#oceania 1984

[countrypapers]

COUNTRYPAPERS HALLOWEEN (3)

Oceania ("Big Brother", "BB")

BFIWY (Big Folly Is Watching You)

[weirdestbooks]

The Weapon and the Spy (Prologue)

Prologue (America) (Wattpad | Ao3)

Table of Contents | Next

Thank you to @jmysty4 for letting me write her wonderful countryhumans x 1984 AU.

America owed Oceania everything for what they had done for him since the Second World War. They had provided him with security, safety, and peace of mind as the world seemed to fall apart further.

Especially with what the USSR had been doing. 

The USSR’s invasion of Europe had been anxiety-inducing for America, as more countries struggled to fight him back, and the forces of Oceania’s organization struggled to protect their own.

Every time Oceania came to visit, they came with more bad news, and sometimes it felt as if the USSR’s power was overwhelming, so strong that nothing could stop it. Then Oceania would promise victories and provide them, giving America a sense of relief. 

America wished he could do more, but Oceania told him that it was their business, their problem and that America shouldn’t fight when he was so anxious and scared.

A small part of America knew they were right. He…he didn’t feel this way during the Second World War, but he did now. Oceania told him it was because the USSR had nukes. America couldn’t think of anything that could prove the organization wrong.

America hated it.

He had his people to look after, his states to look after, and he seemed paralyzed by terror whenever he thought of fighting.

So he was so grateful to Oceania, who fought for America and prevented him from being such a failure. 

America should have remembered that even great people like Oceania could be scared.

“The USSR has attacked your father with nuclear weapons,” Oceania said, worry on their face as they entered America’s home one dreary morning. America felt his heart plummet, fear flooding his body.

The USSR had used nukes against them. All of America’s worst fears had been realized.

Before he even realized what was happening, America was on the floor, gasping for air as panic flooded his body in a way it never had before. He felt light-headed; the only thing keeping him from panicking further was the solid weight of Oceania’s hand on his back.

“You’re okay. Just breathe,” Oceania said, their voice calm. America wanted to believe them; he really did. He had faith in Oceania to find a solution like they always had; he had faith in Oceania to figure out how to fix this because Oceania had never failed him before, and America trusted them with his entire being, but the panic refused to listen to logic.

Eventually, his breathing calmed.

“Are you better now?” Oceania asked. America knew they were trying to be gentle, but some annoyance still crept into their voice.

“I am. I’m…I’m sorry. I just…I had prayed and hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” America said, trying to give Oceania a reassuring smile.

“I had hoped for that too. But since it now has, that means we need to take…measures I didn’t want to take before in order to protect ourselves. Just because the USSR has powerful weapons doesn’t make us powerless,” Oceania said, their voice reassuring America and subsiding the panic. 

Oceania was right. They knew what they were doing, and they had never let America down before. 

“What is it? I will be happy to help in any way I can,” America said. He knew his fear and cowardice had made him a pretty useless ally recently, but these were nukes, and it was his father.

America had to do something.

“Are you sure? I don’t expect you to fight, knowing…well, knowing…” Oceania cleared their throat, clearly not wanting to make any rude comments towards America. America appreciated the thought, but Oceania didn’t need to pretend.

“If he attacked my father with nukes, then he might attack my siblings and children too. I can’t lose them, Oceania. They’re everything to me,” America explained, voice breaking slightly. Oceania nodded.

“Then, would you be interested in becoming a weapon for me?” Oceania asked, tilting their head to the side.

“Oh, hell no! I’ll be willing to help, but that’s too far!” America said, leaping up with gritted teeth. Had Oceania lost his mind? America wasn’t some thing, some object for Oceania to make into a ‘weapon’! He was a person!

And besides…he was too much a coward to be good at fighting. Oceania had to know that. America…he could do something else. Logistics. Planning. Things that didn’t require him to fight.

If the war with the USSR had proven anything, the longer a war went on, the bigger of a coward he became.

“Of course not. It’s just a suggestion. But…don’t you want to protect your states from the other countries? They want to kill them, destroy them, and I cannot be everywhere at once. But if you let me help you, I can train you into a weapon that no one would dare cross and prevent them from ever attacking your states,” Oceania said. Their words soothed the anxiety and paranoia raging in America’s chest, a temporary balm to his fears.

His mind seemed to cloud over slightly as he thought about Oceania’s offer. Would it not be better for his states to have someone strong to protect them? Would it not be better to stop being fearful and instead take action to prevent it?

“You know this is the best way to help me. I can’t do this without you,” Oceania said, something strange in their voice. America’s mind clouded a bit more, and he opened his mouth and began replying before he could even think.

“Yes, it is. I’ll do it,” he answered. Oceania was right. They were always right. Why had America been so hesitant? All Oceania had ever been was helpful before, so why did America doubt him now? If Oceania said this was the solution, then it was the solution.

“Wonderful! Do you wish to start now?” Oceania asked. America nodded. If the USSR was getting powerful now, then he needed to start now. Otherwise, his cowardice would keep him paralyzed.

His head still felt clouded, but with Oceania’s hand on his back, everything still made perfect sense.

Oceania knew what was best.

America just had to trust him.

───────── 𓁺 ─────────

America didn’t know what to expect when Oceania took him away for training. The organization had been tight-lipped about where they were going, saying that it was better to keep it secret in case of spies.

The answer made sense, and America couldn’t think of any other reason why Oceania would hide the location from him, so America kept his mouth shut.

There was no need to question them when they were just trying to help.

When they finally arrived, Oceania had patted America on the cheek, introducing him to the soldiers who were going to be helping him. America was being given a private room, as he was a country, and overall, it was a very pleasant introduction.

America was still nervous about the idea of fighting. 

Oceania and America had talked about it a little before Oceania had to go, busy dealing with so many other countries and problems. While Oceania had told America that his family would be unable to contact him in order to keep America’s location protected, Oceania had offered to run messages when they were able to. 

America was proud to have them as a friend. They thought of everything.

America was quickly kept busy. He knew that the threat of the USSR was close; he had nightmares about it on a daily basis, but the men in charge of training him were determined to work America to death about the issue.

There were no breaks, no free time, just training, sleep, and food.

America felt miserable about it. It was exhausting. The only thing that kept him going was reminding himself of who it was for.

This was for his children, his siblings, his father, for everything currently under threat of nuclear weapons.

He was doing this for them. He hoped they were okay. Sometimes, in the few minutes between going to bed and being embraced by sleep, he would think about them, wondering if they were okay.

Oceania also banned any news from entering the training compound America was in. They were so paranoid about another attack, and as much as America wanted news, he knew this was just Oceania’s way of trying to protect him.

It didn’t stop it from being nerve-wracking.

At least the training kept his mind busy. America wasn’t given a minute of time to worry or speculate, jumping from one thing to the next in an orderly fashion. The schedule never changed; the same thing day after day.

Even though America had become used to the schedule, there were still rules he was struggling to follow.

The worst was how he wasn’t allowed to do anything without permission. He knew that the military needed order and that soldiers needed to learn how to obey their superiors, but in prior wars, America hadn’t been subjected to as heavy a regime as he was now. 

If he woke before the day was supposed to begin, he was expected to stay in bed until one of the commanders officially woke him up. He only was allowed to eat when he was told to. It was a hit to his pride, but he needed to do this.

This was for his family. They needed him to be able to protect him. 

And he needed to not be such a coward.

If he broke them, the punishments wouldn't be that bad; it would just be a reprimand for all the things America was already worried about. 

“War is imminent, and we can’t risk any mistakes in the arm, so we need obedience.”

“Your people are in danger, and this is the quickest way to help them and ensure you are trained as fast as you can be. Your protests and refusal to obey just make things worse.”

America has learned by now to swallow his pride. It wasn’t that bad. The order of the boot camp was…good for his anxiety. It gave him a sense of stability he had lost a long time before.

He was just being paranoid about things. He was letting his fears about the USSR make him afraid of the people who were just looking out for him.

This was in the best interest of his country—the best interest of his people.

This was going to help. Oceania said this was a good idea, so America trusted that it was, no matter how…strange or odd some of the decisions seemed to be. 

So, America let go of his paranoia and fears, and the strange feeling in the back of his head seemed to go away. It was less stressful to not think about any (unrealistic) implications of the training regime.

It was order, and it was comfortable to have that order.

America was going to be a good soldier. 

Then, his people wouldn’t have to fear the USSR ever again. There would be peace, and life could resume. He trusted that Oceania had a plan, that Oceania knew what they were doing.

So America played his part. 

It would all end well in the end.

