#none of this modernized present day nonsense

[bapple117]

Memory Reboot - A One-Sided Radiostatic One-Shot (Vox x Alastor)

Third person - Fluff, Pining, Angst - mild adult references

~ A03 Link ~ text is also included below after the break ~ excuse the crappy art ~

Summary: Every now and then, Vox allows himself a trip down memory lane; back to when he and Alastor were good friends. This night, Vox rediscovers an old bit of memorabilia that has him reminiscing, all about one night when he and the Radio Demon shared a drink or two. The memory is a bittersweet reminder of what could have been, and what almost happened; lips meeting for the sweetest of stolen moments.

---------------------------------

Vox stumbles into his room, clumsy and heavy with drink. He bashes his head into the door as it rebounds; groaning, he rubs at his screen with a grimace. 

Drinking alone is always a bad idea. With the other two Vees both out for the night, Vox had allowed himself a little more stalking than he usually does; drinking in his surveillance room, watching and rewatching clips of the Radio Demon going about his day. It’s obsessive; Vox knows it is. He still can’t help himself. 

He teeters wildly on his legs now, looking through his belongings for some painkillers for the inevitable screen-ache he’ll have in the morning; where the fuck are they?!

Not a single drawer he searches yields any results. Vox tosses items left and right, searching through masses of cables and piles of clothes. He rifles through his bathroom cabinet, knocking down an assortment of pill bottles in the process; none of them what he needs right now.

“Fuck my life,” the Television Demon mutters to himself. 

On his hands and knees, he pulls out a bottom drawer from a huge dresser. Vox moves sloppily with inebriation as he pilfers through all the junk and bric-a-brac. And then - his hand is on something that feels familiar yet forgotten all at once. Vox pulls it out; and there it is.

His electric heart shudders within his chest. 

The tiny die-cast CRT TV model that Alastor had gifted to him years ago. So many years ago. So long ago, in-fact, that when Alastor had presented Vox with this small model, it had been exactly what Vox’s own head had looked like. A chunky, heavy, 70s television. Long outdated technology, these days, of course; Vox has upgraded several times over the years since then. 

Vox can hardly believe his tired eyes; it’s been years since he thought about this. He remembers the night Alastor gave it to him all too well - too painfully well. Vox sighs; his sadness threatening to leak into the forefront of his drink-weakened mind. 

The search for the painkillers now given up on and forgotten, Vox crawls to his bed and lays on it in the dark, the small metal totem still in his hand. Neon lights from the city outside dance and skitter on the walls. Vox stares at the ceiling. 

He can’t help himself; the memory begins to play in his mind, like an old VHS recording, discovered and dusty. Vox usually represses these memories, but for some reason, he allows this one to consume his thoughts this night. He drifts off into it; a broken heart indulging itself despite the pain. 

---------------------------------

It’s the past. Long, long ago; some time in the 1970s. Vox is drinking with Alastor - the Radio Demon, his friend. They are drinking together in Alastor’s old apartment, sharing each other’s company in the easy way that they used to. The apartment is full of antique furniture and vintage radio paraphernalia; Vox has been here many times, and yet he always eyes Alastor’s decor with the same dry observations. 

“You really need to get with the times, Al,” Vox says. “Get some more modern stuff.”

The Television Demon gawks at himself in an ornate mirror on the wall; his on-screen features blink back at him, set in his wide CRT TV head. 

“Nonsense,” Alastor calls from the kitchen. “There’s nothing wrong with my decor choices. Some things never go out of style.”

Vox huffs in amusement to himself. Secretly, he adores Alastor’s presentation. Vox looks up to the Radio Demon; he admires him. Vox wants to be just like Alastor, really. Powerful, respected, smart, classy. Alastor is everything Vox wants to be. At this point in time, Vox is a much weaker Overlord than Alastor, having only been in Hell for less than twenty years. It’s never an issue between them, of course, but Vox knows he is inferior. One day, he’ll be better. 

The Television Demon joins his friend in the kitchen then; Alastor is pouring new glasses of drink for them. Something expensive. 

“Woah,” Vox says, laughing. “What are we celebrating?”

“Well, I was wondering when you’d ask,” Alastor says sassily. “I took down another one of my rivals today.”

Vox blinks. His screen buzzes. 

“Another Overlord?” He asks, both impressed and appalled. 

Alastor nods, pleased. 

“Don’t look so surprised,” Alastor says, grinning. “It was no effort at all, really. Hardly worth you looking so gormless over. What fun it was though!”

Vox laughs nervously. 

“Well, uh, that’s great, Al!” He says, accepting the drink. “You gotta promise not to ever try and take me down like that though, huh?”

It’s a weak joke; both demons know that it stinks of a true fear. Alastor scoffs. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Vox,” the Radio Demon says. “How long have we known each other now, hmm?”

Vox scans his memories to try and answer accurately.

“Uhhh… Well years,” he says. “Almost two decades.”

“Exactly. And have I ever once betrayed you?” Alastor asks, gesturing for them to sit at the table. 

Vox follows Alastor’s lead and sits. 

“I guess not,” Vox says. 

The two demons sit in silence for a while; which is odd, given how prone to idle conversation they both usually are. Alastor hums along to a jazz tune playing in the background; Vox fiddles with his glass.

Alastor is deep in contented thought; eyes closed, a red claw tapping at the table to the rhythm of the song. Vox takes a gulp of his drink, still not knowing what it is; his question is answered as soon as it hits his throat. Some kind of very strong spiced rum, neat on ice. The Television Demon coughs a little, white noise filling the silence. Alastor grins. 

Vox looks up at his friend then; sees his smile. His own grin creeps up on to his screen. How simple it is between them; how easy it’s always been. Just the two of them. Alastor doesn’t have many friends; Vox is honoured to be one of them. Friends. Vox wishes they were so much more. 

“You know,” Vox says then, staring at his drink. “We could be something. Together, I mean.”

Alastor’s neck snaps a little as his head twitches to the side in confusion. 

“Something?” 

Vox hastens to clarify. 

“You know. A team. Take down Overlords together,” he says. 

Alastor seems to genuinely consider this for a moment; he drifts away into the thought of it. Vox lets himself hope for a second; his hopes are dashed just as quickly. 

“Hmm,” Alastor says. “You know me, though! I prefer to work solo.”

Vox slumps a little. His work shirt sleeves are rolled up messily; one begins to loosen from its turn-up, so he focuses on re-rolling it. 

“I know,” he says. “Doesn’t it ever get lonely, though?”

“I don’t think so,” Alastor says, amused. 

“Oh.”

The Radio Demon ponders this for a beat longer; he senses he has insulted his friend somehow. This is meant to be a nice evening celebrating his latest victory; Alastor supposes he should show a little courtesy to keep things jovial. 

“I suppose it does, sometimes,” Alastor says. 

Vox feels his inner wiring twisting in his abdomen. 

“Oh?”

Alastor rolls his eyes; must he elaborate?

“Well, I suppose having more allies couldn’t hurt,” he says. 

“Oh, well,” Vox says. “I could… I could be that for you?”

Alastor grins. 

“In your current state, I feel you may not be of any use to me, Vox old pal,” Alastor teases. “Come back to me when you’re stronger, hmm?”

The Radio Demon knocks playfully on the side of Vox’s clunky CRT head; it echoes within him. Vox knows that Alastor only means this as a cheeky gibe between friends; it wounds him all the same. 

Vox lets out a nervous laugh as response and tries to conceal the hurt.

The night is salvaged somewhat; the two demons continue to drink into the early hours. They chat, they listen to music, they share stories about various occurrences in Hell. Despite the fact they are undying souls in burning eternity, they are also both something else; two beings who both died as young men, now frozen in time. 

Alastor isn’t who he’ll truly be just yet; neither is Vox. In this memory, they are their younger, slightly sweeter selves. It’s enough to make present-day Vox cry with how much he’d give anything to have those days back. 

Towards the end of the night, the two demons sit side by side together, wasted. They use the sofa as a backrest as they sit sloppily on the floor. Vox hiccups and it sounds like a channel being changed; Alastor laughs.

“You know,” the Radio Demon starts. “I do enjoy these little chats of ours, despite our conflicting technology.”

Vox is giddy; he nods, eager. 

“One day I’m gonna be great, Al,” Vox says, suddenly. “I’m gonna build an empire. It’s gonna be huge.”

Alastor smiles; it’s the soft, fond smile of a friend humouring someone. 

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Vox says, slurring slightly. “And I’ll be as strong as you - no! - even stronger.” 

Alastor is laughing; genuine and warm. Vox grins wide at the sound of it. 

“I’ll take over all of Hell!” Vox says, clenching a fist. 

Alastor chuckles. 

“Hm. That sounds nice,” he says, drunk and feeling it. 

“Well,” Vox starts. “You’ll be there with me, right?”

Alastor quirks his head. 

“Will I?”

“Sure! We’ll do it together,” Vox says, wicked intent on his screened features. “We’ll rule Hell together. No fucker will cross us with our combined skills.”

Alastor is giggling; Vox wants to climb into the sound of it and live there. 

“Well, that is a lofty concept, to be sure,” Alastor says. “But it is pleasing, I have to admit. You truly do get some devious ideas don’t you?”

“Fuck yeah I do!” Vox says, delighted. 

Alastor smiles to himself, looking away. 

“Well, if that ever comes to fruition, you can count on me being there,” he says.

“Yeah?!” Vox is beaming. “I can’t wait for what the future brings, Al. This old thing will be the first to get an upgrade, that’s for sure.”

Vox taps his own head; even now in the late 70s, his TV set head is looking a bit vintage. Vox just needs to wait for Earth technology to advance and filter down; he can’t wait to be better. Stronger. Faster. Alastor tenses as a thought seems to come to him.

“That reminds me!” The Radio Demon says. “I have something for you.”

Alastor retrieves something from his pocket and hands it to a captivated Vox; it's a tiny metal die-cast model of a Sony Triniton KV-1820UB television set. It looks just like Vox’s current head. 

“Here you are,” Alastor says, pleased with himself. 

Vox is enamoured; the Radio Demon doesn’t do gifts. This is special; it means Vox is special. 

“Al, I don’t know what to say,” Vox says, his nerves alive and crackling. “I can’t believe you got this for me… I love it.”

Alastor grins wide. 

“I got one for me, too,” he says, holding up a tiny model of an old radio. “I found a charming boutique selling all kinds of little novelties. Aren’t they fun?”

Vox is astonished; not only did Alastor get him a gift, he got one for himself to match. This surely is symbolic? Vox’s receivers are scrabbling to interpret the signals Alastor is giving off. 

“Wow, yeah, that’s uh… That’s cute, Al,” Vox says, shakily. “It’s not like you to give gifts.”

Alastor laughs. 

“Well. My conquest today put me in an especially good mood, I suppose,” he says. 

Vox nods. 

“Thank you, Al,” he says, screen blinking. “I will treasure this. I mean it.”

Alastor’s quota for sincerity has reached its limit; eager to return the conversation to playful jibes and gossip, the Radio Demon scoffs. Vox grins; he knows Alastor hates to be perceived as kind, despite the fact he can be. Vox shoves himself into Alastor’s shoulder in a playful bump.

“You’re goin’ soft on me, old man,” Vox jokes; Alastor pretends to be aghast. 

“Old man?” He scorns. “How dare you, Vox. I only died two decades before you and we were both more or less the same age at death. Watch your tongue.”

Vox chuckles to himself. The two demons sit together for a little while longer in peaceful quiet; Vox’s mind is full of static. He’s processing, thinking. Vox has tried to broach this topic before, but he can’t help himself; he needs to push it again. 

“Hey, uh, Al?” He says. 

Alastor looks at him and hums an acknowledgement. Vox’s gaze shifts around nervously. 

“Do you remember that… conversation, we had a while ago?” Vox says. 

Alastor does remember; he pretends for now that he doesn’t. He shakes his head. Vox exhales shakily. 

“Look, I, uh… I know you don’t like talking about… feelings, and stuff, but…”

Alastor wants this nipped in the bud as soon as possible. 

“Is this about your infatuation, hmm?” The Radio Demon says, trying to sound casual about it. “I’ve told you Vox. It will pass, it’s just a-“

“No,” Vox says, urgent. “It won’t, Al, and you know it.”

Vox grabs Alastor’s hand; the Radio Demon doesn’t recoil. He lets his claws sit limply within Vox’s; a tiny concession for this display of vulnerability. And anyway; they’ve linked hands before, when dancing or fleeing a crime scene, or such. No big deal. Alastor sighs. 

“You know I can’t give you want you want,” he says, radio filter slipping away. “This is all I can give you. My time. My friendship, my consort to you as a fellow Overlord.”

Vox is exasperated. 

“Can’t you give me just a little bit more?” He asks.

Alastor avoids the Television Demon’s gaze. 

“I don’t think so,” he says. 

Vox grabs Alastor’s chin in his, then; pulling it in his direction to make Alastor look at him. 

“How do you know you won’t like it?” Vox says. “You’ve never even tried it.”

Alastor blushes at the sudden contact, the intrusiveness of it. He’s flustered simply because Vox is being so forward; any sign of aggressive intent is entertaining to Alastor, of course. 

“Why don’t you let me just try?” Vox says, his voice a thin whine.

“Vox, old friend, come on now-“

“Why won’t you let me just kiss you?” Vox whispers. “Please, Al.”

Alastor hesitates; if he relents, will it be enough to just shut Vox up about this once and for all? This topic cropping up every couple of years is getting tiresome. And... he does care about Vox. Alastor loves him, in his own way; platonic but true.

“Please, Al,” Vox murmurs, his eyes fixed on Alastor’s lips. “I’m begging you. I know it’ll feel right when it happens.”

Vox’s hand tightens around Alastor’s chin; he’s trying to pull him inwards. Alastor’s heart rate quickens; annoyingly. He’s a deer in headlights; drunk and unsure how to retaliate. Vox is closing the distance between their faces; Alastor can feel their hot breath exchanging in the small gap between their mouths. 

Alastor’s ears are flat against his head; Vox is staring at his lips.

“Please,” he whispers again. 

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Alastor whispers back. 

“Please,” Vox begs, desperate. 

Alastor huffs in defeat, and Vox knows he has won. Vox leans in and presses his screen to Alastor’s mouth; for a moment, the Radio Demon is rigid. But then… his mouth is moving; Vox is elated. Alastor is relenting. Vox cannot believe it. Alastor is kissing him back; his hand at the edge of Vox’s screen. Their mouths move together quickly, the taste of rum amongst it all. Vox's mind is awash with joy.

Yes, YES. Fucking YES! This is it, this is IT! 

Vox moans into Alastor’s mouth; he risks letting his tongue breech Alastor’s lips, tries sticking it down Alastor’s throat - 

Alastor pulls away; Vox is devastated. Too far. 

“Hmm!” Alastor says, recovering, trying to sound light-hearted. “No, still not for me, I don’t think.”

Vox is panting, red in the screen. He’s hard; of course he is. Vox’s eyes dart all over Alastor, looking for signs - proof that he did like it. 

“No, Al, come on,” Vox says. “Please, you know it works, WE work, c'maaan!”

Alastor is sad; a part of him does wish he could give Vox what he wants. It would make things so much easier; it would ensure keeping his loyalty, for one. And… well. It would make things a bit less lonely. But Alastor just can’t let himself go there.

“I’m sorry, Vox,” he says, genuinely melancholy. “I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want from me. I really am.”

“No,” Vox is angry. “It cannot be like this, please, we were so close-“

“I think it’s high time we went to bed, hmm?” Alastor says. “You’re in no state to get yourself home. You can sleep on the sofa.”

“Al, stop, just, can we talk about this? Can we try again, I’ll go slower, I promise,” Vox says, grasping at straws.

Alastor smiles weakly. He reaches up and turns one of Vox’s dials fondly; Vox’s erection twitches in his jeans. 

“You’ve just had too much to drink, hmm?” Alastor says. “We’ll sleep this off and tomorrow it’ll all be forgotten about.”

Alastor stands then; Vox groans, his screen in his hands. 

“We’ll be back to normal tomorrow, eh, old pal?” Alastor says with forced jollity.

Vox sighs; it’s guttural. He looks up at the Radio Demon, agonised. 

