#hospital liquid waste

[ecoklien]

Using advanced hybrid electrochemical technology for hospital effluent treatment and biomedical liquid waste treatment system - ECOKlien

[reasonsforhope]

"When a severe water shortage hit the Indian city of Kozhikode in the state of Kerala, a group of engineers turned to science fiction to keep the taps running.

Like everyone else in the city, engineering student Swapnil Shrivastav received a ration of two buckets of water a day collected from India’s arsenal of small water towers.

It was a ‘watershed’ moment for Shrivastav, who according to the BBC had won a student competition four years earlier on the subject of tackling water scarcity, and armed with a hypothetical template from the original Star Wars films, Shrivastav and two partners set to work harvesting water from the humid air.

“One element of inspiration was from Star Wars where there’s an air-to-water device. I thought why don’t we give it a try? It was more of a curiosity project,” he told the BBC.

According to ‘Wookiepedia’ a ‘moisture vaporator’ is a device used on moisture farms to capture water from a dry planet’s atmosphere, like Tatooine, where protagonist Luke Skywalker grew up.

This fictional device functions according to Star Wars lore by coaxing moisture from the air by means of refrigerated condensers, which generate low-energy ionization fields. Captured water is then pumped or gravity-directed into a storage cistern that adjusts its pH levels. Vaporators are capable of collecting 1.5 liters of water per day.

Pictured: Moisture vaporators on the largely abandoned Star Wars film set of Mos Espa, in Tunisia

If science fiction authors could come up with the particulars of such a device, Shrivastav must have felt his had a good chance of succeeding. He and colleagues Govinda Balaji and Venkatesh Raja founded Uravu Labs, a Bangalore-based startup in 2019.

Their initial offering is a machine that converts air to water using a liquid desiccant. Absorbing moisture from the air, sunlight or renewable energy heats the desiccant to around 100°F which releases the captured moisture into a chamber where it’s condensed into drinking water.

The whole process takes 12 hours but can produce a staggering 2,000 liters, or about 500 gallons of drinking-quality water per day. [Note: that IS staggering! That's huge!!] Uravu has since had to adjust course due to the cost of manufacturing and running the machines—it’s just too high for civic use with current materials technology.

“We had to shift to commercial consumption applications as they were ready to pay us and it’s a sustainability driver for them,” Shrivastav explained. This pivot has so far been enough to keep the start-up afloat, and they produce water for 40 different hospitality clients.

Looking ahead, Shrivastav, Raja, and Balaji are planning to investigate whether the desiccant can be made more efficient; can it work at a lower temperature to reduce running costs, or is there another material altogether that might prove more cost-effective?

They’re also looking at running their device attached to data centers in a pilot project that would see them utilize the waste heat coming off the centers to heat the desiccant."