───────── 𓁺 ─────────

America hadn’t been informed about Oceania’s visit. He had been walking to the dining hall, silently following his commander (because good soldiers only spoke when spoken to, and America needed to be a good soldier. It’s not like he had anything to talk about) when Oceania had appeared beside him, a worried look on their face.

America opened his mouth to greet them before shutting it, looking back at the commander. He didn’t know if he would get in trouble since Oceania was here, but it was better to check anyway. 

“I need to borrow him if you don’t mind,” Oceania said. The commander saluted and nodded before turning to America.

“Go with Oceania,” he ordered. America nearly rolled his eyes at that. He wasn't an idiot. Obviously, if Oceania needed him and the commander respected Oceania’s order, then America was meant to go with him.

Although…maybe he just wanted to reassure America and ensure that America wouldn’t face any punishment for following Oceania. 

America appreciated the thought. A break would be nice. His muscles were sore constantly nowadays, although America took it as proof that he was getting better and soon would be someone his states could be proud of, someone who could protect them.

Oceania gestured for America to follow them, and America did, and despite his burning curiosity about any news of his states, of the world outside of his camp, he kept his mouth shut. Good soldiers spoke only when spoken to, after all, and America trusted that Oceania would tell him.

And a small part of him really wanted to impress Oceania, to show them how far he had come from the cowardly little country he had been.

They walked into America’s room and stopped as America resisted the urge to nervously rub at his arm. He didn’t want to appear nervous in front of Oceania. His nervousness was what they were trying to fix.

“I am sure you are eager to hear what I have to say,” Oceania said. America nodded, hesitantly opening his mouth to speak.

“I am. I have tried not to think about my fears, but they still plague me at times,” America answered. Oceania nodded, and America relaxed, not even realizing he had tensed, grateful for the confirmation that he did indeed have permission to speak.

“You are right to feel some fear. It motivates you to do what you can to overcome it,” Oceanis said, “But I come here with news, not to talk about you.”

America nodded, feeling slightly chastised. He didn’t know why he wanted Oceania to be proud of him, but he did. Maybe it was because he was far away from the war, and while the other member states were proving themselves in combat, America was cowering an ocean away.

“I’m sorry,” America said, not knowing what else to say.

“The USSR is now calling himself Eurasia,” Oceania began, causing America to wrinkle his nose in disgust. Of course, he was. That bastard was egotistical to claim to be two entire continents. “There have been a few more nuclear attacks on Ai—on Britain, and…things could be better.”

Against his will, America’s fears began creeping back into his head, visions of his family being brutally murdered one by one in the US—in Eurasia’s bloody conflicts.

“Relax. I have a plan. We have also used nukes against Eurasia, and we are at a standstill right now,” Oceania said, “And your states are okay. I have ensured they all have safehouses to stay in so they are protected. I am using all of my power. But I can’t do this alone. I am stretched too thin. I need your help. You need to train faster and improve as fast as possible so I can use your help to break this standstill.”

America swallowed down bile in his throat.

“I can try. But…are you sure I’ll really make that much of a difference?” America asked. He didn’t want to let his family down, Oceania down, but he…he couldn’t be that important to the war. He was just one man.

“Of course you can. You’re better than any normal soldier due to your abilities, of course,” Oceania said. America felt a pit sink into his stomach.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“Well, I mean, your healing. You can heal so quickly and take hits that no one else can. Do you realize how many lives you can save?” Oceania pointed out. America shook his head.

“I…I…I can only be pushed so far. Everything has a limit—even that. I know…I understand where you are coming from, and to a level, I agree with you, but I can’t rush in blindly and hope that my regeneration will be enough,” America explained. Oceania frowned, an expression that America had rarely seen on their face.

“I didn’t take you for a selfish man, not with who you are doing this for,” Oceania said, something bitter, something angry in his voice. America recoiled, lip curling into a snarl.

“Excuse me?” he asked. Oceania met his eyes again, and when they spoke next, there was a heavy weight to their voice.

“Isn’t it better to fight without hesitation when you can recover as fast as you can? It’s selfish to think that you need to be protected when you can heal faster than any of your states. You should be better than that. I thought you would be. You always seemed more selfless before,” Oceania said, their tone biting. America swayed slightly, blinking through his suddenly clouded mind.

“I…I…” America struggled to find words to defend himself. Was…was that really selfish? He thought that was better, saving it for when it was really needed. “I thought it would be better to preserve it for when it is needed most.”

Oceania shook their head, a disappointed look on their face.

“That’s something you can’t just preserve for later!” Oceania said, voice warping slightly in their anger. Oceania cleared their throat before sighing, “I don’t mean to get upset. I am just very worried about everyone, and I was grateful I could count on you to help me, but learning that you don’t want to for selfish reasons is just…I’m disappointed.”

America looked away, feeling guilt and shame well up within him. His head felt cloudy, and he couldn’t think of anything that would prove Oceania wrong. He wanted to help. He really did.

“I want to help. I do. I just…I never thought of it that way,” America said. Did his states think he was selfish? Or was this more proof he really was a coward, having the power to recover from all types of wounds and still hiding from war?

No wonder Oceania wanted him more involved.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure that now that you have realized how bad that kind of thinking is, you can move past it. I can have them implement that into your training, making you less hesitant and selfish,” Oceania suggested. America nodded before wincing as that action seemed to make the cloudiness in his brain hurt more.

“That sounds like a great idea, Oceania,” America said. Oceania smiled.

“I’m glad. I guess I was too harsh on you. It must be the stress. You’re always willing to improve when you have your flaws pointed out to you,” Oceania said. “I have one more thing I need to ask of you.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know how your training has been done so far, but you need to prioritize being more ruthless than the norm,” Oceanis said, walking over to stand by America. America wanted to protest that idea, but the cloud in his mind made it hard to get out much more than a small “why?”

“They aren’t showing mercy, so why should you show them mercy? Ruthlessness isn’t wrong if it’s what is needed to win,” Oceania said, a gentle hand on America’s back. The cloudiness of his mind was so thick it was hard to think clearly. America nodded.

“You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. My brain is…foggy, I think I must be ill or something to be so irritable and foolish,” America said with a small laugh. 

“Well then, I’ll tell them to give you the rest of the day off so you can recover. It’ll give them time to adjust your regime,” Oceania said, gently guiding America to the bed, where he sat down, head spinning from the action.

“That sounds great. Thank you, Oceania. I mean it. Give my states my love.”

“Of course,” Oceania said, and with those final words, they glided out of the room.

───────── 𓁺 ─────────

America had long since lost track of how long he had been here. Every day felt the same, one blurring into another into another. Oceania had visited a few more times, each time pressing America more to finish his training faster, that they were worried about the states, about his father.

America gave it everything he had.

It was all he had. 

Oceania had been dropping off newspapers as well. Some of the papers America didn't recognize, as Oceania explained how some newspapers had shut down due to the war, causing others to spring up in their place. America was still alone, but at least he still got news.

Well, newspapers. He wasn’t exactly given time to read them. He didn’t need to read them, though; the commanders did, and they gave America plenty of reminders as to what was at stake. 

War was already in Oceania, and war was coming for his land. He needed to be ready to protect everyone. It was on him; Oceania needed him, and his states needed him.

The pressure on him was immense.

The training seemed to get harsher every day, as America seemed to make more mistakes than he did before. The punishments for doing anything without permission seemed to grow stricter as the commanders began to put a greater emphasis on obedience. 

“Armies are more effective when they are not made up of individual people, but rather when they are one mass that is obedient to their commander,” they explained. America was told this often. Although he was training without an army, he needed to learn how to be another face in the crowd.

It was important that he learn to be obedient to his commanders.

Not only that, sometimes they would tell America to do things without telling him why, and he was expected to do them without hesitation or further explanation. If he failed during one of those exercises, he was made to watch some stupid movie about the importance of obedience and overcoming hesitation.

It was all part of the training to help him be less selfish, more decisive, they explained. 

America guessed it was working. Each time, it became easier to do what they said without thinking too much about it. America didn’t feel more decisive, though, just…quieter.

But that had to be a good thing, with how the commanders had been commenting on how far America had come and how he was going to be a good soldier. America was happy about that. He was improving. He would be able to protect his states. 

All fi…all of them. America shook the fuzziness from his head, refocusing on his task.

If this was what was needed to protect them, then America would throw himself into it wholeheartedly. It didn’t matter what methods they used here. What mattered was that America would be a good soldier that could protect them.

His pride didn’t matter when it came to that. Nothing was more important to America than protecting them. 

America would be a good soldier. For his states.

No matter how harsh the training got, this was for the greater good. America understood that, and he trusted Oceania to take care of them until he was ready.

