#by logic he should retire soon

[is-it-real]

If Lewis retires before Fernando then I will just deny any idea that Fernando will/could retire

[perpetual-enjine]

I’m also surprised at the whole thing with Endeavor’s career being “over” and him “taking the fall for Dabi” or whatever.

Guys.

THE MAN HAS KILLED ALL FOR ONE.

He lost his dominant arm to defeat the nation’s worst villain. He’s a war veteran who saved the country. “Dabi” is old news - it’s been a while since the reveal, and the whole time, as soon as he got out of the hospital, Endeavor has been fighting. Logically, he should be at the peak of his clout! He did something even All Might was not able to do. There is no way in hell, after removing the biggest stressor in every person’s life, he would still be dragged by most people for his past behavior. Especially given that he never denied his wrongdoings and has shown remorse. To a regular person, the very sight of Endeavor should bring relief, just like the sight of All Might used to. You know the man will sacrifice a limb to save you and risk his life - because he’s done that before.

Additionally, after All for One confessed to taking Touya and messing with his body, it should be clear that he had his hand in the making of Dabi. Endeavor didn’t make his (adult) son “kill 30 innocent people” any more than Shigaraki’s dad made him ruin cities and decay heroes.

Last but not least, Endeavor is a big-time dilf.

Yes, it sounds super unserious, but think about real-life media, the public, and fame. He’s a tall, good-looking, physically fit man with a sexy job, unusual hair color and rare eye color who wears a skintight outfit and has a powerful, impressive-looking quirk. When a famous person is attractive, they get away with shit a lot more easily.

Look at real-life MHA fans: who’s simping for ReDestro? No one. Now who’s simping for Dabi? Everyone.

This really isn’t reflected well in the manga or anime, Endeavor is depicted like some scary guy people avoid, but if you look at how real people behave, that’s not realistic. There would be simps galore, apologists, fans chasing him asking for stupid shit like “please yell at me,” “I want to have your babies,” or “please set me on fire,” people flashing him their boobs, people selling and buying Endeavor body pillows, accounts with pictures of his ass, etc. All this shit would only get more intense after the defeat of AFO and would contribute to Endeavor’s public approval score.

So no, I don’t think there’s a big scandal or that it makes sense for him to retire for something other than health or personal convictions.

[i-dont-talk-for-days-on-end]

I was reading the first part of "The Blanched Soldier" and helllllllp! I'm really tired and I doubt I can make a coherent analysis out of my thoughts - BUT it is so tempting to try and see if the story can be read as a Holmes/Watson analogy!

Holmes dropping not only the "The good Watson had at that time deserted me for a wife, the only selfish action which I can recall in our association" bomb which could be read as an ironic/humorous remark, but also the devastatingly plain and honest "I was alone" right afterwards.

Holmes then telling the story of a client moving heaven and earth looking for his soldier friend who disappeared, constantly stressing how close their friendship was.

ALSO during the flashback scene the client is, in the logic of the narrative, literally in the position of the detective, trying to find out what happened to his friend!

His search being hindered by an oppressive and stern father figure - something something about authority and control and societal norms (and perhaps Watson's marriage as a necessity because two bachelors living together for so long might be a bit suspicious in the eyes of the public)

"'You must put it down, sir, to my real love for your son.’" Whaaaaaat?? Putting aside the question whether or not one wants to read this story in a romantic way, this is a story about friendship and devotion and loss and oh my god just kill me, just give Holmes his friend back please

Client then has to have dinner with the parents which must be incredibly awkward, but instead of trying to make conversation he claims that he "was so bored by the whole proceeding that I made an excuse as soon as I decently could and retired to my bedroom". Bored?? Now I'm reading too much into it, but this also reminds me of Holmes who is NOT a fan of smalltalk and would rather sneak off to his bedroom to meditate over the clues than to make polite conversation with people he dislikes (although the mother seems to be okay)

On top of that a nice His Friendship and Courage Saved My Life *cough* Devil's Foot *cough* parallel: "There was no braver man in the regiment. He pulled me out once from under the rifles of the Boers, or maybe I should not be here." (Yes. Now I'm hopelessly overthinkink and overanalysing.)

Aaaand as a bonus, Holmes in the beginning practically admits that it was necessary for Watson to write his stories in a way Holmes often criticised, AND behind the whole charade of "I don't have a companion because I LIKE him" he literally says that "Watson has some remarkable characteristics of his own to which in his modesty he has given small attention amid his exaggerated estimates of my own performances", indicating that Watson downplayed his own role in the cases he wrote up.

I hope Watson returns soon, because his absence CLEARLY puts Holmes into an overly dramatic mood.

(I'm joking about this, but I actually feel very sorry for him. I can feel the "I was alone" keenly, because haven't we all been the best friend who was abandoned for a romantic partner at some point? Please tell me it wasn't just me. )

[diana-bookfairchild]

@hinnymicrofic May Day 18: Retirement

“Jamie, shhhh.” Teddy hissed.

“Al’s sitting on my hand! Don’t tell me to shush!” Jamie complained.

“Sorry!” Al got up hurriedly.

“Al! Get down! They’ll see us!” Teddy reprimanded. “Merlin, why can’t you two be like Lily? She isn’t murdering any chance of finding out what your parents are keeping secret.”

The scowling three boys and very smug little girl turned to the scene they were trying – very badly – to spy on.

Harry and Ginny Potter were talking to each other very intently, heads bent together. All four children burned to know what the conversation was about.

“I think Mummy’s saying something about flying carpets,” Al said, eyebrows scrunched together.

“Pooh!” James scorned. “Why would they talk about flying carpets just because you like them silly-billy-Ally?”

Al went red. Teddy said something sharply to James, who grudgingly muttered an apology. The next moment, groans and exclamations of disgust erupted.

“They’re kissing!” Teddy sighed.

“Do we have to watch this?” Jamie whined.  

“I think it’s sweet,” Lily said serenely. At further expressions of incredulity and displeasure, she gave them such a withering look that all three of her brothers shut up. “One day, I want a love like that.”

“We’ve been here ages and we still haven’t heard anything,” James began to complain after only a few seconds, because he was the very antithesis of silence.

“Well, we’re not wasting all the effort we put into making this—” Teddy waved a hand at the candle-lit table, “Date thing happen. We need to know what they’re hiding from us.”

“Just because they’re always whispering doesn’t mean it’s a secret,” Al said logically, in an effort to get back in the house where it was much more comfortable. “They’ll tell us soon. Probably.”

“I’m not taking ‘probably’,” James said, apparently on the other side now. “We have to know. We have a right to know!”

“Seems like your right to know has to be unavoidably delayed,” Lily’s high voice came, stumbling over a few words. “Cause mum and dad are going inside now.”

“WHAT?” Came the shriek of the distracted boys and they looked to see that, indeed, their parents were heading back to the house, hand-in-hand and laughing.

“Noooooo!” James collapsed to the ground in a very dramatic display.

Al howled. “Jamie! You’re on my legs! Get OFF!”

“I give up,” Teddy said, mournfully looking to the heavens. “I give up on everything.”  

Inside the house, Harry commented “I think they’ve given up,” to his wife.

Ginny laughed. “About time. I thought the boys at least would riot and leave when we started kissing.”

“As much as their attempts at espionage are entertaining,” Harry said, turning away from the window to smile softly at the sight of Ginny fidgeting with the flower crown he’d just made her. “We should tell them soon. Too much fuss for a little retirement, don’t you think?”

“A little retirement,” Ginny raised an eyebrow. “You’re not the one leaving your career of thirteen years, Potter.”

“Point taken,” Harry laughed.

“Besides, didn’t you enjoy their efforts at setting up a date for us so they could try to eavesdrop? And fail miserably, may I add.”

“Yeah, I feel sorry for them. Hermione said they came to her and Ron begging for all those candles and the dinner and the flowers. So much effort just to fail.” He shook his head, though he couldn’t stop smiling.

“They are getting more desperate,” Ginny conceded. “I’m surprised Lily and Al haven’t been able to convince their brothers to be more reasonable.”

“Getting overruled, I think,” Harry replied. “The other two are a lot older.”

“Fine, we should tell them. I just don’t know how they’re going to take that I’m no longer going to be the star chaser for the Harpies. They love following the team and getting seats to matches.” She sighed worriedly. “Hopefully they’ll buy the ‘reached peak athlete age’ excuse.”

“Hopefully. We don’t want to explain quidditch politics and what it did to you to them,” he agreed.

Ginny sighed again, looking out the window to their children who seemed to be still throwing their little tantrum. “Is it wrong that I’m a little relieved? I love quidditch, but I hated the League politics and the need to win.”

Harry pressed a kiss to her head. “Of course it isn’t wrong. You can find a more peaceful career, relax a bit before that. Especially after how you left.”

“Says the auror,” she teased. “So. Tell the kids tomorrow? They don’t seem to be coming inside any time soon.”

Harry kissed her, and found a matching grin to his. “Tomorrow. Till then. . .” He scooped her up in his arms and she laughed. “I have a few ideas of what we can do. Use this little date they so nicely set up for us, maybe.”

[hunterevie]

Story - Domesticity

Pairing - Dean Winchester/Castiel

Word count - 1025

Rating - Teen

Summary - Dean asks Cas to do the dishes and Cas decides he doesn’t want to. Dean has to try and explain to his husband why it’s only fair if he does the dishes.

They had just had a lovely meal, well Dean had. Cas still refused to eat as everything still tasted like molecules to him. He tried some bbq beef brisket that Dean cooked for their anniversary once and it put him off eating for the rest of eternity. Dean was particularly affronted by that idea, his beef brisket was one of the best things he cooked.

Well he thought so at least.

Instead he would just sit with Dean, chatting away about anything and everything. Sometimes about a new show he had found on Netflix when Dean was at work; others about the issues Jack was having with the supernatural now Dean had chosen to retire. The chats he loved the most were those where he would grab his free hand, kiss his fingers lightly and tell him what his plans were as soon as he got Dean into bed.

