let me ruin it! Go on, say it anyway,” you almost begged, wondering if any of this was working or if he’d get up and walk away from you to another seat any minute. You vaguely realised how vigorously your heart was beating, “Say it!”

“Fucking hell, fine! Stop looking at me like that,” he insisted lowly, and you made a point of schooling your face into a serious expression, “Sometimes, you’re…fun to fucking be around, I guess. I like being wi- around you.”

You caught his slip. He liked being with you. If you ran away with what that one might mean, you might not recover. 

“High praise. I like being around you too. You know that’s a normal thing to say to your friends, right? It shouldn’t be quite that hard.” “Yeah, yeah, you’re fucking great at all this emotional stuff though aren’t you? You run a fucking charity, Y/N. Some of us have to…work at it.”

He was being serious, so you turned down the teasing. If he was willing to work on being a bit more emotional with you, you’d do anything to keep that going. He’d also just complimented you again and you hadn’t complimented him back once, which wouldn’t do at all.

“Yeah, I know. You’re actually fucking killing in that department recently, and you know it, so give yourself some credit,” you insist, watching a shadow of surprise cross his face. He nods, but you get the feeling he’s still trying to convince himself.

“Got you to fucking thank for that. You’re a good influence. On fucking all of us.”

“You keep saying all these nice things about me, Kent, and I’m going to be really fucking flattered,” you say, trying to downplay the impact you might have had on him, on the team, “You know it’s that cowboy back there doing the real heavy lifting.”

“Yeah, he’s fucking insufferable with it, isn’t he?” Roy agreed, “But me specifically then. The last year or so, I’ve been fucking better, and Ted’s been here three years.”

He wasn’t lying. He had been getting better and better with his emotions, with talking to people, with ensuring the people in his life that mattered knew just how much they mattered. This was about the third time in a month that Roy had suddenly gone a spree of complimenting you, and although it made you significantly uncomfortable, you couldn’t pretend you weren’t over the moon about it.

“You’ve made me more assertive, I think. So let’s call it even.”

“No.”

“No?” you questioned.

“No. You were fucking assertive before, you’re just trying to fucking deflect,” he said firmly, in the typical Roy Kent brand of caring in an angry tone, “I”m thanking you, so just fucking say you’re welcome and we can stop talking about this.”

You hesitated, but finally got up the courage to reach over and squeeze his hand as you replied.

“You’re welcome, then.”

You didn’t let your hand linger, no matter how much you wanted to, bringing it back into your lap and trying to ignore the sparks that slid across your fingers and flickered in the pit of your stomach. You watched Roy’s hand flex where you’d just held it, but he was staring straight ahead.

There were a few tension-filled moments of silence before he spoke up again, still staring at the seat in front of him like he was scared to look at you.

“Would you like to go to dinner when we get back?” he asked, in a voice that sounded like he had rehearsed the syllables. Your heart rate spiked, but you forced it to come back to earth again. He could just be anticipating how hungry he’ll be when you’re back, wanting some friendly company for the evening.

“Uh, sure, I love dinner,” you say, then want to smack yourself for how stupid that sounded, “What do you fancy?”

He growls, looking like he’s about to tear his hair out and you wonder what you’ve said wrong.

“You, alright? I fucking fancy you.”

You pause. Staring at him while he refuses to look at you. Your voice comes out breathy and disbelieving.

“For dinner?”

“No, I don’t want you for-” he growls and punches the seat in front of him, hard. Colin yelps but then starts a train of it, punching the seat in front of him with a laugh until it travels all the way down the bus. You would giggle if you weren’t worried about the man beside you. He takes a deep breath, then speaks:

“I’m inviting you to dinner because I like you. The dinner is the least fucking important thing in this scenario. I can’t have another fucking conversation with you where I’m fucking hinting every two seconds that I like you, and you’re sat there just looking at me like you do, fucking oblivious. It’s fine if you don’t want to, but I do. Want to. And want you.”

You stare at him in delighted shock. Yes, Rebecca had told you that the man wanted to ‘shag the bloody daylights out of you’ and that you should ‘just look at the way he looks at you, for fuck’s sake’, but you’d never believed her. And even if you could wrap your mind around Roy being attracted to you, you could never have predicted him actually wanting to take you for dinner. It made him infinitely more attractive as you stared up at him.

“I’m done now,” he said, voice a little strangled, “Your fucking turn. Please.”

“Yes,” you said, taking a leaf out of his book. You were elated when he finally looked at you, confused. He was breathing like he’d just run a marathon.

“Yes?”

“Yes to dinner. And to the rest of it,” you grin and have never appreciated one of his rare grins more when it’s fully focused on you. Still, there’s no way you can leave this as a serious moment alone, so you put on your best Roy Kent voice and narrow your eyes, “I fucking fancy you too.”

He actually laughs, a proper one, shaking his head as he chuckles. You join him in it, of course, ignoring the shocked look that Jamie was giving you from a few seats ahead at the sound of Roy’s laugh. When you’d finished laughing, not knowing what to do with yourself, you punch his arm lightly. It’s giddy and genuine.

You think he’ll punch you back, but instead he grabs your fist and maneuvres your hands until your fingers are intertwined and your hands rest on the seat between the two of you. It only makes your grin wider, and you know you’re staring at him again even though he’s back to refusing to look at you. You think it’s because he’s trying to hide his smile, but you can see it. It’s all you can see.

“Stop fucking looking at me like that,” he says gruffly and you laugh as you turn to stare out of the window instead, grinning out at the landscape whizzing by. 

Roy squeezes your hand. You squeeze back.

[lithiumrenaissance]

I am but a girl (a rabid beast) I see toxic yaoi and I am forced to enjoy it by primal forces far greater than any power I could muster.

But on a real note, the dynamic here is so disgustingly sweet. it’s so bad, but there’s this palatable tension that makes it good. Zam is absolutely relishing in the overwhelming sense of power he gets from degrading Wemmbu. Meanwhile, Wemmbu is trying to hide that he is gaining power and it’s so… it’s so fucking good.

Zam’s character is a pathetic piece of shit, seemingly rotten to his very foundation, using strength two on someone that he believes doesn’t even have a proper set of netherite gear, but why wouldn’t he? Who is going to stop him?