“I’m never going to be back to normal,” Vox says. “I’m always going to want this. I’m always going to want you.”

Alastor hesitates; he looks forlorn. Only in the eyes, of course; but his smile is a tight, thin line on his face. 

“I know," he says.

Vox's heart shatters in his chest; not for the first time. 

"Do try to get over it, though, won’t you?” Alastor says, and he turns to leave for his bedroom. “Get some sleep.”

Vox is left alone in the living room; ruined. 

---------------------------------

The memory of that night, so many decades ago, drifts away from present-day Vox, just as cruelly as Alastor had slipped from his grasp.

The pain of it - and indeed, remembering what came later - is unbearable; Vox can only cope with these memories now by wanting Alastor dead. Just so he’d be gone for good; just to rid himself of the pain of knowing Vox never got to keep him. He came close, of course; some years later, in the 80s. For a while, Vox had had Alastor; it had been so sweet. Vox doesn’t let himself think on this, for now. It’s too brutal. He’d be a mess; for now, he needs to compose himself. Vox places the die-cast vintage TV model on his bedside table and looks at it for a few beats. 

I wonder if Alastor still has his radio model. 

I wonder if he still thinks of me.

Vox curls into a ball in his bed; the truth hums around him, thick and heavy, like electricity in the air before a thunderstorm. 

He’ll never love me like I love him.

He never did.

---------------------------------

This story continues in:

Bluest Monday

Read all my stuff on AO3 🍎

[lakemojave]

Mojave reads X-Men: X-Men #1, X-Men #2, and Tales of Suspense #49

That's right gang, I'm finally sitting down and reading some comics. Now I've attempted to read a manga or two in my life, I've read some tintin comics in the library as a little kid, I've read an Alan Moore graphic novel in my day, but never have I actually read a serialized, long running comic series like this. I have very limited vocabulary for talking about comic books, and my experience with superhero media is pretty much limited to movies and shows. I have never read or critiqued a comic book of any kind.

Now I should say that even though I don't really give a shit or fuck about superheros, I do have a favorite superhero, and it's none of the X-Men. I do have a place in my heart for the caped crusader, so why am I not reading every single batman comic ever written? Well you see, the reason is simple. If I read a batman comic, even if it's a bad one, I will be distracted by how much i already like batman. I will probably learn a thing or two about batman, but I won't really be properly immersed in the comic-reading experience if i start with somebody I already enjoy.

So I'm excited for this! I'm basically going in blind, except for some passing knowledge about the over-arching themes of these characters and season one of X-Men '97 (a fantastic show that you all gotta watch). Now I know some reading guides online will recommend that you skip some stuff, but I wanna challenge myself to do a completionist review of this whole series. For an artistic medium that I don't know shit or fuck about, this may be a long commitment, but this is gonna be a fun way to do it.

If you wanna follow along with me, I'll be basing my order based on the reading guide from this website here:

Now for the review!

X-Men #1

This one is really fucking stupid.

In this first issue, we meet our X-Men and learn their powers through a goofy ass training scene, Jean Grey arrives, then they defend a military base from Magneto, and that's about it. It doesn't do enough to establish what exactly a mutant is, but it does establish the X academy as a safe haven for mutants where they can learn to be superheros, and how Magneto wants mutants to rule the world. There isn't much nuance here yet, but these motivations will echo down throughout the entire X-Men saga.

The designs here are particularly undercooked compared to the more modern iterations, but I do like that Professor X has always been a bald dude stuck in a chair. Magneto's imperious personality is established here as well, but the X-Men themselves are mostly just rough sketches of the idea of people. We're not gonna get into the family drama soap opera nonsense for a little while I think.

(Also my favorite part of this panel is how you can't tell cyclops has a visor and it looks like it's just a guy. With two eyes. Which is, by definition, not a cyclops.)

I also adore how whimsical this first issue is. The fighting is very cartoonish and everyone says what they're thinking out loud. I dunno if that's just how comics tend to be or if this is a product of the age, but I actually find it really endearing! I have a fondness for this era of comics where you could pick up a batman off the shelves and see a panel of him shooting and killing his enemies with a mosin nagant, or that infamous panel of superman melting a dagger with his heat vision and slurping up the molten metal.

Also, poor Jack Kirby. You can tell by the homogenous designs and Magneto's crooked ass eyeballs that he was very overworked in this period. The superhero team composition here is definitely less creative than the Fantastic Four for instance, which was running at the same time and will crossover with our reading list a few times.

Though my favorite panels from this issue are right here:

I'm sorry if the difference in time between your two panels is "Exactly fifteen seconds" then you don't need a text box explaining it.

Either way, while this first one isn't very good, I was really entertained. I'm really looking forward to immersing myself in this period of the art form and learning a thing or two about this franchise!

X-Men #2

That's right baby. We're gonna be in stupid town for a few weeks.

In this issue, a new evil mutant attempts to take on the X-Men and realize his loosely sketched evil plan for world domination and such. This guy, The Vanisher, has teleportation powers so fast that none of them can lay a finger on him. With his X-Men's reputation on the line, Professor X himself has to step in and use his psychic powers to vanquish The Vanisher and his army of goons on the White House lawn.

We learn a lot of new things about the X-Men in this issue; one, that Charles is a snitch for the FBI; two, sometimes the X-Men will just randomly start fighting each other almost completely unprompted.

Oh yeah also they call Jean Grey "Marvel Girl" in this run. I don't know why, ya just gotta deal with it.

The Vanisher basically has Goku instant transmission, allowing him to teleport literally anywhere he wants in an instant. In his master plan to steal US Army secrets and rule over humanity, a bunch of random low level goons just start worshiping him cause he's just that awesome. Like they're not even getting anything out of serving him, they just love this freak.

God could you imagine the alternate timeline where The Vanisher is the X-Men's arch enemy instead of Magneto? I think I would've canceled this series early if that happened.

Needless to say, this one is also insane. Like whenever the X-Men need to go anywhere, they rely on the goofiest modes of flying transportation that I've ever seen.

This one is also pretty dumb, but I can't say I had a bad time reading this one too! I think the first one was more interesting, seeing the prototype for such an all time comic villain, but this fight against the Vanisher is just a straight forward good time.

Tales of Suspense #49

Here we have our first ever crossover! In this comic, Angel accidentally gets nuked by Iron Man during a weapons test. The radiation makes him turn evil. Iron Man has to stop him.

This is the goofy bullshit I crave. There is no explanation for why any of this happens. Angel suddenly swears his life against all crime fighters and tries to make friends with the evil mutants. Iron Man talks completely different than I'm used to in this modern MCU era (plus his identity actually is secret!) Although the other X-Men do show up in this one, It is so strange to me that the first X-Man to make it into another series is one of the most forgotten characters of them all.

Oh man they just. They just don't make em like this anymore.

I do like that the X-Men as characters are starting to settle into their personalities. Angel's the boyscout, (normally,) Iceman is a little shit, Beast is a funnyguy, and Jean is a woman. Cyclops is still a little undercooked, but in terms of actual art I think I like how he looks in this style better than anybody. It helps that the art is getting ever so slightly better issue by issue.

But I also love that there's like. No backgrounds. It's crazy that in these early comics they just frame characters in a blank, colored void. I have no idea where these guys are right now.

The writing is still hilarious. Like everyone in these comics just says whatever they're thinking out loud. If these comics weren't written for little kids I'd make a big stink about it, but I just find this so endearing.

Eventually Iron Man does the thing where his power runs out and he falls to the earth in the middle of the fight, then Angel comes back to his senses, possessed by the instinct to save him. As he flies away, good ol' Anthony Edward Stark gets a call from Professor X saying that some day he hopes that the Avengers and the X-Men will one day fight alongside each other...as allies! And from this day forward, they'll never fight again!

Um. Ignore that.

See y'all with more soon!

[pb-dot]

Film Friday Spooksmas Special: Nosferatu

A local arthaus cinema had an early showing of Robert Eggers' Nosferatu. I have a mixed relationship with Eggers (more on that later) but I did think the trailer looked enticing and that the decision to really hold back on how much they showed of the (presumably) ugly bastard was a genuinely smart one. So, how did it go?

First of all, I want to start with what I've chosen to label the "This Isn't Dracula"-bucket. I'm a pretty severe fan of the original Brahm Stoker novel, and I do find myself sighing a little bit whenever an adaptation does a common but unforced error. This whole "Dracula has a particular red thread-esque reason to go for Mina in particular" business for example? Utter nonsense. Dracula is an evil, twisted little man, and he sets his sights on Mina in part because he, like us, thinks Mina is pretty neat, and in part to spite her husband whom he left for dead. Dracula is a bit of an asshole, you see, and he delights in the torment of young Jonathan in particular. Oh, and Jonathan, my dear, poor, sweet avenging angel wife guy potential vampire. Most frequently wasted literary character in western canon I have little doubt.

Now, as you may remember, this isn't a Dracula adaptation. Well, it is, per an intellectual property suit from the Stoker estate that almost saw the original 1922 film Nosferatu: eine Symponie des Grauens entirely destroyed. As such, it's set in Germany, the protagonists all have different names, and there's a much heavier emphasis on the disease bit of the vampire mythos, as well as introducing the idea of sunlight being outright lethal for the vampire, an idea that was not present in the original novel.

This is all a long-winded way for me to say that although some of the changes irk me a good bit, turning NotMina from a capable modern woman into a vaguely mystical waif, shrinking the NotLucy role into the miniscule, and so on, these feel like choices of adaptation perhaps from bygone eras. This is all to say that while I do sigh wearily over the Fated Vampire Romance business and all of that, I am prepared to let the movie stand on its own, at least as much as such a thing is possible.

Nosferatu is the story of Thomas Hutter, a young realtor clerk who finds himself entrapped by the nefarious Count Orlok, a vampire noble who seeks to buy land in Thomas' home town, as well as thoroughly cuck the man. Oh yes, Orlok has his eyes on the prize, and that prize is Thomas' wife, Ellen Hutter. Orlok shortly leaves the twink-flavored blood bag for dead to go get to, if you pardon the pun, necking.

What follows is a tense escalation of dread as Orlok brings plague to the town of Wisborg, and tragedy to the house of shipwright owner Friedrich Harding and his wife Anna who houses Ellen, in particular. The rough sequence of the UK-bound part of Dracula happens more or less, with the added snarl that Orlok does it mostly to break down Ellen's resistance to his dark proposal. Why exactly he chose to do this "thrice you shall deny me" business while he ostensibly has both the paperwork and the best possible ultimatum at his disposal already, Be his or he'll kill Thomas, I am sure I don't know. Well, I'm not one to doubt the sanity of an older-than-dirt corpse man employing obscure sorcery and dubious contract law, but it seems like this could've been an one night kind of deal Orlok old mate.

Much of this is justified by appeal to some sort of occultism, jumping on the "magic of the old ways vs the modern world" themes of the original novel a fair bit harder. This is fair enough, I suppose, but it is hard to take Prof. Ebenhart's "none shall know the day or the hour"-ass occultism takes seriously when the creature in question is one whose weaknesses are so common knowledge. Like, they could ask the Romani that apparently travel through Transylvania, ostensibly to make sure Orlok doesn't amass an army. They seem to have that shit figured out, and I wouldn't mind seeing more of them if I'm honest.

Continuing on this trend of honesty, I don't super love the way this movie ends. It does make sense, although it does have the problem of having characters insist "it's the only way" with such a fervor that I find myself going "Huh is it really?" Now there's not a plot hole here as such, it just... kinda feels like the writing got a touch sloppy, trying combine elements from the novel and the 1996 Francis Ford Coppola adaptation into this "waterproof" ending that just comes up short. Not because it's bad, as much as it makes me go "Ok. So what was all of this for, really?" Ellen does manage to outwit Orlok, or at least really really gamble that he'll be blood drunk enough to not notice that the sun's coming up. To be clear, she doesn't actually do much other than laying back and thinking of England Germany. She doesn't take some laudunum to make sure her blood's got a soporific effect. She doesn't pierce Orlok with an iron stake while he's distracted. She doesn't do some kind of daylight savings double bluff. She lies there and lets this monster/lover do his business until it kills them both. That's... disappointing, honestly.

Honestly, that it even works kind of annoys me still. Orlok has been scheming for this, he's been putting his vampire mojo on Thomas' boss, he's been researching ship lanes (I have to assume on account of the Demeter Hijack thing,) he's been learning English German, he's been concocting hellish contracts that somehow both relies on consent and also hold up even if the initial signatory couldn't even read it. All of this has taken patience, cunning, obsession in a way I suppose, but I suppose immortals can afford that kind of madness. This is all to say that I find it weird that this ancient being puts so much work into this plan to end up in a situation where he does an oopsie and fucking dies over it. It'd be neat if it was on purpose in some visible way, but it just kind of ends up making both the major movers and shakers less interesting if you ask me.

Overall, I'm pretty pleased with the visual portrayal of Orlok, with one major exception. Love the long knobbly grabby fingers. Love how he's tall in a real unnerving way. Love how he appears in shadow or as shadow. Love his general corpse vibe. My question? WHY WHY WHY WHY does he have a mustache? Upon first casting my eyes upon that despoiled soupcatcher, I thought it was a reference to Dracula wearing a fake beard for a bit, but no, the lip warmer is there to stay. I kind of get it, because there's nothing that would make drinking the blood of the innocent more viscerally disgusting than involving facial hair into the soup-y goo of it all. The finale does get into that business a little bit, but ultimately it does feel like one of those decisions that's worse for my brain than for my limbic system.

In general, I feel like Nosferatu has many of the same problems that many of Eggers' films has to me. They're gorgeous looking, bleak, and ambitious, and I just do not feel like they're saying anything. Oh there's stuff going on, the fanaticism in meeting the unknown in The VVitch, the harshness of violence in The Northman, the sheer homoerotic bugfuck stir crazy of The Lighthouse, and so on, but it feels like it isn't actually saying anything of note. It could be that I'm not as visually oriented as many other film buffs, but I spend a not inconsequential amount of time while watching this guy's movies while waiting for the purpose of this whole exercise to reveal itself. It's like a philosopher that spends much time proving how you can't prove anything, and then acts surprised when people ask him what the applications of this purported knowledge might be.

Now, I recognize that this might be a bit unfair. After all, I am a plot guy, and a lot of the time in Eggers' movies the plot isn't really the important part. That said, even if I don't find a plot satisfying, I can be quite content with it making me feel things. Unfortunately, Nosferatu doesn't quite stick that part either. Yes, it is grim to see Ellen dead, with the supernatural parasite that murdered her draped across her chest, but does it say anything? Does it express any ideas? Is all this tragedy in service of anything, or is it, much like the Contemporary Horror Clout Claim murder of ostensibly innocent children, done mostly for shock value? I won't claim to know, but it certainly feels like a shaggy dog story.

There are other complaints I could mention, the pacing of the stay at Castle Orlok in particular feels incredibly rushed, the dedication to keeping Orlok's face off screen or otherwise obscured goes on exactly one scene too long to not be conspicuous, and I could've done with both more Willem Dafoe and more 5k rats, although the latter was mostly because I found both of these contributors delightful.

[wodania]

honestly no i don’t think it’s weird at all to be upset about the exclusion of satin in the show.. if anything though as a gay guy im pretty glad they didn’t have him if loras is any indicator.. imagine them with a fairly effeminate gay coded character? no thanks 🫣

Loras was a sign of the end times 😭 I think I’ve made a joke before that if JonCon had been included he probably would’ve been written like one of those modern family dads and I feel more and more right each passing day.

Gonna rant a little (a whole shit ton like it’s really long I’m so sorry I got carried away) about gender and sexuality in ASOIAF/GoT here because I’m a lesbian and obsessed with analyzing these things :

tldr; D&D set up gender roles/rules where there weren’t previously any, and removed and added character traits as they saw fit (especially looking at feminine = gay and masculine = straight). If a character did not fit their perceived mould, such as Qarl the Maid, Jon Connington, and Satin, and could not be altered to fit that perceived mould, they were cut entirely. They also, in a possible attempt to be more relatable to a gay audience, introduced systematic religious homophobia where it was not previously, brutalizing their gay character. They wrote them as stereotypes and ignored them if they could not possible be shaped into one of their stereotypes.