America just hoped he was ready soon. He felt anxious, not fully knowing what was happening to his states, and he would give anything to be ready so he could ensure they were safe.

Although, based on the way the commanders had begun to talk, that moment would be coming soon.

───────── 𓁺 ─────────

America didn’t find out Oceania had arrived until they walked in on one of his lessons. America had been using a knife to rip apart a dummy with brutal efficiency, something he had long grown used to and did almost subconsciously.

A lot of the things he did here he did without thinking.

But the odd thing was that Oceania didn’t talk to him, didn’t even greet him, instead turning to the commander as America continued running through the brutal motions.

“How soon will it be ready?” Oceania asked. It? What were they talking about? America couldn’t help his curiosity, even though he knew it was probably rude to eavesdrop. Then again, Oceania was talking about it right in front of America, so clearly, it wasn’t that secret.

“Soon,” the commander said, and America watched out of the corner of his eye as the commander nervously looked at him before whispering something to Oceania. Oceania frowned.

“Stop!” They then said, and figuring they were referring to him, America stopped what he was doing and pulled away, fighting down the instinct to salute Oceania as he turned to face them. Oceania then stepped towards America before they grabbed his chin, forcing America to look them in the eyes.

It was a rough movement, one that America was not expecting, but he forced down the urge to pull away or say something. He trusted Oceania. Oceania was doing this for a reason. It didn’t matter that it was humiliating and something America normally would have never allowed. America had to trust Oceania.

 He didn’t want to be punished for disobedience.

Oceania moved America’s chin around a few more times before releasing it, stepping back. America could still feel where their fingers had tightly gripped his chin, and he opened his mouth to move his jaw around to shake off the feeling.

“Close it!” Oceania ordered, and America's jaw was shut before he could even think. Oceania then turned back to the commander, and America stood as still as he could.

“So you say it is good at obedience and its purpose but has yet to fully understand what it is?” Oceania asked. The commander nodded, and America had a sinking feeling that he was the one they were referring to. 

But he wasn’t an ‘it’. He was a person, a country, the United States of America. America almost opened his mouth to say something but found that he just couldn’t, as if something had sealed his lips shut.

He…he didn’t want to disobey, but…what Oceania was saying concerned him.

But it was Oceania, so there must be a logical reasoning behind it, right?

“Yes. We are hoping that with a stricter training regime, it will accept what it is,” the commander said. America fought to keep his face neutral as he tried to figure out what they were talking about. Surely it couldn’t be him, right? But…they were talking about a training regime. And the only person here who had that was America. 

America was still frozen in position.

“I want it done now. Do whatever it takes to finish it, so long as you don’t break it,” Oceania ordered. “More than a stricter training regime. I can see how well that is working, but you have reached the end of its effectiveness.”

Oceania then leaned down and whispered something into the commander’s ear. The commander nodded as Oceania turned back to America.

“These next few weeks are going to be the most important in your life,” Oceania said, their voice full of the same heavy weight to it that America had heard in it so often before. “And it is imperative that you obey them and that you listen to them. Even if it makes you uncomfortable at first, just know this is for the greater good, and the sooner you help them by going along with what they tell you, the sooner your training will be over, and you can protect your states. Understood?”

America nodded, not sure if he had permission to speak, his mind feeling fuzzy. Oceania smiled.

“Good. I expect your training to be done when I return. If not…” Oceania trailed off, letting their words linger in the air as they turned to leave the room, giving one last order to the commander. “Start now.”

The commander nodded before turning to America.

“Come on. Follow me,” he said, and America followed him out of the room like the good little soldier he was. There was still an odd feeling in the back of his mind, but he was long past the point of no return. 

America trusted Oceania. They promised this would be for the best.

So America trusted it would be.

───────── 𓁺 ─────────

America was meant to become Oceania’s weapon.

It was a mantra that had been repeated to him again and again and again. The cameras around the facility were always blaring the message whenever America was training, serving as a permanent reminder of what he was meant to become.

He hated it at first. He didn’t say anything because he still wanted to be a good soldier, but he hated the message at first. It felt wrong. 

But America has been the one in the wrong. The nightly videos he watched explained everything, talking America through all his doubts and fears and how silly it was to not want to be Oceania’s weapon.

America understood that it was silly to want to be just another soldier. The army had plenty of soldiers. His states had been protected by soldiers for the entire war. What Oceania and his states needed was a new weapon crafted to protect them and hunt down their enemies with brutal efficiency.

America was to be that weapon. He understood now. That was why it was okay for people to call him an ‘it’ or not call him by his name. He was still just a weapon at the end of the day. A weapon that didn’t need to feel emotion or think when it was being a weapon.

After all, what weapon thought?

Ever since he realized that, he had done better in his training. 

Oceania’s weapon was efficient and it was brutal, and it would ensure that the states were protected.

It was still in training, though, because why have a good weapon when you can have a perfect one?

“Attack,” the commander said. Oceania’s weapon turned around, lashing out with the knife as it mutilated the dummy in front of it. It didn’t hesitate, ripping into the dummy again and again until the commander ordered it to stop. 

Stepping back, the weapon realized that a picture had been attached to the dummy, a picture of Britain—the wea—America’s father.

“Very good, weapon. You weren’t even hesitant, even though the dummy had a picture of an ally on it. You just obeyed your orders,” the commander said. America nodded, feeling vaguely dazed. He didn’t hesitate. If that had been his real father, would America have ripped him apart, too?

He was…he didn’t want to hurt his family.

“Wipe that expression off your face. Weapons don’t show emotion, and weapons shouldn’t be thinking while fighting,” the commander said. America was quick to slide his face back into the empty expression that had become so comforting, “We wouldn’t actually make you attack him. We just needed to test how much faith you have in the people giving you orders.”

America relaxed. Of course, that was what it was. Oceania wanted America to protect his family. They wouldn’t really have him attack his family. They just needed a good weapon.

America was going to be that weapon.

───────── 𓁺 ─────────

Oceania was very proud of how far their weapon had come when they came to retrieve it.

“You did a good job crafting it,” they said, as their weapon held out it’s arms for Oceania to inspect, “One could be forgiven for thinking that it had always been a weapon.”

“We’re glad it’s to your liking, sir,” one of the men said. Oceania dismissed him with a wave of their hand.

“There are still a few things that I need to fix up, but then, yes, I believe we have the perfect weapon here,” Oceania said, “Follow me, weapon. We’ll need privacy for this next bit.”

America let his hands fall to his side and followed Oceania out the door.

“What is my name?” they asked.

“Oceania,” America answered, his tone empty. He found it hard to express any emotion in his voice, something that was for the best anyway. Oceania clicked their tongue.

“Wrong. My name is Big Brother, and you will address me as such,” Oce—Big Brother said. America nodded.

“Now, what is your name?” Big Brother asked. America hesitated, unsure of how to answer that question. His name was America, of course, but he wasn’t sure if he should say that, considering he was training to be a weapon.

But it was the only name he had…

“Ame—”

“Wrong. You are a weapon. Weapons do not have names because they are not people. They do not have identities or anything like that. They are objects to be used and owned. You may have once been America, but you cannot be America if you want to be the weapon that ends the war. Only when war ends can you stop being a weapon and be a person. Now, what is your name?” Big Brother asked, their voice somehow squeezing its way into Ameri—into the weapon’s very being.

“I—I do not have a name because weapons do not have one,” the weapon said. Big Brother nodded.

“Better. Don’t worry. Soon, this will be second nature to you,” they said. “Now, to continue. Do you feel emotion?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because weapons cannot feel emotion.” the weapon answered. Big Brother smiled.

“Good. So if I see you expressing emotion?”

“That means I—”

“I?” Big Brother asked. Their weapon quickly corrected itself.

“That means the weapon is broken and needs to be repaired.” 

“Good,” Big Brother purred, their voice blocking out everything in the weapon’s mind as it seemed to consume everything, “One last question before we finalize the other faults and enter you into service. Do weapons think?”

“No.” the weapon stated. 

Big Brother’s smile widened.

───────── 𓁺 ─────────

Big Brother’s weapon still had a few flaws that needed to be worked out before it could be put into service. Big Brother wanted a quality weapon, meaning that they all needed to be worked out before it could begin it’s primary objective of protecting the states.

“The states are all in hiding due to the war and the fact that the weapon is not yet in service, so we must get it working as soon as possible,” Big Brother said, addressing the man who was meant to fix their weapon’s flaws.

“Of course. What do I need to do?” Big Brother then grabbed their weapon’s face, lifted it, and pointed to the mouth on it.

