i really wish i had the motivation to write rn, because i have an idea for a post-canon Dracula fic where the characters have to deal with world war one. like, how do you even cope with thinking you saved all those lives, only for the entire western world to go to absolute shit just 20-ish years later? if only Bram Stoker had known what was coming.
anyway, i find it so interesting to consider what certain characters would do in that situation.
depending on when he was born, Quincey Jr could be just old enough to enlist or get drafted. or honestly, he might just want to be a hero like his parents, and lie about his age. and let's be real, that boy has some latent vampire powers that would give him an edge.
Jonathan has good survival instincts, an ear for languages, and the ability and willingness to scale sheer walls with a knife between his teeth if necessary. Mina has a really impressive memory for conversations and schedules, a love of technology, experience resisting what is essentially supernatural interrogation, and probably some vampire side effects of her own. both of them know shorthand and have plenty of experience with life or death situations. they would kick ass as spies and wireless operators.
Jack and Van Helsing would have to cease the medical malpractice to be actual army doctors. maybe learn about shell shock and call up Jonathan about that old "brain fever" diagnosis of his.
and what would Arthur even do? what did lords do during WW1? try to keep his friends out of harm's way? use his seat in government to try and end the war? grapple with the fact that lordships are falling out of favour and the world is moving on into a modern era without him?
i just find it fun to ponder.
307 notes
·
View notes
25 for engspa 😌😌 happy holidays!
we're moving we're writting we're engspa-ing - i hope you had a lovely holiday period! sorry for this being slowwww, but here ya go, and welcome to 2024! :D
Message
“Hey, where are you going? Arthur, come back!”
Arthur peers back over his shoulder just as he steps out of the meeting room, along with everyone else that has already packed their work so that they could officially embrace the start of their holiday break. With three weeks off, it is a blessing in tinsel-adorned surprise.
Even if he recognises the voice that has called to him, though, in those milliseconds it takes to turn his head, he wonders if it could be João, or Francis, or Ludwig. Someone logical. Someone that would have reason, surely, to want to make conversation.
His ears, however, have not deceived him.
He turns to find Antonio, yet to properly put his things away and part from the final gathering of the year. He seems to be waiting. Expecting. Arthur is unsure what for, though.
João does pass in the meantime, and claps Arthur on the shoulder (“Have fun,” he says, a comment yet to be understood) as he goes, and there is a brief temptation to go with him—it would be safer. A drink with João at a nearby bar to wish him a happy Christmas, before the Channel separates them again. He misses spending time with his friend. It gets harder and harder to make an excuse to see him with each year that passes…
Fingers snap in front of his face. Arthur jerks back, and then shoots Antonio (who has magically collected his things to leave) an unamused look as he recovers.
“What?” he asks, calling the other names only in his cornered mind.
“You never replied,” Antonio tells him.
“To you calling me back like a dog, you mean?” the Brit scoffs.
“No,” Antonio replies, however. “I sent you a message last week. A few, actually.”
Arthur stutters. He doesn't recall. He even asks Antonio if he is sure, but the way the other crosses his arms over his chest, raises a brow, and steels himself is the only answer he requires.
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I take it it was important.”
“Very,” Antonio replies.
“Well, like I said, I’m sor—”
“I asked you about your plans for Christmas.”
At that, Arthur blinks, his eyes staying shut for a good two seconds before he opens them and looks at Antonio with an increased level of bewilderment. “You want to know what I’m doing for Christmas?”
“Yes. If that’s okay.”
The Brit tuts, but he gives in. (Sort of): “I’m going wake up Christmas morning,” he begins to say, “make myself a cup of tea, have a sorry excuse for a breakfast, go for a walk, watch some crappy movie, have dinner, have pudding, and then go to bed.” His face relaxes. “Is that a detailed enough itinerary for you?”
Antonio only starts to look sorry for him, much to Arthur’s horror, however, and he says, “You aren’t seeing anyone…?”