-via Good News Network, May 30, 2024

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Cough Syrup

written for @steddiemicrofic August

prompt: plug || wc: 437 || rating: M || cws: sick fic, reference to child neglect, references to sex

~~~

"Baby," Eddie sighs, "just plug your nose. I promise it'll go down easier." Steve keeps his mouth sealed and shakes his head as he leans further back into the pillows propping him up against the headboard. Eddie’s very carefully holding the spoon in front of Steve’s face, syrupy red liquid on the verge of overflowing onto their comforter.

“You say that every time,” Steve complains. He moves his head to the side as Eddie makes his move and misses. “But it smells, and it’s gross, and it felt thick and disgusting in my mouth yesterday, and I’ll be fine without it.” 

Steve watches as another thread of Eddie’s patience unravels. After three days wasting away of fever and bone-wrenching aches, he’s surprised Eddie hasn’t just dropped him off on the hospital curb in a cardboard box, sign affixed to the side reading ‘Oversized baby for adoption. May need extra care. Fully vaccinated’.

“Steven James Harrington.” Full government name– with his correct middle name– means he’s in deep trouble. “You’ve inhaled nasty, probably radioactive, floating Upside-Down ash. You’ve accidentally swallowed demobat blood. You’ve drank shitty beer out of a communal bong, had your tongue down every girl’s throat in Hawkins, and inside my asshole–”

“Oh my god Eds, don’t say it like that.”

“–yet for some reason, you refuse a tiny bit of cough syrup to help you sleep.”

Steve rolls his eyes and sighs. In his attempts at being dramatic, he breaks into another coughing fit that has him reaching for the water glass on the nightstand next to all of his used tissues.

“I’ve been sick before and I’ve never needed drugs.”

“Never needed it,” Eddie leads, grabbing his hand, “or have your parents never offered it before?”

The question hits like a punch to the gut. He’d never thought about it that way. How his parents told him he’d get better soon, that he just needed some soup and crackers. If he focuses on being sick, it’ll just make him worse. How if he ate healthier he wouldn’t get sick in the first place.

“Stevie,” Eddie says gently, running his fingertips across Steve’s sweaty, overheated forehead. The fondness floods over him like a tidal wave, washing away all thoughts of his parents’ lack of love and care, something that's always so obvious from Eddie.

“The medicine will help you sleep. And if you sleep better,” Eddie says, and Steve can already see the trap forming, “then I’ll sleep better.”

Eddie smirks as Steve swallows around the spoon, nose plugged. They know Steve would do anything to help Eddie, even if it means helping himself too.

[random-askbox-shit]

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[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗜𝗖 𝗗𝗜𝗘𝗗 - part two max verstappen x girlfriend! driver! reader (angst) “. . . you were close to wining your first world title, until you weren't.”

( fic master list | general master list ) ( previous | next )

You arrived at the track with your parents, each at either of your sides, talking you through the weekend like it was your first time as you made your way to the paddock. You were exhausted. You've been trying to improve yourself all winter break. You wouldn't even consider it a break from all the training you’ve been doing.

The only good thing out of this was that your parents were agreeing on something ( which was treating you like an idiot who was ruining their image ). Although divorced, they still came to watch your every race and coached you through everything. They might have not been the best parents, instead of providing you with what you needed as a kid and adult, you were tweaked and regularly maintained into becoming a machine.

And it was paying off, you had successfully delivered a grand slam. Fatigue finally caught up to you as you slowed down to complete the cool down lap. You could hear booing from the grandstands. The hate from last season was still there. Claiming you were wasting money for losing the championship, suing the FiA, and for car damages. And that all that could've been avoided if you just opened your eyes and dodged the derbies.

And you of course, let the hate get to you. You drove by on the track, watching as many people cupped their mouths shouting your name and throwing thumbs down, the middle fingers, and other vulgar insults. This was a reaction you were quite used to as a female driver. What you weren't used to was the black liquid splashing onto you.

In quick reaction time, you were able to flip your visor up to see the track. But you were not ready to react to the second splash, a larger dosage this time. The unidentified chemical burned your eyes. Your first instance was to pull over and get out. You stumbled with the seat belt before running eyes closed to where you remembered you last saw marshals.

And that was another mistake. Your assailant was able to get to you before the marshals did.  He tackled you down, shouting in your ear. His assault was short lived to your fortune. Max had stopped by your side and pulled him off you, delivering a good punch and pinning him to the ground.

Your eyes were washed out with water quickly after, helping you recover most of your vision. You spent your podium celebration in the hospital, getting your eyes treated.

Your parents fought in the background and you listened as the nurse applied droplets on your eyes. Your sight was weakened and sensitised. You were not going to be able to race next week, which hurt more than the whole incident.

later that night, Max successfully sneaked in to see you, scared to be caught by your parents or by paparazzi, or any other driver for that matter. No one needed to know how close you two had become. no one. you didn't need anyone up either your asses.

He was sitting on a chair beside your bed, bushing strands of hair off your face as you listened to the race on the TV, laying on your side quietly. "I'm so proud of you for being so strong, lieveling." [sweetheart] He whispered to you.

You opened your eyes for the first time, looking him straight in his gorgeous blue ones with an empty expression on your face. You sighed, leaning up and pressing your forehead against his. A gesture you two had developed throughout your relationship.

Max was quick to lean into your touch, cupping the back of your head gently to keep you close to him. You were so preciouses to him, it got him so scared he thought his soul would jump on his body. He was quick to react when he saw what happened, jumping out of the car and pulling the guy off you.

Seeing you so weak and hurting on the ground, Max wanted to do worse. It took all of his strength to hold himself back.

"Will she cross it first? And, yes she does! A great start of the season for Porsche with their star driver winning!" David Croft's voice came from the television. You pulled away from Max's touch to watch and see what happens next ( even though you knew ).

Max was quick to cover your eyes, gently pushing you back down on your side to rest. "I thought you said the doctor told you to avoid looking at screens and bright light." He reminded her, only receiving a scoff before you closed your eyes again.

"What's he doing here? There's a person right there- Oh! They- they dumped some sort of liquid on-" "OH SHIT." Max watched the footage, raging at the sight of the other man hurting you.

"That's Verstappen's car- Is he? Oh! Right in the face." “Bloody hell.” You sighed listening, reaching forward in search of the blonde's hand. You were grateful that he held yours instantly, intertwining your fingers together. "Max Verstappen ladies and gentlemen. The marshals will-" The television was turned off, giving you a moment with max.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Couldn't we go through a back door maybe?" To say you were scared was an understanding. Walking behind your parents in the paddock, you made sure you were all covered, too scared to face another rogue person. Sunglasses, cap, long sleeves, baggy pants.

"You're Porsche's golden girl." Your mother reminded you, rolling her eyes. "Stop being a pussy. And don't make me walk next to him." Your mother pulled you in between herself and your father, rotating your cap backwards to make you look less scared.

Your father only scoffed, starting a bicker with your mother as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you. You sighed, making eye contact with Max as you passed him.

Everyone was pretty sure you would end up strangling someone at this point, they could tell you were losing your cool. You weren't that same girl from last year and at some point you were going to snap, maybe sooner than expected.

Anger was bubbling inside you as you took off your helmet. After parking in the garage you marched over to Perez who had clipped your car, costing you a flying lap, Q1 and Q2. It was all in vain as well because he did not even improve his standing.

Thankfully, Max was quick to stop you, pulling you back from your bicep before things got dirty. "Why are you here?! Why don't you go celebrate with your team or something? Huh?" You pushed him away proceeding with your fight against Checo ( who looked absolutely shocked and apologised multiple times, but you were not having it ).

And when it was race time, you were a beast. From P19 to P2 you were attacking max, switching positions with him every few seconds. Cuss words slipped from your mouth each time he overtook you. You eventually parked in the P2 spot, heaving from the battle that lasted to the last second.

You screamed as you got out, not from joy or excitement. From anger. Slamming the steering wheel on the asphalt, you were not satisfied. It was not enough. You were hugged by your team and praised by your parents before taking your weight and sitting in the cool down room.

Taking your helmet off for the first time gave you room to breath as you sat in the chair, closing your eyes and leaning backwards. "That was a good race." You heard Max say from beside you, running a towel gently over your face.

There mustn't have been another person or cameras in the room. So, you were currently sitting beside your boyfriend, not your rival. "Tell me about it." You sighed, sinking into the chair tired. "You did very well, I'm proud." You could hear the smile in his voice, and you looked to see. He was indeed smiling at you, but you still felt . . . frustrated.

"But I lost." You scoffed sitting upright. You wanted to be angry at him, but you couldn't. You just couldn't.

And when it came time to celebrate, you put down the trophy as soon as you received it. Looking at it, the only thing you felt now was shame. When the Austrian anthem came to an end and champagne bottles were opened to be sprayed, you were downing the bottle instead.

part three →

[twilightkitkat]

I think we don't talk enough about Worst Logans past. I think his Weapon X ark was much darker due to the movie being rated R. In the comics he is sedated but only movement wise so he stills feels everything, while the needles drill into his bones and pump him full of hot liquid adamantium. He is given a mind control helmet and an on/off switch so he can be controlled, no thoughts only his feral instincts. The comic even goes so far as to suggest that the guards sexually abused Logan while he was unconscious. He is burned with nuclear waste, left out in the freezing cold to see how his body copes.

I just wanna see that being adapted in the movies. Make the whole Weapon X arc as dark and horrific as it is meant to be. They merged Stryker with Professor Thorton, so make Stryker break him down physically and mentally!

This is such a good idea. I love angst in general and the Weapon X trauma has amazing potential.

Even in his PG-13 movies, Logan's flashbacks to his time in the Weapon X program were incredibly intense. We see him shaking and cold and wet and looking down at his hands like he doesn't recognize them (which he doesn't). We see him covered in blood and confused and terrified.

I think we can all agree that X-men Origins didn't do Logan's trauma justice. It breezed over the procedure as exposition instead of focusing on it as a major traumatic climax in Logan's life. It's so traumatic that he dissociates from it, and only remembers brief but vivid flashes of the lab where he was created because his brain repressed the memories.

I think what's important to note is that the body remembers even when the brain forgets. Even after Logan had his memories wiped, his first reaction was aggression and confusion, like a cornered animal. Even if people are in pain, they don't normally try to run out of the hospital and kill the nurses. His reaction was more than just a pain response to the procedure, it was embedded in his instincts that these people were dangerous.

He definitely wasn't treated with care by the people around him. They might've raped him or experimented with him in painful ways, but the end result is the same.

And can you imagine living through the excruciating pain of a procedure like that? Of thrashing and screaming while people watch you with careful difference? Of them erasing your memories and trying to turn you into a weapon, and you wake up to a feeling of blinding rage and panic without knowing why.

It would be so much darker and crueler than the movie made it out to be. It would affect his life for years and irreversibly damage him. Even when he's away from it all, living with Wade, he'd still be affected. For the rest of his life.

[21slurp-blog]

cuts and kisses

ellie Williams x female reader

description - you get hurt on patrol and ellie is not happy.

Tw’s - swearing, brief mention of blood from a shoulder wound, ellies a teensy bit mean, fingering (r!receiving), eating out (r!receiving), smut, fluff, pet names (angel, baby), I think that’s it let me know if I missed any.

a\n - this is my first fic so it’s trash pls don’t hate me 🧎🏼‍♀️

“what the fuck was that?” ellie says harshly as she charges through the doors to your hospital room. You had been on patrol with Dina, an easy route nothing overly complicated. However there had been a group of bandits hiding in the dense forrest. They caught you by surprise to say the least. Dina managed to fight most of them off leaving you with two men. You shot down the first one and aimed your pistol at the second and pulled the trigger. Empty. You scrambled to try and find something, anything to defend yourself but it was too late. The man plunged a blade into your shoulder. The dark red sticky liquid oozed from your arm and trickled down your body. Dinas eyes widened as she ran over to you and that’s the last you remembered.

your eyes fall to the ground and your lips stay closed as ellie stares at you with furrowed brows and a frown. “Hm? You wanna tell me why the fuck you almost died out there?” she says growing angrier. Tears nip at your eyes as Ellie’s harsh words cut deep. “please stop yelling” you say weakly, a small tremble in your voice. “I’m not yelling. I fucking- you don’t know how lucky you are Dina brought you back in time you know that?” ellie says looking right at you with those disappointed green eyes of hers. “M’sorry” you say softly as the tears finally break and cascade down your pink cheeks. Ellie’s gaze softens and she moves closer to you. “Fuck- no I’m sorry. I just- I can’t lose you, I can’t.” She admits, wrapping her arms around you gently. You sob quietly into her arms, melting into her touch.

“I know. I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry” she coos at you, holding you so gently as though you’ll break. The rest of that night is spent with ellie holding you and her telling the cheesiest dad jokes in attempt to make you smile. It worked of course, it always does.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶ ༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶ ༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The next day or two fly by with ellie taking care of you. The doctors give you the all clear and ellie insists on carrying you home even though you insisted you could walk. She plants you down on your shared bed and helps you undress. You catch her plump lips in a kiss that goes on a second longer than it should. The kiss grows needier and ellie pulls away drawing a groan and a pout from you. “why’d you stop Els” you whine, your eyes scanning Ellie’s body hungrily. “your still recovering angel. don’t wanna hurt you” she says her eyes flickering between yours lips and tits. “you won’t hurt me Els. please.” Ellie looks over your topless frame once more before mumbling something that sounds like fuck it before taking your lips in hungrily. She gently lays you down and kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking, proudly leaving cherry red marks that will be violet purple by the morning.

She slowly pulls down the loose pyjamas you were wearing, exposing your white cotton panties decorated with a wet patch of your arousal. “fuck” she mumbles as she leans down, eye level with your cunt and slips her long digits into the waistband of your panties and slides them off. She proudly shoves them in the back pocket of her denim jeans. “anything hurts or you change your mind you tell me to stop, yeah?” she says softly looking into your eyes with the most caring expression you’ve ever seen. You hide feverishly and she wastes no time diving her tongue into your cunt like a starved women. The pink muscle drawing circles over your clit while her finger plunged inside you, curling upwards. Your mouth hangs open as soft gentle moans escape your lips. Your brain is empty, the only words leaving your mouth are ellie, ellie, ellie.

She basks in your pleasure, smiling as her tongue greedily laps at your clit. Your knuckles turn white as you grip the sheets, dangerously close to your release. “M’gonna cum-“ you mewl, doe eyes fluttering as you approach your climax. “Cum for me angel”. Ellie’s words are all you needed, as your orgasm washes over you, cumming all over Ellie’s fingers and mouth. “Atta girl” she coos as he lips detach from your cunt and her fingers pull out, leaving you empty. She pops her fingers in her mouth, savering your taste before kissing you gently. “did so well for me baby” she kisses your forehead before leaving quickly to grab a wet cloth. You hiss at the friction as she cleans you up, pulling fresh panties on for you and pulling you close to her chest. She misses you softly once more before you both fall asleep in each others arms.

“I love you” she mumbles half asleep.

“I love you too” you reply, nuzzling impossibly closer to her.

[gurugirl]

stepdad harry request-

He already took her first virginity- but stepdadHarry seems be a caveman when it comes to her. So there is still a hole waiting for him to have all of her firsts to himself

Sorry if it’s too much- my Phantasie is running wild ☺️☺️

Thank you anon! Sorry for the late response here but hope this is what you're looking for!!

1.5k words

Warning: Anal sex, inappropriate relationship between a stepdad and a stepdaughter - if you're not into it don't read it

Stepdad!harry masterlist

✢✢✢

Harry had been planting the seed in your mind - he wanted to fuck your ass. The more he mentioned it, the more you liked the idea. You’d never tried anal. Well, pretty much all your experience was from Harry, so it only made sense that he would be the one to show you how good anal could be.

So, last time he fucked you he fingered your ass, was able to get three fingers in and told you to practice with your own fingers if you wanted to be able to take him. It turned out that you enjoyed his fingers in your bum. A lot. You came so hard you lost your hearing for a bit.

He was fucking you from behind and made you rub your clit as he pounded into you. That’s when he added some fingers and you came within a minute, shaking and drooling and crying…

“If you like my fingers that much, just imagine what my cock is gonna feel like…” he said to you.

So now, you’d been practicing just like Harry said to. In the shower you’d slip in a couple fingers and rub at your clit and it was like you were almost guaranteed an orgasm if there was a finger in your bum hole. You never knew!! How had you been masturbating all these years and had never tried anything with your other hole until Harry suggested it? Well, now your masturbating routine included anal fingering.

✢✢✢

It was just you and Harry at the house. Your mom got called off to the hospital and Harry wasted no time in dragging you across the couch to get into his lap. And from there, kissing turned to taking your clothes off, and then touching, rubbing, sucking, licking… Harry’s cock was down your throat as you were knelt between his thighs as he sat on the couch with his legs spread.

