puppypalice

[sicksadgames]

As the Sun Forever Sets - Terror in the time of the Telegraph

It’s nuts I’ve been working on this game for over 4 years at this point. As the Sun Forever Sets is for sure my biggest and most capital G Game. It even has a publisher and everything. It’s also my first game! Wow! It's been tough, though. We'll get into it!

Britain, 1899

As the Sun Forever Sets is a survival horror sandbox based on the War of the Worlds, utilises the Forged in the Dark ruleset, and is about ordinary people surviving a Martian invasion of Victorian era Britain. We play to find out how they rise to meet the storm of destruction, the ways in which it shapes them, and if they survive to see a new world emerge, or die amidst the rubble of the old.

In the last years of Queen Victoria’s reign, the British Empire stretches across a quarter of the globe, and under the guise of genteel progress and civilisation, it commits theft and murder on a global scale. Britain itself is on the verge of the modern era, the Second Industrial Revolution pushing people into the cities to drive the factories and forges owned by the greedy industrialist class. But beyond the common causes of humanity and unbeknownst to the men who impose their rule over it, vast wheels have begun their inexorable turning. Across 40 million miles of void, the Martian invasion hurtles Earthward. Screaming across the stars, instruments of annihilation unlike anything believed possible lie ready for assembly, alongside the Martians themselves. They are truly inscrutable beings, but their intent is as clear as it is terrible – they will suck the literal and figurative blood from the Earth, and nothing less than the complete and utter subjugation of humanity will be enough.

If this sounds cool to you... well, you gotta wait, it’s not done yet. Sorry! But you can come and hang out in the Sick Sad Games discord, where I post excerpts and occasionally organise playtests.

The Hard Times of (Old) England

Be warned, this is a long one - over 4000 words. It turns out when you work on a game for a long time, you have a lot to say about it. Strap in, grab your gin and laudanum, and let’s destroy an evil empire just by existing.

Thanks to the wonderful @hendrik-ten-napel for taking a look over my disorganised thoughts.

(Potential) Spoilers for: The Bear, The War of the Worlds, The Last of Us, Children of Men, Threads, When the Wind Blows, Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs, The Thing.

Roleplay in the Pre-Post-Apocalypse

TTRPGs love a good post apocalypse. It's understandable - gas up and ride glorious on the legally distinct fury road, run a commune of like minded weirdos in the ashes of the old world, go digging through retro-futuristic ruins to find retro-futuristic treasures. Who wouldn't want to do any of these? But As the Sun Forever Sets is about an apocalypse as it begins, not after it’s over. 

There's a lot of crossover, of course. There’s a focus on similar things - disaster and spectacle, relationships and trust, scavenging and survival. But the bonus of the world not yet being over, is that we get to roleplay out dealing with that terrible, inexorable reality.

HG Wells wrote a book about blowing up all the places he used to live, and it's a banger. I was surprised to find there wasn't a TTRPG based on the War of the Worlds, being the tantalisingly public domain ur-alien invasion story it is. As the Sun Forever Sets is very explicitly an adaption of it, to the point that before I came up with the name it almost got released as The War of the Worlds: The Roleplaying Game (lol). I'm glad I didn't, doing my own thing has meant both me and the people playing are way more free to fuck around without the expectation that it must adhere to a canon.

The book is good, strikingly modern feeling in parts, and obviously massively influential - so much science fiction can be traced back to our nameless Narrators tormentuous trek across the south of England. But Wells’ prose is typical Victorian - overly wordy and florid (any book that contains the word “ejaculating” meaning “to shout” might be difficult for readers who aren’t used to the style), so when it comes to recommending an actual adaptation, there’s only one true king. Whenever I bring up Jeff Wayne’s The War of the Worlds, the usual reaction from anyone outside of the UK is to say "... they made a what?"

My mom was very keen to get me into musicals, but nothing really stuck until she tried this, the secret best War of the Worlds adaption (sorry Steven Spielberg, but you were doomed from the start.) It's the bombast and drama you'd expect from a disaster film, the horror and pathos of Wells’ classic, all expressed through vivid narration and sick nasty prog rock - wailing guitar and crunchy 70's synths operating at full effect. It's not completely faithful to the book, it doesn't matter. It’s the best.

Ah yes, the film bro's favourite mid 2000's film. Did you see that sick oner? That’s six minutes without a cut, that means the film’s good right? Children of Men is a slow burn apocalypse, dressed up like a world that’s already ended. Plenty has been written about all the little ways the film is prescient about the state of the UK - the slow belly-crawl into facism and nationalist fervour, the particularly British decay and class divide exacerbated by the desperate times, even the willful ignorance and the explicit sense that everyone’s just given up, it’s all here.

All that thematic stuff seems like it’d be really relevant to As the Sun Forever Sets, right?

Unfortunately, we are in fact here to talk about the long takes. The unbroken moment-to-moment action scenes evoke The War of the Worlds to a tee. Theo navigates danger with the same fraught tactical tension as War of the World's Narrator - dashing between doorways, groping for an axe handle in the darkness, desperately trying to start a car as assailants sprint towards him. What’s the best way out of this situation? How do I get from here to where I need to be? He lives his life in rolling, fleeting 5 second intervals, because he’s forgotten what it means to think in the long term - about the future, and what it might hold.

I was always fascinated and terrified by the idea of nuclear war. I guess it comes from watching a lot of 90’s disaster movies, but those are often ultimately fun romps where the day gets saved at the end, or at least the main characters find themselves alive and well at the end of the saga of destruction. Instead, As the Sun Forever Sets asks you to reflect on the horror and sadness present at the end of the world. Things are going to change forever, and change is always hard.

There’s not many clips of Threads and When the Wind Blows online, so it’s a little hard to demonstrate their particular nuclear inflected pitch black darkness. They’re grim - Grave of the Fireflies grim - differing in focus but united in their horrible impact.

When the Wind Blows is a story of an elderly couple living in rural England when the bombs drop, based on the comic by Raymond Briggs. Yes, The Snowman’s Raymond Briggs made a film about 2 lovely grandparents dying of acute radiation poisoning. Jim and Hilda are completely unprepared for what’s to come, their only reference is the Blitz - terrible in its own way, but not a patch on the scale of death they’re about to experience.

They survive the blast and wait for the good old British Government to arrive to save them, as it did in the 40’s. Slowly liquifying in the nuclear fallout, they hold onto each other and keep their spirits up, eventually making the decision to clamber into the paper sacks they mistakenly believed might protect them from the blast. Clutching their medical cards and birth certificates (for the ambulance, sure to be along any minute now), Jim mumbles painfully through a final prayer that morphs into a misremembered Charge of the Light Brigade, and they slip into a perpetual slumber together.

The most tragic part is Jim and Hilda’s unshakeable faith that their government is there for them - ready to catch them when they fall - borne out of Britain’s post WW2 renewal but absent in the 1980’s of the film’s plot, and the Britain of today. It’s a masterful film, shockingly sad, but the shock is the point.

Instead of aiming for your heart, Threads aims for the head. It’s a drama that aims to be as accurate as possible to government research into what a nuclear war might look like, plainly and forensically setting it out without any thought of softening these hard facts for its audience. Rather than focusing on a personal story, Threads flits around several groups of characters - minor government figures and ordinary families. Like Jim and Hilda, they too are woefully unprepared for the end of the world, and those in charge know there’s no way the UK could ever be ready for such a thing.

As mundane life is quietly intruded upon by news updates detailing far off geopolitics and the subsequent escalation that leads to war, the tension rises subtly then suddenly, like a spacecraft on the launchpad. People we’ve seen pottering about their normal lives are maimed and evaporated in the subsequent shocking nuclear exchange, whilst stark statistics flash on the screen - the hundreds of thousands instantly killed, how long the millions more fatally irradiated have left to live, the woefully inadequate tonnage of stockpiled food to feed those who survive. Each zero hits like a gutpunch.

And when you think the film must nearly be over, it keeps going. 1 week later. 1 year later. Threads grinds to an excruciating halt 13 years after the bombs fall, after year upon year of failed harvests from a destroyed earth barely able to support a population level equivalent to medieval Britain. At one point, mute children watch a warped and scratchy VHS of classic kids educational programme Words and Pictures on a TV powered by a steam generator.

The friendly presenter spells out the word “cat” through the thick veil of static, accompanied by a picture of one - an animal the children watching will likely never see. As they watch with blank, emotionless faces, the image of the cat fades to one of its skeletal form. “A cat’s skeleton” the presenter enthusiastically intones. The unrelenting bleakness might feel like a punishment, but Threads doesn’t mean it to be. This is just what would happen, after all.

Love in the time of the Heat-ray

In fact, someone in a Reddit thread said As the Sun Forever Sets “wasn’t just endless misery” and I’m glad that comes across. I wanted there to be moments of tenderness, quiet joy, anger, frustration, love and loss to punctuate the action and the horror.

People are messy and complicated even at the best of times. Under pressure, this is amplified a thousandfold - a little crush becomes a whirlwind romance, small disagreements become full blown fights, and not fully understanding someone might transform them into an enemy in your head.

The little town Bill conspires to be left alone in ends up comparatively untouched by the horrors going on elsewhere, as untouched as anywhere can be in The Last of Us. He hated the world anyways - so he isolates himself as he prepares for it to end, and it makes sense that his life only really begins as the show does. When Frank arrives, Bill is forced not to just engage with the broader world outside of his little enclave, but in the act of truly living in it.

There’s no prepper’s guide to romance. A human heart can’t be field stripped for maintenance. By choosing to exist as a vulnerable, emotional being, Bill opens himself up to a different kind of apocalypse. Frank becomes the flowering vines that slowly crack the flat concrete wall of a world that Bill created, and when those vines die, the wall can only crumble. It’s so fraught and lovely, delicately yet absolutely gut wrenching. At least their apocalypse was one they decided to have together.

“I’m old. I’m satisfied. And you… were my purpose.” - "Long Long Time”, The Last of Us

While several of my TTRPG writing friends were gushing about how great The Bear is, Em Acosta, author of the wonderfully inspirational Exile pointed out something super interesting - a lot of the show is about how you deal with people you’ve found yourself stuck with. No matter how much they piss you off, or whatever they do wrong, there’s something that means you can’t ever let them truly exit your life. They’re there, like it or not, until the bitter end.

Turns out this is very similar to how As the Sun Forever Sets handles Player Character relationships. In both it and The Bear, nothing’s ever truly resolved between characters - every relationship is like a cooking pot perpetually simmering. You might’ve apologised, made a truce, or just ignored your issues for so long that they seem to disappear, but no matter what, you’ve got to keep your eye on that pot.

Because suddenly a crisis will hit, and someone says something, or a diceroll comes up bad and all of a sudden the pot boils over and things are once again fucked. You storm out, start screaming, throw a fork. Even in the worst case scenario where a Character leaves because they’re absolutely sick of the rest of the group, they might show up at the end of the game for one last scene. Who knows how you’ll all feel at the end - nothing is ever truly fixed, and only the dead are truly broken. 

“I quit, chef, is what’s going on. You are an excellent chef. You are also a piece of shit. This isn’t on me. Goodbye." - “The Review”, The Bear

I’ve talked about The Thing a little before, John Carpenters sweaty, paranoid antarctic masterpiece. Along with the incredible effects and the (mostly) restrained use of action and bombast, the thing that makes... The Thing work is that the staff of the stricken research base lack any and all emotional intelligence.

It’s sort of the ultimate reverse Dudes Rock movie. Nobody knows anything about each other, so when their bodies and minds are colonised by the titular chameleon from outer space, they’re just another stranger to the rest of the crew. I’d ask you a question only you would know the answer to, but uh.. I don’t know anything about you. Whoops!

Over the course of the film, the whole operation falls apart as they try their best to work together to deal with the alien interloper, but their complete lack of ability to trust or relate to each other - present even before the crisis they find themselves in - is their ultimate downfall.

That final excellent shot of MacReady and Childs sat in the snow at the end of the film as their compound burns around them is the subject of a lot of unnecessary theorycrafting youtube videos, which kind of misses the point. Each suspects the other, but ultimately it doesn’t matter if one of them’s a Thing. One stranger is the same as another. Why bother getting to know each other now?

“Well...What do we do?” “Why don't we just... wait here for a little while? See what happens.” - Childs and Macready, The Thing

Science Fiction Revenge Fantasy

I’m not a historian, but the parallels between 1899 and now are pretty plain to see. Increasing class disparity, a lack of political will to help those in need, rampant cronyism and profiteering. As long as you’re in the place for it, roleplaying in a fictionalised version of the past to air out the issues of the present can be super fun and cathartic. You’re not expected to get a degree in British history to make it work, either.

The title is a play on the phrase “The Sun Never Set on the British Empire”, and it’s plainly stated in the book that Britains Empire acted as a mechanism of genocidal oppression, and that the Martians are here to end it - intentionally or not. It’s appealing as a premise on the face of it, but it goes a little deeper. Memories of Empire echo across time in Britain like the ringing of a malevolent bell, a cause celebre for braying Tories and fascistic right wing cunts (two very close circles in the venn diagram.)

We used to be a great country before this woke nonsense. Things were better back in the old days. The DEI contingent is trying to destroy our noble past. Yada yada yada, fuck offff. I’m sure someone somewhere will accuse me of “wokewashing” the past for including explicitly trans and queer characters as part of the book, along with the historical facts around how we fit into the oppressive Victorian conception of sex and gender. Unfortunately for them, we’ve always been here.

To be a little pretentious about it, every game of As the Sun Forever Sets reaches back into the past and cuts the myth of a glorious and benevolent Empire, and the good old days enjoyed within it off at the neck, purely in the act of beginning one. That sparks a little joy for me. Destroying a racists dream is fun, even if it’s only in the abstract.

A horror game about the most literalist Victorian industrialist imaginable hearing the phrase “Eat the rich” and getting right on that. I’ve not played Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs despite fond (??) memories of playing The Dark Descent in a room full of jumpy friends, and seeing Dear Esther played live on stage, with a live orchestra and narrator - an exquisite way to experience that game.

The mechanical chops of Frictional Games mixed with the narrative verve of The Chinese Room, how could this game be anything less than incredible?

After The Dark Descent I fell off’ve the “scary guy chases you around” genre of game until Alien: Isolation revitalised it, and the reviews of A Machine for Pigs were mixed - kind of boring, middling gameplay, too dark - so I never went back. I was planning on writing a little about its vibe - dark, gothic Victoriana that rhymes nicely with As the Sun Forever Sets - but after a bit of research, Mandus’ quest for his missing sons strikes an unexpectedly resonant and terrible chord.

