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mollieblue · 3 months

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Hey #labour, you should hire me to talk at you about how to actually fix Britain:

Terfs are the enemy, Trans folx are the people.

Small businesses need support on the ground level in order to foster amazing communities.

Invest in education to the point teachers are as paid well as their private peers or dare I say as well as an MP. I would say that if an MP describes their role as being vital, integral and essential to running the country, who receives a handsome tax paid salary with expenses paid with the public purse, why is it that other public sector roles are paid relatively below minimum wage? This applies to all public sector workers; civil servants, NHS staff, and teachers of all stripes. They are just as vital, integral, and essential to running the country, if not more so, than the openly profiteering geezers in Westminster.

Why is it that the rule makers are more important than those ensuring that the rules work? Those holding up society and holding it together are so sorely underpaid in this country that they are giving their lives to you at pittance so you can be okay. The NHS is a wonderful thing, and it breaks my heart that we don't fully fund it. The same goes for education, social services, community organisations, and libraries. These currently literally keep people existing at the bare minimum, but when fully funded and staffed, they transform lives for the better.

Equal pay for Equal work 》 Equal pay for Equal Importance. Ignore the 'we can't pay them the hundreds of thousands that MPs get' elephant in the room. I want you instead to imagine a world in which all public sector workers are paid the exact same amount regardless of hierarchy or public aspect they interact with. I'm no expert, but I reckon £86,584, the basic annual salary for a UK MP in 2023, would be an absolute god send to a junior doctor on roughly £38k. My partner practically works at minimum wage for 50 hours when you account for the marking, the planning, the organisation of your entire schedule to an impromptu meeting with angry parents and worrying about ofsted. It has worn them down, mostly because we can't have a social life, spending money on the theatre, in shops, on things that make us happy and human. We can't save, and we can't afford nice things. That fucking sucks. It wears a person out and throws them out of the system that's holding up the world.

Everyone I know is feeling like the above, regardless if they're private or public, freelance or salaried. One solution to help is basic universal income. Give everyone over 16 £500 & everyone over 18 £1000 each month for a year and see how awesome it would be in a year's time. I already know how much good that would do to me and everyone I know.

So pay everyone £12,000 a year and then pay all public sector workers the base salary of £86,000 rising in step with inflation. If the private sector can, in theory, pay whatever wages it wants, having a guarantee that your basics are paid will eliminate sooooo much stress. Rich folx can donate theirs, college kids can do interesting work at college because £500 buys a lot of art supplies and travel to museums, exhibitions, and events. Youth would have means to explore the nation before university or set up in an apprenticeship. Our elderly can use it to afford end of life care provisions or enrich their retirement or hell, just keep the lights on. Working folx would undoubtedly benefit the most and would probably like their jobs much more if they know things are covered.

To foot the bill, impose a commons tax on all privately owned land that fairly compensates the commons, ie, the UK public, back.

Make the North part of your game plan, rather than a foot note.

On a serious note; nationalise the railway system and expand the network. It is hell going east to west here, up to 3 hours to go 50 miles west and just 3 to get to London from Selby in North Yorkshire. How is this acceptable?

Invest in working class politicians to bring the reality of Britain back into government. Without our views or experiences on the table, why are we surprised when the Tories fuck us over again? If you want true, enthusiastic support from the British people, do not talk at us as if we're irresponsible children and actually engage with the very liberal and progressive discussions we have daily. Especially people under 40 - the older generation that pulled us out of the EU will be gone soon - you need to court and actually help out.

#fix britain #uk politics #labour #personal rant

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the-everqueen · 2 months

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...not to be insane but i stumbled on a fic where h*b is the Nahuatl deity Quetzalcoatl and i. i cannot. the once slave trader has been posed as a Native god. what.