You were already drippy and needing more. He’d eaten you out before you started sucking him off, but you wanted to try anal. You thought you were ready. So you said so.

“Will you fuck my bottom today? I wanna try it,” you said as you pulled your mouth off his tip.

Harry blinked and nodded and silently pulled you to standing and brought you to the master bedroom.

Pointing at the bed he spoke, “On all fours. Ass up.”

You climbed onto the bed, knees and palms down on the mattress as you watched Harry open a drawer and pull out a plastic bottle.

Harry’s cock was still hard and thick, swinging as he walked across the room and up to the bed behind you. You heard him snap the bottle open as he spoke, “Need to get you nice and wet so it doesn’t hurt as bad. Your little fingers aren’t quite the size of my dick.”

He squirted the liquid over your hole and rubbed it over you, pushing some inside of you. It felt nice. He fingered your hole a little and then put some more over you and then smoothed plenty of over his sizable shaft and tip. He pumped himself a few times.

Before pushing his cock into your bum he plunged into your swollen cunt, fucking into you a bit and it had you moaning and swirling. When he started to rub your clit you felt that familiar tingle of your orgasm. He issued a few more thrusts into your pussy and just before you could come he pulled out and stuck a couple of fingers into your ass.

“Can tell you’ve been practicing baby. Good job. I’m gonna fill your littlest hole now. Okay?”

He took his fingers out and swiped his cock over your puckered hole and kept his other hand at your clit. You nodded and turned to look at him and his sight was focused on your ass.

Once he started to plunge in you closed your eyes and tried relaxing your muscles like Harry told you. It took a bit of working himself in and out but eventually you relaxed into it with his encouraging words and the way his long fingers felt on your pussy. It did hurt. The stretch. You couldn't lie but once he pushed past the muscle it felt good.

“There we are. How’s it feel?”

You nodded and spoke out your words in a breathy moan, “It’s so good Daddy. Oh god…” you wiggled your ass a little to get him to move and so he finally did.

Slowly he dragged himself back before pressing in. The lube made everything so smooth. His cock inside your bum felt incredible. Better than fingers. More full. You could really feel the stretch around as his dick. When he pushed in you whined and pushed yourself back to meet him. It felt good.

Harry moved in and out slowly but he was moaning and choking out gasps. It was so pretty to see his cock inside of your last little hole. The final hole to defile. Just under your stuffed bum was your shiny pussy and he could see the tips of your fingers as you glided them on your clit. You were making deep grunts and noises that Harry hadn't really heard from you before. The sensation was totally new to you but you were clearly loving it with the way your juices were dripping down your inner thighs.

Since it was your first go at anal, Harry was steady in his movements. He wasn't going to pound into you like he really wanted. He'd fuck you in your ass slowly first before moving you on to some of the harder things he knew you'd love. Today he'd be gentle.

"Look a'that... my baby's little hole stretched out and taking me in like it was made for it," Harry groaned. It was so pretty, so lewd.

Harry kept his hands at your hips and held tight as he watched himself disappear into your hole slowly and then as he pulled back his cock was shiny with lube and twitching because he wanted to come so bad.

Your eyes were rolled into the back of your head and you felt drool dripping down your chin but you couldn't stop it. Your mouth was dropped open wide and you could only grunt and inhale sharp breaths at each plunge of his cock inside of you.

The feeling was a lot like being fucked in your pussy but it was different at the same time. It felt fuller than even when he would stuff your cunt. He was hitting something that made you dizzy and tingle from your low back to your toenails. Your clit was being stroked by your hands too and it all felt so perfect. You'd ask for this again and again, you knew it.

When you couldn't stop the orgasm from taking over your body Harry leaned over your back and grasped onto your neck to angle your head up so he could put his lips at your temple. He felt you trembling and your groan was low and continued to increase in volume. He knew you were feeling it and he wanted to thrust his cock into you slowly as you spasmed around him, clenching his cock and shivering from your bliss.

"That's it baby... fucking squeezing the fuck out of me like this. Fuck!" Harry began to quiver as his own orgasm started to pull upward from his balls and into his cock, shooting out into your bum. He coughed out a loud moan and rutted into you deep as he still his hips and spurted into you with his release.

Your orgasm continued, though. Your moaning did not stop and Harry could still feel your fingers at your clit with the way the tips of your pads were brushing over his balls. He panted as he let you pulse around him and tremble. He kissed your cheek and your hairline as he rolled into you slowly, finally your body allowing you to come down once the shock of your orgasm wore off.

When you started to regain control of your limbs Harry let go of your neck and sat back to look down at your stuffed hole as he gently and slowly pulled out. You winced and groaned at the feel and the burn of his cock being dragged out.

He squeezed your bottom and kissed each cheek before pushing them apart and watched his come drip down from your bum and cover your pussy. It was Harry's favorite view of you yet.

"Thank you, Daddy. You were so nice to me fucking me so soft," you turned your head to look back at him.

Harry grinned at you and chuckled, "You liked that didn't you? You are my sweet, dirty, little girl, baby. Next time I won't be so soft."

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[lulublack90]

Prompt 17 - Hospital AU

@wolfstarmicrofic April 17, word count 995

CW- Cuts, Animal attack, Bite marks

Sirius stretched across the gurney, carefully holding his cup of coffee so he didn’t pour the scalding liquid down himself. 

“Hey, James. How long have we been on shift?” He asked his equally prostrate best friend. James groaned as he lifted his arm to check his watch. 

“8 hours.” He yawned. They were on the night shift, and the cases were either dull easy to diagnose stuff that could have waited for a GP in the morning or total calamities. 

He raised his head to take a sip of his drink when his pager went off. 

“Damn it,” He cursed as he dodged the liquid that came flying out of the cup. “That was close. I almost marred my beautiful face.” 

“Come on, urgent call to A&E,” James told him, grabbing him and jogging down the hall. 

The room was utter Bedlam. People were shouting at each other. A nurse was carrying a handful of bloody cloth to the hazardous waste bin. More nurses were fitting IVs and monitors to the patient lying still in the bed. Nurse Evans moved out of the way, and Sirius got his first glance at what they were working with. 

In the bed lay a twenty-something young man. Who could have been quite good-looking but now had long gashes across his face, one of which sliced his face in half from the corner of his eye, across his nose and finishing just above his lip. Sirius sucked in a breath as he took it in. 

“That’s not the worst of it.” Nurse Evans warned. Sirius glanced down as his eyes darted across the rest of his body. There were more slashing cuts, and the soft flesh of his waist and abdomen had huge puckered holes dotted about in stretched-out crescent arches. 

“Are those bite marks?!” James exclaimed, moving closer to the man. Nurse Evans nodded. 

“His back is all cut up, same as his front. Whatever attacked him got him good.” She sighed. “Poor man, he’s going to be in a lot of pain and shock when he wakes up.” She handed over his notes to James and busied herself cleaning the wounds. 

Sirius couldn’t take his eyes off the man.

“Do these look like dog bites?” He questioned as his fingers ghosted above the damaged skin.

“They look too big but definitely canine. Wolf, maybe?” James screwed up his face as he tried to figure it out. 

“There aren’t any wolves in Britain.” Sirius objected. “Where was he found?” 

“Er, notes say in the car park next to the—oh, for crying out loud. Next to the woodland park.” James scanned the text.

“Still no wild wolves in Britain,” Sirius muttered, only half paying attention to James. 

He grabbed some of the disinfection materials and helped Nurse Evans clean out the wounds. James began spouting off multiple tests he wanted to carry out and leaned over Sirius. Speaking quietly so only Sirius could hear him, he murmured.

“Be careful, yeah. I’ve seen that look before. Don’t get too invested.” Sirius shook his head. 

“I’m a doctor, James, I care. That’s all it is.” He lied. 

“Make sure it is,” James replied, knowing full well Sirius wasn’t telling the truth. 

Nurse Pettigrew appeared with his camera and began documenting the wounds in case it was a police matter. 

“Should I send these to a bite specialist?” He asked Sirius and James. James nodded. 

“Yes, that way, we will know what we’re dealing with. Send a couple of the slashes as well. I swear they look like claw marks.” Nurse Pettigrew disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared after taking countless photos and only disturbing the cleaning once to get shots of the man’s back. 

It took hours to get the man’s wounds cleaned and sutured. He’d had multiple scans, including a brain scan. To make sure he didn’t have a brain bleed. But he didn’t wake up. They weren’t worried yet. His body had sustained a lot of damage, and nothing in his scans showed any reason for him not to be conscious. 

Sirius’s shift had ended hours ago, but he stayed sitting at the man’s side. James had tried to convince him to leave. 

“Sirius, he’s a patient. You need to leave. Please don’t get overly attached to him. You don’t even know anything about him.”

“He’s all alone, James,” Sirius sighed. He already knew he was treading the line between a caring practitioner and becoming too personal with a patient. “No one has called looking for him. The police say no one matching his description has been reported missing. It’s been hours. How can no one be missing him?” James sighed at Sirius as he roughly ran his hand through his hair.

“I know, I know. Just be careful, Sirius.” He clapped his friend on the back and left him to it.

Sirius slept in the uncomfortable visitor’s chair. He kept waking up to check on his patient, but he was always asleep. Morning came, and one of the Nurses brought him breakfast and took the patient’s vitals. It wasn’t until the afternoon, a full 24 hours after he’d been brought in. The man’s eyelids fluttered. Sirius watched with bated breath as slowly, slowly, the man regained consciousness.

“It’s okay,” Sirius said in his most calming voice. “We think you’ve been attacked. You’ve got a lot of cuts, so I need you to keep still so you don’t rip any stitches. But you’re safe, and so far, no complications.” He realised he’d taken the man’s hand and promptly dropped it. “Sorry,” He mumbled under his breath. He watched the man wiggle his now free fingers. Sirius’s training finally kicked in. 

“I’m Doctor Black, Sirius. Do you know what your name is?” He asked as he pressed the call button. The man thought for a second. 

“Remus Lupin.” He said faintly. 

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Remus Lupin.” Sirius smiled at him as Nurse Evans wandered in.   

[carpenterswife]

ALL MY GHOSTS (vii)

series masterlist

- summary: Finally, after a long week of searching, Beau locates the house you’re being kept in. He leads the operation to rescue you, and finds you chained up and beaten. He spends five days in the hospital, by your side, as you recover.

- word count: 2637

- warnings: Domestic abuse, inhumane treatment, hospital setting.

━━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━━

From the outside, it looked like a normal suburban house. If Beau wasn’t aware of who owned the property, he’d think it was a normal house. But he knew better. He knew there was probably some sort of hellscape inside.

You were in there. He could feel it. And he was going to get you back.

Approaching the front door with Jenny, Cassie and Pop in tow, he tried the handle. Locked, of course. He motioned for the other deputies to go around the back, watching the five men disappear around the corner.

Stepping back, Beau braced himself.

This was it.

He slammed his foot into the door, by the handle, a rush of satisfaction hitting him when the door cracked and swung open. Immediately, he stepped inside, pistol raised and pointed. He took the living room, motioning for the other three to take separate rooms.

“Clear!” Jenny called from the dining room.

“Clear here!” Pop reported from the first floor bathroom.

There was a beat of silence. “Guys.” Cassie called out. “Come check this out.”

Beau didn’t waste any time. He rushed out of the living room and into the kitchen, around the kitchen island to where Cassie was crouched down. Jenny and Pop rushed in behind him.

Her expression was grim as she looked over her shoulder. “Blood.”

Heart sinking, Beau crouched beside him, gently touching the small pools of liquid. It stained his fingertips bright red. Definitely blood. He stood, scanning the kitchen, eyes landing on food preparations on the counter. “Someone was cooking.”

“Y’think it was her?” Jenny stepped up beside Beau, eyeing the knives and pans still laid out on the counter. They were in a clutter, someone had been dragged away while they were in the midst of cooking.

Sharp, he nodded. “She’s here.” He stepped back. Without another word, he exited the kitchen. They followed, as he took the stairs, two at a time, his knuckles around around his handgun.

There were three doors upstairs.

Two looked normal.

One had five locks.

His gut churned. He headed for that one, trying the handle, cursing when it clicked. He stepped back and sent his foot into it, grunting at the resistance. “Jenny.”

Nodding, Jenny came up beside him. On a countdown, they slammed their feet into the door at the same time. Once. Twice. Three times. The door flew open. Raising his gun high, Beau lead the way into the dark room.

A bed. A closet.

And you. Chained to the wall like an animal. Covered in bruises and blood, cowering against the wall.

“Y/N.” He breathed in relief. Holstering his pistol, he took a few large steps over to you, kneeling down on the floor in front of you. “Y/N, honey, look at me.” He put his hand gently on your knee, tapping you softly. You tensed, but didn’t flinch. “It’s me. It’s Beau.”

Your head lifted at the name, a spark of hesitation in your eyes. You stared at him, clearly recognising him, but too afraid to move.

He flashed a smile, squeezing your knee. “See? I’ve got you. It’s me. I’ve got you now, darlin’.” He didn’t know if what he was feeling was relief or rage. He was over the fucking moon you were in front of him, alive. But the bruises on your skin made his teeth grind together, made him want to punch a hole through the wall.

He was going to kill Jack.

Going to beat him to a pulp and take great pleasure in watching his face bleed.

“Beau.” Your arms came around him, desperate. Beau caught you, tugging you to his chest, cradling your head against his firm shoulder. You held onto him like he was your lifeline. Like he was buoy in an ocean; the only thing keeping you afloat and breathing and alive. You began to cry, overwhelmed with the emotions slamming into you, hiding your face in his shoulder.

His heart squeezed tightly. He cradled you to his body, holding on tightly, like you’d disappear if he let go even for a second. “I got you.” He whispered. “I got you, baby. You’re safe. You’re okay. It’s over. I got you.” He soothed his hand over your hair and down your back, until his hand cupped your hip and dragged you even closer to him. “He ain’t ever gon’ touch you again. I got you. Imma protect you.”

You could only sob, fisting the back of his denim jacket.

“You’re safe, baby.” He pressed his lips to your forehead, kissing your skin tenderly. “I ain’t ever letting’ you get hurt again. I got you.”

Eventually, your sobs quietened, the shoulder of his jacket damp and salty, and you pulled back, but your hands remained clutched onto his sleeve. “My— my ankle.” You whimpered. “It’s chained.”

He let you go, unable to go far with you clinging to his sleeve like a young child, reaching for the chain around your ankle and getting it an experimental tug. His rage was increasing with every second he spent looking at you like this. “Okay, honey, we’ll getcha’ outta here.” He assured you softly, smiling, squeezing your calf gently. “Jenny, help me out here.”

Your eyes lifted to Jenny, reaching for her hand as she passed you. She took your hand and squeezed, using her other to search her pockets for anything to release the chains.

After a few endless minutes, Beau released you from the chain, freeing you. His hands were latched onto your leg gently, as he worked you out of the loosened chain. The moment your foot slipped free, you threw yourself at him.

He grunted in surprise, getting knocked off his balance. One hand landed on the ground to steady himself, the other circled your waist, holding you to him. He chuckled quietly, warmth and love blossoming in his chest like a flower in spring. “I got you.” He whispered. You were practically on top of him, clinging onto him desperately. “Let’s get y’outta here. C’mon, hon, let’s get you home.”

Beau just about managed to dislodge you from him, but you gripped onto his arm tightly. He exchanged a look with Jenny and Cassie, who had, too, noticed the fact you refused to let go of him.

“Call the paramedics.” He told Jenny, who nodded and retrieved her phone from her pocket. Beau guided you out of the room, down the stairs. “Where is he?” He asked you softly, his words gentle. “Is he here?”

Your head shook. “He left an hour ago.” He nodded at your whispered words. His hand slipped from the small of your back to your hip, keeping you safe and secure against his side. “Did you— was it— was it you that arrested him?”

Solemn, he nodded. “Yeah, honey, it was us.” He spoke gently, as to not upset you, leading you outside of the house. You took your first breath of proper fresh air in a week. “We couldn’t hold him. I’m so sorry.”

“No.” You whispered. “Don’t. Thank you.”

Beau just held you until the paramedics arrived.

━━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━━

“She hasn’t said a word since you brought her in, Sheriff.” Your doctor was a kind man; trying his best to snap you back into the real world. But, apparently, the moment you hit the hospital bed, you dissociated. 12 hours later, you were still out of it. “You can try. But, I’m sorry, it’s likely she won’t speak to you.”

Beau just nodded, and heeding his warnings, stepped into your hospital room.

The bruises were horrible and ugly. Dark purples and blacks, green and yellows. Beau barely contained his rage at the sight of you, so beaten and broken. Bandages wrapped around the worst of the wounds.

And your eyes.

Beau had never seen you so… far away.

He’d helped you through plenty of panic attacks. Held you as you gasped for air, telling him through ragged breaths that your lungs were certainly collapsing.

But, right now, you were just vacant. If he didn’t know better, he’d say your eyes looked dead.

Still, he moved forwards, sitting on the uncomfortable chair beside your equally as uncomfortable bed. “Hey.” He whispered, keeping his voice soothing. He reached out, gentle, taking your hand within both of his. “Doc said you’re not speakin’.”

Your head turned to him. Okay. That was good. You were reactive. You were aware. Though your expression was close to emotionless, at least you could hear him, at least you were reacting to your environment.

He smiled, squeezing your hand, carefully minding the IV drips in the back of your hands. “You doin’ a’right?” No response. He wet his lips, and took it in his stride. “We’re lookin’ for Jack. We’ll find ‘im in no time.” He assured you, stroking his thumb across your bruised knuckles.

All he got was a slight squeeze of your fingers on his hand.

But it gave him hope.

“You’re safe now, hon.” He whispered, lifting his hand to his lips. He flashed you a lopsided smile, gently kissing the back of your palm. “I promise you. You’re safe”

You rolled onto your side to face him, fingers wrapping around his palm. You held on so tight, your nails dug onto his calloused skin. Beau didn’t mind; he just stroked your skin with his thumb gently. Your eyes closed for the first time in 3 days.

He smiled brightly.

It made him feel good. To know just sitting at your side was enough to make you feel so safe. He’d sleep here every damn night if it meant you could rest.