Because, Zam is Prince Zam, the almighty ruler of the most power civilisation of the server and Wemmbu is just Wemmbu. He has no allies that can threaten Zam, he has no power or wealth in Zam’s eyes, and therefore he has no worth and without worth he can’t be a threat. It is safe to antagonize him, it is his right to demean him, and no one on the server especially not Wemmbu can stop him.

It’s disgustingly sweet, tooth decaying sweetness. Zam wants to meticulously pick Wemmbu apart, he wishes to see him stripped barren and broken. Because underneath all of it, he’ll always be Zam’s ‘sweet, sweet Wemmbu’.

[evil-jennifer-hamilton-wb]

Have decided on the motives of "to be named ancient civilisation" and that being to build a big fucking gun in order to meet god.

In the worldbuilding as is there are two ways for a human to enter the realm of the divine. There's the pressure point method, in which you carefully apply some degree of force to any point where the divine world connects to the mortal world, such as what the protagonist attempts to do at the end of chapter 1. Then there's the ancient civilization's method: make a gun big enough to shatter the very foundations of reality, punch a hole into the universe.

[redemn]

you've heard of people drawing parallels of their muses to 'too sweet' - now get ready for its sibling : me drawing parallels of arthur   ( primarily in regards to his relationship with john )   to 'empire now'  …  this song is so fantastic but overlooked .

see ,   because arthur tends to express his views in a generally pessimistic light ,   while remaining much more of a realist about the world and society as a whole .   he's effectively grounded into the culture of his surroundings while remaining highly critical of civilisation as a whole ,   re : his unwillingness to be anywhere around big towns ,   and rapidly growing technology and cities like st denis .   [ … ]   but   "the way that things are turning / if it falls / i would hold on for all it's worth / the future's so bright it's burning"   fits him so well because ,   despite being relatively negative out of natural melancholia ,   there's a part of him even he's not aware of that hopes there's a sliver of the world that is as good as the pragmatists think .

and i really think that plays out once sister calderón gives him the talk and tells him that he should "take a gamble that love exists and do a loving act" … in the end ,   he does take that chance ,   when he tells john to run ,   and not look back .   the future's so bright ,   it's burning .   not for himself ,   sure ,   as his future won't be much longer .   but he insists it will be for his loved ones ,   the few people he has left by the end .

don't even get me started on the two possible endings ,   like  …   "darling ,   i wouldn't sell the world / for all the gold or sterling"   like in terms of arthur going back for the money ??? when he chooses not to .   when he chooses to run and fight with john not out of cowardice ,   but out of determination that someone ,   at least ,   will make it out of this alive .   a family who deserves it more than any other person in their entire goddamn gang .   money is nothing to him now if it means the people he loves suffers for that .

fuck the old empire that the old guard had been building for the past twenty years .   their rome has fallen ,   and long live this new empire .   arthur will craft its foundations out of his own lifeblood just to make sure it will be steady for the marstons .   and i just think that's really neat .

[shmowder]

ah, georigy lover. give us your smut hcs on your little "judge"

my gerontophilia is showing again, isn't it?

Where do I start? Where do I begin? Is there a moment of the day where obscene thoughts of that man don't invade my mind?

No, there is not.

How is he so attractive? Is this why I was down bad for Shadowheart's dad before in the other blog? Is this why I wanted to fuck Admiral Hackett so much?

God have mercy.

I'll save you a seat in hell next to mine, anon. For now, let's wallow around in our sin akin to happy pigs in their own filth and sexualise this old man.

His arms oh god his veiny arms! The arms of a weilder, a builder. A sculpter and a sculpture himself. Do you know what it takes to still look this strong and capable for a man his age?

Or how he still puts effort into his appearance. A trimmed combed beard, brushed styled grey hair, and clean smooth skin. He's very well-groomed and majestic.

The apron he wears is doing something to my brain. A kingly grand man like him in such a humble apron, rolled up sleeves and tools at hand. He's not shy to get his hands dirty despite how grandiose he looks and acts. He is truly the ideal man.

Reminiscent of old greek philosophers who were strong enough to hold their own in fights, who backed their words with action and planning, who set the foundations and principles of which whole civilisations were created upon.

I want him to throw me on the bed and manhandle me, even though he will never do it because brutality is not his style. He is far too sophisticated for that.

The idea of him being condescending under the guise of politeness is extremly hot for some reason, how it would fly over my head because I can only understand something when it's as subtle as a brick to the face.

No no, me and you anon, us common folks would never match or catch up to his mind. He'd rather treat us as naive children, actually even lesser, pets more likely.

Don't you want to be his cute little pet that he doesn't bother explaining complex concepts to, because he knows your brain is too small to comprehend it?

He's not blind, he's aware to how much you drool over his body. How shamelessly attracted you are to someone his age and status, tiptoeing the thin line between bravery and stupidity.

Georgiy doesn't even entertain your attempts to make yourself seem anything more than you are. You could try to appear smarter, stronger, or more capable in order to impress him, but he can see right through you.

You don't have to do any of that. He couldn't care less, really. He sees your worth beyond these superficial traits, there is beauty in the mundane, and the best statues were chiseled down from rocks and marble, neither diamonds nor gems.

Be his pet, indulge in your most primal instincts around him. It's only expected you'd want to submit to someone like him, it's in your nature to seek guidance and approval from those older and wiser.

Sit on the floor between his legs, lay your head on his thigh as you watch him work on shaving down a wooden branch, observing the beautiful shape taking form gradually with his careful yet confident movement.

Act as a pet should, nuzzle your face against his shirt until he gives you the attention you're so desperate for. Petting your head and playing with your hair, praising you for remaining patient and so well behaved.

Would you like a collar? He handmade it himself from expensive leather, connected every part with expert craftsmanship. He'd lift your chin so you properly look at him while he fastens the collar around your neck.

Or maybe you'd prefer something more delicate? A silky ribbon that feels unbelievably soft against your skin. Airy fabric that drapes down your collarbone, two strands swaying on a particularly windy day. He'd wrap it around your neck each morning, tie it into a beautiful bow before allowing to be on your way.

Continously fixing it for you throughout the day, asking you to step closer, come here, just like that, what a good pet you are. Let him adjust your collar or fix your loosening ribbon for you.

A proof of ownership around your neck, a constant reminder that you may never escape nor forget as you feel it tickle your throat with every breath you take. Never too confining but neither quite like freedom.

