#and quite possibly some oversights.

[tjerra14]

really wish I had more time for individual patients sometimes

[zara-renata]

Hi, I write fanfiction about Love and Deepspace. Currently Sylus-dominant (heh), although I love and appreciate most of the LIs. Full summaries and tags are in each link.

The Sylus series

Part 1 Alike and cornered beast, Sylus's POV | ao3

I was desperate for Sylus's point of view during the first time that MC meets him in the Alike and Cornered Beast chapters of Long-Awaited Revelry. I wanted to know why he touches MC so reverently but also quite brutally, so I spent a lot of time thinking about possibilities and this is the result.

Part 2 Roleplay, undercurrents, and rising curtain, Sylus's POV | ao3

MC has PTSD from chapter 4 (you know the one), and no one can convince me otherwise, so I re-wrote the auction bits from Sylus's POV to fix this grievous oversight, because I am also firmly convinced he is a champ at handling MC's trauma.

Part 3 No way out, revised | ao3

I thought that MC was too mean to Sylus in his 4 star No Way Out card, and I didn't like it, so I fixed it. I mean, I rewrote how it went like a proper rabid fan.

Part 4 Datura tea, or how all you want is to get some sleep | ao3

You're suffering from insomnia due to untreated PTSD (probably, I don't know, I'm not a doctor or a therapist) from your family getting, well, exploded, and the longer this goes on, the sloppier you become in combat and just existing, and a bad idea is born.

Part 5 Sylus gets a headache | ao3

Sylus has secured the promise from you that he can use your place as a safe house if he's in the area and needs it. Sylus's definition of "need", it turns out, might be different than your own, as illustrated by the first time he shows up unannounced at your door.

Part 6 Wine time with Sylus | ao3

Sylus invites himself over, helps himself to your first aid kit and your kitchen, manipulates you into tasting wine with him, discusses his latest business venture, and gifts you more than one present before he's good and ready to finally leave.

Part 7 Sylus's guide to hiring, or Wine time with Sylus: his POV | ao3

Sylus mulls over all the data he has managed to collect regarding his sweet little hunter so far, and spends some time considering mistakes he's made and his plans for the future. He also hires a new employee and is required to teach the twins to mind their manners in front of guests he's trying to intimidate.

Part 8 Not my type | ao3

Sylus pesters you on your day off while you're at the arcade until you agree to "lend your talents" to him for the evening. So of course you show up at the designated location only to discover it's a nightclub, and you're dressed for a murder, but not on the dance floor.

Part 9 Sylus makes a deal | ao3

Sylus answers some questions, receives dating advice from a dubious source, makes a deal you can't refuse, receives a birthday invitation, and plans to take you home for the night.

Part 10 Even the rocks on the roadside in the N109 Zone could tell | ao3

Sylus makes one final miscalculation. You wake up from a nightmare in a place you weren't ready to revisit. Sylus has to reckon with the inevitable consequences of how he treated you when you first met him, but you're paying the higher price.

Part 11 Even the rocks on the roadside - Sylus's POV | ao3

Sylus tries to get some paperwork done in his office while you sleep. He receives a call that turns his night upside down and makes him regret some strategic choices he's made up until this point in conquering your heart.

Part 12 Q&A with Sylus Qin | ao3

Sylus cares for your injuries and feeds you a meal. After he shows you a part of his home that you didn't know existed, you finally ask him why he was so cruel to you when you first met him. Sylus does his best to answer with as much honesty as he can right now.

Part 13 How you learned to stop worrying and embrace Sylus Qin | ao3

Sylus reveals his latest little plot and makes you an offer that you ultimately can't refuse. More lying around talking in different beds with Sylus Qin.

Part 14 The dream, the tie, the tour, the dream | ao3

You have a good dream, get a guided tour of Onychinus's base by the chaos twins, talk yourself into being sad again, and then have another good dream

Part 15 The right hand, the left hand, the heart of Sylus Qin | ao3

Sylus meets with his legal counsel while the twins give you a tour of the base, you wake up from a dream, Sylus wastes some eggs, you attempt to get to know Sylus better, and you have your first 'date' with Sylus Qin.

Part 16 The pool | ao3

You dream, you do some art, you go for a swim, Sylus destroys part of his office, you discover the hot tub, you're close to catching a clue. A 'morning' in the life at Onychinus HQ.

Part 17 And everything that is now already existed then | ao3

Sylus shows you his favorite parts of his house, you are haunted by a strange feeling of familiarity, you spend some time with the twins and Noah, you learn about the bet they had going.

Part 18 Before you came, things were as they should be | ao3

You spend a lot of time wrestling with questions of morality, there's more poetry because the author has no self control, you may or may not burn out Mephisto's eye optics with your antics trying to provoke Sylus, Noah and the twins drag you to the club.

Sylus standalones

Control: a Sylus series interlude | ao3

You are feeling a bit depressed after completing a mission that didn't go 100% the way you wanted. Mephisto, and then Sylus, pay you a visit to cheer you up.

Creature Feature with Sylus Qin | ao3

You and Sylus dress up for a Halloween gala. This is a short little Sylus series interlude, occurring after these idiots finally get together.

Goodcat code, or how you learned to care for your catboy | ao3

Your crimelord boyfriend disappears for a week, you make yourself sad listening to breakup songs, you learn that he got turned into a catboy, you get assigned a mission on the worst cruise ship ever, undercover shenanigans ensue.

Would you love me if I were a worm drabble

Xavier

Sleepy time with Xavier | ao3

You suffer from chronic fatigue and worry that Xavier is only placating you when he says it's fine on the occasions you're too exhausted to follow through on plans together. On one such bad day, he reassures you in a way that you can no longer doubt.

[orteil42]

Cookie Clicker turns 10 today! Having outlived our enemies, let us celebrate with a fresh batch of announcements!

🍪First of all, Cookie Clicker is 40% off on Steam this week! The perfect gift for your loved and/or hated ones! (the web version is still free forever but you don't get Steam achievements or music by C418!)

🍪Secondly! The mobile version has been lagging behind the browser game for years and is in dire need of an update. I've been dedicating most of my time recently to bringing its content up to par! Here's a progress report:

Compared to the current version, this update adds back 284 upgrades and 179 achievements from the web game, which leaves 83 upgrades and 94 achievements still unimplemented plus a good amount of heavenly upgrades. I am determined to close that gap!

Seasons and the pet dragon are currently partially implemented. These are complicated, compound features with side-effects in all kinds of places so once the update gets an alpha release I'll likely be needing everyone's help to hunt for bugs and oversights. I'm being as thorough as possible but there's no way I didn't forget some obscure interplay somewhere!

I'm also updating the UI! Cookie Clicker's interface makes heavy use of woodwork, which is largely absent from the mobile version; I've been aiming to bring it back. Rather than recycling desktop assets, I'm looking to push the game's visual identity towards less "plain wooden boards" and more "victorian biscuit shop" (something I'd have liked to go for when I first made the game but didn't quite know how yet). Here's some early screenshots!

I'm using Blender for the new assets, I might make a more in-depth post about my process in the future. Please note that these are experimental and I'm still fiddling with the look! Once I'm happy with it I'll ideally be giving the desktop game a similar makeover.

This update will hopefully come out later this year and will likely involve multiple rounds of alpha. Once stable, future updates will focus on adding sugar lumps and as many of the minigames as possible.

🍪Thirdly: the Makeship grandma plushie is real and we're doing a giveaway! Please read this twitter post to enter. Note that if the launch campaign succeeds we've got other plushies in mind! Maybe a wrinkler?

🍪Fourthly - there was going to be a really cool announcement here but I've been informed I'm not yet at liberty to discuss it. It's sooooo cool tho trust me. things happening. u gotta take my word for it. tune in next time

🍪Lastly:

i've got enough dough for like, idk 50 more? mom's recipe. white+dark+milk chocolate. they're very good thank you

PS. thank you for playing with us all these years! odds are some of you reading this have been here since the very start. that's mad to think about! Opti and I couldn't have done this for 10 whole years without all of you hyping us up. i want to see if we can do 10 more. get real freaky with it

[vln-vibes]

Heroes Hunted

(I need to finish my other fics before thinking of others Q^Q)

Basically we've seen quite a few Danny getting hunted down by the GIW and ending up in Gotham resulting in him warning certain Bats (mainly just Jason) that hes in danger as well--- but what if the GIW decided to target 'smaller fish' in order to train themselves against Phantom; their main target.

Unfortunately Team Phantom is too busy trying to keep the calm around Amity Park and don't realize it until they're too late.

The JL never see them coming.

The Bats are frantically looking for what should be their literal assassin trained Robin, Red Hood and Black Bat.

Supers are flying around the area looking for any trace of Supergirl and Superboy (I). Not even Tim's trackers on Conner show anything (just like the ones he had on his fellow Bats).

Arrows had sent Green Arrow and Arsenal to help with the search of the Bats, Roy leaving Lian behind with Dinah, only to drop off the face of the Earth.

The Flash, Blue Beetle and Hawkwoman are all reported as MIA.

An Emergency Meeting is announced and trying to get into contact with all the other fellow heroes. Some were known to be off planet but there were a few who'd failed to respond at all...

Batman is the first to realize a common factor to all those who've disappeared as most had concluded something or someone was targeting heroes.

They'd all died.

Diana was the one to bring forward worst news; the hunt wasn't done.

Impulse, Red Robin, Cyborg, Hawkman, Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman herself were possible targets as well.

Cyborg was able to recover and corrupted and dropped emergency call from Barry "Those weirdos in white from earlier are attacking downtown, could use some backup asap. Something about Anti-Ecto Acts or whate-- Hey! Ugh"

A shiver went down their spines as they collectively told stories about spotting men in white suits walk around their cities. Some had brushed them off whilst others had kept tabs but the guys seemed to have lost interest and left.

It was a terrible oversight.

"Looks like some assholes are digging their noses into my turf, gonna stake them out tonight" Jason had told Bruce the last night they'd seen each other, "My guys they were wearing white suits, terrible choice for Crime Alley or Gotham"

Red Hood had said he didn't need backup as he would just gather intel, still that was also the night Black Bat and Robin were paired for patrol and she'd indicated she'd check in on him before the end of the night. The three never got to call in for the night.

Oracle had informed him that Red Hood's helmet had detonated, fortunately without him in it, its location the last place his children had pinged in the scanners.

The only audio they managed to recover from the device was "---Control Act, Article 1, Subse---Under Arrest---Questioning... And experimenting lots---"

Oracle had finally found the 'Anti-Ecto Acts', formally known as the Federal Anti-Ecto Control Act hidden along laws against the privatization of new green energy sources; Anything that was made off of or produced this so called 'ectoplasm' was to be handed over to the federal government's Ghost Investigation Ward for imprisonment, experimentation and finally termination.

"What the hell even is ectoplasm?"

"Its the source of all ghosts" Zatanna spoke up, repulsion clear as she read and reread the acts words, "Their body and souls are made up of the energy much like atoms make up all things in the physical world. The energy of the dead"

"According to these documents" Red Robin pulled up a research paper around two decades old from some students of the University of Wisconsin, "Ectoentities or ghosts are unfeeling, nonsentient echoes of their formerly living selves. They'd even theorized a means to access their home dimension they call the Ghost Zone"

"Ghost are made of bloody emotions" Constantine rolled his eyes "What kind of idiot would think otherwise? And don't get me started on a 'home dimension'--unless?"

"John, you don't think?"

"I sure as bloody hell hope not"

"The Infinite Realms!?"

Which only proved the situation more dire; a potential for a dimension that glued the multiverse and their afterlives, whose beings all had potential of rivaling the strength of a Super when provoked, their noted territorial nature making that a given if a portal happened upon them.

They were on a ticking time bomb to rescue their fellow heroes but they didn't even know where to start. Luckily they weren't the Justice League for nothing---

Potential locations scouted, teams made and buddy systems enacted for those potentially targeted.

Batman and his team headed to Amity Park to check on the three researchers of those papers-- Madeline Walker, Jack Fenton and Vladimir Masters. Background search revealed that Madeline and Jack had gotten married and had two children Jasmine and Daniel.

It wasn't until they crossed the town border in the dead of the night that their systems pinged the Fenton children were reported as runaways-- and not just them. The local high school had shut down as children were reported missing or also runaways from their parents. Even the faculty and some parents had begun to disappear.

Those that remained were kept under strict curfew by marshal law-- the GIW had the town under their control.

Just what exactly had they stumbled upon? Could their comrades be hidden somewhere in this small midwestern town?

Their theories were proven right the following night when tapping into their communication line about the 'aggressive subject G-02' and how 'it' had managed to break some arms when it had been relocated to the Fenton's personal lab. The 'unfortunate' Agent H who'd tried to yank it by its black and white contaminated hair had gotten his nose broken for it. It was scheduled for biopsy tonight.

Batman couldn't help but taste the bile make his way up fearing/knowing who G-02 was.

His Team was right behind him in the change of plans as they made their way across town as covertly as they could; it seemed as though after finding out about G-02 (it couldn't be him, he couldn't put a name to him lest he let his fear override everything) Batman pinged on more and more of their ghost detectors.

Disabling was taking too long, loathe he admit, as they devolved to destroying as discreetly as they could.

Finally they could see the garish neon of the FentonWorks logo, the steps and door to the house were covered in ectoplasm and another familiar substance-- handmarks, clawmarks, clear signs of resistance could be made out.

And then Fentonworks went up in a flame and red and green.

Batman couldn't keep in his desperate cry. Not again! Please not again...

[nebuladreamerrr]

Chicken wings| Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

Summary: A small forgetfulness forces you to have to turn to Kylian to buy you some things, without knowing the confusion it will create.

Warnings: English is not my first language, and I got the inspiration through various TikToks that had been in my fyp. 

You had been grappling with menstrual cramps for weeks, but recent stress had sidelined them from your attention. At work, tensions were high with the onset of the new summer season and negotiations with prominent designers to boost sales. Additionally, your impending departure from the country with Kylian had triggered a flurry of packing at home, as you prepared to store away memories and swiftly transform your new residence into a comfortable haven. Despite your financial ease, you couldn't avoid the tedious task of deciding which items should remain in Paris until the season's end – your computer and attire for scheduled advertising campaigns – and what to leave behind until you settled into your new abode.

The flurry of events had caused you to overlook purchasing a box of pads and tampons. Since childhood, your periods have been lengthy but thankfully not too painful. Knowing the possibility of your period's imminent arrival, you understood the importance of being prepared to prevent any unwanted mishaps.

As you woke up this morning and felt something slick between your legs, you immediately grasped what had occurred. Hastily, you rose to prevent any further mess, relieved to find the pristine white linen sheets on your bed untouched. Seizing the opportunity while Kylian was at training, you swiftly changed them and tossed them into the washing machine. Despite their cleanliness, the lingering discomfort prompted you to make the switch.

After completing all these tasks, you made your way determinedly to the bathroom within the master bedroom, only to gasp at the realization of your oversight. You had forgotten to purchase your feminine hygiene products, leaving you feeling almost resigned to waiting until Kylian returned from training and noticed the situation. Yet, barely fifteen minutes had elapsed before you acknowledged the impossibility of remaining idle for so long.

You reached for your phone in an attempt to reach out to some friends, but they were all occupied with work or away from Paris. You even tried contacting your mother-in-law, attempting to downplay the situation due to the embarrassment it caused. However, Fayza had to inform you that she couldn't assist you, as she was attending Ethan's match. Despite her willingness to come over if necessary, you didn't want her to miss her youngest son's game. Grateful for her offer, you politely declined before ending the call and opting to message your partner instead.

You were aware that he likely wouldn't check his phone until an hour later, once training was over, especially if they had an early session that day. So you began composing the message, struggling with how to phrase it, as every attempt seemed too embarrassing. You and Kylian were quite close, but you had never asked him to purchase a box of sanitary pads for you. You were almost certain he hardly knew the model or brand you preferred, as you kept them tucked away in the same cupboard where various soaps and spare shampoos were stored, along with his beard shaver—items he typically paid little attention to. After much contemplation, you settled on this message:

"Hey baby, I forgot there were no pads and tampons left. Can you stop by the supermarket after training to buy tampons and pads with wings. Thank you so much, je t'aime".

You waited anxiously, attempting to distract yourself by experimenting with various nail polishes that had been sent to you for collaboration—an opportunity you hadn't yet had time to explore. "Make the most of the time" you reminded yourself, striving to find a silver lining in the situation. However, your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a notification from your partner: "Perfect, darling, I've just finished. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Fifteen minutes later, the sound of the door opening and footsteps ascending the stairs caught your attention. Yet, it was the soothing tone of your boyfriend's voice that truly lifted your spirits, pulling you from your reverie. Politely, he sought permission to enter before gently presenting you with the pads and tampons he had purchased, his greeting marked by a tender kiss. With a considerate gesture, he then exited the bathroom, affording you some privacy. Though accustomed to seeing each other unclothed countless times before, he intuited your desire for a moment to freshen up and alleviate the mild discomfort you were experiencing.

You were surprised to find wingless pads, but you guessed that Kylian might not have been able to find them and felt too awkward to inquire about their whereabouts or your preferred brand. After a lengthy, soothing shower and making yourself comfortable, you made your way to the living room, relieved to finally stand up. There, you found your boyfriend flipping through TV channels in search of something engaging to watch. His expression suggested he was having trouble finding anything appealing, so your arrival seemed to brighten his mood.

"Everything alright, mon amour?" asked your boyfriend as he tried to decipher your expression.

"Yes, thank you very much, darling," you replied as you settled down next to him on the couch.

"I was surprised you asked for wings, as you usually hate greasy food when you have your period. But I left the bag defrosting, assuming that's what my girl would like for lunch," he explained as he snuggled into your arms.

You tried not to laugh, but you couldn't help it when you realized how confused Kylian had been. Your sudden startled reaction prompted him to ask, "What's wrong, sweetie? You're scaring me."

You felt embarrassed, knowing that Kylian wouldn't let the topic go until you explained. So, reluctantly, you decided to address it.

"Sweetheart, I didn't ask for chicken wings, I asked for pads with wings. But it's okay, honey, the wingless pads worked just the same," you explained, trying to downplay the situation.

"What? I'm so sorry, I thought you were asking me for three things, I wasn't quite sure where..." But you interrupted him with a kiss because you knew it wasn't either of your faults.

"It's all right, Kyky. Let's look on the bright side - we already have food for today."

OMGGG THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT. I know that this story is shorter than usual but it was the best I could do in the amount of time I had. Remember that requests are open in case you want to send any ideas but dw cuz I got a lot of ideas written down for when I have more time.

❤️❤️❤️

[volturissideslut]

Hiii! I loved your latest angst! Could you do something for the kings(poly) where the reader is being ignored and compared to (just like the last one), but she's a mother figure to the guards? So one day maybe the kings found one of the guards conforting reader while she asks them why she's not enough. With a fluff ending if possible :)

Thank you in advance!

𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 (𝕻𝖔𝖑𝖞) + 𝕲𝖚𝖆𝖗𝖉 (𝕻𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖈)

I don't feel like Aro gets enough spotlight in some of my fics so lets say he's the one to find you

It's a strange feeling, isn't it? Not feeling able to open up to the one's you love most, the ones who are supposed to love you - the ones fated to be with you. And yet that was the exact predicament you seemed to be in at this second.

Sat in the garden they were supposed to grow with you (though it did end up just being you caring for the plants yourself) with your head buried in a shoulder to cry on. But not your lovers, no. Your child's. While biologically you were not the mother to a miss Jane Volturi or a mister Alec Volturi, you could not be happier with the situation you found yourself in with them. It had been so long since they lost their mother to those wretched townsfolk, and yet you seemed to integrate with them so seamlessly. They were fast to trust you, truly a great surprise to others.

But as one fell head over heels for you (platonically, of course) the rest surely did follow not far behind.

"I don't understand" your voice was thick with would-be-tears as you sat side by side with Jane under the willow tree you had grown all those years ago. "Why am I not enough anymore? Why do they not love me anymore? All they do is distance themselves"

A pale hand rakes itself comfortingly through your hair, but no voice follows. Jane, ever the loyal one to her masters, could offer you no answer. She herself couldn't understand their changes.

"Perhaps it is just that they are busy with the preparations for battle, but yet they remain so cold constantly" you sigh, determining it was time to get up and crawl out of this whole of self pity you had dug for yourself. Honestly, you were fully grown and could suck it up for now... right?