“Thank you.” You whispered, knees sliding up and pressing to your chest.

Beau deflated with relief and joy. “You’re welcome, baby.” He murmured, soft. “Jus’ get some rest, hm? I’ll be right here, all night. Promise.”

He stuck to his word, falling asleep with his head on the edge of your bed, folded over on his chair. He woke up the next morning, his entire back aching — but, it was worth it.

━━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━━

“The rest of his properties came out empty.” Jenny reported to him, when he returned to the station that afternoon. He sat behind his desk, one hand up his shirt, massaging his lower neck, arm bent awkwardly. Jenny gave him a strange look, but continued. “Wherever he is, he’s well hidden. We’ve got officers posted at each of his properties, in case he backtracks.”

Beau nodded, and then grunted in pain, shifting uncomfortably, trying to find a position that didn’t cause an uncomfortable ache in his back. Despite the pain, he didn’t regret staying at the hospital with you one bit.

He’d woken up to you hugging his arm to your chest, staring at him with a smile. He’d stayed and spoke softly to you, even if you didn’t reply, until he was removed so they could run some tests on you.

Jenny’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Seriously, what is wrong with you?” She dropped her files onto his desk, a mixture of concerned and amused. “You in pain?”

He groaned, finally showing his discomfort, nodding. “Fell asleep in the hospital las’ night.” He took a sip of his coffee at just the memory of his horrible night of sleep. “Slept funny. My backs gone stiff.”

Her expression diminished a bit at the mention of the hospital. Jenny nodded, solemn. “Visited her?”

Beau hesitated, eyes flicking up to Jenny. “Yeah.” He grunted in confirmation, shifting on his chair. “She’s doin’ better. Recoverin’ fast.”

The blonde nodded, expression softer than it had been mere seconds ago. “That’s good.” Beau hummed quietly in agreement. Jenny remained staring at him. “She say anything to you?”

“Not really.” He muttered. His eyes turned away from Jenny, hiding his emotion, fiddling with the corner of one of his files. “Just a thank you.”

Jenny sighed. Her hand landed on Beau’s arm, comfortingly squeezing the muscles “She’ll get there.” She tried her best to assure Beau; she always did. “She’ll get better, you know she will.”

“Yeah.” Beau murmured, his smile strained. He didn’t quite find it in him to believe her. “Let’s just catch the fucker.”

━━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━━

taglist: @yvonneeeee @deans-spinster-witch @fanfic-n-tabulous @dwonfilm @foxyjwls007 @just-levyy @i-love-ptv @hobby27

[ecoklien]

In the world of healthcare, the consequences of mishandling biomedical and hospital effluent are vast. All natural resources infiltrated, disrupted ecosystems, a breeding ground for diseases and a surge in microbial resistance. Though vast, these challenges can be easily tackled by ECOklien.

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Wounds Of The Past

A week following his and his young lover's little getaway in pursuit of tenderness, Aesop Sharp finds the pain in his leg, the one that he'd been used to for more than ten years now, lessening...

I would be lost without my dear partner in crime co-author and consultant @tea-withjamandbread, as well as Maarty and her unwavering support ❤

Wounds Of The Past (14.3k)

tw: teacher-student relationship, age gap (reader is an adult), sexual themes (mentioned and alluded to), tooth-rotting fluff

It began in a flurry of shards and bright green liquid staining the floor of his classroom.

Aesop Sharp stared at the mess he made morosely - what a waste of a perfectly good phial of Wiggenweld potion. With a small huff, he waved his wand in the air lazily, and both the broken bottle and its previous contents vanished into thin air. 

It was a day like any other for the teacher. Well, a day like any other lately, that is. A mere year ago, his life was drastically different. Alright, maybe not so drastically - just like the previous years, Aesop taught potions at Hogwarts, he regularly got exasperated by the lack of quick wit and good judgement from his many students as well as his employer, he praised rather sporadically, but always truthfully and fairly, he spent time with his friends and colleagues, stayed up long into the night grading essays and pop quizzes, and brewed medical remedies for the Hospital wing. Which is what he was doing right now as well, actually.

And yet, there was one big change, and in Aesop’s eyes (but what’s more, in his heart), the change was so large and significant, the teacher felt like his entire life on this Earth was suddenly all new and exciting, and as spectacular as it was when he was a fresh adult with an idiotic amount of courage and all the doors wide open and inviting. 

His heart burned with love.

That’s what it felt like at least. 

A year ago, he was just beginning to feel the effects of one very special young Ravenclaw’s presence around him, and after many many months, during which Aesop’s heart bled because he knew that she’d never return the feelings he held for her, it turned out he was very wrong. Christmas Eve of 1892 was the first evening they spent not only in one another’s company, but also each other’s arms, lips hungrily chasing their counterparts for yet another, and another, and another scorching kiss. 

The following few months only further proved that this little clandestine romance of theirs was no silly infatuation or some mere temporary absence of sense and reason. Each kiss, each ardent embrace, each and every night spent talking in hushed tones within the comfort of one another’s warmth and the security of their arms, all of it made Aesop feel a sense of belonging he hadn’t experienced in decades. So yes, his heart did indeed burn with love, and it burned with the ferocity of the Fiendfyre spell, making him feel so warm and alive, he still occasionally worried about waking up one morning to find it had all been just one big dream.

And the previous weekend? Well… Aesop wasn’t able to keep a sly little smile off his face when he remembered the weekend… It had been nearly embarrassingly long since he was able to make love to a woman like he made love to his pretty young Ravenclaw. The several one-night sexual encounters he had a few years ago weren’t exactly satisfactory for Aesop in this regard. Of course, he was ever the perfect gentleman and both he and his partner, whatever any of their names was, experienced the pleasure and its sweet culmination during their short encounter. However, this pleasure was always short lived, and Aesop soon found emptiness and coldness replacing the previous passion. While his younger self had no problem changing women with the frequency with which he changed his socks, and grin while doing so, it would appear his current self was no longer interested in empty promises said in the heat of the moment, soon to be replaced by awkward goodbyes and lonely journeys back home. And so he stopped seeking out the comforts and joys of a woman’s arms. Whenever the appetite came, the potions master would simply chase it away with a cold shower, or indulge in the familiar, if lonely, comfort of his hand - no need to drag some poor woman into it and risk accidentally hurting her feelings, he thought.

To be honest, Aesop was sure that this was just how he’ll spend the rest of his life. Pointlessly chasing after the cure for his leg, as well as after students he often presumed positively suicidal, instead of doing the thing his friends and mother implored him to do so very often; Fall in love, be happy. Two goals he presumed to be out of his reach entirely.

But now he was both. And to those who knew him closely, it was, of course, absolutely obvious. And while a part of Aesop was frankly cringing at how transparent the former rather brilliant Auror had become in his joy, the majority of him was so high on this almost new feeling that he often couldn’t find it within himself to care.

How could he, when the memories of the weekend spent with his young sweetheart were this fresh in his memory? 

Hands carefully exploring the other’s heated body, mapping out each new uncovered inch as if it was a wonderful new land, full of various beauties and intricacies, freckles and beauty marks, scars, proofs of a life lived, lips eagerly tasting the other’s skin, gliding in tantalising and hypnotising patterns, ones that left shivers and passion in their wake. Two bodies moving against each other, two hearts beating the same frenzied rhythm, oxygen intimately shared, and moans of pleasure cutting through the silence of the room, only ever occasionally replaced by urgent words of love and desire and accompanied by the deliciously filthy sounds of their union.

Aesop decided that it was the best weekend he had in years. Then again, this was something of his young lover’s habit; making him feel the happiest he’s been in years, that is.

Just the thought of her was able to stop him from continuing to stare at the floor where just short moments prior lay the spilled potion and broken glass. And Aesop suddenly remembered just how he managed to accidentally break the phial.

Having brewed and bottled another large batch of Wiggenweld potion for the hospital wing (which was always in high demand, as students seemed to be positively intent on maiming themselves on their brooms during Quidditch… or during Crossed Wands duels. Or during a simple potions lesson on Germinating potion turned utter catastrophe because someone was too dull to read that they were supposed to add knotgrass dew after they added the dried salamander skins rather than before... Or during a perfectly ordinary dinner at the Great Hall….), he automatically took a few phials in order to put them into his magically enlarged breast pocket. 

It was a simple muscle memory for him - he brewed, he took a few doses for his leg, he had the rest delivered, and by the time he brewed again, he only had one or two phials left on his person, the new potions sliding into the pocket with ease.

Not today.

The first phial did indeed slip in without a problem. The second one, however, made a soft glass clanking noise when he tried to store it away, making him aware his pocket, though much bigger on the inside, had become full. Aesop let go of it before he fully realised it though, and the small bottle slid down his chest and fell to the floor. A slightly cathartic sound of glass breaking penetrated the silence of the dungeons and that was that…

Aesop automatically leaned against the potions station he was just using (the one his sweetheart used too - it was the newest one in the castle, after all, and the most reliable one), the clogs in his head turning. Pushing his hand inside his breast pocket once more, he began pulling out the Wiggenwed potions there. Six, seven, eight! How in Merlin’s name did he have eight potions in his pocket after… goodness, when was it he last refilled it? It surely couldn’t have been after he returned to his rooms on the Sunday a week ago, could it? 

He had returned with his sweetheart in tow, sneaking by the ghosts roaming the castle while its living inhabitants feasted on their supper at the Great Hall, and managed to restrain himself from marking the official end to their little getaway before inadvertently having to return to their day-to-day lives at Hogwarts, unsure of how much time they’ll be allowed to spend together, until he made sure the stash of potions he had on his person was refilled for the following week. 

Aesop shook his head. The idea seemed implausible. He was well aware that he had consumed more than a single vial of Wiggenweld potion in the last week; after all, he kept a supply in the chest at the foot of his bed and habitually took doses in his office. Yet, the thought lingered: had there ever been a time when he used only one of the phials he actively carried with him?

Upon further reflection, he realised that despite his deep scepticism, there was irrefutable evidence that he had consumed less of the potion this week - by at least a third of his usual consumption. And it did make sense, in a way. It had been a good week, on no day did his leg act up and bind him to a seating position because of painful cramps restricting him from standing up, which usually happened every other week.

It was… unthinkable. New and a little unnerving. Despite being all alone in the large classroom, Aesop scoffed - for more than a decade, the thing he wanted the most in the world was for his leg to stop hurting, and now… Well, it was hurting still, but instead of the sharp pain that shot from his knee all the way into his hip, genuinely feeling like the bloody curse was burning into his femur and hip bone, there was this sort of strange dull ache that was more annoying than anything else. Almost like the pain one gets after they’ve been sitting in a strange position for an extended period of time, like the sort of pain one could simply shake off…

Of course, Aesop wasn’t as silly as to attempt to shake his leg, in fear that the movement could potentially bring the worse pain back instead of relieving this more bearable one. Still, his curiosity was more than peaked, and after he made sure a couple of house elves would come to collect the few crates of Wiggenweld potion he brewed, he retired into his chambers.

He occasionally delivered the potions himself - after all, the Hospital wing was very close to his rooms. This fact was especially convenient during his worst days, as Norreen didn’t have to run through half the castle to administer some stronger potions to him. Aesop preferred to leave those in her care, as he couldn't trust himself to resist the stronger, more addictive potions instead of the harmless Wiggenweld. However, these episodes of his happened very, very rarely these days, luckily. 

No, Aesop truly didn’t have the time to hand-deliver the potions himself and chat up Noreen for a bit right now, he needed to look at the notes he had on the experimental pain relieving potion he took during his and his sweetheart’s outing. A part of him knew that he went over those notes a hundred times while he was brewing, and then a hundred more before he tested the first batch on himself. A part of him knew there was no way the potion could be the thing relieving his pain even now, a week after ingestion. It simply wasn’t possible - the first batch he brewed lasted for several hours, but he could very much feel his blasted leg again the next day… Then, during the weekend, he did think it strange it was working even after he woke up, but he had hardly the time to concern himself with his research when he had a very beautiful young woman to enjoy the privacy with.

Right now though… right now he needed to know. He needed to find the answer.  So that he could repeat whatever it was he did that made his leg get better. 

And for the first time, he realised that he no longer wanted to do so for himself - he had lived with that pain for a decade, and, in a way, he very nearly made peace with it. Such could be seen when one took a look at his journals - the past few years, he didn’t go through them nearly as quickly as he used to in the beginning. 

But now… Now the very idea that he could be healthy again, that he’d be able to walk by his beloved’s side, unbothered by an undignified limp, standing tall and proud like he once did, made his heart thump loudly in his chest… If his leg stopped hurting, he’d at least feel a little more deserving of her love. Less guilty about taking the absolutely incredible creature his Ravenclaw was for himself, and himself only… 

The professor unlocked the door of his chambers and stepped inside, the comfort of the space instantly washing over him. These days he was quite tidier than he had been a couple of years ago, and he let the house elves clean his rooms regularly - his shelves, as it turned out, were much more organised and able to contain more things when there weren’t empty liquor bottles haphazardly hidden away in them. Aesop still indulged in a glass or two every now and then, but he made sure not to overindulge too much, and got rid of the empty bottles promptly. After all, he didn’t want the young woman to think she was seeing some drunken bum.

He made quick work of finding his latest notebook even though he had quite a few of them now. Each and every single one was filled from cover to cover, each experiment he conducted well documented, the script with the hypothesis starting off neat and organised, and ending with scrawly, short notes, as he was getting more and more frustrated he wasn’t getting the desired results. The conclusion was once more written neatly, simply explaining that yet another cure idea became an absolute flop. 

However, some of them ended on a hopeful note - in his efforts to discover a cure, Aesop accidentally found a different manner in which the potions could be used. Experimental cure #87 turned out to be quite a brilliant cure for sunstroke, and #114 he brewed regularly, as it helped with Bai’s hay fever every summer. And, of course, then there were the experimental brews that weren’t a cure for his leg, but rather little ideas to at the very least help with the pain somewhat. There was Experimental pain relief potion #12, which he’d occasionally add into his bath, as it helped not only with the pain in his leg, but also in his entire body - very useful after a long evening spent bent over ingredients he was preparing. Then herbal ointment #4, which warmed his leg up considerably, as well as made the scar upon his skin itself less sensitive to touch. Aesop found it curious that the scar on his cheek never really hurt after the skin healed, but he supposed that it was because his leg got the full force of the curse, and his cheek was later struck from recoil. And, of course, there was that one brew that started out as a pain relieving potion, and accidentally ended up being a herbal liquor. Oh well, it worked quite nicely as an aperitivo if nothing else, Aesop shrugged.

The potions master found one of the last pages and peered upon the page. Experimental cure #164 was scratched out and Experimental pain relief potion #17 was written above it instead. In his own script he read the conclusion: ‘Despite its effect being strong enough to remove pain nearly completely for 4 hours, 37 minutes and 21 seconds, it began lessening rather rapidly afterwards. Return to original state occurred in circa 5 hours and 13 minutes following initial ingestion. Not ideal - rare ingredients, prolonged brewing time… However, works for intended purposes.’

It was a shortcoming on his part. Only doing one test, that is. That he could admit. Now he was on unfamiliar ground, and there was no clear way for him to be able to test the brew on another subject, to at the very least be able to say with certainty that repeated administration did indeed prolong the effects of the potion. Blast it. 

Well, he could at least examine the area to see if there were any signs of the potion's effects on his body. And so, Aesop Sharp walked over to the armchair next to his bed, took a seat, and used his wand to turn on the lamp standing beside it. Placing his wand upon the armrest, he began to unfasten his left boot, soon letting the heavy footwear slide from his leg and land on the floor with a thud.

His hands worked methodically, relying on muscle memory completely. He undid the straps of his suspenders from his trousers before unbuttoning them and pushing them down, sliding them just enough to be able to pull his left leg free. His pants were given similar treatment soon, and Aesop grit his teeth momentarily as the soft cotton slid down the sensitive tissue of his scar there. Aesop was glad to have invested into a high quality lock on his chambers, as he most likely looked just as ridiculous as he felt whenever he was examining his leg for any sort of change like he was doing now - literally half naked, the air of his chambers chilling the toes on his bare left foot, not to mention his family jewels on full display while his right leg was still half covered and booted. Best have no uninvited guests while he was this vulnerable.

He moved with his armchair slightly closer to the bed to be able to brace his left foot upon the mattress and examine his bad leg properly. There was some sort of foggy pale patch upon his scarred thigh, and at first the professor thought it was just some silly trick of the lighting until he turned his leg a bit to get rid of the effect and… nothing happened. The patch remained there. Upon closer inspection, it truly was some sort of strange skin discoloration, but it couldn’t have been something normal, like perhaps a pale patch left from a failed tan -  because where on earth would he be tanning in early April? And besides, the pattern was… the pattern was very peculiar indeed. Could it have been the potion’s effect? Surely not, he saw nothing of this sort after the first ingestion, and that was a week before he and his beloved left for their little herb picking excursion.