GRRM obviously plays with gender roles and dynamics with his characters, yet D&D makes it so black and white. Gay people are all effeminate men. Hell, even Asha/Yara falls into this. She and her lover Qarl are a major fuck you to westerosi gender roles and expectations. He’s an effeminate man and she’s a masculine woman in a dominate powerful position. Yet he’s removed from the show. Absolutely no hate to queer “Yara”, but it is interesting in hindsight how that ended up working out. Had she been written differently, I’d argue that bisexuality compliments her character - if it weren’t for the history D&D has. When they do play with gender roles, it’s so tacky and one dimensional and ends with weird, nonsensical scenarios of female badassery with none of the development present in the books. Then, on the other hand, any vulnerability or deviance from societal expectations that male characters experience are wiped clean. Jon Snow is made into a generic fantasy hero type. Men who are seen as “weaker” or more “submissive” are brutalized on screen as torture p/rn, as shown with Theon Greyjoy. And men who are gay must be effeminate or promiscuous in one way or another. Loras deviated from that, so he had to be stripped of his defining traits and turned into fan service. Satin deviated from that even more, being a sex worker, and was stripped from the show entirely. Loras didn’t sleep with men enough, and the show writers wanted to change that. But Satin slept with men too much, and was in too close of proximity narratively and physically to fantasy hero Jon Snow. They wanted gay sex depicted in an easily digestible way for their perceived cishet audience, and found the idea of a boy selling his body to survive abysmal and not appropriate for such an audience, though they had no problem exploiting female prostitutes for the pleasure of the viewers . And in a weird attempt to be “relatable” to modern audiences, d&d introduced a self imposed barrier: homosexuality being illegal. Likely thinking that gay audiences would love to see their favourite gay Loras Tyrell brutalized and spat upon, D&D did exactly that, failing to realize that gay audiences would much rather see a queer character existing in a dark fantasy without their sexuality being what puts them in danger, compared to seeing something they already witness every day (religious-motivated violence and persecution) thrown into the show. Like it’s such an insult to the source material, especially considering that the 1990s book that hardly makes explicit references to the relationship of Loras and Renly does a better job at making them likeable, well developed characters than the “modern” 2010s tv drama. The flower crown, rainbow, cutesy edits dating back to the early days of Game of Thrones is a far cry from the depiction of politically savvy Renly and brutal and bloody Loras in the books. And the show just kind of encouraged that view of the two, as the cutesy gay boy fan service, hairless as a newborn baby and scared of blood. On the topic of JonCon, it would have been near impossible to introduce him and have him fit this set rule of “effeminate men = gay” and “masculine men = heterosexual”. JonCon is an intimidating, stone faced character who’s demeanour is hinted at being similar to that of Tywin fucking Lannister, as Tyrion almost accidentally refers to Jon as “father”. Aka, Jon is scary af. He’s older, grey, potentially dated the ugliest man in Essos who was also significantly older than him, and is also a father. Hardly a character that can be put into the set limiting roles of the show.

I’m honestly going to stop myself right here this is getting too long and I should just sit down and write an essay 💀 like genuinely I should write a paper

[bookoformon]

3 Nephi, Chapter 7. Part 1: "The King of Secrets."

The chief judge is murdered, the government is destroyed, and the people divide into tribes—Jacob, an anti-Christ, becomes king of a secret combination—Nephi preaches repentance and faith in Christ—Angels minister to him daily, and he raises his brother from the dead—Many repent and are baptized. About A.D. 30–33, the Number is 358, גהח‎‎ ‎gaha "pride."

An evil Jacob, "a follower of the devil" surfaces and becomes the king of a secret combination. The Third Son of Nephi tries to minister to the people instead:

1 Now behold, I will show unto you that they did not establish a king over the land; but in this same year, yea, the thirtieth year, they did destroy upon the judgment-seat, yea, did murder the chief judge of the land.

2 And the people were divided one against another; and they did separate one from another into tribes, every man according to his family and his kindred and friends; and thus they did destroy the government of the land.

3 And every tribe did appoint a chief or a leader over them; and thus they became tribes and leaders of tribes.

4 Now behold, there was no man among them save he had much family and many kindreds and friends; therefore their tribes became exceedingly great.

5 Now all this was done, and there were no wars as yet among them; and all this iniquity had come upon the people because they did yield themselves unto the power of Satan.

6 And the regulations of the government were destroyed, because of the secret combination of the friends and kindreds of those who murdered the prophets.

7 And they did cause a great contention in the land, insomuch that the more righteous part of the people had nearly all become wicked; yea, there were but few righteous men among them.

8 And thus six years had not passed away since the more part of the people had turned from their righteousness, like the dog to his vomit, or like the sow to her wallowing in the mire.

Two ancient and disctinct forces are (and are not, apparently) warring in Zarahemla. One is a faction of persons called Gandianton Robbers "liars" in Hebrew, and the Nephites, "prophets". One seeks money, power, and an absence of accountability for all the manners of wickedness. During the time of the authorship of the Book of Mormon they were the slave owners vs. the abolitionists.

They are the modern day equivalent of the Republican Party vs. the Democrats, except no one knows what the fudge the Democrats do all day. At least we know they aren't harmful.

The real problem is we none of the above represent an effective ethical or Godly approach to managing the affairs of mankind. We now know slavery is a very bad idea and have made it illegal. But even still we think the government was invented to referee silly superstitious fights and it has a day job and nearly 8 billion people to feed, educate, insulate, and employ.

If we imagine the world as one place with one system of government which is what it has got, then it becomes clear how tenable governing could be if we did not undertake the causes of nonsense with which we are presently preoccuppied. Much success would be ours for the taking if we were willing to do this.

The Values in Gematria explain the causes of agony that are responsible for our failures:

v. 1: the Value in Gematria is 13723, ג‎ יגזב‎ ‎ gaziev, or gehaziev, "the nation that falls."

Meaning Valley Of Vision Etymology. From (1) גיא (gai'), valley, and (2) the verb חזה (haza), to see or have [a] vision. Related names • Via גיא (gai'): Gehenna, Ge-melah, Giah, Gihon • Via חזה (haza): Chuza, Col-hozeh, Hazael, Hazaiah, Haziel, Hazo, Hezion, Jahaziel, Jahzeiah, Mahazioth.

The verb חוה (hawa) means to lay out in order to live collectively, and describes investing one's personal sovereignty into a living collective like a symbiont. It's mostly translated as to prostrate, which is to submit oneself wholly and bodily to a collective or to the leader of that collective.

v. 2: the Value in Gematria is 10118, י‎א‎יח‎, "yeh" = God

v. 3: the Value in Gematria is 4904, דטאֶפֶסד‎, the Datasheet.

v. 4: the Value in Gematria is 7130, זאגאֶפֶס, zagapes, "the zigzag."

v.5: the Value in Gematria is 11696, יאוטו‎‎‎, yauto, "will fly."

v. 6: the Value in Gematria is 7737, זזגז‎, "buzzing."

v. 7: the Value in Gematria is 9136, טאג‎‎ו, tago, "a tag", "a crown."

v. 8: the Value in Gematria is 10959, י‎טהט‎, yathat, "a portion of fear because of division."

The beautiful root יתר (yatar) yields words with a general meaning of remaining or being a rest (a remainder). HAW Theological Wordbook of the Old Testament submits, "It refers to one portion of a quantity which has been divided.

The masculine noun חת (hat), which is commonly translated with terror or fear (Genesis 9:2, Job 41:25). The word חת (hat) often occurs together with the word ירא (yare), meaning to fear or be afraid (see for instance Genesis 9:2).

SO a secret combination causes humanity to divide, and then the flies come, then an evil man gets a crown, and then comes the fear. We've seen this happen so many times. It never works, it's not working now.

[breelandwalker]

hi Bree! I am currently doing research on modern paganism as a whole, and have come across a few passages about how some practitioners claim to follow an 'old' or 'the old and true' religion. I know Margot Adler mentions this briefly in "Drawing Down The Moon" (page 77) - but I'm wondering if you've seen any other sources on this? I want to learn more about the origins of this 'old and true' religion, but none of my regular resources are turning up anything of substance.

-gasps in Witchstorian- Is it time? I think it's time. Excuse me while I put on my very best hat.

Today, we're going to have a chat about MARGARET FUCKING MURRAY and her thoroughly discredited theories about a Great White Western Witch-Cult. (I have plans to do a wholeass podcast episode on this nonsense in the coming year, so consider this a warm-up. I should also note that debunking claims of an Ancient Unified Religion of Witchcraft is part of how I first earned my stripes as a fledgling Witchstorian. So this be my wheelhouse and I welcome ye to it.)

In her 1921 book, The Witch-Cult in Western Europe, Murray put forth the theory that the ceremonies and rituals detailed in witch trial documents were actually descriptions of practices utilized by a matriarchal pagan fertility cult whose adherents had survived in secret following the Christianization of the British Isles. She pointed to a number of historical personages accused of and/or executed for witchcraft as members of this alleged "Old Religion," presented the idea of "flying on broomsticks" as a ritual activity involving a leaping dance with brooms held between women's thighs (the handles being smeared with a hallucinogenic salve), and claimed that the "Horned God of the witches" was later twisted into modern artistic depictions of Satan as a method of quite literally demonizing these supposed pagan ways. Furthermore, according to Murray, the cult had survived into the present day in the form of a certain secret groups in rural areas of Britain. (It should be noted that while Murray did not invent this theory, she was its' biggest and arguably most legitimizing proponent in her day.)

If any of this is sounding familiar, you get a cookie.

Gerald Gardner was a big fan of these theories and further bolstered the claims when he touted the New Forest coven as a surviving group from the "Old Religion." He incorporated many of Murray's claims into the early framework of his own myth-building. If you read Witchcraft Today (1954), you'll see a lot of Murray's work repeated as a framework for Gardner's own theories on contemporary witchcraft practices, which later became the basis for Wicca.

The issue here is that Murray was working with both a flawed premise and a really terrible use of source material. Repeatedly, she cited superstition, prosecutorial arguments, and confessions from accused witches from 16th-17th century trial records as fact, completely ignoring that none of this had any physical evidence attached to it and that confessions were often made under torture or the threat thereof. She also cited a lack of evidence as alleged evidence of a coverup by the Church and the Crown, or the cult itself covering its' tracks. Even her contemporaries viewed her work as fringe theory and it's largely because she was invited to write the Encyclopedia Britannica article on Witchcraft and the later use of her theories in the creation of Wicca that she's taken seriously by anybody at all.

While Murray's claims are thoroughly discredited, almost literally laughed out of academia during her own lifetime, certain sectors of the modern witchcraft and pagan communities still cling to this idea of a secret surviving pre-Christian goddess cult. I can fully understand why this is tempting, given the romantic notion of clandestine meetings and bonfire dances out in the woods, as well as the need of some modern witches to feel connected to some form of borrowed martyrdom as a mirror for their own feelings of disenfranchisement. No serious scholar of the early modern period or the history of witch trials during that time considers Murray's work credible and modern historians are prone to cringing whenever her name is mentioned.

So yeah, if you see a work on modern paganism or witchcraft referring to "the Old Ways" or "the Old Religion," that's very likely what it's talking about. Margot Adler and Ronald Hutton, both noted and credible authors writing about the modern witchcraft movement, mention Murray's witch-cult hypothesis in their books....but mostly only to say what a crock of shit it was.

For further reading, I recommend Jacqueline Simpson's 1994 article, "Margaret Murray: Who Believed Her And Why?," Ronald Hutton's "Triumph of the Moon," and the Wikipedia article on the witch-cult hypothesis (purely for a condensed version of how the theory came to be and how it has affected modern thought).

I'll leave you with this quote from A New History of Witchcraft: Sorcerers, Heretics and Pagans (Russell and Brooks), regarding Murray's work:

"That this 'old religion' persisted secretly, without leaving any evidence, is, of course, possible, just as it is possible that below the surface of the moon lie extensive deposits of Stilton cheese. Anything is possible. But it is nonsense to assert the existence of something for which no evidence exists. The Murrayites ask us to swallow a most peculiar sandwich: a large piece of the wrong evidence between two thick slices of no evidence at all."

[ladymunson]

This Is Halloween

Fic Summary: It’s almost your favourite time of year, which also happens to be your birthday. Eddie wants to know… trick or treat?

A/N: This is a small blurb for my good friend @eddiesprincess86 for her birthday. I hope you like it! Also it’s set modern day AU

Word Count: 852

Warnings: None, sweet fluffy nonsense :)

I do NOT give permission for my work to be copied, translated or posted to any other platform.

Support content creators by reblogging.

—

“Happy birthday Princess!” Eddie whispers in your ear as his arms wrap around your middle. You grin, and lay your head back on his chest. You stop what you’re doing to turn in his grasp. His arms stay in the same place so they’re wrapped around the small of your back.

“Thank you for being the best birthday gift a girl could wish for!” You say, Eddie snorts making you cringe. “Sorry that was so cheesy!”

“Super cheesy!” Eddie agrees with a grin but leans down to press a kiss to your lips. Then he lets you go. “Gotta run sweetness, your present won’t set itself up.”

“You haven’t done anything stupid have you?” You ask with a cocked eyebrow.

“You will never hear the words stupid and Eddie Munson in the same sentence!” He says with seriousness and a dramatic flourish.

You scoff. “Yeah right!”

“Don’t ruin my moment!” Eddie pouts.

—

The sound of banging on your door brings you back to the present, you’d gotten lost scrolling through tumblr you’d kinda spaced out. You put your phone down and walk to the door, opening it expecting to see Eddie and the rest of the gang.

But Eddie is alone. “Trick or treat?” He says, you look up at his face and crack into a huge smile. He’s in full costume, and his face is painted, like Jack Skellington.

“You did this for me?” You ask, chuckling.

“Well it is your favourite movie, are you gonna leave me out here all night?” Eddie asks, hand on his hips. You smile and step aside to let him in.

He goes straight for your dvd collection and digs out what he’s looking for. Going straight to the player and inserting the disc, smiling at you. He sits on the couch and pats the space beside him, you hold out your hand to indicate one second and disappear into the kitchen. Coming back moments later with sodas and snacks, you hand them to Eddie before taking a seat beside him. He picks up the remote and presses play.

The opening to the movie starts and you try to stop yourself saying the opening narration, Eddie gives you the side eye as if telling you that he’s waiting for you. But he doesn’t say anything and neither do you.

The opening musical number begins and you look at each other and start humming along.

Boys and girls of every age, wouldn’t you like to see something strange.

Come with us and you will see, this our town of Halloween.

This is Halloween, this is Halloween. Pumpkins scream in the dead of night.

This is Halloween, everybody make a scene.

Trick or treat ‘til the neighbours gonna die of fright.

All of a sudden Eddie is up on his feet, acting out the song.

He kneels down like a creeper and sings along.

I am the one hiding under your bed, teeth ground sharp and eyes glowing red.

Then his up and wiggling his fingers like snakes and spider legs.

I am the one hiding under your stairs, fingers like snakes and spiders in my hair.

You’re howling with laughter and not managing to keep up with the singing. In fact you miss the rest of the song while you’re laughing, but Eddie continues to act it all out.

Once the song is over he sits beside you once again and acts as if nothing has happened, which has you giggling.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“You’re such a dork!” You say with a chuckle.

“But you love me anyway.” He replies with a grin.

—

You both continue to watch the movie, saying all your favourite lines and quotes along with the characters on screen. Just before the climax of the movie, Eddie gets up off the couch and heads into the bathroom, you pay no attention and carry on watching.

Just after the people of Halloween town sing their version of What’s This, Eddie comes out of the bathroom. He doesn’t come back to the couch though, which confuses you slightly until he begins to approach while singing.

My dearest friend, if you don’t mind. I’d like to join you by your side.

Where we can gaze into the stars.

You begin to sing along.

And sit together, now and forever. For it is plain, as anyone can see.

We’re simply meant to be…

And with the last few notes playing on the tv, Eddie leans down and kisses you. “I love you.” He says as he pulls back.

You smile and reply. “I love you too, my Jack.”

“My Sally.” Eddie says and you share another kiss.

The End.

[sinfulskywalker]

Dark modern AU? You can go all out if you want.👍

TW: dark, spanking, slight domestic punishment.