The writing and voice acting is phenomenal, Mandus’ split consciousness - the self you play and the other half of him that’s seen the horrors of the forthcoming 20th Century and is compelled to act, imbued into the myopic machine he built - is extremely compelling. He feels compassion for the poor and wants to save them, but they fill him with fear and disgust. He knows the industrialist class is killing the world, but feels a deep shame in the fact that he counts himself amongst them. So his machine grinds the rich into meat for the poor, who it distorts into grotesque pig homunculi and forces them to operate the machine’s inscrutable workings.

It’s Mandus’ twisted way of saving the world - kill the rich for their crimes, enslave the poor for their own good, all hail the new machine/god/manager of the 20th century. It’s a neat reflection of the way modern politicians contort themselves to the whims of big business and AI snake oil salesmen to avoid doing the simple and obvious things that’d better the world. It’s a nightmarish refutation of Victorian Liberalism, that only the upper class know how to fix the problems of the lower class. It’s brilliant, and we should play it. 

"Do you hear me Mandus? This is what you planned! This world is a machine! A Machine for Pigs! Fit only for the slaughtering of pigs! Whores, beggars, orphans, filthy degenerates. Pigs all. But I will purify the streets, cleanse this city, set the great industry free. I will clean the world, make it pure." - The Machine, A Machine for Pigs

Song of the Year, of the Century

Not long after I came out as trans, I was asked what (in an ideal world) would make transition easier. I replied - never having to leave the house. One day I'd shut the front door as a man and another day, months or years later, I'd open it again as a woman, neatly sidestepping the terror of being perceived in a notoriously transphobic Britain.

In 2020 I shut that door and didn't open it for 4 months. At work, I remember calling the nearby shelter to donate our excess hand sanitizer and toilet roll, figuring out at the last second how support workers could take calls from their already isolated clients via their mobile phones, and fixating on the steady stream of scared coworkers leaving early. Tearfully, I felt the urge to hugged those that remained as we locked up, before we remembered we probably shouldn't.

I've never been more aware of the minutia of moving through a space on the way home - How many people had their hands on this handrail? Have I touched my mouth or eyes without realising? Is anyone in the office already sick? Or on this train? How many more people are going to die? - My heart was in my chest, I heard the blood whoosh through my head to the beat of my steps on the pavement. At home, I realised my boyfriend had to go into work the next day. After he went to sleep, terrified he might die, I cried.

"I remember I felt an extraordinary persuasion that I was being played with, that presently, when I was upon the very verge of safety, this mysterious death—as swift as the passage of light—would leap after me from the pit about the cylinder, and strike me down." - "The Heat Ray", The War of the Worlds

Writing As the Sun Forever Sets was my way of coping with the disconnect with the world I felt, the fear of both Covid and the rising transphobia kept me inside even as the lockdowns eased. That feeling of throbbing death creeping at the window took a long time to wrestle under control, and getting deeply obsessed with a big project became part of that process. It seems incredibly maudlin to make a TTRPG dealing with darkness and death during a pandemic that killed (and continues to kill) millions of people, but I suppose I’m kind of a maudlin person.

“I haven't written a song in a month, So I'm playing the same chords again. I know I need to get lost in the moment, But I get lost before it begins. Fingers stretching out into space. Reaching as a thought slips away.”

It also burnt me the fuck out. After years of constant work and testing (beginning long before Evil Hat picked up the game), I ran out of steam. I spent the months after Evil Hat’s public playtest ended not really able to write anything ATSFS related at all. The game kind of froze - I knew what I wanted to change or fix or add, but the moment the google doc opened I couldn’t make myself start typing. It was incredibly frustrating to have the switch flip from endless obsessive writing to constant nothing, and I don’t think I truly recognised the burnout I was feeling until recently. It turns out spending years staying up past midnight writing is bad, who know!

A lot of Forged in the Dark games don’t get finished (or more accurately, get stuck in perpetual development), something that the excellent and dearly missed +1 Forward podcast recognised in their episode collecting their thoughts on the FITD games they looked at back in 2021. I think that’s because, at least to me, writing a Forged in the Dark game is like trying to hold a plate of spaghetti without the plate. It’s deceptively simple at its heart, but the system squirms when you poke at it - write one thing and it affects 3 other things. Tug one piece of pasta out and you lose a meatball without realising it.

When I listened to that episode, I took it as a challenge. Part of me now wonders if it was a curse. I'm being hyperbolic, of course. But a little part of me did think it might be better to give the game up.

That’s not going to be As the Sun Forever Sets' fate, thankfully. Evil Hat has been there to support me when I’ve felt guilty about shifting another deadline or replying to a check-in email with another late “Not much progress this month, sorry!” The frozen writers block is thawing, and I’m so tantalisingly close to finishing the final text. This blog is part of that process, another chip in the icy dam.

The wheels of dread Martian terror turn once again, and it feels good. Part of that is down to not beating myself up about a lack of progress. The more important part came when I realised I felt able to return to the world again - living in it, not hiding from it. Staying connected to it, even when there's times I'm not able to inhabit it physically. Covid, Britains particular brand of transphobic brainworms, and the shadow of Empire all continue to exist, and so do I - a weird maudlin transsexual woman - in spite of them all.

“The day seemed, by contrast with my recent confinement, dazzlingly bright, the sky a glowing blue. A gentle breeze kept the red weed that covered every scrap of unoccupied ground gently swaying. And oh! the sweetness of the air!” - “The Stillness”, The War of the Worlds

You made it!

Thanks for sticking with my messy thoughts. If what I talked about here sounds cool to you, please stop by the Discord, we'd love to have you. Look forward to seeing As the Sun Forever Sets come to a crowdfunding platform of Evil Hat's choice (I assume backerkit) at some point in the future ♥.

[bellewintersroe]

Max Verstappen X HornerDaughter!

Part 7, here’s the LINK for part 6.

Max throws a luxurious 26th birthday on a yacht in Monaco. Despite it being a fairly civilised meet up the drinks flow a little too easily when the majority of guests have retired for the night. Leni finds herself being one of the party goers drinking with Max until the late hours of the morning. Things only get a little too out of hand from there.

warnings: no spoilers but obviously alcohol consumption, swearing, Max and Leni are giving each other the eyes 👀 mentions of specific antics I will not go into detail about. Taglist: @ironmaiden1313 @callsignwidow @fangirl125reader @norassimpingzone @roseseraj @eugene-emt-roe @copper-boom @its-elias-world @cassiopeiia24 @larastark3107

“Happy birthday! Happy birthday!” I cheered, the birthday boy holding a hand out for me as I climbed on the boat, handing Max the biggest bottle of alcohol and a card over.

“Leni!” He exclaimed catching a sight of the present. “You didn’t have to!”

“No it’s fine, you should celebrate with it.” I wobbled slightly before setting my feet down on the ground below. “Thank you.” He smiled, rubbing my arm slightly. “It’s okay.” My voice cracked slightly as I had to force myself to tare my eyes to the other guests on the boat. Amongst them were Max’s mum and sister, whom I’d got along with so well over the years. I was relieved to see them here, alongside a couple more familiar faces I’d met over the years. ”Leni, it’s been too long!” Victoria stood up, welcoming me in a tight hug, one which was followed from his mum. “I know it’s been ages. When did I last see you both, last year?!” “In Abu Dhabi!” Vic immediately began snorting out laughter as I attempted to muffle mine, the memory of how plastered we both were after Max had been crowned champion was hilarious. We did things that were super messy and ever since it had been our inside joke. “Oh..” I cleared my throat. “Was it really that long ago?”

“Yes. I’m surprised you’re not still hungover.” Her voice wobbled from laughter. “What, I don’t get it?” Max approached, touching my back gently before sitting down besides where I stood.

“You wouldn’t.” His sister responded. “I probably am.” I answered her question with a giggle before we returned to our seats. I purposefully sat a little away from Max, especially seeing as his family was here. I didn’t want them to think anything was going on between us, not that it was- but I did want something to happen. Well, partly, the other side of me was playing devils advocate and told myself it was too early after his previous breakup. Even I was in a full fledged relationship only 5 months ago, hell I didn't think I’d thought about my ex once in the past two months, but I had to rationale the time frame before letting myself fully grow feelings for Max.

My mind was a goldmine for overthinking. It was hard not to, even when he was next to me, the warmth of his skin would brush against mine and I’d move away, but only after I’d experienced the way my cheeks warmed, or how my heart would skip a little, stomach would churn, or I’d experience the overwhelming sensation to move closer to him. Fuck! “Are you still with your boyfriend then, Leni?” Sophie asked me as I smiled gently, shaking my head. “No, we broke up a couple months ago now.”

“Oh.” She nodded as I awkwardly smiled, gripping my glass of champagne.

“He wasn’t a really nice boy though, was he? You could do better.” When she did that, I noticed how she eyed Max up slightly who sat besides me, innocently swigging his beer.

“Probably… has my dad been telling everybody about this or?”

“Actually Max told us.” She nodded as I almost choked on my drink. Max looked towards her as if to say ‘shut the hell up’ before I began laughing.

“You’re just as bad as my dad.” This time, I placed a hand on his arm. “They gossip all the time!” Victoria added on as my hand slipped off, shaking my head. “And they say girls are bad…” “Well are you going on dates, Leni?” Sophie asked again. Max let out a groan, “mum, we don’t have to talk about this now.”

“No it’s fine.” I reassured Max. “I’m not, nobody’s asked me.”

“Max ask her on a date.” Sophie immediately spoke, speaking deadpan serious. Victoria and I began laughing at the bluntness behind her words, but when I glanced over to Max I knew I’d needed to save him from such an awkward situation.

“No, no, I’ve seen a couple guys, but I wasn’t really interested.” “Well, I’m sure you’ll find somebody very soon…”

As the night continued we’d sailed further out, lingering not too far from the harbour when we’d dropped a few people off to go to bed. It was 2:30AM and despite the fact we weren’t allowed to play music, the 7 of us that were left were playing all kinds of stupid games.

“I’ve got a game! I’ve got a game!” Maria, who was a girlfriend of one of Max’s friends announced excitedly. “It’s like would you rather, but it’s not would you rather, because we don’t play kids games anymore.”

“Okay..” Ben, her boyfriend waited patiently. “So you have to say like ‘Ben would you rather drink this drink or that one’, and whatever you pick you have to do.”

“Alright, alright.” Max agreed, clearly pretty drunk if he was agreeing to play. “Would you rather, Ben, jump in the water or drink three of them.” Max pushed forwards 3 cans of beer.

“Well, seeing as we’re not allowed in the sea…” he reached out for the alcohol, making a start with his chugging skills. I cringed, praying I wouldn’t get such a difficult question. Who would’ve thought the game would turn so silly so quickly, when people began kissing each other, I’d already polished off way too many drinks.

“Leni!” Somebody called out. “Strip off your dress or take your underwear off.”

“Oh my god.” I laughed, knowing some of the other girls had already done the same. “Neither!” My response was met with protests. “You just want everybody to go commando!” I pulled on the strings of my underwear, not believing I was doing this at all. People wolf whistled and I rolled my eyes, sticking my finger up at Henry who had sent the request out of several other girls. From besides me Max was snickering like a child.

The game was still going heavy with four of us left, Ben and Maria, and Max and I. I found myself with a blanket Max and I shared wrapped over both our shoulders, huddled closer together.

“Leni sit on Max’s lap or give him a lap dance.”

“I don’t know how to give a lap dance!” I exclaimed in my defence, feeling Max’s arm shift down onto my lower back as I shuffled onto his lap, sitting across him with a casual arm over his shoulders comfortably. The alcohol was making me fidgety, I’d craved nothing more than this, I didn’t care about any prior doubts I had. When Max’s other hand rested on my lap, beer in hand, I gulped nervously.

“Max, now kiss Leni or throw her in the sea.” Despite my lack of sobriety I knew I was blushing a vibrant pink colour, giggling towards the Dutch man. “You can throw me in the sea, Max.” I teased. Max was smiling, borderline grinning in amusement. He took my cheek with the hand that still held it beer and we shared a peck on the lips, one that ended so fast I barely even felt anything.

“Oh, do a real one!” Maria groaned, swaying. “Like this-” Ben pulled her in closer, arm wrapping around the back of her neck as they shared the most sloppiest kiss I’d ever seen. Max and I both grimaced, blinking away. They weren’t stopping. “Ew.” Max muttered as I laughed.

“Go around the other side of the boat if you’re gonna do that!” The driver exclaimed as they actually stood up, ‘sneaking’ away on Max’s half-joke.

“Oh my god.” I exhaled in amusement, glancing back to Max. My legs were fidgeting slightly, and being alone in a position like this was making feel all hot and bothered.

“Jesus.” Max muttered as I glanced back down to him, amusement spread across both our faces. Max’s eyes fell to lips and I felt a burst of energy, excitement, an overwhelming desire to lean in. It must have been a mutual feeling, because his hand reached up to touch my face again, bringing me in for a kiss which happened so quickly my drunken mind couldn’t comprehend it.

The kiss was warm, his lips were plump and smiling against my own. We laughed as we kissed one another, butterflies filling my stomach as I placed another hand on his chest. At first it seemed playful, borderline not even real. We were giggling into the kiss like we knew we shouldn’t have been doing it. It seemed to come out of nowhere, but I wasn’t complaining. Max was a good kisser, even if we were both shit-faced. His lips moved against mine, beer discarded to one side as he deepened the kiss, pulling me in closer to his lap with a hand on my waist.

We were giggling, like children, and when a funny noise emerged from the two stumbling around on the other side of the ship I turned away and let out a louder laugh. Max exclaimed one of his own too, hugging me closer with a hand on the side of my hip. I felt his chin rest on the bare skin of my shoulder, eyeing my body up from where I sat.

“They’re so drunk.” I managed to squeak out, like the two of us weren’t absolutely rat-arsed. “I know.” He snickered, I turned back down to him and we shared a few more kisses. “What’re we doing, Max?”

“I dunno.” He laughed, kissing me again. I hummed out a giggle, deepening the kiss. I could feel his hands beginning to press on me, finger tips digging in as he pulled me even closer. Our tongues moved against one another’s, and we were fully making out. In fact, when I’d shuffled even further onto Max’s lap, I could feel something pressing against my thigh. He was fucking hard, oh my god. The thought felt alien to me, the fact I was sitting on my good friends lap, making out and he had a whole fucking boner. It turned me on to say the least.