Besides that, when she undressed him and the two of them explored one another for the first time, he saw no such mark on his leg. The poor limb was like it’s always been, the scar red and angry, its lower part only just becoming less visible because of the thicker hair on his shins. Surely he would’ve noticed! And the second day, too, when he watched her head move between his legs, her mouth so sinfully and deliciously descending upon… Alright, now may not be the most opportune time to dwell on such thoughts, Aesop decided when he felt himself twitch slightly.

Had there been anything on his leg? Aesop couldn’t remember. To be fair, he had way more pressing matters on hand back then, and the lighting conditions weren’t exactly optimal for any sort of medical examination, the sun having nearly descended below the horizon, leaving an ethereal semi-darkness of pink dusk in its wake. 

Now however, he could see it quite clearly. Well, clearly… The pattern’s borders were faint, bleeding into his regular skin colour, and the discoloration had been the most obvious across the scar itself. The scar had still been angry red in many places, along its edges in particular, but where the pale patch was, it was almost like… the scar was paler as well? He used the tip of his finger to prod at the tissue gently, and, most surprisingly, found that it didn’t… Well, it didn’t really feel like anything, actually. His finger then slipped along the scar, over to a place that was much redder, and he hissed upon the stinging pain that followed. How strange...

It seemed the pale pattern was sort of wrapping around the scar somewhat, faint, but very much there, from the top of his injury over at his hip bone, all the way to below the knee. When the potions master squinted his eyes, he was able to tell the pattern apart from the rest of his leg easier. Hm… Aesop racked through his brain - the pattern was… oddly familiar… When had he seen it before? It surely wasn’t a symbol he’d seen among the Ancient runes textbooks, and it was not an alchemy symbol either. 

It was sort of like a swirl, like a part of a vortex. Where in Merlin’s name had he seen it…

Aesop closed his eyes.

Coldness seeping into his clothes, making him feel like it was infused into his very bones. The damp air of the dungeons. Suddenly, ethereal blue glow. A large unfamiliar chamber, with what looked like the reflection of the entire Hogwarts region in dark water. Four large portrait frames. A door with a glowing swirl upon it…

His eyes snapped open again.

No way.

Aesop nearly sprung to his feet, and very nearly tumbled to the ground right away, tripping over his own boot and trousers. He stumbled back over to his desk, threw open one of the drawers, and pillaged inside it until he found that one journal he was looking for, uncaring whether the other contents of the drawer flew left or right. For all he cared at that moment, they could very much just land inside the fireplace and he wouldn’t have cared. Less than a minute later, he was sitting back down, furiously flipping through the pages. Where is it, where is it?!

There!

A few of the pages within the notebook were drastically different from the others. Mainly because they didn’t contain any of his experiments or refined recipes, but rather his thoughts following one positively insane night that took place more than two years ago now… It was not one’s typical journal entry, there was no composition, some sentences weren’t finished, some didn’t even make sense to him anymore - goes to show how disturbed Aesop had been following the night. And who could blame him? Hogwarts was supposed to be one of the safest places in the Wizarding world, the safest place in Britain, and yet, on that horrible night, the fate of the world as they knew it was at stake, and one of Aesop’s colleagues had lost his life…

The wizarding world was full of old wives’ tales of various levels of improbability and insanity. And that night Aesop found himself in the middle of one of them.

Ancient magic, only visible and accessible to a very few, nowadays nearly fabled, individuals. Yet another Hogwarts secret nobody had known about in centuries, and talk of sources of power so immense, they could very much destroy not only the school itself, but possibly the entire country or more, if they were to fall into the wrong hands. And Aesop put himself right into the middle of it the second he responded to Matilda Weasley’s urgent Floo call for aid, blast his lame leg.

The teacher observed the quick sketches and notes he scratched into the pages of his journal with his quill following the night, wanting to get his thoughts onto the paper in effort to perhaps understand them better. Among them was the spiral staircase leading down, which he had never seen before in his life, despite having been this far into the dungeons several times. Nobody really had a reason to roam there much, not even the students attending both Muggle studies and Alchemy classes nearby, as there was nothing of interest, just a few empty barrels and crates… Another one depicted a grand circular room, adorned with intricate details, ones that many a pure-blood family manor could be sorely envious of.

And then - open double doors holding the solemn darkness of caverns within, despite their beautiful appearance. While what Aesop found interesting those two years back was the cave system and the secrets that lurked behind those doors, right now he was more interested in the door itself, as it bore a very interesting symbol on it - the very same one that seemed to have been burned into the skin of his leg.

Aesop let the journal fall from his hands and slide from his right leg down to the floor, leaning back against the cushions of his armchair.

Fucking hell…

He had some sort of ancient magic attached to his leg, to his scar. Now that he knew what it was, one wouldn’t need his intellect to know just when it got there - after all, the memory of his and his sweetheart’s bodies trembling against one another with their first shared climax was very much fresh in his memory, and he adored to come back to it again, and again, and again. Another one of his shortcomings; he didn’t question the powerful surge of the Ravenclaw’s ancient magic wrapping around their very forms that first night, even after it turned out to be the only time it happened. He didn’t question what it might’ve done to him, or to her… Aesop was one lucky bastard that the magic hadn’t been destructive towards either of them… Could it have been? He knew the young woman used her powers during combat, actually even got to see her do so, which left him both impressed and slightly intimidated, but the magic that night, the feelings it filled his chest with… That was far from any sort of violent or combatant magic…

Still, he shouldn’t have perhaps figuratively shrugged his shoulders about it like he did. Now it was quite obvious that there was indeed some sort of effect, and, unlike with potions and spells, where most effects can be traced back to the ingredients in potions’ case, and to pronunciation and hand movements when it came to spells, Aesop very much doubted there was anything they could use to predict the future of this one. Would it get weaker as time passed? Or would it get stronger instead? It could, theoretically, get stronger - after all, Aesop only noticed it today, and was nearly certain it wasn’t there a few days ago… At least not this visible…

The potions master had no idea how it worked, and his chances to find out were minimal at best. His knowledge about ancient magic went only as far as Fig’s notes and his sweetheart’s own knowledge… which honestly wasn’t quite as much as both of them would’ve liked. The so called ‘Keepers’ were as enigmatic as ever, it was almost as if, without the threat of immediate danger, they lost most of their interest in teaching the young woman anymore. She did go to meet them occasionally, but has described the four portraits as being quite slow at lecturing her more on the subject of ancient magic. Like they were afraid the young woman might not use this knowledge for good…

All in all, somehow he doubted the Keepers would be able to find an answer to the question ‘Is it possible to heal something with ancient magic while having sex?’. Still, Aesop chuckled darkly, it’d be fun to see if portraits could faint.

The professor sighed then. He felt a little lost - on one hand, he was sort of ecstatic - his leg had been hurting less, and now that he was sitting down, he very nearly didn’t feel it at all. On the other hand, he… Well, he was rather afraid to allow himself to hope again. Each and every time he did, the disappointment that followed hurt all the more. 

He figured he should tell the young woman too. She had a right to know, considering it was her magic that managed to do something he hadn’t in a decade - long lasting effects. A week wasn’t a lot of time, yes, but it was still much longer than anything else he managed to brew throughout the years…

He needed to speak to her, he needed her to help him make heads or tails of the situation. He could go and find Diana to the Owlery, send a message… but that was entirely too slow. That is, he was too slow, the greater sooty owl herself was faster than lightning. Well, there was only one more way to get the young woman to come to him swiftly… Aesop used his wand to summon one of the heavy blankets he kept in his chambers, and draped it over himself in a way that would make it seem he was merely reclining in his armchair, wrapped up to fight the chill of early spring. When he deemed himself covered sufficiently, and of course after hiding his discarded boot underneath the blanket, he summoned a house elf.

“Please, find (F/N) (L/N), a seventh-year Ravenclaw. Send her to me - tell her it’s urgent that she comes, as there is a… an inconsistency in her NEWT essay…”

With a pop, the elf disapparated and Aesop was once again left alone in his chambers. He gazed into the flames in his hearth thoughtfully. This year truly is turning out to be drastically different from the previous ones, isn’t it… It was not long at all before he heard knocking upon his door. His sweetheart let herself in following his invitation, and immediately came to find him in his bedchamber.

His brain gave out momentarily and his thoughts ceased suddenly when she came into his field of view, looking so casually gorgeous in her crisp white shirt, simple striped tie, and her calf-length black skirt. 

She leaned against the doorframe with a sparkle in her eye, one that made Aesop’s heart throb. “An inconsistency in my essay, you say?” she purred, a smile spreading upon her face, before she began to walk towards him slowly, her hips swaying most invitingly. “I-...” Aesop forgot to speak for a minute, completely mesmerised by her movements. “Actually,” he continued, mouth drier than it was a moment ago, “while I adore the way you’re looking at me right now, it’s not the reason I called you here…”

And with that he pulled the blanket up partially, revealing his bare left leg. “Aesop, you’re not exactly helping in making me think you didn’t invite me here for some tender fun…” she chuckled quietly, and the potions master couldn’t help but feel a little smile forming on his lips as well. However, he only raised his maimed leg upon the bed like he’d done before: “Please come take a look at this…” Cocking her head to the side confusedly, the Ravenclaw walked nearer, soon enough bending onto one knee to look at what he was referring to.

“What is it? Has it worsened?” she asked, sounding concerned. “The other way around actually,” Aesop replied quietly, “take a proper look at the skin colour around it - what do you see?” The girl carefully placed her hand on an unscarred part of his thigh and leaned in closer, furrowing her brows.

Then suddenly, as if a switch was flicked, her eyes widened and mouth dropped open in a way Aesop would’ve almost described as comical in a different situation.

“I-... That’s-... How?!” she stammered, observing the scar and the pale pattern upon it.

“I don’t know,” Aesop replied truthfully, “I only noticed it today.”

Then, however, he saw an expression appear on the girl’s face, one that he didn’t expect. 

Terror.

“Oh no… no, no, no, no, no…” She began shaking her head, one of her hands coming to cover her mouth, and were those tears gathering in her eyes? “What, what is it, dear?” Aesop asked, his own panic rising. “This is bad, oh Merlin…” she only stammered on, having now gotten up and begun backing away somewhat.

“Darling, please,” The professor quickly grabbed at her wrist, gently but firmly, and started pulling her back towards him. She was breathing hard and looking terribly, terribly panicked when he managed to sit her down upon his healthy leg and wrapped his arms around her. Using one hand, he pressed her face against his neck, and used the other to draw deep circles into her back, making gentle shushing noises. He could feel the dampness of her tears on his collar: “Calm yourself my sweet. Tell me what’s wrong, please.”

“Oh, Aesop…” she whimpered miserably, “I’m so, so sorry…” Aesop shushed her some more: “What are you apologising for? It doesn’t hurt, if that’s what’s gotten you worried. In fact, the pain has lessened considerably.” “That’s the thing, Aesop…” she lifted her head up to look at him: “I… before me, there was another woman, one who had my powers…I may have said something here and there about her before...” The professor listened carefully, not rushing her in her speech, merely looking into her eyes and continuing to stroke her back, “Um… Ever since she began school in her fifth year, like me, what she wanted the most was to rid her father of pain from losing his son - her brother… And after years, she was successful in her efforts. She pulled the pain right out of him. A-and for a while, it seemed to be all good… But then one day her colleague went to find her at her family home, and she wasn’t there… But her father was… He was barren of all emotion. Not just of pain, he didn’t have anything in him left! He became a body with no soul!”

Aesop gulped, much too loudly, feeling his own heart speeding up. Bloody hell…

Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down, as both of them panicking would help absolutely nothing, he forced himself to think about her words while once more closing his arms around her tight. Right… 

“Uh… You said that she was only successful after years, didn’t you?” Aesop asked, his voice quiet and as soothing as possible. He felt the woman in his arms nod her head against his shoulders. “Would you mind telling me how you know that?” His sweetheart took several deep breaths before raising her head again, not meeting his eyes this time: “I found a series of journal entries. This woman, Isidora Morganach, was helping heal people from the plague alongside a few other wizards and muggle doctors alike, but… But while she helped heal the people of their physical illness, she wasn’t able to relieve them of their pain of losing loved ones to the Black death… And so she, I don’t know, she made this spell that extracted pain from people… She’d use her wand, hold it to someone’s chest and pull out what looked like this dark wispy cluster. She’d proceed to breathe it in, and later store it away into containers made of goblin silver… The biggest one being-” “The Final repository.” “Yes.”

“Wait a minute, though-” Aesop said, feeling slightly less panicked. “If she managed to fill that giant thing to the brim with pain-”

“She extracted pain from others. From Hogwarts students, from anyone she could…”

“Then not all of them must’ve turned into soulless beings.”

“I-... What?” Her eyes, red from crying softly, finally met his own. “You heard,” Aesop spoke, feeling more confident, “that thing… it’s the most powerful thing I’ve ever seen, filled to the brim with magic… and it wasn’t even the only one, you said Ranrok got his power from below the Rookwood castle. She must’ve really taken the pain of dozens, perhaps even hundreds - and if each and every one of them subsequently lost all emotion because of it, well, it would have been noticed! It would have been written down. That’s not something people could ignore! Did you… Do you know of anyone else who had their pain extracted by her?” The young woman in his arms thought for a moment before her eyes lit up: “Professor Fitzgerald!”

“Who?”

“She was the Headmistress here when Isidora was a student and later a teacher, as well as one of the Keepers - Isidora took her pain as well!” 

“And did she lose all emotion?”

“I don’t- I don’t know. Her memories only showed the immediate aftermath… I-... I have to ask!” the Ravenclaw was just about to rush away from him, no doubt into the direction of the Map chamber, but Aesop held on tight: “Just wait for a minute, dear. You also mentioned that you actually saw the process too. From, uh, from what I remember, there never came a point during which you pointed your wand at me, and extracted something from within me, did it?”

She thought for a moment: “No… No, there really was no moment like that… Can I… Can I take a look at your leg again?” With a small smile, Aesop finally allowed her to stand up and leave his embrace. She kneeled in front of him again and looked at his leg carefully. “This is… it’s also different,” she murmured as if more to herself than to him, “it’s not the dark wispy thing… and it’s not the red glow I saw Ranrok and his loyalists give off… But there is a glow…” Aesop’s eyebrows furrowed. A glow? He didn’t see any glow… Was she just talking about the fact the pattern was lighter than the rest of his skin, or…?

“I think it’s the blue one, I can’t… I can’t really see it clearly…” she kept on talking, even quieter than before. “Darling, I cannot see any glow…” he replied, still trying to see what she was talking about. “I… Well, you wouldn’t. I think only I can see it. Professor Fig couldn’t see it either…”

“Ah, right. However, you’re saying that it doesn’t look like the magic that this Isidora of yours was wielding when she extracted pain from people, right?”

“Right.” “So there is a chance I won’t be losing my emotions.”

“I… I hope so…”

“And so do I. Why don’t you, uh, why don’t you check up with the former Headmistress - perhaps her portrait will be able to tell you more,” Aesop said finally. His heart had calmed down somewhat, though his head was still reeling a little. His beloved nodded her head frantically. But then she looked at him: “You said it hurt less now, didn’t you?”

“It indeed does,” he confirmed, carefully touching the scarred skin. The Ravenclaw bit into her lip: “Um, we can trust Nurse Blainey, right? I mean, she’s the one who fixed me up after what… what happened in those caverns. Maybe you should, you know, show it to her?”

“Are you sure that’s not a waste of time? You just said you’re the only one who can see the glow.”

“It’s not that much about the glow, Aesop - she’ll be able to give you a diagnosis, or something, anything… We’re in a position where we could use all the information we can get…”

She had a fair point, Aesop thought. But such was the way of Ravenclaws, always believing that knowledge is key. Frankly, he was slightly through with healers running diagnostics on him only to put on that oh so compassionate face and tell him that they can’t do anything for him… But then again, could it be different now? He did trust Noreen to remain discreet at the very least - however, he also didn’t at all doubt that she’ll probe at him until she got as much information about this new… progress… And would she keep her discretion after he told her? Of course, his and the young woman’s relationship wasn’t forbidden, but still…

“Trust me, I too am cringing at the very thought of going to ask the former Headmistress about this, as she’s no doubt going to be very inquisitive… I may actually attempt to ask the other’s to leave, if it comes down to me actually talking about what happened - because I know both you and I know that this happened during… You know… The light vines and all… I think I’m able to talk to her about it, but I think I would die in embarrassment were I to speak to Rackham and Rookwood about such matters… Actually, all three of us would, in most likelihood.” “What about the fourth one?”

“I don’t know - I have a feeling he’ll insist on staying, though I wish he hadn’t.. To, I don’t know, make sure I wasn’t about to go down the same path as Isidora or something…”

Aesop shook his head. As if the young woman before him hadn’t proved her heart was nothing but pure… She proved it, in his own opinion, enough for several lifetimes. He knew of Isidora Morganach’s untimely but unavoidable death at the hands of one of the Keepers, and he knew with all of his heart that his beloved was nothing like this woman, there was not a single power-hungry hair on her head. 