#this is NOT going in the character tag and this is NOT going to be rebloggable bc i don't want attention but.#i'm. baffled. by the choice to make the white british man played by a white british man. a Mesoamerican deity.#like. the guy who in canon funded the TAST.#this is my ancestors' culture. this is culture people are actively working to revitalize.#i'd get it if it were the Endless transposed into central america. like okay. they don't have a ''fixed'' ethnic background.#but it's. the historic white british dude? who symbolizes. fucking britain???#what kind of colonization shit IS this.#i'm sorry i DON'T usually care about whatever shit the fandom is hyped on #but this is just. baffling.#whiteness is always afforded the language of the human

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ricekirpsees · 3 months

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|| A Harvard Undergrad Becomes Delusional and Has Vivid Hallucinations of the American Revolution: Chp 1 ||

Synopsis- a Harvard Undergrad becomes delusional and has vivid hallucinations of the American Revolution

Note- i like. history

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“The American Revolutionary War lasted from 1775 to 1783, whereby the Thirteen Colonies secured their independence from the British Crown and consequently established the United States as the first sovereign nation-state founded on Enlightenment principles of the consent of the governed, constitutionalism and liberal democracy--”

The pages turn.

“In late 1774, in support of Massachusetts, twelve of the thirteen colonies sent delegates to Philadelphia, where they formed the First Continental Congress and began coordinating resistance to Britain's colonial governance--”

The pages flip.

“In the summer of 1776, in a setback for American patriots, the British captured New York City and its strategic harbor. In September 1777, in anticipation of a coordinated attack by the British Army--”

The book slams shut.

Dropping your head against the cool marble table, you shut your eyes and slumped. Hours of studying left you with a raging migraine, an empty mind, and one too many paper cuts. You were exhausted in ways only studying could afflict a person and you cursed yourself for your ability to blank out when important information was recited to you. If only you could pay attention during lectures. If only you could focus on the rolling waves of words on the glaring, glossy sheets of textbooks. You breathed out heavily. If only. Sadly the world said “fuck you” and fucked you are.

Peeling your eyes open, you stared blankly at the portrait of Charles C. Pinckney you came to despise seeing day after day and debated whether or not you should call it quits or push through researching for that damned paper. Quickly, you opted for the former. You sighed. Perhaps, three hours was good enough for today.

The Boston Public Library was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because you have access to all kinds of documents on America’s history. A curse, because you have access to all kinds of documents on America’s history. There was a sort of obligation to write about it, especially since you were at the heart of the Revolution, the home of Hancock and Adams, and also because you assumed it would be far easier than it was. You dragged your head to look at the shut textbook and felt your heart crumble. This will be the death of you.

But if you can prolong such death, then you shall. You sat up, stretching your cramped bones, and shoved away the awful books before pushing yourself up and throwing on your bag, wincing. The weight of your bag crushed the knot of stress on your shoulder blade, sending an aching pain down your back. You groaned rolling your shoulder as you wished you could snap your arm off to give you relief. Maybe someone in the library would just walk up to you and rip it off, but until that day comes you’ll settle with endangering yourself with exploration. Giving one final stretch you began to make your way out of the ancient marble library.

Boston. Boston, Massachusetts. A place deeply ingrained in good old American history from massacres to floods of molasses and your personal city-wide jail cell. As unfortunate as it is to be trapped, it could’ve been worse. You shudder to think what would’ve happened if you got caught in the tar trap of Chicago or New York.

You push through the ornate, metal doors of the library and out onto the streets of Boston, beginning the familiar walk to the apartments. Traversing through streets of old and new, there was a certain sense of deep familiarity. It was another lucky thing about Boston being your jail cell. You only moved here a few months ago and usually one would be stiff and awkward in a place far, far away from their origins, but seeing those brick buildings and cobblestone roads hidden by those of steel, glass, and concrete, you adjusted unexpectedly easily.

Not that you were an inflexible person in general. You’ve had your fair share of travelling every which way, up and down and across the country, staying in brief intervals with restlessness plaguing your every action. No, this was different. How or why, you’re not entirely sure, but, you think it’s nice.

Seeing the park that centered on Commonwealth Avenue, you sped up and turned onto your side of the street, working your way around tourists and neighbors and crossing over the bustling traffic. Occasionally you give a quick, polite smile to someone you accidentally make eye contact with, before continuing onwards.