It wasn’t until the boat docked up at the harbour that we broke apart, his hand digging deeper into the flesh of my thigh, as though he was desperate for more. My core was throbbing for him, I hated to sound so crude, but I was so desperate for him it was pathetic. Maybe it was a good thing that we were both a little too drunk, Max attempted to swig the last of his drink, but in return he heaved all over the path on the way to get a ride home.

“Oh, no, Max!” I scurried away in a fake disgust. Truth be told I went home and threw up more than I’d liked to have admitted that night (or morning) and passed out on the bathroom floor. Only future Leni would have to worry about the events of the night which just unfolded…

[strawberrypinky]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That had been the last time Aesop had seen her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He spotted her before she spotted him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hmph."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aesop had nearly spat out his drink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Get used to it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Excuse me?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank me?" Aesop raised his eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're not asking. I'm offering." 

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

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

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

They fell into a routine after that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"At fifteen?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And she ended up in Azkaban?" 

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

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

Aesop's eyebrows shot up in question at that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you alright?" he questioned breathlessly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, Mister Finnigan?" Aesop grunted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But to know Aesop was too? Brilliant. 

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

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

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

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

Off to Muggle London, he went.

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

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

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

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

"Aesop? What are you doing here?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No going back now...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a devious little thing she was. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, it's certainly not tea." 

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, do tell Garreth I said hello."

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

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

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

"And that is of interest to me how?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"WIFE?!" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

It bothered him because he cared. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you alright?"

"Yes." No – he definitely wasn't.

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

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

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

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

"Have I done something to upset you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you think that –"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And who is this, might I ask?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Any time."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Whatever for?" Aesop asked. 

"My...father," she sighed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

pt. 2 coming soon

[bentosandbox]

Lappy fancam animatic blogging/production notes

now that wolfgirlyaoi is out on global its rambling time about my powerpoint presentation

Concept

Originally I wanted to do an (Tex & Lapp) animatic with the boss theme (broken wall/Signore dei Lupi .mp3) ever since the event dropped but I thought 1) by the time I finished anything someone else would have probably already done it first (lol, lmao even) 2) I remembered the song exists and how much i looped it then while listening to the group's new album drop and thought the lyrics fit Lapp a little too well and also doesn't end abruptly like the boss theme + was shorter so yea

initial stickman storyboard where i put down the lyrics with event dialogue/happenings that i felt would fit nicely together > hastily scribble the images that form in my head

storyboards were basically what i wanted to see (same rule as my comics) lol especially if they weren't shown in the event CGs, eg. there's a CG of the truck crashing into the courtroom so I didn't do that but they didn't mention her physical acting in that scene + the song I used has a bow/salute at that exact part in their live choreo with the very similar line so I wanted to do a homage even though-

-I was like it's going to be such a pain to figure out an economical hand twirl and bow but I have to do this I need to transplant the image in my brain onto the screen because official media did not do a—

Honestly still don't know if its a common phrase and action combo because I was having so much trouble finding external references that wasn't just scrubbing the live video over and over anyway

part of the storyboards were 'recycled' from comic drafts I did (of the chocolate scene because ofc) when the event was running on CN

Originally I wanted to draw Lapp feeding Texas for The Girlyaoi Funny but I wanted to reference the plaque you get which is a Creation of Adam reference right but I also saw people saying it's referencing the scene from Silence of the Lambs lol so...peel the layers to your liking!!

(The chocolate flavour choice was from asking my Columbian friends what the worst chocolate flavour they ever tried which was white coconut)

my sorry attempt at colour keys > final spreadsheet to keep track of progress and paste all the dialogue i put in

Art Direction

A bunch of shots/colour schemes are references to Måneskin's stuff or other media tehepero I'll just put a few here

At first I was going to limit red/blue to tex/lapp respectively but since Omertosa is blue I just did away with that rule and lapp gets to have both (and more!) these two colours have pretty obvious emotional readings I think but also

red = self blue = society Siracusa or: red = yaoi & blue = yuri

for the others:

Purple = Alberto/Saluzzo, its not orange like the fruit he keeps holding because see below; I needed the colour for something else LOL Also the Saluzzos are iirc nobility or whatever and they have purple hints in their clothes so I think it was a good fit anyway

Yellow/Orange = Its supposed to be representing the last word in the story which apparently, yostar went with 'Savagery' which is Correct I guess but (laments again about how nuance is lost in localisation because imo savagery has a more derogatory kind of connotation while I think 蛮荒 in context of the story also has a 'nature/untouched by civilisation' side to it) which is why Texas setting the house on fire was not (entirely) red but orange (and it complements the blues both visually and thematically) and it's yellow at the end when they're frolicking(?) in the wilderness lol

(these colour rules don't apply to the penglog shot and technically a few frames like the shot with shocked penance, the one right after and 'im just lappy' because...i forgor my own rules lol)

The greens/teals were just a reference to the shades in the 3DPV I think

The silhouette/general style was inspired from the 3D teaser thing they had at the beginning of the 3.5 anniversary stream and the card suits that I..forgot to move to the other layers which is why only the green one had them (supposed to be 1 per set 💀)

The clash bit is basically the same as the event CG but with a flipped camera/POV sorry for world's worst screenshot lmao. Couldn't imagine the poses in my head so I ended up posing 3d models in CSP pretty good posing practice

These shots got rendered extra because..they were the first frames I started on and I was still figuring out how much to simplify lol

I also posed the chairs shot for some inexplicable reason…my file was lagging so bad

Headcanon part (kind of)

The childhood flashback scene is probably the part I took the most liberties (headcanon) on since it's not explicitly canon like the rest...the sequence/how I connected the scenes itself to fabricate a timeline of her childhood was kind of inspired by some weibo post musing about how (iirc) texas's sweet tooth maybe came from when she was being fostered at casa Saluzzo and Lapp treating her like a pet essentially and giving her a lot of treats since...you know what happened to her actual pet hehe except maybe texas offered her a stick first and then Lappy just reciprocated endlessly because its one of the few 'acts' she knew that wasn't violence haha yeah this section was basically a stealth doujin sorry

It's mentioned that she was brought up as the ideal Siracusan or whatever and she does the cute doodle in the 3DPV so I thought she probably had the Forced Music Lessons as a kid (The music sheets are Bella Ciao and of course)

The bow choreo was the one thing i really wanted to animate but the music sheet segment (based on that one split second shot above) ended up being my favourite part even though compositing the motion was a mini hell on it's own (ended up compiling a long png to scroll by with the red doodles layered over)

Other things

I will never live down my (self-imposed) shame of misspelling the title (I fixed the title on youtube but its why the ending shot in the upload says ZittE e Buoni instead of ZittI e Buoni) don't rush your fancam in 10 days 😔

I didn't look through the entirety of the EN loc but Idk why they had Lappy say 'Then go.' to Texas when it's supposed to be more like 'Let's go.' as in, 'let's go together' as opposed to 'alright off you go to the greyhall alone' lmfao also her saying goodbye forever padre when addio is right there

I don't think I'm insane enough to do another ppt soon but man this pair really makes the 'imagines a whole music video while listening to music' part of my brain go wheee like first it was Starset's Manifest then Signore de Lupi then this and while working on this one i was thinking how Måneskin's Torna A Casa would be another good track

ok ty for reading #GIRLYAOIREAL

[enkisstories]

Gingerrose in 30 pics

So here is another look back on the first story one of my couples appeared in.

It's set in the Star Wars universe and branches from canon halfway through The last Jedi. For those unfamiliar with the movie, in the broadest strokes it is about the last defenders of the Galactic Republic being on the run from the evil space empire.

In my story the heroes get joined by a disgruntled General of said empire. General Hux hasn't grown desillusioned about the First Order, he is just very, very pissed about a succession issue.

In the beginning Rose and Hux are only ever part of group conversations. He's partially responsible for her homeworld's destruction and caused her sister's death a handful of days ago. And she's even more evil in his book, having bitten him. No, these two do not have anything to say to each other.

The group is chasing after an artifact that will lead them to a place of power, power that they must not let fall into their enemies' hands. At one point they have a group meal, and the sims separate themselves onto different tables. Rose and Hux end up at the same table, alone.

The silence is more suffocating than Rey's first attempt at mac 'n cheese.

Soon after that meal the group passes time by playing a vintage computer game. Both Hux and Rose think they have won and cheer loudly. For a minute or so they have forgotten whom exactly they enthuse with here...

...but on the next planet it's back to strictly avoiding each other again.

(Spoilered for length)

At this point Rose & Hux isn't on the table yet. To the contrary, Hux gets flirted at regularly by Poe, much to the dismay of that one's boyfriend.

Finn confronts Hux about this. The General admits that there may be a mutual attraction, but also that he couldn't be any less interested in pursuing a relationship with Poe. He also casually drops the info that he doesn't "sleep with people for recreational purpose" while not ruling out the possibility of romantic attachment in general.

The heroes solve the riddle of Exegol and succeed in de-powering their arch-nemesis, Kylo Ren. It is time to part ways with Hux, but the rebels cannot just let an enemy of that calibre go free.

After everything they went through together, Hux offers the heroes to join him to rule the world together. They extend the same offer to him - join us and help free the galaxy.

In the end there is no common ground to be found. Rose electroshocks Hux and he gets taken to a secret prison.

A few months later Hux has escaped crater prison, but so has a monstrous, telepathic plant called Godmother. The First Order and the rebels once again join forces, this time semi-officially.

The brief time with his own faction has once again reminded Hux that despite his rank he is very much an outsider at home. The only ones who ever treated him respect have been the rebels. Hux is looking forwards to working with them again, to the point where he buys those "enemies of order and civilisation" chocolate treats upon the reunion. But Poe sees something even sweeter and the flirting begins anew.

When the group walks to their space ship, Hux and Rose hang back significantly and even feel comfortable enough around each other to chat.

Zooming in I caught them holding hands like this and that pretty much sold the pairing to me. Now I just had to make it work somehow.

To combat Godmother, the heroes need a full genetic profile of her. Problem: Their enemy already controls the government and the part not yet controlled is busy sweeping the goings on under the carpet. Most of their investigation consists of breaking into places.

During one such forays into a restricted zone Rose breaks a computer and with that leaves evidence of them having been here. When Ben yells at her for that, the other four unite against him, acting as a union.

Then comes the infamous Rylothberry wine incident, where everyone gets drunk, Poe and Hux duel with lightsabers and Rose walks into their blades. Poe's blade almost cuts into Rose's shoulder. Hux blocks with all his (drunken) might.

What could have been the beginning of a love story ends instead in Hux agreeing to a threemating with Finn and the stricken Poe.

Finn hopes that once the other two have acted on their desire, they can move on.

Next door Rose confides to Rey that she has a crush on both Finn and Hux, but hadn't said anything, willing to wait which one would get together with Poe.

Now she has lost them both and it hurts.

The group has to retreat to an underground bunker, where they continue their work. Hux and Rose become lab partners. They enjoy the quiet hours working together, still not talking much.

Hux overhears Rose receiving a call from a distant uncle. Turns out she has jokingly asked for an arranged marriage as a child, when she had thought to be too shy to ever pursue a boyfriend. Now the uncle has found her a partner.

Since Rose' homeworld is officially occupied by the First Order, Hux and Ben change a law to void the marriage contract.

Rose is perplexed. What made these two think that she'd agreed to this wedding?

Although he has been a fool, this one time Hux has meant well, what results in the first kiss of the lab partners.

Rose repeats her offer to the General. The bait has become tastier, but he's not quite ready to jump ship.

Things spiral downwards when the group has finished an experimental antivenom to Godmother's mind control. Both Rey and Hux had temporarily fallen victim to her, so Rose sees no choice but to test the antivenom on one of her friends and she picks Hux.

The choice is logical, but a sacrifice on a personal level, especially since the subject surviving wasn't a 100% given.

Silence rules again between these two, only this time cut by the occasional snark.

Rey and Hux find themselves exiled from the bunker due to their lingering infection. They find shelter in a landspeeder factory, where Hux does some growing up.

Among other things he gets over his aversion to kitchen work, learns to bake and realizes that he has a lot more to apologize for than Rose has. Right or wrong, he needs to make the first step.

The duo returns to the bunker, where they have been sorely missed. Everyone admits to have acted on emotion rather than rationally.

This is the last scene Rose and Hux have together in this chapter. He will stay behind to coordinate the planet's defenses, while Rose joins the group that confronts Godmother in person.

Time passes. An elaborate scheme makes Rey Palpatine the new Supreme Leader of the First Order, supported by Ben and Hux. This leads to a civil war and an extended siege on the planet Batuu, that threatens to become the site of a second battle of Jakku.

Rey's faction of the First Order allies with the Resistance and so Rose and Hux meet again on Batuu. Watching an Admiral swing around his grandson, they think of children of their own...

The couple is seen all over town, not hiding their relationship in the least.

Rose continues her work as commander of the engineering corps. Poe coordinates Batuu's aerial defence.

Meanwhile Hux and Finn form a crime battling unit, essentially acting as cops, a lifestyle that agrees with Hux a lot. Together they manage to destroy a criminal syndicate that not just plagued Black Spire, but also aided the rival faction of the First Order.

During the investigations it comes to light that Finn is the son of a crimelady from Batuu, who fled the planet.

Eventually the topic of children and with that of sex comes up. Hux is afraid that Rose might leave him if he doesn't feel the desire as often as her. He admits that his low sex drive had always been a source of pride to him, a cut above crude nature.

The problem is solved by all four agreeing to a semi-open relationship that only involves them, but no outsider.

Rose and Hux then win Batuu's first lightsaber tournament in the category non-force sensitives.

These duels normally have a clear winner, but a glitch in the game caused the finale to end in a draw. Never has a glitch been more welcome!

Although the letter of their alliance doesn't require him to, Hux shares a patent of his with the Resistance: He teaches them Hyperspace tracking, not just the makeshift counter Rose has already worked on, but the full technique.

At this point he believes in a co-existence with the annoying Republic and in Rey's ability to rule the galaxy.

However, after the civil war ends with Rey's faction being victorious, the First Order lets through that they are not interested in cooperation. They rebel against Rey in more or less subtle ways. The last straw is a trooper arresting Poe for having grown a beard - his ID no longer matches his appearance.

Hux publicly admonishes the trooper, only to get attacked by her.

Hux and Poe return to the Resistance base, where Rey is already waiting for them.

The reforming experiment has failed, the best they can hope for is for more First Order leaders to defect and help bring down the structure.

Rose and Hux - now a Commander of the Resistance - part ways again when Finn wants to explore his heritage and Rose and Poe go with him. Much to his relieve the crime syndicate lead turns out to be a red herring - the woman in question has been his nanny, not his mother.