Those were particularly enjoyable talks.

When Dean had finished his latest meal he walked to the sink, putting his plate in with the skillet and baking tray that he had used earlier. Staring at it briefly before turning to his husband who had his hand cupped around a glass of honey iced tea, the only human thing he enjoyed. The sweetness of the honey was addictive to him.

“Hey sweetheart, could you do me a favour?” Dean asked, his husband turning to look at him seriously.

“I would literally fight against heaven, destroy hell, burn the world for you if you asked.” Okay that was a weird response but he’d go with it. Sometimes his husband did come up with some very unusual responses to incredibly minor questions.

“That’s great angel. But uh…I just wondered, can you do the dishes for me?” There was a pause whilst Cas took a quick drink before he responded.

“No.” O…kay, that was not the response he wanted.

“Cas, what do you mean no?” He very rarely heard that word from his husband, but it seemed to always be when he was asked to do something mundane like house work. Normally he would just roll his eyes and do it himself, not wanting to get into an argument with Cas over something so petty, but today he was tired and pissed off after a bad day at work.

He really wanted his husband to do the dishes.

“Because I’m an angel of the lord, and we don’t ‘do the dishes.’” Dean snorted when he saw the little air quotes from Cas. Whilst they annoyed the hell out of him he also found them extremely endearing. They were so dorky, so Cas, and one of the things he loved so much about him.

“Whilst I appreciate you’re an angel of the lord Cas, in this bunker you are my husband and I am asking you, nicely, to do the dishes.” Although he was doing his best to keep his voice level, he could tell that there was a bit of heat in the way he spoke. Resulting in Cas pursing his lips in annoyance before he spoke.

“No.” Okay this was going to be a fight. Exactly what he had been trying to avoid whenever he relented in the past. But today, he wasn’t going to relent.

“Castiel, why are you refusing to do the dishes?”

“Why should I do them when I don’t eat anything? It’s not like I use them. I just sit here and watch you eat. If I made the mess I would do the dishes.” My God, Dean actually hated that the logic made sense to him. He wouldn’t choose to clean up after Cas if he didn’t make the mess, but he wasn’t going to let him get out of it like this.

“Whilst you do make a good point Cas, when you’re in a relationship you’re a team and tend to work together on things.” As he considered what Dean was saying his head tilted to the side, eyes squinting a little. A look that Dean found so loveable and irritating in one go.

“Work together.”

“That’s right.”

“On things like doing the dishes.”

“Yes.”

“But why?” Dean groaned hard, his head falling into his hands. He was really regretting bonding himself to this clueless angel that he currently wanted to strangle. Why couldn’t he have a nice human wife or husband that understood this kind of thing?

“Cas, it’s just a thing that couples do. Share the chores.” Dean still had his head in his hands, but he could imagine the look of confusion and disbelief on his husbands face.

“So it’s a human thing?” Oh thank god he was finally getting it.

“Yes, commonly one person would cook and the other would wash up afterwards. Dividing the chores up to make things fairer.” Still he couldn’t look up from his hands. In between wanting to laugh that he was explaining ‘doing the dishes’ to an angel of the lord and still wanting to strangle his husband for making such a simple request so awkward.

“Why didn’t you just say that?” Cas responded. Dean looked up just in time to watch his husband wave his hand, using his grace to instantly wash the dishes and put them away. Dean mouth fell open in shock as Cas stared him down. “What?”

“You do realise we spent longer arguing about you doing the dishes then it took you to do the god damned dishes.” He could no longer hide the annoyance in his voice.

“I’m aware.” He was back to drinking his tea, acting like nothing had happened.

“But why?”

“It’s the principle of it.” The principle of it!?! Throwing his hands up in the air Dean turned around and went to walk out of the kitchen. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to bed.” A voice shouted back from the hallway where Dean had disappeared. The unmistakeable sound of Sam’s laughing echoed through not long afterwards. “Shut up Sammy.” Dean shouted, making him laugh even harder. Cas just sat at the table, enjoying his tea, knowing it was best for him to calm down.

He would make it up to him later.

[riplever]

[Translation] Translating my favorite moments from Shapolang

/*SPOILER WARNING*/

This is my prep work for future fic-writing.

Gu Yun suddenly goes, "Shall I leave the army to Chang Geng in the future?"

Shen Yi is stupefied. "Just how badly do you want him dead?"

From the look on his face, Shen Yi is very much taking pleasure in his suffering. Gu Yun reaches for the back of head and shoves him face-down into the blankets; then he drifts away listlessly, thinking it might be time to hang himself with a waistband of sorts.

Gu Yun knows the human heart all too well — he knows the more you avoid some things, the more heinously taboo it becomes; like what happens when poison reaches the bone — in far too deep to be removed. So it's with that logic in mind that he decides to show Chang Geng all he has to show — it's just his body after all, what else is there to it?

"If I were born a decade earlier..." Chang Geng suddenly starts.

Liao Ran's eyelid twitches.

Word by heavy word, Chang Geng finishes his sentence: "This world would be a different one."

And he never would ever let Gu Yun go.

Gu Yun does feel that he has the bigger responsibility in this whole affair, and for that he even feels guilty. Under ordinary circumstances, Chang Geng never would have gotten this close to him were if not for his unspoken approval. And even if he hadn't had enough wits to react on the spot back then, thereby leading to their "accident", he still should not have procrastinated... and allowed things to get to their present state.

"That's why..." Gu Yun could only utter those two words. His voice is cracked beyond recognition, and it was physically taxing for him to clear his throat enough to finish the sentence. "So that's why you prescribed him tranquilizers."

(T/N: I find it so interesting that 安神药 is translated as "tranquilizers" in the fandom. It's not the first thing I would have thought of, but it's quite fitting for the wild wolf analogy and is a very chilling word to see.)

At the end of his flute performance, an extremely self-satisfied Gu Yun turns around with a face full of expectations and prompts him. "Wasn't that just lovely?"

"..." Chang Geng hesitates not for a short period of time, and in the end answers sincerely. "It invigorates one's spirit and... will definitely keep our enemies at bay."

Chang Geng couldn't resist any longer. He leans down and plugs Gu Yun's lips with his own.

"My general," his thinks, heart at once sweetened and sorrowed. "Throughout history, how many have been able to shed their armors and retire in one piece from the battlefield? What was that promise for, if none other than to break my heart?"

Unlike the parting kiss on the city wall all those years ago, this one contained much less desperate passion. All of a sudden, a section of Gu Yun's armored heart caves inwards, revealing its softest and most vulnerable underbelly. It's this heart that thinks, "From here on, this person is mine."

That look in Chang Geng's eyes, that expression — Shen Yi's eyes are blinded, and he gravely regrets stepping foot in the manor at this time. Gu Yun, for his part, is just as mute — his waist was pained simply from hearing the word "Stepfather".

Gu Yun wipes the salt from his mouth, reeling from the accusation at being called an "animal". He felt so grievously misunderstood that he could do no more than sit mutely in his corner, unable to plead his own case.

As he chewed on the salted yellow fish, a thought occurs to Gu Yun and he puts half of it in Shen Yi bowl. "How about you finish up dinner and get going soon? You were born with eyes, surely with them you can see how busy he is from having worked so hard all day long. Don't impose here."

An insulted Shen Yi very nearly chokes on the damned salted yellow fish bone. He retaliates lowly, "I come all this way here to play counsellor to your worries, and this is how you thank me? Gu Zixi, you would rather lust for sex than be loyal to our friendship — so this is what they mean when they say time reveals all colors!"

Gu Yun hasn't even gotten the last syllable out of his mouth when he feels a sudden warm wetness on the side of his neck. It's Chang Geng — taking advantage of the present chaos to lick a strip across Gu Yun's skin.

Through the cacophony, he could hear that low voice murmuring right inside his ear. "It's fairly romantic to die for love in this manner, wouldn't you say?"

Gu Yun is speechless.

(My favorite #2)

Perhaps the most unpredictable thing in this world is not the ill intents of one's enemies, but the heart of one's lover — oftentimes sincere, yet still, at times — fleeting.

Chang Geng pleads, "Zixi..."

"There's no need for Zixi," Gu Yun responds evenly. "You may continue addressing me as 'Stepfather'."

Chang Geng smiles without shame, and kisses him with the intent to please. This is something he'd recently discovered — that Gu Yun likes these sticky little kisses, a kind of light pressure between lips. And if he tops this off by staring at him with a careful and attentive expression afterwards, then Gu Yun will say "yes" to just about anything he asks for.

(My favorite #1)

As he said this, there is an almost imperceptible furrow between his brows, his expression practically bleak. Chang Geng has only ever seen this expression one other time, and it was during that new year's eve when they were aboard the Yuan. The Gu Yun of then had toasted three cups of wine to a legion of departed souls, his face etched with this exact same stinging loneliness — as though not even the combined might of all the lanterns in the city could bring him into light.

Chang Geng's eyes flash, and seeing that no one on the cart was paying them any mind, offers in a tantalizingly low voice, "Let me again tonight and I'll show you the blueprint for the railroad."

Horse whip in hand, Gu Yun leans back. "Let you? How many times have I let you? You've used your injuries as an excuse countless of times and you've never let me have my way. Forget it."

Liao Ran raises his eyes to meet his gaze.

Chang Geng's expression is inscrutable. "Ask Chen Qingxu for all the Gu Zixi secrets she's been keeping from me."

(My favorite #3)

Chang Geng's grip tightens as he holds Gu Yun almost protectively. For the first time in his heart, there's none of the dependency he feels towards his little stepfather, and none of the desire he feels towards his beloved. Instead, he feels as though he's cradling a young and delicate child in his arms.

In all the time he's spent ruminating on impossible what-ifs and what-could-have-beens, Chang Geng often tried to imagine what their relationship would have been like had he been been born ten, or even twenty years earlier.

And today, on the bitingly cold frontlines of the Jiangbei warfront, the missing time that he yearned so wretchedly for shrinks to a few tiny inches, left to the dust as he crosses those decades in a single step.

