#francois || temperee par des chansons

[historia-vitae-magistras]

I think one of the most meta? Ironic? moments I've ever heard of is when during WW1 a group of Canadian soldiers (alongside other imperial forces) accidentally stumbled across a pre-Roman mass grave of Celtic warriors while digging up French bodies to try and make their trenches more hygienic.

Like can you imagine being some illiterate shitty frozen french peasant that got stuck fighting for the British empire gagging your way through digging up bodies only to finally get to some clean dirt and find more bones? Of warriors who died in battle much the same way? Who lived and died in the same place your ancestors lived for tens of centuries only to be dumped across an ocean and returned only to die on that exact same patch of dirt? The pure striated irony in that soil around Arras.

I need to research this further because the source was a drunk history nerd session that got pretty trippy but goddamn. Also Matt shoveling through the bullshit muttering about cleaning up after his dead beat dad Napoleon Blown Apart and coming face to face with grandpa's? Grandma's? Old gaulish bones like "great, another layer to the daddy's issues imperial mille-feuille. Wonderful. Can I go scrub the brains off my shovel now? Thanks." Because everyone's been disassociating for like 3 years. It's great.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

10 for Arthur and François <3

10) How they deal with pain. 

Arthur: Stark, stoic denial. He's kind of a control freak and that primarily manifests itself in his own inability to just admit things. The only thing to fear about the English is a good percentage of them could have a limb hacked off, and they'd still be stiff upper-lipping it and he's certainly one of them. Absolute fucking mental case about it if I'm being real.

François: He has two modes. Repose or Rage. He tries to go for that sort of angelic look of calm, the saintly figure of a martyr's allegory. The Dying Gaul, straight-backed and dignified, sweating and pale but artistically rendered. The artistic subject. Save that, when he's out of sight or just so far past, its pure rage. He gets so fucking mad when he's in pain. He will have one pint of blood left, and he's raging to the point someone should sedate him just on principle.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Please let us be a part of your thoughts about francis childhood! 🥹

To begin, before the haute frogs get on my case for something, as always my takes are historical fiction or even more accurately historical fantasy and is me fitting together as many of my niche interests into a plotline as possible. It's not me slapping some iconoclast label on myself coming to destroy European values or whatever someone's going to put in the box this time. Yes they probably suck, yes I know I'm some uncultured turnip fucking inbred North American peasant. No, I don't really care. Just keep scrolling and let me post one thing about France without getting a six part message in the box.

So in 52 BC, little baby François pops into existence to his 'mother' (I don't do bio parents but they mimic human relationships) Parisii. She's a somewhat more minor figure, existing as a client-kingdom to the larger Senonii. Some dingbat working for a municipal archive mislabelled a coin as having a nymph-like feature on it and I had the absolutely brilliant idea to link maman up there with Mélusine from whom a lot of noble and royal families would claim descent. Rome, Lucius, has taken Greece, Hélène, to wife and wanted to claim François and continue expanding his role as pater familias. The representative of the Arverni or Gaul, whom I'm now thinking of as a somewhat more rugged version of adult François was trying to build a coalition to coparent the world's most high strung child kick out the Romans. But Lucius won, and Papa Gaul spent the rest of his life chugging Roman wine and being bitter. Parisii (really need a name here) and her bouncing baby boy became a favoured mistress and one of Lucius' favourite protégés.

He grows up the quintessential Roman boy. Bright, brutal and pure bonhomme. He's a handsome, fair boy. The spitting image of Arverni/Gaul but sleek and fair. He could throw a spear, recite Homer and picked out the most stylish sandals from Rome. He was perhaps the best debater of all the sons of Rome, a politician and social butterfly.