The friends meet again at the Chapman farm on Batuu, where Finn meets his real mother and younger brother.

Rose, Hux, Poe and Finn decide to stay on Batuu. Poe will marry Finn, and Rose and Hux will build a home close to the Chapman farm.

---

Sources:

A new hope on Exegol

Godmother strikes back

The return to Batuu

These are chapters 5 - 7 of a story with my sims in the Star Wars/Batuu setting. Chapters 1-4 were starring my OCs with the occasional appearance of Kylo Ren and Rey as npc.

[allthegothihopgirls]

wait, i need more about the ‘what about the astronauts?’ trope because i think i missed a chapter on what it is

ok so pretty much it's a thing predominantly in apocalypse media, where they explore what happened to the astronauts who were in space on 'doomsday'. (although it's not always apocalyptic, it's always a world-altering event)

so like in a zombie apocalypse, what happened the astronauts off-planet when the outbreak began etc etc

there's typically 2 categories they fit into (depending on how realistic the text aims to be + the universe specific implications of astronauts being abandoned in space, ie: whether they can self-sustain etc).

they're alive and thriving

-the astronauts have avoided the virus/monster/natural disaster that destroyed earth and are living out the rest of their lives on their shuttle (which is for whatever reason designed to be self-sustaining) either continuing on a lineage, or accepting that they're going to be the last of the human race.

(this comes with the common plot points of: something's come up that could potentially sabotage the shuttle and leave them for dead. or they direct the shuttle back to earth. or they return to earth and try to administer a cure (and/or find out they're immune) to the virus etc)

2. they're alive but inevitably doomed

-in the real world the ISS is super dependant on frequent cargo deliveries, and is not at all self-sustainable, so more realistic texts tend to follow this idea (this is personally my favourite perspective to take). the astronauts survive the initial apocalypse, but are fated to die on the shuttle because they'll eventually run out of supplies + have no communication to earth.

(commonly used in more shorter texts as either a character study or interesting perspective on an apocalypse. common plot points include: they find a way to get back to earth and it's a race against time before they run out of supplies. solitary astronaut is faced with this and goes insane, until their death. etc)

~

examples of media that use this general trope:

-the last man on earth (tv series)

i'm not going to explain this one because of spoilers, but it is so so so good.

-the walking dead (briefly, but it's there)

a satellite crashes to earth + is the focus of an episode. sparks the possibility of astronauts potentially having survived in space after the apocalypse, in the ISS. (although most likely having died pretty soon after)

-the great perhaps (video game)

an astronaut comes back down to earth after an apocalypse and finds lantern which allows him to travel between the present and the past, and has to make his way through the ruins to get back home.

-space oddity by david bowie (if you squint)

-star trek

-the 100 (tv + book series)

idk if i'd exactly count this one, but people flee to space after an apocalypse starts on earth. they later return and build civilisation

there's so many more but that's just a few i particularly enjoy + could think of on the spot

[dameronology]

you and me [joel miller] - 1/2

"now i've had time to think it over, we're much older and the bone's too big to bury" - jaded, miley cyrus. a.k.a the one where you and joel see each other again and don't know what the fuck to do

warnings: angst, swearing, break-ups, swearing again because my god there is a lot, mentions of alcohol, mentions of death, no tlou 2 spoilers but probably some spoilers from the show. ok i think that's it.

this is my first full length joel fic and tbh i'm not even sure i've got the hang of his character lol. also, it's been about four years since i played the game and i'm writing this from memory of that and the show so pls forgive any inaccuracies. hope you enjoy. xx

jazz

p.s there will deffo be a part 2 to this lol dw

2 0 1 8

Life outside the Quarantine Zone was different.

It was both better and worst; better because there was no military breathing down your back, but worst because the Infected roamed free. It made Joel more tense - even when he kept you firmly behind him, rifle ready to go and finger itching on the trigger - to know that they could be anywhere. Sure, the military sucked but the biggest threat now was the Infected, and you'd come to learn a long time ago that there was no point arguing with his overprotectiveness. It was warranted, after everything he'd been through, so you operated under three rules: he went first, you went second, and if anyone was going to die first, it was going to be him. That last part was the one you loathed the most but he wasn't going to make the same mistake again.

Still, there were moments outside the QZ where he could let his guard down. When you were far enough away from civilisation, and far enough away from any hoards, he would let himself exist beside you, peacefully and at rest. Those nights camping - sometimes on the way to Bill and Frank's, or on a smuggling run - were his favourite. Sometimes it was beneath the stars, or beneath a tangle of trees. It was a tiny insight into what things could have been like in another life, without outbreaks and infected and constantly being on the move. They were moments he craved but so often, you found yourself hating them. Mostly because you knew they would eventually come to an end, but also because it was proof that you could exist out of the QZ. You'd felt like the place had been suffocating you for months. For you, it felt like a death sentence. Joel didn't love them either but he liked that you were both safe there. He could easily find you amongst the walls and you only ever left together. The thing that he thought was keeping you together was actually, in your mind, the thing that was driving you apart.

You'd pose the idea to him (for the tenth time) on a cold night, about four miles outside of the Boston QZ. The two of you had set up camp in the thickness of a forest; your tent was older than your respective ages combined and the fire was dwindling, but you were both content. Joel was leant against a tree, an arm wrapped around you and keeping you firmly to his side, free hand ready on his gun.

"I don't think I want to go back."

Joel peered down at you, quirking an eyebrow. "The hell are you talking about?"

"To the QZ," you said. "I don't want to go back to the QZ."

"This again?" he sighed - but you couldn't ignore the way his grip on you grew tighter. Tenser. "We've spoken about this a thousand times. The QZ is safe. It's...it's our home."

"Just because our stuff is that doesn't mean it's home," you murmured. "After this run, we could just take our stuff and go. We know the way out, we know how to run at this point, don't we?"

"It's dangerous out here," Joel reminded you. "We know how to be out here for limited periods of time. Those routes, those safe spaces and uninfected areas will run out eventually. So will our resources."

You sighed, sniffing. "Yeah. You're right. It's a silly idea."

"Hey...look, baby, don't get all mopey on me now," he shuffled slightly to the side, gently placing his hand on your cheek. "The main thing is that we have each other, wherever that may be. We've just gotta stick to the QZ for now but I promise, I'll get us out eventually. Just hang in there."

"Of course," you gave him a smile.

"It's you and me," he quietly added. "That's what matters."

"You and me," you'd replied. "I promise."

Still, Joel couldn't deny that he'd seen the light in you withering - the light that seemed to come back every time you were outside of the QZ. He knew you were stubborn; that once you had an idea in your head, that was it.

That's why he wasn't surprised to find you gone two weeks later.

2 0 2 3

Joel, my love,

I'm sorry. I'm never going to stop being sorry, but I tried to tell you a thousand times and you never listened.

I couldn't live that way any longer. I wanted to leave the QZ the day I got there, but then I met you, and I stayed longer than I ever imagined. You made it bearable - more than that. I just couldn't carry on anymore, especially knowing that the outside world may not be all that bad. It would be even better with you, but I can't force you to do something so drastic when you don't want to. That's not fair on you, but forcing myself to stay wouldn't be fair on me. Putting myself first feels like the worst thing in the world right now, but I have to do this. For me. I hope you can understand. I love you and I don't think I'll ever stop. I hope we cross paths again one day. It's you and me, always.

Joel Miller carried two things with, always. Three things, actually; his rifle, the letter you wrote him, and the grief that you'd left in your wake. It wasn't your fault - and Joel didn't blame you, not one bit - but he couldn't help but feel like it was his. You'd told him you'd been struggling and as he often did with his own emotions, he'd forced you to swallow it down. He thought that would have kept you together but unsurprisingly, it had driven you away.

Life, as it always had, went on. People came and went - though you never came back - and before long, Joel found himself trekking through Wyoming for the second time. Ellie had consumed all his priorities at that point. She had healed more than one of his wounds, but the night she'd found that letter in his bag and began asking questions had re-awoken Joel's yearning for you.

"Joel Miller, a relationship man? I never would have thought," she'd joked. And she hadn't really stopped asking questions since. She'd wanted to know how you met, how you fell in love, and most of all, why you'd left. Though, it didn't take a genius to guess.

The first time Joel had been in Jackson, he hadn't actually spent much time in Jackson. He'd been in the workshop, then in the bar with Tommy, and then he'd left with Ellie not long after. Now that he was there for the foreseeable future, he found himself wandering one morning. Ellie was still dead to the world, and he'd taken it as an opportunity to see what the fuss was actually all about.

Joel had never believed in ghost towns; maybe that was what this place had been for a while, but most of his ghosts resided back in Texas and Boston. Not Jackson. He had no history here; no one except from Tommy knew he was. Maybe he liked it that way. Maybe that was his chance for a fresh start, for him, and for Ellie...and for you, apparently.

He felt like he had seen a ghost the first time he saw you again. Coming in from patrol with Tommy and Maria, you were leading a horse at the front of the pack. You didn't look any older - if anything, the freedom and comfort that Jackson had brought you had de-aged you slightly. You were radiant; beautiful and shining and with the spark that Joel had always feared he'd strangled out of you by forcing you to stay in the QZ.

He hadn't meant to call out your name. It just sort of happened. It had been a whisper at first, actually, growing into a shout as he crossed the town square and towards the gates. You'd recognised his voice straight away but you hadn't actually believed it to be him. It wasn't until you saw him coming towards you that you realised. It hit you like a truck; actually Joel hit you like a truck, because he hadn't really thought about hugging you, and you in too much disbelief to hug him, so you sort of just fell to the ground in a pile-of-you-and-Joel-and-snow.

"What the fuck, Joel?!" your words had been muffled, on account for the mouthful of snow you had. "What the...what are you doing here?"

"What the fuck are you doing here?!"

"You didn't answer my question," you shot back. Joel stood up, sticking out his hand to help you up. You were happy to see him - and he was happy to see you - but before the happiness, there was the other a thousand complex emotions that had risen in your time apart. "How on Earth did you get here from Boston?"

"Couldn't I be asking you all the same things?!" he'd demanded. He sighed, then, and faltered for a moment. "Shit. I can't believe it's you."

Joel took a deep breath, anger fading; he finally held his arms open to you, taking you into a warm, desperate hug for the first time in five years. Your bodies practically thudded together, arms tangled into one as you clung onto him. You didn't regret leaving - not one bit, now that you were here, not that you were free - but god, there had been days where you would have traded all of that freedom for one more day with Joel. There were no radios here, so you'd hadn't a clue if he was even still alive.

It had been worst for him, because he did have a radio. And he spent days waiting by it, hearing story after story about people being found dead, or new Infected being found by the walls of QZ. They had matched your description on more than one occasion, and after a while, he'd just assumed the worst.

Tommy cleared his throat. "I won't ask, but if you need a moment, the bar is empty."

You glanced at Joel. "Yeah. Thanks Tommy."

Trudging to the bar, with Joel in tow, you walked in silence. It wasn't that you didn't have anything to say, it was just that you didn't know where to start. You'd gone over this scenario a thousand times in your head but now that it had actually happened, you were speechless.

The bar was, as promised, completely dead. You stepped inside and locked the door behind you, heading straight to the whiskey shelf. A double Glen Morangie for you, and a double of the cheapest stuff for Joel. That had always been his favourite.

You took a seat opposite him, sliding the drink to him.

Joel's dark eyes flickered to the drink and then back up to you. "You remembered?"

"I didn't forget a single thing," you shot back. "I promise."

"It's funny - and forgive me if I sound shitty for saying this, but I hope you can understand my position right now - but your promises...I can't say they mean much," he murmured.

You faltered slightly, heart dropping in your chest. "I don't blame for you being angry at me, Joel. I left you and obviously that hurt but can't you see it from my perspective? I was drowning. You could see that I was fucking drowning and you just...you ignored me. You brushed it aside because of what you wanted-"

"- I wanted you," he cut you off. Joel downed his drink in one gulp, slamming the glass back on the table. "All I fucking wanted was you."

"You wanted me in the QZ," you reminded him. "I told you I couldn't stay. A thousand times, Joel, and you ignored me on every single occasion."

"And leaving was the solution?"

"Yeah," you said firmly. "Yeah, it was. I wondered for a while, maybe two years or so, and then I joined a bunch of other stragglers and we ended up here."

"And Jackson isn't suffocating?"

"When I can come and go as I please? When we have running water, electricity, houses and infrastructure?" you couldn't help but let out a derivative laugh. "For what it's worth, I've missed you."

Joel's angry guard quickly came down with your admission. He reached a hand out across the table, brushing a thumb over your palm.

"I've missed you too," he murmured. "The people on the radio...they always spoke about finding bodies and Infected, ones that matched your description. I assumed after a while you were dead."

"I'm sorry," you softly said. "I wish you knew how many times I thought about turning back. Even recently, I thought about it, but I was scared I was gonna come back and find you dead, or even worst that I would find you alive and that you wouldn't want to know-"

"- you think that me rejecting you is worst than me dying?" Joel raised an eyebrow, trying to fight back a smile. "You're always so fuckin' dramatic."

You smiled. "Yeah, I know."

"It hurt, y'know," he went quieter again, voice dropping to a whisper. "You leaving...I knew you spoke about it but I didn't think you'd do it. Not without me, at least. Not when I promised to try and get us out-"

"- you hurt me too, Joel," you admitted. "It was all well and good to say one day, I promise but when is one day? Every time I tried to tell you how I was feeling, you shut me down. You shut me out and then you shut me down."

"So you're sayin' I drove you away?"

You paused for a moment; you could have denied it, you could have said it was all your own doing and that Joel's purposeful ignorance to your suffering wasn't relevant. He wouldn't have believed you. There was no point in denying what he already knew was true.

"Yeah," you shrugged. "You did. And I'm sorry about it, okay? I'm sorry that I left, but I didn't do it because I stopped loving you, or because I wanted to get away from you. I had to get away from everything and there hasn't been a single fucking day since I left that I haven't thought about you, or missed you, or wished that you'd come with me..."

You stopped then, barely able to swallow the lump in your throat or ignore the tears that had formed in your eyes. Joel was feeling a too - maybe just not as visibly - but he so desperately wanted to take his words back.

"I don't know what I'm meant to do now," you continued. "Now that you're here...I don't know how long for-"

"- for the foreseeable future," he said. "I have a kid with me. She's not my kid, but she is my kid and....she's the best thing that happened to me since you. Don't tell her I said that."