From head to toe, Gu Yun's body is soft everywhere. There seemed to be an invisible wound on his chest, aching dully at the lighest of efforts. He fumbles around blindly by his side, finding his monocle glasses with some fluster. "Let me..."

His head lowered, Chang Geng ignores him. He gently grips Gu Yun's wrist and pushes it back down.

(My favorite #4)

Chang Geng takes the blade and leaves.

To show that he had most definitely kept his word, and had not even so much as tip-toed past the flap of his tent, Gu Yun stood by the entrance as he waited for Chang Geng. He didn't care for any of the blood, sweat or dirt and immediately pulled him into an embrace.

It's only now that Chang Geng feels that bone-deep fatigue. Wobbling ever so slightly, he grasps Gu Yun by the waist and mutters into his ear: "I'm never letting you fight another battle again."

In his ear, Chang Geng whines "pitifully": "I don't have any money to give you. My man took all of it and spent it on wine and women. Why don't you take my body instead?"

His accent is impressive for having spent those few months between the two camps — though Gu Yun doesn't know from whence exactly he'd picked up this wet, nasally cadence from. The syllables for "my man" were especially exaggerated, drawled so petulantly long that it seeped deep into Gu Yun's ears and sent a shiver running straight down his spine. He's hapless against the guiles of a beauty like this one, and can only hand over everything as demanded.

But without any avenue to share his joy, the Yan King could only satisfy himself in secret guilty pleasure. After sending Miss Chen away, he crept back to the manor at night, and wrote a letter to Gu Yun from his room. He didn't post it, and instead tucked it under Gu Yun's pillow when the words had dried.

That still wasn't gratifying enough. Retrieving his treasure trove containing all of Gu Yun's letters, he laid on the bed and re-read every single one of them until each and every last handwritten character and turn of phrase was freshly etched into his brain. With all that in mind, his next move was to craft a "reply" from Gu Yun by imitating his love's handwriting and prose to the letter. His one-man performance only felt deserving then.

In an instant, the General's tent falls quiet — while Gu Yun alone was silenced out of fear, the others were shocked speechless to see the "new emperor" mentioned in the letter standing right here in the flesh.

Only a man like Shen Yi would break an ice this thick. "... Don't even think of blaming me for delivering the message slow."

[joonkorre]

fill a form, wait in line

@drarrymicrofic prompt: different

Can the same route lead to a different destination? Certainly. All he has to do is get off at another stop.

But the train keeps on going, the doors are locked, and Harry is glued to his seat. AO3

Harry wakes up, mist and absolute silence surrounding him. His feet lead the way.

****

One month after his twenty-fifth birthday, Harry marries the love of his life.

The wedding takes place on the Northumberland coastline, a compromise they reached after debating whether to conduct the ceremony on a Quidditch pitch halfway across the continent or the Hogwarts courtyard. It’s overall a grand affair, with long wooden tables and burgundy centrepieces and flora emerging after every step down the aisle. Ginny has splurged on a chiffon dress that she’d never wear normally but is perfect for the theme. Harry’s allowed paparazzi for once. A wedding like this belongs nowhere except on the front page.

The kids come soon after. Ginny leaves the naming to him, and naturally, he names all three of his angels after the people they should look up to. There’s never a peaceful day with them running around, especially not when the Granger-Weasley siblings come over. Even then, Harry has to duck his tear-stained face into his wife’s neck as their youngest, Lily, boards the Hogwarts Express for her First year. Like everyone else, they adjust to the too-empty house and fill their calendar.

The young grow taller and the old crouch lower. Charlie flies over to attend Harry’s retirement party, and they laugh about the kind of back pain that magic can’t cure. By that point, James has already found himself a fiance, Ginny has been years into her full-time gardening hobby, and they’ve moved places four times. Albus comes home for weekly dinners and Lily visits once in a while, bearing souvenirs and a grin. 

Life goes on just like that for a few decades. When people ask, Harry always replies that as expected, he’s perfectly content.

At 125 years old, Harry passes away with his loved ones all around him.

****

“I like to think free will is the necessary condition of being human, yes.”

Harry nods, sure as can be. Sure as death and taxes, as the white of King’s Cross.

“You say that every time,” the train driver says.

“Do I?”

“Is there free will in this?” There are tickets in the train driver’s hand, all punched in the same incomprehensible shape.

The question is easy and Harry has an answer to it, but somehow it feels odd to say. His seat jolts a bit. Looking around, his eyes widened. He doesn’t remember getting on the train.

“Where’s your next stop?”

The train driver is gone, and Harry doesn’t need to leave his compartment to know that every other one is empty.

“Wherever I arrive,” he says to the white ceiling. That, too, is routine.

****

One month after his twenty-fifth birthday, Harry celebrates his and the love of his life’s anniversary.

Ginny doesn’t mind him being distracted throughout their date as she already talks enough for the both of them. Such a great girlfriend she is. Thus, it feels logical for him to ask for her hand in marriage by the end of the night. He never checked her ring size to buy a ring, and Ginny doesn’t mind either.

Their wedding is elegant. Held in the Italian restaurant they regularly dine in, they have just over 100 guests present. No paparazzi. When Harry reads his vows, he can’t help thinking about how quickly he finished drafting them the night before. Words flowed like the lines he wrote in detention. Some guests cry when he’s done, which isn’t all that surprising. If anything, the food is decent. 

Harry and Ginny make the perfect couple. They don’t fight, they share responsibilities equally, and they respect each other’s personal space. Even then, Ginny gets her knickers in a twist on occasion about how easy-going Harry is, how he doesn’t have his own opinion on important life decisions and just agrees with her. His usual reply would be “Shouldn’t that make me the ideal husband?” It doesn’t improve the situation, but it does get Ginny to not talk to him for a day.

He’s promoted to Head Auror in due time. He gets to King’s Cross every September for his three children despite his busy career, even if watching the train disappear into the distance feels wrong somehow. He doesn’t know what to make of it. Ginny comments that it’s the only time he displays real emotion anymore. He’s uncertain about that as well.

Life goes on, as it does. There’s a throwaway fiasco with a Time-Turner, but it resolves itself out. Ginny switches from her Quidditch career to being a sports editor due to her injured legs. The children get over their teenage rebellion phases and grow to become capable adults. Both he and Ginny retire at some point. Hermione and Ron visit once in a while.

If anyone asks, Harry’d say he doesn’t remember much of the past few decades. He’s not sure if this is resignation or acceptance.

At 125 years old, Harry passes away in his sleep.

****

“I like to think free will is the necessary condition of being human, yes.”

“You say that every time,” the train driver says.

“Do I?”

The train driver closes the cabin door, and Harry’s reaction to suddenly being on the train is more instinctual than real.

“Where’s your next stop?”

Harry answers without thinking, staring at the lack of scenery outside. Suddenly, so powerfully it punches the breath from his lungs: dread.

****

One month after his twenty-fifth birthday, Harry asks the love of his life if they can get a divorce.

“No, we’ve only been married for two years,” Ginny argues, her eyes red. “Whatever’s wrong, let’s work this out together, okay?”

Harry genuinely has no idea why he was in such a hurry to propose years ago, as if he felt the edges were fraying and had to be fixed. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her. So he agrees. They work it out together. Neither of them mentions it to anyone else.

They have kids. Three, all named after proper role models. The children turn out okay, more or less, as they ought to. Since he’s a parent, Harry finds himself standing at King’s Cross every year, his wife quiet behind him, both waving at lingering black puffs of smoke as the Hogwarts Express gets farther and farther. Then they head home and clean and go to work. They fight a normal amount.

At some point, Hermione and Ron have gotten tired of him. It’s not an unexpected development, but it’d be a lie if he says it doesn’t sting. On Ginny’s part, he knows she works overtime most nights at the publication because Lavender fulfils her emotional needs. Harry cycles through being a Ministry worker, a floo technician, and a businessman, trying to find something new that he can feel accomplished about. None meets the criteria, and he’s toeing that line between frustration and apathy.

The kids pay their visit sometimes, during which he finally musters enough energy to face their resentment. He’d yell things just to yell and feel his breathing pick up and yank gravelly coughs out his sandpaper throat, and it’s then that he remembers he’s human again. In nanoseconds, he wants to ask himself why he “worked things out,” why Ginny hasn’t filed for a divorce, why everything is the same in only different packaging, why he even has these questions.

If anyone asks, Harry’d say he needs to go. Go where, he doesn’t know either.

At 125 years old, Harry dies alone in a motel room.

****

“I like to think free will is the necessary condition of being human, yes.”

“You say that every time,” the train driver says.

“Surely not,” Harry replies, and it feels like he’s wading in the deep end. “There must’ve been times when I say something else. Do something else.”

The train driver is silent.

“Right?”

Harry blinks, opening his eyes in time to spot the moment he steps over the threshold, one foot still on the station platform. The world tilts just a few degrees, and he turns his head right.

Whistling so high it’s comparable to a screech, the train barrels straight toward him.

****

One month after his twenty-fifth birthday, Harry responds to a joke from the love of his life.

“What, are you getting cold feet?” Ginny smirks, a slice of pizza halfway into her mouth.

Harry stares at her. “Yeah.”

She meets his gaze without anger and only sets her food down. When the first tears drip from their faces and splatter on the table, it’s deliverance. 

“I guess you do seem different lately,” Ginny says hours later, curled up against him with her ankles brushing his. The world is dark outside their window and their canceled wedding is a week away. “After your birthday, you look agitated all the time and… I don’t know, but a part of me was preparing for it. My reaction earlier was way milder than it would’ve been otherwise.”

Harry combs his fingers through her silky hair, quiet.

“Do you regret your time with me?” He eventually asks. “I know what I did was unfair, being the one to ask for your hand in marriage just to…”

“Come on, sound it out,” Ginny pats his cheek. “I actually don’t regret it. Live and learn, y’know? And I’m glad to know that you’re a good boyfriend but a shite husband. Better now than years later, by which point I’d probably kill you for wasting years of my life. Or maybe not. That’s worse, probably.”