And he's a bitter disappointment to Arverni. François has always been able to ride a horse, fight and meet the metrics of cultural masculinity but his heart lay in the abstract and artistic. The arts, philosophy. His mother might be getting railed by his stepfather but François doesn't mind at all because Helene is regaling him with stories about Strabo, Plato, and Diogènes. He had a crush on the memory of Alexander the Great. But in all things, he was sociable. All the sunniness of his Mediterranean shore around people. He could charm his way out of the colleseum if he'd needed too. He's a leader in that way the charming and polished those following hardly notice until subjugated are.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Can I get a 20- this is all your fault? I feel fruk in this but would love to see what delicious ideas you have for anyone!

I am so gone. I don't know if this makes sense, but I TRIED. It's been so long since I wrote fruk, and what comes out? fluffy banter-filled Proto-smut. Not full frontal but definitely making out and intent. Rated F for the French (European, affectionate). Warnings for smut, victorian britain fake-prudery, some light dicking about. On ao3 here.

1840s, England

Arthur awoke not to sound but to its absence. The wind seemed to be dying; it no longer howled down the chimney with the force it had when he'd dosed off. He curled into Francis' back for a moment but made himself rise. He got out of bed, pulled on a dressing gown, shoved his feet into his slippers, took up the lamp, and lit it with much swearing. Francis huffed into the pillow and rolled over, looking harassed.

"Rosbif–" He said his voice thickening with irritation. "It is too early!"

"How would you know? You laze about until noon," Arthur shot back. Lately, Francis had been in one of his hedonistic moods, dressing like a dandy, painting strange art and drinking absinthe at all hours. One had to drink quite a lot of absinthe and rather a lot more whiskey to tolerate the philosophy of the continent. Francis stirred again, and his helix curls shone in the lamplight. Francis looked rather a grumpy, flustered state, and Arthur softened just a bit. There was always something so very endearing about Francis when he wasn't terribly sleek and polished. He let the ghost of a laugh whisper out of his mouth as he swooped to kiss the man on his mussed hairline.

"Come back to bed," Francis muttered, leaning in, reaching out, eyes heavy and dark with want and sleep. A slow, sleepy shag before breakfast was clearly on his mind. Francis made one of a number of his French noises, this one horny and perhaps a bit cold.

"I'm only off to the loo," Arthur lied. He fully intended to start his day. Francis muttered something about how he didn't fancy freezing to death in frozen rainy little England alone. Arthur pecked the foolish fop again and shut the bed hangings behind him. The velvet still rustled as he stepped into the dark hall and began his day.

____________

Well after sunrise, François appeared for breakfast in only his shirt and kissed him. Arthur turned his chin away, intent on drinking his tea.

“The English!” He cried. “You are so cold!”

Lifting his class like a beer bottle, he swung it as if to toast the King's good health. “Hence the lovely tea."

François made his offended noises.

“The English, honestly, you'd leave your mothers to die for a cup of Earl Grey!”

"Oh, do turn down the histrionics,” Arthur sighed. “Sit down, you fool. Let me have my tea and wake up properly before you renew your assaults on the dignity of England,"

François snorted and sat down. "My dear, there's no dignity to assault."

François, never content to sit and eat with anything so lowly as propriety, brought his seat to the same side of the table. He slid his arm around Arthur, his hand pulling along his jacket seam. Mediterranean warmth followed, and Arthur shuddered as François drew his fingers down, trailing the buttons ensuring a snug fit at the back of his waistcoat, and found his way to a sensitive spot along his spine at the small of his back. Arthur put down the tea. He picked it back up, looked left to ensure none of the children or servants were about, and leaned his head in for a quick kiss. A morning peck, that was all. But François' other arm looped around him and kissed his mouth open, gently deepening and pushing.

“For heaven's sake,” Arthur gasped into his jaw. “The children are about to. Have that custard you insist on calling chocolate and keep your hands to yourself.”

“Then let's go somewhere more private,” François whispered, punctuating it with another kiss.

“Not now,” Arthur pulled away. “I’ve things to do.”

“Do it later.”

“I can do you later,”

“You can do me now. And later. The children will still be there tomorrow!"