An illusion, a mix of both worlds.

At least he isn't degrading enough to attach a tiny silver bell to it, not that he didn't consider the idea. The temptation is a constant at the back of his mind, yet he'd rather have you ask for it out of your own accord, even if he has to wait.

He has all the time in the world after all, doesn't he?

Being the centre of your whole world, Georgiy is akin to the sun above to you. Having you wrapped around his finger, always nearby, pulling just enough to keep you in orbit but not strong enough to consume you whole with his blazing flames.

You're fragile, he realises. He wouldn't want to accidentally break your mind, neither shatter your world. If dancing with the shadows on the wall makes you content then wouldn't it be cruel of him to snuff out the flames?

No, you may play and live freely. He's as much of a protector to you as the cage's gold-plated bars are to a songbird

The sexual nature of your relationship rarely crosses his mind, it's just not as a prominent part of his life, not anymore, diminished with alongside youth by the time wearing down all forms of novelty and dulling desire.

A tasteful kiss satisfies his needs better than any prolonged nights of animalistic lust. Even as he presses your lips together, it's more sentimental than sexual, pouring his emotions and devotion into it.

Slow and tender, teaching you patience and restraint as you melt against his lips. It's almost sinfully innocent how chaste his kisses are in comparison to the deviant relationship the two of you have.

And yet he is anything but dismissive to your own libido and needs, Georgiy is never negligible of his beloved treasured pet.

He attends to your needs regularly even if he himself doesn't gain any relief from it, using his calloused fingers to bring you pleasure.

Stroking your hair as you move your hips up and down, indulging your carnal needs and bringing you the euphoric release you crave so much.

Expert hands learning how to properly play your body, tuning it, and discovering all of its secrets.

The relationship you share is the furthest thing from what's socially acceptable. It's basic degeneracy plain and simple, even amidst this progressive and open minded town, they'd never understand the dynamic the two of you have.

Neither does he ever expect them to, tha Kains grew used to having their visions constantly doubted and their proven facts dismissed.

Even if the two of you are not on equal footings, even if you are world aparts, you still make it work. Slot together so perfectly like two souls lost in the night, drifting amidst a stagnant sky, a lone planet orbiting a massive star.

[catgirlforeskin]

(Early Modern TTRPG anon)

After some search I found Soviet university textbooks about this period, so I guess it's good to have Russian as your first language sometimes. I am not sure how good they are because they were written in 1958, and like history is developing, but also Early Modern Europe is a period from which we literally had official and private archives this whole time, it's not like Ancient History where entire civilisations were uncovered less than a hundred of years ago (AFAIK the most recently discovered civilisation was found in '90s), so the foundation is probably sound.

While we are at it, I want to talk about my experience with history textbooks for Soviet Schools. I read a textbook that covered Ancient History and didn't see much difference with how I remember studying it except some Marxist speak here and there. Fool. All similarities that I saw were only because I spent tons of time studying history on my own. I tried to read modern textbook on the same time period and fucking couldn't (and I want to stress that textbooks here are obligated to follow the agenda from Ministry of Education and have to be approved for use, so like, you can't write anything that government doesn't approve of). If Soviet textbooks focused on Classical Antiquity then modern ones borderline ignore everything else. Civilisations of Middle East are described literally on 3 pages each, since its origin till the conquest of Alexander the Great. Yes, they fucking mixed all civilisations of Mesopotamia into one, both bronze and iron ones. In fact, difference between bronze age and iron age is literally not mentioned. Section on Egypt literally contains pop-cultural information about deities (they weren't literally animal-headed, and it doesn't even touch on absolute weirdness of different deities being aspects of one, though Soviet ones don't either). More space dedicated to pyramids then to Egyptian society, and honestly I get them, you need to be absolute fool to describe civilisation that lasted 3000 years as having one model of society.

And every second paragraph ends with "You can read about this in the Bible :)"

It's not only obnoxious, it's also chauvinistic because we have a Muslim minority. Not big, but textbooks for higher classes had additional sections about their history, so they had to at least pretend to care.

Fucking hell.

P.S.: I also found Braudel's Civilisation and Capitalism, it was published in USSR so it's probably at least not reactionary and you can read it in English, but I am afraid that it's too advanced for my cause.

(Also, to anyone who cares - the game is World of Dungeons. Look it up, it's ultra lite pbta game for D&D style adventures with 3 pages of rules. Don't look Advanced World of Dungeons, it's messy, better look Streets of Marienburg - that's the expanded version that I use)

Hello again, I don’t have much to add except that I love you and that this is so interesting to hear about. I’ve had my eye on a number of different fantasy pbta but never actually played one, I’ll check out Streets of Marienburg

[paimonthearchivist2]

i want to talk about Comedian (the banana taped to the wall) and why it's such a fascinating art piece to me.

(fair warning, this is really long)

okay, so. to tackle Comedian completely, you first have to understand that Comedian is three things: how the capitalists view it, how the armchair traditionalists view it, and what it actually is. despite what this may imply, these are 3 completely seperate but deeply interrelated things, and to understand the third you need to know the first two. which i will explain.

thing the first: how capitalists view Comedian

to start with, the capitalists who fawn over and fetishise Comedian as an art piece, theatrically glaze it in the media, act like it's just so intellectual, don't actually give a shit about what Comedian is. to them, Comedian is nothing, meaningless art shit; which, of course, is perfect for them, because it means they can buy it, hype it up with their boring and stupid interpretations of what they think it means, and then sell it and make a zillion dollars. or donate it to the Tax Evasion Foundation and skip out on their contributions to society. whatever. to the capitalist, Comedian is nothing, which is exciting, because art that isn't anything is just profit. meaning only gets in the way of money, so an artpiece without meaning (i.e Comedian) is the perfect moneymaker.

thing the second: how the armchair traditionalists view Comedian

now we move to the so-called "armchair traditionalists", the idiots who sit on their phones and argue for hours about how Comedian is the fall of western civilisation and billions must die, etc. etc.. they hate Comedian because they, like the capitalists, believe it is nothing, meaningless bullshit; however, they are not excited by this fact, but rather enraged, because they dread the idea of art without some Meaning. to them, art must be utilitarian with respect to some arbitrary idea of Purpose in society; if it doesn't say anything, it's not art, and therefore bad. Comedian doesn't say anything, of course, so it's bad. except that Comedian is trying to say something despite the views of the capitalists and traditionalists, and this is our final topic:

thing the third: Comedian, the art piece.