“I need the mouth sewed up. Weapons do not need to speak, so it is a useless feature that needs to be repaired, as it is impossible to remove it without damaging the rest of my weapon,” Big Brother said. The man nodded.

“Of course,” he said before preparing the supplies as Big Brother ordered their weapon onto a chair. 

The man then approached the weapon, a needle in his hands, and Big Brother’s weapon froze to ensure that the repair went as smoothly as possible.

Big Brother’s weapon held still as the needle punctured it’s lip. The doctor’s assistant held his mouth shut as the sewing continued, practiced movements that made it’s mouth sting.

Big Brother’s weapon ignored it. Weapons don’t feel pain. This was being done to increase the efficiency of the weapon. 

It stared ahead until the procedure was done, the last stitch tied off.

Big Brother dismissed the doctor before grabbing their weapon’s face, tilting it back and forth as they inspected the stitches. 

“Yes, you’ll be a much better weapon now that we’ve gotten rid of that little flaw,” Big Brother said before releasing their weapon’s face, turning to leave the room. “Follow.”

Their weapon stood up, and obediently followed Big Brother.

[dont-open-dead-inside-25]

when did oceania happen. what is that

[nerds-yearbook]

In 1984, telescreens offered entertainment and propaganda, while at the same time working as spy cams for the government so that all needed to be of one mind and on their best behavior for Big Brother was always watching. London was the chief city of Airstrip One, which was one the provinces of Oceania. The official language of Oceania was Newspeak, a form of politically correct inspired speech. The government continually rewrote history and news so that their opinion had never changed and everything lined up with their current world view and policies. Technically nothing was illegal, but the inhabitants lived in continual fear of the Thought Police. Many women who were especially loyal to the party joined the Anti-Sex league. Through propaganda, especially during the Two Minutes Hate, the masses were constantly reminded who their enemies were and were encouraged to express their hate. The world was in a continual state of war but who was enemy and ally kept changing between Oceania, Eurasia, and Eastasia. The continual warfare helped justify hardships like the rationing of almost everything as well the importance to loyalty of ones nation. ("1884", Bk)

[tweedfrog]

In some ways i think George Orwell underestimated the sheer determination of humans with the whole newspeak thing like no ppl aren't just going along with doubleplusgood cause I just saw a girl on tiktok refer to "multiple jay no sides"

[altdeldraw]

unrelated it just reminded me of the song

The Eye

[amerasdreams]

the Trial and 1984: 2 very relevant books for today

[blogquantumreality]

But it was also clear that an all-round increase in wealth threatened the destruction—indeed, in some sense was the destruction—of a hierarchical society. In a world in which everyone worked short hours, had enough to eat, lived in a house with a bathroom and a refrigerator, and possessed a motorcar or even an airplane, the most obvious and perhaps the most important form of inequality would already have disappeared. If it once became general, wealth would confer no distinction.

From "The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical Collectivism" within 1984, by George Orwell writing as Emmanuel Goldstein.

[rose-icosahedron]

i'm finally free(my week of larp summer camp is over)

[c00kiejar]

Guys, choco rations were just increased to 25 grams!! So much better than the 30 we were stuck with before. Thank you, Big Brother!

[read-marx-and-lenin]

heyo- a friend is trying to get me to read 1984 because 'it'll totally change your worldview on government and anarchism', but i've heard some bad things about the book itself/george orwell. should i read it? is there anything similar/more theorylike i could read instead?

thank you! your blog rocks <3 <3

Go ahead and read it if you want. It's a classic entry into the genre of dystopian science fiction and it has spawned many imitators since its publication. However, if you're looking for actual theory or history, you won't find it there. I would recommend Pat Sloan's "Soviet Democracy" or Anna Louise Strong's "The Soviets Expected It" and "The Stalin Era" if you want real accounts of the Soviet Union under Stalin.

Orwell never actually visited the Soviet Union, and 1984 is based not on his own personal experience with the country but instead on Western propagandistic views of the country and his own displeasure towards the fact that during World War II, when the UK and the USSR were allies, the British press was much less keen to publish anti-Soviet works right at the same time he was trying to get Animal Farm published. You must also understand that his wife worked for the UK's Ministry of Information as a censor and Orwell himself worked at the BBC producing wartime propaganda. It is not a coincidence then that the main character of 1984, Winston Smith, is a censor and propaganda official working with the fictional "Ministry of Truth" and eventually finding himself battling against state control of information.

Ironically, after stylizing himself so much as a defender of liberty and freedom against the "totalitarianism" of the time, Orwell would write up a list of alleged subversive writers for the British Information Research Department, a secret department tasked with publishing anti-communist propaganda during the Cold War. Some of this propaganda would end up being a comic strip version of Orwell's Animal Farm. There is a significant throughline in both Animal Farm and 1984 that clearly betrays Orwell's political views. In both works, the proletariat are depicted as nothing more than idiots and sheep who follow the orders of anyone willing to give them work and are easily duped by intellectuals. In 1984, he phrases it as the proletariat being more "free" simply because they're so insignificant as to warrant no government surveillance.

In 1984, the fictional society of "Oceania" is a far cry from a dictatorship of the proletariat. The proletariat have no political power, they all live in slums and are mollified by bread and circuses. How is the building of the slums organized? Where does the money go when one buys their bread? We are not told anything about this except that the process is slow and inefficient. The story isn't interested in material concerns. The "proles" do their work, we are told, but we are never shown much more than informal labor. We don't know who is telling them to work or how they are getting paid. The "Outer Party" is supposedly the white collar "middle" class of Oceanic society, but despite the amount of focus the story has on this class, we are never shown a single Party member managing a workplace or poring over receipts. We are to believe that the proletariat are simultaneously left to their own devices and unmolested by the state, while also completely under the control of the state through invisible mechanisms that are never elaborated upon. While Winston will complain endlessly about his own quality of life, not once does a single prole gripe about their job. The cost and quality of goods come up sporadically and only to illustrate the deterioration of English society under Party rule, never to illustrate any material basis of said rule.

Even more at the periphery are the colonized peoples (although never described as such) within the war-torn areas never under the permanent control of any world power. All three of the global superpowers are said to be in a constant struggle over the control and enslavement of these super-exploited workers and the resources of their nations, which are said to make up a significant proportion of the material resources of each superpower, however at the same time they are not considered to be part of the proletariat and are dismissed as entirely disposable and unnecessary for the maintenance of any of these superpowers. To Orwell, it seems, colonialism is simply a thing the colonizers do out of habit and not a phenomenon with an actual material basis or actual material effects. In turn, the colonized are not actual people who might take umbrage with the constant conflict imposed upon them, but rather chattel that is perfectly content to be traded back and forth among the colonizers.

The importance of the middle class in society is a recurring theme in 1984. For example, the Trotsky-esque political treatise Winston reads within the story, "The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical Collectivism", begins with a twist on Marxist historical materialism - while it recognizes the role of class conflict in human history, it asserts a transhistorical narrative of the eternal existence of three separate classes within society since "Neolithic times": the upper, middle, and lower classes. It is then asserted that it is the middle and only the middle class that is ever revolutionary, and that when it appeals to the lower classes it does so only to use them as a cudgel against the upper classes and never out of a genuine concern for their wellbeing. The treatise, idealistic as it is, provides little definition of these classes. The lower classes are described as "crushed by drudgery" and in a constant state of servitude that places them incapable of achieving political consciousness, something reserved solely for the upper and middle classes. The upper class is defined simply as the "directing" class, and the middle as the "executive" class. The identity of the middle class within Oceania is made clear: they are the "Outer Party", the white collar intelligentsia and managerial class which Winston and Julia belong to. One must assume Orwell viewed himself as a member of the middle class as well. If this section of the book is at all reflective of Orwell's own views (and to be clear no part of the book refutes this outlook,) then Orwell's rejection of Marxism-Leninism is rooted in his view of the vanguard party as simply a mechanism for the intelligentsia and bureaucrats to trick the stupid proles into overthrowing the bourgeoisie, rather than as a genuine means of proletarian liberation.

The politics of the Party are entirely idealistic in nature. "Big Brother" dominates through control of ideology and speech. The goal of Ingsoc, the ruling ideology of Oceania, is to make dissent impossible through the thorough alteration of language and the removal of words which could represent ideas that are not in line with Ingsoc, a process called "Newspeak". It is explicitly stated, however, that none of this ideological control is directed towards the proletariat, which is said to make up 85% of Oceania's population. The proles are not expected to learn Newspeak, they are not monitored by the telescreens, because as is stated quite frankly in the book, "the masses never revolt of their own accord, and they never revolt merely because they are oppressed." That this line is given by the villain of the story is unimportant, because the story never refutes it.