“Francis,”

“Has Mother England grown soft with her brood?” François teased good-naturedly, reaching down where England was certainly not soft. “You are frumpy now."

“I am quite happy with my—”

“Three year old suit,”

“Its new,” And, ah, there was the indignation, the spike of prideful lust François had been waiting for.

“Perhaps in England,” François sighed.

"It's more than serviceable,”

“For tending to your overly full nursery, mayhap,”

"It's Saville Row, quite bespoke.”

“For playing cricket with toddlers, perhaps.”

"It is so unbecoming, I must–

"For Christ's sake, my best colour is green. If you aren't pleased with this—”

“It is so unbecoming I must take it off you.”

“Ah, well, in that case. I cannot permit myself to offend any further.”

He drew Arthur closer, his fists in his collar. They were then standing, moving, kissing against the wall, back against the panelling, hands scrambling for a grip on the buffet. Arthur gripped his hair; they pushed from the furniture and began the entwined waltz up the stairs back to the privacy of the bedroom. He was practically biting at Arthur’s jaw when he heard footsteps, tiny tapping ones, the click of a small child’s shoes, a gasp, more footsteps, and silence. How had they gotten upstairs? No matter. The bedroom door clicked behind them. They stood in a beam of light. Arthur’s eyes were lit. His finest features always looked elegant in green, especially green wool with warm brown threads woven into it. The smirking English bastard knew it, too, taking him by the jaw and kissing him again.

“What were you saying about my suit?”

“It’s horrendous, and it is entirely your own fault I must rip it from you.”

“Please do."

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Hello! I hope you're having a nice day. If you haven't answered it, did Arthur ever have Francis around while Matt was under his roof? If he did what were Matt's feelings? It must have been tough.

Oh, Arthur did. Nothing Matt feels is going to be a strong enough deterrent against fruk. Matt's 'parents' + his uncle have been fucking and killing each other for centuries, maybe the better part of a millennia by the time Matt comes along. He's only the odd consequences of their bullshit. Matt sleeps in the barn and sometimes disappears for a few days so he doesn't have to listen to François and Arthur's howling reenactment of the Norman invasion a la huile d'olive. Scoot over 1066 because 10 rounds of 69 has Matt sleeping outside with the horses. I hate to say it but holy shit his opinion, in this regard, could not matter less.

Arthur might feel bad after, tries to schedule it so Matt doesn't have it beaten into his head how little his feelings matter in the sheer length of the horny, loathing, symbiotically formed cesspool that is the love François and Arthur share. But tbh François drives Arthur absolutely wild and he loses all the poorly rationed fucks he might have after about the second knuckle. Kid? What kid? He can't remember his name after the second stroke much less Matt's.

Matt felt kind of sad, a lot angry. But mostly just tired and resigned. Arthur and Francis fucked before the hand over, they're not going to stop when Matts rank drops further after the conquest. He's kind of used to putting up with things and doing his best to stay out from underfoot. He'll go cry in the woods and sulk alone until he gets scolded for something asinine and then he'll get over it (stamp it down until he explodes.)

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Does Francis have any paternal feelings for Matt, or does Matt ever see him as his father? and would it bother Matt that Francis openly backed Alfred for the revolution, or that he has an on and off again relationship with Arthur? Its kinda like his family is on good terms with the guy who abandoned him, and his faux papa likes everyone in his family but him.

So to start, before someone puts another essay in my box I want to acknowledge that these things might not be true for every French Canadian and every Metro/Euro-French, but an empire in the form of language, religion, culture and the more martial and economic types defined much of this history and still very much feeds into our relationships to this day.

By period standards, François was a good parent for Matt's first few decades. With Matthew, he wanted what Antonio had with Maria and Arthur with Alfred. François was motivated. He could plainly see that Matt was smart, bold, and cheeky when he was small. He was clingier and calmer than Alfred but still not fully broken in. The novelty wore off, and Francis was more hands-off, but he still took great pains with Matthew. A lot of blood and treasure was sunk into Nouvelle-France, and for a long time, Francis was determined to have a return on his investment. He wanted Matt.