It’s going to be a quick stop at the apartments, grab your gear, and go back again just before the sun begins to set. A grin makes its way to your lips and a burst of speed pushes you forward. Danger is your happy place.

You arrive in front of your apartment building and quickly walk in, flying up the stairs, before pushing into your section. Throwing your work bag onto the dingy couch you sped into your room quickly changing and grabbing your gear, listing them off in your head; pants, shirt, jacket on; goggles, respirator, gloves, headphones, charger, cash, first-aid, phone, camera, put them in your bag.

You rush back into the living room and throw on a pair of boots. With a satisfied smile, you threw on your bag feeling the knot easing, and back out the door you went. You passed by another neighbor, giving her a little wave and smile. She smiled back and you flew back down the stairs making your way to the edge of the street to hail a taxi. This is your kind of relaxation.

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The barn door is ripped open. The hinges cry out, still weary of being used after nearly two centuries of slumber, but they’ll get used to you. They will.

A puff of dust bursts free from the idle inside and breezes past you, some specks brushing against your respirator and goggles. With ease, you waved the dust cloud away with your glove-clad hand, and casually walked inside as though this was your true home. You discovered the old barn around the time you were brought to Boston when you attempted to make a break for it.

You just ran. And ran. And ran. Until you came upon this decrepit forgotten beat-up barn in the middle of a field only a couple of miles away from the edge of Boston and it surprised you, you won’t lie, with how praise-heavy of history the city was. You assumed that everything within 100 miles of the city would be tended to with major TLC, but that was obviously not the case for your darling broken barn.

And the only sensible thing to do with such a discovery was claim it as yours! So you did and obsessively explored every single crook and corner to your heart’s content. You had no clue where such adoration for the old building came from, but you didn’t give two shits. It was yours and you were its.

Owner.

Unofficially.

No, you’re not weird. Don’t bully yourself.

You made it in the nick of time, arriving just as the sun started to journey its way to the other side of the world to ruin someone else’s sleep. You brought out your stolen 55-dollar flashlight and flicked it on. A good beam of light lit the dusty barn, waking up the sleepy nats that tumbled around in the glow. Time to get cracking.

Throwing on your headphones, you ambled deeper into the barn with a hand trailing lightly on the grooves and ridges of the splintered, ancient planks. Each step you made was delicate and calculated, feeling each pebble and speck of the uneven ground of dirt and old hay left behind centuries ago. Though no matter how much you tried to feel, there was a distance between you and the old barn, easily kept with the heavy protection and gear of your time. And you were far too lazy to take it off, a subconscious fear of accidentally destroying something or something destroying you. Like lead. Or… traps.

You shook your head, quickly skipped the sad song and punk rock immediately filled your spirits. What the hell was all that moaning and groaning about? You dragged a quick hand over your mask and goggles and picked up the pace to move farther back into the barn, the flashlight staying steady and bright as ever. Hmm, maybe you should start bullying yourself. You weirdo.

You began to berate yourself until you saw the ground becoming far closer than it should. A shock of panic shot through your chest and threw your hands in front of you to brace for the brutal impact. And brutal it was. You collided onto jagged gravel and landed with a heavy thud. You could feel ragged ground scrape against you and you clenched your eyes shut, groaning, the sound muffled by the mask. You had tripped on… something. Now your arms and stomach ached with a thousand tiny rocks embedded into your clothes.

What hurt the most was your confidence, not that you had any in the first place, and absolute embarrassment burned fiercely in your chest. God, you felt stupid. Scrambling up from the group, you dusted off the pebbles and dirt on your now dust-stained jacket, before scooping up your fallen flashlight. You shook your hands loose and adjusted your skewed headphones. God, you felt really stupid.

You pivoted to look back at what damaged your self-esteem, pointing your flashlight at the ground. The light illuminated the drag marks in the dirt from your fall and the hay pushed away from the force and… oh?

A small rusted knob stuck out from the ground, now freed from the years of dirt that built up with the help of your trip. Creeping closer, you crouched down, reached a hand towards it, and began to brush away the rest of the dirt. Immediately you felt a difference, below the dirt wasn’t more dirt, it was something else. You placed your flashlight on the floor beside you and a shiver of excitement rushed down your spine.