Comedian has a point: which is that it doesn't have a point, or at least you can't really tell it does unless you genuinely care about the art. Comedian looks like nothing, hence the capitalist feels love for it and the traditionalist feels hate; but, counter to their ideas, it's not actually nothing, in fact it's specifically a criticism of the exact people so thoroughly obsessed with it. Comedian exists because Maurizio Cattelan wants you to see it and think of it only as nothing, something the art industry can exploit for money, or as some terrible harm to art as a medium, and he wants you to do this because this conveys the ultimate truth about Comedian: these people, the capitalists, the traditionalists, and all the other people who think Comedian is nothing? they don't actually give a fuck about art. they care about something else, some value they see as art being a vehicle for, and they only enjoy art in the context of this value; when it's gone, the art is bad. Comedian exposes the people who don't actually like art, and don't understand the fundamental problem with our modern culture around art: art must always have an ulterior motive, no matter if it is Meaning or Money. the truth is, art doesn't need something behind it. it's art. enjoy it.

[recordsofelysia]

The Other Continents

So, this blog is literally called “records of Elysia” because that’s the main continent of the campaign, but this is a whole world which has other locations in it, so might as well give a little info on them, though they will vary quite a bit in terms of relevance to the campaign (and also how much I, personally, have developed them).

When discussing location I’ll use Elysia as a reference point, and say that it sits relatively centrally, in a north-ish latitude.

Valentia

Valentia was the second continent that I came up with, and I originally created it in tandem with Elysia, so despite being less developed it is just as old out-of-game.

It sits directly to the west of Elysia, across the stretch of ocean called ‘The Valentian Sea’.

Valentia is comprised of two major factions. There is the Valmese Empire (or ‘Valm’), which is pretty much a superpower in the world of Omnia, being considerably developed and advanced. In the age before the Elysian Empire, Valm was by far the most potent force in the world, though in the current age has taken on a much less warmongering attitude, being more focused on self-development and improvement.

The other faction sits to the south of Valm, and is known as Mokushu. The region is very sparsely populated, and remains very wild, but it’s people are known for being incredibly competent warriors and artisans, with a rich culture of showing resolve in the face of an occasionally absurdly dangerous world. Mokushu and Valm have a long-standing alliance, as despite the ease with which Valm could theoretically conquer their neighbour, the artisan culture (and potent civil militia) of Mokushu are of value with trade and defense of the nations.

Yggdrall

The next continent I have in mind, which is far less developed, is Yggdrall. This continent sits roughly to the south-east of Elysia.

In terms of history, Yggdrall is referred to as “The Land of the Gods”, and was a primary bastion of civilisation during The Descension. It also earns this title as it was from Yggdrall that many of the Architect gods and their followers operated during the descension, since Elysia was effectively “Ground Zero” and thoroughly fucked.

In the current age, Yggdrall is effectively a feudal landscape, with no truly established nations, and mostly errant lords and dukes who rule over relatively small domains. The settlements of Yggdrall tend to be religious in nature, and it can be expected that any one of them is dedicated wholly to a specific god.

An exception is that Yggdrall does possess one “Capital” city, a site of unanimously agreed sanctity, named Gotterstadt. It is rumoured that this city is the site of Omnias only permanent gate to Yggdrasil, a site occasionally coined ‘the divine gate’.

Nohria

Lastly, and the most recently conceived continent, is Nohria. This continent sits roughly inbetween Valentia and Elysia, but sits to the south of the Valentian sea.

Being most recently developed, Nohria is fairly sparse in details, but I can certainly tell the vibe that I want to bring it.

Whilst Valentia and Yggdrall were bastions against The Descension, and Elysia arose from its ashes, Nohria is a land that never truly recovered from it.

While it once prospered, and was home to many of the great mages and heroes of the pre-descension world, it fell from those heights spectacularly. It is even said that Nohria is the site at which The Raven Queen ascended to godhood.

Now, the land is most notable for the ruins of those once grand civilisations, stories of which lure would-be treasure seekers. However, even getting there is a challenge of its own, as the land is enwreathed by tumultuous seas and treacherous island chains. Those who do reach Nohria are seldom prepared for what hardships await them.

And that is all the continents I have come up with so far! I think it’s a pretty full foundation for a world, I actually doubt I will need to come up with any more.

[homunculus-argument]

The whole foundation of finnish government is based on finnish people hating other finnish people, and being efficient about it. Yeah there might be some mild comraderie between friends, but as a rule too many people just completely hate each other to form any kind of networks that aren't written in law. Yeah, there's corruption in the system but such networks aren't as widespread as they could be, because they're at least on some level based on mutual trust, "I'll keep an eye for your interests and you'll keep mine" sort of things, which requires some level of people not hating each other.

You hate your neighbours and your neighbours hate you too. There's no ground for agreeing about anything just between the two of you, the government has to get involved as an overseer because both of you know that the other would fuck you over if there was the slightest chance. And in order to make that possible, there has to be a government you hate and distrust just marginally less than you hate and distrust your neighbours.

It's illegal - or technically speaking, simply legally impossible - to completely disinherit one's children. If you've got a remarkable fortune and hate your kids and don't want to leave them jack shit, that's too fucking bad because they'll make you do that anyway. You don't have to pretend to like your children, and your children don't have to pretend to like you. My aunt may have forgotten to invite me and my sister to granddad's funeral because it didn't cross her mind that her brother's children count as "family", but there was a legally dictated chunk of his inheritance we had to be handed anyhow.

There has to be good school and social programs, because somebody has to care for the people who can't take care of themselves, and it's simply more efficient to pay the government to do it. You don't want to deal with idiots who can't fucking read, or get your car stolen twice per week by someone who couldn't afford to go through enough school to manage to drive a forklift, so it's simply easier to have public access to them.

Finland isn't a very christian country - nominally about 70% of finns are in the church and in my experience about 70% of those are only registered because they don't really care about that sort of thing enough to bother un-registering from church records. Either way, there is no christian values in anything - there is no faith in a divine plan, virtue, attitude of charity or servitude, or putting your trust in any idea that God will provide. If something's left undone by human hands, it's simply left undone. Nobody else is gonna do it.