She shifts and yawns a bit. “How about you? Do you regret our relationship?”

His heart breaks. Harry’s never been honest with her about how he thinks he’s been playing out a script all this time, how he’s less the captain and more the ship, unable to do anything but let ocean waves steer him about. He doesn’t plan to tell her that tonight feels like a breakthrough for him either.

“Not at all,” he says. This, he can be honest about.

People don’t take the news lightly, least of all the Weasleys. Ron socks him in the jaw, hard, since he was the one helping Harry surprise Ginny with the proposal. Harry’s still seeing stars when Molly finishes digesting the news, her face turning to the shade of Weasley red and her wand clenched to the point of shaking. Amidst it all, Harry laughs. An exhilarated, visceral laugh that makes his entire body lock up, the kind he doesn’t even think he's capable of. Ginny stops her frantic explanation to gawk at him, then she laughs as well. Harry is only banned from the Burrow for two weeks.

Harry pivots from Auroring to entering college. Being a Ministry worker straight out of Eighth Year, Hermione admits to feeling shocked that he’d be the one to choose that route. But she helps him relearn how to study, cries at his graduation ceremony, and lets him borrow her owl to send his teaching certificate to McGonagall. It’s with a raised brow, but the Hogwarts headmaster shakes Harry’s hand with barely concealed pride after their interview.

The entire time spent in the Auror Department is insignificant compared to the joy he feels when a Sixth year finally smiles, watching her first Patronus bounce across the room.

September comes. Returning students greet him as they walk past on platform nine and three-quarters. Flipping through a muggle magazine, Harry looks up and scans the crowd periodically. His brows furrow. He checks the suitcase guarded between his calves to ensure that no student-led prank got through. Spotting none, he goes back to his magazine, forgetting about the passing thought that someone is absent. Shortly after, the train arrives.

A new school year starts, and starts and starts and starts, until fifty-something years have passed and he’s taught DADA in every way thought possible. He’s participated in a few studies for novel Dark spells, refined the construction for certain defense procedures, dealt with Howlers from parents, so on and so forth. He’s also dated throughout the years, but no one sticks by him for quite as long as the towering stacks of paperwork in his office. Even then, working with cranky, hormone-filled students has divorced him from the notion of having a family of his own and bringing that issue under his roof.

But he likes his career. He likes his career, and when he announces his retirement, students hug him with red, teary eyes. Shy First years come up to him and confess that they were going to pick his class as their siblings did. Current professors who used to sleep during his lectures now shake his hand and bow.

If it hasn’t been abundantly clear to him over the past decades, it's clear now: Harry Potter is more than a child soldier. He is a beloved teacher.

Retirement is spent around the Weasleys and other retired colleagues who have little left to do but cackle obnoxiously in a pub. That goes on until he’s had enough of charming his own joints to keep working each day, so he hires a private caregiver. Janet is Ginny and that Belgian fellow’s grandchild. She’s snide enough to make him feel less like a burden; she has this uncanny ability to procure any tome or scroll he wants, no matter how esoteric; and she makes excellent sandwiches.

One day, he wakes up with the distinct knowledge that time will stop for him soon. He says—or mutters—something of the kind to Janet, and she sits down with him.

“Didn’t eat much these days,” Harry sniffs. Janet fixes his blanket and doesn’t look surprised when he continues. “Been seeing these. These little children.”

“Do you now?”

“They’re good kids,” Harry pats her hand. Smacks his dry lips and coughs a bit. “Say, why don’t I...”

It’s how he starts every book request. Janet hums patiently.

“Why don’t I have one of those yearbooks? In ‘98.”

“1999, old man.”

Harry grunts in annoyance, but she’s right. When she returns an hour later, poking out of her bag is a purple-bound book with silver embossments.

“You sure there’s nothing else you want to get?” Janet questions as she prepares afternoon tea. The other Weasley kids will visit soon along with Hermione, now wheelchair-bound and prone to napping. He ought to show them the yearbook.

“Eh,” Harry croaks, and Janet nods.

His knobbly hand slowly flips through the pages, feeling the slightest texture of yellowed years beneath his fingertips. Faces that might as well be anonymous as they are familiar, names that are no more than black-inked words, events and titles that are now footnotes in time. He sees himself and his friends repeatedly throughout the yearbook, mouthing the same words every ten seconds or walking across the frame in a loop. How these pictures were taken without him noticing, he has no idea. Or perhaps he’s forgotten. Anywho.

He skips to the index at the end, where everyone in his year (all forty of them, if one can believe it) is crowded into four pages, each dedicated to a House. The students who were absent in Eighth Year were included using their photos from years prior, lest the four pages reduce to two. Such youthful faces. If it’s not for the statues and books about him littering wizarding Britain, Harry would be more surprised at his appearance at eighteen. Sullen, angry, wounds all licked up but far from healed. He shakes his head. That boy would rather use that copper badge to hex anyone he thought was a criminal than meet a shrink.

Everyone else seemed just about what he expected. It does feel nice to put a face to hazy memories though, so he flips to the Slytherins. In front of the camera, they shed their signature smirks, and what remains is a veneer of bored arrogance he reckons only old money can don. His eyes shift to the centre of the page. They stay.

How curious.

“Jan.”

“Hm?”

“Y’know a… a Draco Malfoy?”

What makes Janet Gillard one of Hermione’s favorites is that she co-edited every new Hogwarts: A History edition until about thirty years ago. To this day, she can recite the names of every student and staff present at Hogwarts during the Final Battle.

“A who?” She speaks over the boiling kettle. “Malfoy? That line died out in the 1980s, why?”

He closes the yearbook. The doorbell rings and Janet strolls over to open the front door. When his guests come in, they bring gifts and stories to entertain him with, brightening instantly when they spot the yearbook on his lap.

He doesn’t say much as he watches them read through it, showing him and a smiling Hermione whatever they find interesting. Eventually, they reach the index, saying something about whether the Longbottom child was anything like her great-grandfather, or if the Patils have all moved to the States. When they get to the Slytherins, the chatter lessens, albeit out of respect for their elders who have dealt with these students in the past. Their gaze doesn’t gravitate to that one specific spot, their breath doesn’t stutter. Like nothing is amiss.

If anyone asks, he'd say, "That's not right." But no one does. His eyes slip to the ceiling, throat dried. He gasps.

At 125 years old, Harry dies along with the white, fleshy void of Draco Malfoy's face behind his lids.

****

“I like to think free will is the necessary condition of being human, yes.”

Harry opens his eyes to an empty corridor, the train floor rumbling beneath his feet.

“Don’t I?” He asks himself, curious.

A rattle nearly sends him bumping into a compartment, and his limbs finally move, carrying him forward. His footsteps echo in waves. Dust motes float about, the ancient air too stark a contrast to the white, almost sterilized environment of the Hogwarts Express. 

The train car is too long, and Harry doesn’t know how long he’s been running. There’s no sweat on his body despite the strenuous activity, his heart rate remains nonexistent, and once he realizes this, he forces his breath to quicken. Green eyes strain, flicking every which way. This is how it’s supposed to be, but it’s wrong. It’s all wrong.

Far ahead, the minuscule vanishing point that the train corridor converges to eventually widens. His chest heaves in relief. Ever closer, the door has a window big enough for him to see into the cab beyond—and the driver. Harry pushes his legs to go faster. Something flares in his chest, stabbing and red-hot, sounding like fabric shifting and air whipping when he wrenches the driver around by his blue-clad shoulder, makes him look Harry in the face. But he's still running, and his hand grabs air.

Sensing something, the driver’s head turns to the side. Then he stands, leaving his seat and striding toward the door. Harry is two, three paces away. The driver’s gloved hand lifts to hook a finger on the blinds, on the verge of pulling it. One more step. Harry’s hands slam against the metal—body shuddering through the shock—and his eyes lift to stare through the window.

The pulled-low cap shifts a fraction of an inch, but Harry sees it. Wrinkled brows, a panicked glance. The rest of his face is covered behind the uniform’s overly high collar. Snap, and the blinds are down.

“Stop derailing it,” the train driver’s voice surrounds Harry.

His body sags against the door, eyes shutting no matter how much he tries to do otherwise. But he sees it anyway.

Pure silver.

****

One month into his twenty-fifth birthday, Harry stares down at the contract on his lap.

“Thursday next week, we’ll—Harry?” Robards snaps his fingers. Harry doesn’t jolt, and his head lifts to face the frowning Head Auror. “Training hasn’t even started and we’re getting distracted already? Focus.”

“I,” Harry starts. He says nothing more, just now registering the quill against his palm, smooth and waiting. Beneath it is the empty space where his signature goes.

At Harry’s silence, Robards shoots him a warning glance before continuing the speech. Something about schedules, benefits, duties, important missions that need someone full of potential like Harry to come and solve. Didn’t know why Harry was dithering about instead of joining the Aurors immediately after Eighth Year, seeing as the department offers mind counselling as well, but one can’t fault a young man for enjoying his prime while it lasts. Harry will get back on track soon enough.

The floor rumbles below Harry’s soles. He looks up from the contract, but Robards is still leaning against his cherry wood desk, unaffected, and nothing trembles. Shifting his gaze to the large artificial window behind that desk, Harry scans the manufactured blue sky and the looping white clouds. Realistic they may be, but he can never forget that he’s underground.

The white of those clouds feels too much. Almost clinical. Harry blinks at the thought, eyes aching, and it turns out he hasn’t blinked in a while. Robards has moved on to anecdotes, Harry can vaguely tell. Staring at the clouds for this long does something odd to his sight. A sheen of static-like specks fills his vision like every other time Harry stares at something until it becomes incomprehensible. But it’s different now. Why, he doesn’t know, but something changes.

Harry inhales. Stale air that didn’t exist before in this office fills his lungs, and a section of his brain sparks. He exhales. Metal heaves in his ears, ageless machines pumping a way through the fog. Always one designated way.