While Winston routinely repeats his belief that "hope lies in the proles", he is consistently met with scenes that challenge his faith whenever he winds up interacting with the proletariat. His conversations with proles reveal their total lack of concern with politics or history. He hears a crowd erupt into chaos and briefly hopes it's the proletarian uprising he is waiting for, only to find it's simply a riot over consumer goods. They are more than once compared to animals. While it is said in exposition that intelligent members of the proletariat who might end up fomenting dissent are eliminated, this is never actually depicted. We don't see Winston meeting with a single intelligent and politically conscious prole. The most intelligent prole he meets turns out to be a secret member of the "Thought Police". And so, the concept remains theoretical.

Winston is depicted as an ardent materialist, desperately defending the notion of external reality against deranged idealists who believe that through control of thought, control of reality becomes possible. But the world he lives in is not material. It is fictional, of course, but more than that, the fictional world described operates on idealistic principles even from Winston's own perspective. Winston's worldview is a faith based one, appealing not to any material basis for liberation but purely to emotion. It is love and the spirit of humanity that is the basis of freedom, and material freedom springs forth from it. Anyone who thinks otherwise is merely a trickster trying to control the masses.

Orwell rejected the material basis of history because he rejected the idea of a revolution on a material basis. To him, the revolution must be an ideological one, and the problem lie not in how society and the economy are organized but in the existence of hateful "authoritarian" ideologies governing the world. He believed the material basis was already here, that industry alone was the solution to material inequality, and so we must concern ourselves now only with the idea of equality and freedom, and from an abstract and universal viewpoint to boot. It is intolerable to him that a revolution be fought against an actual enemy in the real world. The problem is not that the capitalists are in control of the means of production, the problem is that the workers are too stupid to disobey them. A real revolutionary class would spontaneously throw off its own shackles through thought alone. It doesn't matter that Orwell was a lackey and a snitch, because in his mind he was freer and smarter than everyone else.

The bravery of Winston Smith was in recognizing the existence of a material reality that lies and propaganda could never destroy even while being tortured into believing such absurd notions as "two plus two equals five". But Orwell was never tortured into any of his incorrect beliefs. His incorrect beliefs stem purely from accepting the official narrative that he was fed and refusing to investigate its veracity for himself. Orwell's writing was used as propaganda against the designated enemy of the UK throughout the Cold War, adapted countless times in the forms of radio plays, TV shows, movies, and comic books. He never made an effort to actually travel to the Soviet Union to find out if what he was told about the country was true. All the other upper middle class "left-wing" intellectuals he hung out with seemed to be just as concerned as he was with the rising tide of "totalitarianism" and the supposed excesses of the Soviet Union, so why shouldn't he agree? He was in this regard no different than the Western "socialists" of the modern day who have no shortage of vitriol towards China or North Korea. Yes, he might performatively rail against chauvinism and nationalism, but only enough to ensure that he wouldn't be seen as a conservative. He still knew in his heart that his country was surely better than those barbarous communists in the East.

Yes Orwell was sexist and homophobic, and despite his best efforts he remained plagued by racist and antisemitic attitudes, but in addition to all that his books promulgated a view of the world entirely in line with British bourgeois values, which is why they were so eagerly used as propaganda by the British government. The Nazis were bad and the Soviets were bad because they were both authoritarian, and the differences between them were negligible and unworthy of mention. The references 1984 makes to the shifting alliances in Oceania, "we are at war with Eurasia" becoming "we are at war with Eastasia" and vice-versa, are most likely allegories for the shifting alliances of Britain at the time, how they viewed the Soviets as an enemy before the war, as an ally during the war, and as an enemy again once the war was over. Orwell viewed himself as above all of this simply because his view of the Soviets never changed at any point throughout this.

[countrypapers]

"You don't scare me, Emperor."

Author's comment:

"Another Galactic Empire and Oceania artwork again, mainly because i want to explore their relationship as they're basically nemesis."

[weirdestbooks]

The Weapon and the Spy (Prologue)

Prologue (Britain) (Wattpad | Ao3)

Table of Contents | Prev | Next

TW for human experimentation and gore (kind of. You'll see). Also an amalgamation being with lots of faces so like. If you don’t like that skip the part where Britian talks about France and move to the next text break.

“It’s nice to meet you, Britain. My name is Oceania,” the organization said, clasping Britain’s hand in their own, a wide smile on their face.

“Nice to meet you, too. This is my acquaintance, Ir—”

“I can introduce myself,” Ireland said, narrowing his eyes at Britain before turning to Oceania.

“I’m Ireland. Nice to meet you,” Ireland said, holding out his hand for Oceania to shake. But the organization didn’t take it, barely giving Ireland a second glance, their attention still on Britain. Britain couldn’t help but let out a little smirk at Ireland’s frustration at being ignored.

It was petty, but what interaction of theirs wasn’t?

“Yes, you’re here too,” Oceania said, quickly turning the conversation back to Britain, “I am interested in learning more about my member states, and I was wondering if you could tell me a little about yourself. I want to ensure that I am doing my best for everyone, and the best way to do that is to know them.”

Britain’s face morphed into a grin as Ireland rolled his eyes, and while Britain couldn’t hear what the man was muttering, he knew Ireland well enough to know that he was complaining about Britain’s ego.

“Well, I am Britain. I am made up of Scotland, England, Northern Ireland, and Wales, but you are unlikely to meet them,” he explained, knowing it was better to get that explanation out of the way first. Oceania’s head tilted to the side, something gleaming in their eyes.

“It’s terrible to be a part of Britain,” Ireland snarked, sneering slightly. Britain turned to face the man, ready to argue, but Oceania seemed to ignore Ireland’s comment entirely, eyes still focused on Britain. 

It was odd. Were they incapable of talking to more than one person at a time?

“Is that the reason behind your ability? How you have a stronger mental connection to your colonies and your people?” Oceania asked, their voice full of curiosity, but something darker lurking there as well.

Ireland frowned, eyes darkening in suspicion. Despite their tense relationship, Britain picked up on the man’s unease, feeling it as well. 

Britain didn’t like Ireland, but there was no one better than him at detecting when someone was acting odd or strange. He knew how to read people. If he thought there was something strange about Oceania, then Britain would acknowledge the concern.

“I’m not sure if that’s why. You might be right,” Britain answered, trying to keep his answer vague. When people asked about his power, it was because they thought it might be of use to them. Britain didn’t know Oceania well enough to decide whether that was good or bad.

Then, for the first time since their conversation began, Oceania turned to Ireland, looking the smaller country up and down before returning their focus to Britain.

Something churned in Britain’s stomach. Oceania was acting odd, odder than any organization that Britain had ever met before.

“I see. That is very interesting, how abilities can be so diverse, don’t you agree?” Oceania asked with a strange cadence to their voice.

“It is. Are you going to ask about Ireland’s now?” Britain asked, causing said man to startle and shoot him a glare, to which Britain just shrugged. He had a theory, and to test it, he needed to get Oceania to stop fixating on him.

For the first time, the grin on Oceania’s face began to slip, something flickering across their face. 

“I am a new member. I joined after your creation, and I’m still not sure I made the best choice. That’s the main reason why Britain asked me to join him for this introduction,” Ireland said, either accidentally but realistically on purpose, helping further Britain’s plan. 

Oceania looked as if they had sucked on a lemon.

“Yes, Ireland,” Oceania said, turning to face him but eyes still looking in Britain’s direction, causing Britain to raise an eyebrow and gesture to Ireland. “Do you have any interesting abilities?”

“We all do,” Ireland said, annoying as always. “So tell me, what is your deal? I don’t mean abilities. I am just curious as to what your plans are.”

Oceania’s face twisted again, something dark crossing over it, eyes narrowing as they almost glared at Ireland. 

“Protect my member states from the USSR, of course. What else would I do?” Oceania said, voice sweet, before turning back to Britain. Ireland scoffed, shooting Britain a concerned look. Britain nodded, and Ireland turned to leave, done with Oceania’s nonsense.

“Well, it is good to know we’ll have your assistance with the USSR’s new aggression,” Britain said politely, “However, I have some personal work I need to do for my country, so I will have to get going. I hope you have a great rest of your day.”

Britain then turned to leave as well, thinking over Oceania’s strange fascination with him. There was something up with that man. That much was clear.

Britain only hoped it was something that wasn’t too dangerous and wouldn’t go too far.

He was an empire. He knew what a power-hungry person looked like. He only hoped that Oceania remembered their place and didn’t overstep. 