Luke and Din we're an arranged marriage for business reasons. Of course with The Skywalker's owning three capital banks and Din Djarin an up and coming social tech that rivals the likes of anything anyone has ever seen it was all set up after two meetings.

Din is strict. He's no nonsense and he doesn't take kindly to Luke not listening to him.

Of course Luke is young and wild. He wants to go clubbing, racing, go party in Spain on his yacht he got last Christmas or take a few flights to Vegas and drink his anxiety away.

There's none of that around Din. With Din he ensures Luke's mother's necklace and his hand are all that adorns his tiny tight throat.

Every love bite is visible on Luke's naturally tanned body. At meetings the boy is to show off at least one of he's not going to wear his wedding ring.

Din will and does spank him often.

"You've been a cheeky boy checking out the models weren't you, princess?" Dins large hand slaps against his rear. Luke yelps. "I'd let you model if you were willing to do more that talk back to me with that mouth."

Luke grew up with Daddy's credit card. Now he wants his husband's. Yeah Din tracks everything he buys. The skimpier the more Luke is allowed to buy.

After all Luke is a prize. And the poster boy for his social platform. It's funny how Luke doesn't need to be nude to rival pornhub.

There is love. Of course Din wouldn't marry Luke if he didn't intend to love him. On the balcony of their new York penthouse overlooking central park he admires Luke sipping his mimosa in his silk robe and sleeper pants. He'll leave a gentle kiss on the cheek and a promise of a spa day just the two of them if he's a good boy while he's at work.

Luke smirks knowing well good boy means collared and presenting as soon as Din comes home.

[driftward]

Title: FFXIV Write 2022 - 4. Free Day 1 Characters: Venat, Karasawa, Atraxae Rating: Teen Summary: What if a failed would-be Azem made it all the way to the modern era? These are the Misadventures of Karasawa Atraxae. Notes: So a theme I am leaning into for FFXIV Write 2022 is that of focusing on the Scions of the Seventh Dawn; I decided, however, to use my Free Days to focus on other possibilities. Warrior of Light concepts I have thought of, but will never use, since the game is so alt-unfriendly. These are not any kind of canon, and in fact, I am feeling free to be kind of nonsense with them.

Atraxae paced on the stage as she ranted about her thesis to those Ancient fellows who had seen fit to make an appearance at her little one-woman conference.

"Our world is being improved all the time," she said, "by the hard work of our compatriots, who are striving ever forward to improve our star. And when their hard work is done, of course, it is the done thing to retire, job done, go back to the lifestream, give the energy back and pay it forward to the next iteration of who we might be, and hopefully maybe learning something ineffable in the process. Well, swive that, I say! Look, we think we're going for perfection, but hey, maybe we don't know what perfection really is, right? Maybe someone somewhere will come up with some paradigm-shifting Etheirys-shattering paradigm shift, and then what? You're asleep in the lifestream, unable to appreciate the changes that have been made. Maybe you could've found something new to improve! Maybe you could've learned more! But no, you checked out early, and so you don't have squat to do with the brave new world that may have been made.

"That's why I'm proposing something completely different! Instead of just checking out of existence, why not simply take a little sidestep? Sure, go to the lifestream, but instead of getting all your life experience flushed gone and away, just hang out there for a bit, and come back in, oh, I don't know, maybe a century or something? Maybe something will have changed while you were gone, and when you come back and learn about it, you'll go hey, look at that! There's more work for me to do now! You can find new purpose without having to do the whole retirement gig, and you'll be smarter for having done it.

"That's why I'm presenting today the culmination of my personal life's work. A way for any one of us to immerse ourselves fully into the lifestream, and then, at a predetermined time, come back up, just as we are! I mean, there's probably a few more things to work out, and it hasn't been tested, but just think of it! Instead of returning to the lifestream fully and pretty much getting erased, you can take a bit of a break, come back, uh, hopefully refreshed, and then, boom! Learn about how much more awesome our world has gotten in your absence, and then use that to springboard yourself into a new life with new discoveries! Wouldn't it be grand!"

Atraxae stopped at this point, throwing her arms wide and grinning at her assembled audience. Most of them looked back, their expressions unreadable behind their masks, but their body language was... well, if she was to be honest, it was less than interested. Only Karasawa, her good friend standing in the back, seemed enthusiastic at all as he threw a fist up in the air and pumped it a few times in support.

Well, one was better than none, even if she knew that the one would always be there for her. She grinned back at him, and gave a bow as she moved on to the next part of her presentation.

"So that's why today I'm revealing to you, dear friends, the IDEA engine and the SWORD device, as well as the FOCUS chamber!"

The assembled Ancients looked back and forth at each other. One of them shook his head - no, wait, that was a her- and raised her hand. Atraxae pointed at her.

"...I am certain I am going to regret asking this, but what could those acronyms for these concepts you are proposing possibly stand for?"

Oops, it was a him. Oh well, not like she was planning on any formal relationships with anyone present. She hated how well the robes hid the forms of those under them, and how the masks hide their faces from one another. Better to go bare faced and naked, she thought.

Where was she?

Oh right.

"Well, here is the IDEA engine," she said, holding up what appeared to be a gem. "And uh, the acronym, let's call it a work in progress. But! It's the bit that keeps you, you. At least in spirit. See, we all are capable of pretty impressive shape changing, and what form is in vogue now may not be in vogue when you come out, so it's designed to help shift and adapt your spirit to a new vessel so that you'll fit in whenever you come out! The SWORD," she said, and here she hefted what appeared to be a sword in the air, "Stands for the Soul Wave Omega Reinforcement Device. Spending so much time in the lifestream may make you a little bit thin, and the SWORD draws on ambient aether to reinforce your form, no matter how long you've been gone. It also makes a pretty good focus for magic and, uhm, well, it's... it's an actual weapon. You can stab people with it if you like. Its form is mutable, though, so it can appear to be practically any weapon you need it to be! And that over there, that bed like chamber with a lid that you can close, well, that's what'll help reconstitute - uh, reinvigorate - uh, it's... it's what helps to bring you back. It stands for the Final Oculus for Constraining the Universe of Spirit. You store your pattern in it, and set a time. When the time comes, it looks for your pattern in the lifestream, and activates your IDEA engine, as well as attuning your SWORD to your new, old, reborn self!"

She grinned wildly at the assembled few, and waited patiently.

Finally, one of them with a sigh, raised their hand. Atraxae pointed at them. She decided to stop guessing at the kind of person that might be in those robes. If pressed, however, she was certain this one was male.

"Did you pick those names just to make the acronyms work? Also, have any of these concepts been passed by review?"

Drat. Wrong again.

"One, yes, of course I did. Two, no, shut up, I don't need to, as I still haven't even tested them. Which I just need a bit of help with, and then, sure, we can punt them up for concept review." Atraxae saw another hand go up. "Oh! What's your question?" she asked cheerfully.

The owner of this question stood up, and she was positive this one was a man. "Atraxae. Is this just a pathetic attempt to see if you can outwait the current Azem, and when they are done with their job, make another bid for their seat? Are you that upset about losing the bid for that convocation seat?

Okay, ouch, that was rude, she thought. But at least she got his gender right.

"What? No," she said breezily, "and I'm insulted that you would think that. I mean, yeah, I do plan on outlasting the current Azem. But if my work is good and I've done the math right, I won't just outlive this Azem. I'll outlast a dozen Azems! And then when I come back, hopefully we'll have changed as a civilization enough that maybe I'll find some new purpose! I won't even want to be an Azem, you know. I'll have something even better to aspire to, I'm sure!"

She clapped her hands. "That's enough questions for now though! Please come back tomorrow if you're willing to help, we can use all the hands we can muster!"

"Who's we?" said the same man, dryly, clearly not expecting an answer as he headed for the door. As did the other six people present. Which was everyone in the room except for Karasawa.

The room had been reserved and able to seat a hundred. Atraxae had to admit, she might have set her expectations a bit high. Still, she was more than a little disappointed at the small turnout.

"Well, it's me and Karasawa, that's technically two people, that's enough for a we," muttered Atraxae under her breath as Karasawa walked up front to her.

"Enthusiastic as always," said Karasawa. "You continue to be a light upon this star, as bright as any."

"Yeah, well," said Atraxae. "Wish others saw it the same way." She sighed, and gathered up her equipment and gear, shoving them into her robes where they vanished into an ethereal other space that she used for storage, like many ancients did. At least, those who didn't just use their creation magics to collapse and rebuild their belongings as they needed. "Oh well," she said. "Could've gone worse." She looked to the door, and sighed, her shoulders slumping.

"Wish Venat would've shown up," she said.

Karasawa crossed his arms, and nodded. "I'm just glad that she has continued her work, despite relinquishing the seat of Azem. We could use more people like her."

"Yeah," said Atraxae, despondent. "Well, that's that, I guess. There's a place that makes a killer food concept not too far from here, they call 'em chupaquesos. Let's go snag a bite."

Karasawa nodded as Atraxae finished gathering up her equipment, and they headed out.

-*-

The next day found Atraxae and Karasawa working. Once it had become clearly obvious that nobody was coming to help them, they had shed their masks. Atraxae hated having to wear one, and while it Karasawa pretended to be reluctant about the matter, secretly, it gave him a quiet thrill to push into such a taboo.

"Was what that one man said yesterday correct? About the seat of Azem?" asked Karasawa. It was a topic they had not talked about at all since Atraxae had lost her bid for the seat, as he did not want to unduly distress his friend.

"Oh, hells no," said Atraxae. "I mean, yeah, I wanted the seat, but I see now I had it all backwards. I wanted to become Azem so I could go out and see the world and do all that cool shite and explore and whatnot. If I was really suited to the seat, though, I would've done what Venat's protege did, which is to say, already have been doing all that. No, I swived it up, and the better Azem got the seat. The Convocation made the right call."

Atraxae held up a lattice of crystal work, and let it go, allowing it to hover in the air as she held a hand up to it, and pushed aether into it. "Besides, look at us! This is a way better use of my talents. Just you wait, Karasawa. I'll show them. I'll show them all!"

"You know, you talking like that is why people are wary of you," said Karasawa, who nevertheless moved to the side to peer closely at Atraxae's work, and help make small adjustments of it.

"Pft. Whatever. Maybe I'll just zipper a few hundred years into the future and they'll appreciate me more then."

"I think you misestimate how slowly our society moves."

"Is this the workshop for the Future Technologies Symposium?" said a voice, and Atraxae and Karasawa both scrambled to put their masks back on.

"Yes! Hello! Welcome to our workshop! We're currently calibrating the IDEA engine, but we're happy to - VENAT!" said Atraxae animatedly, and Karasawa looked up from adjusting his mask to see her standing in the doorway.

"I didn't expect you to drop by! I thought you were busy out exploring the star or whatever!" Atraxae continued, babbling now.

Venat's robe was white, as befit her role as an advisor, and her mask unmistakeable, with its fine filigree. One of the few methods of personal expression allowable in their society. Karasawa gave her a bow, which she returned in kind.

"Well, I cannot stay for long," said Venat. "But I have heard very interesting things about what you are working, and I wished to see for myself. But wherever are my manners? It sounds like I was interrupting a conversation about our fair society."

Karasawa looked to Atraxae, and shook his head slightly, worried. Atraxae frowned at him, and he thought for just a moment that she would be able to contain herself.

"Aw, we're just griping about how slowly anything ever changes around here," said Atraxae, and Karasawa groaned. He -had- meant to spin her up into a good rant, as she was entertaining to listen to, but he had meant it to happen in private, and not in front of a former member of the convocation.

"Do go on," said Venat, and Karasawa moved to pretend to work on the crystal lattice.

"Well, look, all the work we do, everything we are, we're supposed to be stewards of the star, right? Aiming for perfection? But what the bloody hell is perfection? I'll tell you, what we're making, we ain't making perfect. We're making stagnation is what we're doing. I was at the Concept House the other day -"

"That's not what it's called," said Karasawa, exasperated. At least she could not slag off on beloved public works institutions if she was going to rant in front of others.

"-whatever, and you know what I saw?"

"What, pray tell?" asked Venat.

"SHARKS."

Venat's expression was unreadable behind her mask, but Karasawa certainly felt bewildered. This was a part of the rant he had not heard yet.

"And the time before that, and the time before that. I don't go there nearly often enough for it to have been just a fad or something. Sharks! Nothing but sharks. Nobody coming up with anything new, just a dozen variations on bloody sharks. And you know what? That's a symptom, that's what it is. That's just part of the whole thing. Nobody has any new bloody ideas anymore. No, you go down to the Concept Store-"

"Also not what it's called."

"-and you pick up someone else's ideas, and you drop off your ideas, but they ain't new. Ain't -nothing- new. Karasawa here was just reminding me of how slow our society moves, and you know what? He's right. It's just about moved itself to a dead stop! Perfection, my perfectly pert round -arse-."

"Atraxae!" gasped Karasawa.

"Well it is, I made it myself."

Karasawa looked in horror at Venat, and was relieved when she reached up a hand to hide a laugh.

"And so I'm working on this," said Atraxae, grumpily. "Between the FOCUS and the IDEA and the SWORD, I'm gonna send people into the future. Maybe someone, somewhere, will come up some Etheirys-shattering idea that'll change everything, and when we come back out, the whole bloody star won't be so backwards anymore. It'll be something new." she turned to Venat, and grinned at her. "...I bet you can imagine, can't you? Look at you, all white-robed and still working after you were done with the convocation. Just itching at the bit. Imagine never returning to the star, but instead just jumping forward a bit whenever you think it's time. Just infinitely into the future. Never leaving."

Atraxae had grown quiet towards the end, and Karasawa looked at her quizzically. Venat shook her head.

"It is the duty of all of us to return to the star once we feel our work is done, Atraxae. I'm just not done yet, that's all, but I do intend to return one day."

"Right. Right. Of course, of course," said Atraxae, rubbing her arm. Karasawa tilted his head at her. To say she was a chaotic personality would be an understatement, and this was a side of her he wasn't sure he'd ever seen before.

"Wait. Infinite. Oh, that's a good word! Hang on, hang on, let me think about it. Okay. Okay. Infinite Diversity Etheric Attuner! Yeah, that's a great name for it! Oh, oh, Karasawa, write that down."

Karasawa dutifully fetched his notebook out from his robes, and wrote down the device's name next to its entry that he already had mostly filled out.

"What is that, I wonder?" asked Venat.

"Oh right you weren't at the presentation yesterday. Right! The three fold devices. It's how I'm going to help people skip into the future. The IDEA engine takes your pattern and keeps it for you while you're in the lifestream, and then when it's time for you to come back, it'll put you in a new vessel appropriate to whenever you are, neat as you please. The SWORD is actually kind of an aetheric converter engine. Like if the IDEA makes sure you're you, the SWORD makes sure you stay, reinforcing you and shoring you up and stuff, and, uh, well, it's also legitimately a weapon. And the FOCUS, well, that's what calls you back when the time is right. Boom! Just relax into the FOCUS, let yourself drift down to the lifestream, and you'll wake up just like coming up from a nap when the time is right, ready to get back to work.

"It's genius, if I do say so myself. Say, while you're here... would you mind helping calibrate the IDEA engine? I've tested it with me and Karasawa, but as you know, one time's just an event, doing it twice is just coincidence, we really need three patterns to make sure we've got a pattern. A pattern of patterns. Of working! Yeah."

Venat tilted her head at Atraxae, and Atraxae grinned back.

"It's okay. It'll just record parts of your pattern, nothing more, and once we check that it looks okay, we'll wipe it right here, don't you worry. Karasawa will monitor from there, and I'll be right here to help calibrate it as you go. All you need to do is hold your hand out to this crystal lattice we've got floating right here, and we'll do the rest."

"...intriguing," said Venat, and after a moment's hesitation, she held her hand out to the crystal lattice, and began to pour aether into it. Karasawa quickly moved to watch while Atraxae fiddled with the crystals.

Venat's aether work was beautiful, he had to admit, and as he saw the 'signature' of who she was started to form, he thought that beautiful as well. Venat's was a pretty shade of light blue. Atraxae had been a purple, while his own had been orangish.

"And you say the intent is to preserve a soul into the future, that it may come back to our star, as itself, intact and hale and whole?" asked Venat as they worked.