“Run along - the sooner we’re done with these no doubt uncomfortable tasks we’ve got to attend to now, the sooner we’ll hopefully be able to breathe a sigh of relief… And hopefully have a strong cup of good tea. And perhaps a splash of Firewhisky. And biscuits.” Aesop was happy to hear the young woman snort silently. She raised herself up and looked at him: “I… um, I’ll see you at the Hospital wing then?” He gave a nod. And, just like that, he was left by himself once more. However, not before receiving several very lovely kisses, during which it took everything within him not to say ‘Damn that talking piece of canvas hag as well as any silly examination!’ and just have both of them stay in the comfort of his rooms for the time being. 

He sighed and threw the blanket covering his modesty back onto the bed before restoring his clothes the way they’re supposed to be, triple checking whether everything was decent before leaving his rooms to make the short way over to the Hospital wing. And when he did find himself at the very top of the stairs, Aesop had to throw a phial of Wiggenweld back - the pain was better, but it was far from gone, and stairs really weren’t doing it much good at all.

The Hospital wing was as it always had been - bright and airy, sterile but homely. The scent of various healing salves, potions and herbs wafted through the pleasantly cool air, and the sun of late afternoon poured in through the partly open window. To his massive relief, Aesop found that, surprisingly, there were no students currently getting attended to by the school nurse. How curious - Aesop could’ve sworn there would always be at least one half-maimed student here at all occasions.

“Quiet, isn’t it?” Came Noreen’s voice from somewhere behind him, making the poor man flinch ever so slightly. He turned his head to see the young Nurse peering at him from out of her office/bedroom. “Indeed,” he replied coolly, flawlessly masking his bewilderment at her sudden appearance and her startling him, “how so? Didn’t you have a minimum amount of whining teenagers you must have here at all times of day and night?” 

Nurse Blainey sneered lightly: “A third of Crossed Wands is worried about their NEWTs, a third is worried about their OWLs, Mr Brattleby included, and the rest are lost like forest bees on a glade without their organiser, so they daren’t set any matches that get actually dangerous. The most that happens to the lot who still go there to practice is a singed eyebrow, and they don’t really want me to witness that.”

“And Quidditch?” Aesop asked, reaching a hand out to lean a part of his weight on one of the beds.

“Well, we’ve only got Slytherin versus Hufflepuff left, don’t we? I hear Miss Reyes is making sure no member of her ‘Dream Team’ as much as sprains an ankle or pulls a muscle during their practices, so they’re in top shape for the final match, and you know Hufflepuffs - at least a dozen of them who are hoping to become healers are always nearby, just itching to get their practice in was any of the Hufflepuff players become injured. And me - I’ve got some well deserved peace at last. At least I had till you came in.”

Aesop chuckled.

—

As the Ravenclaw entered the Map chamber, a rush of emotions swept through her. Though she visited the room on a semi-regular basis, the frequency wasn't as high as she had initially anticipated it would be. The Keepers' reluctance to hasten their lectures, their occasional absolute absence from their frames, and the poignant memories of Professor Fig that flooded her mind each time she stepped inside all contributed to her subconscious avoidance of joining the four Keepers down here. And besides that, she was a busy woman…

The cold air nipped at her ears as she slowly descended the stairs leading to the spacious chamber below, she was quick to notice all four former professor’s stood within their frames. The atmosphere in the room was very nearly surreal, ethereal, as if time itself had no meaning within, there was no concept of day and night there. However, despite the four sentient portraits there, she always felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end from how unsettling the place was - each time she remembered the people on the wall were not actually there, that they weren’t trapped in those paintings, but had actually been dead and buried for centuries, the silence of the room felt deafening. Despite its lack of foes for her to defeat, no giant spiders, no rampant Dugbogs, the room actually felt scarier than many dark caves and ruined abandoned buildings when the Keepers were absent. Even Inferi would make the place feel less… dead.

She was swiftly pulled out of her macabre thoughts.

“Welcome back, Miss (L/N). It’s been some time since we last made your acquaintance,” spoke professor Rackham, his soft voice reverberating off the intricately patterned walls. The young woman swallowed and made her way across the large map of the Highlands around Hogwarts castle. “My apologies, professors - I was rather busy with my NEWTs and such…” she replied quietly before looking at the portrait of professor Fitzgerald, “Headmistress, may I… may I speak to you for a moment?”

The woman looked mildly surprised to be addressed specifically, but quickly schooled her features into a pleasant expression: “Certainly, Miss. What is it you want to talk about?” The young woman’s eyes nervously flicked around the other three portraits, the people within them regarding her with unabashed curiosity. “Actually,” she spoke, attempting to make her voice as neutral as possible despite the heat rising to her cheeks already, “actually I wondered whether I could talk to you privately…”

The Keepers’ expressions turned even more curious, and they too began looking around at one another. Finally, the Irishwoman cleared her throat: “Of course - after all, if a student wishes to speak with their professor in private, they’re fully entitled to.” Rackham and Rookwood both nodded in the Headmistress’ direction. “I shall check up on San’s tower then, make sure there are no more trespassers,” Rackham announced, slowly moving out of his portrait. “And I shall do the same with Rookwood castle. Still, such a terrible shame what has the good House of Rookwood come to, not to mention the once grand estate…”

Soon it was almost as if the young woman and the Headmistress were entirely alone, until: “I know you’re lingering just beyond the frame, San,” Fitzgerald said, her hands elegantly folded in front of herself. “I merely wonder as to why shouldn’t the rest of us know what you intend to speak to the Headmistress about. It’s not like either of us ever had shown any sort of unreliability, seeing as we protected what could possibly become the biggest weapon in the Wizarding world for centuries. Besides, four people, more experiences, a larger possibility of helping the student should she require it,” came from one of the empty-appearing frames.  The Ravenclaw immediately felt a wave of frustration, as well as more colour rising into her face: “I-it’s something of a private matter, Professor Bakar…”

After a few seconds of pregnant silence, there came a sigh: “Very well. Leaving you two alone…”

Finally, Professor Fitzgerald turned her gaze back at the young woman before her: “It seems we’ve got privacy now - what did you want to talk about, lass?”

Dear Merlin… This was going to be anything but easy.

“Do you remember how Isidora would rid people of their pain?” she asked. At the mention of Isidora’s name, the Headmistress visibly tensed. Nevertheless, she nodded her head. “What actually happened to her father afterwards? I mean - in one of the pensieve memories, after she rids him of his pain, he seems… relieved. Happy, actually. Grateful. But then, in Professor Bakar’s memories, he actually has no more emotions left… He’s like an empty husk of a human… I wanted to know if… Well, if Isidora taking his pain away led to the other emotions leaving as well.”

Niamh stayed quiet for several seconds, clearly considering her answer. Before she could speak however, the young woman added: “In your memories, I saw her take your pain too… You didn’t… You didn’t ever feel like you were losing grasp on your other feelings as well, or?”

“No, no…” the Headmistress replied softly, “no, I can’t say I have. I can understand where you’re coming from, though. After San… After Isidora’s death, we had a lot to deal with. A lot of damage to fix. We had to try and make the caverns as inaccessible as possible, make up a cover story for Isidora’s passing, and, of course, alter some of the students’ memories… It was only after we made sure that Isidora didn’t leave behind anything that could potentially lead any new wielder of ancient magic astray did San inform us of the state he found Isidora’s father in…

“We went to visit him, all of us, and found him quite like you described - an empty husk. Mind, he was alive and, well, he was functioning. He worked on his field in the morning, fed the chickens, took care of the house, cooked for himself, ate, slept… But he did so without a word, without a single emotion. And when we tried to speak to him, well… It was like he did hear us, but our words were like noise and nothing else…

“We… well, we did attempt to.. put the pain back… Percival found the jar of goblin silver Isidora used to store her father’s pain in, that evening she showed us. Only, well…”

The young woman was hanging onto every word, wondering and fearing.

“Well, Professor?”

Headmistress Fitzgerald heaved a long sigh: “He didn’t return to his original state… Instead of regaining his emotions, his personality, there was only one feeling he was able to experience - a blinding rage. Nothing else than anger. Not ten seconds after Percival returned the magic into Mr Morganach’s chest did he try to attack us, blindly and in wild-abandon. In the end the poor man had to be transported to Saint Mungo’s. We thought it appropriate even though he was a muggle, since his malady was a magical one. There was never any improvement, though…”

The Ravenclaw gulped audibly, her hands beginning to tremble slightly. Would this happen to Aesop? Would he… would he eventually lose his emotions, his feelings, his very identity?

“And what about the others… Isidora took many others’ pain, didn't she? Yours too… Did anyone else lose all emotion?” she asked and closed her hands into fist to stop them from shaking.

“No. I have lived for many years after Isidora’s death. That of her father too. She did remove some pain from within me, that of my husband dying… You know, when I first witnessed Isidora removing her father’s pain, I thought it was… kind. To take away such a heavy burden one’s been carrying for so long. But then I got to experience it myself. And at first, it did feel like a relief… but then I found that something felt missing. I didn’t feel any pain caused by my grief, but I also didn’t feel the same warmth and the sort of intensity I did before when I remembered my husband. The same love perhaps… It occurred to me then that… That pain is a horrible thing to feel, but at the same time it’s something that’s needed in order for us to be able to properly feel all of the other emotions as well. And it’s the thing that tells us we truly loved somebody. Without the pain of having lost my husband, I suddenly didn’t quite understand the other emotions I held for him.. And I rather think that it was the same for Isidora’s father, whose pain was such a great part of him, it was connected to all other aspects, and he, in time, became less and less balanced. Not in pain, but not happy either.

“It’s difficult to say what came first; whether it was Isidora’s want to ‘fix’ her father, or whether she was already consumed by her lust for power. As you surely remember, she would-”

“She would inhale the residue magic from the pain she removed…”

“Precisely. With each wisp of that dark power she accepted, she grew hungrier and hungrier for more. So she may have been simply tearing away at her father’s emotions to try and balance them out until nothing remained… or she might’ve taken all of them in one take, only to strengthen herself further… We shall never know. What we do know is that nobody else was stripped of their emotions this much, none of the students, none of the residents of various Hamlets we heard of…”

Looking up at the Headmistress once more, the young woman nodded her head. This was… good news, wasn’t it? That is that nobody else was stripped away of their humanity, of their personality and of their feelings. Perhaps it meant that Aesop too won’t be losing any of his. However, how big part of Aesop was the pain in his leg? And was the difference between physical pain and psychical one so large? Having lost Professor Fig those two years ago, the girl knew that mental pain can easily feel like the bodily one. Worse, actually. And Aesop carried both of them. Would the mental pain become lesser like the physical one did? And if so, just how large a part of Aesop’s sense of identity was it?

Niamh observed the student with deeply curious eyes, soon pulling her out of her thoughts: “Will you allow me a question now as well?”

Raising her eyes, the girl nodded, not quite prepared to speak yet. “Why are you asking all of this? That is, I could understand you asking all of this out of curiosity, being a true Ravenclaw, and that is admirable. However, I have a reason to believe simple curiosity is not the case this time. Why now? What happened?”

Taking a few seconds to gather her thoughts further, the young woman breathed deeply: “Before I answer your question, Professor, I have one more - Isidora would take people’s pain away using her wand. And the pain looked like this dark cluster of magic. Is it at all possible to… replicate this spell accidentally, wandlesly, with no intent on taking anything away, and, uh, without the dark cluster of magic?”

Niamh looked very confused for several seconds, actually opening and closing her mouth a few times as she thought about the answer to the strange question, before finally settling on: “I… I don’t know… Professor Rackham would’ve perhaps been able to answer that, being a wielder of ancient magic himself, but I… Well, logically, when it comes to spells, the same result cannot be achieved by using two vastly different techniques. Not to mention a vastly complicated spell such as this could not be performed accidentally.”

“But that is what happened, professor,” the Ravenclaw finally spoke, no longer able to keep up with this careful figurative dance the two were performing around one another, “I think I accidentally took someone’s pain away…”

“I…” Professor Fitzgerald made a stop, her eyes quickly getting suspicious: “What did you do?”

The young girl swallowed and closed her eyes: “Professor Sharp - he’s one of the teachers who aided in the battle for the Final repository - he was injured some decade ago, by a curse nobody was able to break. It left him with a maimed leg. He’s got a scar that goes from his hip all the way to below the knee of his left leg, in the shape of a lighting strike, and he has a limp…”

“How do you know how his scar looks-”

“Him and I… our relationship’s quite recently moved past the boundaries of teacher and student. We became involved romantically.” 

Niamh Fitzgerald, esteemed former Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Sorcery was left staring with her mouth wide open. The young Ravenclaw would’ve probably thought it hilarious if the situation had been any different than it was. The woman who prepared her a trial so terrifying and terrific, perfected into the most macabre of details, and causing her nightmares for many nights to come, was staring at her like she just sprouted not only a second head, but also a third and fourth one, and all of them were of different animals.

“I… That’s…” Niamh grasped for words.

“It’s not against any of the school rules,” the young woman spoke quickly, “All that is stated is that all extra-curricular relationships between teachers and students must be prevented from interfering with the running of the school and lessons, and in case the relationship is of the romantic status, the student must be of legal age. Which I am.”

Professor Fitzgerald finally closed her mouth, but it was obvious this revelation left her a little shaken. A little part of the student revelled in this knowledge - for once she wasn’t the one left with wide eyes and trying to process what just happened. She, however, didn’t exactly have the time to let the former Headmistress fully process the new information she was given. Even so, though, given the period of time during which the older woman lived, she decided it would be wise to keep her words as proper as possible.

“Last week the two of us… Lay together, as a man and a woman do. And something happened that night - vines of light wrapped around our bodies entirely before slowly disappearing again. That hasn’t happened since. However, today we discovered that my magic had left a mark on him, on the scar on his leg. A paler patch of skin in the shape of the same symbol that’s throughout this very room. And underneath, I could see the traces of ancient magic, the blue glow. His leg had been hurting less than before, but the pain hadn’t fully left. We don’t know what we can expect from this development - which is why I came to you.”

Fitzgerald seemed to finally get her bearings then and cleared her throat: “Well… That’s… quite the news. I… Well, of course it’s good that you came to me, I’ll try to tell you all I know, but I warn you: it may not be enough. After all, Professor Rackham is the one who also bore the ability of ancient magic, and he’s therefore more knowledgeable about it than myself…”

The young woman cringed slightly: “I was aware that it might have been the case. However, given the… nature of the situation, I felt more comfortable discussing it with you, as a woman with a woman.” 

“Naturally,” replied the professor, a small smile actually appearing on her face. 

“I really need to know one thing though - are you certain there’s no risk of the professor losing his emotions, like Isidora’s father?” asked the young woman then, gazing up at the portrait. The former Headmistress sighed: “I of course don’t know that for certain… However, subjectively, I do not think so. After all, you said it yourself that the process was entirely different from that of Isidora - and it seems that instead of ‘taking’, you actually ‘gave’ something.

“Now, I am entering something of an uncharted territory here, but let me just say this: love is one of the strongest, if not the absolutely strongest, ancient magic there is, and intercourse itself can make one more… susceptible to powerful magic. You see, it’s when we are at our most vulnerable, our most open. In our day to day lives, we place a varying level of restraint on ourselves, etiquette tells us to behave and speak a certain way, and it can even go as far as to directly influence the strength of our magic. The more closed off, the more volatile this magic gets. Hence the unfortunate occasional cases of Obscurus. However, when we’re as open as we get during this ultimate act of love, it’s not unheard of for powerful magic to flow freely through our veins, and collide with the magic of our partner. Usually, it only serves to… heighten the sensations.

“Actual accidental magic during such a union is rather rare, but not entirely unheard of. However, it can get quite tricky to find mentions of it, as it is naturally not exactly a topic that is discussed casually, for obvious reasons. I’ll try to aid you to the best of my abilities. I even have an idea about how your situation came to be, but I cannot make any promises that what I’m saying is entirely correct.”

The young woman heaved a sigh of relief: “Anything is good, Professor.”

—

“Alright… now, let me take a look at that.” Noreen said after she’d finished writing down Aesop’s own findings and sent the parchment floating over to her desk, where she could pore over it later. She turned to face the potions master expectantly, raising an eyebrow when he remained right where he was, leaning against one of the beds, unmoving: “Well?”

Aesop scoffed: “What, do you want me to just drop my trousers right now?” The nurse rolled her eyes at the man: “Obviously not. Go behind one of the privacy screens, undress, lay yourself down and wait for me there. You can use the blanket to cover any sensitive areas.”

As Noreen prepared a blank report for her to fill in as she examined the professor’s leg, she had to roll her eyes again. Of course Aesop Sharp limped down the Hospital wing all the way towards the cots furthest from the door. “Make sure the doors are locked,” he called over his shoulder as he disappeared behind the privacy curtain. 