“No,” the blond says warily. “Why?”
“Because,” Antonio replies, “if that’s the case, then you should come and spend Christmas with me.”
“With—” He scoffs, a pure instinctual response to something so— so ludicrous! “With you?” he barks. “Yeah, right!”
Looking mildly offended at the outburst, Antonio lets the stragglers from the meeting file out, breaking eye contact with Arthur for a good moment, before he finally looks back at him and says somewhat sternly, “I mean it. You can spend Christmas with me.”
There is only one word that Arthur is able to produce: “Why?”
“Why, what?”
“Why are you inviting me to spend Christmas with you?” the Brit clarifies. “Me of all people?”
“Well João and Francis are popping over as well over Christmas Eve and Christmas Day,” Antonio tells him. “Gilbert, too. And I’ve invited a few others, though I’ve not had definite responses yet… But it’s not just you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not worried, I’m confused. Seriously, why are you—?”
“Arthur, please,” Antonio says with a soft sigh. “Do you really have to ask why?”
“Yes!”
The Spaniard rolls his eyes and shakes his head a little, but, in the end, he concedes: “I’m inviting you over, because no one should be alone for the holidays. It… doesn’t sit right with me.”
Arthur is stunned, for lack of a better word. He’s surprised—still a little bit confused, too—but more than anything, he is… touched. Not that he would dare say so aloud, because of course, he has no issues spending some time alone!… But…
…No one can deny the complexities lying behind England and Spain, and the relationship their personifications share.
Part of Arthur finds distaste in how this could be a gesture of pity rather than thought, because Antonio feels sorry for the fool who spends his Christmas sitting alone by the fire nursing a cup of tea and old memories of years gone by. Part of him at the same time, however, also wants to believe that this is all sincere, that Antonio cares, that Antonio wants him—genuinely wants him—to be there.
It could be a blessing in disguise. It could be a change to… branch out, he supposes. Enjoy some winter sun, while he’s at it…
“It’s up to you,” Antonio goes on to say amidst Arthur’s indecision. “But I’ve got a room going spare and lots of food to eat. So you’re welcome to come over if you want to.”
Arthur nods, and swallows down a lump of… he doesn’t know. Shame? Guilt? Uncertainty?
Then he asks, “Can I have some time to think on it?” as a polite request—a sign, really, that he is at least considering the offer he has been given.
“Sure,” Antonio smiles at him, much to his relief (and that smile warms him all the while, a sign in turn that the other is happy to hear it). “If you just give me a few days’ notice if you do decide to join us, that’d be good. Just so I can make sure everything’s ready.”
“‘Course.”
“Great. Well, uh…” His smile becomes a bit softer, and almost meeker, too. “I’ll… leave you to do whatever it was you were doing,” Antonio says, before he excuses himself and stps around Arthur to continue on his way.
It is as Arthur watches Antonio leave—as he watches how Antonio rubs the back of his neck and swings his bag and glances out of the corridor windows before he fixes his strides and pace—that something takes over him. That something deep within him calls out:
“Antonio, wait!”
The Spaniard stops, almost tripping over his own feet. Arthur hears him curse, and scurries after him as Antonio turns around.
“W… What is it?” the other asks him.
As Arthur arrives at his side, he makes his call: “I’ll come.”
Antonio perks up. Now he is the surprised one. “You will?”
“I am actually seeing my brother on the 28th,” Arthur says before he forgets, “but I— I can spend Christmas with you. In fact, I…”
“You…?”
Arthur clears his throat and musters up a faint smile for the other, finding it, at last, in himself to say, “I’d be honoured,” as his face warms, his palms start to turn clammy, and his tie feels just a bit too tight. “I would… very much like to see you for Christmas, in fact.”
Antonio’s smile returns, brighter than before.
Arthur’s happy holidays have officially begun.
[ full ficlet collection on ao3! ]
14 notes
·
View notes