There's remarkably little visible homelessness in the streets in Finland - most of the people who don't have a permanent address move from one unreliable sleeping place to another, and I've met a lot of people who actually believe there is no true homelessness in Finland. That being said, the social programs aiming to make sure as few people as possible end up completely on the streets are pretty extensive. Government-housing isn't rosy and one's neighbours are also going to be the kind of people who would be homeless otherwise, but the goal is to be better than nothing.

Paying homeless people money to fuck off might work in a single incident, but it both gets expensive in the long run and also that means having to interact with another person. In order to fuck off more efficiently, people have to have a place to fuck off to, and it's just easier to pay the government to do it.

Finnish people just fucking hate each other, but they are very efficient and pragmatic about it, and the only way to have all the comforts and privileges of a civilised society without having to personally act civil, is to pay the government to pay someone else to do it for you.

[tousey-mousey]

Dune absolutely did not need to take place in the year 10,191 CE. It only does so because Herbert uses the concept of a "myriad" quite extensively as a symbolic thing. His date of 10,000-and-change CE isn't meant to be a literal "it would take this long for this to happen" thing, but rather because Herbert was a (possibly somewhat lax) student of Greek history. The Grecian concept of the myriad - a number that is both literally equal to 10,000 but metaphorically means "uncountably many, effectively infinite" - has been a staple of mythology and fiction writing for, now, several thousand years (at least 3,000).

Herbert uses "a period of 10,000 years" to symbolically represent infinity: in Dune, the historical record has been stagnant "for 10,000 years" not just in a strictly literal sense, but specifically to indicate that "it is so long no mind alive can even conceive of it ever having been different, much less that it could be made to be so by living men".

So, the date of "10,191" is only literal in the most strictly narrative senses. It should not, by a thinking reader, be taken as being even remotely important as dates go: its primary purpose is symbolism first, location in a time-stream last.

---

The Foundation series taking place in the 12,000s is relevant. Some of the things that it regards as "so ancient in history that barely any academics even know major details other than that they occurred and that many elements of key things are permanently lost to the mists of time" are, from our perspective, things that could only take place in the far distant future. The entire point of the series is considering things over a period of time that is so long that entire civilisations could be born, grow, expand out into the stars, fragment into a thousand smaller civilisations, have THEM grow and expand, and then die out... and that could happen multiple times over without anyone noticing.

So, with the Foundation series specifically, I would suggest that the time scale is necessary. It probably doesn't need to be 12,000 CE specifically, but it would certainly need to be many thousands of years into the future. The literal conceit is "can we cut a predicted future timescale down to a mere millennium, and not many tens of millennia?"

---

Warhammer 40K is, as txttletale notes, absolutely comically far in the future... and I think that's pretty obviously the point. I've not consumed a massive amount of the content, but as far as I can pick up the idea of it being 40,000 years in the future is just a part of the comedy of the setting. It's the space opera version of "everything's bigger in Texas!" The timescales are comedically long, the wars are comedically large and bloody, the orks are comedically stupid and power their technology entirely ON comedy and narrative necessity. The point isn't to have it literally be set 40,000 years hence, but simply that it's so insane that it couldn't really be anything BUT that insane.

---

Not familiar with Mutineer's Moon or Battlestar Galactica, but I can comment that Star Wars is another example like Dune. It doesn't need to have been that long ago or lasted that long, the only point is that it's meant to be "a number so large that it is, for all practical human purposes, essentially infinity".

Unlike Dune, though, which uses it for symbolic reasons to do with the concepts of decay & stagnation, changelessness, and the learned helplessness that comprises our idea of the futility of human struggle... Star Wars does it to indicate the setting. It is an element of the worldbuilding because it is a fantasy world, not a science-fiction one, and it uses the notion of those absurd, laughable timescales just to say "just fucking shut up, FTL has always existed, fine you want a number okay 30,000 years, how's that feel huh?" It's just a part of the magical reality of Star Wars universe life. Magic is real and we've always had FTL travel and the universe has always been like this, it came into existence like this, shut up asking about where it came from or who invented it okay!! Sheesh!!

It's less about the duration and more about the symbolism. It's symbolising "this world has always existed, but since nerds will be nerds and Lucas is one of them, he slapped a number onto something that didn't need one".

Honestly, I think Star Wars would actually have benefited from a LONGER duration there, to really hammer the point home. It should have been 3 million years: at that point, nobody can conceivably argue it's an actual real date, and it becomes clear it's meant to be symbolic.

---

I'll add to this, Tears of the Kingdom. The Zelda series has always taken place over a vast timeline but TotK makes it massively longer by saying "whatever number we said before, add 10,000 years". I've seen a lot of fans misunderstanding this as an actual date? And putting it into timelines? And trying to count years? This is missing the point.

Much like the Greeks, the Japanese had and have a concept similar to the myriad. The 'man' is literally "10,000" but is used extensively in idioms and other turns-of-phrase to just mean "infinite" or "uncountable" or "beyond reckoning". Specifically, in TotK, the Zelda timeline is thrust back by "10,000 years when we see Zelda travelling to the past, and the timeline says it's '10,000' years? But it's actually an idiom that's been mistranslated. A much more accurate translation would be something like "time immemorial": Zelda has travelled back "so far into the past that the world is beyond memory". It's basically just saying "don't worry about it".

starting an elite paramilitary black ops group who sneak into the homes of authors and cut one to three zeroes off any number of years given in a fantasy or sci-fi novel

[oumaheroes]

Old Age

Word Count: 1772

Characters: Canada, England, and France

---

There were some days where Canada truly felt his age.

Most of the time how old he was didn���t really hit him. He happily pottered around work or home as easily as he imagined most humans his physical age did: running for a train he was almost certainly going to miss, tripping down the last few steps on a flight of stairs because he was staring at his phone and wasn’t watching his feet, or spilling coffee on himself when he missed his mouth taking a sip.

His colleagues, despite knowing who he was, spoke to him as an equal and Canada could happily pass weeks, or sometimes even months, without consciously being aware of how old he was- or even really what he was.

It was easy to forget, surrounded by humans every day, that he was not one. His ministers and co-workers spoke to him without questioning his position that high in government- that was admittedly unusual for a face as young as his. Occasionally, he’d bump into a young intern or graduate who didn’t know him and he’d have a nice, genuine interaction before a look of shock crossed their face when someone high up greeted him respectfully. It was a helpful, yet stark, reminder.