“First he’s ready to drop his trousers right in front of the entrance, now he’d prefer this room to be locked like the bloody Gringotts…” Noreen muttered under her breath. The nurse gave him a few minutes to undress and make himself comfortable on the bed, all the while wondering as to how come there was such sudden progress. 

Noreen Blainey only started as the school nurse five years ago, only a few weeks after she finished with her healer studies, making her the third third newest addition to the Hogwarts staff, as well as the second youngest member of it. Matilda Weasley was rightfully slightly sceptical about accepting Noreen at first.

“I know you were a right hard worker when you still studied here, even by Hufflepuff standards, and I know you retained this quality of yours all the way through Healer school. Your instructors have nothing but good things to say about you.”

“Thank you, Professor.”“However, I am slightly worried as to whether you’ll be able to execute this sort of… authority over the students. I needn't tell you that while you and some others were indeed working hard while here, many others would do nearly anything to get out of class, even if for a quarter an hour. And some of them have quite drastic, though very creative, ideas on how to do so.”

“You needn’t worry, Professor Weasley, I certainly don’t plan on letting anyone who’d wish to skip class off the hook that easily. You know I was never the one to condone these kinds of actions.”

“That I do.”

Noreen was able to wash the Deputy Headmistress’ doubts within half a year.

Known for her strict attitude, students thought twice before pretending to be sick just to get out of writing a pop quiz they didn’t prepare for. However, those who were genuinely sick and/or injured knew that they could always rely on the Nurse to fix them right back up. Noreen also became popular with the Fifth and Seventh years swiftly, due to her open attitude on Wideye potion, and the female population of the castle knew they were always welcome to collect what they needed on their days. 

However, Noreen herself was surprised how the gruff Potions master learned to trust not only her expertise and professional judgement, but also her as a person fairly quickly. To be fair, perhaps she should not have been quite that surprised - after all, those few nights over the past years when she had to rush into his chambers, hauling several potions bundled haphazardly in her own dressing gown, to find the professor in a rather pitiful state, sweating, panting, sometimes screaming in the unholy pain he was in, that all stayed only between them, Noreen never spoke of it with anyone. Such was the physician–patient privilege, of course, but Noreen decided to go a step further, and only ever wrote what transpired during these nights in her records as ‘Night episode - potions administered’. 

She walked around the privacy screen to find the Potions professor lying down on his back on the cot - his coat and jacket deposited on a nearby hanger, so his upper body was only covered by his shirt and waistcoat. His bottom half was indeed covered by the white blanket, save for the teacher’s long left leg. Aesop had his hands folded upon his midsection and was looking straight up into the ceiling. However, before Noreen could as much as sit on a chair next to the bed and begin her examination, someone took hold of the handle on the door and attempted to enter. In vain.

A second passed before there was a knock.

“Unless you’re about to die, please wait outside,” Noreen called coolly, fully prepared to let whoever was out there wait since professor Sharp had such a high preference of privacy. 

“Uh, is Professor Sharp in there?” came a voice from the outside. The Nurse’s eyebrows rose slightly, and she looked at the professor to find him having risen himself up and leaning on his elbows. He gave her a slightly sheepish look: “Let her in.”

What?

Every now and then Noreen Blainey felt like she understood the potions master. And each and every time she was promptly shown she was mistaken. Oh well.

Using her wand, she unlocked the door and stepped out from behind the privacy screen. She knew who it was of course, though not so much because the young woman came around often, but rather because of what transpired around this girl two years prior.

“Miss (L/N). Your teacher is unwell, surely whatever you need can wait,” she attempted to dismiss the girl.

“Aes-” escaped her mouth before she quickly cleared her throat, “P-professor Sharp is unwell?” Noreen blinked in confusion. Before she could say anything else, however, Aesop’s baritone cut through the air: “I’m fine, (F/N). Over here.”

Now Blainey definitely didn’t understand. She briefly considered pinching herself to see whether she wasn’t in some bizarre dream in which the grumpy former Auror who had very few favourites among students, and who preferred spending his free time anywhere but in a company of a student, was inviting one of them to seek him in the Hospital wing, where he was lying half naked on the bed.

That is, she knew the two of them met up every now and then, ever since that escapade in her Fifth year, but she never would’ve thought they’d be quite this close… 

The young woman made her way over to the Professor’s bed, carefully watching the Nurse from out of the corner of her eyes. And as she rounded the privacy screen, a single look was all it took for Noreen.

She never thought she was going to bear witness to such a sight, but here she was - the moment the Ravenclaw entered the former Auror’s field of view, his eyes literally sparkled, and one of his rare smiles spread upon his roguishly handsome face. And the young woman wasn’t able to conceal her own happiness at seeing the older man.

Well, fancy that! Blainey thought as she watched the short silent exchange between the couple of them. Because it was rather obvious the two of them were a lot closer than she would’ve thought. Blast it - she owed 2 Galleons to Hecat now, having bet that the young woman would get together with the Sallow lad. Which was completely logical, seeing as the two of them seemed to be joined at the hip the moment the lass stepped into the bloody castle! Did the DADA Professor know with whom she’d end up instead? She didn’t say... Only said that she ‘very much doubted’ that the girl’s and Sallow’s relationship would ever leave the grounds of a platonic friendship… Blainey was so certain though, the lad stared at her like she was a holy picture for Merlin’s sake. Oh well…

And since the teacher obviously had no qualms about letting the young woman see him in his current state of undress (despite the fact that everything but his bad leg was hidden underneath the blanket), well, that was telling by itself. Noreen only sighed: “Alright. Get to explaining.”

She then finally got to examining the leg. There were several seconds of silence before Aesop spoke, his voice measured and careful: “do we have your discretion, Noreen?” The Nurse raised her eyes to look at the couple. How curious to see the two of them nervous. She wasn’t sure she ever saw the former Auror nervous - despite his limp and the occasional nightly episode, he was always proud, confident, intimidating almost. She was quite glad she wasn’t a student anymore when he came to teach potions, having graduated in the summer before he replaced Professor Sinclair. And yet, now he was looking at her nervously and with a nearly bated breath. The Ravenclaw was as well, and Noreen saw her hands twitching, as if she was focusing all of her energy on not coming closer to grab the Potions master’s hand.

“Well, she’s a grown woman, so she can do whatever the devil she wants. All I care about is whether both sides consent and nobody is forcing anyone into anything…” Noreen raised her voice somewhat at the end of her sentence, looking into the Ravenclaw’s eyes in a clear indication of a question. “I promise, Nurse Blainey, nobody is forcing anyone into anything, and I very much consent to what me and Ae-... what me and professor Sharp have…” Noreen scoffed: “Might as well call him by his name, seeing as you obviously call him that.”

The girl went slightly pink under the nurse’s gaze and used her hand to squeeze at her arm rather awkwardly. “Look, I don’t actually care all that much about how the two of you came to be, and I definitely won’t be running around the school telling people. Though the two of you best work on your stiff upper lips, as one look at the two of you was enough for me to figure you out, and I’m much better at seeing through people’s physical state rather than the emotional one. What I’m more interested in is what happened with the leg and what you have to do with it.”

“Not that easy, Noreen - not even we know exactly what happened,” Aesop said, audibly calmer now that he knew Noreen would keep his and the young woman’s relationship to herself. Speaking of the young woman, she perked up somewhat: “Actually, I was able to find something out… I think that I accidentally imprinted some of the magic I possess on your leg - that much we gathered, obviously. But I found that the ancient magic can be something of an energy source - a different kind of it ’powers’ Hogwarts as well, like the Grand Staircase. It’s the reason all of the places built by the Keepers look the way they do, spotless and like they were built only yesterday,  the ancient magic keeps them that way.”

Both Aesop and Blainey listened carefully. “I think that when the magic attached itself to your leg, well, the curse there latched onto it and started feeding off it rather than your leg itself - which would explain the pain lessening. As to whether this effect will last, whether it will become stronger or weaker - that I don’t know… However, given that the magic present within the Keeper trials and the Map chamber was able to last for at least four hundred years and doesn’t seem to be getting any weaker, I think this effect could potentially last…” 

Chills ran down the Potions master’s spine at his sweetheart’s words.

Blainey of course heard the full extent of what happened those two years ago. She didn’t necessarily understand all of it, but then again she didn’t have to. For her, the main thing was the result - therefore, she returned to examining the professor’s leg: “So you say the pain has lessened. Do you feel it right now as we speak?” Professor Sharp shook his head: “Barely. And even so, it’s more like… the memory of the pain, rather than the pain itself. It feels like it should be there, given it was there for more than a decade now, but instead there’s only a shadow of it.”

“And when you walk?” Blainey continued, carefully prodding at the scar tissue with her fingers, noting that Aesop made a small grimace whenever her fingers ventured onto the redder parts of the scar, but seemed to not feel her touch when she directed it at the lighter areas of it. What was ‘covered’ by the pale patch of skin looked like a completely mundane healed scar, and was gradually turning into the angry red where the pale patch ended.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the young woman shift her weight from one foot to the other slightly uncomfortably, her eyes directed at Noreen’s hands on Aesop’s leg. The nurse rolled her eyes - of course, while Miss (L/N) was one of the more level headed students, not even she was immune to that nasty momentary flare of jealousy of witnessing another woman touching her beloved like so. “Do calm down, Miss, I’ve no intention to touch the professor in any other way than medical.”

Aesop raised his eyebrows and the girl got red in the cheeks once more: “I didn’t-...” “The good Nurse is merely having a laugh, don’t mind her,” the Potions master was quick to answer, in turn making Noreen roll her eyes some more: “What’s  walking like?”

“Walking hurts still, but considerably less so than before… However, it also hurts somewhat differently…” the professor mused out loud.

“That’s to be expected - in continuously insisting not to use your cane and instead just limping around, you have not done yourself any favours. Even should the pain in your leg that was caused by the curse disappear completely, it won’t change the fact you have walked in a way that minimised it for more than a decade, that’s damage done to your muscles, your very posture - it would take some time and a lot of exercise for you to return to normal walking. 

Aesop’s head was once again whirling - normal walking. Bloody hell, Aesop wasn’t sure the term would ever be applicable to him again. Was there truly a chance for him to walk normally once more? Instead of dragging his bad leg behind himself, undignified and weak (though he knew very few saw him that way), the hope of being able to walk straight, proud, his head held high, now loomed over him closer than ever before. And this time it seemed so real. It was a sweet siren’s call for the former Auror, and he was very nearly afraid to reach for it in fear of it turning into naught but dust before his eyes. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to get himself back together if he decided to hope, truly hope, and then lose this hope again.

“What do you propose we do then?” asked the Ravenclaw.

“Well, I’m going to give you a list of exercises, which I implore you, Aesop, to try to do as often as possible, but within some sensible limits. There’s also trying to walk normally, for which another person should be present as well, so that they can correct your posture if need be, and be there for when you inevitably grow tired or the pain becomes too severe, for you to lean against. I presume that’s where you’ll come in quite handy, Miss (L/N),” Noreen listed, and Aesop’s sweetheart nodded her head vehemently. “Just don’t be foolish about it, Aesop. I understand that you must now feel anxious to start walking normally, if at all possible, as soon as you can, but there’s no point in maiming yourself because you tried to hurry up the healing process. Keep reminding yourself that you walked with a limp for over ten years now, you’re not going to prance about like a gazelle within a week. Overdo it, and you’re right back at the beginning.”

It was Aesop’s turn to nod his head.

“Now, this all only applies if whatever it is that makes your leg feel better holds, naturally. Shall it worsen, don’t try to force anything, you’ll only end up hurting yourself more.”

“Will do.”

“Now. How about you try to show us if you even remember how to walk normally?”

Aesop’s eyebrows shot up again momentarily before he dropped his gaze to his partially covered lower body: “may I wear my trousers before I do so?”

And so Nurse Blainey rolled her eyes the third time, now shaking her head as well in exasperation. The young Ravenclaw, however, seemed to be fighting the urge to giggle, perhaps even suggesting Aesop stays in his current state of undress. “Just your drawers for now - I want to see how the muscles in your legs react. I’ll even re-lock the door for you,” the Nurse offered dryly.

“How gracious of you,” replied Aesop in the same manner. Noreen excused herself then to place the report which wrote itself throughout the examination among the others - and then made a stop. After all, this was one that was better hidden, the knowledge of ancient magic carefully kept between the staff (excluding Black). Not to mention the whole bit about a rather clandestine student-professor romance. So, she instead decided to store the parchment in her office/bedroom, hidden away from prying eyes. 

“I’m only leaving for a short moment,” she called over her shoulder, “do try to control yourselves.”

Aesop only rolled his eyes and finally threw the blanket off his person, once more revealing himself to his sweetheart. However, before he could as much as reach for his pants, he made a stop. The young woman stepped closer before lowering herself to her knees before him.

“Darling…” he breathed out, his hand coming up to stroke her cheek as if on its own. She leaned into his touch shortly before dropping her head and dragging her nose over the parts of his scar that weren’t painful to touch. She proceeded to kiss them as well, something Aesop would never have imagined anyone would ever do.

“You know, when I was down there, talking with the former Headmistress,” she whispered, pressing one last kiss to the damaged skin before carefully resting her chin upon his thigh, “she said that every spell is, essentially, a wish. A wizard or a witch can go around waving their wand and shouting incantations, but it’ll be for nothing if they don’t wish to perform the spell, if they don’t wish to levitate or summon this and that. And that night... Although the magic happened by accident, my wish behind it was intentional. I love you deeply... What I wanted more than anything was to alleviate your pain, I wanted you to feel as good as you were making me feel. I truly meant what I said - I would love you under any circumstances, even if you were to limp for the rest of our lives. But I would be happiest if you didn't have to endure that pain. And I think that is the difference between what happened with Isidora Morganach and her father and the two of us… Isidora, she took. But me, I gave you a part of myself. And I want nothing else than to give myself to you in the entirety. If you want me…”

Aesop used all of his strength to pull the girl up from the ground then. He oftentimes thought himself cynical. Cynical, battle-hardened, life-toughened former Auror. This young woman, however, was able to do so few could. Slip by his defences using nothing but her honesty. Her kindness. Her love. And each time it got him hopelessly drunk on the feeling. He pulled her into his lap and chased her lips in a desperate kiss, whispering words of love each time he had to pull back for a breath. And just as she promised to give herself to him entirely, he promised to always strive to prove he was worthy of her, no matter if he was walking or limping.

Several minutes and many tender kisses later, there came a voice from behind the privacy screen.

“Please tell me you managed to put your pants on at least…”

—

“Alright, how is this?” the professor asked, breathing through the discomfort of forcing himself to walk in a way his muscles weren’t used to - normally, that is. He was partially leaning against his beloved, something he hoped would change soon, but his step was quite measured and fluid. There was the occasional lighter step, but other than that, the teacher was fairly certain he was doing a pretty alright job. “You’re doing brilliant, Aesop,” his sweetheart said softly, her smile obvious in her voice.

For the past few weeks, whenever the two of them found the time to be together following a dinner in the Great Hall, instead of immediately retiring into Aesop’s chambers, they shared a short walk around the Hogwarts grounds. They both knew paths nobody frequented after darkness fell, and they used it to their advantage. The potions master felt stronger every day. That is, he never truly felt weak, but his limp undeniably slowed him down. Upon Noreen’s insistence, he used his cane to get around during the day and further worked on regaining his strength. The results were visible already - his colleagues commented on his limp becoming smaller, his face not being as screwed up in pain every time he was faced with stairs. Stairs were still a problem, but each ascent and descent served to motivate Aesop further. 

The pale patch on his leg grew more pronounced, more visible - its pattern was undeniable now, and his scar turned entirely pink from the raw red. He no longer felt the pain of the curse, something he wouldn’t have thought at all possible a mere month ago. He stood taller, prouder. But most of all, he was grateful. Overwhelmingly so. Every single day he woke up, no matter if the sun shone into his bedroom from the other room or cats and dogs were raining outside, each morning he woke up, moved his leg, and realised that he didn’t feel the oh so familiar ache, he couldn’t help but grin like an absolute loon. And on those blessed mornings he woke up with his arms full of his beloved’s deliciously smelling body, he buried his face into her neck, prompting her to giggle at the prickly sensation of his beard on her soft skin.

It would take some more time for him to fully heal, to be able to walk like he had those nearly thirteen years ago, but Aesop was prepared to do whatever it took. After all, he did want his beloved to be able to lean against him for a change.

And, just like her, he wanted to give himself over to her fully.

Entirely.

---

thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. You can check this story as well as all of my other stories over on AO3 as well ❤

[salty-autistic-writer]

Whumptober Day 10: Blow to the head

Title: I Love You (AO3)

Summary: Tommy has trouble talking after suffering a brain injury. All he wants is to tell Buck that he loves him.

~

Tommy looks at Evan and feels the urge to tell him how much he loves him.

Evan is looking out of the window, his eyes shining so very blue in the bright sunlight and his mouth slightly open. He seems to be thinking.