But that didn't last. The French started to lose interest at the end of the 17th century after a generation passed after massive investments in the 1660s. François tired of him, and Matt shrank back. Oranges, presents, activities, interests and education largely ceased. Matt spent most of the next century competing with François problems at home across the Atlantic for attention and usually losing. And thus began the slow process of French disengagement, which became certain when we got swapped for a sugar colony.

And from then on, Matt's significance shrank even further. He was very upset when François openly backed Alfred and so did most of Europe. But it didn't really matter to anyone if he was. Alasdair was sympathetic but it's still largely irrelevant. Matt got a better deal from the British Empire than most people so his list of things to complain about is shorter than most people of the period. And most of the time, Arthur was good to Matt. When he got over Alfred's fucking off and Matt got his ass back in his place in the hierarchy, Arthur spent a lot of time with Matt, investing in him and educating him. But that didn’t stop Matt from being rendered to the importance of a piece of furniture when Arthur and Francis resumed their millennium-long love affairs. He spent much time sleeping as far away from Arthur’s bedroom as he could if François visited, usually in the nursery. He would take Arthur's possessions to Edinburgh or Cardigan.

I think he understands that whatever is going on between his father, his uncle, and François is too old for his feelings to disrupt it, so he tries to avoid conflict as much as possible. He has a job and a role and a place in the world far better than most of his peers so shutting up and getting along is the wisest choice of action even if he does get very, very, very interested in chopping wood until he’s fit to fall over to get the physical stress out of his system a bit. He gets the odd glance of approval from François in the early 20th century, but it's largely for political gain when he is relevant. Or the odd bout of existentialism when Francis feels bad about something or is feeling threatened and wants to make good. But in general while Matt doesn't have a close relationship with Francis, he is still his child. Francis mostly wants to correct him, and Matt mostly wants to be left the fuck alone, but there's a very fucked up if largely invisible connection that still spans the two of them.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Hi! I can't find the post but you mentioned once that Alfred was everything Francis wanted in someone to mentor. Do you think Francis continued to mentor Alfred after the revolution, or did he seize the opportunity to settle his score with Arthur and then have to focus on other things? Did Matthew witness it firsthand? Did he and Alfred ever discuss it?

Immediately after the American Revolution came the French, which had Francois a little closer home. But Lafayette never stopped thinking highly of America and visited, even sending his son to Washington. I‌ think Francois is the same. He likes Alfred. Not only does he appreciate his power or is charmed by that rough frontier charm Alfred likes to put on or the protestant alarm about sex or joy, but actually likes him. And deeply. Alfred is passionate, romantic in the idealist sense, and energetic. He has an intoxicating optimism and ease around others I struggle to write well enough. He’s direct, he’s cheerful, but he understands subtext and what’s written between the lines. He may not always act like he does, but make no mistake, he’s an intelligent, driven, ambitious young man as taken to zealotry as Francois is.

When Europe became fascinated with America in the 19th century and then later again in the 20th came to be the ‘American century,’ Francois was a key holder and broker of information about the young superpower. Francois was a little repulsed by the American influence on him and his culture; it was a sea change from his absolute chokehold over European tastes (bar whatever the hell is ever going on in England at any given moment.)‌ But he sits there, swirling a glass of good French champagne in a Manhattan gallery, looking at art and so satisfied that he sparked much of this. He has also gotten away with breaking from and rejoining NATO, consistently annoying Alfred by making a display of defiance but yet consistently often counted amongst Alfred’s oldest and dearest friends. There’s nothing he and Alfred haven’t discussed at one point or another. Francois counts artists like Mary Cassatt, John Singer Sargent, or Guy Rose as half his, but they never lose their American sensibilities. There are countless individual stories of Americans finding success, especially artistic success in France. If Alfred represents this burning optimism that Francois has lost some of in his antiquity, then Francois represents another facet of freedom, creative freedom, that Alfred holds as dear as its equal force in his scientific interests. They’re a very odd pair in some ways, with conflicting priorities and visions of the future, but the fact that they both have an equally vivid vision of that future is more than enough to hold their interest in the other, something few others have in Francois’ life.