"Yeah! You get it! Genius, right?" said Atraxae.

"...perhaps." said Venat.

"I think we have enough, Atraxae," said Karasawa. Atraxae fiddled with the crystals one last time, and then after a moment, she nodded to Venat, and Venat withdrew her hand. The gentle aether flow stopped, and Atraxae took the crystal lattice down, and she worked with it for a bit.

"...I think that's it. Yeah, that's - look at this pattern, Karasawa," she said, handing the crystals over.

Karasawa took it, and looked it over, and nodded. "...your pattern is quite lovely, if I do say so, Venat."

Venat smiled and shrugged. "I shall have to take your word for it. I trust, however, that you are not going to be plucking me from the lifestream at a moment's notice?"

"Oh, no no no, not with this alone," said Atraxae. "You've confirmed our work, though, but no. Here, I'll release your pattern from the crystals in a moment, but for this to work - we need a bigger crystal, and you'd have to commit your whole self to it. Basically this serves as a prism for your soul, and you push yourself through it on your way to the lifestream, and it remembers enough of it as you do so to call you back later. This is part of the IDEA engine. The other part's the resonator, over there - I think I'll make it into a necklace, I can get it small enough - and the crystal as its main stone. When it's time, you get called back, and the resonator's what's responsible for finding you a new form to inhabit, while the crystal busies itself making you, well, you once more."

Venat crossed her arms, and looked thoughtful, and when she spoke, Karasawa got the feeling she wasn't really talking to anyone in the room. "A spark thrown into the future." she said. "...but who?"

Atraxae and Karasawa looked at one another.

"What?" asked Atraxae.

Venat smiled, and shook her head. "Nothing. Just idle musings. I think... you should continue you work, Atraxae. You have my support, should you ask for it. I think... perhaps it will make for a good alternative, perhaps to - ah. To, ah... other plans one might make for the rest of their life. In service to the star, of course."

It would've been hard for someone else to tell, because of the mask, but Karasawa had long been friends with Atraxae, and could tell she was lighting up.

"Oh yes! Of course! I'm so glad you approve! Maybe with your word, we can get more help here. I mean, if you want to give it, but really, your support alone is enough, and I think we're pretty close to testing anyway!"

Venat smiled, and bowed. "Thank you for sharing your work with me, Atraxae, Karasawa. I am afraid, however, that my visit, by necessity, must be a short one. I have other matters to look after. Kindly keep me appraised of your progress, however."

"Oh yes. Absolutely. Have a good day. Hey! Tell the new Azem I said hello! No, tell them I said congratulations!"

Venat nodded as she glided out of the workshop, and Atraxae grinned giddily at the door as she left. Karasawa slowly turned to her.

"...it's not for the seat of Azem," he said. "It's for her."

"What? Huh? Sorry. What?" said Atraxae, shaking her head clear.

"All of this that you're working on. All that you're doing. You were thinking about her. You were thinking of a way to keep her around on the star, and instead of talking to her like a well-adjusted being, you decided to throw yourself into this project," he said. "You care deeply for her."

"Everyone who's ever met her cares deeply for her, are you kidding? She's one of like five people who are interesting at all on this planet. It's like, you, me, her, the new Azem, and iunno I'm sure there's a fifth somewhere."

Karasawa smiled gently, and Atraxae grinned back at him. "I am certain there are more than five," he said. "Sheer statistics alone-"

"Yeah yeah by the numbers, sure, I know, I know," said Atraxae, rolling her eyes. She held the crystal lattice between her hands, and shrunk it down to be the size of a gem. "And I'm not going to tell HER any of this though, what kind of idiot do you think I am?"

Karasawa looked around the room. "The kind of idiot to forward some of the most heterodox research our star has seen in an age in the pursuit of violating one of our society's most dearly held taboos. This sort of thing might be why you have so few friends, now."

"I will have you know I was quite popular in my youth," she huffed.

"You were so popular because you were such an iconoclast, running around with your mask off and almost as frequently without your robes. They saw you as a punk, if not a bit daft. They thought you were interesting. But most of us grew out of that phase, Atraxae."

"Yeah. They had better things to do. Saw to their duties, fulfilled their goals, settled down into an existence of mediocrity complacency and fitting in or flitting off once the job was done and dissolving into stardust," she grumbled. "Venat's the only real one around here. She knows what she's about."

She focused her creation magics, and began to form a necklace in her hands. Across the room, the resonator she had mentioned earlier floated up, and came to rest in the middle of the band, and in front of it, she placed the gem. She frowned as the energies came together, and looked up at Karasawa over them.

"...you're not gonna leave me too, are you, Karasawa?" she asked, her voice quiet. "Wouldn't blame you if you did. I'm a disaster. You know it. I know it. It's a fair miracle I haven't been censured yet."

Karasawa grinned at her. "I am your entire conscience and half of your impulse control. No, Atraxae, you will not be rid of me that easily."

Atraxae smiled as the IDEA engine formed, finished at last, in her hand, and she looped it around her neck.

"...chupaquesos before we test this thing?" she said.

"Absolutely," he said.

-*-

The world had gone mad.

The world, for Karasawa, had long been mad. Not due to any special circumstance, other than the close orbit he had insisted upon living his life around Atraxae's gravitational pull.

But now she was gone, and he was here, and the sky was literally falling, and monsters roamed the world.

Overhead, meteors and fireballs fell lazily towards the ground, a rain of fire that had left devastation in its wake. Around him, monsters from nightmares and worse rose up out of the firmament, razing entire cities and robbing the star of thousands of lives.

The convocation was supposedly convening with a plan, but Karasawa had no interest in waiting around to see what it might be. He held in his mind a singular purpose, and with that purpose he strode through rubble strewn city street and past burning plants and trees.

He had met the monsters, of course. There were so many of them, and they seemed unavoidable. He noticed they seemed to go after those who were most panicked first. He supposed, whatever they were or wherever they came from, that they were inclined to go after easier prey first, but he had no intention of making himself be easy prey, much less appear to be any.

So when they met, he held tight in his mind's eye that he would be the victor. Determination poured through his veins and sheer stubborn will powered his every step.

He could not save this world. He could not fix it. That would be a problem for the convocation to solve.

But there was one thing he could do, and he would do it.

He made his way to a small nondescript building tucked away in an unremarkable corner of an unnotable city. One of the most boring places on Etheirys, someone had once complained to him. The perfect place to set up shop and shake the star, he had been told.

Well. The star was shaking now, but it certainly was not from his own work or that of his friend.

He looked behind him just once as he crossed the threshold, and saw a mighty monstrous entity tear down an entire building, towering over its rubble, and he ducked inside.

This was a long shot, he knew, but it had a chance of working, which was more than the star had at the moment.

He found what he was looking for.

The FOCUS, its panel blinking plaintively in the dark.

He knelt next to it. It was a largish rectangular box, fit to hold a body. And though it did not appear to be holding a body at the moment, he knew the truth of it, as he wiped away its display, and checked its settings.

Ten years.

A short test.

A short test, and then they would celebrate, and toast one another's accomplishments, and at last submit their concept to -

He laughed to himself, despite everything.

"To the concept house store," he said, and he laughed, shaking his head.

His friend had always been just shy of insane, and he was certain they would have been both censured had any of these concepts gotten as far as being submitted, but oh would in not have been worth it? To be the first minds in an age to be censured?

She would've celebrated the occasion, and probably would have wanted to see if getting double censured was a possibility.

A possibility she would not get to enjoy.

Well, not yet, anyway.

He checked the other settings and was mollified to find that the IDEA engine and the SWORD device were both tucked into the FOCUS, and apparently working correctly.

He bowed his head, and thought for a moment of the sky burning high above him.

The convocation might rescue the star, but how long would that take, he wondered.

He looked at the display once more.

Ten years seemed very optimistic.

He sighed, and reached into his robes, and pulled out his notebook. He scribbled a quick note down, and wished desperately that he had more time, to leave more notes behind, not just for his own benefit, but for those who would come after.

But he did not have enough time, and what time he had was just about up.

He opened a panel on the FOCUS, and slipped his single note down into its side, then closed it again. And then he lifted another panel, the aetheric siphon that was used to power the FOCUS. The more power it had, the longer it could keep track of a person's pattern for recall.

He wondered how long he would need, and shook his head with a sigh.

Well, gambling was more her thing than his. In this, he would not gamble.

He held his hand to the siphon, and he pushed. He pushed, and he saw the display indicating how long it would wait for the future start to tick up. It went up slowly at first. Eleven years, twelve years, thirteen, fourteen.

He pushed harder, and it began to tick upwards faster and faster, and as he got a feel for it, he felt something shift, and he smiled.

"Goodbye, Atraxae, you mad woman," he said. "May the future to be everything you hoped it would be."

Karasawa closed his eyes, and he pushed the remainder of all that he was into the device, even as the building crashed down around him, burying the FOCUS and all that it contained underneath a pile of rubble.

[wonlouvre]

pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc

genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff 

word count: 2.2k

WARNINGS: none (pls tell me if there’s anything i missed!)

a/n: THEIR LOVE STORY CONTINUES AND YOU WILL FIND OUT ON MY NEXT POST! i will say this over and over again, THANK YOU WITH ALL MY HEART! 

epilogue | masterlist

The trial of your father was not something you have ever imagined you would experience nor witness in this lifetime. Despite having the option to not go, you still attended. You weren’t present at the court itself though. Instead you waited at the parking lot with Jeongyeon everyday from the first day up to the last day. The judge’s verdict was obvious and irrevocable. Your father’s ancestry, title and reputation didn’t matter in the eyes of justice. At some point, you couldn’t accept it still but eventually you knew that every wrong must be corrected.

You can say that the wounds from this inevitable downfall burned the most than the wounds inflicted by the enemy.  

Wonwoo was at your apartment when you arrived after the long hours of waiting. He just finished showering, drying his hair with a clean towel when he greeted you. After getting discharged from the hospital, he didn’t fail to visit your place and most times, he would stay the night. That’s why it’s natural and comforting to see him lounge around as if he has been living with you from the get go. 

He already knows how the trial went because it was everywhere. He catches you with his arms once your bag is dropped on the couch and the tears you have been holding back start to fall. It’s not easy to cry every second, every minute and every hour. It’s not easy to accept that your tears are not enough. Not enough to help your father without damaging everything else further. 

Your face was buried on the crook of your lover’s neck as you finally let it all out. He holds you there for a while before he moves the two of you to the couch and keeps you close by letting you take a seat on his lap.

You love your father so much but it is only right and only just to let this Kingdom punish him for the crimes he committed against the people he swore honesty and protection to. 

The exhaustion made you fall asleep and Wonwoo left you be until he had to wake you because he doesn’t want you to skip your meal. After munching on a few bites, he led you to the bathroom for a warm bath, sitting on the cold tiled floor as he took care of you. And in the late evening, he held you close as you retired from the pain of the day.

Wonwoo is a gift and he makes every single day a little better.

You and Wonwoo decided to tie the knot three years later than what was initially arranged. It just felt right at the time to postpone the wedding and do what should be done. The Prince can tell that your heart and mind was not set on marriage yet because of what was currently happening. He was the one who brought it up, suggesting a postponement if you needed the time to think and of course, to wait. He didn’t mind because he’s one hundred percent sure that he is yours and it wasn’t necessary to immediately hold a wedding to seal the deal.

Three years of waiting wasn’t the timeline you intentionally planned on but if one were to count, that’s how long the two of you endured. The plan to have a grand wedding was scrapped and essentially, you two were back to zero. The venue, decorations, menu and even the custom made wedding dress and tuxedo were either auctioned or donated. It was a unanimous decision among you, him, your mother and his parents. It was for the better and taking things slow in your relationship was much needed anyway. 

On the subject of parents, Wonwoo’s, for a period of time, were uneasy with your relationship. It was not because of you and what your father did. Their Majesties were wise enough to not hold anything against you and who you are. What made them uneasy was the people and their talking. If some were still loyal and supported and rooted for you, some were the exact opposite. The tabloids were cruel as well and you didn’t miss them displayed in every newsstand. They still gossiped about your father and even talked about the most irrelevant nonsense. Like come on, who cares about you wearing an orange jacket on a normal Sunday?

But the major stumbling block for them was your recommendation to abolish the Royal Family of your Kingdom. 

You have pondered about it for quite a while and when you have made your decision, you discussed it with the rest of your relatives. As the times have changed, reigning as the sole power of the kingdom didn’t appeal to your family anymore. Some of your father’s siblings and cousins have discussed this already even before your father himself inherited the throne. It just so happened that the then cabinet members strongly opposed the idea. However this time, things will be different for and with you. 

By right, you are the Queen of the Kingdom and it won’t be for much longer.

It was a long and exhausting process. You had to meet with the Cabinet and the policy making body of the Kingdom. For a whole year, you were lobbying and arguing with a lot of individuals who have their own greedy political agendas. However, for the same whole year, the people were supportive of your decision and goal. That pushed you forward and motivated you to not give up. It paid off because in the end, you stepped down as the last Queen to ever reign in your family and ultimately, the Kingdom. 

Countless aspiring public servants stole the spotlight the following year as the campaign season started. Some still encouraged you to hold a position to which you declined immediately. It was a tight competition because every candidate had the potential. The people were smarter and at the same time stronger. They knew who they wanted and needed to lead the Kingdom. No flowery words could ever sway them. 

Power to the people indeed.

You were present to the formulation and enactment of the new laws that will hopefully make the Kingdom and its citizens flourish without the presence of abuse of power and dishonesty. Once you finally signed the last piece of document as the Queen, the Kingdom is not yours anymore and you have never felt so free. 

During the (unintentional) three year wait, you and Wonwoo made the most out of your time as boyfriend and girlfriend, fiancé and fiancée. Well, the engagement ring wasn’t returned to you so you’re quite unsure about the status of the latter. You didn’t lose it though. Wonwoo admitted on one of your dates that it’s with him and that he’ll eventually give it back. 

Wonwoo stayed and continued working at the Royal Hospital meanwhile you decided to leave your current law firm and establish a new one to serve the public. It was a busy year of transition and you felt bad that you dragged Wonwoo into it. Even though he promised that he didn’t mind, you still can’t help but feel terrible that he’s carrying a whole lot of baggage that isn’t his. 

He will just shush you with a kiss on the lips whenever you bring it up and you hate how he makes it work. 

For most of the time, you were awfully busy, you had to bring work back to your apartment. Wonwoo would always complain with his forehead on your shoulder as you worked away on your desk. He would complain that it’s already late and you should be snuggled to him by then and you would just scratch the back of his neck to placate him. To which, he didn’t like. He didn’t stop until you shut down your laptop and let him pull you to bed. 

Wonwoo diligently went back and forth to his hometown and here. He could go back and work at his Kingdom, but not without you. He made it clear that he has every intention of marrying you, so until then, he’d stay by your side. You love every single bit of time you spent with him and you’re beyond grateful. Although there was one instance you had to take care of him because he got sick, that didn’t make him stop. 

The two of you went to a lot of dates despite the busy and overlapping schedules. Most of your dates consisted of long drives far from the city. You frequent farms, beachsides and small hidden cafes with little to none customers. It was great and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

It’s Wonwoo, after all. 

Eventually, you had to visit his parents and introduce yourself in a whole new and different perspective. It was nerve wracking, but their Majesties never changed. In fact, almost everyone at their Kingdom still treated and served you like royalty to which you vehemently refused. Nonetheless, their Majesties still gave their utmost blessing and support to your relationship and if anything, they hope to see you get married soon. 

Wonwoo requested to meet your father at some point. At first, you were confused as to why but when he told you that he wanted to do things right, you couldn’t say no. 

You had to admit, you were embarrassed. However, you swallowed your pride because it’s pointless to keep concealing yourself from Wonwoo. He has accepted and loved you in every way and every form already, all you have to do is bare yourself to him. 

The meeting and conversation you shared with your father was short-lived because of the time limit. In spite of that, it was good to see him and you’re happy Wonwoo took the initiative to visit him. It has already been two years since he got imprisoned and even though you couldn’t visit him every day, your father never held it against you. He was ecstatic to see Wonwoo and the news of your wedding still on, made him burst into a joyful laughter. 

It still pained you to see him on the other side of the glass. It still pained you to not hug or touch his hand at least. But you keep yourself together and remember the purpose as to why your father had to go through this. 