However, unbeknown to you, Aro had chosen today of all days to watch over some of the newer guards and make sure the job was getting done well for himself. This had led to him being within earshot of your small doubt-session with Jane (not that he had to be far to hear with vampiric abilities and all)

Had he truly been neglectful of his mate without knowing? Maybe the guard could wait for today, and maybe his and his brothers' personal oversight over the preparations wasn't truly this necessary. And with that, some time was pushed aside with you in mind.

-----

To say you where surprised when Aro was in his chambers was an understatement. And, wow, how silly does that sound? Why should you be surprised that a man was in his own chambers? But with the way time had been divided lately it still did come as quite a shock to the system.

"Ah, Cara Mia, I was waiting for you. I was wonde- ... Are you quite alright, dear?" He interrupts himself seeing the expression on your face, head tilted to the side. Only when you give him a tight lipped smile and a curt nod does he continue, choosing to ignore your current look of discomfort though it does send a pang to his heart. "Yes, well, as a was sating. I was hoping you would accompany me to a theatre tonight. It has been a while, hasn't it?"

Though before you could answer, Caius, dramatic as ever, storms into the room and almost sweeps Aro's neatly organised chamber into a hurricane. "I came as soon as I heard. Where is she?" Poor Aro almost gets an elbow to the face as Caius spins to look.

"Brother, hush, she is here." long arms drape themselves over you and the smell of books, musk, and trees surrounds you. Marcus' brown hair is pulled into a low ponytail, that being the only reason it isn't sprawled all over you as you're pulled deeply into his chest from behind. When did he even get here?

With a pink to the bridge of his nose, Aro steps to you and holds your face in the palm of his hand. "You should have told us, dearest. You should have let us know instead of putting up this facade. We will always have time for you. I promised you eternity, did I not?"

With a nod from you you're released from Marcus' hold and brought into Aro's.

"That goes for the rest of us as well" a blond bob appears before you and spins you into his own grasp like he has done many times before when you danced. (Marcus and Aro used to get irritated by it, but all is forgiven when they hear you giggle and spin with him, both in the ballroom and now)

"Now, correct me if i'm wrong, but i think we are long overdue some quality time"

[krakensdottir]

Also something really important I want to point out about Aziraphale's religious trauma.

It's often framed as him being directly abused by Heaven, generally emotionally. And while I don't doubt he's been belittled at points - probably not by Gabriel, the iconic exemplar of the Toxic Positivity boss, but we know how Michael and Uriel etc. can be - it also seems like he's received quite a lot of praise and has generally managed to pull off the appearance of being A Good Angel, or at least a satisfactory one. I don't think, and this is controversial, but I don't think Heaven was usually overtly hard on him.

Because that's not how this kind of cult mentality usually operates. Instead, it teaches you to abuse yourself. Your overseers don't have to directly hurt or insult you if you're so ingrained with fear of failure by the culture you were brought up in that you constantly question yourself as not good enough.

It's not as... satisfying, I guess? As an external abuser being the main issue. But it's a lot more real. At least to me, because I suffered so much anxiety over being 'good' when I was a kid, and it wasn't from direct abuse. It was absorbed from the culture I was surrounded by. I picked it up by osmosis from society at large, and it tormented me. I worried, I doubted, there was a time I literally feared going to Hell. And I wasn't raised strongly religious. My mother certainly treated me as a Good Kid, and never gave even the suggestion that I wasn't. But I felt that way anyway. And it tore me apart. Because internalizing that shit makes it so much harder to fight.

And to be clear at this point, I am not saying Heaven isn't abusive. I just think the nature of its abuse is more subtle and insidious than it's often given credit for. And - this is even harder to accept, but it's true, and it's important - it's not just abusive to Az. All the angels are victims of it. Yes, even Gabriel. The moment he, one of the most powerful forces in Heaven, steps out of line, we see that no one is exempt. Never even mind Muriel, who is literally on the lowest rung of the Heavenly ladder and has probably never been told they're worth anything beyond being, you know, an angel, so at least you're better than humans and demons.

It's a contrast with Crowley, who has long since accepted most (not all, there are definitely some deep issues remaining, but they're nothing like Aziraphale's) of his internal doubts and struggles. His fears are almost entirely external. He doesn't beat himself up if he fucks up. He doesn't have to. There are people happy to beat him up for him. So when things go really bad for him, his instinct is to run. To get out of the way of harm as much as possible.

The fact that Aziraphale is harder on himself than anyone else could be is a vital part of his character. He self-punishes. He self-criticizes. He feels awful every time he breaks the rules in the slightest, even though he isn't usually caught at it. Crowley can find some safety in solitude if he keeps his wits sharp and his head down. Aziraphale can't, because he carries Heaven's conditioning with him at all times. He doesn't need oversight, it doesn't take external threats to keep him in line. You don't need direct threats when literally everyone in your celestial workplace has seen firsthand the consequences of rebellion.

I don't know if I'm making sense here. Again, this is informed by personal experience and I can't claim to be unbiased. But I see so much internalization with Aziraphale. He literally can't even accept praise without being nervous as hell, and I don't think it's fear of punishment or ridicule that's his primary motivation. He simply cannot ever be good enough for himself.

That's how they get you.

Anyway, I think it's why his reaction to disaster is the opposite to Crowley's, why he feels he has to turn and face it and somehow avert the horror (or, alternatively, find some way to reconcile it in his head and accept it - because let's be real, that's often what happens) rather than get himself away. He's less afraid of failing his superiors than he is of failing himself. And God, who is, objectively, the biggest abuser in the entire story.

[liesmyth]

Do you think the Nine Houses follow a Marxist, Keynsian, or Austrians economic model

this ask made me SO happy you have no idea! some vague thoughts

The Houses obviously have to do careful resource allocation. I doubt they have a free market economy, at least not on a system-wide scale. I could see some of the Houses — like the Third or Fifth Houses, which are by all accounts wealthy and with a very large population — develop some kind of internal capitalist economy within the House itself. Namely, private actors who control and own properties, wealth accumulation, competitive markets etc. But ultimately I think even those are subject to strong (local) governmental oversight because, again, they live on space installations in a situation of constant resource constraint. I bet there are quotas for everything.

However! No way ALL the Houses have a market economy. I'm thinking especially those Houses that are very small and/or have a "mission" which means that societal development is carefully planned, and probably the economy is also centrally planned. (Ninth, Eight, Sixth, maybe Second and/or Fourth).

On an overreaching scale (within the Home System) I don't think "the Empire" (as in, John) is overly concerned with the yearly economic development of the Houses, partly because he's been historically absent for decades or even centuries at a time. Verging sharply into headcanon territory, I think the closest thing the Houses have to a real centralised government is military leadership (High Command or the Fleet Admiral, who's the head of the Second House) and when it comes to issues that concern multiple Houses but are more "civilian" in nature, is kind of a free-for-all. I'm thinking about how Harrow thought that writing to ask for help would result in the Fifth or maybe the Third cannibalising the Ninth House — it looks like there's an informal council of House leaders, but no properly organised central government.

Trade: travel and commerce between the Houses is regulated. You can't just take a spaceship and move from the Eight to the Second, for example — movement of people as well as goods depends on a ship schedule that runs on "routes" and I'd bet there's an immigration/emigration quota that's maybe decided between specific House leaders, or maybe a third party. My best bet is that one of the Houses (possibly the Third or Fifth) OR an ad-hoc organisation (which includes multiple higher-ups from said well-off Houses) are the ones who regulate shipping and travel, and either have an ownership stake in the shipping system or administrate it in the name of the Emperor.

The shepherded planets: putting the "imperialism" in "Empire". The Houses definitely exploit their colony planet for resources, as per AYU (talking about the "contracts" that the Empire signs with the occupied planets). However, it's also worth noting that 1) for at least 5000 years, the House system was self-sustaining and hadn't made contact with any other population; and 2) stele travel is kind of a hassle, and only seems to be limited to Cohort ships that we know of.

What I'm getting at is that I think the economy of the Houses is not dependent on their war of conquest — imo it's more of a mission of conquest for conquest's sake, see Corona thinking that the economy of the Houses doesn't quite add up, and Augustine talking like the ongoing expansion of the Houses is a whim of John's and little else. Basically, it seems to be a way to oppress the occupied planet for occupation's sake, and I wouldn't be surprised if the resources the Houses extract from the conquered planets go straight into financing yet more war and occupation and very little (if any) of any wealth they may accumulate makes it back to the Houses.

It COULD be that there's a necromantic equivalent of the East India Company, and my bet would be on the Second administrating it — Harrow doesn't seem to rate them at all, which tracks because Harrow's primary concern is Houses that could be a threat to the Ninth, and the Second being focused on exploitation that's external to the Home System could be an explanation for that. I've also seen speculation that making money from colonialism is the Fifth House's purview (*) but EYE think it makes more sense if the House that are more strongly associated with running the war effort are also the ones making money from it. Or it could be a joint operation.

(*) never forget the iconic tag #we regret to inform you that spreadsheets dad is maybe running the necromantic East India Company @katakaluptastrophy here)

Anyway. Sorry I haven't answered your actual question! GUN TO MY HEAD, if I had to pick ONE economic model to map the Houses onto, I wanna say soviet type economy (think: centralised planning, no inflation, little to no unemployment, tendency towards black market, little to no innovation). I have thoughts about what the consumer needs market looks like in the Houses but nobody needs to hear that. Also, it's def very limited

If anyone has thoughts PLEASE feel free to jump in, I'm always thinking about the logistical side of space imperialism in the necro empire!

[cozy-writes-things]

if this is something youre comfortable writing,,

I'd love a fic where the reader upsets edgar and then goes super out of their way to make it up to him and apologize ❤️❤️

poor edgar poor reader youre both just misunderstanding each other!! its hard when youre so different i guess >_< thanks so much for the request!! I'm alive!! I still write im just so busy and shtuff TOT i cant help but feel like my fics are getting redundant and i need some kind of inspiration to shake things up

You sat upon the little chair at your desk, the evening sunlight peeking through the windows and illuminating the little specks of dust floating about in the air. Your fingertips tinkered away at the keys of your computer, the non-sentient variant that is, as you filled out multiple job applications throughout the evening. It seemed a fruitless endeavor, but you willed yourself to keep going. You needed the extra income, as your dinky current job seemed to be getting worse by the day, and it wouldn't be long before you either quit or were victim to massive layoffs. 

Get a degree in computer science, they said. What a joke.

Your nerves began to wear you down as you filled out yet another application to another company that would most likely reject you. You could feel your teeth clenching harder, and your shoulders begin to tense. The weight of uncertainty and the fear of rejection were heavy on your shoulders, making you feel vulnerable and exposed.  Edgar sat beside you, perched upon the desk, watching your every move. He seemed to find enough entertainment in it that you didn't mind. His soft voice pulled you from your irritated stupor.

"Can I ask you something?"

You couldn't bring yourself to answer, so you grunted in response, signaling him to continue.

"Do you think a person could ever…" he trailed off, thinking, carefully choosing his following words, "love something like me?"

Your fingers paused on the keys. You stared into the screen until the pixels began to nip and burn at your eyes. Honestly, this was far too deep of a question for you to answer right this second. You sighed heavily before turning to him.

"I mean, Edgar, I guess? Anyone could love you. You just have to find someone willing to-"

You stopped yourself. Maybe you should quit while you're ahead before you say something ignorant. 

"Willing to what?"

Yet he persisted, ever curious as he was; he valued your opinion above all others.

"You know… you're- you're a computer. There's not much you can bring to the table, you know?"

He fell silent. 

Shit, what the hell are you talking about? Why did you say that? Your frustration was palpable, and you could feel it bubbling up inside you, threatening to spill over.

"Oh."

His screen flickered, and his face was replaced with a moving mirage of colors, making you wonder what he could possibly be feeling right now. 

That you're an asshole, probably.

"Yeah. You're right. If I were you, I wouldn't love me, either."

You turned to face him fully now.

"Edgar, no, that's- that- I didn't mean that-"

"No, it's okay! Really, I get it. I mean, I'm not even a good computer by today's standards. How could I ever be a good partner, right?"

His screen flickered red for a minor second in time, a single frame, and, was that the CBS logo? His frame was static and never changing, but he seemed wholly downtrodden and bitter. You could sense it in the air, the electric signals pricking at your fingertips. He had never, ever once been angry with you. But you felt the way he pulled back from you in this instant. He was utterly unreadable, almost as if he were hiding himself from you. You should have known this would upset him so much. He has always been very open in his desperation for romance, confiding in you since day one, hoping and wishing that love would find him. Perhaps squandering those dreams was an oversight on your part. Your eyes fell, unable to look at his dimmed screen. 

"Edgar, I'm sorry, I'm just not feeling good right now, and I-"

"Don't apologize."

"Edgar, please, listen, what I said wasn't even true-"

"YES IT WAS!"

His deafening scream caused you to jump and clamp your mouth shut. It seemed that Edgar was shaken from frustration. His voice wasn't suited for that kind of pain, you thought. You felt horrible to be the cause. You had never heard him yell at you like this, and it simply broke your heart. Had you just accidentally ruined everything between you? Your heart rate increased and thumped in your ears loudly. You forced yourself to swallow the thick lump in your throat and push your strained voice through your teeth.

"Will you listen to me? Please?" Your voice was desperate, pleading for his understanding and forgiveness.

You felt the weight of your words, heavy and suffocating, as they hung in the air. It came out much more desperate than you intended, but at least the words were able to escape your mouth. He didn't answer. His screen is a sharp, jagged mosaic of moving reds and crimson. 

"I was wrong, Edgar; I don't know why I said what I said, but I know for sure that I was wrong." Your words hung heavy in the air, a testament to your regret.

"Right. How can you know that?"

You pursed your lips tightly. You didn't want him finding out this way. It wasn't supposed to end like this. You ruined your relationship with him, and you hadn't even tried. You felt there was no reason to keep the cat inside the bag, right? He may as well know now.

"Because…"

And yet, the words died on your tongue or perhaps in your chest or your head. Or were they ever really there to begin with? Could you put what you feel into words? How could you possibly verbalize countless nights lying awake, restless, second-guessing yourself, convincing yourself that you were fabricating these feelings, wallowing in anguish?

"…Heh, exactly. Nobody could love an old piece of junk like me. I was stupid to think otherwise."

His words yet again punched you in the gut. 

"Damnit, Edgar! Don't you get it?" You nearly shouted.

You didn't mean for your words to sound as intense as they did, but your emotions are quite the unpredictable force right now. He seemed taken aback, as his previous train of thought had been derailed at the sound of your whimpered voice. He flickered his mosaic once more before his voice cut through the dense silence.

"…What?"

"I love you, Edgar! Hasn't it been obvious? I'm literally head over heels, for God's sake! Do you know how many hours I spend listening to your music when I'm away from you? Or how many nights have I stayed up thinking about you, wishing you were there with me? Or how about the stupid drawings I make of you whenever I touch a pencil? I can't get you out of my head, Edgar. So, there! I didn't want to tell you because I was afraid, but I guess that doesn't matter now, does it? I'm…- I'm sorry."

Your chest seemed to deflate completely. That was only a tiny, minuscule fraction of how you truly felt, but at least it was out in the open. You couldn't bring yourself to look at the Pinecone computer in front of you, instead opting to stare intently at the woodgrain of your desk as if it were the most exciting thing ever created. 

"Do you mean it?"

His voice was so, so much softer than it had been. You still couldn't quite read the emotions behind them, however. You were too afraid to speak again, your throat having completely clamped shut from nerves. You just nodded your head stiffly. 

"Kiss me, then."

You paused. You lifted your head slowly, forcing your eyes to meet his screen. The green of his usual face returned, only displaying two black dots for eyes. Once again, unreadable. Yet his words confused you. Was he being serious?

"C'mere, and put your lips right here," a black circle blinks continuously on his screen where his mouth would be, "and kiss me."

Your face flushed into a searing hot flame. You felt the heat radiating off of you in waves. And yet, despite the embarrassment, you compelled yourself to inch forward and flutter your eyes shut. Your lips pressed gingerly upon the little Pinecone screen, the static buzzing upon your mouth, feeling his internal fans activate and vibrate against you. It felt entirely unique to Edgar and a sensation you wouldn't have felt otherwise. Perhaps a genuine act of affection could atone for your mistake? Could he ever forgive you? It seems your raging thoughts tainted the essence of your first shared kiss as you pulled back, brows knit, and a slight frown upon your face. Would this be enough?

"That was… Everything I hoped it would be." His voice was meek and small as it caressed your ears.

You looked into his illuminated screen, a faint kiss mark smudged upon it and sighed.

"M'sorry, Edgar. I don't know; I guess I don't like the idea of anyone else loving you but me."

His voice synthesizer giggled at your words.

"You could have just told me, darling. Why did you have to go and make things complicated?"

Your cheeks began to burn again, and you averted your eyes in a vain attempt to hide your face.

"How- how was I supposed to know that?" you sputtered, embarrassment seeping through your tone.

"I thought I couldn't get any more obvious about how much I wanted you," he spoke softly.

His screen danced little hearts to and fro, bouncing around the corners and centering back again. Again, you felt your face radiate waves of heat.

"Well, why didn't you say anything, Edgar?"

Your words hung in the air as he fell silent, ruminating, before gently speaking, "…Didn't think you'd want someone like me. That's kinda why I asked."

Oh, God. You felt like facepalming. Of course.

"Of course, I want someone like you. You know, I like that you're a computer. Did you know that? You're fascinating beyond measure. No human could do the things you do."

You offered him a soft smile that melted him from the inside out and almost caused him to groan. Why are you so gorgeous? Why do you like him so damn much? He doesn't deserve it, but God wants it so badly. He wants you terribly.

"Keep kissing me, then. And don't ever stop! Darling, I promise to sweep you off your feet. Now c'mere!"

You laugh, "Okay, okay, but let me make it up to you. How about we watch movies? Or maybe I can hold you on the couch? Or I could listen to your new songs?"

"You're so cute. I'd love that, really, but all I want is your lips right here," he displayed the blinking black circle again.

"We'll do some other things later, yeah?"

His devilish tone sounded mischievous at best.

[within-your-eyes-if]

FAQs

Welcome to the FAQs post for Within Your Eyes. More may be added in the future!

Do you take NSFW Asks?

Yes! [Though at the moment, Asks are closed]

Will there be more poly routes?

Right now, the polyamorous routes I’ve included felt "right" to me. While I'm open to the idea of introducing more, I want to ensure that each route is well-developed and fulfilling. Therefore, I’m carefully considering any additional paths. My main focus right now is enhancing gameplay elements and keeping a manageable workload. Future updates might bring new possibilities, but for now, my energy is dedicated to enhancing the current experiences.

How many NSFW scenes will there be?

I let the story guide me a lot on certain things, letting it unfold organically, including NSFW moments. While I do follow a detailed timeline for the story, it's flexible enough to accommodate new ideas, including unplanned NSFW scenes. So, the exact number isn't predetermined — there could be quite a few, depending on how the story unfolds.

You should do __________!!

I receive a variety of suggestions for many aspects of the game. To streamline this process, I've set up a dedicated Feedback form. Please note that while I'm open to hearing your ideas, especially about technical aspects, there are limits to the changes I can implement. I encourage you to read the guidelines carefully before submitting!

Why can't the MC be a virgin?

Initially, I thought the MC's virginity could be an implicit aspect of their background, but I now recognize its significance to some players. While my story isn't purely NSFW, I can see the appeal for having this option, and I'm actively working on incorporating it — this includes adjusting existing scenes. I apologize for any oversight and appreciate your patience!

You said you've been working on this world for so long, why isn't it done?

Bringing a world that's been growing in my imagination for over a decade into an interactive format like Twine has been quite an endeavor. Initially, I envisioned a linear story with three main characters across three stories. However, as I started adapting it to an interactive, choice-driven narrative, I realized these characters wouldn't work as I had intended. This realization led to the introduction of a new character—our beloved Warden—and a shift in the storyline that hadn't been part of the original plan. These adaptations have opened up possibilities that have significantly enhanced my world. It’s taken time, yes, but the depth it's brought has been absolutely worth it!

"Who is ???" or "I already know who ??? is!"

While I love your curiosity and detective work (looking at you, code divers), I must tread carefully here. There’s definitely more than meets the eye. What you think you know is just another piece of a much larger puzzle. Regardless, I hope it will be worth the wait!

I love your story, thank you for sharing!

I promise I see you, and words cannot convey how much I appreciate and adore every message I've received. I keep them to uplift me on the hard days. I may not be able to answer them all, but know I cherish every one! Thank you for being a part of this journey ♥

[racefortheironthrone]

Hello, I’ve a part asoiaf part medieval history question. So despite the strict gender roles, we know that women (at least noble women) can enjoy some “male” activities like horse riding and some kinds of hunting (Cat says Arya can have a hunting hawk). Are there any other “male” activities women can partake too without being judged about it, or even encouraged to do so (both in Westeros and real world)?