I love you, Tommy thinks. I love you. There. It’s not hard. It’s just three words. He can do it.

He clears his throat. “I …”

Evan looks at him, a hopeful smile spreading on his face. “Yes, babe?”

Tommy grits his teeth and curls his hands into fists. The words are stuck somewhere. He knows them. He can picture them in his mind. But his mind refuses to let them out.

“Take your time,” Evan tells him softly.

Time. There’s that word again. And Tommy learned to hate it. He’s been here long enough. Time is running through his fingers. Lost in a coma. Wasted in this hospital bed. Spent trying to re-learn things that once had been so easy. Like talking. Like … like saying “I love you”.

Rage floods him in one violent wave and Tommy can’t stop himself. He grips the glass of water standing on the bedside table and throws it with a desperate scream that’s more of a roar. He doesn’t have that much strength, so the glass doesn’t fly far. It shatters on the ground.

They both stare at the mess. At the shards and the liquid seeping into the tiles.

“F-Fuck,” Tommy blurts, breathing heavily. And isn’t that amazing? He can curse. But he can’t tell his boyfriend he loves him. It’s ridiculous. It makes him burst into tears.

Evan’s arms close around him immediately. Holding him. “I know,” Evan whispers into his hair. “I know this is tough. I understand you’re frustrated and angry. But we have to remember what the doctors said. Troubles speaking are to be expected after this type of brain injury. But it will pass. All we need is time and practice. We will get through this together.”

Tommy closes his eyes and lets Evan’s voice calm him down. I love you, he thinks and wishes he could just send it straight to Evan’s mind. I love you …  

* Tommy stares at the tool in his hands and scrunches his nose in confusion. 

“It’s a spatula,” Evan tells him. “You use it to flip the pancakes.”

Spatula. Flip the pancakes. Right. Tommy nods and does his best to turn the pancakes around before they turn black. Cooking is supposed to be a good exercise for his fine motor skills. But to be fair, everything Tommy does is kind of an exercise now.

“You want them with blueberries?” Evan asks, raising a brow and pointing at a pack of round little blue balls, no, berries. Blue berries. Blueberries. It makes sense.

Tommy shakes his head. “Chips.” He frowns. No. That isn’t right. “Cho. Chips.”

“Chocolate chips,” Evan combines and grins. “Got it.”

Tommy smiles at him. I love you.   * Sometimes Tommy's head still really hurts. The pain is so bad that it feels like his skull is about to crack open. All Tommy can do then is pull the curtains down and curl up in his bed, buried underneath the blankets.

Evan brings him the meds Tommy usually forgets about and makes him swallow them, then sits beside him and runs his fingers through Tommy’s hair until the pain fades some and he manages to fall asleep. 

I love you, is his last coherent thought. *

Tommy doesn’t need his crutches anymore, so they do longer walks in nature.

They are still way slower than in the past, but it doesn’t matter. They’re climbing a hill, holding hands, and Tommy likes to look down at the scenery. It makes him remember flying. Sometimes, it also makes him remember falling and crashing. But for those moments, he has Evan’s hand which he can hold on to so he doesn’t feel like he’s floating away into the bad thoughts.

On a meadow covered in wildflowers, they are having a picnic and after they lay down side by side, looking at the clouds.

“Look,” Evan says, pointing and laughing. “It looks like a unicorn.”

Tommy smiles. “You. Love. I love you,” he says.

Evan inhales sharply and reaches for Tommy’s hand, interlacing their fingers tightly. Feels like he’s trying to keep them from drifting apart. “I love you too, Tommy," he says with tears in his eyes. "I love you so, so much.”

[venomwrites]

Caitlyn waiting for Vi to wakeup.

Warnings: Spoilers for Ep. 8

“She’s alive?” 

The doctor looks surprised at her sharp, desperate inquiry. Caitlyn could care less about his opinions. For the money she’s throwing at him, he should have none. The doctor nods. 

“Yes. She’s stable,” he continues, “they are going to clean her up—“

“No,” Caitlyn cuts in, “I’ll do it,” the doctor hesitates, “my father is a doctor,” Caitlyn reminds him sternly, “I know what not to touch.”

The doctor hesitates for only a moment longer before he nods. Someone leads her down a long hallway. Caitlyn reminds herself over and over that Vi is alive. Right now, that is the only thing that matters. It still takes her a moment to push open the door and step inside. 

The room is silent except for the beeps of monitors and the hiss of oxygen. Caitlyn can categorize all the numbers. They are stable. Barely. But understandable for someone who has just come out of major surgery. She knows that but it doesn’t make it any easier to approach the bed where Vi is laying. 

She looks like a stranger. 

Tubes snake from under the blanket to carry away waste. One peeks out from her ribs and drains into a rust colored bag of fluids. Above her are more bags. Liquids, blood, antibiotics. They snake through the clear tubing and into her arm. All Caitlyn can think of is how much she would hate this. 

Someone has left a tray with water and sponges. Caitlyn picks one up and wrings it out. She isn’t sure where to start. Brown antiseptic washes Vi’s chest, neck and face. It coats around the white bandage that wraps her head. There’s flecks of it underneath the oxygen mask that covers her face. 

Part of Caitlyn screams that she has no right to do this. No right to touch her after she shoved her away. She’s spent as many nights cursing her as she has longing for her. What right does she have to touch her? But then Caitlyn thinks how much Vi would hate people seeing her like this. Vi trusted he enough to at least try to work together. Caitlyn focuses on that. Jinx is imprisoned, Vander is dead. She’s the closest thing Vi has to a friend. Even if she is a poor excuse for one. 

She starts with her neck. 

Underneath the black greasepaint is the pale, tattooed woman Caitlyn remembers—and it’s not. There are new muscles that coil under Vi’s skin. Vi has always been strong and spent most of her life existing on a diet of prison food. Now she is solid muscle. Caitlyn gently moves the hospital gown to wipe at her chest. She takes care not to disturb the tube that drains the damage from the Noxian spear. 

She feels tears cloud her eyes as she works. 

It feels like her fault that Vi is laying here. No, it is her fault. She went along with Ambessa. She wasn’t fast enough to outsmart her. The knot of anger that has been loosening in her chest unravels faster as she wipes Vi’s leg. The best she can tell Vi hasn’t been taking care of herself. Of course she hasn’t. Caitlyn wanted to hurt her when she dumped her there. Now she feels like a child learning her actions have consequences. 

Before she can get to Vi’s shoulders, she turns to her hands. 

They’ve cut off the bandages Vi always wears. It’s the first time Caitlyn’s seen Vi’s bare hands. She hasn’t been taking care of them either. Some of the marks on her knuckles are pink and bright, they are new. That cracks something new in Caitlyn’s chest. Vi’s entire life is in her hands. Literally and proverbially. And because of Caitlyn they are littered with half healed marks and patches of raw skin. 

“Gods,” Caitlyn can’t quite contain the words, “I’m so sorry.” 

She dabs at her knuckles. Anger has clouded her judgement for so long. All she has wanted is Jinx. But looking at Vi’s mangled hand, Caitlyn knows she would trade anything to undo this. 

She slides a hand under Vi’s neck enough to clean the grease and antiseptic from her shoulders. Then her face. Until the only thing left is her hair. Caitlyn only hesitates a moment before she wipes the sponge across it. Of course the paint comes off. Of course it’s paint. Vi is right there under this hard shell. Just waiting. 

She is such a fool. 

She tucks the gown around Vi’s prone form and unfolds the blanket on top of that. She hopes Vi will open her eyes but she doesn’t. The puff of her breath against the oxygen mask and the beeps of the monitors are the only things that let Caitlyn know she is alive. 

But she is alive. 

Caitlyn doesn’t know why but she reaches into the cabinet and opens out a roll of gauze. She cradles Vi’s arm in her lap and winds it around the skin. Her forearms are the only unblemished part of her. Because they were locked around her sister as she covered her with her body. But Caitlyn wraps them anyway. If Vi wakes up she wants her to know someone thought of her preference. Even if she know Vi will be furious if she finds out it was her. 

Caitlyn draws the blanket up and tucks it around one shoulder. Even though she can hear it on the monitors, she leans forward and places her ear against Vi’s chest. Her heart beats steady against Caitlyn’s cheek. Her chest rises and falls evenly. It’s a drugged sleep but Caitlyn closes her eyes and tries to match it. That way if Vi’s heart stops again, maybe hers will too. She hopes when she opens her eyes Vi will be looking at her. But she doesn’t. 

Caitlyn lets herself look for just a moment. With the black paint stripped away, it’s the Vi she remembers who lays there. The Vi whose haunted her dreams since she left her. Everything in Caitlyn aches to touch her cheek. But she’s overstepped in so many ways. She settles for a press of fingers to Vi’s wrist before she forces herself up. She tucks Vi’s arm underneath the blanket and makes sure it is pulled all the way up. 

There are a thousand things Caitlyn wants to say. 

But words are cheap and Vi won’t hear them. She pushes the cart of cleaning supplies to the side and washes her hands in the bathroom. The greasepaint is stubborn under her fingernails. Even when she tries to scrape at it halfheartedly. She hates the dirtiness but it’s also fitting. Vi doesn’t deserve the stain, she does. Caitlyn allows herself one last look at Vi’s prone form before she leaves the room. 

“Commander?”

“We’re going to the bunker to see the prisoner,” she says, “tell them to expect us.” 

[wachinyeya]

Indian Engineers Tackle Water Shortages with Star Wars Tech in Kerala https://www.goodnewsnetwork.org/indian-engineers-tackle-water-shortages-with-star-wars-tech-in-kerala/

When a severe water shortage hit the Indian city of Kozhikode in the state of Kerala, a group of engineers turned to science fiction to keep the taps running.

Like everyone else in the city, engineering student Swapnil Shrivastav received a ration of two buckets of water a day collected from India’s arsenal of small water towers.

It was a ‘watershed’ moment for Shrivastav, who according to the BBC had won a student competition four years earlier on the subject of tackling water scarcity, and armed with a hypothetical template from the original Star Wars films, Shrivastav and two partners set to work harvesting water from the humid air.

“One element of inspiration was from Star Wars where there’s an air-to-water device. I thought why don’t we give it a try? It was more of a curiosity project,” he told the BBC.

According to ‘Wookiepedia’ a ‘moisture vaporator’ is a device used on moisture farms to capture water from a dry planet’s atmosphere, like Tatooine, where protagonist Luke Skywalker grew up.

This fictional device functions according to Star Wars lore by coaxing moisture from the air by means of refrigerated condensers, which generate low-energy ionization fields. Captured water is then pumped or gravity-directed into a storage cistern that adjusts its pH levels. Vaporators are capable of collecting 1.5 liters of water per day.

If science fiction authors could come up with the particulars of such a device, Shrivastav must have felt his had a good chance of succeeding. He and colleagues Govinda Balaji and Venkatesh Raja founded Uravu Labs, a Bangalore-based startup in 2019.

Their initial offering is a machine that converts air to water using a liquid desiccant. Absorbing moisture from the air, sunlight or renewable energy heats the desiccant to around 100°F which releases the captured moisture into a chamber where it’s condensed into drinking water.

The whole process takes 12 hours but can produce a staggering 2,000 liters, or about 500 gallons of drinking-quality water per day. Uravu has since had to adjust course due to the cost of manufacturing and running the machines—it’s just too high for civic use with current materials technology.

“We had to shift to commercial consumption applications as they were ready to pay us and it’s a sustainability driver for them,” Shrivastav explained. This pivot has so far been enough to keep the start-up afloat, and they produce water for 40 different hospitality clients.

Looking ahead, Shrivastav, Raja, and Balaji are planning to investigate whether the desiccant can be made more efficient; can it work at a lower temperature to reduce running costs, or is there another material altogether that might prove more cost-effective?

They’re also looking at running their device attached to data centers in a pilot project that would see them utilize the waste heat coming off the centers to heat the desiccant.

[queenpiranhadon]

A/N: You all voted on this poll, and this poll, and this poll, and THIS poll and after a LOT of voting (again) , I present you this :) Just wanna give some credit where credit is due- my friend Kai (pseudonym) ,my wifey fr, wrote this alongside me- I love her sm 🥰 . Here's my masterlist!

Warning(s): Childhood friends to lovers trope, mentions of alcohol, hangovers, blacking out, maybe some inaccuracies idk man, reader is letting loose (not an alcoholic, just taking a well deserved break), reader is 21, reader is a Hydro catalyst, cursing, reader is said to have cherry red lips, reader’s nickname is Raindrop, Diluc kisses reader on the cheek while asleep, reader is GN but written with f!reader in mind.

Pairing: Diluc Ragnvindr x GN!Reader

Monstadt City was a welcoming and familiar sight to you, having traveled around all of Teyvat as you had always dreamed of this was your first time returning home in years. You were most definitely accomplished in life, discovering new plants and creatures as you went along your journey- so renowned that the Akademiya asked you to provide a lecture to aspiring students there. You loved your job, always fascinated by the thrill of discovering something new, or just seeing more of the world you living in, yet you couldn’t deny the buzz you felt as you crossed the familiar bridge that led to the gates of Monstadt City.  

You hadn’t been home since you were probably 14 or 15 years old- and you were excited to see your friends again. But you were also exhausted. So, you decided to get some food before you found an inn to stay at. After reconnecting with some of the passersby, you were directed to Angel’s Share.  

You enter the rustic building, welcoming the essence of Monstadt- as you’ve always grown up hearing, Monstadt was known for its taste in beverages. You walk over to the counter and Charles- an old friend of yours- greets you with a wide smile.  

“Hey! It’s been a while!” He smiles warmly, just as he always had when you both were young. “What brings you back here after so long?” 

You rub the back of your neck sheepishly and respond softly “I was feeling a little homesick- and I came back to celebrate my 21st birthday.” You smile. “And since I can legally drink...  I’m here to get wasted.” Your grin following the statement was downright evil.  

Charles raises an eyebrow, but you continue your tangent. “And since the Angel’s Share seems so popular around here... I figured I’d give it a try.” 

Charles sighs, deciding to keep a mental note to find and escort you to the nearest inn – hangover was going to be a bitch when you woke up the next morning.  

“So...whatcha got?” You ask with a coy smile on your face. 

You were exhausted from a long journey and even though you denied it, you worked from dusk till dawn, 24/7 - breaks weren’t exactly in your vocabulary. So, there weren’t any problems in letting lose a little, right? 

“Well... we have Dandelion Wine- you haven’t fully been to Monstadt without it.” Charles says, smiling a little. It was good to have you back. 

You slide a few hundred Mora across the counter, grinning widely, excited to try the rare and exquisite local wine. 

After pouring numerous liquids together, the man you grew up with slides the cocktail across the counter, to your waiting fingers.  

Needless to say, that was the first of many drinks that night.  

*** 

Charles had found an inn for you that night- giving his shift over to a very...charismatic man by the name of Six Fingered José, a man who was more than happy to take over Charles’ shift as he found you a place to sleep for the night. The innkeeper was kind, understanding of your situation and agreed that they would collect the hospitality fee once you had finished your stay. 

Leaving you to your own devices, Charles gave you a well-meaning side hug before wishing you a belated birthday and told you to take care of yourself and get some rest.  

You didn’t.  

It was late at night, and you couldn’t sleep. Mind still clouded from the buzz of alcohol in your system, you decided to go outside and get some fresh air.  

That was your first mistake.  

You step outside of the inn, drunk, but not as wasted as before, making a mental note to thank Charles for finding an inn while keeping you safe. There was a nice bench right by the inn, so you decided to sit and breathe in the night sky. 

Your thoughts trail off to your friends, the ones you studied and trained with. There was Lisa, who was like an older sister to you, the woman in question taught you almost everything you knew growing up and was the one who had helped you find your interest in botany and adventure. 

There was Amber, a good friend of yours who always knew where to find the best food in Monstadt, her bubbly and daring personality was wonderful when you were training, but maybe a slight hindrance when it came to academics. 

Kaeya was a good friend of yours as well- his sense of humor was certainly never boring. His flirty offhand comments may have always provoked an eyeroll of two from you, but it was all in good nature. You personally thought it was hilarious how almost every woman in Monstadt City fawned over someone as arrogant as him. But his brother... 

Breaking you out of your thoughts, you hear something in the distance. Heavy footsteps, and low growling. 

Shit. 

What was a mitachurl doing in the middle of Monstadt City?! 

And of course, only now, does your drunken brain slow down, and you sit there, dumbfounded, unable to do anything, your instincts and internal alertness numbed by the rush of alcohol in your system.  

And finally, when the beast is close enough that you can smell its pungent breath, your mind springs back into sobriety- your book materializing behind you as you try to form droplets of water to protect yourself.  

All you manage to do is send it back a few feet before passing out – the strength sapped out of you immediately.  

But before the world turns to black, you hear a deep yet familiar voice yell out “Time for retribution!”  

*** 

You wake up with a pounding headache and groan before you feel a set of eyes on you. 

Red eyes, to be exact. Beautiful scarlet ones, with the same intense fire and power they held all those years ago.  

“Diluc.” You breathe, your insides flooding with embarrassment, gratitude and bittersweetness all at the same time.  

He nods, his mouth remaining a straight line- but you notice the ends quirk up when he calls you by your old nickname. “Hello Droplet.” 

Your heart warms at the familiarity, but then your groan again, another wave of nausea rolls through you- signaling the arrival of your hangover.  

“I really shouldn’t have downed so many glasses of wine last night.” 

Diluc raises an eyebrow, running his fingertips lightly across your forehead, which sends butterflies to your stomach, distracting you from the pain.  

“I’ll retrieve a glass of water for you.” He says, running a strand of your hair between his fingers before turning to leave, shutting the door gently.

Filling up a glass of water, he returns only to see you fast asleep- dead as a rock.

He chuckles as he brushes the hair from your face, smiling softly. Only you could to this to him. Even after so many years, only his Droplet could make his heart clench and a smile stretch across his usual permanent scowl.

He squeezes your hand gently and he glances at your lips, his face grows hot as he stares at the fresh cherry color of your lips. 

It’s been so long since he taken in your beauty, he continues to stare at you lovingly.  He kisses your cheek tenderly and gently while you sleep peacefully. 

If only you knew how much he had missed you when you were gone.

To think this all started from a few glasses of Dandelion Wine.