Your father never failed to tell you his regrets and apologies, but most importantly, he never failed to tell you how proud he is and that he loves you very much so. 

You will never become a queen anymore, but Wonwoo vowed that you will be of his heart. He found it cringey himself, but he told you he had to say it in front of everyone present at your wedding. You just laughed it off because you know he’s not saying it out of spite. 

The wedding happened at his mother’s garden with only close family and friends invited. Your father couldn’t make it even if he wanted to, but it was alright because you promised you’ll send lots of pictures afterwards. Some of your relatives made it, Jeongyeon and Seungkwan were also there. Meanwhile, all of Wonwoo’s relatives made it and of course his best friends Soonyoung, Jihoon and Jun (whom you met along the way) were also present. 

It was a short ceremony that didn’t last more than three hours. It started late in the morning and ended early in the afternoon. The two of you, hand in hand and all smiles, did your best to mingle with every guest and thank them for their time and attendance after finally sealing everything with a long kiss and of course, legal documents.

There was no afterparty held after lunch was served, you and Wonwoo wanting the rest of the day to yourselves. A traditional program sounded lovely, but the two of you wanted to be simple. 

The wedding was three years long in the making and in between, it almost didn’t happen. The beginning was vague because it started off as an arranged union. You didn’t know him, he didn’t know you. The middle was everything you wanted, full of love and security. You were so sure and so ready, just waiting for the dress and everything was set. However before the happy ending, shortcomings and bad deeds needed to be resolved and by doing so, one of you almost had to sacrifice the middle that you were ready to have forever. 

But when Wonwoo buried his face in the space between your jaw and neck and his arms found its way around your waist, you realized that everything that had to happen was worth it. In the middle of the garden where the two of you stood alone, swaying from side to side, you realized and accepted that it was all worth it. 

Your fingers ran through the hairs of your husband’s hair and he hummed at the sensation. You smiled at the vibration and continued holding him. If you were to tell one of the sentiments that you and Wonwoo share when you’re together, it’s that you wish for everything to never end. And now that you’re married, it is not far-fetched. 

“I love you, Wonwoo,” you whispered and you’re not crying anymore. 

Wonwoo pulls away slightly to look at your face and when he sees your smile, he knows that he loves you too.

a/n 2: all my love, the drabble/oneshot series masterlist is up! 🧡

[atopfourthwall]

Ive only recently gotten into classic Star Trek so I don't think I can properly answer but what is it specifically about Discovery and recent Star Trek that classic Trek fans hate?

Putting this behind a cut because... it's a lot.

Well, first of all a big rejection of it is just on an aesthetic level. Up until the 2009 movie (which was considered a reboot, even with time travel elements), Star Trek tried to treat the original series and how it was portrayed as pretty sacrosanct. Sure, they might occasionally make jokes about goofier aspects of it and discard some of the stupider stuff (like how in the final episode, penned by Gene Roddenberry himself, that women weren't allowed to Captain starships), but how TOS looked? That's how the 23rd century looked. Buttons and multi-colored outfits and boxy computers and smooth, undetailed ships WAS what was appropriate for the time. When Scotty came back in TNG, they had him on the holodeck and it was the TOS bridge. When DS9 traveled back in time to that era for an episode? They went onto the Enterprise and visited it. When in an Enterprise 2-parter we had a TOS-era ship? It looked like a TOS ship. They even did a 2-parter on Enterprise to explain why Klingons had smooth foreheads when later (and earlier) they didn't. Star Trek up until then cared about maintaining that continuity of appearance. But Discovery is set in the TOS era... but nothing looks like TOS. Even when we got the Enterprise and those uniforms and we saw inside the ship, it was an upgraded form. The only logic I've seen people try to argue about WHY it doesn't look like it actually did was "Well, audiences won't accept something as cheap as TOS being futuristic." Well, then you've got a few responses there: -Don't set in TOS era, then. -That's horseshit, because audiences from the 90s through the 2000s accepted it just fine. Even a piece of dialogue from DS9 explained it perfectly: "I LOVE 23rd century design." It LOOKS cheap, but it was just the aesthetics of the period. And the Enterprise 2-parter it still looked good in HD. Hell, arguably it looked BETTER in HD because they knew how to light it and create mood and its own unique flavor. -It's even more horseshit because people are STILL going back and watching it even today, as indicated by you saying you've started watching it, so clearly it's not that much of a barrier. But what's even more egregious is the TECHNOLOGY. You might be able to accept updated aesthetics if at least matches what was present during the period... and it doesn't. Holographic displays and communication (holodeck technology AT ALL, frankly - it's possible it was there, but TNG seemed pretty adamant that the holodecks were fairly new, very impressive technology), weapons not looking or acting like they traditionally did, Enterprise and Discovery having R2D2-style repair droids that certainly did not exist in TOS, the wrong sound effects being frequently employed, replicator technology for good-looking food instead of food dispensers that gave out marshmallows and cubes, and honestly the tech level shown in Discovery looks just as advanced - if not MORE advanced than seen on TNG 100 years later. And this is a minor thing, but despite the attempt to make the future LOOK futuristic, from a cultural perspective, the future looks... way too damn similar to now. The excessive swearing (it was said in particular in Star Trek 4 that while they certainly did cuss, it was less common and they sure as hell weren't dropping F-bombs), a party on Discovery that looked like a rave (when previously it seemed like the most popular music and culture of the 23rd/24th century was considered fairly high-brow entertainment [classical music, Shakespeare, great works of literature and plays, etc.] - and while you could certainly argue that that snootiness and love of that stuff is a problem with Star Trek and a sign of how sterile and homogenized it is, THAT is the future they presented and a character in Voyager loving some of the goofier parts of 20th century culture like jukeboxes and old sci-fi serials was considered unusual), and just the general way people talk betrays the idea that the writers aren't thinking about how society changes in the future. It's just the modern day, but with cooler technology. But hey, let's set aside the general aesthetics - some people aren't going to mind that and find

ways to handwave away a lot of stuff (even Discovery season 2 TRIED to handwave away stuff like the holographic communications, but did a piss-poor job of it). This brings us to the problem of the WRITING. And the problem with the writing is a big Michael Burnham-shaped indentation. To be clear, I don't mind Michael as a character or her actress - there are interesting aspects to her, centering a Star Trek show around the science officer is a neat idea (though that means you should probably NAME IT AFTER HER and not around the ship, because it suggests this is a standard ensemble group and not JUST her)... but the actual execution is that it feels like the entire universe bends over backwards for HER. She has a unique relationship with a beloved longtime character that is retconned in. She has unique relationships with several important characters to the point where the fate of billions of people hinges on her and the decisions she makes. She is presented as almost always correct about everything, and those that oppose her are often wrong, naïve, or active enemies. Now, this is less of an issue in the third season - but that has its own unique problems - but in the first season, the resolution of two major storylines (mirror universe and the Klingon war) revolves around her and her relationship to the Terran Emperor and Lorca. In season 2, her mother trying to help or save her is the basis of the ENTIRE friggin' plot with time travel and the like, with special knowledge and history having to do with her and everyone ready to abandon their lives for her so she won't be alone when she has to go to the future when arguably they barely know her (the timeline of the show is debatable). Season 3 has a few different problems with her - the first is that she keeps being involved in things that don't concern her (why is she going down to Trill?) and she keeps violating orders. Now, her violating orders is a problem throughout the entirety of Discovery - in fact, it's kind of the instigating factor OF the series. And arguably, other Star Trek characters are guilty of that and they face no consequences, just as she faces none... and yet it's the brazenness with which it happens, and in those other series it's arguable because the series tries to avoid excessive continuity changes for its episodic nature, so the status quo MUST return to normal... but Discovery is pivoted as one of MAJOR continuity, so her lack of consequences (and indeed eventual PROMOTION) is baffling to the point of frustration. Now again, let me be clear here - she is not a bad character in and of herself. Honestly what it shows is that being the science officer on a starship is not where her talents lie. She should be in a position where she has a lot more freedom to act and not in a major command structure... but being in that command structure, what we see in season 3 is that she lacks the discipline, emotional maturity, responsibility, leadership qualities, and general other traits necessary to be a Captain. Only once during season 3 did she display such a quality - putting the safety of the Federation above a friend and colleague... but other times she will happily disobey orders and put herself and others in harm's way, creating potential new problems. Now, again, Star Trek is rife with characters doing that... but usually not the Captains. And, in fact, when this happened once on DS9 with one officer disobeying orders and putting their own personal feelings above the greater responsibility, it was made VERY clear that the incident would mean that they would never be able to command a starship because of the unofficial reprimand. What's even more frustrating about her is that the character is ALWAYS shoved to the forefront so much to the point where we just get sick of her. SHE is the one giving log entries (usually pretty piss-poor ones, at that - very flowery and nonsensical and kind of dumb) and not the Captain. SHE is the one given so much focus and how the plot of the episode affects her. Barely anyone else gets any focus episodes - I STILL can't

remember the names of some of the secondary characters because they're so rarely said, and a PTSD-related plotline in season 3 for one of the secondary characters basically gets resolved OFF-SCREEN. Michael would be fine if we actually had a chance to miss her... but we never do. Arguably one of the best episodes of the show is in season 2, when it focuses on Saru and his people because Michael DOES take a back seat. It's his story and his development and problems relating to him and his people. And even if, again, we forgave the idea of so much focus on her even in plots that aren't about her... she never seems to really change that much. She'll TALK about how she's changed, but I see no real difference in the way she acts (MAYBE season 1 to 2, where in season 1 she was stiffer and more Vulcan-like, but that's it). But hey, let's assume that's not a problem for you - you really, REALLY like Michael and are fine with so much focus on her. Simply put, the writing of the rest of the show... is just kind of dumb. The ship is powered by magic mushrooms that let it teleport everywhere because the universe has super fungus capillaries throughout it that nobody can see and also it's magic and can resurrect the dead. The time travel plot of season 2 doesn't make any sense when you sit down and diagram it. Well-established Trek lore is just kind of sprinkled in, but now in ways that doesn't match what it was before or at least in ways that completely recolor how it's supposed to work, because it needs to serve THIS plot. Everyone remembering a murdererous monster fondly after she leaves because "Hey, she was coooool." The explanation for the big mystery in season 3 is just fricking stupid and one of the two big reasons why I've finally given up on Discovery, because it's just so absurd, doesn't match how anything works, and just feels like the writers giving the middle finger to the audience because they care more about "YOU MUST FEEEEEEL THINGS!" instead of it making sense. And indeed, there is certainly a balance to be made of plot vs. emotion-driven storytelling - some stories are dumb, but are forgivable because the character writing and emotion are so strong that they override how goofy the plot is... but sometimes a plot is just so dumb it overrides anything I'm SUPPOSED to feel. And it would help if I already liked the show, already gave it some benefit of the doubt... but I don't and it hasn't done enough to impress me. A little thing that's a problem with ALL of current modern Trek shows is that whole sprinkling lore thing - I don't think a single episode goes by in ANY current modern Trek series that doesn't have a random reference to classic Trek lore. A name, a line of dialogue, etc. It comes across like the creators don't trust you to enjoy it on its own merits, but want you to like it because "Hey, remember thing? We know about thing! Like us because we mentioned thing!" But hey, I recognize that these are things that other people may not have any problem with or just disagree in general. But for me and my family, these are the big ones that keep us from enjoying it. Hell, my brother and dad still watch it for hatewatching purposes, but I was done after season 3. I gave it plenty of chances to impress me, and while each season MARGINALLY got better as it went along, I'm tired of waiting to actually like it and to stop feeling like it thinks I'm a fucking idiot. If other people still like it, great - it clearly appeals to them in a way that it doesn't appeal to me and they are free to enjoy it. Other people probably have their own issues, but this long, rambly bit is the major stuff for me.

[fangirlyah]

✦ pumpkin pie - Edmund Pevensie x Reader

summary: MODERN!AU secondary school starts, and your life is completely different from the pevensies’...would it be possible for them to connect in some point? 

warnings: none

word count: 2k

a/n: present / past

the rain was pouring outside of the apartment on a sunday afternoon. even from your bed you could hear the soft sound of the bonfire in the fireplace burning out and smell the scent of the coffee you did a few minutes ago. 

being in college wasn't easy, not just because of all the work and study you had to do, but also because it meant being apart of your family for a lot of time. you were lucky though, edmund was by your side. 

you met at secondary school and hate each other right away. he was this bad boy wannabe with the perfect life and you were the girl who always wore a smile on her face, even in the darkest times. 

there’s a saying that the adviser and helpful friend was the most hurt one, and in this case it was true. an empty home and a cold meal waited for you every day after school; you were the few people in school who didn't live there, you weren't a pupil because of the fact that you lived only five minutes away from school, so no one walked you to your house or make you company for a few streets. sometimes you thank that, because you knew no one would appear at the door to welcome you home and it embarrassed you a little. 

at the age of eleven, you already had a key to your front door and you knew how to make a meal from scratch, your mother said it would help you in the future, but sometimes you just wished to watch your mom make dinner and help her with it, like all the other kids. but you were mature enough to know that, since your dad left you, your mom had to work double shifts to pay food and expenses. 

a thing you liked to do when you ate at the kitchen counter alone, was to close your eyes and imagine the pevensies sitting beside you. a large table and exquisite food in it, everyone laughing and having a good time.  

being an only child wasn't easy, so when you watched the two brothers and sisters being so close you usually felt jealousy, you were so alone and so scared to admit it. you had friends who never came to your house nor knew your situation. one of your friends was susan pevensie, although she was older, you two had made an incredible bond when a school assembly took place and you two ended up sitting beside one another.  

for someone would be weird to hear that you hated edmund pevensie when you held such an admiration for the closeness of the family. but there was an encounter once that made you burn that feeling in your skin.

it was in the first week of school, you were still a little girl and he hurted you some much and edmund didn't even know. you remembered that it was lunchtime and you sat beside the first person in sight, no one was friends with anyone yet. that morning your mom had put you into a taxi cab and sent you to secondary school like a package, she put the ingredients of a sandwich in a lunch box and you put it together on the way to school. 

if you think very hard, you could still feel the embarrassment you felt when you took your badly done sandwich. 

“who made that foulness?! does your mother doesn't cook for you?” edmund was still a kid when he said that, so he didn't know that not everyone had a mother who cooked fancy meals every day. he was still a kid to notice how much you started hating him after that. in fact it took years for him to find out your dislike. he realized one day you greet peter, susan and lucy but not him; edmund didn't think too much of it, a lot of people didn't find him dearing. 

“christmas eve is in two weeks! this few months passed in a rush” one of your classmates said, she had always been fond of any holiday celebration. 

“what are you guys going to do?” every girl at the table started talking, the only thing that you could hear over all of the crashing voices was that katie was planning on visiting her grandparents at yorkshire. 

“and you, y/n? you didn't say anything” of course susan would notice, you slapped yourself in your thought; it would have been more simple to say some nonsense while everyone was speaking. now the attention was on you and you only had a few minutes to think of a movie scene you had watched, and make it yours. what did blair waldorf do for christmas eve in season three? 

“I think my grandma it's coming..” lie, she was dead “she makes this amazing ginger cookies every year” lie, she sucked at cooking while alive. 

everyone seemed convinced, you weren't an open book so that simple false details of your life left them satisfied. but again, not everyone. susan pevensie had stopped you by the stairs and invited you to her home for christmas eve’s lunch. you accepted right away, saying that your grandma had texted you saying she wasn't coming; you knew she didn't believe but she left you alone, so it was enough. 

when the day came around, you stood in front of a mirror. your sixteen year old  self adorned by a delicate dress, nothing special just an a-line dark purple dress. you opened the clutch bag on your hand and counted the pounds inside, it was enough for the train you just had to resist the urge to buy a snack from the trolley.  

the pevenises’s house was thirty minutes away from yours, so before you stood in front of the principal door, you had time to rehearse what you would say or how you would act. the idea that susan may have told her family about your solitary christmas situation, put you more nervous. you decided to push the thought away, but when you saw her mom open the door with such a pity face, you realized you were right. you knew that the woman didn't do it with any bad intentions but you felt bad when she grabbed the pumpkin pie you had made and watched you with even more sorrow. 

nevertheless, the night was pretty good. better of what you had experienced if you had stayed and ate spaghetti freshly thawed. 