The air is back to its scentless quality. Harry tries to remember how it was earlier when something else floated through his nose and into his system, but memories slip past him. Maybe it’s not even a memory. Brows knitting together, Harry clenches his eyes shut and forces himself to read through the contract once more.

Words stop making sense. As his eyes flit across the parchment, Harry thinks of death, of lingering, of a tattered veil swaying in windless space, of whispers from the depth. The contract feels heavy in his hand, the quill too rough. Cold sweat dripping down the back of his nape, Harry’s head whips up so fast Robards stops talking. He doesn’t look at the Head Auror but at the clouds.

Pure silver is all he can see.

“Harry, what’s going on with you—”

“Sir, I’m sorry,” he starts. This time, he keeps going. “But I don’t think the Auror Department is right for me.”

Meeting Robards’s eyes, Harry smiles.

“Before I stop wasting your time, do you know the process of applying for the Department of Mysteries? Particularly the Death Chamber?”

[silusvesuius]

hold on i'm about tos tart spitting facts right now, My nelvas in t*lltale twd setting i was thinking about for a bit; as i said........... they have a perfect imbalanced dynamic dats fun to play with so they obviously would do 'Good' in a zombie apocalypse too......UUUUUUUUUUUU 😭UUWAH😭WWWWWWA😭AHHHHHHHH NELVAAS anyways:

i just spent minutes writing a calmer caption for this but tumblr threw that take away so we're left with what we have above. anyways i wrote most of this riding a high. 🤗

first off talvas always gives me spiraling med student vibes so that's what he is. he's like ~24 as i always label him, so probably getting a masters. that won't matter soon though lol. something to do with surgery so that it's convenient to the setting and his 'role' in a group. (logically it would make more sense for him to be into engineering and such, but that's not alldat interesting for this or any setting at all imo)

and then obviously neloth wud be a professor perhaps or just someone talvas sees on the regular for educational purposes. i'm just gonna say he's pushing 70 but still not retired for some reason (he's a Tryhard). i honestly get the feeling he would carry the same level annoyance people get from Larry of s1 except he doesn't really start fights + has no actual 'good' reason to be that unbearable unlike Larry, who did have crumbs of a tragic past/loss. he's big on researching stuff at his own alone time and has an extensive record of abusing and testing on animals i BET! but it gets covered up pretty easily, or no one really wants to get into that debacle with him. everyone knows that if he could he'd test on people too.

i'm not gonna start making up entire lifestories rn so let's get to the zombie part. they obviously end up together involuntarily, talvas isn't really overjoyed but doesn't detest it either, since he respects neloff deeply and trusts his judgement (sometimes). neloth just keeps him around because he knows he can't just be walking around free at his old age in an apocalyptic world and needs a meat-shield with him at all times, especially someone young that has more energy/physical abilities than him. but obviously talvas is not always able to be big help to him just cause he's pretty "Soft" and wasn't ever prepared for anything like this. he's still stressing over his finals or soemthing bruh. they develop a strong 'bond' @ some point just cause neloth isn't liked by anyone and nobody is actually willing to stick with him thru it all but talvas. just bc it's easy for him to cling onto someone that reminds him of the normal past. when neloth realizes that someone is willing to look past his nasty behavior or practices, or is just afraid to voice their own opinion, he starts being pretty open with that person (talvas in this case), a form of trust. it's not just cause talvas is a lil bitch, but also cause he himself shares some opinions that neloth has on other people's lives/their worth/morality. it's something that would stick out from his personality in any setting at all but here it's even more important from all the deaths happening around them, especially when they're grouped up with other people. their apocalypse journey is just 90% talvas trying to do damage control and apologizing for neloth's behavior by saying he has a (NPD) diagnosis he has never taken care of before the whole zombie thing happened so u should be patient with him

so obvi the best part of this all would definitely be seeing how they would gel with a group of other survivors. it's funny too because talvas is literally always the only reason nobody throws neloth out to die or just blows his head off clean bc they had enough. talvas takes on the role of a medic like Katt in s1, and is 'high ranking' just cause of that. neloth is a 1000001% even more capable of taking on that role, but i just Know......he would just refuse to do it cus he doesn't feel like it. he'd probably try and separate himself from the group or any discussions they might have because he doesn't value anyone's opinion on anything at all. the only thing keeping him in a group would be talvas begging him to stay (neloth not being able to separate from him for reasons listed above) and him finding something to do to keep himself occupied. and Happy at that 😍 it goes like this: (talvas voice) hey remember your wife that turned last week so we had to put her down ? Yes about that i;m sorry to bring her up, Yeah stop crying i'm sorry, anyways as i was saying.. Sir neloth dug her out of that grave and is currently ripping of her skin tidbits to lab test them, just thought you should know.. don't tell him i told you anything please he'll get really mad at me okay . also your son that you didn't have the heart to put down and just left him for us to deal with? Tied to a bed, he already turned so it's no big deal, sir neloth broke his jaw off so he can't do anything to you if you feel like seeing him. Sir neloth chops his limbs off to see what happens sometimes. it's smells like crazy in there tho so wear this mask if you wanna go in, just warning you.

can't say there'd be an apparent motive that others see in his experimental, kinda unethical, ventures, but talvas assures everyone that there is one. nobody knows. But honestly neloth is too smart of a guy to just be testing on people out of pure curiosity, it might be him trying to blow out his ego to an unimaginable degree by trying to figure out how the whole infection works, how to stop someone from turning or how to cure someone who's been bitten. tasks very ambitious but keeping him busy and away from everyone else. he mostly only communicates and shares 'secrets' with talvas because talvas has faith in him and doesn't see anything wrong with what he's doing. bonus: the whole group hates neloth even more because he keeps using the generator power to have talvas shave his head even though that should be his last priority. neloth is in seventh heaven the whole time (not showing it) just cause his dream of getting to experiment on people without being thrown in jail became true

cute fact: if they ever got into a St. John's dairy type situation and were confronted with the fact that they committed cannibalism.... they rly wouldn't gaf especially neloth. i can see talvas turning to look at him just to see how he feels (and form his opinion on the situation around his reaction) and neloth is just chilling getting his stomach full. talvas wud be disgusted by the food but then eat regardless. feels Funny for the remainder of his life after that. it really doesn't bother neloth tho. i had other situations in mind for them but they slipped out of my mind for now lmfao

neloth would have the most insane plot armor of all time to the extent that even though he's always working closely with the undead he'd never get bitten or just get killed. his ego is shielding him from everything because he values his life so much that it works in his favor. talvas latches onto that plot armor just because he's the 'closest' person to neloth but he's too nice of a person to actually survive for a very long time. he'd get Bitten😂😂😂😂 #FlyHigh but actually the nicest thing(s) neloth has ever done for him would happen after that occurrence... i feel like they'd hide that fact from everyone as a team and neloth would try to do something about it. but talvas dies anyway bye king. love you

wait Update: i forgot i wanted to write down some of this here as a bonus too. skyrim would still be in warfare but it just gets paused for zombies. i really want (we all want something don't we damnn) for elenwen and all her thalmorlings to be stuck together with some imperials in a military base perhaps. doesn't matter. just leading up to the fact that thalmor would have free reign to commit cannibalism (not every single one of them is into the idea but they're not that disgusted by it) while the imperials just try to survive on actual supplies. Elenwen: Back on summerset isles we were always taught not to waste 🤓🤓. they have the most civil agreement where the thalmor would promise not to eat any imperials if they let them eat outsiders as they pleased.

[thenixkat]

they got Booster to the hospital and find out that he's dying. His crew also somehow fixed his suit or got him one that looks like the real one

Local Asian dude directing the local STAR labs was able to repair a lot of Booster's suit and Skeets

Folks get told that Booster's from teh future which may give hints to why he's stick and how to help him. Man fixed half of poor Skeets

a mob is attacking the hospital to attack Booster Gold b/c the public hates superheroes

Booster got another haircut and also lost weight due to his illness

local nurse admonishes Booster for being a public superhero and donating money to charity instead of helping people anonymously and I gotta ask lady do you have the same feelings for regular actors and other rich people?

The person running the hospital wants to throw out Booster who is deathly ill and still injured b/c he's a 'disruptive element'

meanwhile the mob breaks into the hospital to attack an ill and injured man

Trixie is pressured to put on the costume that STAR labs made to go rescue Booster

the crowd is literally trying to murder Booster. With the logic that no superheroes means no supervillains. ANd like, yall could take that energy and try to murder supervillains instead of just…assuming that supervillains would just retire if there were no superheroes around to stop them

pork queen. pork queen. Man comics hate fat people. Like just utterly laothe fat people existing

ok Asian dude's name is Jack heh Booster punches security

how the fuck did the security for an airfield not owned by the military get a fucking sonic canon for the security guards to use?

Jack fumbles a bit on Skeets prononus but remembered

ok looks like were gonna get Booster telling his story from his perspective

ugh the way its phrased

I assume the writer just kinda hates poor people. To phrase Booster not wanting to wait another year being poor as shit b4 he could begin supporting his family with his career as 'wanted to be rich and famous as soon as possible' damn.

damn the whole squad looks disappointed to hear that Booster's a criminal from the future. Like their respect for him for all of his heroic deeds just took a nosedive find out he did some crime

but also how they keep describing Booster's turn to gambling as just being impatient wanting fame and fortune and then spending mush less panel space explaining how his family was poor as shit and he wanted to support them is just such an iffy way to tell his story

…is Ripley Hunter…Rip Hunter?

yes that is the Rip Hunter. Just chillin in the past going to university and inventing a time machine

yeah like perhaps not wanting his family to starve for another year was something he wanted. (also a later retcon that retells Booster's origin also has his mom with a heart condition that he wanted money to fix) also I have to imagine given his father was a gambling addict who ruined the family, and something his mom hadn't been shy talking about, that the decision to start gambling wasnt a lightly made one

so if Booster, who used a finished version of this very time machine to come back in time helped with the final touches to make the time machine more like its supposed to be would that not be a fucking paradox?