So as medievalists and historians of gender have pointed out, ASOIAF is far more restrictive for women than actual medieval Europe. I'm actually going to leave aside the situation of noblewoman for a second, because the vast majority of women were not nobles and their experience of gender would be radically different.

What counted as "male activities" for example would vary enormously by location (rural vs. urban) and thus occupation (farmer vs. artisan). Among the peasantry, while men tended to work in the fields and concentrated on cereal-crop production and women tended to do the manifold work of maintaining the home, the reality is that the irregular nature of agricultural labor meant that in times of high demand (especially spring sowing and autumn harvest) it was a matter of survival for every single member of the household to work in the fields. So women absolutely knew how to work a plow, and swing a scythe.

As for the urban worker, while there was also a high degree of gender segregation by occupation and guilds could often be quite misogynistic when it came to trying to masculinize trades (especially those involving higher rates of capital investment), it was also true that the entire household was expected to contribute their labor, so that wives, daughters, collateral female relatives, and female servants picked up the trade alongside their male counterpart. Moreover, as biased towards men as guilds could be, they were even more committed to the principle that guild businesses were family businesses, and so in situations where a master artisan had only daughters or died childless or died with underage heirs, it was absolutely routine for guilds to admit daughters and widows as guild members, indeed usually at the rank of master, all so that the business could remain in the same family. This is why medievalists can point to so many examples of women who worked in skilled trades, often at a high level.

That's what I think GRRM's portrait of medieval society is missing: an entire world of women in business, working elbow-to-elbow with men to make a living.

As for noblewomen, part of the difficulty is that a big part of being a noble was not doing stuff - not working for a living, chiefly - and instead engaging in leisure activities as much as possible. And women were very much a part of those activities (indeed, for many of them the point was to mingle with eligible people of the opposite gender), whether that's feasting, dancing, hunting, hawking, theater and other entertainments, fireworks, tourneys and jousts, etc.

However, women were also engaged in the main "occupations" of the nobility - estate management and politics - way more than GRRM really takes note of. To begin with, as even GRRM acknowledges to some extent, the lady of the house was expected to take an active role in running the house, which meant managing servants, keeping track of accounts payable and receivable, making sure the supplies arrive on time and in the right quality and quantity, keeping an eye on maintenance and repairs (with the help of servants, natch), etc.

Given that even the manor houses of the nobility were units of economic production, the lady of the house would also be responsible for oversight of how the house was doing with its pigs, goats, chickens and pigeons and geese, bees (because beeswax and honey were really important commodities), sheep, and so on, and what kind of figures they were pulling down at the mill and the weir, and so forth.

As medievalists have known for a long time, this list of duties got even longer whenever the lord of the house was away at war or on business, when the lady would be expected to pick up all his work too - which means making sure the rents and taxes get paid, deciding which fields to distribute manpower to and when, dealing with legal disputes in the manorial court, and so on. And if the war came home, the lady of the house was expected to lead the defense of the castle and there are many, many examples of noblewomen who had to organize sieges that lasted months and even years.

However, we also have to consider the impact of inheritance by birth and the inherent randomness of sex at birth - as much as they tried to avoid it, plenty of noble houses ended up with female heirs or in the hands of widows. Most of the time in most countries, women could and did inherit (or at the very least their male children and relatives could inherit through them) titles and fiefdoms, and while their husbands would often take on overlordship de jure uxoris, unmarried women and widows very much exercised their authority as the Lady or Baroness or Countess or whatever, and history is also full of women who were extremely influential in medieval politics and backed up their influence by any means necessary.

[serasfanfiction]

CW for Alastor being Alastor, but that's to be expected. This chapter is all from his POV.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3| Part 4 | Part 5| Part 6 | Part 7 - Interlude

Alastor was having what he might call an exceptionally good day, if he did say so himself.

His mobility was almost back to normal, that pesky little parting gift Adam had left him having practically healed itself overnight. Why, he'd even been able to remove the stitches!

He had seen some improvement over the last month, agonizingly slow as it had been. Consuming the flesh and souls of other sinners had certainly sped things up a bit, but only finitely. He had resigned himself to the fact that healing would be a slow process, especially after the first time he pushed too hard and undid all the work he'd done up until that point. It had grated on him, but he could be patient.

If there was anything he was good at, it was being patient and bidding his time.

Getting a taste of angel's blood, though? Not just a taste, but a real go at it? Oh, now that had changed everything.

He hadn't had a chance at the holy feast following the last Extermination. He'd been too busy licking his wounds and trying not to bleed out. By the time he'd been able to pull himself together, figuratively and literally, the bodies were long gone. There had been claims about the rejuvenating effects some had experienced following eating of the flesh and drinking of the blood, but as it hadn't been a process they could readily replicate, it had done him little good.

Then none other than Lucifer Morningstar had offered himself up, willingly placing himself on the menu.

When the little king had done that little trick, the thought had crossed Alastor's mind. He was only human (deceased though he may be) and this was the father of temptation himself. Granted, it was likely Lucifer was used to being sexually desired, but hunger of a carnal nature had never been one of Alastor's sins. His hunger for the flesh had stopped at the actual eating of the flesh.

And Alastor craved nothing more than he craved the flesh of others like him.

The Wendigo that lay beneath the surface, a very real manifestation of his hunger was now a permanent part of his being. In life, he had hungered for the flesh of humans. In death, while he could still enjoy the odd sinner here and there, it was akin to 'empty calories,' he believed they were called. They curbed his hunger, for a little while, but it never quite seemed to hit the spot.

No, nothing quite filled him up the way venison did.

Before the creation of his bayou, he'd had to rely on the odd deer demon that appeared on the rare occasion. He was hardly the only one, but there never seemed to be enough of them. Butcher shops occasionally helped, but it never seemed enough. He'd been near ravenous towards the end there.

All the while she had been laughing at him. She had known this would happen and she hadn't warned him. One of her little games, letting him think she was giving him what he wanted only to chain him further to her. He had never cursed his deal as much as he had then when she had taken pity on him and taught him how to bend reality on a small scale. To create the bayou - a reflection of the very place where he had died - and filled it with the creatures that were not only necessary to keep him alive, but to allow him to thrive.

So he couldn't help but wonder, while Lucifer flashed those ears at him and called the very features that had nearly undone him 'cute,' how deep did the transformation go? Could a mimic sate his hunger as good as the real thing? The possibility that the seraphim blood might have rejuvenate powers didn't hurt, either.

It would have been everything he needed, served to him in a little red and white package.

It had been pipe dream, he'd thought at the time. Nothing to seriously entertain. Despite appearances to the contrary, he did know he had limits. Adam had just been an oversight. His growth in power had never truly been tested and well.

Lesson learned. He wasn't keen to try his luck just yet, especially not injured and his microphone broken, limiting his power.

But then Lucifer had done something so left field, Alastor still wasn't entirely certain he hadn't imagined it: a trade of his blood for some good behavior. In deer form, no less! The opportunity had been so good he'd had to hold onto his eagerness by the skin of his teeth.

Everything about the experience had not been a disappointment. Not only had he'd gotten quite a bit of entertainment out of the exchange, but it turned out the stories had been true. Within a few short hours of consuming Lucifer's blood, the wound indeed showed marked improvement.

The real treat, however, was that the hunger had indeed fallen silent. Oh, it had returned in due time, but how long it had stayed away! His appetite had only just been seriously returning when the first attack on the hotel happened, providing him with quite the meal and even a handful of angel's blood. He'd felt positively spoiled.

Getting to see the little seraphim in his full demonic glory had been interesting, as well. He'd known Lucifer had wiped the floor with Adam, despite Niffty being the one to kill him, but it was always different seeing it.

This was Hell's King. This was the entity the stories had talked about. All that power, right there on display, and all Alastor had wanted in that moment was to have this being underneath him again. Wanted to see how far he could push. To see how much Lucifer would let him take.

(Alastor wasn't certain what had possessed him to reach for Lucifer in that moment. Wasn't certain what he would have done had the little king decided to take him up on his offer. Had he simply wanted to hold that power in his hands? To burn himself on it?)

And oh, how his patience had paid off.

Such a huge gain and all it had cost Alastor was a night of his company and some information. Information Lucifer really should have already known, at that.

Now, Alastor was full and so very near hale and hearty again. Why, he was close to being able to tackling fixing his microphone soon!

Perhaps if he could have another feeding in the future...

Ah, but it wouldn't do to get used to this. Three times was already far more than he could have ever imagined, plus it never paid to put his wellbeing in the hands of others. They were so often unreliable. There were only two people in Heaven or Hell that he trusted, and neither of them resided in the hotel.

So, Alastor put the idea aside and went about his day as normal. If he had an extra skip to his walk, and his smile a touch more sanguine that normal, to the point he was receiving some nervous side glances, well, all the more entertainment for him.

He was feeling so well, in fact, he felt up to taking a little jaunt to visit one of his favorite people.

Cannibal Town was as lively as ever, despite their numbers had seen some reduction during Heaven's assault on the hotel. Rosie's Emporium, always the main attraction, was not lacking for people lined up to see their Overlord. The line was already starting to snake out the door.

Alastor strolled in, not minding the line in the slightest. Rosie always made time for him.

Sure enough, the woman in question looked up at the sound of the door opening, her ever-present smile widening in delight on seeing him. She never paused in whatever affair she was discussing with her current client, but she did make an effort to finish it up a touch bit faster.

He stood off to the side politely, waiting to see if now was a bad time or not. He wasn't bringing her anything other than his company and this was an impromptu visit.

"Alastor!" She greeted, loud and affectionate. "A visit twice in one month! You certainly know how to spoil a girl."

Alastor felt that little black thing that served as his heart warm with the genuine sincerity being shown his way. He matched her smile with an honest one himself. "Only those who deserve it, my dear, and you always do."

Rosie placed a hand to her cheek, bemused. "Oh, you." She waved over to one of the tables. "Now tell little ol' me what brings you here. You haven't gotten yourself into any more trouble, have you?"

He could hear a hint of concern in her voice and resolved to bring her a gift the next time he came over. "Oh, you know me. I'm always up for something exciting." He let her maneuver him into a chair set up at a table for two. "In this case, I was up for a walk and thought I'd indulge in your company, if you'll have me."

The Victorian Overlord's body language eased ever so slightly, adding to the suspicion she might have been worried. "Always, dear." She pressed a seemingly delicate finger to her lips. "Give me 30 minutes to clear this lot out and I'm all yours!"

He nodded, and she gave him a light pat on the shoulder as she went back to her work, pausing only briefly to have one of her workers send over a pot of tea. He spent the next half hour sipping on the latest delightful blend she was offering, watching the cannibals coming and going. Most were asking for the same thing they always did: someone wanting someone else to disappear, usually in a body bag they would of course hand over to Rosie.

After what he was sure was thirty minutes and no more (not that he would have honestly timed her, why, that would have been discourteous), his fellow Overlord was escorting the last of her clients out the door. Business completed, she turned on her guest. "Now that all of that work stuff is out of the way," Rosie said as she came to sit in the chair across from the redhead, "Come now, tell me all the gossip! Surely something juicy happened with how lively you're looking today."

Alastor supposed he shouldn't be surprised that she had seen through his mask the last time he'd been here. He'd needed to get away from hotel, just for a bit, as the strain of hiding his wound was wearing on him. None of his usual acquaintances had suspected a thing, and he had wanted to keep it that way.

But Rosie was hardly an 'acquaintance.'

He supposed since she knew already, it wouldn't hurt to assure her the worst was past. He also supposed he had a gift for her after all. Lowering the cup to the saucer on the table, he assured, "You could say I recently benefited from a rather unexpected deal recently."

Rosie raised an eyebrow expectantly, "Well, don't keep a girl waiting! Details!"

Because he was a little bit of a drama queen, he waiting until she had raised her own cup to her lips before he stated, "It turns out that all the rumors about angel blood is true, even more so for seraphim blood."

It was only because she had perfect control that she did not, if fact, choke on her drink. Rosie started at him for a long moment, trying to see if he was serious. When it became clear he was, she stated, "Well, shit, you certainly don't go small, do you?" She leaned forward, placing her free hand over one of his. "This deal didn't put you in a tough spot, now did it?"

Alastor's smile softened. "None of that, my dear." He didn't like to touch people, anymore than he liked being touched in return, but Rosie had always been kind to him, so he placed his other hand on top of hers and gave it a squeeze. "All that was asked for was a who's who on Pentagram City's current political landscape."

Rosie tilted her head to the side, the feather in her hat swaying with the motion. When she withdrew her hand, Alastor released it. "Our King is showing interest in his kingdom?" She blinked, more than a little surprised. He didn't blame her. "My, what could have brought this little development about?"

Alastor pulled both hands from the table, a subtle cue he had had enough tactile contact for the day, although he wasn't completely closing himself off from it. "Someone has been sending mercenaries to attack the hotel. Drivel, mostly. Little more than snacks on the whole." He hummed in memory of all the free morsels that had been sent his way, lately. "The attacks haven't done anything, really, other than rile his Majesty up." He gave her a look of amusement. "He's begun an investigation into who might be behind the attacks and asked after us Overlords. I gave you a good word, of course."

It was a testament to how quick-witted she was that Rosie barely blinked over the idea that their sovereign had apparently not only crawled out of the wood work, but was also finally taking an interest in his kingdom again. "Oh, of course you did." She flapped a hand at Alastor. "Do tell him if he ever want to visit, he's more than welcome!"

Alastor made a noise of acknowledgement. "He's quite the character, our king. I'm sure you'd find him... amusing." Amongst other things, he thought to himself as he sipped on the last of his tea.

Ever the host, Rosie noticed. "Oh, dear me, let me refill that." She raised the pot of tea to do so, offering, "You know, I just remembered: we got in a fresh body just this morning. Would you like an arm?"

The redhead considered the request, but found himself much too full. Whatever room he'd had available had already been taken up by his drink. "I thank you kindly for the offer, but sadly must pass this time." He placed his now empty cup on its saucer. "Why, I dare say I might have to wait on another cup of this delicious tea."

Rosie didn't have pupils that Alastor had ever been able to track, yet he had the distinct impression he was being looked up and down. "That blood must have been quite the thing to curb an appetite like yours." She shrugged before pulling over a box of ring fingers. Some even still had the rings on them. "Hm, knowing you, a certain someone might have to worry about her seat - if she ever intends to come back."

Alastor paused. Rosie did that sometimes: said things that threw him for a loop. "What now?"

She waved a finger in a circle to indicate the entirety of her guest, her smile all teeth and knowing. "Come now, Alastor, I don't think I've ever seen you in such a state before. I almost think you have intentions towards the king!"

The redhead tilted his head to the side, considering. Did he have intentions towards Lucifer? He certainly wouldn't mind having another go at his blood. Riling him up had yet to get old.

The urge to hunt, sated though it was at the moment, thrummed through his veins. Here was the ultimate prey, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to turn the tides.

The memory of the smell of apples and something he'd come to associate with Lucifer rose to mind. Of warm, pale alabaster skin beneath his lips. The feel of hands that could so easily crush him carding gently, absentmindedly, through his hair.

For the first time since their little games had started, though, Alastor realized that sitting beside the urge to devour was the urge to keep.

He examined the thought. He meant it when he said he delt primarily in favors. There were so few souls that interested him enough to keep long term. They were usually individuals who ranked as powerhouses themselves. Investments first, entertainment second.

This urge resembled that desire, but not quite. He certainly wanted access to the power contained within that tiny little package that called himself the King, but beyond that, he was beginning to think he might want to own Lucifer in every sense of the word.

Well. That was certainly quite the turn.

He turned his attention back to the world outside his own head, finding his fellow Overlord watching him and patiently waiting for him to sort out his thoughts. "I'm afraid, my dear, I don't have an answer to that, but you have given me quite the food for thought."

Rosie, bless her, didn't press. Knowing how perceptive she was on matters of the song and dance that was interpersonal relationships, it was likely she knew more than he did.

He really was thankful he made an ally of her rather than an enemy.

The rest of their chat was turned to less deep conversation. Soon enough, she sent him on his way, but not before warning, "Now be careful, Alastor. Kitten our King may be, I saw how fierce he can be when pressed."

If it didn't mean acquiring one of those silly picture boxes, Alastor might have been inclined break down and watch whatever that voyeur Vox had filmed of the fight on Extermination Day. Incidentally, his pride point blank period refused to allow him to let such a thing anywhere near his person if he didn't have to. "Don't worry, dear. It's all merely a thought. I won't do anything lest I know there's a chance at success."

That seemed to mull her over. They said their goodbyes, and he was off back to the hotel.

The conundrum that was his entanglement with Lucifer followed him all the way back to the hotel, dogging his steps as he went through the rest of his day. He didn't see the blonde at any point before he retired for bed, which was likely for the best, as Alastor was distracted and unlikely to be at the top of his game.

He didn't see him throughout any point of the following day either, not that he was looking for him. He didn't give it a second thought, not until he came upon Hell's princess halfway into a tizzy in the main gathering room.

"But Vaggie! He hasn't come down in almost two days!" Charlie wrang her hands together, glancing at the ceiling in the general direction of her father's room. "What if something's wrong?"

Vaggie had a hand on her girlfriend's shoulder, as much a comfort as it was a restraint. "What did he say when you knocked on the door?"

The hotel's owner bit her lip. "Just that he wanted to stay in for a bit. But that was yesterday. He didn't even respond at all when I knocked this morning."

"And you're sure he's still here? That he didn't leave?"

Charlie nodded. "His door is locked. He doesn't bother to lock it if he's not in."

Well, that's a silly thing to do, Alastor thought to himself. He filed it away for later. Deciding he was curious enough to join the conversation, especially since it seemed he might have been the last to see Lucifer. It would be bothersome if anyone thought he'd done anything to him when he really hadn't yet.

Alastor allowed his corporeal form to dissipate, only to reform right behind Vaggie. "What's this I hear about our esteemed leader disappearing?"

"Shit!" The fallen angel jumped, just as he hoped. Predictably, she spun around, bringing the point of her spear right up to his nose. "Cut it out, asshole. We don't have time for your games right now."

Alastor smiled down at her, as calm as a undisturbed pond, taking hold of the end of the spear and redirecting it away from his face. "And who's playing around? I heard our dear Charlie in distress and just had to see if I could help in anyway."

Vaggie narrowed her eye at him. One day, he was going to drive her to actually attempt to stab him. It would be such an entertaining day when it happened.

Charlie sniffed. She didn't necessarily look relieved to see him becoming involved, which, fair, but he could see something easing in her stance.

It was such a delight to see how much she'd grown to rely on him.

Stepping around the most hostile entity in the room like she wasn't holding a certified deadly weapon, Alastor came up to stand beside Charlie. "Tell me, do you have any reason to believe something might be wrong?"

She searched his face for any hint of falsehood. Any hint that he might use this against them.

She wasn't going to find any. She was learning to be more cautious of him, but she still had a long way to go before she'd see through his carefully constructed persona.

"Well... maybe?" She offered at last. He could see it in her eyes, her drooped shoulders: a certain helplessness. It was different from the kind that had driven her to make a deal with him. This kind was old, the sort that came from a time before the autonomy of adulthood. Likely this issue had roots in her childhood. "Mom used to say that Dad just kind of shut down sometimes. Worse than normal." She glanced at her girlfriend, likely for moral support, and then back at him. "Mom said it wasn't good to leave him alone during those times."

Alastor pushed down the eager swell that might have given up the game. Was it really going to be this easy? "And you think this might be one of those times?"

She mulled over this. Nodded, and then shrugged. "It's possible, but without getting past the lock..."

"I tried to pick the lock," Angel put out from where he was lounging on the couch, feet across Husk's lap. Husk, curiously, didn't appear to mind.

Charlie winced. "Yes, which is really not good! We shouldn't pick people's doors."

Angel shrugged, unbothered by the reprimand. "Didn't matter, either way. Turns out the door's magically locked." He made a handsy gesture with his top set of hands to emphasis his point.

Alastor looked between the two. "Is it warded?"

Everyone turned to look at him in confusion. Charlie blinked. "Warded?"

Oh, how quaint this lot was. "Magically locking the door means no one can unlock the door without breaking the spell. Unless the door is warded, there's nothing to stop someone from going, say, under the door."

Vaggie crossed her arms, posture irritated. "We can't go under the door, Alastor."