You smiled slightly. "The foreseeable future, huh?"

"Yeah. This seems like the best place to be, compared to the rest of fuckin' country," Joel replied. "Especially if you're here."

"Right," you nodded, smile not faltering. "I'm glad you're here. Despite everything."

He raised an eyebrow. "Despite everything?"

"You gotta understand, Joel, I'm over the fucking moon to see you. To know that you're alive, and well, and that..." you paused, trailing off.

One thing you hadn't expected to feel when you saw him again was hesitance. Anger, and resentment, and fucking hesitance. It was something you hadn't realised you were harbouring, but knowing that the man you loved had purposefully ignored the way you felt - even five years ago - hurt. You just hadn't realised how much til now, and seeing him had wrenched all those unhealed wounds right up, tearing them from the back of your brain and making them fresh all over again. Especially when he'd had the audacity to be angry at you - maybe rightfully so - but then not understanding why you might be angry at him.

There was an elephant in the room: what happened now? Did you get back together? Forget about everything that had happened, so that you could be happy again?

No. That ship had sailed. It had sailed, and then it had hit an iceberg and sank, and it had whatever versions of you and Joel that had existed then down with it.

You grabbed your drink, downing the whiskey in one gulp in the same way Joel had just moments earlier. "I'll see you around Joel."

[c0nf3tt1]

His Reason (Izuku x GNreader)

Fantasy AU 

Izuku is a knight, you are a fellow companion 

(I wanted to give everyone the ultimate amount of freedom in this one so there are no specifics about the character that represents you! I have been trying to do more of this style of writing to make sure everyone can enjoy my work ! i hope you do !!)

Summary- it isn’t until a moment of weakness does he realise who he has been fighting for. 

Warnings: mention of a death of a small child. wholesome, lil angsty? (not really) pinning!! (what’s a fic without a lil pinning?)  

Word count: 1600, short, pretty much a recycled fic from a while ago. i wanted to do a parallel to the current state of the anime/manga without the spoilers, and of course some happiness ! 

You couldn’t remember the last time you had seen Izuku in such a state. 

The overexertion and welling emotions barrelled into him all at once and he finally let it go.

It had been so long since he had openly cried in front of anyone, if ever-and he was sick of it. So sick and tired of all of the death, sadness and grief that seems to plague him for reasons he couldn’t understand.  

So that brought him here, in the thick of forest in the middle of returning from a mission with you, on his knees during the night sprawled across your sitting lap. 

Underneath the many stars that he could only hope were carrying the ones he had lost. 

Their glint did little to brighten his spirits in this moment, his usual optimism all but snuffed out in his own desperation. 

It wasn’t intentional, for him to break down in front of you. 

He promised himself he would become the strongest knight  

He had convinced himself he had become strong, achieving his ultimate goal in becoming the kight supreme of the northern kingdom. Someone who would protect every soul within the lands of the kingdom. He had saved countless lives during the recent war. 

Although, the loss was incomprehensible. Death still spread, no matter the efforts of he and his fellow companions. Throughout the devastated landscape and small villages. 

The loss of life was one thing, but the loss of livelihood was another destruction that plagued thousands. 

But after such an intensely monumental battle. Things had started to catch up with him, it had all happened so fast. 

He couldn’t help it. 

He had collapsed, holding onto the closest thing that could provide comfort. Which happened to be you. 

The only other person for kilometers. 

It had just been the last straw.  

The outskirts of the kingdom grounds were peppered with small civilisations, they were mostly abandoned now. The families packed up to seek refuge within the walls of the kingdom. 

It was your duty to survey the damages, to help plan the replenishing of the peoples homes.  

Izuku and yourself had encountered the death of a small child, a little girl during the sweep of the grounds. Up until that point, there were no findings of innocent lives slain. Izuku knew that it was only a matter of time.

The prerequisite of this thought did not nullify the shock of this discovery. Even with a victory, the extent of loss weighed down greatly in that moment. 

You both weren’t new to death, especially on missions but something was different this time. It had struck a chord in the both of you. The act of laying her to rest personally, or the way she had been left behind to face the carnage alone. Maybe it was the size of her innocent, untainted hands that would never get to experience the wonders of the world like you had. It nested within the both of you.

It just wasn’t fair.

The piercing sounds of his sharp inhales echoed throughout the woods around you. The crackling of the orange flame castes an inviting glow across your intertwined figures.  

There was a whisper,

“Please, just hold me a little longer.” a pleading voice struck your heart. 

“Of course, I’m here and I’m not going away until you’re ready.” your tone is the softest he’s ever heard. It mellows over him in a calming wave. 

Another involuntary sob shakes through his core, this time triggered by the comfort he wasn’t used to receiving. His desperate hands clinging harder onto the fabric of your clothing. 

You only held him closer, the racing of your heart pumping sparks of adrenaline at his closeness. The skin of your cheeks burning against the air of the autumn night. 

You could never let him go, not in this state or any other. You would always be by his side, forever desperate to pour your innermost feelings out for the boy in front of you, you just couldn’t.

Not when all he needed was a friend. 

You listened carefully to his every sound, and sensed his movements. The gentlest grips of the fabric at your sides, or the shiver that slightly ran the length of his spine with every high pitched sound that left his lips.

Truly, this was worse than any open wound, seeing the one you loved so deeply feel this loss.   

It was something you were blessed with, but it was also a curse, being so one sidedly in-sink with this selfless boy. Hyper aware of his every move, but that’s love you had told yourself for the slightest bit of closure. 

It wasn’t until a cricket symphony later did you notice that his breathing had begun evening out, prompting you to hold him closer in reassurance. You shift slowly, standing up from the log that you had set down next to the fire. While you adjusted yourself not once did Izuku let go of you completely, it was then you sunk to the ground in front of the boy. 

Your knees touched each other as you faced him fully. His hands tightly clutch the fabric at the sides of your waist. It was only then did you get a look at his face, the deep sunken features made your heart constrict in pain. 

He was tired, 

so tired of it all. 

Of not having someone to hold onto, in fear that he’d lose them-

But you were here. 

With your hands caressing the sides of his face in a gentle embrace. That gave him the strength to look into you further then he ever has. 

You had always been there. 

A sparkling shine of realisation filtered through the sadness within his eyes. His mouth fell slightly agape. 

The softly shining milky light of the moon reflected wonders in the deep forest green of his irises. A gorgeous garden so full of life, you had never gotten to fully appreciate this close. 

The soft short breaths that left Izuku’s lips began to drown out the clicking sounds and small rustlings of the forest around you. He was steady now, his eyes drying slowly. A new shine alight in the depths of his green.

The gravitation you had felt in that moment was the strongest force you have ever encountered, you were being pulled closer to him. 

In more ways than one. It was at that moment that you both realised that the only thing holding you back were these walls. The walls that were finally breaking with every second you stared into each other’s eyes.  

The depths of his gaze connected with your own.

A link that will forever remain, in both of your hearts. 

A silent revelation. 

The aching in the joints of his knees forgotten in the soft caress of your hands against his skin. The warmth of your palms breathing new life into his tired body. Then you smiled, one he had never cared to notice after all it was something so small. The one he had just found out made his heart flutter and cheeks warm. The soft shape and the curve of your eyes was so comforting that he had almost forgotten his sadness entirely. 

The warmth of your hands suddenly became suffocating, the heat buzzing into his skin. Yet he would never back away, instead he drew nearer. His hands slowly un-clench your clothing, his fingers now gentle, gliding to rest underneath your rib cage, your eyes soften.  Even in a moment like this, he was still so polite, never once taking advantage of vulnerability. 

The thundering beat in your chest echoing in your ears. The crease of your eyes displaying your undivided affection for the boy in front of you. He was staring back at you, lips pulled into a tiny tranquil smile, reddened eyes held a wonder you didn’t recognize. 

The soft strokes of your thumbs over his freckled skin lulling him into a sense of solace. 

It was then that he had realised, it was the people he had grown to love and care for that made every pain worthwhile. He couldn’t save everyone, no one- nothing could. He knew that, but he'd be damned to an afterlife of eternal suffering before he’d let those he cared for cross paths with death. There was a time Izuku would convince himself all he was close to were his purpose to fight. 

Although without him realising, you had become a reason to strive for the impossible, a world of harmony and peace.  

Although now, he knew with an utmost clarity.

Your name but a whisper upon the soft clear breeze of the forest as you pulled him closer. Breaking the unrelenting intimate gaze, you held him tightly against your chest. In one last effort to savor the feeling of closeness you had never experienced with him-or anyone else before. 

Your arms instinctively wrapped around each other’s figures. Enveloping the both of you with a sense of home that had not existed with anyone else. 

The sparkle sewn into the dark sky held his gaze momentarily, a sense of encouragement inspired him to let go completely. To fall into you. 

You had caught him. An emotional man encumbered with the burden of a title and extreme power, so effortlessly with open arms.     

His eyes welled up once more, although this time due to the new comprehension of the heavenly emotion he had never once admitted was always present in your company. 

It was in a silent moment, where his brain had been quiet, did he finally understand. 

That his reason was you. 

.

.

.

.

[elie-draloup]

Aaaalright, Aslante Legacy, final game (until the new one comes out) of the serie, thoughts and theories ! Once again, spoilers for the entirety of the two trilogies and the movie. Probably some swearing too, here and there.

-Gotta love how every game starts with the Professor receiving some letter and immediately deciding without further thoughts or plan or questions : OK let's go, screw my job, screw Luke's parents (screw Flora), we're going on a new possibly deadly dangerous adventure !

-... Sycamore is actually Descole, isn't he ? I mean... Look at the hair.

-Excuse me, a million years old ?!

- Luke, meet your new big sister, she can make magic with her brain.

- OK but how are they going to explain this *opens door with incantation* thing.

-Oh wait it's easy : Vocal password. Aslante civilisation wasn't more advanced than us, they were just super overdramatic about it. Mystery solved.

- And Aurora can make a ship crash because she has a super magnet transplanted in her head.

-Kidding. This is a Layton game. Maybe the girl isn't even real and is an induced hallucination given by an old toxic gas freed from the ice and Targent is just a cellphones company harassing us to sell things.

-This or there was a big misunderstanding about a ridiculously ambitious escape game that went really wrong.

-Last option is that Aslantes indeed used to be technologically advanced and Aurora is indeed 1 million years old, but there has to be something else because I need the final dramatic reveal where Layton points.

-random person ; Oh so you're a little family on vacation! What a beautiful couple you make with beautiful children !

Luke : Actually, we're not related.

Layton : I don't have kids.

Emmy : And I'm single.

Aurora : What's a family again ?

-That scene were Grosky almost got killed by a bunch of mafia guys was brutal.

-Corruption, violence, attempted murder, terrorism, intimidation, mafia-like organisation, kidnapping, art theft, spying... And then there's Descole. I just love how you have so many "action-movie" kind of threats, and then you have that one middle-aged theater kid in a carnival suit.

-Well, now I can add human sacrifices.

-Mushroom people

-Egg people

-What's next, cactus people ?

-Oh no, the actual Far West.

-BIG DOGGO

-is that were the "Layton and the very large dog" thing comes from or...?

-Forgot to write things, but basically people poisened themselves with drugs AGAIN but with the help of a kid, a bird and a library they're okay. So now we have a bunch of eggs but I'll make a tour to do all the puzzles I might have missed. Sorry guys, archeology can wait, I've got some puzzles to do.

-Aurora is still politely waiting for me to talk to her in order to move the plot. The answer is still no.

-Since Sycamore is Descole (I dunno, the hair. Only Descole would have that kind of haircut.), I'm starting to wonder if maybe... Emmy works for him ? Because.. I dunno, some PNJ just told Sycamore how he seemed to care a lot about Emmy, and Sycamore never striked me as the kind of person to look (or even be) caring so yeah I just... Am I reading too much into that ? Emmy does know martial arts and kinda came out of nowhere. But also... She's Emmy. Or maybe it's just a way to say "Sycamore may be Descole, who did tried to kill the protagonists on several occasions, but hey, he can be a nice guy too when he's not maniacally laughing out of madness !". Or just a dumb pnj saying nonsense.

-A fake egg huh. Who did it. It HAS to be someone travelling with us. Sycamore could be an obvious suspect but...Targent has the egg and Descole hate them. Hm.

-Yes, bring the kids to the evil mafia's lair surrounded by people with guns. Then don't let Flora take the train for her safety.

-Ah well one dude got shoot off screen apparently. Probably bleeding as hell. Wonderful sight for Luke's nightmares, a guy covered in blood, barely managing to escape from the people still running after him to end his life. Let's follow him.

-Yes quit your mafia job, take some vaccations, get married or whatever, wish you luck guys. We really hope that you're genuine otherwise that guy we left behind will be very dead huh.

-Sycamore looks way too familiar with Targent's methods. So that what happened to your wife and daughter, huh ? But Kornev seems disinterested in him now, despite his Aslante knowledge. Is the "Legacy" just a method to bring people to life ? That would explain why Descole is so eager to find it. Also can't wait to see Layton's reaction to the reveal of him being Descole. I mean, yes it's just a theory but.... Common it's just so obvious.

-I'm sorry but this girl attempted suicide, we should listen to her and IMMEDIATELY stop this whole thing like she said. I don't know what the azran legacy do but it seems like it's a bad idea to find out, after all.

-Eh, told ya. He had to reveal himself with his signature laugh, didn't he. Also... Yes ! Swordfight! (I feel like Layton will never respect him enough to fight him with an actual sword. This feels like a "You're the loser yet I'm the one with a broken pipe, you pathetic fake swordsman." vibe.

-Can we talk about how heartbroken Aurora must be right now ?

Aurora : You're my friend ? You mean it ?

Desmound: Of course !

Also Desmound : I'm stealing this from y'a, I used you all as a bunch of tools mouwhaha bye !

Aurora : =(

-PROFESSOR YOU CAN'T BRING FOUR PEOPLE TO FLY ON ONE SINGLE DEAD DINOSAUR was what I thought during the cutscene. Until I saw it was just Layton to catch up Descole. It's just... Layton has a HISTORY with hand-made flying devices.

-Also Kornev didn't seem to care that much about losing so they'll just follow them on the finale temple with a bunch of guns I guess. I got spoiled that Luke is going to die and I'm starting to worry a little. Hence why I think they're going to unlock the power of bringing people back to life. But I also guess such power comes with disastrous consequences. Though by the look of Aurora behaviour, it seems like the whole world is doomed.

-Oh hey Descole. Need a hand opening that door ?

-And here they are with the guns.