Granted he's also apparently Rip Hunter the inventor of the time machine he used dad so who the fuck knows. I dont belive in the stable time loop there's too many fucking variables

apparently Gotham cleans up its industrial pollution issues several hundred years in the future

what do you mean that Booster's forcefield was constantly on protecting him from fucking bacteria.

like what does that mean for Booster's gut flora and other symbiotic bacteria if he was eating modern day food? also no! that's a silly explanation b/c we know that Booster took his costume off sometimes

also… past food should have given Booster hell of diarrhea until his system adjusted to it

so after Booster ran away his mom got sick and died and his sister had to move b/c she couldnt afford rent

but also sir yer really surprised like you werent the breadwinner until you dipped

[well-dressedwords]

I can't recall where I saw the recommendation for The Legendary Life of Queen Lau, but as soon as I saw Li Hongyi was a lead, I was willing to give it a try.

Queen Lau is *such* a fun show. Do not expect historical accuracy. AT ALL. But I'm fine with that - they know they're being silly and they're all enjoying it.

This happens anytime I actually enjoy a cdrama, even a bit. I end up finding a new actor (or more than one) that wins me over. It took me a hot second to realize Bai Shu also played the second Lord Langya in The Blood of Youth; I still love him in this, too. BUT!

Li Jiaqi. She is a queen (literally in the show). I love her. I adore her. She wins over (nearly) everyone with how she takes on life and challenges. Seeing the way her maid quickly warmed to her and then ended up on her side ~ just chef's kiss. Figuring out that the sister needs love & attention and giving them ~ so heart-warming!

Maybe Li Jiaqi's not exactly like Jinfeng in real life (I wouldn't know), but how can I not enjoy her performance?! What other show can I watch with her, that's halfway decent?

Anyway, this might be my first cdrama where the female lead doesn't have a slim, tiny face. She actually reminds me more of Chinese tapestries and paintings of court ladies than most modern actresses. That plus her wonderful personality just makes the queen/empress a gem.

Excitement about actors playing wonderful comedic characters aside, I like that they make the emperor essentially an immature teenager trying to be an adult in a really hard situation. Does he wrongly think that his new queen is a spy for her father? Yes, but his stance is understandable. His arrogance has logical reasons, and he does come to love and care for her. I'm wiling to wait to see if he will mature, so long as Jinfeng wants to give him that chance.

The one character I just CANNOT stand is her father.

*spoilers*

Just because he's not actually "evil" doesn't mean he should be able to handwave the way he treats everyone, save our female lead's mom.

The way he's written, he's just a jerk, on many different levels. If you wanted to train up a good emperor, there are better ways than setting his back up, making him look bad, humiliating him, and putting him so at odds with you that he's willing to believe anyone else. If you hate your job, then make him a good leader faster so you can retire.

There are ways to write this role so we (the audience) symphathize with him enough to get through their power clashes. But the writers didn't do that. I just despise him, to the point that I skip over what are (probably) important scenes, to avoid having to watch him be condescending.

Despite this one gripe I am thoroughly enjoying it.

Next comedy on my list is Dear Diary (My Babylonian Lover).

[dawnfinchh]

i made full "canon" allegiances for the start of bramblestar's storm: link to google doc

this is a part of a little series im doing, where im making full allegiances for the first book of every arc in order. next up was the apprentice's quest, but because of the huge gap between that and the fourth apprentice, i decided to do bramblestar's storm as a midpoint

here is the original post for the into the wild allegiances, the original post for the midnight allegiances, the original post for the sight allegiances, and the original post for the fourth apprentice allegiances

“canon” is in quotations because a lot of this is guesswork about who logically would be around at that point in time, but aren’t listed in allegiances or mentioned in the book.

this is mainly meant to be a resource for fanworks

general stuff that’s all still same as last time:

wiki pages are linked to character’s names

med cat = cleric

characters are listed by age. where there are no concrete ages, i make my best guess

tc is the only clan without a “kit” rank as all kits in the clan have known parents

thunderclan:

pretty much just the bramblestar's storm allegiances, listed in accordance of age

shadowclan:

berryheart, cloverfoot, and rippletail - not introduced by name until avos, but are about the same age as graystripe and millie's litter. also, berryheart wouldn't be pregnant with needletail quite yet

pouncetail - is introduced in this book and then straight up disappears

stoatfur - i listed both descriptions for them because unlike other cats who have conflicting descriptions that are later corrected, stoatfur only shows up twice. so allow your heart to decide ig

dawnpelt - just as a note, even though dawnpelt is listed as being in the nursery bramblestar's storm, she would not have been pregnant as her kits are about the same age as spark and alder

stonekit/stonewing and waspkit/wasptail - newly named warriors in the apprentice's quest, so making them kits here works

riverclan:

sneezepaw/sneezecloud - honestly he should probably be a warrior by now, but he isn't officially stated to be a warrior until the apprentice's quest. also i think it's funny

pouncetail - he is mistakenly listed as pouncefoot in bramblestar's storm. i think maybe the shadowclan pouncetail introduced in this book was meant to be pouncefoot?

rushtail - he's like the same age as dovewing. another victim of the riverclan early retirement beam

windclan:

nightcloud - since whitetail retired, she is (probably) windclan's oldest active warrior. literally the only windclan cats older than five years at this point are her, crowfeather, whitetail, and onestar. honestly crazy how young windclan skews

featherpaw/featherpelt - she's larkwing's littermate, but didn't become an apprentice until way later

whiskernose - also the same age as dovewing. riverclan accidentally hit him with the early retirement beam

outsiders:

jessy, frankie, benny, and minty - all listed. benny does die super soon into the book, though

[mysisypheannightmare]

Failure

Word Count: 493

Warnings: Negative thinking

--

It was a constant nagging thought, the idea that he would never be good enough.

He’d been falling behind more and more over the years, the workload taking up more of his time and energy than ever before, but there was no one else to pick up the slack so he would just have to bear through it, for everyone’s sake.

But now? Now the other sides were consulting with one another and Thomas was building himself a habit of checking in with Virgil and Patton and Roman, and even Janus on occasion, to make sure they were communicating and staying on the same page. They were improving, doing better, even if it was only enough to figuratively tread water instead of going under and drowning in the ocean of responsibilities and incomplete tasks.

Logan had to admit, he was proud that Thomas was doing marginally better.

He was failing Thomas.

Unfortunately, Thomas’ improvement was a stark contrast to Logan’s nosedive of failure and lack of progress over the years. There was no hiding Logan’s lack of upkeep in the memory records, with unimportant files going missing or misplaced.

And you could easily tell Logan hadn’t made progress on most of his plans, a bunch of non-starters that he could never convince Thomas to take on. He’d been stuck for what felt like ages of trying different ways of convincing Thomas to pick up a cleaning routine for his apartment, only to finally realize it really had actually been years now since he’d been even slightly successful in his attempts and he’d failed to make progress or move forward on more taxing or beneficial projects because of his misguided focus. He spent so much of that time trying to maintain a baseline and create some consistency in Thomas' life that he never had the chance to move on to his plans for improving his life beyond that.

In retrospect, it made sense that Thomas was able to improve his life so much more once Logan stepped further out of the picture. Taking a backseat and letting the others fill in the tiny space he still occupied at the time, Logan quickly learned that Thomas didn’t just need a break from logic, he needed a vacation from Logan, too.

But that vacation eventually became a sabbatical, and would surely soon become full retirement.

What a fool he was.

It was difficult to admit it to himself, but he couldn’t argue with the truth; Logan wasn’t needed.

Hell, he may not have been needed all along, really. Perhaps his position should have been filled by someone else long ago, and he had been selfishly keeping Thomas and the others pulled down all this time, because he somehow believed he was helping them.

So it didn’t matter how much it hurt to step away, because if it was for Thomas’ benefit, then that’s what he would do.

He could only hope it was the right decision.

[commanderbragh]

Learning From The Past

DWC May 2023

Day 1: Forgiveness

Braghaman slid off the back of his winged lion and stood quietly for a moment. He reached out to pat Valiant, but stopped as a spasm hit and his left hand started to twitch. The paladin frowned slightly and closed his left hand into a fist and then relaxed, shaking the hand open again. The spasm passing, Bragh let out a sigh and once again reached out to pat the lion who was now staring at him. 

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Bragh replied to the look. “I’m fine.” Giving the giant feline a scratch behind the ears did not immediately stop Valiant’s look, but eventually the lion relented and settled himself on the ground. “I’ll be back in a moment,” Bragh added quietly.

The forests of Elwynn surrounded the field. To the far side, he could see the familiar farmhouse and the crops that had been planted for the season. It was early still and only a few plants had started poking their way up through the dirt. The paladin’s gaze, however, soon scanned away from the farm to the closer corner of the land. There stood a small plot, a section that had been fenced off from the rest. No growing or grazing happened here. Within the fence sat two headstones.

Braghaman passed through the opening of the fence that was set at angles to prevent larger animals from wandering inside. The grass was low; likely someone had been here recently to clear the area. Bragh nodded as he moved to a spot in between the two graves and knelt down. After a moment, he looked up and glanced from one headstone to the other, looking over the family name carved into both. Larethian.

“Hi mom. Dad. Sorry it’s been so long.” The paladin took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Hope you can forgive me. It’s been a bit hectic the last couple of months.

“Things are going well. Niviene and I are busy as always, what with running the academy and training new paladins. Students are always keeping us on our toes. It’s a shame you never got to meet her. I think you’d really like her. She knows how to keep me in line. I mean, not as good as you could, mom, but she does a good job of it. And the kids are growing too fast. Already out in the world, learning their own way.”

Braghaman paused and looked away from the headstones, though his eyes never focused on anything. Then he looked back to the stone at his left.

“I’d like to think I’m doing a good job, dad. I figure if I’m half the father you were, then the kids will be lucky. Banny reminds me a lot of myself at that age. Comfortable, but not cocky. Ready to go out into the world and help where he can. I wonder where he got those ideas from,” he added quietly with a smirk. 