 ───────── 𓁺 ─────────

Britain hummed to himself as he flipped another page in his book. He wasn’t reading, not exactly, but it served as a worthy distraction to keep his mind from Europe’s latest troubles.

He had hoped, as they all had, that the Second World War would usher in a new era of peace and prosperity and end the devastation that the two world wars had wrought. He had hoped that all of Europe would be eager for peace and a chance to take a rest from war.

The USSR had been more power-hungry than anyone had thought. 

It had started with the invasion of the land that he had been granted influence over during the Potsdam Conference. Then, he began invading land in the rest of Europe, a creeping invasion that reminded Britain so much of how the Second World War began.

He hadn’t gotten further than Germany, and Oceania had promised to fight off the USSR, so Britain, in a desperate attempt to pretend like there was peace for as long as he could, let the organization take command of the fight against the USSR, despite his hesitations about them. 

Britain knew he would join the fight eventually. France had, the Netherlands had, Belgium had, and soon he would. 

He just wished that the peace had lasted a little longer. 

Britain returned his focus to his book. As he read, a strange feeling twinged at the back of his mind, but Britain ignored it. He was used to sensations traveling up the bonds he had with his colonies whenever they felt something particularly strong and had long trained himself to tune out the background noise.

Britain continued to read until suddenly, his peace was interrupted by a loud voice.

“What the fuck is this Britain?” Ireland’s voice practically snarled in his ear, sounding angrier than Britain had heard him in years. Britain’s head jerked upwards as he looked around the room.

“Ireland?” he asked before realizing that he was alone in his room and Ireland’s voice hadn’t come from the room.

It had come from within his own mind.

But…but that was impossible. Ireland’s connection had been (mostly) severed years ago. It shouldn’t be strong enough for Ireland to contact Britain without Britain initiating it.

“Ireland? How are you talking to me?” Britain asked, confused, as he bookmarked his place and placed his book on the table beside him.

“Don’t play dumb, Britain,” Ireland hissed, with a vitriol in his voice that Britain had never heard before. But, even with all the hate in his voice, Britain could detect a hint of betrayal in Ireland’s tone. Clearly, Britain had done something to hurt him greatly, but they hadn’t talked in the past month, and Britain had no idea what Ireland was referring to. 

“I’m not playing dumb, Ireland,” Britain said, his voice gentle, trying to prevent Ireland’s anger from worsening.

“Sure you aren’t,” Ireland snarked, “And I bet this entire thing wasn’t your idea.”

“What thing? Ireland, I have no idea what you’re referring to!” Britain exclaimed, frustrated. Why couldn’t Ireland just explain what he was so mad about? Ireland seemed to ignore his words as he began to angrily rant at Britain.

“Imagine my surprise when I saw the news and felt what happened. I had just become free, and now you force me under your thumb again? I thought…” Ireland’s voice trailed off as a pit grew in Britain’s stomach as he scrambled to turn on the news.

“I haven’t checked the news today,” Britain said, his voice deathly serious as his television turned on.

“And onto our major story of the night. Due to the tensions in Continental Europe with the ongoing war against the USSR, the military organization known as ‘Oceania’ has worked with the governments of the United Kingdom and Ireland to reunify the UK and Ireland back into one country, officially restoring the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.”

Britain let the newscaster's voice fade into the background as he tried to wrap his head around the information he had just received, a put sinking deep into his stomach.

“No one told me,” Britain told Ireland, his voice weak from shock. This was a significant governmental change he had been left out of. Why hadn’t he been told about this before? Why had Oceania been involved? The war wasn’t bad enough for all of this! Both Britain and Ireland were perfectly fine during the Second World War!

“No one told me either. I figured…” Ireland trained off, his voice less angry and more…panicked. Britain knew what the other man was going to say.

I figured you would have been involved.

Britain didn’t blame him. They didn’t have the best history.

“It seems like there was someone that was involved,” Britain commented, glaring at the television.

“Organizations shouldn’t have the power to do this. They shouldn’t have been able to realistically propose this idea, much less make it happen!” Ireland said. 

“Oceania had…seemed power-hungry, but…if this is their move, what’s the point of it?” Britain asked, more to himself than to Ireland.

“Come on, Britain. Don’t you remember when we first met Oceania? How they were so focused on you but acted as if I was some…annoyance they had to deal with. Especially when I questioned them. However, they did this…I…Britain, I think this was an attempt on my life. If you were normal, it would have worked,” Ireland said. Britain inhaled sharply as he reviewed his prior interactions with Oceania.

Surely they wouldn’t…

But nothing else made quite as much sense. But why would Oceania want Ireland dead? That was the real question. It seemed as if Oceania hated Ireland from the moment they met.

That meant there was something else going on. 

“We can’t fuse. If Oceania wants you dead, then I’m the best hope for us to get some answers out of them,” Britain said. 

“Of course, we aren’t fusing. I don’t care about what Oceania wants. I won my independence, and I refuse to lose it again. But…answers about what? Why they did this? Or why the news thinks our governments agreed to this?” Ireland asked bitterness in his voice.

“All of them.”

“And are you sure this is safe?” Ireland asked, the bitterness and panic fading to concern.

“I don’t think Oceania cares about our interests, but…they were unusually interested in my power. That makes me think they want me for something and clearly thought you might get in the way of that. Especially if they noticed I left after you did or how I kept pressuring them to acknowledge you. If they want to use or manipulate me, then getting you out of the way might help with that,” Britain reasoned.

“I was going to confront my government after talking to you, but…if Oceania really did somehow convince them and does want me dead…then I should lay low, just in case. Keep me updated,” Ireland said. 

“Of course,” Britain replied before sinking down into his chair.

Oceania was clearly interested in being more than a military organization. Now, it was just a question of how far they were willing to go to achieve their goals.

They had attempted to kill a personification if Ireland was truly right. They had united two countries against their will under the guise of “safety.” What else would they do under that ruse?

And why were they so interested in Britain’s power?

───────── 𓁺 ─────────

Britain did his best to avoid Oceania when he could. The organization’s ever-expanding power was becoming frightening, and yet no one in Britain’s government seemed to want to do anything about it.

“This is to protect us,” they would say, parroting the logic that Oceania tried to give. “Ireland doesn’t mind rejoining your country. He knows this is for the best.”

Britain knew from his few telepathic conversations with Ireland that Ireland hated this union as much as Britain did. It was odd that an attempt to force them together did unite them but united them against the union.

They still avoided crossing paths, trying to put distance between them to prevent anyone from finding out that Ireland hadn’t actually fused with Britain. They weren’t sure what would happen if anyone found out, but based on the way Oceania talked, they had assumed they had already fused, and if they found out that Ireland was refusing too, Britain knew that Oceania would make him.

Oceania had made it clear to him that they didn’t want Ireland alive.

“I know you must have been close, but this is for the betterment of both your people. Ireland would have agreed with me. I know it might be hard for you, but this is for the best. You need to look after his people now,” Oceania had said.

Empty words. Just lies meant to appease someone Oceania saw as a grieving man.

It was disgusting.

Britain hated Oceania, but he was still under their protection, and because of how the war was going, Britain couldn’t risk losing that. 

It was a devastating war, worse than the Second World War. After Oceania had forced Ireland and Britain’s countries together, there had been nuclear strikes by the USSR, now called Eurasia, and more countries had fallen, and Britain had been sent to continental Europe to fight.

The only ones left aside from Britain and Ireland were France, Spain, Andorra, and Portugal. And France had gone missing a week before.

Britain knew that she was probably captured. He knew he might never see the women he knew again, as all the countries Eurasia had taken over had not been seen since. Britain still fought on the frontlines in her country anyway. 

Maybe he would see her again, maybe he wouldn’t. 

There were others to protect and little time to mourn. 

But…Britain decided to try something that was a little bit risky. He had to see if he could find France before they withdrew again. He had to just check that she wasn’t close enough to be saved.

Britain would have never forgiven himself if he discovered he had abandoned the women he—if he had abandoned France when he had the chance to save her.

Britain had been slowly creeping through a devastated town, one that had long been abandoned, when he heard a guttural scream come from one of the buildings. It didn’t sound like France…but it sounded familiar. 

Britain had to check it out. If it was an ally, they couldn’t risk leaving them behind.

As he crept into the abandoned house, the screaming continued, this time accompanied by moans and soft voices. They were the voices of many people, and Britain tightened his grip on his gun.

It seemed as if he had come across some sort of interrogation center, some area where people were presumably being tortured for information. If Britain had allies here, it was good to get them out if he could.

The sound seemed to be coming from a basement area, and Britain silently crept down, trying to block out the cacophony of pained sounds so he could focus on the rescue mission.  