Adventure.

Brush by brush, you could make out strips of wood that were embedded into the dirt floor, and with one last stroke, a trapdoor was revealed. You leaned back onto your knees, gazing at your discovery in awe. You smirked. Oh, hell yes.

It took far longer and far more strength than you had originally expected to get the door opened. Shockingly, It was worse than the first time when you tried to pry open the barn door. All you could imagine was all the grime, mud, and paint stuck deep in the hinges and grooves that mixed themselves into a superglue, refusing to let just anybody in like some dirty glue guardian of secrets.

Luckily, you’re far more unwavering than some false glue and pried that sucker open with pure strength. And a stick. You couldn’t help that swell of pride that blossomed once you were showered in a puff of ancient dust that wooshed freely after being trapped for who knows how long. Hopping on your toes, you nearly leapt into the void of darkness that was the crypt without precaution.

Picking up the flashlight, you directed the beam into the hidden cellar, shining light onto some highly suspicious-looking steps that led deeper in, rotted and splintered and utterly unstable. Immediately, you stepped in and made a quick descent into the basement, ignoring each creak, groan, and shudder from the steps before landing on a dirt floor. You paused your music and pushed down your headphones, gazing in wonder at your discovery.

It was like a pause in time, a portion of history untouched and kept secret. Shifting the flashlight’s beam over the small room, you drag your eyes across every square inch of the cellar. Over every cracked pot, crooked shelf, shattered counter, rickety wooden table littered with old parchment, and every single speck of dust. It was beautiful.

You crept towards the table that sat back against the room, an intense pull of curiosity filling your veins and you stood before the collections of yellowed paper. Your heart began to pound the moment you caught a glimpse of the faded stains of ink that swirled on the pages. A long-kept secret for more than 200 years, just inches from your palm. Fuck yeah. You reached for a page and with the most delicate of touches, lifted it from its dust-framed seat and slowly brought it close.

Thoughts of accidentally tearing it, ripping it, damaging it in some screamed in your head for brief seconds was not enough to deter you and so, with the flashlight held beneath it, you began to read.

April 1st, 1774--

Suddenly, you were thrown into darkness, pitch black filling your senses. You flinched nearly, dropping the paper and flashlight, as you stumbled back in surprise. What the hell? You quickly and delicately placed the piece of paper down on what you hoped was the table and frantically shook the blacked torch. Mumbling hisses and curses at the thing, you desperately flicked at the switch hoping for something, a flicker of light, anything. You gave it another shake to no avail.

Nothing.

“Oh fuck…” You breathed out, muffled from the labor of your breaths and doused in panic. Fifty-five dollars and it already busted. You paused for a brief moment. That means you were perfectly justified to steal it. You shoved it into the pocket of your bag, it was a scam.

You continued to step back, hesitantly triple-checking each step that was placed. The last thing you wanted to do was trip again in the black void and possibly bust your head open on some rogue stone. Taking a few more steps back, your heel hits the back of what you hope is the bottom of the stairs and you pivot to face it, leaning forward to lay your hands on the wood plank, before crawling up the stairs on all fours.

You’ll come back. You swear it. But exploring abandoned places with no reliable light source is stupidly dangerous and not the kind of danger that’s relaxing. So much for police-grade utilities, cheap bastards.

Each step was a drag and you felt a weight sink your limbs as you slowly made your way out of the cellar. The darkness was deafening and heavy, weighing down upon you. Weird, you thought deliriously as you made another slow step up. Your eyes started to droop and began to stumble, your head whirling and swooning like you were stuck on a rocket-fueled turn-table ride. You take another leaden step. You’re getting closer. And with another step, your head hits the trapdoor.

Sighing, you placed your hands on the door and pushed up.

Instantly you’re blinded, a piercing white light burns into your eyes and you yelp, yanking back into the darkness. You slapped a palm against your eyes and cursed as a tearing pain streaked across your forehead from the intense light, your ears began to ring. Gritting your teeth, you rub at your burned eyes. What in the world is going on out there, did someone bring floodlights to the barn?!