“Part of me feels guilty. I don’t know that I should have let him go off adventuring on his own. Part of me feels like I should still be out there. Not just to keep an eye on him, but to help with everything else. You know I’ve tried to retire a couple of times before, but it never really stuck. Always felt like I had more to contribute, more I needed to do.”

The paladin looked down at his left hand and clenched it tight enough to hear the leather glove creak a little.

“I feel a little guilty not being out there for everyone. But I know that I’m needed more here. Niviene needs me. The trainees definitely need me. I’d like to believe that Duskwood wants me around to help. And the logical part of my brain says that I can’t keep pressing my luck. Even if no one else says anything, I know I’ve lost a step. I’m not as fast or strong as I was when I was younger. I’d be in the way, sooner or later.”

Bragh stood up and leaned over to touch the headstone to his right.

“I used to feel guilty about you two, you know. Felt like if only I’d studied harder, learned quicker, done… something… different, then I would’ve been back home sooner. And I could have helped you two. It took me a long time to realize the wishful thinking there. To forgive myself for not being able to do more. It took a while, but I eventually got there. I figure this is the same thing. As much as I want to be everywhere and help everyone, I know I can’t. So hopefully I can get to the self forgiving a little quicker this time around.”

Braghaman took a step back and looked at both the headstones once more.

“I’ll come again soon.” Braghaman paused, the last thoughts for his parents being spoken from his heart instead of his lips. Then, nodding, he turned and made his way back to Valiant.

@daily-writing-challenge

[storymaker14]

A Man Twice Mourned

The year 2387

Vulcan

She sensed her daughter T’Val’s approach and hesitation to disturb her meditation… which probably spoke to how ineffective her meditation was. Even so, she chose not to acknowledge her until she spoke.

Which she did, soon enough. “Mother… it has been two weeks, and you have barely eaten in that time.”

She sighed internally, and opened her eyes. The candles arrayed around her had gutted and melted low, leaving them malformed and mostly liquid. “I know,” she said. “Between my grief, and my attempts to meditate to lessen my grief, more time has passed than I expected.” She began to rise to her feet, and T’Val reached out to help her; she gladly accepted. The age of 123 was not old, per se, for either her Vulcan half or her Romulan half, but the losses she had suffered in the recent past had sapped her strength.

Starfleet Vice Admiral (retired) Saavik smoothed her robes and tried to regain some composure, even if it was solely for her daughter’s benefit. “Thank you, daughter,” she said when she felt decently arranged. “I believe I am ready for food now.”

“I had prepared something in anticipation,” she replied. She, too, wore ceremonial robes of mourning, although of the two great losses Saavik had suffered, her daughter probably felt one far more keenly than the other. For that matter, she suspected she herself felt the same loss more keenly.

Two weeks prior, the Romulan sun had gone supernova, destroying the star system that contained Romulus, the homeworld of half her heritage. Losses totalled in the low eleven-digit range, an empirically horrible loss by any measure. And yet… Saavik’s grief and devastation at the loss of one person seemed to outweigh it.

The meal T’Val had prepared was simple but made with skill and care. Saavik had never been sure where this innate talent for food preparation had come from. She herself had never shown aptitude or interest, and her father–

Her father. Grief threatened to overtake her again, and so she took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. It was not fully successful, but as the Humans might say, it did take the edge off.

“Would you prefer to eat alone?” T’Val asked.

“I would not,” Saavik replied. “I cannot guarantee I will be good company, but I would prefer to have yours.”

“Of course,” T’Val said. Together they sat, mother and daughter, with a third chair silently and mutually reserved for the person who ought to be there as well, but was not returning.

Saavik took a bite, and found it more than satisfying. “I should not have fasted so long,” she said.

“I was concerned,” T’Val said, and even through layers of practiced control, her mother knew it was true.

“I did not mean to add to your burden, daughter.”

“You are no burden. You are my mother. And I suspect that–” She tensed a moment, and Saavik could see that whatever she had been about to say, she was rewording. “That given our current circumstances, it is only proper that we keep a closer eye on each other’s state, whether physical, mental… or even emotional.”

Emotional indeed. Both of them, and for that matter her father as well, were only half-Vulcan, and so their discipline and control had come a bit harder-earned.

T’Val turned to her mother. “Would it trouble you if I spoke of Father?”

“Not at all,” Saavik assured her. “I think I would enjoy it.” Blatantly emotional language, but quite true.

Her daughter accepted the statement with a nod. “I was thinking of my birthday earlier this year. I did not expect him to arrive in person, given the importance of his research attempting to prevent the supernova, or mitigate its effect.” She paused, and there was undeniably a hint of an expression that told Saavik this was a treasured memory. “But he assured me that his daughter’s 100th birthday was an occasion that required special attention, and that it was only logical that he come to celebrate. His words showed no emotion, and yet conveyed his pride and affection so clearly. I will not forget that.”

It was just a bit too much for Saavik, who knew every word of her daughter’s statement was true. She reached out and took her daughter’s hand in her own, and they stayed like that a moment, their emotions and even their thoughts mingling at a low level. Saavik wasn’t quite ready to let go when she did, but she felt her own grief and pain at loss rising again, and that she did not want to heap upon T’Val.

There was a silence as both ate a few more bites. At last, though, T’Val spoke again: “He felt the same for you too, Mother. Even more so.”

“I know,” Saavik replied. “He made it clear to me, in so many ways, ever since–” She did not immediately finish her sentence.

T’Val waited patiently.

Another partially-successful calming breath, and Saavik continued. “What we shared began out of necessity,” she said. “When I discovered I was with child, he did offer to remain with me, but I did not wish to stand in his way. Even so… he visited as frequently as circumstances would allow. And once the Enterprise-A was decommissioned, he chose to find a position that allowed him to stay on Vulcan." Of course, all this was known to her daughter, but it was helping make the point she was about to make. "It was, of course, for your sake. But I have evidence it was for my sake as well… and his."

T'Val nodded, clearly either fully agreeing or accepting the evidence supported her hypothesis.

Saavik's brow furrowed in thought. "I still find it difficult to fully process our relationship. I suppose I must accept its ambiguity, even from the start. He rescued me from Hellguard, and put me in care of his parents; he was my role model, my mentor, my sponsor at the Academy. He–" Her voice hitched. In front of anyone else, she would have forced herself to regain control or excused herself, but her daughter had no illusion that she was emotionless, nor did she need one. "He saved my life, again, at the cost of his own." She remembered his funeral well. At the time, she had been ashamed of shedding tears. Now she allowed them to flow freely, both remembering him over a century prior, and feeling his renewed loss now. "It was fortunate how curious his rebirth was, or else I would have been quite overcome with delight."

T'Val rested a hand on her mother's arm. "You don't have to relive it all."

"I wish to," she stated calmly, but leaving no argument. "And then, as he aged so rapidly, and faced pon farr… I told myself it was rational and proper to save his life, even more so given he had saved mine." She met her daughter's eyes, and there was a hint, just so, of mischief. "I would not deny, though, that I found great satisfaction in it."

T'Val's hand tightened, just a bit, on Saavik's wrist. "I am not sure I need this sort of information on the circumstances that led to my existence." But T'Val was undeniably her child, and she saw her own incomplete seriousness reflected on her face.

Saavik sat back just a bit. "How strange it is, though, to mourn your father twice, over a hundred years apart. Once as a treasured mentor, savior, and near-kin, and once…" There again, grief threatened to swell, but holding on to how blatantly interesting the experience was helped her lessen it. "Once as the man with whom I shared a daughter, and eventually my life. He was not always with me in person, but he never failed to make his presence known. Or his affection, for the both of us."

A moment of silence passed between them, but it was no longer heavy. Speaking of him had made his loss clearer, but less painful.

"Do you think," T'Val said at last, "that you should have married earlier?"

Saavik gave that some thought. "Perhaps," she said. "It changed very few empirical details in our relationship, but there was something intangible that did seem… different. Improved." She turned to T'Val. "Of course, it did allow you the chance to do a more than satisfactory job in the ceremony itself, by my side. Any younger and you may not have accomplished it so well."

"I was forty-two years old, Mother."

"So young still."

T'Val conceded the point, no doubt realizing further debate against her mother would be fruitless.

Once they had finished their meal, Saavik stood, taking up her plate and utensils. "Would you be able to clean up from our meal and preparations? I am willing to complete it later if you are occupied, but right now, there is something I must do."

T'Val took the items from her hands. "Of course," she said, and Saavik sensed she knew what the something she must do was. "I will tidy for both of us."

"Thank you." She briefly touched her daughter's hand, then retreated not to where she had been meditating, but to her office. There she went to the console on her desk and said, "Computer… retrieve archived message from spacecraft Jellyfish." There had been only one; only time for one.

The computer gave a bleep of acknowledgement, then the screen lit up with his message:

Hello, my wife.

I regret that I cannot tell you this in person, or even in realtime. But circumstances have made it impossible to do this properly, so it must be done improperly.

I do not expect to return from Romulus. I am attempting to apply experimental red matter to stop the Romulan supernova from consuming more than it already has. Even if I am successful, however, I will not be able to return to you.

I grieve with thee on the loss of this world. I suspect you will grieve for me as well. In truth... I am sorry to give you further reason to grieve.

If I have not treated you with the tenderness you deserved, or have not made clear my love and desire for you, I am sorry for that as well. It was my intention to bring you joy and satisfaction, and a partnership that accomplished many things, both large and small – our daughter being far from the least of them. I hope I succeeded.

My logic fails me, my wife. So instead I send my deep and abiding love, and my sorrow at this insufficient goodbye.

I have no more time. So I must close and send this message before it is too late. Please tell T'Val that my thoughts were with you both as I completed my task.

Parted from me, and never parted, my wife.

Spock

The year 2263

New Vulcan

Commander Spock watched the shuttle from the Symmetry land, still not fully understanding the events that had led him here.