But overall, when you were surrounded by people who did know it never really hit him that his presence or job was something he took for granted and the passing of time was something he didn’t really take notice of. It was normal. He was there, he was called Matthew, sometimes, or Canada, but both were his name and the potency of what he was, was surprisingly quite forgettable.

Of course, what he was was never something he could completely avoid. Someone would mention a time, or a date, or a thing that had happened and Canada would immediately feel the distance widen between them all as it was made obvious that, to everyone else, what they were discussing was history. It was something passed, something that had happened to other people too long ago to properly connect with on an emotional level. An old battle, an old political bill; something that someone long long dead had said or written that now remained only as faint ink on curling, dusty paper.

But to Canada it was there in his head, the words clear and as easy to recall as if they were spoken to him yesterday. A benefit of nationhood, he supposed, to be fully aware of things that had political consequence, to be able to trace the makings of himself back through time and see how they spiralled and grew.

History wasn’t just words, to him, or mere events. Such things made up the foundations of himself, the building blocks of his life and he felt them thrum through him like a song, twisting and moulding him into being.

Becoming aware of his age and the difference between himself and humans were when Canada really felt the weight of the years he carried. Over three hundred of them made themselves known, hanging off his shoulders and settling down to his legs to hold him up. It was easy to briefly forget how old he was, but that knowledge was impossible to rid himself of entirely- Canada was made up of history, of the bones of time and they cracked together as he moved through his life to remind him of who he was with every step.

He had burned, he had bled, he had died. He had seen.

That was the point of him. To watch to passage of time and remember it, to hold the memory of his people within him and use their voices and experiences to push for the continuation of the future. Their future.

Canada was his people, was made by his people for his people and as he sat amongst them, discussing old old moments long gone with humans who could only read and dream of them, the distinction of what he was would hit him like a thunderbolt.

It was heavy, to be so old. To have seen so many things, to have lived through so much. To be what he was.

He had just had one of those instances. He and his cabinet had spent the entire morning discussing the founding of their nation and its independence in order to plan for the yearly celebrations and Canada had suffered through the whole time feeling every second of his age press against him.

When talks finally drew to a close and he could escape, Canada dragged his ancient body towards the centre of town. England and France were visiting, along with the rest of the UN, and he’d promised to meet them both for lunch before they too were pulled into an afternoon of far more internationally inclined meetings.

If he were honest with himself, what Canada really wanted to do was go home and watch TV; switch his brain off so that he could numb himself with bad reality shows. It was a good pastime that he enjoyed with guilty abandon and one that he would much rather have preferred doing. However, he’d made a promise and Canada was nothing if not a nation of his word.

Sadly.

England and France were already there when he arrived, tucked away in a corner table. France glanced up as the door jingled with his entrance, waving him over with a smile. Canada nodded at the waiter who motioned him through and settled himself down in a chair at their table between them.

‘Good afternoon,’ France greeted him with his usual cheek kisses, hair tickling Canada’s nose as he leant in close, ‘you arrived just on time, I was about to throw Arthur out of the window.’

‘You wish,’ England looked up from his phone and shot him a quick, but warm smile, ‘Hello Matthew.’

Canada’s heart sank. He really wasn’t in the mood to play mediator today, ‘Dare I ask why?’ he said, turning to France.

France gave an effortless shrug and settled back in his seat, ‘Do I really need a reason?’

‘Yes.’

Both England and Canada spoke at once and France gave a sly grin, ‘I won’t darling, you don’t deserve the trouble,’ he patted Canada’s knee soothingly and politely ignored England’s muttered “as if you could” from across the table, ‘but the idiot seems to think he’s correct about something which he very much is not.’

‘Oh, of course,’ England retorted immediately, ‘you can’t remember properly but I’m the one who’s wrong.’

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

‘What is it?’ Canada interjected quickly. The waiter who had greeted him at the door was shooting their table looks of alarm out of the corner of his eye and Canada smiled at him apologetically, ‘Maybe I could help.’

To his surprise, England and France shared a look, something unspoken passing between them, ‘You weren’t about yet,’ offered France, sounding apologetic.

‘When was it?’

‘Oh, not too long ago,’ England waved a hand airily, ‘only six hundred years or so.’

Canada blinked, ‘Six hundred?’

‘Or there abouts,’ England frowned again, ‘I’m not sure when exactly, but I know France is wrong.’

France scoffed, ‘You can’t remember when it is, but you know I’m wrong?’

‘Obviously. I know it was about fifty years after Agincourt, I’m not sure of exactly when but-‘

‘Well, there you go! You’ve muddled it up with something else.’

‘I haven’t! You held that ball, the one with the fucking shit tonne of flowers everywhere, and were displaying those golden goblet things you were so damn proud of and I gave you that stupid painting-‘

‘No!’ France interjected angrily, ‘You took that painting and then were made to give it back.’

‘I didn’t! It was my bloody painting- Jesus fucking Christ,’ England held his head in his hands, ‘that’s not the point, I’m using that as a reference-‘

‘Yes well, pick a reference that has a grain of reality in it, would you?’

England opened his mouth to argue back again but Canada didn’t hear him, by now long tuned out of the conversation.

Only. Only six hundred years ago. Canada couldn’t even imagine that amount of time, couldn’t imagine having lived so long that six hundred years was considered to be a mere drop in the ocean.

But to these two, it was. England and France had both been alive for millennia, had known each other for that long and had been alive without each other for even longer before that.

Sitting next to them, his own existence suddenly felt like nothing, felt insignificant in the history of mankind. What had Canada seen, that these two had not? He couldn’t even begin to imagine. Three hundred years felt more than enough.

It hit him, then, how long most of their kind had lived. He’d realised this before, of course, but still the comprehension about the difference in age between him and most of the world left him dumbstruck anew. Fuck, what about China; Lord only knew how old he really was. There wasn’t a point in history that it didn’t seem as though China hadn’t been around to experience, even from across the world. Whole empires and civilisations had risen and fallen and most of the nations Canada knew had personally been involved in them somehow. It was astounding to consider all the people who had lived throughout the centuries that, to Canada, felt like nothing more than characters in a story.

What on earth was three hundred years to age like that? To history that felt so ancient to him, so disconnected that it didn’t really even feel real, but that was as normal to most nations as his own history was.