“we are really glad you made it, y/n” peter said while he served more potatoes on his plate.  

“I'm actually the delighted one, this food is really appetizing” lucy smiled beside you, proud that she had helped her mom do all the food. 

“what would have eaten at home? I know you are a great cook!” your friend susan said “she makes the best cinnamon cookies ever!”  

“emm...probably i would have made some pigs in blankets and some brussel sprouts for my mom” it was the first time you talked sincerely with someone about what happened inside of your home. 

“is your mom not such a great cook as you?” mister pevensie asked. 

“she doesn't have the time to, so... i learned how to do it and now I’m better than her” while his family laughed, edmund realized why you hate him so much. it was years ago, but still to that day he wondered why the pretty and nice girl was softhearted to everyone but him. now he knew, edmund had hurt her feelings in first year and it seemed that she didn't forget.  

the classes returned to normal, after the holidays, he tried his best to like you. edmund had tried carrying your books, helping you with chemistry when you struggled and even checking that you are not forgetting anything in the classroom when you went home. you kindly rejected his offers; a part of you still had resentment but the other one told you it was stupid to keep umbrage to something that happedns years ago. 

it wasn't still a friday afternoon, it was raining and you hadn't brought a coat to school. it was the only evening they had free, and edmund decided to ask if you wanted him to walk you home, even if it meant wasting his entire afternoon.

for the first time you accepted. 

the first two streets were a complete silence. in the third you talked. 

“i know i already thank your sister, but...i just...i had a great time at your house before the holidays, so thanks...again” the freckled boy giggled at your adorable shyness, making you smile. you always knew he was a handsome young man, but..since when the school blue hat suited him so well? 

that phrase started what would be a nonstoping conversation until you reached your house. turns out edmund liked your pumpkin pie a lot, and he wanted to ask you if you would do some for him but he didn have the courage; you told him he didn't have to be shy around you, but you were around him. your house wasn't as big as the pevensie’s, but it was big enough for three two people. 

“thank you for coming with me, I know this cost you your free afternoon”  no one was home, as always, so you had no rush for coming inside but you supposed that he wanted to go back already. 

“it’s the least I can do after what I did…” you were facing each other, for the first time ever. 

“we were children, edmund” you tried to pretend you didn't care. 

“i didn't knew anything about you, that was why-” 

“you don't have to pity me” you interrupted him, that's why anyone knew about your mom, because the first thing people did when they found out was to pity. 

“I'm not, I'm admiring you” it was true, he thought he couldn't survive in your place; a scramble egg was science for him, imagine making a whole meal. you smiled at him while he did the same. 

“goodbye, edmund pevensie”  as you walked to your porch you heard him go:

“goodbye, y/n y/l” 

the entire weekend your head concocted thousands of ideas of how to talk to him again, what would you be your excuse? after hours of thinking you got the perfect plan. 

monday morning you entered the school gate with a little paper bag in your hands. you would be lying if you said that your hands didn't start shaking slightly, when you saw him go down the stairs with a sleepy face. he saw you immediately as your gaze was in the thing you were holding. 

“hey edmund” he stepped in front of you, ready to go to the canteen and grab breakfast. 

“hello, y/n” kids passed beside you, but neither of you were popular enough to catch the attention. 

“I...emm, I cooked some pumpkin pie and… I did too much so I decided to bring you some” lie, you did it just for him, you just ate a bite to taste it. he grabbed the package from your hands with a smile. 

“would you eat it with me?” 

“hey honey!” edmund’s head appeared at your bedroom’s door “is there any pumpkin pie in the fridge?” 

“ed, you are going to get sick of it if you keep eating it like a maniac” you left the book, that was in your hands, at your bedside table as you saw him get inside the room and head to you. he laid down gently on you, giving you a kiss. 

“I won’t, I promise” his smell always gets to you, how he smelled so good all the time. you shared an apartment near your collage, and one of its good things was the scent that came out of the bathroom every time he showered. 

“you have been eating the same dessert since we were sixteen, and now we are twenty-one, how did you not get tired of it?” that day had been a long one, full of study and stress. so when the night came and the rain started, the first thing you did was to make a nice dinner for you two. he was finishing his coffee and started starving pumpkin pie.

“that pie started everything between us, I can't get tired of it” he kissed your lips and you let his tongue go into your mouth. how was it possible that you ever hated him?

[michael-drummey]

Achilles x Patroclus: Part 2, Harmful Stereotypes in Modern Media

**Since my last post on this blew up! Here is just a little more on the subject & some of the nonsense I have seen & experienced on said topic online & in other forms of media**

For anyone who needs proof that Achilles & Patroclus were always and originally presented as a gay couple in a committed relationship mapped out in The Iliad (see my original post here) SOME in our society (not those who are properly educated) like to project harmful & stereotypical LGBTQ+ tropes on Homer’s material & their representation in other forms of media that are still prevalent today such as:

 “Gay as not the Main Character” - The Iliad starts with the lines “RAGE: Sing, Goddess, Achilles’ rage,” so right at the start this Story we meet Achilles; obviously he is crucial in the story’s plot, yet even for his importance in this story it is not named for him, the focus is on Troy. Achilles is “Greatest of all the Greeks” but is remembered for all his bad qualities, while others like Agamemnon who is also deeply flawed or Odysseus, get the recognition of trying to reason with Achilles, and are seen as the more reasonable leaders set on winning the war. Achilles and Patroclus get reduced to just once aspect of the story, then once they are dead, we get The Odyssey and our new main boy Odysseus. The wily & super straight war hero trying to get home to his darling wife and son, which leads us to our next trope...

“Bury your Gays” - Achilles and Patroclus are obviously coded as homosexual even though the Ancient Greeks did not have a word to use for gay, but it is none the less glaringly obvious. Patroclus is killed by Hector when he rides into battle to help his fellow Greeks and retain Achilles’ Honor, thus setting in motion the events that will unleash Achilles’ Rage upon Hector and the Trojans. We also find out later in The Odyssey Achilles died when Odysseus meets him in The Underworld where he stands off with Patroclus so check check for both stories. This is a huge piece of Homer’s story, but so many times Patroclus is forsaken and treated as a plot point not as a character who’s fate changes the course of the story, they view him as a “gotta go” kind of sidekick to Achilles.

“Depraved Homosexual & Loose Bisexual” - Either perverse and/or murderous the “depraved homosexual” trope portrays the gay character as possessing all quirks and qualities one/society considers undesirable. Achilles is vengeful and refuses to fight when Agamemnon tarnishes his honor, then when Patroclus is killed Achilles is completely inconsolable, wishing to end his life, he weeps for days on end in bed with the body of Patroclus. When he unleashes that grief (The Rage of Achilles) he is reduced to a killing machine hellbent on nothing but avenging his beloved’s death, which eventually will lead to his own demise. He is rarely referred to as a 3-dimensional character with complex emotions from this point on. As one who has suffered in this war, lost his honor & lost the love of his life, which has caused all that is human in him to die as well; he succumbs to his pain. His wrath is what so many know him for even if they haven’t read the story, They just see him as a ferocious warrior, but so few know the full context behind his actions, or love to claim he did what he did because his “best friend” was killed. Some forms of media love to also portray them as bisexual, where we are given over the top sex scenes, and shown two men who are meant to be “less than” for their sexual freedom/lack of sexual morals. While it really has nothing to do with that and just creates more biphobia and erasure. We are never are shown them happily and honestly committed to each other, which leads us to our next stereotype.

“Everyone is Straight” - SOME Historians, Scholars, Writers, Movies love to predominately present characters as “all straight or only straight”. Since The Iliad was recorded people have been debating if Achilles & Patroclus were an item or not. Personally I think the evidence is overwhelming and plain as day, (you do not share a tent & bed with just your homie, Rage as Achilles did at Patroclus’ death, then keep his body in your bed yearning for his “μένος” (menos) aka manly vigor and semen, then get your ashes buried together in the same urn, just for someone to say “They were Best Friends Forever!” There is more than enough evidence to say Homer wrote them as gay, but some love to throw the “Briseis Argument” out there saying he intended to marry her, and she was his girl, ie. lots of gratuitous sex scenes to follow. If that were so, why does he only take her into his bed once at the end of Book 24? He had 10 years what was stopping him? And why did he wish her dead when he receives the body of Patroclus? Truthfully you would be sad your friend died, but at least its not your lover, right? Unless, wait what happened to Achilles when Patroclus died?... oh right, that’s the reaction of a man who has lost his best friend, lover, basically entire world, so “Bye Briseis!” you were a broken man’s booty call, time to move along. (Not that there is anything wrong with being a booty call, but in The Iliad that’s what Homer gave us to work with and this ones more directed at Hollywood and Straights™ who like to ignore all historical context.)

Now we know that these tropes did not exist when The Iliad was recorded, and Homer did not set out with the mind set “gotta kill these gays!” the word homosexual did not exist until 1869, it is not like being LGBTQ+ people just popped up then too. But viewing the story with some of these lens we can more clearly see these modern tropes and stereotypes 1. Can exist in pieces of art and literature despite the time the story was told. 2. Hurtful stereotypes affect the way people translate & view stories, peoples, cultures, etc. A prime example I still find it shocking when people say “weren’t they just cousins!?” (NO) 3. Not thinking critically and thoughtfully about such a piece, prevents others from truthful experiences, and devalues the meaning and emotion one gets from reading or telling such a story. 4. It is modern weaponizing & blatant erasure of those LGBTQ+ (fictional and non-fictional characters) that came before us to present a false narrative of heteronormativity. 

In the end, as I stated, Homer did not use these stereotypes, these stories would have been sung and told in a way that captivated its audience, which they obviously are still doing today. Homer is a phenomenal storyteller, truly a classic and one of the best, but some still feel the need to straightwash these characters. So next time someone tries to say Homer never wrote Achilles and Patroclus as gay lovers, there is no evidence in The Iliad to support it, and that we cannot look at them through a modern lens. Or call out others who choose to ignore history, facts, and context, you can say “You Can! and Yes, Achilles x Patroclus are 100% in a committed gay relationship!” 

[imxthexhandler]

Hello!! Steggy secret Santa here! I wanna know if there are any tropes and/or AUs you really like between Steve and Peggy? Any NSFW situations you Like in your steggy smut/art? Do you like Pre or Post Serum Steve best?

OOC: I'm sorry, Steggy Secret Santa! I honestly thought I had replied to you but apparently not, and I am sorry. Work has just been nuts.

Hm. Good questions.

Do you like Pre or Post Serum Steve best?

Both. I mean, really, the serum is just an aesthetic change to me.

Tropes I enjoy:

-Steve getting turned on by Peggy being a badass. -Steve also loving the infamous "thigh holster". -Peggy learning she can be vulnerable around Steve, that she's not weaker for doing so. -Awkward flirting from Steve and Peggy being amused. -Dancing, whether it's an AU of them in WWII, the dance in Endgame, etc.

AUs I'd like to see/read:

-What If's Captain Carter/pre-serum!Steve. *chef's kiss* -Avengers Academy, which was a Marvel mobile game. If you don't know it, a college AU is fun as well. -Peggy coming into the present day due to science hijinks with Howard Stark. -The two of them meeting in a dancing class. -Steve being a tattoo artist and Peggy getting her first tatt when she turns 21. -AU where Steve is Cap when Peggy is Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. -Any situation where Steggy can go on a double date with WinterWidow (or WinterSchnapps, if you want to keep it in the 40's). -Undercover agent Steggy where they have to pretend to be a married couple. -Modern AU of them meeting at a convention and hitting it off.

NSFW situations:

-See item #2 under Tropes. I got a weakness for smut involving that. -Peggy being the one on top. -Just very intimate, loving sex between them. -Steve and Peggy fooling around at her office either with S.H.I.E.L.D. or the SSR. -I know this is cheesy (no pun intended), but I still giggle and like the fondue jokes. -Both of them flirting/teasing each other during/after missions.

Genres I adore:

-Fluff. -I do enjoy smut, but really, it's more about the intimacy between them I like reading. -I don't mind drama/angst, but I want a happy ending. -Domestic bliss.

Please do not include:

-Cheating. -Very graphic BDSM (I personally just don't see it with them). -Peggy being the damsel in distress or Steve being useless. -No Sousa. I think the interactions with him and Daisy are cute, mainly because of my partner Olivia's writing, but I am just not a Sousa fan. -No death. Seriously, I've had a lot of people I was very close to pass away this year and just...yeah, no more death. Unless it's Red Skull. -And none of that nonsense from the comics of trying to say Steve was EVER with Hydra.

Other random tidbits:

-Hot take, but I like Endgame. Even Steve's ending. So, if you want to do something that is post-Endgame, I'm fine with that. -If you do something with writing, I have an AO3 account- I'd like to leave kudos for you on there if your cross-post. -You don't have to write/draw me smut if you don't want to.

And again, I am terribly sorry for taking so long to respond. Please keep warm and safe.

[scotianostra]

The second of our murder stories today......

On February 10th 1306, John Comyn, a leading claimant to the vacant Scottish throne, was murdered by his arch-rival, Robert the Bruce, whilst in a Dumfries church.

Forget Braveheart, far from betraying William Wallace, the Bruce was inspired by him and, after the battle of Stirling Bridge he realised that Edward’s army could be defeated and Scotland eventually freed from English domination, but how best to go about this?

Setting Scotland free  could not be achieved without an established leader and this would have to be sorted out quickly.

  There were really only two men who could step up and become King, John Balliol had been out of the picture for too long and by this time would have been about 60 years old, Scotland needed a younger, more ambitious monarch, only two men were ready, and able to step up, Robert the Bruce himself or his arch enemy John “The Red” Comyn.

  The two men were always at each other’s throats and distrusted each other completely.

The Bruce suggested that they could both meet in a church and discuss who should be the next king. With their supporters outside, the meeting took place by the high altar of Greyfriars Monastery, Dumfries. Nobody knows exactly what happened, but history tells us that Robert the Bruce murdered the Red Comyn in Greyfriars Monastery Blackfriars that day.

I like to dip into the old newspapers of the day, whatever the post, be it modern or like this ancient, and just like today they had their own agendas and bias, this was a typical English account

  Robert de Brus, aspiring to the kingdom of Scotland, sacrilegiously killed the noble man John Comyn at Dumfries (where the justiciar of the king of England was then sitting in the castle) in the church of the Friars Minor, because [Comyn] would not consent to his treasonable action. Robert de Brus junior, earl of Carrick, grievously killed John Comyn, the greatest man in the whole nation of Scotland after the king, because the same John refused to consent to the treason of the same Robert and of the Scots against the king of England There are also some fuller narratives that give details about what had been going on, or at least their version of the events.

  The first comes from a section of the Flores Historiarum written shortly after 1306 at Westminster Abbey – which of course was closely associated with Edward I.  

In it, The Bruce meets with various Scottish nobles, ‘first secretly and then openly’; he tells them that, as they know, his father was not made king because of Edward I’s trickery, but now, if theycrown him, he will wage their war and liberate Scotland. Many perjurethemselves and agree. But when he asks the noble and powerful John Comyn for support, Comyn ‘firmly replied no’ – ‘so he slaughtered him’ in the Franciscan church at Dumfries.

This narrative was expanded in the fuller ‘Merton’ version of the Flores, possibly written for Edward II’s coronation in 1307. In this fuller account Comyn is given an eloquent speech saying the king of England has subjugated Scotland four times, and all Scots, knights and clergy, have therefore sworn fealty and homage to him for both the present and the future; so ‘let me take no part in this – truly, I shall never give assent in this matter, lest I am forsworn’. They argue at length, until Bruce draws  sword and strikes the unarmed Comyn on the head; but the extremely strong Comyn tries to seize the sword from his assailant’s hands, and throws him down. However, the traitor’s attendants, rushing up to free their lord, stab Comyn with their swords. Comyn escapes to the altar; but‘Robert followed … and the impious and cruel man sacrificed his holy victim’. It is the most dramatic of all the accounts of the killing.

There are a number of other English versions of the murder, some written a decade or so later, they all believe that Robert Bruce was planning to become king well before Comyn’s death, which, though plausible is obviously based on hindsight.