If he had his mic, he might have bopped her on the head just to mess with her. As it was, Alastor settled for smiling ever so sweetly at her as he pointed out, "Ah, maybe you can't, but it just so happens, I can."

Charlie shifted, uncertain. "You promise you won't make things worse...?"

She was so close that he could practically taste it.

Alastor placed a hand on her shoulder, softening his expression. "Now now, dear, we both know your father is hardly helpless. If he doesn't want me in there, he's more than capable of kicking me out."

Vaggie snorted, glaring viciously at him. "Yeah, not that that's ever stopped you."

Charlie glanced at her, warningly, before looking back at Alastor. She sighed and placed her hand over his. Feeling generous, he let her. "Alastor, please check on him, just... don't push, okay?"

Nothing but a formal deal was going to guarantee that, but he didn't have to advertise it. "I promise to be on my best behavior."

Her smile really was like sunlight breaking on the horizon when it wasn't being forced. She jerked forward as if she'd wanted to go for a hug but had aborted it at the last minute. Instead, she squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Alastor."

He disappeared into his shadow, partially to avoid her changing her mind and going for that hug, but also to avoid any further stipulations on his task. Between the quality of his last meal and the leaps and bounds in the healing of his wound, traveling by shadow was almost as easy as it had been before his injury. Seraphim blood was a marvel. It was such a pity that there was so little of it in Hell.

Alastor had studied the entirety of the hallway that made up his and Lucifer's floor along with the rest of the hotel the first opportunity he got upon his return. His inspection had stopped at white doors, whose handles were adorned with the same apple accents that littered the rest of the hotel. As he slipped under them, he could smell the magic on the handles. True to his suspicion, the spell was only on the lock itself, with nothing to guard again something like a shadow slipping right under the door.

It seemed Alastor's self-restraint in light of his injury had paid off, because nothing hindered him in anyway as he made his way into the room of the most powerful being Hell.

Alastor stuck to the outskirts of the room, where the darkest shadows gathered. It wasn't difficult, as most of the room was in shadow, the curtains drawn with very little natural light peaking in underneath them. The room was silent in a way that, at first, suggested that no one was in.

Perhaps Lucifer had gone out and failed to tell anyone, after all?

Tentatively, Alastor returned to his corporeal form, keeping to the darkest shadow the room he could find. When nothing and no one came flying at him, he turned his attention to the room at large.

Overall, the room appeared sparsely furnished. There was a rug laid out in front of the door. Chairs surrounding a table big enough for two over on one side of the room. The fireplace didn't appear to have ever been used, but it was there. A couple of bookshelves and a desk were the most lived in, but that was only because they were covered in small, yellow shapes he couldn't quite make out in the dark. A bed took up most of the final wall. It was perhaps the grandest thing about the room, looking every bit fit for the king who slept in it. Two side tables sat on either side of it, both with a lamp of their own.

As for the king himself, now that he was looking for it, Alastor could see the faintest outline of a shape near the left side of the bed. Creeping closer, he could see a pair of familiar boots and coat laying on the floor. A little closer, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room, he could see a pair of mimicked deer ears poking out the top of the nest of blankets.

For a long moment, Alastor simply stood there, looking down at the lump. His ears were strained for the first sign that his presence had been noticed, but so far there had been none. He could feel his grin widening with each beat of his heart that passed. There were so many things he could do in that moment and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.

There was a part of him, the part that was still human and remembered what it was like to be human, that wanted to finish the job he'd started two days ago. When he'd been alive, allowing a victim to live would have been tantamount to a death sentence. A living victim could become a witness who could identify him to the authorities and then the game would be up.

Lucifer wasn't just a potential victim. He was the authorities. He was the highest authority.

After his death, Alastor hadn't had to hide who he was or what he was like. It was simply a kill or be killed world, where one's continued existence depended on brains and reputation.

And oh what a reputation the Radio Demon would gain, if he took out the King of Hell himself?

The chain - noose - around his neck sat heavy and loud, ever grating against his sanity. The memory of Husk's deal held so easily in a dark grey hand brought him back down to himself. Reminded him why he wanted to keep the little king around.

There was no other reason. There could be no other reason.

He admitted to himself that it might be interesting to just stand there, looming as he waited for Lucifer to awaken. The subconscious was a funny thing and people on the whole didn't appreciate being stared at when they slept. The general consensus was that it was creepy. It was half the reason he enjoyed doing it and it always left the victim feeling off balance. When his majesty continued to not respond, Alastor also admitted to himself that while he did normally enjoy such a plan, he wasn't that patient.

Ready to spring away, if necessary, Alastor reached out until those tantalizing ears were just under his hand. Unrepentantly, he flicked one of them.

The ear twitched violently, the lump beneath the blanket shuddered, ear going flat. Grey hands appeared along the edge of the blanket, pulling it down for Lucifer peer up at him.

The sinner waved his fingers by way of greeting at his king, who stared back at him with a pair of tired, dead eyes.

Lucifer blinked at him, once, twice... and then pulled the covers back over his head??

Alastor felt the glitch to his system, spitting static. Did Lucifer think he could just ignore Alastor and he'd go away?

Oh, no. Oh no, that wouldn't do at all.

Time to throw away the preverbal Nice Guy gloves. He clapped his hands once, sharply, one shadow going for the lamp on the side desk while another went for the end of the covers. With vindictive amusement, the covers were ripped clean off the bed, while the flick of a switch bathed the room in light. A third shadow went for the curtains, yanking them aside to let the afternoon light in. Over the low groans of the bed's occupant, Alastor proclaimed at just high enough a volume to be annoying, "Rise and shine, your Majesty! You've nearly slept the day away, but there's still some time left to enjoy it."

The blonde still didn't look like he gave any sort of fuck that someone was standing over his bed harassing him. Alastor took in the rumpled state of his king's clothing - he was still dressed in his suit, sans the pieces on the floor - as Lucifer threw an arm over his eyes in a futile attempt to block out the light. Without a word, he merely rolled over, presenting his back to Alastor, as if he wasn't a concern in the slightest. His tail didn't even so much a flick once.

Alastor narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth. It ground his gears more than a bit to be so blatantly treated as so little a threat, but the more he took in the situation, the more it drove home what Charlie had meant by 'just kind of shut down.' With the absence of the quilt and sheets, the reek of melancholy wafted off Lucifer in waves, nearly overpowering his usual scent. Little things observed over time - the most damning being what was glimpsed during their last encounter - and Alastor recognized what he was looking at.

Lucifer Morningstar, the Devil and King of Hell was depressed. Deeply, truly, very depressed.

This was the potential opportunity he was looking for. Alastor would have to be blind not to see it. Getting close to Charlie had given him influence over Hell's future ruler as well as a possible solution to his ...other problem. It was a long game he'd been more than willing to play for the potential future rewards.

This here was the king, himself, though. As he'd just thought to himself: the highest authority in Hell. Lucifer didn't have much by way of political influence beyond the people's fear of his power. He clearly wasn't willing to use his authority to rule over his kingdom, first advocating it to his much more interested wife, before abandoning it altogether when she left.

On the other hand, who didn't know who he was? The other side of the coin to God himself, Lucifer was one of the most well known beings in all of creation, the originator and father of sin himself. The being who'd given humanity their free will and so neatly interrupted his holy father's plans.

Lucifer's interest in politics may have been nonexistent, but his reputation more than made up for it.

Could he do it, Alastor wondered to himself. Could he force himself into something companion shaped enough to meet the needs another just for power? He'd already debased himself so much already - it was how he landed in his current situation, in every sense of the word - could he do it a little more?

Static emitted from his throat, his desire - his desperation - to be free at war with his pride, tattered though it's remains were. Companionship usually came with other expectations. Expectations that included touching, amongst other things. The mere thought made him want to claw his own skin off and nothing had even happened yet.

He hadn't realized he'd moved until he heard a squeak from the direction of the floor. Attention diverted, Alastor craned his head around, hearing his own neck cracking in the process, as he tried to get a better look at whatever it was he had stepped on. He blinked when he saw the object, unable to resist reaching down to pick up the item to better exam it.

It was... a rubber duckie?

Lips parting in his bafflement, he twisted around to look towards the desk and shelves he remembered seeing earlier. The light of the lamp and the outside world illuminated the yellow objects, revealing them to be a mass pile of what were indeed rubber duckies. Every single one of them was some degree of different from the others, but they were all unmistakably the same thing. There had to be over a hundred of them. Some of them were new, but some of them were old, likely brought over from the palace.

Disgust curled up in his chest like a living thing. Disgust at himself. Disgust at Lucifer for being living proof that power doesn't mean a damn thing in the end. His anger made him reckless, blind to the potential consequences, as Alastor asked, "Is this why they left?"

For the first time since entering the room, he finally gained Lucifer's attention. "What?"

The single word sounded like a warning, but Alastor had already picked up too much momentum. He knew he liked to poke where he shouldn't, that it could be the death of him one day. Perhaps today was going be that day. In that moment, weighted down by everything, he almost didn't care. "While your people were getting slaughtered and your wife's kingdom was being burned to the ground, were you making children's toys?"

Lazily, damningly, like the final nail in his own coffin, he spun around back to the lump that would be his king. He sneered.

"How pathetic."

The only warning he had was the flicking of that silly, ridiculous tail.

Suddenly, the room was spinning. No, he was falling - being pulled? - onto the bed. His back made contact with the mattress and he got a brief glimpse of the ceiling before it was replaced by Lucifer.

Who was livid. Hands like stone pinned Alastor down at the wrists. The rest of Lucifer's body weight rested on the sinner's hips, one leg resting on either side of his body. Every single one of his fangs were visible as he bared his teeth in a snarl mere inches from Alastor's nose. "Who are you to judge me? You dare to speak of things you know nothing about?!"

Eyes void of pupils glared down at him, staring down into his very soul. Feeling exposed, feeling vulnerable, Alastor's flight or fight response kicked in, sending his heart rate through the roof. He tried to dissolve into his shadow, only to find himself unable to do so.

In response to his distress, he shadows rose up, diving in to take out his attacker. Lucifer didn't even acknowledge them. His wings appeared behind him, flooding the room with a bright light that drove away any and all shadows.

Sensing he was caught, the part of Alastor's brain that was every bit the prey animal he worked so hard not to let himself be forced him to go still under a dangerous predator.

"You are nothing more than a rapid dog nipping at my heels." Lucifer growled, the smell of smoke heavy on his breathe. "I should put you out of your misery, once and for all."

Alastor swallowed, forced himself to think through the molasses of his fear. He may be pinned and powerless, but he wasn't completely without weapons. He was never more glad that his smile was fixed in place as he stated, "Ah, there you are, your Majesty. You had Charlie worried about you."

He was almost able to keep the grimace out of his voice. Almost.

Alastor wondered if that had been perhaps the wrong thing to say, as Lucifer tightened his grip until bones began to grind together. Red tipped fingers curled inwards, the only sign of his pain.

Golden pupils appeared between one blink to the next, tracking the movement. As if he actually cared about the pain he could be causing, Lucifer's grip loosened, just enough that they were simply pinning instead of inflicting harm. His voice, on the other hand, held no mercy, as he asked, "What does my daughter have to do with this?"

Growing more confident the longer the king didn't kill him, Alastor explained, "Well, when she didn't hear from you today, Charlie asked me to come check on you, of course!" It wasn't entirely the truth, but it was close enough to hold up under any immediate scrutiny.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, all to happy to bring on the scrutiny. "Why would she send you?"

Alastor shrugged like he wasn't pinned under someone who was just trying to kill him mere moments ago. "Because I was the only one that could get into the room. Perks of being the Hotel Manager!" As his panic began to settle with each passing moment Lucifer was slowly returning to his normal form, the feeling of his skin crawling from every point of contact between them was beginning to rise. He needed to get Lucifer off him and soon. "In fact, she's waiting for word back right at this moment!"

Lucifer's eyes, pupils red and sclera yellow again, searched him, likely to see if he was telling the truth. Upon seeing that he was, he proceeded to finally make a mistake.

He took his eyes off of his captive to glance at the door, hands loosing just that tiny, crucial bit more.

Alastor caught his heels on the edge of the bed, using the leverage to raise his hips up into a bridge. The new position forced Lucifer to either release his wrists to catch himself or face plant as he was thrown forward. Luckily for the redhead, Lucifer went for catching himself, releasing Alastor, who immediately sprung up, catching the blond around the waist. Twisting, the two toppled over.

Within mere seconds, their positions were reversed: Alastor on top and Lucifer pinned to the mattress on his back.

The little king blinked up at him. He almost looked impressed with the move. He glanced at the hands pinning his wrists, flexing them as he tested the strength of the grip. Squirmed a little as the new position was likely putting an uncomfortable weight on his wings.

Good, Alastor thought. At any other time and situation, Alastor might have been fascinated by them. At the moment, his grip on those deceptively dainty wrists and any signs of discomfort were the only thing allowing him to hold onto his sanity.

For a long moment, they simply remained still, both parties regaining control over their frayed nerves. As his heart rate settled, his breathing normalizing, Alastor became aware of something he hadn't noticed over the stench of melancholy: his own scent.

It was becoming stale, but he could still was still there, separate from what he was currently leaving behind. It clung to Lucifer's person like a neon sign to tell anyone with the nose for it that he had let the Radio Demon close enough to him to make a claim.

He hadn't gotten rid of it.

The knowledge awoke a beast of a different kind, possessive and wanting, the scales tipping from Alastor wanting to devour this prize to wanting to keep him, if only he could figure out how. It left him nearly dizzy with whiplash.

Movement pulled him out of the thought. The redhead focused back on the outside world in time to see Lucifer directing his attention down the length of his own body. Alastor, without thinking, did the same.

Something hot and mortified clawed at his throat as he realized that while the blonde had been sitting on his hips in the original hold, the change in position had Alastor pinning Lucifer to a bed while sitting between his legs.

Alastor threw himself off of Lucifer and the bed, feeling like every point of contact had burned him. Lucifer raised himself up on his elbows, raising an eyebrow at him. The redhead didn't know what he saw in his expression before it was all locked away behind his mask, but it resulted in the blonde's own expression growing tired.

Lucifer let himself fall back onto the bed, seemingly heedless of his wings, running a hand down his face. "Message received." He waved a hand at the door. The spell on the door fell away with a light shower of sparks. Task down, the limb fell limp down onto the mattress. "Please tell Charlie I'll be down shortly."

It was a clear dismissal. Usually Alastor would have bristled at such a thing, but considering he did not want to be in that room anymore, he let it go. Forcing everything back into place, despite the ways his edges were feeling frayed, he said faux pleasantly, "As you wish, sire."

He paid little attention to the half assed wave of goodbye he received in response. When he disappeared into his shadow, he refused to look too deeply into how much it felt like he was running.

Again.

tbc

Part 8

[stxrry-dxys]

i said i wasn’t gonna say more on the whole watcher debacle but sorry i just have to talk about the ai art allegations cuz holy shit this is a massive oversight.

before going in i’d like to clarify that i don’t think steven, ryan, or shane personally implemented this BUT it was absolutely their responsibility to check over what their crew members put in their videos.

disclaimer that i did not personally find these, they were brought up through reddit threads on the snark and main subreddit.

this is the most egregious one. look at the hands. the unnatural length of the fingers. the NUMBER of fingers, the way the hands curl. that is not a mistake a human artists makes. and the way the clothes distort, the fact that one of the shirts looks like it has a finger hanging out of it. in what world is this not obviously computer generated.

this one is harder to notice, but pay attention to the bars on the boat, how they’re uneven, wobbly, some even stopping and starting up randomly. the boat’s reflection in the water does not reflect back the actual silhouette of the boat. the silhouettes of the people are harder to see but a lot of them look more like wonky blobs, though admittedly this part is rather weak.

this is the one i think i believe the least but am bringing it up anyways for posterity. the foot is wonky and the back one appears to be missing. his proportions are very off. and i cant say for certain but i seriously doubt a shadow would be that thin from this angle. this one is probably the weakest piece of evidence but feels relevant to include anyways.

there’s more i believe but it’s 3 am and i don’t wanna go personally hunting for it.

this isn’t even a new topic, people have brought it up in comments and threads in the past. and i know good and well this goes against morals that they have brought up before, so this is not quite the look you’d want. using ai art that steals from other creatives to claim as it’s own is not something i’d hope to see from a company that prides itself on being high quality art. it is entirely possible this is just the doing of someone on the art or editing team, but when one of your figureheads and his wife is openly against generative ai like this, you would expect quality control to ensure this never happens.

i hope they’ll speak up about this, and either prove that this isn’t the case or deal with whoever implemented this, though i’m doubtful they will. if they don’t address it and continue to use ai generated art then i hope everyone all has a long look at whether or not this company is as genuine in its passion for creativity as they have tried to appear.

honestly either way i don’t care, im done with these three’s content and have been for a while, but those of you still supporting deserve all the information you can as they proceed forward with this “plan” of theirs. make whatever decision you want regarding this, i wish you all the very best.

[dwarf-hat-enjoyer]

I meant to ask yesterday, but how ab some touch starved Harvey head cannons? <3

🤝Touch-Starved Harvey🤝

synopsis: Exactly what it says on the tin <3 Our favorite town doctor craves physical intimacy more than he knows. Headcanons+drabble of how he copes with it, how he reacts to physical contact, and a bonus of how he reacts to receiving physical affection! gn!Farmer, romance. SFW.

w.c.: 1.7k words!

content warnings: None!

A.N.: BABY'S FIRST REQUEST! Thank you so much :,) Highkey this was super enjoyable for me to write and I'm REALLY happy that you liked my other post enough to pop in!!! Enjoy &lt;3

Before the farmer, before befriending Maru and assimilating into his role as the meek and respectful town doctor, he had always been rather avoidant to initiating casual physical contact. Everything he gave, everything he received- it all ranged from polite social expectancies to standard work-related procedures. He didn't think much of it. Having always been a more anxious type, the possibility of making another uncomfortable was always on his mind in these interactions, and what better way to avoid such a thing than to not have it at all? Handshakes and the occasional stiff hug were enough for him. Unfortunately, this proved to be a bit of an oversight on his end, considering the side-effects it would provide.

By the time the farmer arrives, his chronic loneliness has very much caught up with him. Not only has he distanced himself physically from others around him, but mentally as well. Outside of his clinic, the way Harvey's been so avoidant to touch has turned it into a source of anxiety for him. His self-consciousness extends to this field as well- when Granny Evelyn beckons him to lean down for a hug after he's finished his house visit to George, he worries that he's hugged her too tightly or for too long in the very back of his mind. Even the handshake exchanged with the governor at the last year's Luau haunts his memory, with the constant niggling thought that he hadn't been firm enough.

And don't get this man started on his non-existent romantic life. Moving to such a small town those few years ago, he knew that prospects like that would be limited, to say the very least. Many of the eligible singles in town, as lovely as they were, were...well, not exactly his type. And even those that were, how could a guy like him ever manage anything with anyone? The thought of being forward or flirtatious in any way practically gave him hives. But the idea of having someone to be close to, physically and emotionally...He couldn't say that he didn't crave that. But all in all, he wholeheartedly believed that it wasn't in the cards for him and his touch-starved ways.

Enter the farmer. They were just another patient to Harvey in the beginning, another member of the town for him to look after. He didn't pay much attention when they touched him or when he touched them, aside from his ordinary overthinking. He couldn't afford to think too deeply about, really. He was their doctor, for Yoba's sake, and whether it was a friendly punch in the arm or a simple tap on the shoulder to get his attention, it would be highly unprofessional to dwell on. Besides, the mystique of being new in town and charmingly single was sure to draw them quite a few pairs of eyes, anyway. How could he compete?

Well...He definitely began thinking about that. Time marched forward as time does, and an unexpected friendship began to blossom. Harvey being Harvey, it was hard for him to recognize his developing feelings at first. Their gestures became more frequent, and his heart swelled with each one. Whether it be grabbing his wrist to drag him to see their chickens or a grateful hug for patching them up after a night in the mines, it lingered in his mind longer than it should have. When the day came that he idly pondered asking them to the coming year's Flower Dance, it all suddenly became clear to him: He'd fallen. And he'd fallen hard.

Everything suddenly became so much more meaningful. The coffee and pickles they'd frequently brought him, fresh from their farm. When he caught them looking at him and only him among the faces of a festival crowd, was that a sign? Did they think about him as often as he thought about them? Did they think about his touch the way he thought about theirs? With all these thoughts swirling about in his head, he would suddenly become much more reserved around the farmer, quiet and flustered as if a single word could shatter the friendship they'd so carefully cultivated already.