Squinting your eyes, you climb back out the trap door faced with the full force of the light and the ringing grows more shrill. You wince and put a hand out against the radiant beam, finally stepping onto the barn floor.

The ringing ceased. The light faded. Rapidly blinking your burned-out eyes, your vision begins to clear and soon what you saw left you quite bewildered.

The barn looked… different. New as though it was just built from freshly chopped trees, free from any stains, chips, and rot with the musty scent of age unpresent, filled with the fresh breeze of newly laid hay. Not only that but it seemed to be smack dab in the afternoon. The sun’s light breached through the openings between the wood planks and settled its glow into the barn. You furrowed your brows as you looked around the barn you swore you knew. You couldn’t have possibly been in the cellar that long for it to be day.

You swivled back to look at the opened cellar door and quickly leaned over to shut it, before stepping back and staring at it. Darting your gaze between the trapdoor and the brightly-lit new barn, you could only grow more confused by the second. You pull down your hood and lift your goggles to rest on your forehead to get a clearer look at the place, seeing you weren’t entirely losing your mind, and yet the barn still looked new.

Slowly, you nodded and started to accept that maybe you were far more oblivious than you already believed you were and that this barn took it to a whole other level. You waded through the new heaps of haystacks, deciding that you should go back to your apartment and book an appointment with the eye doctor ASAP.

Sliding the barn door open with surprising ease, you tumble out into the open nearly slipping on some mud. A quick leap of your heart had you seeing the heavens for a split moment before you came back down face to face with a horse.

You stared and the horse stared, before tossing its head as it stepped back and walked away to the rest of its fellow equine. To say you had questions would be an understatement. There were never horses nearby. At least that’s what you thought. You needed to go home. Immediately.

And so you tried.

Quick as a mouse, you ran down your supposed-to-be familiar path back to the lone tar road that you could follow into Boston. But you paused as you arrived next to the tree that marked its location.

It wasn’t there.

You stared at the wild shrubs and tall grass that covered the unfamiliar land. Why isn’t it there? Your gaze darted along each pebble, leaf, and stick. It should be here. There’s no reason why it shouldn’t be here. Slowly, You began to run down what you hoped was the path of the vanished highway only to come across more shifts throughout the area.

Missing roads and metal signs, new wooden fences, narrow dirt roads, far more flora, and a disturbing absence of noise replaced by the deafening sounds of the air and birds. Everything was wrong. Everything felt different.

Every once in a while you would stop and turn in circles trying to find that specific marking on your mental map to find absolutely nothing before continuing to run in what you hoped was headed in the right direction. But as you sped on, it only became more apparent that you must’ve made a wrong turn.

You should at least be able to see the industrial towers and the outskirts of the city line, but nothing. There was nothing. You weren’t sure how to feel as you slowed down to let your feet mindlessly guide you through the wilderness.

You’re… confused. Which isn’t much of an improvement, but it’s better than nothing. You don’t know where you are, you don’t know what happened with the barn. You wished you had something that could conveniently tell you where you are and guide you back with the safest and fastest route it could provide. A cold pail of realization tipped down onto your head.

Oh, yeah. You have a phone.

You slid your bag to face your front and quickly snatched your phone from the designated phone pocket. The bag fell back and you opened your phone to Google Maps, giving a glance to your bars. Only one, that’s fine. You looked back at the screen and sighed, seeing it frozen Apparently, it’s not fine. You shut off your phone and shoved it into the pocket of your jacket, trudging on.

And with that, only one little thought circled your mind: You’re lost.

Somehow, some way, you got lost. You had no clue what happened with the barn, no clue where you were, no clue where everything was, and by golly, did you want to drop to the floor and roll around in the grass. But you didn’t, you put one foot in front of the other through the shrubs and the dirt as the sun shone obnoxiously through more trees than you’ve ever seen near a city such as that of Boston.

One foot forward, the other followed, a part of you refused to acknowledge your situation fully and was perfectly content to walk mindlessly through the foreign world. One then the other, one then the other, a nice smooth walk through the lovely forest that you chose to walk through. One then the other, oh, are those buildings?