How many years would Canada have to live until three hundred was something he would describe as ‘only’?

‘Are you alright, lad?’ Canada was jolted out of his spiral to find England looking at him with concern, a hand on his arm.

‘Yeah, sorry,’ he shook his head, ‘it’s just- you’re both so old.’

England coloured and France laughed, ‘We’re not old,’ England jabbed a thumb in France’s direction, ‘Well, he is.’

‘It is more about how you feel and act, dear, that’s more important and in that regard, you are far older than I.’ France yelped suddenly as England kicked him under the table, ‘Does the truth sting, Arthur? Is that why you felt the need to vent your frustrations on me?’

‘As if I need more of a reason-‘

They began again, in earnest, but Canada let them continue uninterrupted, silently and guiltily enjoying the feeling of being a child once more.

---

AN:

I must admit that not much thought or plot went into this. I wanted to write something short and somewhat silly as a treat for spending most of yesterday editing. Ideally, one day I want to take this concept and explore it more with greater care and detail because I think it’s something a newer nation like Canada would really struggle with.

300 years is a long time, and I’m sure it must be hard for him to feel that age and then go and speak to anyone from the Old World and be met with the reality of how truly old their kind can be. Canada is a baby, despite the centuries he has collected for himself, and I feel like there would always be that conflict within him about how old he feels around humans comapred to how old he is next to other nations. Maybe this idea is best explored as a headcannon rather than a fic, but I had a fun time writing it.

Anyway, that is my tuppence worth- thank you for reading!

[gasfrightgatecreepgiscared]

sorry the sundial vs water clock question in foundation is fucking stupid. why do you assume that devastated civilisations will have access to the sun but not water? seems like people need water to live and people have been living without access to the sun in this galaxy for literally myriads. sundial was objectively the wrong answer these people are so stupid.

[lesbiansforboromir]

once again you made me deeply emotional over boromir. i don't have the fellowship (much less the english edition) at hand, so i can't even re-read my fav parts with him. any particular boromir-related stuff you may share?

FUCK ok I’ve got a migraine and a passion and I do not know how to use either of them but I’m gonna use this ask to talk about something I’ve been thinking about for months, not kidding on that one. 

Galadriel... was the direct cause of Boromir trying to take the ring- HEAR ME OUT. 

There are some very important things to remember about Boromir when you’re considering his actions and motives.

- He explicitly came on the quest assuming it would lead them all to Minas Tirith, because that’s where he needed to get back too. It’s very clear, he and Aragorn are literally going because Minas Tirith is on the way to Mordor. And every detour and every delay of the Company amps up his frustration and worry. 

- He left Gondor with the certainty that his city would be besieged VERY soon and that they would not be able to break it. His trip to Rivendell is desperation based in it’s entirety, he’s looking for anything that might help. 

- He knows absolutely none of these people from adam and whilst he very much wants to trust them, they have yet to win his loyalty or faith in ANY capacity. I’m sorry! I know everyone wants the Fellowship to be that good good found family foundation but it simply isn’t that for Boromir and never has been.

Okay so when they finally leave Moria and Gandalf’s dead, everyone’s grieving and miserable. They are also worried, Gandalf was their guide and as much as Aragorn’s a tracker he doesn’t have Gandalf’s expertise. Then again, Moria had been entirely Gandalf’s decision in the first place, claiming there wouldn’t be many orcs in there at all in an argument he has with Boromir about how dangerous the mines would be in comparison to the Gap of Rohan. Indeed, if Bilbo hadn’t given Frodo the mithril shirt then Frodo would be straight up dead and it would have been Gandalf’s decisions that caused it. 

So at this point Boromir’s faith in Aragorn’s ability is pretty low. And no one else in the Fellowship has any interest in leading. Boromir deferred to Aragorn’s judgement because Aragorn’s more knowledgeable of Eriador and also just... a dude who needs to be in control, it’s easy to tell. But now Boromir’s not so sure Aragorn’s up to it, since he seemed to rely on Gandalf so much. 

And then Aragorn tells them all they’re going to go through the Golden Wood. Now Boromir knows from the Rohirrim and Gondorian legend that the Golden Wood is Strange And Scary And Dangerous And Men Who Walk in Never Walk Out Again. And he says this, politely. Aragorn tells him he’s foolish for fearing it and essentially that if people got hurt in the Golden Wood then they deserved it. Again, despite the general discourtesy of these comments, Boromir chooses to believe Aragorn’s judgement. 

The next thing that happens is they are accosted by Haldir, treated like possible enemies or spies (despite Haldir admitting that Elrond had already told them they were coming) and a day and a lot of dwarfphobia later Haldir is threatening Gimli with death. No I’m not joking, Haldir says there’s a law dwarves can’t come into Lothlorien without a blindfold. And when Gimli gets justifiably angry about this and wants to go back if he’s being treated this way, Haldir says he WILL be killed if he tries to leave. Weapons are drawn! The only reason this de-escalates is because Aragorn suggests they all go blindfold because ‘it is hard on the dwarf to be so singled out’. I cannot express to you how soon this happens after Aragorn assures everyone that Lothlorien is safe. I also cannot emphasise enough how Gimli does absolutely nothing to deserve this, he’s polite and kind as ever until Haldir instigates it. 

So again!! Another mark against Aragorn’s reliability! And then we come to the CRUX of the matter, the meeting with Galadriel and Celeborn. 

A lot happens here, some of it very funny in terms of Galadriel’s treatment of Celeborn, but the important part is at the end where Galadriel mind-interrogates all the fellowship but Aragorn and Legolas. Again, this isn’t subtext, in-text it says interrogate. And the fellowship discusses it afterwards. Gimli, Sam, Merry and Frodo all agree that ‘Galadriel offered them a choice, to go back home where they would be safe, or to continue on with the quest though there may be far greater perils ahead’. 

But that couldn’t have been the choice she gave Boromir. Because he can’t go home to be safe and sound away from the evil!! He lives there!! This has been Boromir’s fight his whole life, it has never BEEN a choice for him. And from this moment on Boromir’s manner changes dramatically. He questions Frodo about what Galadriel asked him, he expresses concern about Galadriel’s motives, he says he believes she was TEMPTING HIM (remember that for later), concerns which are, once again, sharply and cruelly dismissed by Aragorn. 