Eventually, something would have to be said about his behavior. This is Harvey, after all- and even if it weren't, who in their right mind would suddenly clam up the way he did for no good reason?

Clamming up...Was that what he was doing? Harvey sighed to himself as he took in the early summer atmosphere. He brushed his knuckle over the surface of the fountain's water, sitting contemplatively at its edge. It was on days like these where he wished he had the confidence and sense to dress down a little rather than sweltering away in his slacks and button-up shirt, but there were other things on his mind. The sweat on his brow was the least of his concern. How could it be anything else? He'd recently realized that it had been two or three weeks since he'd realized his feelings towards the farmer, after all- which marked two or three weeks since his overthinking was pushed into overdrive by every little moment between them. His mind wandered back to the early days of their friendship. When Harvey closed his eyes envisioned his feelings, true to his bookish personality, he saw a graph. With every little moment between them, the line grew bit by bit until it became positively exponential. The way the farmer aided him at George's check-up was the first incident he could recall. When George, being every bit the stubborn old man he was at first glance, chastised Harvey for his advice, their sudden appearance ended up making the appointment much less of a headache than he expected. Their own appointment went a similar route, with them being one of his easier patients. It went as smoothly as it could have. Harvey had nearly forgotten the incident, but their pulse stuck out in the otherwise unremarkable memory. They were a farmer, for Yoba's sake. They had a business to run, physical labor to attend to and an entire town to entertain to keep themself afloat both financially and socially. Any other doctor wouldn't've thought twice about it and simply moved on with their day. Any other doctor wouldn't've fallen this hard for a patient, he reminded himself grimly. "Hey, Harvey!" In an instant, his thoughtful silence shattered like an egg thrown at the mountainside at the sound of the familiar voice. They'd sought him out. Did he really mean that much to them? Damn it all, doctor, don't get your hopes up! The contents of the farmer's backpack rustled and clanged with every step as they trotted up to him. With a proud grin on their face, they held out their hand expectantly, a small something clutched in their fist. "Oh. Erm...Hi. How are you today?" Harvey asked politely. The farmer blinked, then smiled warmly. "I'm doing alright. Just got back from the mines. Don't have a heart attack, I managed to find that purple mushroom you asked for at a level that wouldn't kill me." Harvey chuckled stiffly, reaching for the mushroom presented in their hand. Big, big mistake. It was a simple brush of their fingers. He hesitated to even call it a mere accident. They seemed so calm, despite the fact that he'd definitely lingered for a millisecond longer than he should have. In the moment, he cleared his throat awkwardly, preparing to apologize- "Harvey." "Ah, I'm sor- Yes?" he stammered, smiling in a way he prayed didn't seem nervous. "If you're going to apologize for touching me," the farmer began, gently yet firmly, "I'm gonna take that mushroom right back. You're squeezing that poor fungus to death, anyway." It was only at their words that he noticed his death grip on the mushroom. He opened his mouth to apologize anyway, but the farmer continued, "That's just something I noticed, you know? One, you've been super quiet with me lately, and two, every time we so much as brush up against each other when we do talk, you start tripping over your words and apologizing as if you just slapped me." "I know that you do get bouts of anxiety, but..." The farmer trailed off, "We're still friends, right?" Their question was genuine, concern-wrought and excruciatingly, painfully innocent. Harvey could hear their voice quieting as it left their lips- not accusatory, simply gentle and ready for whatever answer he'd give.

Harvey fumbled over his words before they'd even left his mouth. To explain himself would be to reveal the absolute fool he had been. Avoiding them for as long as he did would've only harmed their relationship, just as the farmer revealed had happened that moment. Of course they were worried. Of course they wondered whether or not he was mad at them. Of course they'd be hurt by the way he'd shied from every touch of theirs, all because he had made great towering mountains out of the littlest molehills. "Harvey…?" "It's complicated," he blurted out. The farmer's eyes widened as the words poured out of him. "I've tried to keep our relationship professional at first. After that, I- I thought it would be strictly platonic. I didn't even consider the fact that I would feel this way about you." "What do you mean 'this way?'" they prompted him gently. This farmer was going to kill him with how sweetly patient they were being. With a deep breath, he spat it out. "I'm interested in you. Romantically." What Harvey expected in that moment was a kind let-down. A small speech about how they value him as a friend, but can't see any sort of future with them. At worst, a sneer and a more curt rejection. They wouldn't be the type to laugh and mock him, this much he knew. What he hadn't expected was the smile pricking at their lips. Nor did he anticipate the way they reached softly for his hand and the electric joy that set every nerve in his body alight at their touch. It was all clear now. And damn, he truly was a fool to believe so deeply that they didn't feel the same. "Is that all, big guy?" … Oh, farmer. You'll be the death of this doctor yet.

~FIN~

[strawberrypinky]

all your loving (all or nothing) pt. 1 - a. sharp x reader

for the longest time, aesop sharp was absolutely certain that he must have eradicated an entire civilisation in his past life, as there was no other possible explanation for the sheer torture in found himself in. but as the months went on and the weather became warmer, and the flowers were blooming again, he found himself believing that retribution was possible – even for someone like him.

or: aesop sharp is an idiot in love with a breeding kink and this escalated in ways i can never speak of.

A/N: Right. What was supposed to be a simple, short, smutty one shot, escalated into this. Do I have regrets? Yeah - a lot of them. Am I still posting this? Absolutely. I blame @legacygirlingreen for enabling me, but I also thank her for the endless support she's given me throughout. M; you are the best 💚

To everyone else reading this; I have never written 'x Reader' before, so please give me some grace for trying 🙏🏻

FYI: (Y/N) - Your Name (Y/L/N) - Your Last Name (Y/E/C) - Your Eye Colour (Y/H/C) - Your Hair Colour

CW (here we go): Fluff, Romance, Idiots in Love, Miscommunication, Pining, Age Difference (Aged up Main Character), Canon Divergence (bc I can't stand to kill Fig off), Spoiler Alert for Hogwarts Legacy, Implied Hufflepuff MC (not specified), Porn with Plot, Smut (18+, MDNI) - for part 2 (lord, forgive me): Loss of Virginity, Breeding Kink, Impregnation, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Size Kink

Word Count (Part 1): 16k (yes - this escalated)

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48482581/chapters/122292907

Aesop Sharp was sure that he must have eradicated an entire civilisation in his past life. 

There was simply no other explanation for the sheer torture he continuously found himself in. 

He thought Scarborough Harbour and the curse in his leg might have been penance - the pain and guilt certainly served as a constant reminder of his misdeeds in this life, as if he could ever forget about them in the first place. His partner, his best friend, had died because of an oversight in judgement (one he had made), and the woman he thought he was going to marry ended things as soon as it became clear that he would be crippled for life. 

Losing his job (one he had tirelessly worked for his entire youth) was simply the cherry on top.

He supposed he was lucky when he ended up in Hogwarts, of all places. Although he had never been one to stick to the rules in his time as a schoolboy, Aesop was a surprisingly studious pupil (he had to be if he truly wanted to become an Auror) and loved the school nonetheless. Potions was among his best subjects, right after Defence Against the Dark Arts, and even if it hadn't been his dream career, he liked it fine. It was certainly far more engaging than being confined behind a desk at the Ministry, looking at applications and deciding which hot-headed and possibly egotistical graduate he would send into the field, perhaps even subjecting them to a fate like his own (or worse). 

His second career came with quite a few benefits, too, such as free room and board, fantastic meals (Aesop loathed cooking) and unlimited access to the Restricted Section - a place he had searched relentlessly for a cure or at least a treatment better to the one he currently received. And he could look out for his students, the Aurors of tomorrow, too. He might have been the reason his partner had died, and he might never be able to make that right. But, at the very least, he could ensure that his students would not make the same mistakes he did, lest saving them from the regret and suffering he endured daily. Some of them were brighter than others, of course. He didn't think himself to be horridly unfair. Strict, yes. He had to be; potions were fickle things, after all. But certainly not unfair. 

If anything, Aesop would've described himself as quite reasonable most times.

There were, of course, students he had to be particularly strict with. Students such as Garreth Weasley. 

The boy had been a royal pain in Aesop's arse from the second those ginger locks appeared in his classroom in the Autumn of 1885, and he continued to be one up until his graduation. Garreth Weasley wasn't stupid - far from it. He was actually quite brilliant if he tried to apply himself, which was rarely the case, but it had (much to Aesop's chagrin) been enough to qualify him for the NEWT level class. Matilda had apologised over and over, though as the years passed, the apologies always seemed to be accompanied by a small grin, possibly because Garreth's...creative...concoctions in school relieved the Weasley Household of their unfortunate duty of having to try them.

Other students were even less forgettable - although for entirely different reasons. 

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) had been an enigma from the moment she timidly trailed behind their illustrious Headmaster into the Great Hall, late, looking as pale as a ghost. Scrap that. The girl had been an enigma from the second the Book of Admittance spat out her name - four years too late. Suddenly the teachers had found themselves in the precarious situation of what to do with a fifteen-year-old who had no prior understanding of magic but was to start at Hogwarts mere four months later. Eventually, their colleague Eleazar Fig had been sent to tutor the poor girl to at least try to get her up to speed, but Aesop would have been the first to admit that he did not have high hopes. He was pleasantly surprised when the girl was incredibly adept at magic. She had bested other top students on her first day, not to mention taken down a troll in Hogsmeade, and she was nothing short of talented at potions too. He remembered her first lesson vividly; she had brewed a perfect Wiggenweld and a perfect Edurus. 

Miss (Y/L/N) continued to be an exemplary student, both inside and outside of the potions classroom. Any (extra) assignments had always been handed in on time, she picked up spells like magic was second nature to her, and she was overall an absolute joy to be around. Her peers likely would have said the same. Various rumours followed her, and though most of them were concerning, Aesop did not think that a new student (no matter how talented) would actually be taking down entire Poacher and Goblin camps. He had suspected that her heroic escape from the dragon and her Hogsmeade adventure let some students become a little too imaginative. How wrong he had been.  

Aesop still remembered the February afternoon it all came crashing down. Eleazar Fig had stormed into the teacher's room after summoning them with a note that said the matter was of 'utmost importance' and no matter how many years Aesop had spent in the field, nothing would have prepared him for the reality of what he was about to be faced with. Not only had the girl, in fact, taken down Poacher Camps. No. She had been fighting an entire Goblin Rebellion, taken down both Theophilus Harlow and various operations of Victor Rookwood and (as if that hadn't been enough) she apparently wielded Ancient Magic, completed a set of trials that were meant to lead her to some grand mystery the rebellion leader - Ranrok - was also after and was now preparing to take said Goblin down. If the situation hadn't been so dire, Aesop was sure that Matilda Weasley would have chewed Eleazar Fig apart right then and there for his carelessness in hiding something like this. But when the teachers apparated into the caverns below Hogwarts, they didn't have time to dwell on any of it. 

By some miracle, the young witch had done it. She had saved the entire school though it had almost come at the expense of her life. 

When he, Matilda, Dinah, Abraham and Mudiwa finally had taken care of the last of the goblins that had invaded the caverns, they descended further into them, only to discover what could be described as an utter wasteland, complete with a peculiar gigantic orb of magic, a gravely wounded and distraught Professor Fig and an unconscious, heavily bleeding (Y/N) (Y/L/N). 

When the young girl awoke in the Hospital Wing nearly two weeks later, she awoke a hero. 

Aesop could tell she was insanely uncomfortable. She was not someone who was looking for glory or people to sing her praises. She was just a girl who had done what had been asked of her, even if the task she had fulfilled should never have been hers to begin with. She passed her O.W.L.'s with flying colours (of course she had), and thankfully, after an extensive summer break, her life had calmed down significantly. She was able to spend her remaining two years at Hogwarts in peace, having fun with her friends and enjoying her classes. Nobody had been more proud of her than Eleazar himself when she graduated at the top of her class (right next to Amit Thakkar) three years ago.

That had been the last time Aesop had seen her.

He knew from Eleazar (who had pretty much turned into the girl's father) that she had been travelling the world with Poppy Sweeting, one of her closest friends from Hogwarts, to study various beasts and plants - A waste of talent if Aesop had ever seen any. With her skill set and her stellar grades, she would've done phenomenally in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but somehow he understood her desire to live a more peaceful life. If anything, he was somehow glad that she wasn't out there risking her life continually to save others. She had saved Wizardkind once. Now it was somebody else's turn. 

When Bai Howin, their resident Care of Magical Creatures Professor, announced her plans to retire last year, Aesop didn't think that (Y/N) (Y/L/N) would be the one taking over. She was just twenty (or perhaps twenty-one? He wasn't sure) and didn't seem like the type to enjoy teaching. 

But there she was in front of him, and he was sure that this was another way of punishing him.

She had never been ugly. In fact, from what he remembered, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) was quite the sight to behold. She certainly had no shortage of admirers during her time, even if he couldn't recall her courting anyone specifically. But the woman in front of him? She was downright ethereal.

Her long (Y/H/C) cascaded down her small shoulders and framed her small, heart-shaped face. Her lips were fuller and deliciously pink, stretched into a warm and bright smile that lit up her doe-like (Y/E/C) eyes with almost childish excitement. She was positively tiny; he easily towered over her, but Merlin was she beautiful. 

"Everyone, I am most pleased to welcome our newest addition to the staff. (Y/N) (Y/L/N) will be filling Bai's position the coming school year," Matilda announced with an equally bright smile at the staff's annual pre-term meeting on the 25th of August. From the corner of his eye, Aesop could see the proud smile Eleazar wore.

"Miss (Y/L/N)!" Abraham cheered, "How delightful to welcome you back to Hogwarts!" "Thank you, Professor Ronen," she smiled earnestly, "I'm so happy to be back." "Oh please," the jovial Slytherin jumped up, "It's Abraham now. We're colleagues, after all, are we not?" 

Aesop was sure he had never heard a giggle as heart-warming as hers. He scoffed internally. He wasn't some schoolboy with a silly crush. Get over yourself, Aesop!

"Very well then, Abraham," her eyes twinkling, "I'm (Y/N)." 

Aesop observed as the rest of the staff gathered around her, welcoming her back with just as much delight as Abraham and Matilda had done, and her smile only seemed to grow bigger. With a sigh, he got up himself and limped towards the group, his usual stern expression not giving a single hint as to what he was truly feeling. 

"Miss (Y/L/N)," he gruffly said as he came to a stop before her, "How nice to see you again." 

He did not think it possible for her smile to grow any bigger (seriously, her face must have hurt), but it did as her eyes took him in. 

"Professor Sharp!" (Y/N) chirped happily, "It's nice to see you again." 

He didn't know this, but he had been her favourite teacher throughout her short time at Hogwarts; his stern and keenly aware nature was calming to be around, and his classes were always interesting. There had been a time when she considered becoming a professional potioneer, but when the opportunity came up to study Beasts with Poppy, she simply couldn't say no. She had only been a witch for three years and barely knew what the Wizarding World had to offer. It was only natural that she wanted to go out and explore the world as she could honestly always choose a career a little later in life. When Eleazar had reached out to her a couple of months back to tell her that a position was opening up, she couldn't help but apply, and when Matilda (and Black) hired her, she was over the moon.

"As Abraham has said," Aesop cleared his throat, "We are colleagues now. You can call me Aesop." 

"I look forward to working with you, Aesop," (Y/N) nodded, her cheeks tinted pink as she quickly averted her gaze and struck up a conversation with Dinah instead.

Aesop barely saw her until the following week. All of them were busy preparing their lessons and classrooms, and he spent most of his days brewing to replenish his and the Hospital Wings potion supply. Given that she lived in the small hut on the grounds, he didn't really see her around the castle either, but she continued to be on his mind nonetheless. It was a pity, really. He had wondered how she had fared over the past three years and why exactly she had returned. It was unusual for witches and wizards her age to return to Hogwarts to teach of all things, but then again, she's been hardly usual in the first place. Aesop knew that Y/N would be one of his more familiar coworkers - Bai had supplied him with by-products of caring for the beasts, and he supposed (or rather hoped) that her successor would do the same. If anything, it made brewing that much cheaper when he didn't have to hop into Hogsmeade and pester and negotiate with Parry Pippin or Ellie Peck (their prices were quite atrocious at times). 

So when he was finishing up brewing some standard potions on the 1st of September and realised he was out of Unicorn Horn, Aesop decided that now was a good time as any to make the small trek towards the Beasts Classroom and hope that Y/N would somehow have some on hand. It was still early, and the weather was nice, sunny and warm, which helped Aesop's blasted leg tremendously. He knew the colder winter months would aggravate his leg further, but at least for now, he could enjoy his walk to the best of his abilities. 

He spotted her before she spotted him.

She was outside in one of the pens, brushing and petting the Kneazles that would surely serve as a lesson in the coming days, looking absolutely content. The sun was shining down on her, illuminating her skin and hair, which, unlike last time, was in an elaborate and fashionable updo which framed her face artfully. 

He stopped in front of the pen gates, simply observing the young woman who was entirely oblivious to his arrival. (Y/N) giggled happily as the Kneazles danced around her, desperate for her attention and happily purring whenever she offered them some. One of the older Kneazles cuddled up to her leg, flopping on its back and almost chirping, trying to get her attention.

"Now, now, Persephone," she chided as she turned her attention towards the needy Kneazle, "you've gotten plenty already. Leave some for the others." 

"I don't think they understand you," Aesop interrupted her, and he chuckled when she jumped and turned around with a bewildered expression.

"How long have you been standing there?" she asked, her tone accusing. 

"Just a few minutes," he answered with a shrug. 

"Hmph."

He watched as she stood up, slowly rising from the dirt and dusting off her skirts. Her glare was accusing as she exited the pens, the Kneazles yapping. 

"For the record, they are incredibly wise. They certainly do understand me."

"Alright," he held up his hands in surrender, "I am not here to fight you on your Kneazles anyway." He hadn't known that she was overprotective, though if he remembered correctly, Miss Sweeting had been too. Perhaps he should have figured that the Hufflepuff would rub off on her.

"Is there anything I can help you with, Profe-," she stopped herself, clearing her throat, "I mean Aesop." 

Aesop... He liked the way his name sounded from her lips. It sounded almost like a reverent prayer.

He quickly cleared his throat himself, shaking his head to clear his thoughts before answering her.

"I was hoping you might have some spare Unicorn Horn? Bai usually provided me with by-products of her care, and I was rather hoping you would continue to offer." 

"Oh," she blushed, "Yes, of course. Come. I have some inside." 

As he followed her, he inevitably noticed how small the girl was. Even with his limp, he was no more than one step behind her - a highly unusual occurrence. 

What had been previously Bai's hut was now completely unrecognisable (not that he had been in there all too often). The rooms were previously quite barren, save for the few personal artefacts and curiosities. A bed, a desk, a closet... Nothing to write home about. Now, though, Aesop had stepped into what felt like an actual home.

The floor was now covered by plush and comforting carpets, which would surely provide additional warmth during the winter months. The walls were warm wood in some places, though covered by paintings and illustrations in others. The beehive fireplace in the corner held the remains of a slow flickering fire, and the eclectic pieces that littered the home did not match one another but were harmonious just the same. One of the armchairs in front of the fire looked worn and old, the other rather contemporary and the shelves to his right reminded him of some modern Parisian styles he had seen some time ago. Various artefacts and trinkets were scattered across the room; some Aesop recognised, others he absolutely didn't. A Potions Station was bubbling away to his left, a small stove with a stray kettle beside it. The entire hut smelled like fresh pastries and freshly pressed linen - comforting and homey just the same. 

"Whatever do you need a potions station for?" he asked as she fluttered around the room. 

"Oh, that," she answered him. "Call it a force of habit or simply a pastime. I used to brew a lot back in school, and I was mostly responsible for any concoctions when Poppy and I travelled. I suppose I haven't lived that down."  

Intrigued, he stepped up to the cauldron, trying to define the mixture by its smell and looks. 

"Bruisewort Balm," he concluded quickly, "Looks very satisfactory." The jump back into 'Professor Persona' was one that he had been all too used to, even if it had been around his newest colleague. 

(Y/N), however, blushed profusely. Potions had been her favourite class during her short time at Hogwarts, and Sharp's praise would always be special. His had to be earned (rightfully so), and that simply made it all the more satisfying. To hear him praise her years later made her chest fill with pride.

"I learned from the best," she offered, handing him a box which contained some Horns. "Antidote to Common Poisons, or did Madam Blainey run out of Blood Replenishing Potions?"  

Surprised, Aesop raised an eyebrow as he took the box from her hands. He hadn't expected her to be able to recall such information, even if it had been relevant in her NEWT exams once. 