That initial punch against Arthur for the slight of taking his own young North American was momentarily satisfying, but little more. Neither Canada nor Matt has left a lasting impression on French history or who Francois’ is as a man, and his feelings on the matter bear very little importance to either. It's a little more than nothing to Alfred, but acting on that would mean Alfred talking about his daddy issues, so they don’t discuss it. He knows perfectly well that his emotions are irrelevant, and any display of resentment will be met with pity or humiliation. Either way, Matt knows perfectly well no one wants to hear him complain. Well, maybe his uncle.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

among your characters, who is most likely to be an archivist?

GOD I hate to say it considering the French invented archives as we know them but probably the one and only Father of Packrats himself. But Arthur would be a very specific species of archivist where their institution is in their hands alone and they haven't had an update in tech or ethics for a half century. He'd create the most asinine homegrown organization systems, the inner workings of which are unknowable to man and beast. He talks to the skull on the wall because the human remains policies haven't been updated since the Cold War. There are archival boxes but they're unlabeled. The indices are crusted over and haven't been updated because it all exists in his head. Researchers have never met a crankier nor a more helpful archivist.

He was supposed to retire forty years ago. The reading room is unironically mid century modern. The archive itself doesn't take appointments, it's only open every other waxing moon at star rise or something equally esoteric. The conservation room is two tables and a sink and there's neither a bunsen burner nor a humidifier for twenty miles. He has assistants who are practically useless as librarians but invaluable as translators of the grumpy grunts their boss emits. More sweater than man, half frozen from a day in the vault. No one knows how old he is, they assume he's preserved himself by sleeping in an over-sized archival box. There's a board of pinned butterflies in his office. Rumour has it his bone folder is made of the bones of his enemies. His enemy is equally ancient French lit professor and they'd probably get away with their affair but their joints creak like a whorehouse mattress when they try to do it in the conservation room floor.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Expanding on the parental feelings ask (in a non-current events direction):

What do you think about Arthur specifically? He's the quintessential jaded bastard, as you've noted, but he also has those very strong paternal feelings. But he's also constantly quashing them due to aforesaid jadedness. So how does that shake out with his people, in general and throughout time? (Like, he's trying to be a better parent to the weans post-world wars - does that translate at all into more paternal feelings for his people?)

Also, if I can ask for two - what about François? More paternal because his people aren't disappointing (sorry Mattie!), or is he just not that type in general?

So after the war, the world, but especially the west, saw a massive baby boom. It's the first time in human history that the vast majority of children grow up to become adults. Some historians theorize this allowed parents to become very invested in their children and, when paired with the suffering the war generation went through, created a contemporary culture in the anglosphere that was very family-centric. People are just popping out babies left, right, and centre. Cultural shifts affect nations the same way they affect people.

So Arthur, who is rapidly losing hard power and increasingly reliant on soft power, is doubly motivated to act paternally. And that does reflect in his interactions with his people. He's always been relatively good with children as they are small and nonjudgmental and tend to like him, but a large part of that extreme jadedness that has coloured his worldview does dissipate somewhat. He wants those policies about the NHS, housing, public welfare, parks and everything else that increases the quality of life more than he ever has. He wants more education; he might even make a scholarship for Kiwi students together in Zee's name at Oxford when he downsized properties. When he's not a toff, drunk off his ass or otherwise terrifying, his citizens will just hand him their children on a train, tram, or bus like, "hold this for me while I tie my shoe, would you?" And suddenly, Arthur just has his hands full of some cranky toddler named something insanely British. Prunella or something similar. And the kid is now utterly contented in what's supposed to be a complete stranger's hold. But Arthur is the weird mascot of like one-third of an island asking, "Yes, good morning, how do you do? Rather a rude face you're making at me, little one, but it is quite early!" So the child is happy enough.