But when he entered the basement, he didn’t see anyone. Yet the sounds continued, and they were louder than ever, so Britain knew he had to be close.

He crept forward, walking to the shelf that seemed to divide the basement. If someone were in here, they must be behind it, hiding them from anyone who came down.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

Bile rose up in his throat as Britain was overwhelmed by panic and horror, a stark, all-encompassing emotion that overwhelmed him.

For standing in front of him were the captured nations of Europe.

Twisted and broken into the form of a beast.

The creature they had become was a mess of hands and faces, the faces of the countries Britain knew. The faces were where the sounds were coming from, guttural screams of pain and soft murmurs that he couldn’t make out.

It was horrific. It wasn’t natural.

For this to have happened, Eurasia had to have forced them into this amalgamation of pain and suffering.

And there, sandwiched between two hands, was the face of France, eyes closed as she screamed.

Britain began shaking as he took a step back, tears burning in his eyes.

“No,” he muttered softly, staring up at France. It had only been a week. Had she been trapped in this hell the entire time? Why hadn’t Britain done more to help her, protect her? If he had gotten to her sooner, could he have saved her from this fate?

Guilt mixed with the horror and fear, and Britain fought even harder to keep himself from throwing up.

The creature made of Europe noticed him and crept closer, moving in jerky, uncoordinated movements that surely came from the sheer number of nations that had been forced together. There was probably no center mind to control them and no way for them to coordinate action.

Britain took a step back, feeling his back hit the wall.

Shit. He was in too much of an enclosed space to properly deal with this…this creature. Even if they had enough cognizance to recognize Britain, he didn’t feel safe without ample space to run if something went wrong.

He was European, after all. He wasn’t going to fall prey to the creature. 

Britain took a small step to the side, but before he could start running towards the stairs, the creature lurched, flailing as the faces screamed, the body slamming into the shelf in the center of the room, sending it flying and blocking off Britain’s ability to run.

Britain froze before turning to the creature, which had gotten itself under control and was moving towards him again.

“France? Italy? Greece?” Britain tried, “Can any of you hear me?”

The only response he got were pained screams and mutterings.

But knowing that two of his colonies had been captured by Eurasia, Britain decided to try something else. 

“Malta? Cyprus?”

The answer he received was a wave of pain and misery that overwhelmed Britain, forcing him to his knees as he gripped his head in pain, gun abandoned in front of him. 

He was screaming.

Then there were hands on him—dozens of them—gripping him and pulling him closer to the creature, his body going numb as the pain and misery in his mind grew tenfold, a blinding pain that drowned out all thought.

“We need more, we need more, we need more.”

Whispers echoed in his mind, and Britain felt his body growing numb, hands falling limp to his side as tears rolled down his face.

The pain reached an overwhelming climax before suddenly it was over.

Britain’s head was foggy, but he still felt like he was in his own body, as he could feel it trembling.

Britain opened his eyes.

He was inside a tent, lying on a cot. He tried to sit up, but his shaking body made that difficult. But Britain eventually was able to sit up and look around, seeing Oceania in front of him, back turned as the organization did…did something. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words escaped, as instead, bile rose in his throat, and Britain quickly closed his mouth to keep it from escaping.

Oceania then turned, their face lightening up as they saw Britain.

“Oh, it’s great that you are awake. I rescued you from that thing, and I was worried it had done permanent damage,” they said, walking over to stand beside Britain, whose head was spinning.

Oceania had saved him. As much as Britain disliked them, he knew he owned them for this. He would…if he hadn’t been saved, he would have…

Britain tried to put the thought from his mind as silent tears rolled down his face. Oceania wrapped an arm around Britain’s shaking body.

“Shhh. It’s okay. I’m sending you back to London. We can’t risk that happening again. You are far too precious,” Oceania said. Almost unwillingly, Britain leaned into the embrace, too frazzled and horrified to say anything.

The image of the creature and the feeling of their pain echoed in his mind. He could hear France screaming in agony and pain.

Britain pitched forward and threw up.

───────── 𓁺 ─────────

Britain hated being treated like a helpless damsel. He hated being locked away because Oceania didn’t think it was “safe” for him to be out in public. 

It was humiliating in a way. Just because Britain had almost been integrated into that…that thing didn’t mean he was incapable of fighting. All other European countries (aside from Ireland, who was still in hiding) were still fighting despite the danger, and it made Britain feel ashamed. 

Speaking of Ireland, the man had been a comfort during Britain’s isolation, providing him with a companion and news of what was happening in the outside world.

No matter how troubling it might have been. 

Ireland warned that Oceania was taking more power and was less like an organization and more like a country, treating Britain’s government as if it were a provincial one. He warned of increasing censorship, and a new figure known only as “Big Brother” appearing in the news as some great leader.

Nothing seemed to scare Ireland more than the increased use of cameras in public spaces, cameras that were used by the government to watch the populace. 

Ireland had to flee to the countryside to avoid it, and Britain’s limited information became more limited. 

He was scared.

Ireland was, too. Britain had told them of the beast that the captured nations of Europe had become (leaving out the fact that he had almost become integrated, something that Ireland seemed to realize anyway), and Ireland had been almost as horrified as Britain.

“The world is changing, and not in a good way. I only hope we can survive until better times,” Ireland had said. Britain wasn’t sure if he meant “we” as in the two of them or “we” as in all countrypeople.

Britain wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

He hated it. He hated it all. He had never felt so helpless before.

Oceania’s presence didn’t help.

As if they had been summoned, the door to his prison, for that’s what this room was, opened, and Oceania walked in. 

“Airstrip One!” Oceania said cheerily, the new name they had “given” Britain falling off their tongue with ease. 

“Oceania,” Britain replied, having gotten into far too many arguments about the name and knowing that it was better to leave it alone. “What do you want?”

“Well, I know you want to do something to contribute to the war effort since I don’t want to risk losing you to that beast, so I have developed a plan that will allow you to help,” Oceania said, clasping their hands together.

“What is it?” Britain asked, knowing it was better to figure out the details before agreeing to anything Oceania had planned.

“Follow me, and I can show you,” Oceania said, walking out of the room with a wave of their hand. Frowning slightly, Britain followed, eyes flickering to the two soldiers that stood outside the door. As Britain exited the room, they began following the two countryhumans.

Britain’s frown deepened. It seemed Oceania didn’t want Britain to flee. 

They walked through many hallways before Oceania opened the door to a room, gesturing for Britain to walk inside. Britain paused, eyes flickering to the open door and then to Oceania’s face before one of the soldiers pushed him toward the open door.

Knowing he had no choice, Britain walked inside. 

Inside the room was a chair, a chair that was surrounded by a great mess of machines and technology, and a small cot that had loose wires, live ends exposed to the world, handing on a small pole beside it. There were two men in lab coats by the cot, quietly talking to each other, a small table beside them containing what looked like surgical tools.

Concern swirled in Britain’s stomach.

“It’s a machine,” Britain said, turning to Oceania for an explanation.

“A machine specifically designed for you,” Oceania answered. Britain’s eyes narrowed.

“How?” he asked.

“Well, you see, the war effort has been hampered by spies within our country—”

“Our country?” Britain asked. It seemed Ireland was right about Oceania trying to become a country.

“Your country,” Oceania corrected, annoyance in their voice, “regardless, my people and I realized that your powers would be perfect for helping us detect spies and ensuring that people remain loyal.”

Britain immediately shook his head, taking a step back.

“I can’t do that. That’s a violation of trust I can’t do. And…I can’t…I can’t keep track of everyone and tell you about it. That's too much,” he said. Oceania frowned but gestured to the machine around them.

“That’s what this little machine is for. It will help you to channel your powers and allow us to help monitor what you see and hopefully expand your powers as well,” Oceania said, a salesman-like pitch in their voice. Britain shook his head again.

“No.” Oceania’s face hardened.

“That wasn’t an offer. It was an order,” they said, and the two soldiers beside Britain grabbed him, forcing Britain to his knees as Britain fought against them. Oceania gestured to one of the men in a lab coat, who came over, syringe in his hand. 

“Hold it’s head still,” the man said, and the guards obligated, holding Britain’s head in place as Britain fought against them.

The syringe was cold as the man inserted it into Britain’s neck, and the drug burned as it entered his system, as Britain did his best to fight off whatever it was. Unexpectedly, he didn’t feel tired, and that’s what scared Britain the most. 

Why wasn’t he feeling the effects of the drug if it was meant to incapacitate him?

Then, slowly, he began to feel it. A tingling sensation in his nerves that slowly spread, turning into a dull numbness. And as Britain fought against his captors, he felt himself grow weaker, the numbness locking up his muscles and leaving him incapable of movement.