-Hehe, gun proof ceiling.

-EMMY. YOU. HOW COULD YOU. LUKE HE TRUSTED YOU. THE FUCK. EMMY WHY. AND FOR THIS BASTARD ?! YOU KNOW HE'S A BASTARD RIGHT ? YOU THREATENED LUKE. YOUR LITTLE PAL. WITH A FREAKIN STALACTITE TO HIS NECK. THAT'S A KILLING MOVE EMMY. WOULD YOU HAVE THE GUTS FOR IT. WOULD YOU.

-OK I'm fine, it's ok, alright, good, let's keep going. It's not like I wasn't used to betrayals in video games. But still. What the heck.

-Heeeey, Descole, pal. Guess we're a team now, if you're not in the mood of trying to kill me today ! And you know I would destroy the entire world and then myself if anything had to happen to Luke, riiiight?

-The guy asked for a team up himself, I don't even get to laugh at him.

-Oh thank stars Luke is okay. But for how long.

-I'm sorry Emmy, but you still lied and spied on us. Also threatened Luke. It sucks because you're awesome but still a traitor. I suppose that explains why she won't be around for the next games.

-Luke and Descole being salty at eachother is SO fun to watch.

-what the heck.

-Descole took a bullet for Luke. First of all : Can you PLEASE stop giving this kid near-death experiences, I heard he's supposed to die at some point and it makes these situations even more intense. Even if I know he'll come back thanks to the other games but still. Also... What the actual heck ?

-.... Brothers ?!

-.... Father ?!!

-Wat

-Well, that was... a lot. Guess I'll let you die there, I have to save the world so uh, not the greatest time for a family reunion.

-Everything has gotten 1000 times more awkward between these two. I mean imagine if Descole make it alive:

Des : uh...Little brother.

Layton: Let's not.

Des : Yeah, sounded wrong when I said it too.

-You....You're telling me that all the grunts died on the way here ? Well good thing we haven't met with any of the corpses I guess.

- See Emmy ? This guy would rather see you die on a puzzle than try it himself. I hate him so much. Now I get why Emmy seemed so taken aback after her first meeting with the Professor. That's why she was surprised to be shown some consideration, after years spent with this guy.

-He just... ran the sword through her heart with NO second thought.

-Wait, EVERYONE dies ?!

-And in a very painful and disturbing way ?!!

-They were on the ground. They were dead dead.

-End of the world : Successfully avoided! At the price of ☆trauma☆

-Luke watching his adopted sister disintegrate. Ouch.

-Descole being like : SEE YA ASSHOLES. If he stayed he was sooooo going to jail.

-Fffffffriend ? With him ? Hershel.... I get that it's your biological father, but he also proved himself to be some crazy heartless jerk. On the behalf of "good intentions", but the end doesn't justify the ways. Loved how he made it clear that his parents are his ACTUAL parents and nothing, not even a biological father will ever changr that though. And that HE IS Hershel Layton.

- So let me get this straight. Layton lost his family at 6 because of the mafia of science(was this close to my random "seven curse" theory.). Then lost his best friend at 17 and grieved him for 18 years while blaming himself before he got back from the dead. Then lost his fiancee at 27 and almost got killed by trying to discover the circumstances of her death. Then lost a kid he had to take care of when he was 35 right after being revived by said kid. And witnessed the death of his fiancee AGAIN at 37. And all this with no therapy. I think I get why he has such a harsh time expressing his emotions.

-At least Emmy got to live a REAL independent life. I think she couldn't stay after all that since the trust has been broken, but she still get to have the opportunity to grow on her own to choose who SHE wants to be, not some fake uncle. Wonder if we'll have some news from her in the next game, since now they can acknowledge both of the trilogies.

-Luke and Layton after getting home:

Layton : Not a word to your parents about the whole... dying and stuff ?

Luke : Nope. Definitely not.

-I wonder if one of the reasons Hershel is more protective of Flora is because he's projecting Aurora on her. I mean it's hinted that she got reincarnated, but to him she's still very dead.

-I hope we'll have at least some cameos or references to all those characters in the new game. And a hint that they all went to therapy because heck do they need it. Do something of these coins, professor.

-Wait a second, something's wrong.

LAYTON HASN'T DONE THE DRAMATIC FINGER REVEAL THING

- Probably because he was as confused by everything for this one.

-Besides it's hard to be more overdramatic than Descole. Desmound? Descole?

-Des.

-Wait wait wait... It's implied that Desmound's wife and daughter got killed by Targent, right ? Did it happened under the command of his joke of a father? Did that happened or did I forgot something ?! Like what.

- Hershel please don't call this shithead a friend. He's not. Why am I more angry at Bronev than you are.

-Silly idea of Layton and Descole attempting a talk like normal brothers :

Des : So remember that time we died ?

Layton: Oh yes. Yes. And, uh, saved the world.

Des : And that one kid really died.

Layton : I can still kill you in a swordfight you know, that's gentleman's approved.

Des : *sips tea*

And this was the final one. I would have done Mysterious Village and Pandora's Box too but I already played those before I began to write my thoughts while playing so there would be no point now that I know the plots. Anyway, I absolutely loved these games and can't wait to play the new one on Switch, after going through both trilogies, I'm ready for the new wave of angst !

[gingerbreadmonsters]

blood sugar, baby!

or: out of the frying pan...

gn!reader, warnings for imperium grimdarkness, confidently unsettling and i love it. at last, the man of the hour arrives!! i’ve said it once, and i’ll say it again: this fic could NEVER have been possible without the combined brainpower (and capacity for keysmashes) of the gang over on discord, and for them i am forever grateful - @zozo-01, @daveyistheloml, @autisticempathydaemon, @haradasaya, @milophiliac, and of course my beloved @sri-rachaa, vampire enthusiast in residence, to whom we owe the ENORMOUS debt of creating the southern siblings AU which this fic takes place in 💕💕💕 i love you all immensely, and i hope this was worth the wait!! 🥰🥰 takes place after the cataclysm finale ‘All Cruel Things’, so beware spoilers for that. william developing terrible coping mechanisms in 4800 words or less.

a handful of warnings: kidnapping, manipulation, implied stockholm syndrome, lovely is restrained and unable to move (and not in a sexy way), non-consensual trancing, grief and bereavement, extended discussion of blood, light gore, murder, and dead bodies.

i strongly encourage you to mind the warnings, and to stop reading at ANY point if you feel uncomfortable. reader discretion is heavily advised. minors dni. please consider yourself warned.

“Time to wake up, little one.”

It hurts.

If you could find the energy to move, you would. Is that someone talking? The voice isn’t entirely unfamiliar. Your eyes don’t want to open.

“Come on, there you go,” Gloved fingers gently run across your jaw, soft leather smooth against your skin, and an involuntary shudder slices down your back. “Wake up for me, darling, that’s it.”

You’ve heard this voice before. But where? And why can’t you- why can’t you move your- why are your hands-?

"Ah - hold on, darling, don't sit up just yet."

God, your head is spinning. What happened? You were on your way to… wait, what were you trying to do? The fighting, the video, the- the video! You were going to see Sam, that's it, he'd sent those vampires to come and find you, you'd been on your way when-

"We wouldn't want to test those bindings too soon, would we?"

-when it had happened.

It had all been so fast. You're not really sure exactly what had happened - just that sound, rippling through your body, and the world falling away. You can’t run from that sound. You hadn’t wanted to. The sudden rush of displaced air that you know means something coming and fast - for just a single, wonderful second, you’d almost been able to believe it was him. Impossibly fast footsteps coming down the basement steps, echoing through your brain, the promise of warmth and teeth and water. Your mind, full of the world you know best, until all of a sudden your blood turned to ice and the empty earth fell away.

Down, down, down. Yes, that’s it. That was just falling. This is hitting the ground.

“I do apologise for the… circumstances of our meeting. I’d hoped it would all be a bit more civilised, but you know what they say about best laid plans.” Blearily, you squint up at the figure next to you - it feels like you’re lying on a bed, neat lines of rope holding you flat and helpless, and the mattress dips where they’re sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. “Thank goodness I found you in time, hmm?”

Who is this? Everything’s still a little blurry, but you can just about make out the vague lines of the face, the hair, the clothes - although none of it rings a bell. Sounds like a man’s voice, softly accented, but from where? The shape of the vowels, letters sticking and sliding where you don’t expect them… There’s something off about the things he’s saying, too. The cadence of it all is slightly old-fashioned, formal but strangely fond. It doesn’t make sense. Who do you know who speaks like that?

"In any case, do allow me to introduce myself to you.” The man leans down to politely kiss your hand where it’s tied above your head, ever so lightly, and all at once you remember where you’ve heard this voice before. Of course. His face comes into focus, and you understand. He sounds different when you’re not eavesdropping on his phone calls.

“My name is William Solaire, darling. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you."

Sharp teeth in the freezing water. You’re never going to get away, are you?

It’s a question you already know the answer to, but it doesn’t change the fact that both of you feel it when your heart rate starts to climb - he inclines his head slightly in acknowledgment, but thankfully he has the good grace not to mention it. It’s always a bit embarrassing when they point it out. What can you say? It’s not like it’s really your fault. Of all the things you can’t control, your heart has never been the issue.

(...Well. Actually, the jury’s still out on that one.)

“Breathe, little sweetheart,” His smile is soft and easy, deep red eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. Belatedly, you realise that you probably shouldn’t have looked him in the eye. Although, does it really matter? It didn’t help the first time. You wouldn’t be able to do anything either way. “There you go, that’s better. How are you feeling? Not too overwhelmed, I hope.”

If only. It takes you a minute to clear your throat, but you shake your head at the offered glass of water, watching as he places it gently back onto the nightstand by your head. Like hell you’re drinking anything he gives you.

“Where is this?”

He laughs, and it stings a little. “The bedroom, darling. I would have thought that was obvious.”

“No, but-” you press, a little more forcefully this time. “But where? Where are we?”

“Hmm. You must be confused.” Why won’t he tell you where you are? He looks over to the clock on the mantelpiece behind him, and makes as if to get up. “Perhaps I should leave you to rest a little m-”

“No!” Both of you are surprised by how quickly you refuse, but you know that if he leaves, there’s no telling when - if ever - he’ll come back for you. Call it personal experience. And perhaps it’s coming on a bit strongly, but you’re never letting it happen again. Does this one have a murderous other half too?

“I, uh- I’d rather stay awake for a bit.”

William raises an eyebrow at that, but doesn’t push it. “Fair enough, little one. I’m more than happy to keep you company.”

He turns away for a moment, slipping his gloves off and placing them in the box on top of the chest of drawers by the window, and you might as well take the opportunity to look at him properly. He doesn’t look anything like him - although, thinking about it, you probably shouldn’t have expected him to. His hair is much longer, for a start, falling loosely over one shoulder, and the colour is a little lighter too. Physically, he must have been older when he was turned, right? He looks to be in his late twenties, maybe mid-thirties at most. Or maybe that’s just the way he carries himself? You’re not sure. William is all angles, where his face was curves. Ruby studs, long eyelashes, silk and wool and brocade. The sort of gentleman that belonged to times gone by.

Beautiful, so very beautiful, but not quite in the same way. Still, something about the set of his mouth, the arch of his brow - he tilts his head as he catches you staring, and for a split second you’re reminded of him. Maybe this is where Vincent got it from?

Idly, one elegant finger skims back and forth along the line of rope that keeps your middle down against the mattress. “I suppose we ought to address the elephant in the room, while we’re here.”

Here it comes. What’s he going to want? They always want something. “I can g-”

"You were Vincent's, weren't you?”

Laughter. The name burns through your blood, a lit match dropped in petrol, and the words don’t come. Vincent. Locks turning and hands grasping and it’s so, so cold. Hours and hours in his arms, and even more spent wishing that you were. Spinning, drifting, light as air as he anchors you down, your helium head floating as his lips leave your neck. The world outside sounds better in his voice. Vincent, Vincent, Vincent. Honey, I’m home. Footsteps down the basement stairs. How long until it’s dinnertime?

“It’s alright, little one.” Oh. You should probably have actually said something. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, which is nice. “You don't need to say anything. I can tell.”

Of course he can. You’ve never really thought of yourself as an open book, but maybe you ought to reconsider. These vampiric sorts seem to have a thing for knowing you a little too well.

Silence, for a little while. You take the chance to look a little more closely at the room around you - it looks old, like the set of some kind of period drama, all rich and dark and plush. An elaborately-carved armoire, tasteful paintings in ornate frames, a dark inkwell over on the writing desk. How unusual. You didn’t realise anyone still wrote with those any more.

“You were with him for quite a while, weren’t you? One of the longest, I believe.”

The curtains are drawn so you can’t see outside, thick and heavy to keep the sunlight at bay, but that’s not really a surprise. Is it even daytime at all? The mantel clock ticks away, and you shift a little bit under your bindings. They’re not tight tight, but they’re kind of uncomfortable without something to distract you.

“Forgive me, but I feel I ought to ask.”

Distraction, however, doesn’t take long to arrive. A heavy breath and a heavier question, spoken into the still air like a death sentence, and there’s something strange about the executioner’s voice.

"Did you love him, little one?"

You're not sure you know the answer. Love was something different in the basement.

"I’ll tell you the truth, darling. I couldn't tell you exactly how he felt about you. The bond doesn't work like that - I could feel a little of his emotions, the strong ones, but not all the time.”

The strong ones. Makes sense. It always was about strength, with him. Tested and tied up and taken apart until it all made sense again, the power in blood and the blood that bestows power. A warm meal, or a bedwarmer, or sometimes both at once. What was it all for, then? Devotion? Loyalty? Obsession? A legion of puppets, lovers that never were, fighting and dying to die by his side. Heartstrings all in a web, the ghost of a spider’s soft, bloody touch hanging over you.

In your mind, all the time, Vincent had been everything. At first it had been scary, until it wasn’t anymore. When had it happened? When had you known? The pieces falling into place, his hand in yours as you kiss the key that holds you cuffed to him. Had you loved him? Do you love him now? You can’t say for sure, and somehow that’s scarier than any yes or no you could give.

Soft lips, sharp teeth. Everything has its price, and love is no exception.

"He cared for you, that much is certain. In what way, I don't know for sure. But - oh, darling, don't cry - here, let me get you-"

The handkerchief is soft and delicate, trimmed with elaborate lace, and his touch is impossibly light as he brushes the tears from your face. Ugly, ugly crying, pretty thing. If you could hide your face, you would - as it is, you’re resigned to your embarrassment. The blade doesn’t stop swinging, and the axe speaks again.