Squinting, you peer at the curved silhouettes that stand apart from the natural forms of the flora that scarcely surrounded them. Have you finally made it back to Boston? They don’t look like those on the outskirts, though. Perhaps you’ve arrived from a different direction. You lift your head and stare at the paling blue skies. Yes, a different direction, at least you’re back home.

Back home, indeed.

Stumbling closer to the buildings, you come across a dirt road you’ve never seen before that seemed to lead into the city. You ignored the tracks of hooves and parallel streaks and walked along the edge, unclipping your respirator to hang from your other ear. Soon, you begin to hear the faint hustle and bustle of people being people and the city going on with its busy life. A cool sense of relief washed over you, but you couldn’t help but furrow your brows as you listened closer to the noise. It didn’t sound… right.

A chill trickled down your spine and you stopped. Something isn’t right. You’re not supposed to be…

Suddenly you became aware of the creaks and rattles of metal against wood trembling over the uneven dirt road coming from behind you at an alarming pace. Your eyes popped open in panic and you scrambled away from the road just as you were hit by a gust of wind as something whisked past you. Alarmed you whipped around to see what could have possibly been hurtling down the road only to stop and stare in disbelief.

It was a cart. With horses. A cart like those that are displayed in the halls of museums, all broken and rotten and barely living in the 21st century. But rather than the cart crumbling at the mere breath of a butterfly, it rolled on, built brand new with fresh wood like the barn, and carrying large wooden crates stacked heavily atop each other. The wheels were coated thick with mud and pebbles as it left behind idents in the dirt, adding to those already printed into the ground. It continued it’s journey, clearly heading towards the city and oblivious to the pedestrian it nearly hit.

And you could do nothing but follow after it

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More Notes- later

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quinn-fucks-shit-up · 1 year

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on the topic of pronunciation

I see a lot of people saying Jon pronounces Martin as "Mahtin", now, I'm not gonna say this didn't confuse me, it did, as I read the 'phonetic' spelling as 'Matin' with a short a sound, like in Cat, or Apple

of course now I understand that it was simply Americans making fun of the fact that with words like Car and Martin in Britain the R doesn't mean R, it just means elongate that A, where in America they insist on making Every Letter Count

just a funny difference that I felt the need to point out

#im sorry about the capitalisation in this post #it went a bit off the rails #but i will not fix it #as it is actually a little bit funny #america #england #britain #tma #the magnus archives #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #ik everyone and their mother probably knows this #but i like pointing this stuff out #phonetics #accents #why do americans say every letter of every word?#like #chill out #pls

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aceredshirt13 · 2 years

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everybody out here with their vampire Barok AUs. listen. I like vampires as much as the rest of y’all. but having the huge spooky guy with the pale skin and goth clothes and bat friends and endless supply of red wine be a vampire is just too on the nose. too obvious. too passé.

my pitch: vampire AU where Barok is just a regular human guy who is Like That.

Albert is the vampire.

(more excessive details under the cut)

Albert wasn’t a vampire yet when they met in college. In fact, their whole college experience and Barok’s entire traumatic post-college experience is identical to canon. But Albert got bitten while in Germany, and when he comes back to London and sees Barok’s new look he’s like “wow! I guess my old friend has ALSO become a vampire! what a spectacular coincidence!” Unaware that these are just Barok’s vibes now that his brother is dead and he’s lost faith in humanity.

No one’s figured it out because Albert has never had many friends, and his class load as a professor was never high in the first place, so what would be strange about him only teaching night classes all of a sudden? Or only venturing out of his research lab after dark? The man is so exuberant and so thoroughly unintimidating that no one would ever suspect him of such a thing. In fact, Albert looks exactly the same as he does in the game, but if you look closely, you’ll see he’s got little fangs when he smiles. The only thing that clues in Barok is when he’s taking Albert to Dover after the trial - that he seems extraordinarily wary of sunlight, and that he always seems hungry no matter how much food Barok buys for the pair of them, and that when Albert hugs him goodbye, he’s terribly cold to the touch.