As for Francis, in nationverse, he's paternal in a very broad way. He wants his women to have babies and his schools and universities full of talented children. He wants to make the best of everything he has at his disposal. The French State was the first in the world with regard to what we would now call pro-fertility reforms. And in the aftermath of two world wars, I can see him taking a much more vested interest in the lives of his individual citizens. He's protective, he will absolutely throw shit to protest alongside them. He enjoys young adults very much, and many French university students have had an unexpected cash windfall if they impressed him. He'll move himself on the train for pregnant women or women with small children. He'll even help a tourist haul their overly large stroller down the steps because Americans never plan for facilities lacking elevators. But I don't see him enjoying time around children very much at all. Francis holds a baby fine and will find them a novelty if they're beautiful or otherwise charming babies. Outgoing, social and mature children catch his eye. Francis can engage them for at least a short while, but he doesn't enjoy and has little tolerance for any who are shy, clingy, picky eaters or otherwise excessively needy. The second a baby starts crying, it's back to its mother or caretaker. He's a fastidious man very attached to aesthetics, who likes to eat good food and drink good wine, has nice things and enjoys peace and quiet. Children are messy and unorganized, they're picky eaters, they can't exactly drink a 1997 Chateau Gilette Creme de Tete, and children break things and cry often.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

did françois lose interest in matthew bc he was too shy/quiet or was he generally just like yea kids are nice in theory, not in practice. like i can see him having a very romantic view of what having kids should be like and cherubic sweet baby matthew with curls and bright eyes completes the painting. actual parenting tho,,, ehhh. i think hed be that parent that boasts about and shows off their kid in public then sort of ignores them in private lmao.

Matt wasn't what he wanted for very long. While normal children don't have return policies, colonies kind of do. Arthur wanted to keep Alfred's northern flanks safe and was willing to keep Matt to do that, so there was no reason for Francis to take him back by the 1760s.

He liked the image of fatherhood, yes. There were very human standards for men about manhood, marriage and fathering children that he was tempted by when he got his bouncy baby cherub in the 17th century. But Francis wanted a Maria or an Alfred, someone who produced piles and piles of silver or tobacco or something valuable. And pelts are semi-valuable but not nearly as much. He was a cute tool to disrupt British and Spanish dominance over the Americas and eventually he outgrew his usefulness and the faded novelty that was as much love as it was hope Matthew would enrich him somehow couldn't stop the lack of a returned investment. He's the parent who posts about how much they love their kids on Facebook or some other middle aged social media but never actually calls or checks on them.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

do you also ship prueng? something about scotfra and prueng existing in one au is so ❤️✨️

My only human au is mostly fruk but my historical/nation verse has both yes! Scotfra is that auld alliance, they've been boning without understanding a word the other says in anything but Latin for 700 years kind of love. Sometimes François thinks Alasdair isn't very romantic but then the man springs some poetry and he's in love again. Saps.

Preng I'm fond of. Old farts who eat terrible curry over fries with a 12 pack of beer each and pass out watching Berlin/Herta get its cunt kicked in by literally everyone or Dortmund slaying the premiere League teams like St fucking George did his dragon. I shipped it by accident but now I'm hear for cranky old men. You can tell by all the creaking their fucking but it's their knees not the mattress.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Very much love the image of Matt going along with the plastic axes knowing full well it'll freak Arthur out more than usual. I like the idea that part of their relationship improving is Matt knowingly making Arthur suffer more in contrast to his centuries of contorting himself to make Arthur's life easier.

Can you elaborate on "Occasionally makes a remark to François about him sounding particularly Norman today just to put the fear of God in him"? Is that a "I remember who you used to be" thing, or a threat of invasion?

Thank you!