The drugs weren't meant to knock him out. 

They were meant to paralyze him.

“Fuck you,” Britain uttered through numb lips, glaring at the floor as his muscles had locked up too much for him to look up at Oceania. Oceania tutted their tongue.

“This is for the greater good,” they said. “Begin the operation. The sooner we have it operational, the better.”

The guards lifted Britain’s paralyzed body onto the cot, holding him upright as the men in lab coats—who must be doctors—prepared tools.

Britain fought to move his body, to do anything, but nothing responded. He was a prisoner in his own mind as Oceania prepared to do god knows what to him.

“Oceania is planning something with my telepathy. Don’t contact me. We can’t have them finding out,” Britain said to Ireland before doing his best to weaken their mental connection. He had no idea if Oceania would even be able to find it, but one of them needed to stay free. 

One of the doctors then approached Britain with a scalpel, grabbing his arm and pulling it closer before making a small cut near his wrist.

It didn’t hurt. Britain had expected the cut to hurt, but it didn’t. It must have been the drug that injected him with, and Britain mentally gave God his thanks for the small mercy.

Oceania’s hand was tangled in his hair as the doctors went to work, making cuts on his arms and the back of his neck. While still paralyzed, Britain was breathing heavier, and he felt terror rising up within him.

What were they doing?

One of the doctors then grabbed a wire, the biggest and the thickest, from the small pole beside the cot, and Britain felt his terror grow as he realized what they were doing as the doctor walked behind him, over to the cut on his neck.

They were going to put that inside of him.

The wire was then inserted, and Britain could feel the uncomfortable sensation of something being messed with on his back. The numbness was more unnerving than any pain.

Then, his mind was filled with an electrifying sensation, and Britain felt as if he had been forcefully ejected from his body, feeling as if his mind was in so many places at once.

He was in London with friends, then in Belfast proposing to a lover, and Britain then realized his mind was being split between so many of his people as the wire’s signal seemed to root through his mind.

If Britain was able to move, he knew he would be arching his back from the pain—the sensations overwhelming him and consuming his mind with visions and sensations. He was hot and cold and everything all at once, and it made his mind burn.

He couldn’t tell what his mind was and what the minds of his people were, and he felt consumed by panic as his mind just tried to get away, to leave, to turn off his powers, to return to his body.

He remained in that agonizing limbo until he felt his mind shut down, everything going dark.

[captaincorgi128]

On Christmas Day of 2018, I received a paperback copy of George Orwell's 1984. I was 12 years old.

I remember the adults - aunts and uncles, parents, grandparents, looking at me cautiously, as if they had handed me a live bomb rather than a book. "That's a very intense book, okay?" my father told me. "If you want, we can talk about it after you read it." 12-year-old me, with only a dim idea of what fascism actually was and an insatiable appetite for books, only nodded.

While my younger cousins and sister played with their new toys, I sat on the couch and read the book in one sitting. When I finished, I looked up to see the adults staring at me with a strange sort of fascination. "Do you want to talk about it?" my father asked.

"No." I shrugged and turned away.

The truth was, I had been expecting a happy ending. Winston Smith was the good guy, wasn't he? Why didn't he win? Evil governments always lost in the end, didn't they? How could Winston have been brainwashed into believing such an evil, awful dictatorship was truly great? After all, when my middle school history teachers talked about dictatorships, those of Hitler and Stalin, it was obvious that they were the worst of the worst. No one actually agreed with them, did they?

Then I remembered my fourth grade class talking about the upcoming election, laughing about how obviously stupid Trump's wall idea was, and how strange it felt to hear someone say Clinton was worse. I don't remember his reasoning, but I distinctly remember thinking it was dumb because what could be dumber than a giant wall around Mexico? I remembered my grandmother arguing against vaccinating children, and I remembered flat Earthers I had seen online. That day was the first time it clicked for me: people believe what they want to believe.

The years passed. I read 1984 again, and again, and again. I watched as Trump shut down the government for sake of a temper tantrum, as he was impeached, as he told Americans to inject bleach, as he politicized a pandemic and let thousands die. I didn't know about his SA scandals. I didn't know he had called Mexicans "thieves and rapists." I just knew he could not be allowed to be president again.

Yet, when 2020 rolled around, I was only 14 years old and could not vote. I settled for watching anxiously as the votes came in - I didn't know much about Joe Biden, but he was clearly a better alternative. He actually believed the COVID-19 pandemic was real, for one. So I sighed in relief as the results came through four days later: Joe Biden had been elected president of the United States.

I kept watching. I watched as Trump incited insurrection, as terrorists stormed the Capitol. I stared in horror at the TV. How could this have happened? How were so many people so delusional?

In December 2021, for my sophomore year English class, I read 1984 again. I thought of January 6th.

My classmates thought it boring, confusing, stupid. It didn't make sense. What did it matter? Who cared whether or not we knew the significance of the character of O'Brien?

I kept watching. The summer before my junior year of high school, just before I entered a relationship with my now-partner, Roe v. Wade was overturned, and I felt a sinking pit in my stomach. Six months later, a friend of mine read 1984 for that same English class, and he loved it - we had a few intense study hall discussions about the nature of doublespeak, of totalitarianism, of a surveillance state. My partner agreed, reading it with a terrified fascination.

I kept watching. I realized I was nonbinary, and I watched in horror as the Republican Party made their creeping advances to eradicate trans rights. Idly, I reread 1984. What the right wanted did seem a lot like Oceania's government, didn't it? I wondered if I'd ever be able to marry my partner, who, despite also being trans, was still the same sex as me. If Trump ran again, he'd probably win, and then what would we do?

Then, 2024. Trump won the primaries in a landslide. I turned 18 and registered to vote. In the meantime, I skimmed Project 2025's bits about banning pornography and thought of 1984 and its carefully curated sexless society, created to achieve perfect complacency. I went off to college and voted absentee, carefully bubbling in the circle next to Vice President Kamala Harris's name. I woke up on Wednesday, November 6th to see Trump had won the presidency.

It has been one week. Again, I watch as Trump proposes a Department of Government Efficiency, which sounds euphemistically horrific. I watch as he suggests Musk to head it, a man known for being as inefficient as possible. I think of the Ministry of Truth and how its entire purpose was to disseminate lies. I watch as people celebrate, mocking me and many others who had desperately voted against a fascist, a rapist, a convicted criminal, a man who would kill us and spit on our graves if he was elected to office. I think of Parsons and duckspeak, the practice of simply spitting out the "correct" propaganda the same way a duck quacked. People really did believe what they wanted to believe, didn't they? I realize Trump won because, deep down, people hated minorities more than they loved democracy.

I hope my loved ones and I will survive another Trump presidency. I hope those in Gaza and Ukraine will survive it too, along with so many others - Jews, POC, immigrants, students, disabled, Muslims. At the very least, I hope to live long enough to watch as the bigots are forced to eat their own words and come to terms with the fact they gleefully voted in their own downfall.

At the end of the day, 1984 taught me something I could not have comprehended at age 12, 14, 15, or 16, but can understand now: democracy dies not with a bang, but with a whimper.

[starboysnooke]

ok maybe people have talked about this before but what if the book from bsd is supposed to parallel the book from 1984? in british literature class, we just started reading 1984, and upon reading the first chapter, i noticed some similarities between the two books (spoiler alert for bsd and 1984)

the most obvious thing is that both books have no name, both just referred to as "the book"

another similarity is that both books have the power, or goal, to change humanity/society because of the people who have/want possession of it. in 1984, the brotherhood is writing the book to break down or change the oceania society. in bsd, fyodor and the decay of angels want to write in the book to change humanity to something better

also 1984 is a british book, and the british have a bit of great significance in the bsd universe (as seen in stormbringer, 55 minutes, and dead apple)

anyway yeah i just made that connection while reading 1984 and thought it was interesting :P

[wearepaladin]

I have a concept for you, as an attempt to make CG paladins a thing.

an Oath of Joy. likely paladins in less... benevolent kingdoms, think oceania of 1984 fame, those who chose this oath are dedicated to the concept of keeping one's spirits up, preventing hope from directly being crushed by using their antics to ward despair off.

if they get big enough in a kingdom to take it out. they don't directly go back to being peasants, though seeing them working the fields again after is common. more so most return to their roots and prevent such an soul sucking dictatorship from rising again, or take the role of bards and jeaters to inspire others to become the heroes to prevent such disaster happening again.

sound good?

It does. The best character I think to emulate this role would have been Jester CR if they took paladin instead of Cleric levels. Weaponized Joy is practically a spell of theirs.