There is then a MONTH of a time skip, we get descriptions of the how the other fellowship spend their time in Lothlorien. Gimli and Legolas become friends. Everyone else grieves Gandalf and has a lovely time in Lothlorien... apparently. 

But Boromir has never had any real positive feelings toward Gandalf and did not show any real grief at his loss initially. And whereas the rest of the fellowship seems respectful and awed by Galadriel and Celeborn, Boromir replies to their questions at the end of the fellowship’s stay in Lothlorien with what I would call veiled anger. `As for me,' said Boromir, `my way home lies onward and not back.' Which is a callback to the interrogation, the stark difference between the motivations and priorities of the rest of the Fellowship in comparison to Boromir. Which became VERY obvious to him in that moment. So I would posit that! Boromir did not have a good time at all! Boromir was stuck somewhere he felt unsafe and unwelcome and every extra second they spent in Lothlorien was yet another moment he was away from his currently-at-war home!!! 

Anyway just before they leave the fellowship is privately discussing what road they should take when Boromir makes a slip of the tongue, where he’d always been articulate and clear before. 

‘But if you wish to destroy the armed might of the Dark Lord, then it is folly to go without force into his domain; and folly to throw away-’ He paused suddenly, as if he had become aware that he was speaking his thoughts aloud. `It would be folly to throw lives away, I mean.'

It is very obvious to Frodo what he actually meant here, and this is where essentially Frodo’s inner monologue lays it all out!

Frodo caught something new and strange in Boromir's glance, and he looked hard at him. Plainly Boromir's thought was different from his final words. It would be folly to throw away: what? The Ring of Power? He had said something like this at the Council, but then he had accepted the correction of Elrond.

The important points in this section are that 1: Boromir has started thinking about the Ring of Power as something usable. 2: He did not think this before now, he had accepted Elrond’s words. This is ‘new and strange’. Something changed here. 

And of course it did! Boromir doesn’t trust any of these clowns anymore. 

Boromir’s advice, priorities and concerns have been almost entirely ignored and derided throughout the fellowship, even from the very moment he arrived in Rivendell! And after nearly freezing on a mountain, being chased by wargs, dragged through a mine of Orcs, a Balrog, threatened by supposed allies and then mind invaded by some elf he’s told to be in awe of, whatever will he had to trust and stay faithful to Aragorn’s decisions is barely hanging on. 

And Galadriel didn’t just invade Boromir’s mind, she was tempting him! He says so himself! And considering the circumstances and how he speaks about it, the only logical conclusion is that she is tempting him with the ring, because Boromir’s shown no sign of conflict or interest in the ring before now. So Galadriel was the one who put that concept into his mind in the first place. It’s Galadriel who initiates Boromir thinking again on whether this was in Gondor’s best interests. And Boromir recognises she’s trying to manipulate him!! Which is fucking heartbreaking!! 

'To me it seemed exceedingly strange,' said Boromir. `Maybe it was only a test, and she thought to read our thoughts for her own good purpose; but almost I should have said that she was tempting us, and offering what she pretended to have the power to give.’ (--)  `Well, have a care! ' said Boromir. `I do not feel too sure of this Elvish Lady and her purposes.'  `Speak no evil of the Lady Galadriel! ' said Aragorn sternly. 'You know not what you say. There is in her and in this land no evil, unless a man bring it hither himself. Then let him beware!’

Do you see?? Do you all see?? Am I making any sense at all?? Well I make sense to ME so lets continue- Here, you see how Aragorn puts all the blame on Boromir again? The twisted knot Boromir is in at this point is unfathomable and EVEN STILL! Boromir resists! For a very long time! This is what I mean when I say any characterisations of Boromir being overemotional or somehow out of control get at me so much, NEVER has a man had so much self discipline in his wholeass life. Boromir’s entire civilisation could be being bulldozed by Minas Morgul at this very moment and yet he takes everything that’s thrown at him without malice and internally continues to desperately hold onto his integrity. 

But that’s what’s at stake! His integrity! Because now he’s grappling with what seems like a choice to either keep faith with the fellowship, stay with them and go where they go despite how much his country needs him, or potentially do something drastic in order to bring a the powerful weapon Gondor seems to have ALWAYS been looking for home to finally actually save his people. Because that’s what Galadriel offered him! And whilst he doesn’t trust her, it’s also in his head now as a logical thing to want! He doesn’t trust Elrond either at this point, so why should he believe what he said about the ring! It’s obvious everyone has boundless ulterior motives!!

Oh! Here’s a good place to try and explain my theory of how the ring’s temptation actually works. The Ring can control people one of two ways. The first we see with Frodo and with Boromir, it takes FULL control of their actions for a split second when they are vulnerable. For Frodo it made him put it on on Weathertop. For Boromir it made him attack Frodo. However this effect is exceedingly temporary and the person effected immediately comes back into themselves and recognises that what they did was outside of their control. 

The other way is often thought of as this like pervasive constant pull to the ring that effects you even just by being around it, wearing you down etc. But I don’t think that’s what happens. I think, in order for the ring to start exerting real dangerous persistant power over you, you have to know it’s power and logically want it. You have to come to that conception yourself, you have to think about it. 

And I have a lot of reasons for this but where it pertains here-!! Boromir is a fine, reliable and solid member of the fellowship RIGHT up until Galadriel’s mind meld. It’s not gradual, he goes from making jokes, carrying Hobbits and fighting Balrogs to BARELY being able to control his speech and biting his nails and staring at Frodo creepily. There is barely any easing into it and it starts with Galadriel!!

And you know what! There’s an even more sinister layer to this because like... WHY was Galadriel doing this mind stuff in the first place? An immediate obvious answer would be to test the fellowship, to make sure everyone was solid enough to carry on, to ensure the folk who continued were focused. But... If that’s the case... and Boromir’s test was the Ring... like... he obviously failed that test right? She was reading his mind! And she does it again before they leave! If we’re to assume that Galadriel’s mind powers are greater than Boromir’s ability to deflect them then... surely she would have known! That this turmoil was in him! And if she KNEW then why didn’t she say anything to anyone? To Aragorn?? But I don’t think yall are ready for that discussion yet tbh and I have to stop typing or I’ll go blind.

TL;DR Boromir didn’t want the Ring until Galadriel tempted him with it and made the idea of it saving Gondor a possibility to him.