So how is Albert taking this transformation? Well, truthfully, he’s fascinated, and adds his own nature to his long list of scientific subjects to study; but he despises having to hurt people to feed himself, and keeps trying to invent viable blood substitutes that always end up being rather poor in the departments of both nutrition and taste - just enough to keep him alive. (Theoretically, he could buy blood from the butcher shop, but much like trying to give a newborn baby the milk of another animal, animal blood isn’t great for vampires - and buying large quantities of animal blood is both a strain on the wallet and tends to draw the suspicion of the butcher.). It’s really just a more dramatic version of how he behaves in canon - how much he puts his work and his studies above his own health and well-being.

Of course, once Albert realizes Barok is just a regular human, he doesn’t want to tell him because of the (admittedly rather warranted) stigma against his kind, especially with Barok being from a powerful family that undoubtedly has ties with the Church of England - and Christianity does not exactly have a great relationship with creatures seen as demonic. But of course, Barok ends up discovering the truth anyway - and though it is obviously rather a shock, the man’s fondness for his old friend is far more important to him than the fact that he now survives upon drinking the blood of the living. Afterwards, whenever they go out, Barok holds his cape over Albert when the sun is bright enough to risk burning him - and though Albert has been a vampire for long enough to avoid garlic in his meals (vampires can eat human food, but it’s all of the enjoyment with none of the nutritional value, so they can’t survive on it), Barok always insists on double-checking for him, just to make sure. (And by virtue of Barok looking and dressing the way he does, when they’re together, any suspicion of Albert’s vampirism is very quickly deflected onto Barok. Quite literally everyone thinks Barok is the vampire. They just think Albert only comes out at night because he’s weird.)

As for, er, my less than platonic leanings toward the relationship between these two… well. If Albert’s trying to survive solely on a combination of animal blood and these bad blood substitutes to avoid hurting people, then I imagine he’s not always doing very well - he might have trouble functioning, or sleeping, or feeling faint/having low energy even when he’s excited about something. Barok, worrywart that he is, is incredibly concerned about him, but also knows he can hardly force Albert to start accosting people on the street for their blood just for his own health. So, Barok offers an alternative; he slowly lowers the collar of his shirt, revealing his neck.

Albert protests at first, naturally being even less willing to hurt his dearest friend than a stranger, but Barok insists it’s all right - and a combination of his friend’s visible concern and his own stomach growling manages to convince him at least to try. Frantically, he assures him that it’ll only hurt for a moment - after all, he says, when applied carefully, vampire venom has a numbing agent more advanced than that of mosquitoes or fleas, with none of the itchy after-effects! - before biting him, very, very gently.

It does hurt, for a moment, but that fades fast, and soon it’s replaced by a rather pleasant feeling - for Albert, that of being able to enjoy something he’d always thought monstrous; for Barok, the intimate physical contact he’d forgotten and missed. After Albert is done, having made sure not to take too much, they end up in each other’s arms, just… lying there, for quite a while, and then spend the next week and a half trying to convince themselves that was a very normal and heterosexual thing to do between a vampire and his human bestie. (And then, of course, they do it all over again.)

For the record, Albert figures out his feelings for Barok first, but tries to push them down - until another vampire he meets points out that, well, he’s already a vampire. A creature viewed as demonic. So what if he loves another man? At best, it doesn’t matter anyway, and at worst, what’ll he be, more damned?

#red randomness #ace attorney #the great ace attorney #barok van zieks #albert harebrayne #benbaro #this was a bit long oops but it’s been playing on my mind #can’t get over the mental image of Albert’s lil fangs #and I don’t know if I’ll ever be dedicated enough to write a fic of this #so I figured I’d at least share the concept for anyone interested lol #also I just think this AU’s dynamic would be funny. and very sweet. as all Benbaro is wont to be.#two other AUs for Benbaro bouncing around in the ol’ brain that I’ll maybe talk about someday lmao #the great ace attorney spoilers #my absolute idiot ass mixed up Britain and America. apologies that has been fixed

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