After the destruction of the Enterprise by Krall, and while the Enterprise-A was still under construction at Yorktown Station, he had requested and received extended leave. It was logical to seek rest after events of such intensity, and in addition, there were affairs in need of concluding. Nyota had offered to accompany him, but had understood when he declined. As agreeable as her company was, this seemed like something that ought to be done alone.

And so he went to New Vulcan to see what, if anything, needed to be done about his elder self – his late elder self, he often had to remind himself. How fascinating to mourn his own death, even if it was an older version of himself thrown back in time from an alternate future.

Unsurprisingly, given the man had arrived in the present in a small starship, he had very few personal effects. What little he had, then, he had either obtained here and now, or had been of critical importance. One such item was the image of the crew of the Enterprise, but older and only vaguely recognizable beyond Spock himself.

There were, however, three other items, and they were the ones that, five weeks later, had brought him -- and the shuttle from the Symmetry here.

The shuttle came to a halt and powered down; Spock looked back down at the two other images his future self had brought with him. One was of Spock, older than he was now but far younger than his counterpart, with a woman and a young girl, both with Vulcanoid features. The girl resembled both the older Spock and the woman with him, which was a clear implication of who the three of them were to each other. The second was of Spock and the woman, older yet, both dressed impeccably for whatever occasion was in progress. It appeared to be their wedding.

And then there was the note.

The hatch to the shuttle opened, and a number of people began to file out. All looked worse for wear; all had the pointed ears and sloped eyebrows of his people, but some… some had the divergent frontal development that spoke to Romulan heritage.

Just as the note had said, then.

Next from the shuttle was a contrasting pair: a woman in ragged clothes, and a man of dignified bearing and composure. The man spotted Spock close by, raised his hand in the Vulcan salute, and greeted him simply: "My son."

Spock returned the salute. "Father. I see the coordinates provided were accurate."

"They were," Sarek confirmed. "I still have some… dissonance about acting on information from the future. But," he continued before his son could object, "given the obvious divergences already from the future your elder self described, I suppose some flexibility is permitted."

Spock wondered if the rationale his father provided was the complete explanation, or whether even he was not immune to being influenced by grandchildren, even unborn ones unlikely to exist in this timeline. "Your influence in this matter was invaluable."

"My influence is at your disposal, my son," he said. A mutual nod passed between them, acknowledging the improved relationship that had resulted from the tragedies of five years previous. Then he turned to the woman who had accompanied him. "T'Pala, this is my son, Commander Spock of Starfleet. Spock, this is T'Pala." He looked as if he wished to say more, but he clearly knew full well that Spock and T'Pala would have more than enough to discuss. "I will take my leave, and allow you to speak." And so he did.

Spock had considered what to say to this woman when they finally met. Unfortunately he had not decided. So he allowed himself to, as his Human side might say, wing it. "Forgive me if I am being forward, with knowledge difficult to explain… but, are you pregnant?"

T'Pala raised both eyebrows. "I am," she answered. "I found out several days before the Symmetry found us." She tilted her head to the side. "I have told no one, Commander, so I will also be forward: how could you possibly know?"

So. That also explained why the note was not to be opened until a specific stardate. "It is a long story," he informed her.

"I appear to have a great deal of time," she answered.

Time indeed, reflected Spock. He recalled the words that his future self had written to, well, himself:

I suspect your future will not resemble my past, and you will never have the same interaction or relationship with the woman in these images. I had resolved to take these actions myself, then, when the time was correct. However, I now believe I will not live to accomplish them, and so the obligation I feel to her, no matter the timeline, falls to you:

Retrieve the Vulcan and Romulan survivors from Hellguard as soon after the date provided as is practical. Locate T'Pala among them, and make sure she wants for nothing. Enlist the aid of our father if possible.

And finally, if she has not already chosen a name for her unborn daughter, suggest the name Saavik.

***

Author's Notes, both from the original posting elsewhere and from posting it here, can be found at this link.

[vulku]

❛  12 .   a  kiss  that  seals  a  marriage . ( let me live in my delusion lmao )

a vulcan marriage is sealed by a priestess, guiding them to binding their minds together. the traditional ceremony is, for all of his culture's teachings for logic and rationale, intimate; the vulcan heart on display. despite his complex feelings toward his own heritage, he has nothing but respect for it -- and intends to follow through in it's entirety. for now, however . . .

there is no dry, beautiful desert; no priestess or meeting of clans; no plak tow calling for consummation. it was christopher pike who officiated in a small, private gathering in a way that was more human; even if not entirely. but it was enough; the meaning, the gesture the same. they would be enroute to vulcan, as soon as enterprise's business on this planet concluded. though, he had made it clear that should something else arise, he would still take temporarily to uphold his word. far too many times did he had to choose between duty, and his betrothed; and while that may never entirely subside due to factors beyond his control, he wanted to prove his dedication to balancing both, at every given opportunity.

the necklace she offered him with her own marriage proposal still sits around his neck, as it has since that night; even when he is donning his science blues, rather than more vulcan attire. nimble fingers brush against her own, half paying attention to pike's words as he legally binds them together -- and more than a little captivated by t'pring at his side, having agreed to both ceremonies far more readily than he would have anticipated. he did not know then what he knows now. not with the same amount of certainty. spock does not need to tell her how it is humans conclude their wedding ceremonies; and so, he does not hesitate.

it does not matter that they are not yet alone. pike is scarcely don't intoning, you may now kiss the bride, before he is doing just that --  leaning in just as much as he pulls her closer, with fingers entwining. a sacrilege on vulcan, in truth; but it would hardly be the first instance in being a couple that they have skirted the line of appropriate in public. by comparison, in current company, it is hardly worthy of note to anyone else. this is not their first kiss, nor will it be their last; but he savors it all the same. the press of soft lips that make his eyelids fall and exhale a low, content breath. she feels, tastes familiar and true; like spice on the spring wind, and all the heat of vulcan that lures him in like a siren's song. while his desires are tempered for the sake of an audience, and while unseen, not hidden from her. even if not complete, the bond if strong enough to show that much in such close proximity. he is certain someone is saying something, but spock barely holds the resolve to pull away from her lips enough to speak against them in vulcan.

           “       as i said . . . there is no need to chase that which we have. that which is yours, and mine.        ”         

                       “       shall we retire?       ”      

[emc2beans]

#FFXIVWrite Day 17: Noisome

(Vague future semi-au in which Alphinaud and Llewellyn are married bc I'm a sucker for domestic fluff. Idk just take it.)

In the years following an official retirement from adventuring, Alphinaud had found that his life had not gotten any less complicated. His choice to help expand and improve Idyllshire at Llewellyn’s side had not gone over terribly well with his parents who had wanted him to return to Sharlayan. Instead he had decided to ‘shore up a ruin’ and ‘marry an undereducated Eorzean delinquent’ (his father’s words, not his mother’s and decidedly not his). At least his mother had imbued some sense into the man, eventually, and Fourchenault calling Idyllshire a ruin would come back to bite him.

When the Sharlayan Forum found out that their abandoned colony had been taken over and was nearing the point of becoming a proper township, they had come to the logical conclusion that the so-called ‘squatters’ either needed to leave or adhere to Sharlayan’s authority. After Alphinaud facilitated significant back-and-forth negotiations, Idyllshire agreed to be part of Sharlayan under the condition that they would have at least one representative on the Forum.The people of Idyllshire had then elected the only person who was truly versed in Sharlayan politics which, of course, was Alphinaud. This was an unexpected loophole that meant he was serving on the Forum at the same time as his father, something that gave both of them no end of consternation. Needless to say, Alphinaud did not have many days off. 

Thankfully, Llewellyn’s own work on improving Idyllshire meant that he had plenty of time to take care of the home he had refurbished for them. Following his dream of being the star’s greatest house husband made Llewellyn very happy, and it also gave him ample time to do things like go camping with his friends in the Black Shroud for a week. He was due home from such a trip soon. Alphinaud had managed to configure his schedule in a way that meant he was back from Sharlayan a few bells ahead of when Llewellyn was supposed to return in hopes of surprising him. He had tidied the house and was now watching the path up to Idyllshire’s Aetheryte from his study. As luck would have it, he was able to catch a glimpse of his husband walking down towards their front door. 

Alphinaud headed down the main stairs to the foyer and excitedly opened the double doors, only to deflate when Llewellyn was not there nor was he farther up the path. Confused, Alphinaud stepped out onto the front patio and looked around. Llewellyn’s pack was leaning against the patio stairs, but the roegadyn man was nowhere to be found at the front of the house. 

Confused, Alphinaud walked around the house and through Llewellyn’s (work-in-progress) garden to see that the gate to the back yard was sitting slightly ajar. He could already hear Llewellyn talking in a baby voice, interrupted occasionally by the excited ‘kweh’s of Pip, the beloved chocobo for whom the entire back yard had been designed. 

“I should have known that you would say hello to Pip before me.” Alphinaud stood in the gateway and laughed as Llewellyn looked up from giving Pip a scratch.

“Wh- You’re home!” Llewellyn grinned and jogged across the yard to scoop up his husband for a hug. 

“As are you! I managed to finish work early and I had hoped to surprise you.” Alphinaud looped his arms around Llewellyn’s neck, pulling him down slightly into a kiss. They lingered there for a moment until an awful smell hit Alphinaud’s nose. He pulled back a bit. “Llewellyn, love, you reek.” 

“I’ve been in the woods for a week, not exactly a lot of opportunities to wash.” Llewellyn laughed, not letting go of Alphinaud’s waist. “I also haven’t really shaved.” He rubbed his cheek against Alphinaud’s face, making him recoil further from the unpleasant texture. 

“Go inside and bathe. Now.” Alphinaud pushed him back playfully with his face scrunched up in mock disgust, making Llewellyn release him at last. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll go bathe.” Llewellyn walked towards the front of the house, then paused to look back over his shoulder. “Can I expect you to join me?”

“Absolutely not.” Alphinaud shut the back gate behind them. “You are filthy. Go bathe or you’ll be sleeping with the chocobo.” He shooed a laughing Llewellyn inside, unable to keep the smile off of his face.