"I don't know if he loved you. Love and vampires don't tend to run in the same circles, nowadays. But he was my son, and he couldn't lie to me - you were special to him, little one, even if he never told me how."

Perhaps it’s just wishful thinking, but he almost sounds… sad, in a way you don’t really know how to describe. Maybe sad isn’t the right word at all - regretful? Mournful? Bittersweet? You can’t find the words for him, and for some reason the thought makes you sad too. He doesn’t sound like a murderer, or a kidnapper, or a monster. Just a man. A father, waiting at the door for a son who won’t come home.

"Indulge me for a minute, won’t you?” He asks, and you agree - although, to be honest, it’s not like you have many options right now. “Let me tell you about my children."

"My daughter's name was Alexis, and she was my pride and joy. I found her some time ago, now - it must have been maybe fifty years or so? A long time, I imagine, for you. But for me, it feels like only yesterday. An empty, lonely sort of girl, even if she tried not to show it. We met, and I felt at once a great sadness in my heart to know her pain - after a little while, I offered her a choice, and she took it freely.”

You’d never known Vincent had a sister, and the thought that he’d never bothered to tell you… It stings. What had she been to him? Listening to William talk about her, it’s hard to figure out what sort of person she must have been, but you think you get the picture. Lonely. Empty. Nowhere to go. You know a little something about that.

“My first progeny. It was an… unusual feeling, to begin with, but not an unwelcome one. I have always felt that family comes first, above all else, you know. It was a relief to once again find myself with the beginnings of a real family again, although perhaps it’s a little misleading to call us blood relatives. It was no matter. I loved her all the same, despite those who didn’t believe me.”

He must see your confusion on your face at his words, palms upturning as if to say there was no choice. “I gave her to the Department, you see. And yes, I know. A callous, rotten thing to do to my own daughter, betrayal on an unforgivable scale. But you have to understand - I did not hand her invocations over for nothing. My clan was growing, and as their king I knew that we could not survive without a place for us to stake our claim.”

Oh. Of course, he’s a vampire king. Vincent had mentioned it a few times, but mostly just in passing - and he’d never bothered to explain what it really meant. “I needed territory, and for that I needed to appease the Department. And what the Department wanted, more than anything else in the world, was the mind of the Solaire princess.”

“They thought she would not be loyal to me any more, that they could turn her against me and I would be helpless to defend myself against my own daughter. Or perhaps they simpy assumed that we held no love for each other, as happens to so many Makers and their progenies these days.” He laughs, gentle and a little bit mean, and you get the feeling that the joke isn’t at your expense this time. “They sent her to kill me, and… well. Let me assure you that neither of those things were true.”

He reaches across to offer you the glass of water again, taking a sip from it himself when you shake your head. Long fingers wrapping around the glass, eyes closing for just a second. If he notices your gaze fixed on his throat as he swallows, he doesn’t say anything.

“Vincent, on the other hand, was less intentional, I suppose you could say. Did he ever tell you how he was turned?”

Did he? “No, I don’t think so,” you say, shaking your head slightly. He hadn’t said, and you hadn’t asked. “It never really came up.”

“I see. I’ll have to tell you the full story another time - it’s quite a long one, and I wouldn’t want to bore you, darling. Suffice to say, I turned him only a short while ago, about twenty years, but what wonderful years they were. Difficult at first, but wonderful all the same.”

“I can’t imagine he mentioned me much to you, but I don’t begrudge him that.” A quiet sigh, resigned, and your heart breaks a little further. “Vincent and I did not often see eye-to-eye on certain matters, it’s true. But he was my progeny, always, and I loved him anyway.”

His tone turns bitter, smile souring in his voice, and the air thickens like a storm rolling in. Lightning striking the sea, waves thrashing in the darkness of the open water, and the spray threatens to swallow you whole.

“My son is gone, now, and my daughter too. I felt it as they disappeared, and do you know what it was like? Little one, I am very, very old, and yet it was like nothing I had ever known.”

“I found Alexis the night she died. The King-Imperial,” he spits, like the words themselves are poison, “thought he had taken her from me, but that has never been true. She was my daughter then, and she is my daughter still. I will always know her, and I will always bring her home to me.”

“My beautiful girl, in pieces on the floor, and not even the dignity to close the door behind them. I wanted to close her eyes and pretend that she was sleeping. I wanted to kiss her face and make sure she had peaceful dreams. I wanted to smooth away her hair and place her pillow underneath her, so that when she woke up, she would wake up happy.”

He smiles, ice and grief and rage, and all at once the earth is cold again.

“But I could not do those things, because the creatures that killed my daughter had also stolen her head.”

Oh.

There’s nothing you can say to that. You cast your eyes down politely, sympathetic silence, and give him a second to compose himself, if he wants it. Some things should not be intruded upon, after all, even if he’s the one who brought it up. It would be rude to stare.

“Don’t worry, little one.” A half-hearted, hollow sort of laugh. “I told you I would always find her, and I did. Do you know where I found her? Now that I think about it, you might even have seen her - although you probably wouldn’t have realised it at the time.”

…What?

“Those wolves that took you from Vincent’s house. I assume they didn’t let you look.”

You nod. You don’t remember his name, but the one who had unlocked your door had been very careful to cover your eyes as he brought you up and out of the house. He hadn’t told you why. You hadn’t asked him, either.

“Well, they did not extend the same courtesy to me. After I brought you here, I returned to Vincent’s house, and I found what I was looking for.”

Oh, God. You can see where this is going. “They may not have been twins in the traditional sense, but they have always been cut from the same cloth. When I found my son, torn to ribbons in the hallway, cooling in his own blood, I found my daughter’s head alongside him.”

…So it’s true.

So he really is dead.

So he really isn’t coming back for you.

“My Vincent, my only boy.” Close as he is to you, you can just about hear the faintest tremble in his voice as he speaks again. “I had never had a son before, you know - but for him, I would have done anything. I will still do anything. My blood is his as well. If there is one decision, in all my many years, that I will never come to regret, it will be the choice I made that night - to give that boy my name.”

Tears gather, but don’t fall. You look up at him, at this man who by all logic you must despise, and he looks so very sad that you can’t help but feel sorry for him. Nobody deserves that. It must be very difficult to keep a crown upon your head, especially when your head is no longer attached to your body. The children of William Solaire lie dead and rotting, royal flesh dripping off of golden bones, and a father learns how it feels to not be a father anymore.

(It doesn’t make sense. Who in their right mind would feel sorry for their kidnapper?)

(...On second thoughts, don’t answer that.)

He leans over to pick up the glass again, free hand discreetly brushing across his waterline, and takes another sip. Once again, he offers it to you, but after a little hesitation you refuse once more.

“I’m sorry, dearest,” he says mournfully, “But I can’t tell you why they died. To tell you the truth, I wish I knew myself. Perhaps, then, we both might be able to find a little peace.”

So he doesn’t know either. Will you be left wondering forever, then? “I have my suspicions. Some die as they lived, and my children were always at each other’s throats. Alexis and Vincent are gone, and I know how. But there’s no way of knowing why - you and I will simply have to settle with that.”

He reaches over to stroke one hand softly over your cheek, cool palm cupping your jaw. “That being said, all is not lost, little darling. Don’t worry. I know who I’m looking for.”

A cruel grin, all fangs. “I’ll get us both revenge.”

The promise of revenge is a tempting one. The small, rational part of your brain tries to tell you that it won’t bring him back. An even smaller part of your brain tries to tell you that you probably shouldn’t want him back at all. Neither voice is difficult to ignore, especially not when you nod in agreement and William’s satisfied smile answers you.

“I- ah-” Behind him, the mantel clock chimes on the hour, startling both of you - he looks faintly annoyed as he turns to look. “Sorry about that, darling. I’d completely forgotten the time.”

“It’s, uh…” Again, you’re not really sure what to say to that. It’s not like you could really go anywhere right now. “It’s fine.”

In any case, it seems to have reminded him of something. Glass still in hand, his fingers tap against the cut crystal. The pattern seems deliberate, but you don’t recognise the rhythm.

“I confess, my dear. I may not have been entirely forthcoming about my reason for bringing you here.”

It’s almost funny, how aware of your own pulse you become. Deja vu, maybe.

“I don’t know if he ever told you, but my son did not care for very many things, in his time. I believe you were one of those rare exceptions. It might not be much, but I hope you can find a little comfort in that.” Delicately, he rests one hand on your side, in the gap between the ropes that span your waist and your hips. You don’t move at all.

“I have been alive for many years, little one, and in that time I’ve learned a great many things about what it means to disappear. Names and faces and stories that I thought would last forever, which now only I, alone, remember.”

“It is said that as long as a person is loved, they are alive, is it not? I have seen what happens when that love, too, disappears. The torch-bearers meet their ends, and the flame is lost forever. Love only lasts as long as the life that remembers it, and my life has been very long indeed. My blood has always known the sun, and I wonder that my heart has not yet turned to ash with all the love I force it to hold.”

He raises his nearly-empty glass to you, a polite suggestion of a toast, charming and melancholy in equal measure. “You love him. I love him too. In us, may he never disappear.”

To that, you have no reply.

“You and I, bearers of the flame.” An empty glass, placed lightly back on its coaster. “Perhaps I did not know him as well as I should have, and that will be my burden. But what little of my son remains, I have no choice but to protect.”

“Vincent, Alexis. I have already lost them once. Never again.”

He shifts slightly, angling himself to face you slightly better, and you have the sudden, urgent sense that whatever you do, you must not look him in the eye.

“Proof, that my son existed at all. That he lived, and was loved, and was known. He cared so much for you, and I cannot hold him all on my own.” His voice, so impossibly soft and kind. “Won’t you help me, little one?”

“I…” He makes it sound very tempting, but there’s doubt still. “What should- what are- what do you want me to do?”

“Not very much, darling,” he replies. “All you have to do is look at me.”

He must hear your heartbeat quickening, as he presses a gentle hand to your chest. “I know it’s scary, little one, I know. But I’m giving you the choice, no? I did the same for Vincent, when I met him, and Alexis when I met her. Do you think they regretted it?”

“...No?” It comes out nervously, eyes firmly fixed on the mantel clock behind him, but he seems pleased nonetheless.

“Exactly. I know what I’m doing, sweet thing, it’s alright. I want you to be happy, don’t I? I don’t want to hurt you. What on earth would I want that for? A sweet, precious little thing like you - I don’t want to make you cry, or make you scared, or make you sad, darling. There’s just one thing I want from you, my dear, and it’s very simple.”

One more time, a kind hand comes up to hold your face. Gentle pressure lifts your chin, turning your gaze upwards, and as ever you are powerless to resist. You look, and look, and keep looking - dark crimson eyes catch your own, and for some reason it’s impossible to look away.

“There you are. My little thrall-to-be, hmm? Aren’t you good.” Mesmerised, you’re only faintly aware of the rope that still binds your body to the bed - the whole world shrinks until there’s just this room, and this voice, and these eyes. You shiver slightly, but you’re not sure why. “Oh, is that it? That’s what you want - to be good for me?” A playful smirk. “You spoil me, darling.”

The haze in your mind is thick and heavy, swirling through your brain, taking any words you might once have had along with it. Vaguely, you remember having something you wanted to say, but what was it?

“I know, I know. It’ll only be a second, I promise.”

Oh, it can’t have been important.

“Can you focus on me, my dear?”

It’s difficult, but you try your best. Gradually, the world comes back into focus, and he’s so very, very beautiful.

“That’s it. Breathe, sweetheart,” he smiles, and your lungs obey. “I’ve got you.”

If anyone asks, you don’t really know what happens next.

It’s funny - the waves crashing over you, tide winding around your waist and pulling you out to sea. Wood and salt and sand, the moon on your mind and blood in the water. Life is soft, all of a sudden, and it’s a pair of kind, red eyes that create reality. You’re floating, washed smooth in the ocean, and that’s all that matters.

Maybe the mantel clock chimes again, once or twice or not at all. Who’s to say? Easy, easy, easy. Cool hands lowering you into sleep, and the faintest kiss, pressed against your salt-soaked hair. Your head spins in the surf, and for a moment it feels like deja vu. Perhaps history really does repeat itself. Unfortunately, you wouldn’t know.

He leaves, and you dream.

There’s a house in the woods, a very long way away, to which no living person owns the key. It’s a very nice house, or perhaps it used to be - there are not many people left who have ever seen it, so it’s difficult to say. Leaves tumble to the dirt, and the lock freezes in the bitterness of night.

Nothing moves, in this house. Not any more. The bedroom curtains are still closed, and the tap drips eternally. Clothes that will never be ironed, a cabinet door that rusts still half-open. A kettle that doesn’t boil. A calendar that never reaches year’s end.

Dark wood for a hallway floor - a shame that not all stains can be hidden. Spilling, gushing, splashing, and can you really call it lifeblood if there’s no life left in it? The floorboards soaked in blood, dried down to a thick, tacky film that clings to the roof of your mouth like toffee. How sweet. A man who was a boy who was a monster, black eyes forever open, the pieces of him all but stuck to the floor. William Solaire leaves the lights off as he cries, carrying the spun glass that used to be his son in his arms, and nobody ever finds this house again.

Houses in the woods are supposed to be haunted, people say. This one is not. There are no ghosts in the house of an undead man.

You, perhaps, are the exception.

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

[strawberrypinky]

all your loving (all or nothing) pt. 2 - a. sharp x reader

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

or: aesop sharp is an idiot in love with a breeding kink and this escalated in ways i can never speak of – part two baby!

A/N: Part Two of what was supposed to be a single, short and smutty one shot of my recent fictional obsession: Professor Sharp. Part two is where the breeding kink 'finally' hits – apologies in advance. I haven't written smut in quite a while and I shockingly have never published any before. The depravity was strong with this one and I sincerely hope my mother never finds this. I may be in my twenties but she'd still ship me off to a convent if she did.

Please remember that this takes place during Victorian Times – Women were not nearly as educated as we are today on Sex and Pleasure. MC is a virgin – so she might come off as slightly naive/dumb at times. It's all consensual tho, don't worry.

Thank you again to @legacygirlingreen for enabling me & being my number one supporter on the road to hell. I couldn't have done this without you (seriously, you were a saint) 🤪💚 This one is for you 💚

To everyone reading this; I have never written 'x Reader' before, so please give me some grace for trying 🙏🏻 This was a first. Part Two is the 'final' (as if this wasn't supposed to be a one shot either way lol) - however if someone enables me enough, part three is always a possibility. That said; please don't enable me 💀

Onwards now; I have promised @fizzlewick a Regency/Pride and Prejudice AU! with our favourite Potions Professor as Mr. Darcy.