  One thing that the English chroniclers all agree on is Comyn’s insistence on upholding his homage and fealty to the English king, basically he was happy to be ruled by an English king.  I have to say though, not just the English agreed with this, but it was only natural that the concept of the ultra-loyal, ultra-honourable Comyn was a vital piece of English propaganda against Robert I. Moreover, it would have been vehemently promoted by the rest of the Comyn kin, since the killing at Dumfries had transformed its members from leading upholders of the Scottish cause into dependent allies of Edward I who looked for his support in the bloodfeud with Robert I.

Okay enough of the English versions, let's look at what the Scots were saying and firstly we have The Scotichronicon (what a great name eh?)  by chronicler John Bower who was a canon and abbot at Inchcolm Abbey on the Firth of Forth, a great place to visit by the way!.

  In The Scotichronicon Comyn  is consistently and famously portrayed as agreeing to help Robert Bruce become king in return for Robert’s lands, and then betraying this agreement to Edward I, remember I said about this in my post a few days ago about Bruce taking Dumfries. Well reflecting on this, Bower depicts Comyn as overcome by ‘the spirit of iniquity’; in other words he is an agent of the Devil. It is a theme in these chronicles, on both sides of the border, indeed in Europe as a whole to make statements like this, or comparing men to biblical figures, remember these stories were all written by deeply religious figures.  The Comyns are shown to having a strong aversion towards William Wallace, for instance deserting him at Falkirk out of jealousy and ‘clear wickedness’.

  Gesta Annalia, an important medieval chronicle detailing our history also points to the famous crown-for-land offer between Comyn and Bruce going on to say  Comyn destroys this unity by betraying the agreement to Edward I, and that is why Bruce kills him. I have to say that this is the main gist of the story that I have understood to be true.

  Gesta's accounts again head in the religious directions saying that God makes his greatest intervention in Scotland’s wars etc, etc. He says Bruce decided to put the public good before his own private interests and therefore approached Comyn humbly with the offer and he is clearly acting under divine influence.  How does Bruce respond to God’s call? Only goes and murders Comyn in a church causing him to be excommunicated by the Pope!

  Of course the most partisan version that we have of what happened is from John Barbour, author of The Brus. In this it agrees with Gesta, and other Scottish Chronclers the Comyn had proposed the deal and offered to support Bruce's claim for the crown in return for all of Bruce's existing lands and titles.

None of the religious nonsense for Barbour, this version is much more secular, and when it comes to the actual killing, Barbour’s account is succinct and brutal;

Sa fell it in the samyn tid That at Dumfres rycht thar besid Schir Jhone the Cumyn sojornyng maid. The Brus lap on and thidder raid And thocht foroutyn mar letting 30 For to quyt hym his discovering. Thidder he raid but langer let And with Schyr Jhone the Cumyn met In the Freris at the hye awter, And schawyt him with lauchand cher 35 The endentur, syne with a knyff Rycht in that sted hym reft the lyff. Schyr Edmund Cumyn als wes slayn And othir mony off mekill mayn. Nocht-for-thi yeit sum men sayis 40 At that debat fell other-wayis, Bot quhat-sa-evyr maid the debate Thar-throuch he deyt weill I wat. He mysdyd thar gretly but wer That gave na gyrth to the awter,

To sum things up the best explanation the English sources can offer for the intention to kill his rival is Bruce's innate wickedness, which is an understandable attitude for them to take in the circumstances but not especially convincing. Gesta, Fordun and of course Barbour are going to be more sympathetic to King Robert. All make the explicit claim that a written agreement existed between the two that Comyn had broken.

To go back to Barbour’s poem, in it he exonerated Bruce's sacrilegious murder  as the just slaughter of a traitor. But this is no mere whitewash. The grave suffering which Bruce endures after his inauguration as king in 1306 represent a series of chivalrous and moral adventures in which Bruce proves himself worthy of his prize, but the murder, and it’s ramifications, that he was excommunicated, played greatly on his mind. You only have to look at the last hours of his life when he asked Sir James Douglas to carry his heart on a crusade, one which he was never himself able to take during his life due to the days events of February 10th 1310 in Dumfries.  

You can read the full epic poem The Brus here  https://www.gutenberg.org/files/44292/44292-h/44292-h.htm

[wlfkssd]

Midnight Caller

based on the prompt ‘hvithelred + midnight / early morning hugs’ sent in by @issadoragreen <3

summary : after a rough week, and with hvitserk not answering his calls, aethelred (thel) visits the lothbrok house at midnight to see him.

warnings : smoking, brief mention of ragnar yelling at hvitserk, mentions of divorce and a bad impression of gimli from lotr. a little bit of angst, not much though.

pairing : hvitserk x aethelred. small appearances from alfred, rollo, ubbe. as well as a tiny flirtation between ubbe and thel. 

words : 2,380.

notes : aethelred is referred to as thel a lot in this fic. just because it’s a little more modern.

The dial tone continues in its monotony and Thel shakes his head, lowering the phone from his ear before he hangs it up again. He stares at the screen and his brows instinctively pull close and tight.

Why aren't you picking up, Hvitserk?

"Any luck?" Alfred, his younger brother, stands in the doorway. He looks anxious; hands buried so deep into the single, long pocket of the oversized, borrowed hoodie to keep him from picking at his fingers in worry.

"No. It just keeps ringing." Thel's defeated and to pretend otherwise would be idiotic. Perhaps Hvitserk doesn't want to talk to him. Perhaps he doesn't want to see him anymore. "I should go over there and see if he's alright."

"At this time of night? What would mum say?"

That's hardly a threat and they both know it. Life at home hasn't always been plain sailing, especially with Alfred's illness and the fact that it's clear he's the favourite. But Thel doesn't mind. Quite the contrary; sometimes that leaves him free to do just about whatever he likes without much fear of repercussions.

Still, this? Maybe his brother is right. It's no time to be showing up unannounced.

"You're right, Alfie." That garners a smile from Alfred - nickname having been with him, practically since birth - and he turns to leave for his own room just as the dial tone strikes back into life.

Some seconds pass, long and unnecessary in Thel's opinion. He can only imagine what the excuse will be.

"Hello?" Ubbe's voice is quiet, softer even than usual and something about it sends a tingling jolt straight up Thel's spine. They're best friends - more like brothers, really - but some things just can't be denied.

"Is Hvitserk alright? He's not answering his phone."

There's a silence and Thel hears the heavy sigh come through loud and clear. In fact, it's far too close to the receiver for comfort.

"Our father came home." Four short words that set the scene for the whole conversation and the coming night. So easily let out and yet their weight now holds itself in the space between the two boys. "He has a way of speaking that isn't always what you would call nice."

And that's putting it lightly. In truth, Ragnar had come home after three long years of globe-trotting and demanded to know which of his sons intended to take over their family business. It was sudden and off-putting and had ruined the last of everyone's Sunday night.

He'd barely spoken to Ivar, choosing instead to focus on Ubbe and Bjørn as his successors. And why not? They are the oldest of his sons. Why wouldn't they want to inherit his empire, his wealth, his standing in Scandinavian society?

Because, for one, Ubbe had told him, he was still in school and wanted very much to become something other than what had come before him. Bjørn had said much the same; giving details that he was going into business with their uncle Floki for a while.

That left Hvitserk and Sigurd and being faced with a father he hadn't seen for years, yelling into his face and asking if he's man enough, wasn't the ideal reunion.

It also explains exactly why none of the brothers have been at school for the past two days. Now Thel understands and his heart eases off its hammering just a little.

"Do you think Hvitserk would see me, if I came over there?"

For the first time in the conversation, Ubbe seems to relax. The sigh slips into something more amused and he hums, lowly. "I think so, yes. It's a shame you like him so much. I could use someone like you right now. Calling at midnight and asking to come over, just to see me."

Shame indeed. Were it not for the fact of Ubbe's younger brother's charm, Thel might have eventually fallen out of friendship and into love with him, instead. But both know it's not to be and there's a moment of comfortable silence.

"I'm on my way, then."

They hang up and Thel takes a deep breath, relieved that the sudden silence isn't anything he's done.

Dressing warmly, Thel makes his way down the stairs and out into the night with a single thought; how can he cheer up his boyfriend?

Several different ideas run through his mind as he walks the short distance from one house to the other. He could pick a flower from each of the gardens on the way and present them to Hvitserk. He could jog to the 24-hour corner shop and buy him some sweets or a large bag of popcorn. Or he could just bring himself and the space between his waiting arms that so perfectly encompasses the one he's chosen to show and give his heart to.

That sounds about right. Sappy as it is.

Coming to the Lothbrok house, Thel slows and considers his ways of entrance.

Knocking on the front door is definitely out. That's far too obvious, isn't it? Plus, he doesn't know who might be sleeping. There is a light on in the living room but the windows blinds are all the way down and disturbing whoever is inside might not end well. Especially if it's Ragnar.

As he's standing there, looking at the house, a throat clears and sends him almost out of his skin.

"Staring won't get you anywhere." Flame of a lighter flickers into life and, for a few seconds, the identity of the voice shows itself. Then it's gone. Thel stands his ground, though, relief filling his veins now instead of fear.

"And scaring the shit out of teenagers won't get you anywhere, either."

Tongue kisses teeth in a gesture of disappointment at the language and Rollo stands up, causing the lamp above the side door to come on, illuminating him. The sterile shade reminds Thel of a hospital.

"What are you doing here, Aethelred?" Rollo asks on the exhale of his cigarette, smoke blown in a steady stream as his eyes focus on the boy before him. "It's a little late for studying, isn't it?" His expression holds so much knowing.

"I'm here to see Hvitserk." And that's all the explanation he's going to give.

"So it's true then? The two of you-" Rollo cuts himself off as he takes another drag on the cigarette, which now looks as though it's due to be snubbed out any moment. He holds in the smoke to delay but lets it out as he comes closer, towering over Thel the way one does when he should be feared.

Flicking away the cigarette gives a single notion.

Threat.

Instead though, it's an embrace that passes between them. A hefty one in which Thel is lifted quite literally off of his feet. And a hearty laugh bellows uncaring from Rollo's chest, still rumbling as he lets go and claps both hands to the teen's shoulders, looking him over.

"You're both terrible at hiding things, you know. Anyone with eyes can see your affection for each other." Maybe in the dark it's easier for him to say things like this; the veil of night covering all manner of distress at discussing affairs of the heart. Lagertha and Siggy have both torn him apart in their own ways but love spreads just as much as anything else. "Now," he sniffs and clears his throat, squeezing one of Thel's shoulders. "Do you need help getting into his window?"

"What?" What, indeed. Thel blinks up at Rollo, brows coming together as they had earlier over the screen of his mobile phone. "I was going to use the front door." He lies and hopes it's convincing.

It isn't.

"Nonsense. You English need to have more adventure." Rollo observes, all the while leading Thel towards the overhang beneath Hvitserk's bedroom window.

They come to stand, looking up at it together. From on the ground, it doesn't seem too daunting but Thel isn't keen on breaking a bone when he's got a big game at the end of the week.

"You expect me to climb up there?" Thel shakes his head, wishing he had asked Ubbe to wait up and let him in. Better than risking life and limb for the sake of adventure. In fact, he's sure Hvitserk would prefer he arrive in once piece and upset Ragnar than show up and immediately have to spend the next day and a half in the hospital with him because he fell.

"Come on. I'll help you."

Bending at the knees, Rollo widens his stance and lays his hands palms up in front of him, interlocking his fingers. He gestures for Thel to come closer with a jerk of his chin. Silently his eyes say he'll never forgive Thel if he doesn't find the courage to at least try it.

"Oh, fine. Fine." Thel huffs and, putting one hand firmly on Rollo's shoulder, he lifts a foot and places it into the waiting hands. One swift motion sees him launched up and onto the overhang. No problem whatsoever.

Rollo gives him a thumbs up for good luck and disappears, presumably to smoke some more.

Then it's just a glass pane that separates him from the one he loves. It feels strange to think, let alone to say, especially given that each of them is so young but, apparently, when you know, you know. And he knows.

Crawling on his hands and knees, uncaring as to the scuff to his black jeans, Thel gets close enough to see his own breath fog up the window and he pauses to peer inside. One hand cups over his eyes, blocking out the light of a nearby streetlamp.

Hvitserk is on his bed, curled around his blanket. One leg on top, one beneath. He wears only a pair of bottoms - Thel's, he notices. They're a loose fit and black and the pull strings are frayed from years of play and fretting. They're old but, somehow, Hvitserk makes them new. He makes everything new; vibrant.

The catch is unlocked so he doesn't even have to struggle with it before he's pushing up the window and slipping through. Hvitserk would say he's like Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible but that's difficult to believe.

Cool air moves the curtains and breathes life into what is otherwise a morbidly still room. Hvitserk's mobile phone lays dormant on his bed, placed in the concave created by his rounded position. As though he just watched Thel calling and calling and chose to ignore it.

No.

Maybe he couldn't bring himself to answer. Shock does strange things to people. Aethelred's own parents almost divorced when his father found out Alfred wasn't his. But they worked through things, eventually. So he's all-too-aware of just how debilitating that emotion can be.

"Hvitserk?" Thel whispers into the dark. It's the softest he's ever spoken and thinks, perhaps, he didn't actually make any sound at all. So, he tries again, not wanting to startle Hvitserk too much if he wakes.

"Mmm?" The noise is an obvious sign of exhaustion and Hvitserk doesn't turn over, immediately. He clearly thinks it's one of his brothers; come to disturb what little sleep he's managed these past few days. "What is it, Ubbe?"

Chancing the gesture, Thel sits on the side of the bed and tentatively lowers a hand onto Hvitserk's exposed shoulder. "It isn't Ubbe. It's me."

"Hello... me." For the first time in days, Hvitserk smiles. His eyes are still closed but that simple touch to his shoulder - naked skin prickling at it - is enough to lift his spirits from even the deepest of depths. "How did you-?"

"Your window was unhooked. I've told you about leaving it that way. Strangers could get in." The hand moves from bare skin to sandy braids and Thel's long fingers gently sweep through, earning him a contented sigh.

A contented sigh that precedes Hvitserk's eyes opening heavily. He blinks, adjusting to the light. "Did you climb up here?" His brows furrow at the thought and he turns over fully now, onto his back. The side of Thel's face that is visible looks to be smiling but it's hard to tell.

"Your uncle tossed me." Doing his best impression of Gimli, Thel ducks his face and laughs. It's almost silent but the moment is one of utter closeness, despite the humour, and after a minute, even that dies away, leaving nothing but the gaze of a sad boy looking into the face of the one he knows can rescue him.

Abruptly, Hvitserk embraces Aethelred's waist; not sitting fully but no longer laying as still and placid as he had been.

"I'm sorry I didn't answer you before. My father-" The very fact that Hvitserk buries his face tells them both all they need to know about the life of that conversation. It needs to be cut short.

"Ubbe told me everything. So you don't have to explain."

It isn't made clear exactly what it is Hvitserk has to do but by the way Thel directs him steadily with a hand at the back of his neck, the other having moved now from soft hair to rubbing at the space between his shoulder blades, and kisses him, it doesn't appear to be anything too taxing. Just be kissed. Even he can manage that now.

For a long moment, there's nothing in the world but them and it's blissful. All the heavy decisions in their futures and all the things they've done wrong in the past just melt into nothing. They're living for the moment.

Lips leave their tender mark on one another as Thel pulls away, briefly, nose bumping Hvitserk's, along with a touch of their foreheads to bring about the signal of parting. Not that it lasts long. Tiredly, Hvitserk shuffles further towards the wall, letting the blanket tangle itself even tighter into his legs and Thel kicks off his shoes and strips down to his shorts.

As they get comfortable, skin presses against bed-warmed skin; the soft, downy hair of Thel's soft tummy tickling the small of Hvitserk's back. Naturally, a groping hand reaches and finds an arm to pull over and a hand to hold in the darkness. The same lips, too, now part and breathe as one, chests rising and falling together.

"Will you stay until I fall asleep?" The question comes around a yawn and Hvitserk hugs Thel closer to him, looking back briefly and offering himself up for another kiss. Aethelred gives it, freely, leaning in for a series of small, affectionate pecks. Each brings about a satisfied sigh.

"I will stay until you fall asleep."