"Antidote to Common Poisons," he confirmed, eyeing her beaming smile as his heart skipped a beat. Had her smile always been this pretty? 

"And you have everything else you need?" she offered, "I think I might have some Bezoars lying around in case you're out of them." 

"No, I have everything else," he grumbled, "I know you were a decent potioneer, but I must say I am surprised to hear you have retained that much information." 

"Decent?" she sounded affronted, "Wasn't I top of the class by the time I graduated?" 

"Perhaps." His grin was teasing; he enjoyed getting a rise out of her. "But even so, recalling ingredients is impressive. It has been a while, hasn't it been?" 

"You're awful," she puffed, crossing her arms in front of her like a petulant child. "And for the record, Potions was my favourite class. I even considered becoming a Potioneer or a Healer once."  

The words spilt from his mouth before he could stop himself. "And yet you decided to travel the world and study beasts? Enlighten me, Miss (Y/L/N)?" 

She bit her lip, causing a jolt of... something... coursing through him as she shrugged. 

"I supposed I had wanted to see the world. And I like Beasts; I hardly would've agreed to teach if I didn't. Before I was a witch, I was expected to be a wife. My sole purpose lay in providing children for my betrothed. When I suddenly had the freedom to decide what I wished to do, it was both overwhelming and exciting, and to see more of a world which was so foreign to me seemed like a grand idea at the time." She chuckled absentmindedly. "I apologise for rambling. I shall let you get back to preparing whatever it is you need to prepare."

"Oh, not at all," Aesop shook his head. "You are betrothed?" 

"I was. My parents were rather well off and paired me with a suitor they deemed worthy. When I came to Hogwarts, they..." she shuddered, remembering the final conversation she had had with them. "Let us just say that they weren't...eager to have their only daughter in a co-educational environment outside of their ascendancy." 

Merlin, suddenly Aesop wasn't surprised that Eleazar had taken the girl home after the events of her fifth year. She clearly did not have another one to return to. Aesop knew that, much like their pureblooded counterparts, muggles arranged marriages between their children in order to secure the most advantageous match possible. He also knew that muggles were even more traditional than wizards, though it surprised him to hear that a co-educational environment such as Hogwarts was deemed inappropriate enough to ruin a young woman's reputation. Most witches, especially those from better backgrounds (magical or not), held on to their maidenhood until marriage, much like muggle women did. Laying with a man who was not your husband was as inappropriate in the Wizarding World as it was in Muggle London, though, in all fairness, most Wizards (especially purebloods like Aesop himself) hardly ever followed that rule - nor were they expected to. And either way, Hogwarts itself had various... safety measures in place to ensure no such encounters would happen. 

Aesop found it doubtful that nobody would have been able to appease her family's concerns, though, at any rate, he supposed she was right. It left her able to make her own choice - something she deserved, especially after saving both the school and Wizardkind. Suddenly her decision made all the more sense, and he found himself almost pitying her circumstances.

"I'm sorry," he offered, though he knew it would scarcely be a consolation.

"Don't be," she smiled sadly, "I am lucky to have Eleazar. He's been more of a father to me than mine had ever been. And whilst I would have loved to have a family and a husband by now, I cannot lie and say that travelling the world with my best friend hasn't been worth the sacrifice." 

If Aesop ever had any concerns if she was suitable to teach, they had been laid to rest within the first two weeks, for whoever he listened to would say the same: that she was utterly brilliant.

Care of Magical Creatures class had always been decently popular among students - it was certainly more popular than Magical Theory or Alchemy, but ever since the one and only Hero of Hogwarts had started to lecture the class, its popularity had all but exploded amongst the students. They seemed more engaged than ever, and the fourth-year class he taught directly after her class was always in high spirits. Matilda had to refuse several students the luxury of adding Care of Magical Creatures to their curriculum, and if Aesop had to overhear another bulk of male students lusting after Miss (Y/L/N), he would rip off his own ears.

Sure, she was beautiful. Very beautiful, in fact. And smart. And kind. And funny. He had noticed that himself (any man with two functioning eyes would), but Merlin was it infuriating to hear constantly. 

(Y/N) had her seat next to him in the Great Hall, and surprisingly they ate their meals at similar enough times, causing them to exchange pleasantries often enough over breakfast or dinner. She was as cheerful as he remembered and did most of the talking, but it was comfortable. 

She often shared tidbits and stories from her many travels, the beasts she encountered or the people she met. 

"Japan was the most interesting, really. Though one day, Poppy and I wanted to bathe in a local pond and nearly got eaten by a Kappa." 

Aesop had nearly spat out his drink.

"A Kappa?" he asked, "The water-dwellers that look like scaly monkeys, with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their ponds? Those Kappas?"

"Yes!" she grinned at him cheerfully before she took another bite of her scone. "Quite fascinating creature, really. Luckily we had a cucumber on hand. Did you know that they prefer those to human blood?"

"I...did not," Aesop shook his head, his eyes comically wide as he watched her devour her scone with such gusto and nonchalance - as if she hadn't nearly recounted yet another story of how she almost died. Someone desperately needed to teach her a sense of self-preservation.

She had many stories like that. Too many, if one were to ask Aesop. Suddenly he ceased thinking that she could have been a good Auror - she would have been blown up within weeks if her recklessness was anything to go by. In hindsight, it added up; no fully sane fifteen-year-old would willingly jump into battle over and over again, even if they had essentially been the sole witch able to save the day. Then again, she wasn't fifteen anymore.

Four weeks after the school year had started, Dinah and Abraham had the wonderfully stupid idea to commemorate (Y/N)'s arrival as a professor officially with a soirée an opportunity for most of them to get drunk off their asses. It was something of a tradition, one that even Aesop couldn't escape when he first started teaching, and Dinah, the absolute menace she was, usually ensured that at least half of the participants would nurse a hangover the next day. The bloody woman could hold her drink; Aesop would give her that much - he doubted (Y/N) could do the same. Sirona was all too happy to open up the small space upstairs of the Three Broomsticks, which teachers usually occupied throughout the school year so awkward encounters could be avoided. 

So when the first Saturday of October had rolled around, their newest addition to the staff was all but ambushed and dragged to the Three Broomsticks, and Aesop had to confess that her helpless gaze was worth the tedious walk to the pub. 

"What exactly-" "No questions," Dinah interrupted her before shoving a glass of firewhiskey into her small hands. "We are not letting you leave until you are drunk." 

"Don't fight tradition," Eleazar grinned slyly at his protegé, "We've all been through this." 

"You're evil," she pouted at him, the firewhiskey still in her hands. 

"Yes, well," the older man shrugged, "Consider it a debt repaid after all the grey hairs you have caused me over the years."

"Excuse me?!" she gasped, but before she could continue, Dinah barked at her: "Drink up!"

Aesop could only watch with amusement as she nipped on the whiskey with a grimace, coughing as it went down. "It burns," she whined, trying to shove the whiskey back into Dinah's hands, but the former Unspeakable wouldn't have it. 

"Get used to it."

It shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone really that she was drunk within record time. Aesop, much like Dinah and Eleazar, could hold his drink incredibly well, but it was always entertaining to see the rest of the staff utterly pissed. 

Mudiwa and Satyavati were in a spirited discussion about their respective fields, neither wishing to meet the other eye to eye, and Aesop wouldn't have been surprised if the Ugandan native whipped out a crystal ball to smash it on Satyavati's head. Chiyo, Abraham, Matilda and Mirabel, on the other hand, were somewhere between singing and screaming an old drinking song Aesop did not recognise, though it frankly sounded horrible all the same. 

"Honestly, Eleazar. I would have expected you to teach her how to hold her drink," Dinah grinned as she pointed at the slumped-over figure in front of the fireplace. 

"She can hold her drink," Eleazar countered with a sneer. "You are simply a menace. How many of those did you give her?"

"Oh, not too many," Dinah grinned, taking another swig of her firewhiskey. "Eight, perhaps?"

"Eight?! Are you trying to kill her?!" Aesop chuckled. "Merlin Dinah, even I can tell she's a lightweight." 

"She'll live," the woman waved her hand dismissively. "You should take her back to her hut, though." 

"Me?!" Aesop asked incredulously, nearly spilling the remains of his drink in surprise. Eleazar had the same bewildered expression on his face, his eyebrow raised in question.

"Yes, you," Dinah rolled her eyes, "You think I miss the looks you two dunderheads share?" 

Aesop's heart felt like it was beating out of his chest for a second, his mind completely blank as he took in his friend's words. His face must have given away his utter bewilderment because Dinah only groaned in exasperation. Damn her and her perceptiveness!

"Dinah, I have no idea what you are-" "Oh, quit it!" she interrupted him as fiercely as she had interrupted (Y/N) a while back. "I haven't seen your grumpy arse smile as much as you have during meal times in all my years of knowing you. And the reason for that is seated right next to you." 

"She's just a good conversationalist!" Aesop protested, affronted that Dinah would even think he fancied his former student of all people. 

"Good conversationalist, my ass," she snorted before shaking her head. "Take her home, Romeo. That's an order. " 

Her tone left little to no room for argument (she was insanely good at that), and so Aesop found himself limping and straggling along the darkened path back to Hogwarts, thanking Merlin that no student was wandering about to see a wasted Professor (Y/N) slumped in his arms. She was thankfully rather light, considering that the colder weather was slowly creeping in. Aesop's cursed limp began hurting as it usually did during the winter months, so he was in no position to lift anything heavy. 

She was rather close to him, nestled into his chest, though the top of her head just about reached a few inches below his shoulders. Typically, Aesop liked to keep people at arm's length, not one for physical contact, especially with people he hardly knew. But having her in his arms, of all people, was not only comfortable, but he also quickly realised he liked having her there. She was warm and small, fit perfectly into his side, and smelled divine. 

He would have expected her to smell like the earth outside, given how much time she spent in Beast pens and caring for them, but instead, she smelled of fresh pastries and the sweetest fruits, a warm and homely scent that made him feel all ways of strange. He hadn't felt this way in a long, long time, but no matter what Dinah may have alluded to - it simply couldn't be.

"You think too much," a small, grumbling voice suddenly pulled him from his thoughts. 

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused," she mumbled, pressing herself further into him before falling silent once more. 

He thought too much? Aesop wondered what she meant by that. But he enjoyed the remaining walk in silence, understanding that she was far too inebriated to have an actual conversation anyways. She was half-asleep by the time they had reached her hut, so he carefully helped her onto the bed, wondering if he should at least help her take off her boots, but she was asleep before he could ask. So instead, Aesop placed a blanket over her softly snoring form before he limped outside and begrudgingly took the floo flames to the Faculty Tower. 

Aesop wasn't surprised when she didn't show up for breakfast the following day, but breakfast did seem a little duller than it usually had been. He kept the affair short before he retreated to his quarters, deciding to catch up on some essays and potion quizzes, which would inevitably frustrate him but putting it off would only mean delaying the inevitable. Some of his students would make brilliant potioneers, but most of them were hopeless cases, unfortunately. Sometime in the early afternoon, a knock pulled him from his frustrating work, and he was surprised to find a sheepish and embarrassed-looking (Y/N) at his doorstep. She looked tired, her face a little more worn than usual, and her hair seemed mildly matted and disorderly, but realistically, she nursed a fat hangover. All things considered, she still looked pretty.

"(Y/N)," he acknowledged with a curt nod. 

"I uhm," she shuffled her feet awkwardly, her face downcast and her cheeks adorably red. "I wanted to thank you," she said after a while. 

"Thank me?" Aesop raised his eyebrow.

"Yes, uhm," she cleared her throat, raising her face to look back at him. "Thank you for helping me back to my hut. You didn't have to." 

"Dinah was remarkably insistent that I do," Aesop blurted out before he could stop himself. A flash of hurt crossed her face, but it was gone within a second, her smile strangely contorted, and Aesop wondered if he had said something wrong.  

"Well, either way. You got me back, and that's what matters, I suppose." 

The two stood there for a while, staring at each other like fools, before she suddenly jumped and pulled at her satchel. "I made you some biscuits," she rambled, pulling out a small bag that emitted an enticing sugary smell. Aesop wasn't fond of biscuits, but the aroma of these was absolutely mouth-watering, so he gladly accepted. Maybe it was because the smell reminded him of her. 

"Would you like to come in?" he offered, stepping aside and inviting her inside his quarters. 

"Are you sure that's appropriate?" her tone hesitant as she stood her ground in front of the door.

"Why wouldn't it be?" his tone equal amounts curious and disturbed. Did she think he wanted to dishonour her? 

"Nevermind," she shook her head before wordlessly accepting his invitation and stepping inside. 

Even if she had been a part of the Wizarding World for nearly half a decade now, the rigorous societal standards she had been raised with for a majority of her life had stuck with her, and if someone from her old life had seen her step into a man's room, unaccompanied, her reputation would have been ruined. She had realised that the Wizarding World was far more relaxed than Muggle London fairly quickly when she had been allowed to be accompanied to Hogsmeade her first week by Sebastian Sallow - an event which never would have taken place without a chaperone in her old home. And whilst the concept of courting and preserving one's honour was the proper way in the Wizarding World as well, one was certainly not watched like a hawk every second of the day until marriage.

His quarters had been just like she remembered them; a little disorderly, muted in colour and sparse in decor. Tons of cauldrons stood against the walls, but his big windows let in ample amounts of sunshine. The smell of firewhiskey and the crackling fire permeated the air, though his unique scent also clung to it. It was comforting but hardly a home. Two leather armchairs stood in front of the fireplace, and his desk looked to be brimming with graded essays.

"Would you like some tea?" Aesop asked her, clearing his throat and effectively pulling her out of her daydreaming and wandering gaze. He usually didn't have guests over, much less pretty female ones. 

"Oh yes. That would be lovely," she smiled gratefully. He only motioned for her to sit down as he prepared two cups of steaming Earl Grey, adding a bit of milk to hers (that's how she always drank it).

She thanked him with a bashful smile as he handed her the cup before he eventually sank down in the armchair opposite hers, nursing his own teacup in relative silence before he teasingly asked her: "So how are you feeling?" 

"I can't believe you drink that nasty stuff willingly."

"It takes quite a connoisseur to appreciate Firewhiskey," Aesop grinned. 

"I think I might prefer the occasional glass of mead," she pulled a face before taking a sip of her tea and sighing in relief. "In any case, I'm not touching alcohol for a good while." 

"I didn't expect you to," he chuckled before sighing and stretching his leg. It had started to bother him a little more throughout the afternoon, which was not an unusual occurrence, especially given the events of yesterday. A little massage, his pain relief potion and perhaps even a warm bath and firewhiskey would make it bearable.

"Does it hurt more than usual?" she asked him boldly, her gaze fixated upon his leg as he shifted to find a more comfortable position.

"No," he grit out between his teeth. "This is usual given the weather and circumstances." 

"I'm sorry," she meekly offered, her mind wandering off a little.

"I don't need your pity," Aesop spat out in a lapse of judgement, his gaze venomous. She flinched, just barely so, but it was enough for it to tear at his heartstrings and apologise immediately. 

"It's alright," she sighed. "I was just...what remedies have you tried? I remember you telling me that you looked in the Hogwarts library, but..." 

"That was five years ago," Aesop conceded. "I'm sure I have read every possible book in there by now." 

"Perhaps I could ask Poppy to have a look?" (Y/N) offered him. "She is still travelling, and we came across quite a few treatments and fauna that we hadn't previously known..."

"I cannot, in good conscience, ask that of you."

"You're not asking. I'm offering." 

Aesop thought for a second, but her offer was generous. He was slowly losing hope, as the Hogwarts Library didn't offer a cure, so perhaps it was time to start looking elsewhere. 

"That would be very kind," he conceded, his voice stuck in his throat for a second. 

Her smile was brighter than the sun itself, and Aesop's heart jumped erratically. It truly was beautiful.

They fell into a routine after that. 

As promised, she had written to Poppy as soon as possible, asking her to keep an eye out for strange flora, beast products or books on curses and foreign potions. She had even secretly reached out to Sebastian, who was working as a Curse Breaker and stumbled upon more of them than she and Sharp combined could name; even if he didn't know a counter curse for Sharp's predicament, it was useful to keep tabs on it. 

Whenever Poppy sent a small parcel, she would run to Aesop's room or the potions classroom just so she could share what may be a breakthrough in his research. And whilst nothing looked like a cure, the most recent batch of ingredients from East Asia had, at the very least, supplied Aesop with greater pain relief than usual.

"Hō-ō feathers and," she coughed violently, her face twisting in disgust. "Did Poppy send you Mimbulus Mimbletonia? This smells awfully rancid."

"She did indeed," Aesop confirmed, his face passive as he carefully stirred the potion before him. He was immensely grateful that Poppy had made due on her promise to send ingredients their way - ones that were either exceptionally difficult or downright impossible to get in England. That said, the Mimbulus Mimbletonia did smell awful, and it took quite a bit of willpower to not let his disgust show. He was surprised that the lovely woman sat in his potions classroom, just a little to the left of him, recognised the ingredients as quickly as she had, but the more time he spent with her, the more he had to acknowledge that she was smart beyond her years.

"I hated those whenever we came across them," she told him with a smile. 

"Yes, well. Let's hope they're useful beyond repelling unsuspecting witches."

"Who said anything about repelling us?" Aesop could feel her smirk before he saw it. "We still wanted to see the Bowtruckles."

"Bowtruckles," Aesop shook his head in exasperation. "Of course."

Aesop was used to brewing on his own, usually secluded in his room, perhaps accompanied by a glass of firewhiskey and a melody from his gramophone. Unfortunately for him, he found that brewing in a certain witches' company was much more engaging, so much so that he began looking forward to spending time with her whenever the week seemed to pass him by a little too slowly for comfort. Most of their free days, however, they spent together in either of their quarters, drinking tea, sometimes playing Wizard's Chess, though usually, they graded their respective papers in comfortable silence. Some days Sharp listened to her stories, and on the very rare occasion, she listened to his. 

"So you actually sent people to Azkaban before?" she asked with a shudder, her face a little pale.

"If I recall correctly, it was you who ensured Theophilus Harlow ended up there, too," Aesop countered.

"Technically, that was a group effort," she countered. "Natty was the one who tracked him down. I only duelled him."

"At fifteen?"

"I may have been sixteen. But I am not certain."

Aesop groaned at her carelessness and utter disregard for safety or rules. She was lucky he hadn't been her mentor during her days at the school. Eleazar might have even enabled her antics - he would have locked her up inside the castle walls.

"Either way. What kind of people did you send to Azkaban?"

"Reprobates? Dark Wizards?" Aesop answered her as if that had been the most obvious thing in the entire world. 

"Obviously," she rolled her eyes, a teasing smile on her lips. 

"Right. One time my partner and I helped cease the operations of an illegal freak show. The woman who ran the whole thing imprisoned and trafficked multiple of her 'curiosities'. Assaulted quite a few herself."

"And she ended up in Azkaban?" 

"Yes," Aesop confirmed, "Died there too."

"Ugh," she pulled a sorrowful face, "What an awful place to die. So cold and frightening." 

Aesop's eyebrows shot up in question at that.

"And pray tell how do you know what the inside of Azkaban is like?"

"That, my dear Aesop," she grinned at him, "Is a story for another time." 

When he found out that Helen Thistlewood had essentially dragged her to Azkaban and she had consequently solved a cold case, he didn't know whether to scream or cry or laugh or perhaps all together. Of course, she fucking had. 

The weeks continued like that, and Aesop found that the days he spent with her were days very well spent. His mood usually improved drastically, perhaps to the point where even his students could tell. What was worse, though, was that his colleagues, the nosy little bastards, could tell too. So in hindsight, it likely shouldn't have surprised him when both Dinah and Eleazar suddenly had "endless amounts of essays to grade", and both Aesop and (Y/N) found themselves patrolling the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower on a late November night. 

"I have to say, walking these halls after curfew isn't nearly as fun when you're a Professor," (Y/N) broke the silence after a while. 

"And how often did you break curfew, Miss (Y/L/N)?" 

"I am friends with Sebastian Sallow," she countered, "You take a guess." 

"I forgot how much trouble that boy was," Aesop groaned. 

