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today I saw a pair of fellow tumblrinas (gender neutral) arguing over how fuckable roboute guilliman is. now, I think every person should be allowed to decide a blorbo’s fuckability for themselves. however, a blorbo’s knowledge of sex should be derived from their lore. roboute guilliman is a micromanaging administrator. this man has definitely written multiple sex ed courses, concocted safe sex campaigns, and very possibly distributed flavored condoms. forget about your fuckability debates and please take a moment to imagine THIS guy
telling you to Wrap It Up to prevent space aids or whatever
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it would suck being a new immortal. like it’d be 2109 and people would go, “what was it like seeing ancient civilizations rise and fall like that? seeing the pyramids being built? watching the expansion and growth of the new world?” and i’d just be like, “no…no i was born in 1991. so like, wow i’m gonna see some cool stuff, but, i mean i’m not that much older than just a really, really old person, you know? phones were big back then. so big. but only for like ten years, then they got like, as good as they are now. uh. rhinos existed. don’t think i ever saw one in person. cool, good talk.”
even worse, imagine being an immortal who keeps missing stuff. “What was it like seeing the pyramids being built?”
“Fuck if I know, I was in Madagascar.”
“Oh, okay. Well, how was the Renaissance?”
“I fell down a hole in Scotland and people thought I was an enchanted well for four hundred years, it was over by the time I convinced someone to get me out.”
We barely know anything about Madagascar pre-500CE. We don’t even know whether the island had a permanent population before then, despite finding a bunch of much older signs of temporary human presence.
Malagasy mythology makes mention of the vazimba, a “precursor” ethnic group that might or might not be distinct from Madagascar’s current population.
The point is, we do not know.
So you were in Madagascar when the pyramids were being built in Egypt, i.e. during one of the most obscure, most undocumented parts of Madagascar’s human history?
Oh, buddy, you better go and make a bunch of anthropologists and archeologists really happy RIGHT NOW instead of feeling bad about missing everyone else’s pet Major Event.
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I like the idea in fantasy that humans are better at maintaining things long term because they set up societies or professions to do it whereas dwarves and elves and stuff are like “just get bob to do it he’s got a good few hundred years left” and then bob doesn’t teach anyone else how to do it
Human: Wait that’s why there’s ruins of elven cities even though you live for so long? You just keep not asking people how to do things? How do you learn anything?
Elf: There’s a lot of “you’ve got time to figure it out on your own” attitudes floating around in our society that I’m starting to question somewhat.
Elf: Impossible! Those metalworking techniques were lost a hundred years ago!
Human: What do you mean lost? My great-grandmother learned to make these swords from an elven smith, then taught it to her kids.
Elf: That's ridiculous. No elf would give such secrets to a human.
Human: They didn't. Meemaw delivered the metal to the forge, and no one kicked her out when she stayed and watched. She always said they barely acknowledged her even when doing business with her, like she wasn't worth noticing.
Elf: Come to think of it, my great-uncle always was rather single-minded when he started working.
Human: So he wasn't ignoring her, he just forgot she was there?
Elf: Oh, he was definitely ignoring her, too. He was super racist.
This could either be a primarch x reader, or an emperor x reader. Hang with me for a sec-
Something happens and you end up in a world that's kind of familiar, but you can't place it. You find yourself the child of a noble, and are given all kinds of riches. You think you surely must be in a fantasy novel you read, like in all those other fantasy novels you've read.
You decide to just go with it. Clearly you're some background extra that doesn't matter to the story, otherwise you'd remember things better. It was fine, no big deal. You were living in luxury, and your family took care of you, so cool. You embrace your new life as best you can, understanding that there is probably no way back home. You mourn, but you move on.
You live like this for a few years, eventually giving up figuring out where exactly you were. It didn't really matter, it wasn't like you were in danger.
But one morning, you wake to find your household in an uproar. Servants scramble around, your parents in full panic mode. You ask your father what's going on.
"We got a message from the king this morning- The Emperor and his sons are visiting, and we have been chosen to house them. We must make everything perfect, and we don't have long!"
Unease shudders through you. You have a king, but also an emperor? Your father must have misspoken in his rush. This Emperor was surely from a neighboring country. Regardless, you understand now why everyone is so on edge.
You offer whatever you can to help, as is your duty, and spend the next few days rushing around and preparing for your illustrious guests. But that sense of wrongness never leaves you, an anxiety like none other making you feel sick.
When the day comes for the Emperor and his sons to arrive, you put on some fine clothes, and plaster a polite expression on your face despite how badly you want to vomit. Everything was going to be fine, you were going to meet these people, they were going to stay a while, then they would leave and you could return to your life. Easy peasy, you could do this.
That is, until a man you've only ever seen in artwork from your former life steps into your home.
He's massive, and more beautiful than any artist has ever given full credit, with a kind of glow that makes him both ethereal and utterly terrifying. At his side are two men- his sons- nearly as large as him, and beautiful in their own individual rights.
It's then that you understand where you are. You are in the grimdark future your cheating ex boyfriend had once laid on your bed and talked about for hours while you listened because you loved him and thought he loved you. You'd had figures you painted with him in your old room, and hadn't been able to throw them away once you learned the truth.
You try to hold your mask of calm nobility, silently hoping they don't look at you closely enough to see the cracks. But they do. Of course they do. And suddenly, you have the unwanted attention of very powerful, frightening men, and have to figure out how to survive their extended visit.
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Imagine that one day as you're walking on a hot sunny path, your hat jumps off your head and lands into a muddy ditch. And you look at your muddy hat and ask it: "What did you do that for?"
"I don't want to be a burden anymore", your hat answers. "You are always carrying me around, and I can't carry you. That's not fair."
"I don't mind carrying you, little idiot", you tell your hat, "you hardly weight anything at all, and you shelter me from the sun."
"But that's different", your hat protests. "I don't mind the sun scorching on me. That happens anyway. It's literally no trouble for me to shade you too."
"Just the same it's no trouble for me to carry you. But now, because you wanted to stop inconveniencing and bothering me, I am now hatless and you are in the dirt."
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