Thank you, thank you. When Matt and Arthur aren't suppressing 90% of their personalities, it's amazing how well-adjusted, capable, and interesting they can be.

When Magnus looked at Francis or even Arthur and saw their very powerful empires and how arrogant they were, he could and still can cut them back down to size. Normandy, as we know it, made the Norman accent and many Canadian French accents. This resulted from Romanized Celts intermarrying with mostly Danish soldiers, sailors, and settlers after violence and raiding. So Magnus commenting on François sounding Norman is a message of ‘remember you were not always so mighty, that you too once fell before my axe and my shield.’ Magnus is a very jolly, perky, and well-adjusted sort. He plays with his Legos and walks his Dansk Spids in peace these days. So it's always disconcerting when he plays the reformed warrior playing ‘momento mori’ to the later empires whose imperial cores he once controlled and reigned terror over. A small verbal reminder that it won’t last and they’d better remember that.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Tags

By Character

Aditya || brimful of the wine of truth

Alfred || o beautiful for spacious skies

Alasdair || my heart's in the highlands

Arthur || stone set in the silver sea

Brighid || An Bearna Bhaoil

Egill || Fár bregður hinu betra ef hann veit hið verra.

Eirian || into the nightlands

Erzse || In raptures I embrace

Francois || temperee par des chansons

Gilbert || from this baltic cannonball

Jack || a land of summer skies

Jan || God made Earth the Dutch made Holland

Katya || бо лишало на серці сліди

Kiku || these flowing islands

Leon || A wider view fills Heaven's glass

Ludwig || in deinem Herzchen klein

Magnus || climb the roots of Yggdrasil

Matthew || my country is winter

Maria || lo que viví lo estoy muriendo todavía

Rhys || my word for heaven was not yours

Sigurd || D'er klent Sted som stokk fyre Hamaren

Tolys ||

Yong Soo ||

Zee || ahakoa he iti he pounamu

By Relationship - Platonic

Alasdair and Matt || is mig amharc le dicheall

Alfred and Matt || lonely boys with the longest borders

Alfred and Rhys || Yn fy mhen a’i lond o freuddwydion

Alfred and Zee || freedom and fairness

Arthur and the children || bilge rat and his bouncing baby bilge rats

Britannia and her children || they made a desert and called it peace

Jack and Brighid || bound for Botany Bay

Jack and Zee || pieces of me across the Tasman sea

Jack Zee and Matt || battered bonds once so strong

Matthew and François || Quelques arpents de pièges

By Relationship - Romantic

Alasdair and Francois || an auld and abiding love

Alfred and Ludwig || our shooting stars were supersonic

Alfred and Tolys || with the awe of love realized

Maria and Alfred || De ilusión también se vive.

Maria and Matt || Al mal tiempo buena cara

Arthur and Gabriel || leagues of sincere affection

Arthur and Francois || our most dear enemy

Brighid and Romano || each our unlikely other half

Katya and Matt || the soil of our souls

Jan and Kiku || my favourite hello and hardest goodbye

Jan and Matt || the bells of liberation echo into eternity

Gilbert and Erzse || heart of iron beat for me

Gilbert and Arthur || heart of iron and heart of oak

By Topic

working pages

the great windmill debacle of 1994

the great incineration of 2023

Alfred and the stars || the first golden retriever in space

fairybait || baby alfred being chunky and cursed

Matt and Ferality || 80% uninhabited 100% uninhibited

meatsack mechanics || the sociology and biology of nations

Art History and Aesthetics || our eyes across the ages

WW1 || half the planet having daddy issues in a trench

archives || sing o muse the voices of the dead

By Type

the ask box || probis pateo

queued posts || Between the devil and the deep queue sea

the shitpost pile || forgive me my shitty sense of humour

my writing || cacoethes scribendi

research || sauntering through the stacks

Ideas || i should write this someday

ask box games || chaos coming soon to an inbox near you

moaning || personal/business posts

Character Sheets || bodies and flesh of borders and fences