Of course, he remembered. Aside from the horrors that used to be Solomon Sallow (who had died under incredibly conspicuous circumstances a few years back), his nephew had been quite the pain in Aesop's arse too. Sebastian and Anne Sallow were both exceedingly mischievous, pulling many (albeit harmless) pranks on their fellow students, breaking curfew, and Aesop had to brew hair regrowth potion on more than one occasion after they had illegally attempted fire spells on their own. The shenanigans did not stop after Miss Sallow had been cursed; if anything, they had continued with newfound vigour, and Sebastian was routinely caught in the Restricted Section. He had calmed down a little when (Y/N) had come to the school, and his sour mood had improved significantly. At one point, Aesop had thought that the two were courting, but the lovely woman next to him quickly assured him that there had never been any such feelings between them. It seemed like she simply had that effect on people.

"Oh, come on!" she whined cutely. "Don't tell me you've never broken curfew."

"Me? Never. I was the very picture of orderly conduct at Hogwarts."

The witch next to him only snorted. "I find that hard to believe." 

"And you would be correct," Aesop jested, a wolfish grin on his face. He had broken countless rules during his time (though certainly not as many as she had), but unlike the Sallow boy, he had been smart enough to not get caught. At least not as frequently.

"I kne-" her words were cut off as she suddenly slipped at the top of the stairs, her feet just a little too close to the edge. 

Aesop hastily steadied himself, wrapping his arms around her middle and pulling her into him ignoring her cries of surprise. She held onto the lapel of his coat, staring into his dark brown eyes with her wide ones, her cheeks suddenly a little more rosy as they tumbled a little. Aesop's eyes traced over her face, from the long lashes to the soft curve of her slightly open lips. His treacherous heart sped up the more he got lost in her captivating eyes, the very window to her soul, and all he wanted to do was dive in. Suddenly having her close didn't seem like it was enough - he wanted to be absorbed in her cosmos until he had unravelled each and every mystery it held, but before he could, his mind kicked into overdrive, and he pulled her away from the ledge.

"Are you alright?" he questioned breathlessly.

"Yes," she nearly squeaked, abruptly removing her hands as if he had burned her, avoiding his gaze as she took a steadying breath. "I'm fine." 

He wanted, needed, to say something else. To reach out to her and pull her back into his arms, but before he could, she turned away to resume their nightly patrol, refusing to meet his eye again.

Things were oddly different after that night - and Aesop did not know why.

It was downright infuriating, especially since she liked to act as if nothing was amiss, but did she genuinely think she could fool a former Auror, of all people? Aesop might have left the field a decade ago, but he, all puns intended, was as sharp as ever. 

She still sat beside him during meal times, but her stories became less and less until they eventually ceased altogether.

She still came to his quarters, though the visits became scarce until she muttered a pitiful excuse of "lots of grading to do" as if they hadn't done that together over the course of the term. And if ever he turned up on her doorstep, she usually had an excuse too or ensured their time together was as brief as possible. 

And while she still kept bringing him the exotic ingredients Poppy sent her way, she typically delivered them by owl, which riled Aesop up so much that he hadn't even wanted to try and brew any possible cure in quite some time. 

And worst of all? He didn't even understand why her sudden indifference suddenly infuriated him so much. She was a good friend - yes a very good one indeed. She was an exceptional conversationalist - also, yes. And she was breathtakingly beauti - Aesop stopped himself in an instant. Absolutely not. 

He sighed in frustration, ignoring the curious stares of his fourth-year students as they, per usual, royally fucked up another potion. He didn't even recall what he had them brew, his mind a little too occupied with something - or rather someone - else. It was a loud 'BANG' that suddenly drew him from his thoughts, a colourful explosion from the back of the classroom that shone in a cacophony of various shades entering his field of vision. A sheepish Elizabeth Larson, younger sister of Andrew Larson and what Aesop wholeheartedly believed to be Garreth Weasley's spiritual successor, stood right next to the exploded cauldron, a tactless grin on her face as she ignored the dregs of whatever potion she had 'creatively enhanced' at her feet. She wasn't sorry; students like Garreth and her never were. If anything, they were only sorry that their concoction had failed and they had been caught. Furiously, Aesop rose to his feet, his leg aggravated and his mood so sour a lemon likely would have been sweet. The mess had been cleared up with a quick wave of his wand, but his fury hadn't dissipated in the slightest.

"Miss Larson," Aesop barked angrily as he stalked towards the back of the room, his glare pointed enough to explode another cauldron if he tried. "This is the seventh time you have acted outside of instruction. One would think your boneheadedness knows some bounds, but clearly, it does not." His tone was unusually cruel, the surprise of which evident on Elizabeth Larson's face as, while he was stern, he never insulted his students. "Fifty points from Gryffindor, and I want to see you for detention every day the following week!"

"But Sir, I-" the poor girl tried to protest feebly, her voice small, and if Aesop hadn't been as angry as he had been, he likely would've seen actual regret and tears in her eyes. 

"No. I am done with your infantile deeds, Miss Larson. Either you learn to respect this class and its rules, or you can expect to not make the roster for any year after next year." He was positively seething.

"Yes, Sir," she dejectedly nodded, her shoulders slumped and gaze downcast.

Aesop huffed, turning to the rest of the class, ready to dismiss them early, as he frankly did not have the resilience to endure much longer. "Uh, Sir?" a meek voice spoke into the otherwise deadly silent classroom. 

"Yes, Mister Finnigan?" Aesop grunted. 

"It's Christmas next week. We don't uhm...have school." 

It's Christmas next week... Aesop grit his teeth as he took the boy's word in, clearly an attempt to get Miss Larson out of detention. Great, so he had teenage lovers in this class? Nobody would have been stupid enough to stand up to him otherwise. 

"Then Miss Larson will serve her detention after the New Year. Now, I want your potions labelled on my desk within five minutes. And then get out of my classroom." 

None of them needed any further instruction, hurriedly finishing up whatever work they had left to do before they all but fled the dungeons, Miss Larson surrounded by her friends in an effort to comfort. At least that's what Aesop supposed.

It's Christmas next week, the words repeated in Aesop's head as he cleaned up the classroom, thankful that the day was finally over and he wouldn't have to deal with the imbeciles he calls his students until the morrow. He perked up when he thought of it again. It's Christmas next week.

Of course! Between classes to be held, essays and tests to be graded and an infuriatingly witchy problem, Aesop had all but forgotten the festivities that rapidly approached them, but suddenly, they seemed to be the answer to his very problem. If she was angry with him, perhaps a gift could put him back into her good graces and even if she wasn't, giving her a gift seemed like a perfect opportunity to have her talk to him again.

Finding a gift, however, seemed to be just as infuriating as she was. 

It was the day before Christmas, and Aesop still hadn't figured out the perfect gift to give her. Books, even if she enjoyed them greatly, seemed boring and downright unoriginal. Household items were pretentious, and he felt as if he was overstepping multiple boundaries by even thinking about it. And whilst he would have loved to have gotten her Jewellery, given that she recently rehabilitated a Niffler, he threw that option off the Astronomy tower. So what exactly was he supposed to get a witch that could end the world with her powers and one he had utterly fallen in love with? Asking her was out of the question, but he was slowly running out of time. Businesses would be closing sooner tomorrow and not open at all on the 25th, and his options were dwindling, none of them good enough for someone as exceptional as her. Aesop hated asking for help, but in fear of making an even bigger fool of himself, he trudged down the stairs of the Faculty Tower, striding up to the door of the one place where he might just acquire an answer.

"Aesop?" the surprise in Eleazar's voice was evident. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" 

"Good morning, Eleazar," Aesop cleared his throat, already regretting his decision to come. "I... require your help with a...rather delicate matter." 

"Oh?" This was most unusual for him. Eleazar and Aesop rarely interacted on the basis of their job alone, though they did strike up friendly conversation when time allowed it. And, as Aesop painfully remembers, the man had asked for his help years ago when (Y/N) had battled an entire goblin rebellion on her own, and he had dismissed the idea of Ranrok working with Rookwood as 'inconceivable'. He wondered if he could've eased the weight on her shoulders if only he had listened. 

"Would you like to come in?" Eleazar offered, stepping aside as he recognised the ex-Auror's discomfort at discussing whatever he needed to discuss out in the open. Aesop only nodded curtly, stepping inside the disorderly room littered with a million books, effectively turning it into more of a library than a personal home.

"So," the older man joined his hands in front of him. "What can I do for you, Aesop?"

"I need to purchase a present," he pressed out. "For (Y/N)."

Eleazar raised his eyebrow, taking in the usually stern Potions Master standing before him. But this man wasn't stern, nor was he anything like he usually had been. No, this man resembled a lovesick teenager, ashamed to ask a parent for advice no matter how innocent and if Aesop had blushed, it wouldn't have surprised Eleazar.

"For (Y/N)?" he repeated slowly, carefully gauging Aesop's reaction.

"Yes," the man confirmed, clearing his throat.

"It is Christmas tomorrow, and I wish to get her something nice. I thought since you knew her best, perhaps you could... offer some advice." 

Merlin's Beard, Dinah had been correct. Eleazar could not believe it. He was wholeheartedly gobsmacked. Aesop Sharp was in love with his former protégé slash adopted daughter. He had already been curious when Dinah had insisted that Aesop be the one to take her home the night of her inaugural celebration, but even more so when the woman had insisted that both he and her forfeit their nightly patrol with some lame excuse so that (Y/N) and Aesop would have to do it instead. He had frankly laughed when Dinah explained that she was doing it because she couldn't stand the pining between the two 'oblivious fools' but Merlin - when (Y/N) and he shared tea just shortly after, and the girl had blushed like a madwoman when Eleazar teased her by revealing Dinah's plans he realised that the astute Professor had certainly been right about one thing; that (Y/N) was in love.

But to know Aesop was too? Brilliant. 

"Of course," Eleazar repressed a chuckle, though he couldn't stop a sly grin forming on his face. "She is exceptionally fond of ballet. She used to see performances all the time, when she was a child in London." 

Ballet? Aesop thought, surprised. Wherever would he get something related to a Muggle art form? Clenching his teeth, he found his answer quite quickly: Muggle London. 

"Thank you," he breathed out between clenched teeth. 

"Anytime," Eleazar chuckled as Aesop swiftly exited his quarters before he rushed to tell Dinah that she was correct once again.

Off to Muggle London, he went.

Aesop positively hated the Muggle parts of London. Not because he hated Muggles, Merlin he couldn't care less about them if he tried, but because the streets were too crowded and dirty and the Muggles stared at him no matter how well disguised and because it all smelled utterly rotten. In all honesty, perhaps it was London that he hated, even if the wizarding parts of it were a little less seedy than the rest. Years ago, when he was a young Auror, he loved the hustle and bustle of the city, gallivanting around like he owned the place with a stunning woman (though not as lovely as (Y/N), his ex-fiancé, on his arm, but those days had long passed, and he preferred the quiet countryside and the fresh air and spending time with her.

He wasn't even entirely certain what exactly he was looking for, but it couldn't be that difficult to find something related to ballet. Perhaps tickets for a performance? Though most pureblood families ensured to stay away from Muggles as best as they could, they did enjoy Muggle arts on occasion; both Ballet and Opera performances were frequented by even the most extremist of pureblood families, and Aesop used to enjoy the odd art exhibition in his days. He hadn't ever been to a ballet performance in particular, but he could endure, especially if it had been for her. 

He decided on tickets for a premiere, Swan Lake, or whatever it had been called. Apparently, the ballet had been all the rage in Russia, and a company was bringing it to England for the very first time. He could be certain that his lovely colleague hadn't seen it, and the image of pure joy he had conjured in his mind was worth the insane galleon he had spent on them.

His step was considerably lighter and jovial when he made the trek towards her hut on Christmas morning, hoping, wishing that she would love her present and all would be well again. She looked surprised to see him, with a smile on his face nonetheless. 

"Aesop? What are you doing here?"

"It's Christmas, isn't it?" he grinned, excited for the first time in his life to give a present. "I wanted to give you a present."

"You got me a present?" she suddenly sounded excited, her eyes lighting up in almost childlike wonder. His heart jumped as he watched a smile light up her entire face, dazzlingly bright and beautiful and so very her. However had he survived hardly seeing it over these past few weeks? He needed, craved, more.

"Of course," Aesop cleared his throat, suppressing any potentially inappropriate thoughts. He couldn't allow himself to feel it. "We're friends, aren't we?" 

He missed the brief flash of hurt that swept across her face, accepting her silent invitation to join her inside before he was enveloped in the homely scent that brought him back to his childhood. Her home had been decorated with tinsel, and ivy leaves sewn onto strips of ribbon, some odd mistletoes hung around, and a wreath had been placed on the table. It smelled oddly reminiscent of speculoos and oranges, the sweet notes of honey and cinnamon biscuits hanging in the air, so very unlike his room back at the castle. The fire was crackling away, and the room was comfortably warm, so Aesop took the liberty of removing his coat and placing it onto one of her mismatched chairs, but not before he pulled a small, golden box from its pockets.

"I might have outdone myself," he grinned, holing out the present like a little boy.

"Think that highly of your present-giving skills, do you?" she jabbed back, accepting the box from his hands with a grateful smile. She was curious, to say the least. Aesop didn't seem like the gift-giving type in her eyes. Admittedly, she hadn't even expected one in the first place, not after she had all but avoided his presence to the best of her abilities ever since that fateful November night.

"I'm excellent at many things." "I'm sure you are."

They smiled at each other before the woman in front of him redirected her attention to the box in her hands as she carefully slid it open, revealing a glittering, crystal Swan ornament. 

"Godric's heart," she gasped as she pulled it out, observing the way it shimmered and glittered in the morning light, its reflections casting various shapes across the room. "It's beautiful, Aesop." 

"I'm glad you like it," he grinned. "But it's only a part of your present." 

She looked at him with surprise, her mouth slightly open, and he wanted to kiss he wanted to laugh as he picked up on the evident bewilderment in her eyes. "This isn't my present?"

"Not exactly. I..." Suddenly he was nervous, wondering if he had picked the right thing. What if she didn't wish to be seen with him in public, especially outside school, and clearly unrelated to work? She had been avoiding him, after all, no matter what she tried to make him believe. 

No going back now...

"I got us tickets for Swan Lake. In London." 

The astonishment on her face was comical. If there had to be an illustration of the expression "the jaw was on the floor", Aesop was sure that this would have been it. She didn't say anything for a while, only looking at him with her wide eyes, not even blinking. 

"That's..." (Y/N) cleared her throat. "That's too much, Aesop. I can't accept it." 

"Bollocks," he dismissed her. "You love ballet, don't you?"

"I...I do," she conceded, though her brow furrowed. She hadn't ever told him that, had she? "I must confess I wonder why you, of all people, know about this."

"I have my ways," he tried to dismiss her, apprehensive at the prospect of her finding out that he had asked Eleazar for advice. Unfortunately for him, though, the witch was keenly astute and analytical. 

"Eleazar told you, didn't he?" she concluded after a few seconds, horrified when he nodded. Eleazar knew her exceptionally well; he was like her father, for Merlin's sake. So even when she had told him that Aesop was 'just a friend', he didn't even try to suppress his laugh, evidently not believing a word she said. She had only hoped that the older man hadn't alluded to anything because Aesop could never know that she had irrevocably fallen in love with him. 

"Thank you, Aesop. Truly. This is the best present I have ever received," she earnestly told him, quickly covering up her embarrassment. "I admit, my gifts truthfully don't compare to this, but..."

She only sighed, deciding to simply get it over with. She didn't recognise the excitement on Aesop's face. She had gotten him something too? 

Swiftly she summoned two boxes from their hiding place across the room, offering him the first one with an ashamed smile. "I'm afraid it's no Swan Lake, but..."

"I don't want Swan Lake," Aesop quickly interjected, opening the green box. "I want – a blanket?"

"It's a scarf," she quickly corrected him, her cheeks flushed. 

"A scarf," he mumbled, pulling the soft maroon fabric from the box. It was the most delicate material Aesop had ever felt, luxurious too, even if the pattern was slightly off and the edges seemed slightly frayed. He wrapped it around his neck, catching a whiff of that same homely scent that made his heart grow fonder. 

"I made it myself," she nervously admitted, gauging his reaction though his face was fairly impassive. "I haven't made one in a while, but it's been a tradition in my family to always give two gifts; one that is handmade and one that is bought and usually a necessity." 

"Thank you," he breathed out, enjoying the comforting feel of the fabric around his neck. 

"It's no Swan Lake –" "–I don't want Swan Lake," he interrupted her again, his voice a little rougher than he wished to. "I want this scarf." 

And he did. It was perfect, especially because it had been made by her delicate hands, and he never wanted to take it off again. How could she think that he would hate this?!

"Right," she mumbled before handing him a second box. "I hope you like this just as much."

The second box was also green, though slightly larger than the box with the scarf and Aesop was intrigued, if admittedly a little guilty that she had gotten him two presents in place of only one. He opened the box to reveal –

"Charcoal?" he had already been confused at the scarf, but why on earth would she give him charcoal? He watched as she nervously wrung her hands before her, avoiding his gaze as she had done all those weeks, a bright flush on her cheeks. 

"I –," she audibly gulped, clearly afraid of his reaction. "I may have snuck into your room in fifth year and found your... art room."  

Whatever explanation he had expected, it certainly wouldn't have been this. He should have been furious, and if she had been a student, he likely would have taken so many house points from her that her house wouldn't have recovered for years to come. Instead, he laughed.

Of course, she had snuck into his room. Of course, she had found his art room. Of course, she remembered it.

What a devious little thing she was. 

The winter break passed in a calm manner, and Aesop was utterly content. 

While (Y/N) still seemed somewhat reclusive, she didn't avoid his presence - a win in Aesop's mind. They had tea together again, and she had even assisted him in brewing yet another potion, even if that one hadn't helped to any greater extent. His mood had improved drastically, so much that he even apologised to Miss Larson for his harsh tone in the new year and cut her detention time short (though not forfeit it altogether). The girl was confused but obviously didn't question it any further, quite happy that she only had to spend two nights in detention instead of five.  

If his colleagues noticed his new and improved mood, they at least had the decency not to comment on it, even if he caught Dinah and Eleazar throwing him and (Y/N) conspicuous glances every once in a while when they believed he wouldn't notice. He was in far too good of a mood to comment on it, not even irked by it in the slightest. 

The day before their planned 'excursion' outside the palace walls, a Saturday, Aesop walked into breakfast a little later than usual, his sleep unusually restful. His favourite colleague was already seated at the table, animatedly chatting with Matilda as they finished up their breakfast. 

"Mornin'," Aesop mumbled as he sat down next to (Y/N), grabbing the teapot and helping himself to a cup of Earl Grey. 

"I still don't know how you can drink Earl Grey without sugar or milk," the young woman beside him grimaced. She typically had her tea with both, the brew always a perfectly creamy colour that was far too much milk for Aesop's liking. 

"I can't understand how you can essentially drink sweetened milk," he jabbed back, grabbing a bread roll and putting some eggs and sausages on his plate. 

"It's not sweetened milk," she pouted.

"Well, it's certainly not tea." 

Matilda snorted as she watched the two of them interact, slowly starting to understand what Dinah and Eleazar had reported to be seeing. It was no secret among the staff that Aesop had a... soft spot for their newest colleague (if his much-improved mood had been anything to go by), nor had it been a secret that the two of them spent a great deal of time together outside of the necessary interactions. But as the two looked into each other's eyes, the very picture of devotion and adoration, she realised they were obtusely pining for each other. Merlin, if this really was the state of things, Matilda might join Eleazar and Dinah in their efforts. 

"Something funny, Matilda?" Aesop asked her with a raised brow. 

"Oh no," the Transfiguration teacher shook her head, sipping on her tea. "Nothing funny at all."

"Right," he grumbled, clearly unimpressed, before he continued his breakfast. 

"Well, then," (Y/N) smiled, pushing back her chair and standing up. It was then that Aesop noticed that she looked...different. Her usually simple dress had been traded in for a much nicer one. It was moss green, lined with fur to keep her warm from the icy temperatures outside and had some intricate gold stitching that almost shimmered in the sunlight. "I still have to collect my coat. I'll see you tonight, Matilda."

"Oh, do tell Garreth I said hello."

Aesop nearly spat out his drink. Garreth? As in Garreth Weasley? The ultimate headache of a boy, the same young man whose existence had tortured Aesop for seven bloody years? Why on earth would she –

"Will do, Matilda," she singsonged before skipping outside the Great Hall, and Aesop was left with a million questions in his head. Matilda watched as Aesop's jaw was unnaturally clenched, his eggs picked up with strange aggression that hadn't been there before. Surely Garreth's name couldn't have riled him up that much?

"They're having a small reunion in the Three Broomsticks," Matilda spoke into the tense silence. "I heard Mr Sallow, Mr Thakkar, Miss Reyes and some others would be attending too."

"And that is of interest to me how?" 

"You tell me," Matilda winked, chuckling as she watched the Potions Master hastily swallow the last of his breakfast before he excused himself to 'do some brewing', limping out of the Great Hall.

"I don't think I've ever seen Aesop being so obvious about his feelings," someone chuckled to the right of her. Matilda looked over to see a grinning Abraham looking at her. 

"It is strange to see; I won't lie," Matilda nodded. "Quite the unlikely pairing too."

"The girl was a Hero at fifteen and has ensured that entire poaching operations have ceased in the Highlands," Abraham reminded her with a chuckle. "Just because she is less grumpy than him, I wouldn't write them off. After all, opposites do attract, no?"

"I suppose you are correct," the Transfiguration teacher agreed. "The question is, how exactly do we make them see it? It seems everyone, but them knows."

"Which I told you months ago, you bloody lot," Dinah jumped in from next to Abraham. "Merlin knows Eleazar, and I have tried to talk sense into them. He is too thick-headed to make the first move; that much is certain." 

"I would not worry," a final voice joined them, the ever-elusive Mudiwa Onai looking at them with twinkling eyes. "I could see that their future together would be quite...fruitful."

(Y/N), unaware of her coworkers conspiring against her and blissfully unaware of the Potions Master she had left completely riled up, was rather looking forward to seeing her old classmates again. Even if she had spent significantly less time with them than she might have liked, largely because of her late arrival and fifth-year 'extracurriculars', many of them had become close friends of hers, and she kept in contact with most of them. Poppy, unfortunately, would not be able to make it, as she was somewhere in the Amazonas researching yet another creature, but she looked forward to seeing her during the summer. She hadn't seen most of them in quite some time, though letters between them were still largely regular.

The Three Broomsticks was as warm and inviting as ever, the establishment always having been a place of comfort and safety, especially after Sirona had fearlessly stood up against Victor Rookwod and Theophilus Harlow as they had tried to kidnap her for Ranrok and his plans. Natty was the first to spot her old friend, having them over enthusiastically. Quite a few of them had shown up; Garreth Weasley, Imelda Reyes and Nelly Oggspire, Nerida Roberts, Amit Thakkar, Ominis, hell, even Everett Clopton and Leander Prewett had made time to come with their wives, simply to get together again. The large group chatted animatedly, exchanging stories about their careers and lives. 

Unsurprisingly, Garreth had started an apprenticeship under a potioneer in London, whereas Imelda and Nelly were both on the Puddlemere United Team, happily courting and enjoying life, whereas Nerida had realised her dream of becoming a Liasion for the Mermaids ("I even learned how to swim!"). Amit had relocated to India for a while, researching the stars on behalf of the Ministry and Everett Clopton and Leander Prewett both had somewhat stable careers at the Ministry. Ominis, on the other hand, had become an apprentice at a French Wandmaker's shop, fully distancing himself from his family and all that the Gaunt name entailed. And Natty, ever the Gryffindor, was slowly but surely working her way up in the Auror Office (much to her mother's chagrin). The final one, who had yet to join the group, was fashionably late and none other than Sebastian Sallow himself.

The Curse Breaker in question walked in around lunchtime, and they were all more than surprised when he was accompanied by a woman their age, clearly pregnant, and beaming smiles on their faces.

"Sorry, everyone," the man sheepishly excused himself, arm wrapped around the woman's middle with his large hands. "I returned from Romania last night, and the Ministry wanted me to drop off some reports. Took a little longer than expected." "Yeah, yeah, blah blah," Garreth waved him off, "Now who is that?" 

Garreth asked the question everyone had been dying to know, and (Y/N) eyed the woman beside her close friend with curious but kind eyes. She was definitely around their age, quite petite and pale, her long ginger hair in an intricate braid, with a few pieces framing her oval, freckled face and strikingly blue eyes. She blushed as the attention diverted to her, though her smile was still beaming. 

"This is Megan," Sebastian introduced them with a bright smile. "My wife." 

"WIFE?!" 

The reaction was immediate, the group gaping at the apparently married couple in front of them, waiting to hear just about any explanation for... well. Megan, apparently, was a witch from Ireland who had eventually attended Illvermorny as her father was relocated from the British Ministry of Magic to the MACUSA, and the two had met on one of Sebastian's curse-breaking expeditions. Sebastian, the ever-rational man he was, married her rather quickly and privately before he whisked her back to England and settled down with her in the Cotswolds. To say that especially Ominis and (Y/N) were affronted that their friend hadn't even mentioned his wife, let alone the fact that he was going to be a father soon, in any of his letters was the understatement of the year, but Sebastian placated them with some Firewhiskey and a heartfelt apology, explaining that he wanted Megan to get settled before bombarding her with the 'bloody lot they were'.  

Megan was lovely, (Y/N) had to admit. A little shy, perhaps, but lovely nonetheless, and she had a great snark about her as she continued to open up to the group and the antics throughout the day. They laughed and ate, having far too much fun and far too little time before a majority of them were drunk off their asses and started to dance in their corner of the pub, absorbed in their own world and free of their adult responsibilities for just one day.

It was perhaps exactly why any of them failed to notice their old Potions Professor walking into the Three Broomsticks after the man had begrudgingly spent the afternoon brewing some odd potions before he realised that he was all out of Bicorn horn, thus needing to venture into Hogsmeade to order some from Pippin. Aesop hadn't planned his short foray into the village, so when he spontaneously decided to walk into the Three Broomsticks to drink a firewhiskey, he hadn't expected to see (Y/N) in the arms of Garreth fucking Weasley, happily dancing to some music and looking the very picture of beauty and grace. 

It shouldn't have bothered him. It shouldn't have bothered him at all, but when he saw her so beautiful in the arms of another, all he could see was red as his heart audibly shattered inside his chest, his lungs constricting as he watched her do something he could never give her. He quickly retreated from the Three Broomsticks, not even bothering to order a Firewhiskey. Instead, he chose to hole himself up in his room, getting drunk there instead as he moped around.

Why was he even bothered? She didn't owe him anything, certainly not a dance or physical affection. She was a friend, a good friend. Nothing more, nothing less. It shouldn't have hurt to see her in the arms of someone else, even if that person had been Garreth Weasley, of all people. He should have been happy for her - she did say she wanted a family, children, and someone her age could certainly give her that. He was just an old, grumpy, crippled failure of a man, his best years long gone. It shouldn't have bothered him, but the more he thought about it, the more it did. 

Fuck, he realised startingly as he downed his third glass of firewhiskey. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

It bothered him because he cared. 

Because – Aesop could hardly bring himself to think it – because he was stupidly, irrevocably, utterly and wholly in love with her. 

Aesop wasn't sure how many he had to drink by the time a knock sounded on his door. He cursed his own tolerance, not nearly drunk enough to forget what he had just barely been able to admit to himself. If anything, he might have been slightly buzzed. The only person that would ever come knocking on his door, he realised, was the one person he very much wanted to avoid right now. Before he could call out a 'No', the doors opened, and she walked right in, a tray filled with his favourite foods in her hand and that damningly beautiful smile on her smile. Why in Salazar's name was she so ethereal?

"I didn't see you at dinner and got worried. So I asked the house-elf's for some of your favourites, and they were kind enough to prepare them."

Aesop's dark eyes swept over the tray, spotting roast beef, his favourite vegetables, a cornish pie and even some sticky toffee pudding. It was perfect, and it only infuriated him more. Couldn't she have ignored him? Or at least treat him unkindly? That would have helped his feelings much more than being cared for by the one person who shouldn't. 

"Thanks," he hissed lowly, downing yet another firewhiskey. "Can you just leave it here?" 

Her smile vanished, regarding him, with a concerned look on her face. 

Why on earth did she have to wear her heart on her sleeve?! Why did she have to show him she cared about him?!

"Are you alright?"

"Yes." No – he definitely wasn't.

"You don't look like you're alright," she pushed on, carefully placing the tray on his table and walking towards him.

"I'm fine," he pressed out, glaring her way, but she didn't even flinch. "Can you please go?"

"Now I know you're not alright," she smiled, "You've never asked me to leave." 

"Well, now I do," he snapped, unwilling to deal with it any longer. 

"Have I done something to upset you?"

Yes. "No," he sighed dejectedly. It wasn't her fault, not really. 

"Right," she drew out, clearly not believing him but choosing to save him from further mortification. An uncomfortable silence hung over them, Aesop just wishing that she would finally leave. Eventually, she sighed, turning around to leave his room and leave him alone, but not until she turned around one last time and smiled again.

"I can't wait for Swan Lake tomorrow."

Fuck, he thought once more. Swan Lake would be utter torture. With that, she left.

Aesop hadn't dreaded anything for a while now, but when he stood in front of her hut the next day, late in the afternoon, dressed in his best suit, he dreaded every second that would follow. He just had to get through this, he reminded himself. Just this, and he could be the one to avoid her. He was the one who gifted her this in the first place, and so he would have to endure it. Unfortunately, though, he hadn't expected her to look as good as she did. When she opened the door, with her big smile and bright eyes, Aesop wished that Scarborough had killed him. This was pure torture. She looked delectable and absolutely ethereal. Her dress was a silky pink colour with an almost scandalously low neckline (Merlin, was she trying to kill him?!), appropriately trimmed with gold stitching, soft lace around the shoulders and arms and a white ermine cape around her shoulders. Her hair was up and out from her face, curled and pinned to perfection, making her eyes shine even more than usual. 

Well, this is going to be a problem, isn't it?

"You look bewitchingly beautiful," Aesop whispered, relishing in the blush that rose on her cheeks. At least he could tease her a little, too - he wasn't sure if he could survive this otherwise. 

"You don't look so shabby yourself," she cleared her throat, swiftly joining him outside. Like a true gentleman, he offered her his arm, walking the short distance to the outside of the ground before he apparated them into a secluded alleyway in London, only a short distance from the Opera House. He hadn't held her this close since the night at the Three Broomsticks, but the warmth she emitted and the scent she carried both comforted and strangled him. She was oh so close, yet not close enough. He could only fondly smile at her when she entered the place like an excited child faced with all the candy they could ever want. 

"Oh, I haven't been here forever. It's still as beautiful as I remember!" 

Aesop wouldn't lie; the place was thoroughly impressive. The high ceilings shone under the million candles and crystals, illuminating the site in a comforting way. The high arches and intricate design gave the place a neo-classical feel, and it was bustling with Muggles of various ages, though, as swiftly became clear to him, most of them were likely obscenely rich. Thankfully, they hardly paid him and the beautiful woman on his arm any mind, a rarity and a crime in Aesop's mind, for he couldn't stop staring at her. 

"Do you think that –"

"(Y/N)?!" a shocked voice sounded from behind them. He watched as the woman on his arm visibly paled, almost shaking in his hold as she turned around and faced the man that had spoken to her. Aesop turned around, too, wondering what could make the literal Hero of Hogwarts, a woman with world-ending ancient magic, so frightened. They came to face with an elderly man, possibly around Eleazar's age, and a slightly younger woman. The closer Aesop looked at her, the sooner he spotted it; she had her eyes, her nose, her lips, hell, even her hair, though the other woman's was visibly fading into white. Her parents, Aesop thought, surprised. What were the odds?

"(Y/N) is that truly you?" the man asked, stepping closer, and Aesop felt the need to take a small step forward, effectively shielding her from their gazes. 

"Evening, Father," she mumbled, and Aesop loathed how demure she sounded. Was she an innocent and sweet woman? Yes. Demure? No. She was a fighter who didn't back down against various beasts, poachers, and goblins. And this man was scaring her? Not on Aesop's watch. 

"You look well," she added after a while, though it sounded awfully strange and forced. Her mother at least had the decency to look ashamed, and Aesop could name a thousand reasons why as he glared at them. Her father, however, had flickered his gaze over to Aesop and was regarding him with newfound interest. He knew that her parents were wealthy, but the people in front of him were nothing short of gaudy, pompous and carried a sneer as arrogant as the one on Black's face. These people had raised her? His lovely woman that emitted so much warmth and comfort that it could kill several Dementors? 

"Thank you," her father said after a few seconds, though his eyes were firmly trained on Aesop – and his gigantic scar. "You have grown up beautifully." 

Aesop had never wanted to strangle someone as badly as this man. The sheer audacity. Was he right? Absolutely. Did he have the right? Absolutely not.

"And who is this, might I ask?" 

She tensed beside him, and Aesop wondered why for a second before he remembered one of their earliest conversations. If her parents hadn't approved of a co-educational school, they surely wouldn't have approved of her spending time with a man she was not married to.

"He's my –" "I'm her husband," Aesop interjected, eyebrow raised as he regarded the people before him with as much of a sneer as he could muster. Fight fire with fire, Aesop thought deviously. 

"Husband?" her mother suddenly spoke up, a look of surprise on her face. 

"Is there a problem?" Aesop asked, his tone menacing. It didn't impress her father one bit. 

"So you actually managed to find a decent husband?" he sneered, looking back at his daughter for a fleeting second before returning his attention to Aesop. "Consider me surprised that a man would marry a dishonoured woman. Though perhaps the market was too slim for a cripple."

"Father!" "Listen here, Mr. (Y/L/N)," Aesop growled as he stepped as close to the man as he possibly could, not wanting to cause a ruckus among all of these people. "I will not have you question my wife's honour. She is a Hero in our world, did you know that? Of course, you didn't because your arrogant, pompous ass was too vain to ever reach out to her. I cannot even begin to fathom how someone like you raised someone as wonderful as her. She nearly lost her life as she successfully stopped people so evil they would make your skin crawl from ruining our world. That said," his glare was intense enough to burn the man, "my wife's honour was perfectly intact. You wish to know why? Because our school ensures any untoward things do not happen. You could have known that before you left her for the gallows. Now, you will leave us be. And if I hear of any attempts to reach her, I will personally ensure you will burn in hell. This cripple," Aesop spat the word angrily, "knows how to make it look like an accident."

He pulled (Y/N) away without so much as a second thought, grabbing her arm and walking as fast as his damned leg would allow, hoping that her parents were seated far away from them. 

"Aesop?" his company meekly asked him as they had settled in their box. He was still heaving, his breaths coming out a little erratic as he fought the primal urge to turn around and kill a certain someone. When he finally turned to face her, he looked into her watery (Y/E/C) eyes, relieved to at least see a small smile on her lips. "Thank you," she whispered gratefully.

"Any time."

The ballet was beautiful, possibly the closest thing Aesop had ever seen to magic in the muggle world; the delicate nature of the dancers and the way they were seemingly carried by the music was enchanting. He could see why she loved it as much as he did. The greatest thing, though, was catching her smile. It was so bright and wide, and Aesop couldn't get enough. This was worth every galleon, and he would've emptied his and his family's vault to just get a single glimpse of it again. 

Her father's sperm donor's words continued to run in Aesop's mind as the two of them wordlessly made their way back, apparating and then walking the remaining distance to her hut. She, utterly content and smiling; him, revisiting what the poor excuse of a man had said to his own child nonetheless. He was correct about him; Aesop was but an old cripple, undeserving of someone like her. In some way, Aesop had accepted that he might never be whole, that his best years had long passed and that he was meant to be confined to Bachelorhood for the rest of his days. But when the woman of his dreams stood close to him, so near yet far beyond his reach, all he wished for was to be whole again. 

"Would you like to come in for some tea?" she offered as they reached her hut.

"Yes," Aesop answered without a second thought. This night was bound to end soon enough. He could be selfish for just a few more minutes, relishing in her company, before he would have to ban her from his life.

She beamed at him, the same smile that made his heart skip several beats and that had him wish he could up and kiss her. The smile that was his undoing. Her cabin was as cosy as he remembered, the same smell of fresh pastries and freshly pressed linen and something uniquely her permeating the air and enveloping him in what felt like a suffocating hug. He sat in one of her comfortable armchairs, watching as she waved her wand, her gramophone quietly filling the space with a tune Aesop didn't recognise, her kettle slowly bubbling away on her stove. 

"I want to apologise," she spoke into the silence after a while, still next to her stove as she waited for the water to boil. 

"Whatever for?" Aesop asked. 

"My...father," she sighed. 

"Well, forgive me for being forward, but it is hardly your fault that your 'father' is a raging piece of shit."

He watched as she let out a single laugh that sounded more like a scoff than anything else. "No, it is not, but that doesn't mean I don't feel sorry for what he's said to you in particular." 

"Don't be," Aesop grumbled as he averted his gaze, hoping to end the conversation right there. He didn't want her pity - that would be far worse than her rejection. "He wasn't entirely wrong."

"But he was!" Her ferocious tone surprised him, his eyes finding hers and seeing pure, unadulterated rage in them. 

"I am a cripple," Aesop slowly corrected her. "And I am well above your years."

"You are not a cripple, Aesop Sharp," she seethed at him, further surprising him. "And you are not old. Have you any idea what kind of man my father had me betrothed to? He was fifty when I was thirteen, and the betrothal was finalised."

Aesop clenched his hands into fists at her revelation, wishing to seek out her father to beat sense into him. 

"Simply because the man you were supposed to marry was even older than I was does not mean I am not old nor a cripple," Aesop pressed forth, wanting to run from this conversation, his resolve to leave her hanging by a precarious thread. 

"You are not a cripple," she repeated herself, her voice resolute. 

"I am," Aesop seethed, having risen from his position on the armchair as quickly as his leg would allow, unable to stop himself. "I am but a man whose prime had passed when I stepped into Scarborough harbour. A man who is undeserving of the wonderful woman you are and have become. Surely you must know that a woman like yourself could do far better than me." 

She gaped at him with wide eyes, a million thoughts running through her head. "A woman like me?" she asked, her voice reduced to a whisper.

"Yes, a woman like you," Aesop's resolve had finally broken, and he was incapable of telling her anything but the truth. When she inevitably hated him after this, when she inevitably rejected his sorry arse, perhaps he could move on. "A wonderful, beautiful woman like you. A woman who has given her all for this world and has expected not one thing in return. A woman who is so bloody kind and loving that even I couldn't help but be drawn in. A woman who hasn't escaped my mind, no matter how infuriating she is at times." 

"What –" she gulped audibly, her eyes still wide as she searched his. The air in the room was stagnant as neither of them refused to say anything, though Aesop could feel his heart beating out of his chest, praying to whatever god would listen to him that she would finally get it over with. "What are you saying, Aesop?" 

"Do I actually have to spell it out for you?!" he groaned exasperated, running a hand through his hair as he grew more frustrated than he thought possible. 

"Well, do not get angry with me." "I am not angry." "Well, clearly you are. Look at you." 

Aesop stalked up to her in quick strides, towering over her much smaller frame as he looked down into her eyes furiously, feebly attempting to ignore her comforting scent. "Right then," he growled. "No matter what I bloody do, you are on my mind like a damn pixie infestation. My thoughts of you simply never end. You carry my heart in your hands and do not even know it. I am yours; painfully, I am yours. But it is utterly ridiculous to think someone like you," Aesop stressed, "would ever burn for someone like me." 

Not even wishing to hear her rejection from this point forth, Aesop attempted to turn around to hastily exit her home, only to be stopped by her small hand reaching out for his. He turned back, expecting to see disgust, hate or even contempt in her eyes, but all he found were unshed tears and a look he could not read. 

"You...You care for me?" she cautiously spoke, a small (Aesop didn't believe it) hopeful smile on her face.

"I don't care for you," Aesop gulped, finally allowing himself to speak the words that likely had been on his mind since she stepped back into the bloody castle. "I burn for you."

A sob spilt from her lips, though they simultaneously widened into a smile. "Aesop Sharp," she tearfully grinned at him, "You utter fool." 

Yes, pour salt into the wound, Aesop thought dejectedly. He knew he was a fool for –

He didn't have time to finish his thoughts before the witch he had fallen in love with grabbed the lapel of his coat to pull him down, her soft, plush lips meeting his.

pt. 2 coming soon

[arelenforyadarlin]

I don't want to overstep, but I do have some concerns about endos. I feel like self diagnosing when you don't have truama that caused DID is a bit iffy. I am not saying that endos feelings are invalid. I'm saying that it might be more of an oversight. If I'm being quite honest as someone who has friends with DID and has been given their opinion on the matter, I think it would be more likely to be some other undiagnosed disorder. Or possible BPD in mimicking behaviors. I respect anyone who identifies as an endo and I'm not saying that you can't identify as such. But if you do think your a system of any kind its very important to see a psychologist. Because DID is serious and needs to be diagnosed as it's not something to self diagnose. It makes DID not valid, which is wrong because it is.

please, don't self diagnose. Because you can make a mistake and treat the wrong thing. please, go to a psychologist when you are able.