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

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

Word Count (Part 2): 15.5k (again - this escalated)

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48482581/chapters/123361243

Part One: Click here

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

She loved him. 

She. Loved. HIM. 

It was a mantra that he found himself repeating over and over again, never quite believing that this wasn't some sick and twisted dream he would wake up from. But it wasn't a dream, and the extraordinary woman he had fallen in love with, had fallen for him too. He fell asleep with her in his arms every night since that night, his room practically vacant, only for him to return to in the early morning to get dressed and prepare himself for the day ahead, and each morning he fell in love all over again – her face aglow in the morning light. It was bliss. Pure and delicious bliss. 

They had kept their newfound romance largely private, restricted to lingering touches when nobody could see and the small reprieve her hut could offer, though Aesop suspected that their colleagues knew. At the very least, they presumed their dynamic had shifted, even if they did not know to which extent. His love hadn't even told Eleazar, which surprised Aesop, given that the man truly was like a father to her (and a much better one at that, too), but it made their love all the more sacred. If ever Aesop paid Dinah any attention over dinner, he could spot her knowing smirk, carefully hidden behind her goblet, but it was there even if she never outright said anything. 

His mood had much improved, no longer weighed down by the constant nagging feeling of unrequited love and the lingering 'What if?' – her smile and scent no longer torturous but a source of comfort and longing. He still wondered what she saw in him, but the devotion she looked at him with let him believe that this could be forever. Selfishly he let himself dream of days in the English countryside, hidden away in cottages from the prying eyes of the rest of the world, but if selfishness was what this yearning was, Aesop would let himself be a greedy glutton, for he never wished to miss her presence in his life again.

"You think too much," she mumbled, curled into his chest as the sun was slowly starting to rise on the horizon, filling her hut with a glowing orange light.  

"I think too much?" he smiled down at her, her eyes still closed in bliss, his masculine scent of firewhiskey and sandalwood enveloping her senses. He had heard that one before. 

"Mhm," she hummed, opening her tired eyes to look up at his, his hair still dishevelled and unkempt. "I can almost hear your brooding." 

"Apologies, my lady," he jested. "I will be careful to not disturb your beauty sleep any further."

"I will hold you to it", she sighed, falling into his warm embrace, wholly content. "A gentleman should stay true to his word."

"I'm hardly a gentleman," Aesop chuckled lowly. "For if I was, I would not be in your bed without a ring on your finger and a shared last name."

He could see a blush spreading on her cheeks, a timid look of amusement gracing her gentle features. "Perhaps not," she expressed, "but I recall you calling yourself my husband a while ago." 

"To defend your honour," the potions master retorted lowly, still enraged whenever someone brought up her unfortunate family. Her father was as equally exasperating as Phineas Black – a herculean task in Aesop's mind, and he had only met the guy for but a single moment.

"How gallant of you," (Y/N) snickered, peering up at him through her eyelashes. "I have been irredeemable in his eyes the very second I boarded the carriage to Hogwarts."  

"Hm..." Aesop mumbled, pushing a stray hair behind her ear, feeling the soft lock between his calloused fingers. "Forgive my sharp tongue, but I do not believe I give a single fuck as to what that poor excuse of a man thinks. And neither should you, my love." 

"Aesop Cyril Sharp!" his beloved gasped, accompanied by a light slap on his chest. "What a poor choice of words in front of a lady."

Aesop's chest rumbled with laughter, his arms tightening around (Y/N) as she grinned up at him, his heart jumping with glee. They held each other, content as the world around them slowly awoke from its slumber – a new day signalling its commencement. It was a moment of serenity, a place nobody but them existed before they would soon go about their days again, following their routines as they needed to, sharing the glances of secret lovers before their rather clandestine encounters at night would reunite them once more – and Aesop was already counting down the hours, waiting until his love was in his arms again. 

"You'll have to sneak back to the castle soon," the young woman in his arms sighed, a dejected pout on her lips. 

"I feel like a whippersnapper," Aesop groaned. "Surreptitiously wandering about the grounds." 

She giggled gleefully again, pressing herself into his chest. "You are my whippersnapper then." 

Aesop's heart jumped again, overfilling with love and boastful pride at the determinative she had used— My whippersnapper.

"Indeed I am," he sighed contently, pressing a kiss atop her head, inhaling her saccharine scent as her hair tickled his nose. 

Wistfully Aesop rose from his comforting and warm position on the bed, hissing as his leg protested the movement. Some days it hurt worse than others – today looked to be a rather grim day, even if the days had become warmer again. She was at his side in a second, her arms wrapped around his middle in comfort. 

"Do you need me to get you your potion? Or anything else?"

"No," Aesop pressed out, clenching his teeth for a second before he released a shuddering breath, massaging his leg with disdain. He felt as if a perfectly fine morning had been ruined – another reminder that he was wholly inadequate when the woman behind him was not. She only hummed, letting her nimble small hands trace his arms in a soothing motion before pressing a kiss at the nape of his neck. He stood up with careful steps after a while, avoiding too much pressure on his blasted leg. 

As he swiftly exchanged his nightshirt for the suit he had worn yesterday, he could hear (Y/N) bustling in the main room of her hut, likely preparing a cup of tea for him as she usually did before he left. The fragrant aroma of Earl Grey fills his nose; the cup appearing in front of him with a tiredly smiling (Y/N) as he gratefully took the cup from her, perfectly warm and not too hot. She traced patterns on his arm as he greedily drank from the cup, the warmth filling his body and providing a strange relief to his leg, reducing the pain to a bearable thrumming.

"Did you put something in here?" Aesop asked, his eyebrow raised. 

"Perhaps," she tilted her head with a sly grin. "Did it help?"

"It...did," He avowed, placing the cup on the nightstand before pulling her into his arms. 

"Whenever I had a second to spare, I tried to brew on my own," her fingertips still danced over his arms. "You do not have to do this alone anymore, Aesop."

"I do not need your pity," he frowned, though he kept his arms around her waist in a protective embrace. Humiliation coursed through him at her admittance – he was incomplete, crippled. Whatever did she want with him? Surely someone more capable would be able to give her much more, even if the mere thought of her in the arms of someone else asphyxiated him like –

"I know you do not," she smiled, interrupting his train of thought. "Would you let me suffer if I were in pain from a curse?"

"Of course not," Aesop brisked, incensed at the mere thought. "I would not want you suffering needlessly." 

"Then do not expect me to sit by idly for you," she whispered, pulling him down by the lapel of his coat. "My foolish whippersnapper." 

His lips met hers with a pleased hum, his beard scratching her soft skin, undoubtedly leaving a slight burn.

Perhaps Aesop could truly be selfish – because if the gods above blessed him with the celestial woman in his arms, nothing but believing that reprieve was possible for someone like him was imaginable. 

When the weather got even warmer, and June approached them, final exams were soon to be held – as they were every year. Aesop and (Y/N) found themselves busier than ever; their time spent together dwindled to a minimum, which left Aesop rather frustrated most days. More often than not, Aesop had to spend his nights preparing odd brews his students would need to identify, never mind the endless amounts of Invigoration and Calming Draughts Madam Blainey requested at an alarming rate. In any case, Aesop felt like he was drowning in work – a common occurrence towards the end of the school – so it was a welcome distraction when he was forced to leave the dungeons for just a day, even if the trip he needed to take was all but a requirement for him to continue his brewing in the first place.

Aesop's potion supplies were dwindling at a quick pace, and neither his love nor Mirabel were able to keep up with the demand; thus, he found himself forced to take a trip to Feldcroft. Bernard Ndiaye was able to provide Aesop with a few of the missing ingredients, so on a sunny Saturday afternoon, his love and he took the short trip to Feldcroft, a village she had unfortunately only gotten to know under less than cheerful circumstances. Ever since she had successfully fought Ranrok and his rebellion, the hamlet, which had nearly been in ruins once, had been rebuilt and was now a flourishing and quaint place filled with life and many small families. 

"I used to think this place was right out of a storybook," she chirped next to him, their arms intertwined as they walked through the Scottish Highlands, approaching Feldcroft with idle steps. The warm weather and the potion (Y/N) had brewed provided enough alleviation for Aesop to promenade for a short while – it was not a cure, nor a long-term solution to his predicament, but like their newfound romance, it was a new dawn.

"Is that so?" Aesop asked, looking down at her. "Well, they certainly owe you for their...liberation." 

"I can hardly take all the credit," she waved him off, rosy blush on her cheeks. "They have done exceptionally well ever since Ranrok's loyalists have all but fled." 

"Yes, well, and who is to credit for that? Remind me?" 

"I do not know what you are talking about?" she grinned at him now, aware of how much her stories from her fifth year rattled him. Or, in Aesop's words, how much they would 'turn him grey before his time'. 

"I believe the Order of Merlin that has been bestowed upon your name would beg to differ," he grunted. 

"And it is rotting away in Eleazar's home – I have washed my hands of it a long time ago."

"Proudly displayed, no doubt." 

"On the mantle of the fireplace," she affirmed with a desolate groan. "I have tried to convince him to burn it – his efforts have been largely in vain." 

"He is exceptionally proud of you," Aesop explained with newfound kindness. "After Miriam died, he was... in a rather dark place. The rest of us staff were worried, which is why Matilda persuaded Black to send Eleazar your way when the Book spat out your name."

"Oh," she mumbled. "I never knew." 

"You do know they never had children. To him, you are like his own." 

"As he is like my father," she nodded absentmindedly. "I owe everything to him." 

"A notion I'm confident he shares. So let him display that blasted Order – you are his greatest joy." 

She did not argue with him; a slight nod was her only agreement. Aesop once again noticed how much smaller than him she was; the top of her head did not even reach his shoulders. In his mind, she fit into his side like a perfect puzzle piece.

Ndiaye now had a small shop instead the cart (Y/N) remembered from years ago, the place flourishing with the various plants and beast products that littered the business. Ndiaye, much like everyone else, recognised (Y/N) immediately, and Aesop was yet another step closer to grey hair upon hearing the story of how she recklessly risked her life – all for two crates of Chomping Cabbages. Mirabel would have been proud; Aesop was convinced of it.

When they exited his shop, by-products in hand and arms intertwined again, they were intercepted by none other than Sebastian Sallow himself. 

"(Y/N)? Professor Sharp?!" the former Slytherin resident troublemaker exclaimed, bewildered, jogging up to the trio with large steps. His eyes did not leave their joined arms – looking at the couple like they had grown an extra head. He had grown up, no longer a chubby-faced teenager but a man with a sharp jawline, a full beard and broad shoulders; the only boyish thing remaining his flocculant and unkempt hair. Aesop still towered over him, unsurprisingly. He was exceptionally tall, after all.

"Sebastian!" his love exclaimed, freeing herself from Aesop's side to happily hug her closest friend – even if she seemed slightly surprised to see him. "What are you doing here? I thought you had moved to the Cotswolds?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Sebastian teased with a sly grin, his eyes going back and forth between Aesop and her. "But truthfully, we're here because Anne wanted to meet Estelle." 

'We're'? 'Estelle'? Aesop thought, befuddled – a sentiment his paramour did not share. 

"Oh, I am so sorry I haven't come to visit!" she apologised profusely. "But Exams have been utterly crazy – we've hardly had any time to do much aside from grading and preparing."

Sebastian only waved her off with a content smile. "Don't fret – we used the time to acclimate to our lives now."

"I can only imagine," she chuckled. "Who would have thought? You, Mr Capital R Rake, Sebastian Sallow, would be the first of our group of misfits to marry and father a child?"

Ah, so this was what their conversation had been about. Of course – Aesop remembered now. (Y/N) had been quite affronted, if not downright disappointed, when Sebastian had kept his marriage and impending fatherhood a secret for months. When he timely announced the birth of his daughter, a child they had named Estelle, his love was over the moon for him and his wife and wouldn't stop talking about visiting the two. 

Sebastian chuckled, his smile proud as he puffed out his chest. "Not me, that I'm sure of. Would you like to meet her? I'm confident Megan wouldn't mind." 

"I would love to," she agreed, turning around to face Aesop. "Would you mind?" 

"No, of course not," Aesop shook his head. "Shall I head back to the castle then?"

"Such a silly man," she giggled, grabbing his hand and masterfully ignoring the comically wide-eyed stare of Sebastian. "You must beat Ominis at his game of being the favourite uncle." 

"When did this happen?!" he finally asked, looking as if he were ready to burst. 

"February," (Y/N) admitted bashfully, wrapping her arm around Aesop's with a rosy smile. "We've been keeping it under our hats mostly."

"And you were mad I kept my marriage a secret?!" Sebastian sounded affronted, evidently not believing what he was witnessing.

"That's different. We're courting. Unlike someone here, I would not keep my marriage or motherhood a secret." 

"That's not – Merlin, he's our old potions professor." 

"I may be handicapped, Mr Sallow, but I can assure you, I can hear quite well," Aesop interjected, though he could not deny the happiness that surged in his heart upon his sweetheart admitting that they were courting to one of her dearest friends. She wasn't ashamed of him.

"We are colleagues, Sebastian. Equals," (Y/N) added, her tone leaving no room for any argument to be made. "In any case, you should be showing me, my niece, right now."

"This isn't over," Sebastian mumbled as he led them towards his aged childhood home, which his twin had settled in with her own partner, a travelling merchant from a nearby hamlet. 

Aesop hadn't seen Anne Sallow for years, not since she had been cursed. He remembered her to be the ringleader of trouble before she left Hogwarts due to her unfortunate ailment, and while she had never found a cure for it, (Y/N) ending the reign of terror and life of Victor Rookwood – the man who had cursed her – enabled her to live a without day to day debilitating pain.

She was just as stunned as Sebastian had been upon hearing of their relationship, but she still chatted with her former professor, even if the conversation was entirely awkward. Aesop endured for her sake mostly, and it was worth it – nothing would ever make him forget the sheer and utter joy on his love's face when she held her tiny 'niece' in her arms.

Aesop was astonished at how such a wee little thing was able to tear such a starstruck and enchanted smile from a person – he was sure (Y/N) had never smiled as big. He watched as she cooed over little Estelle, her smile blinding as she cradled the tiny thing in her arms, carefully supporting her back and neck. She looked like she had done this a million times, positively natural, and Aesop didn't know whether it was her or him, but his mind was suddenly filled with pictures of her doing precisely this with their kids. When he was younger, he hadn't ever thought of kids, perhaps only as a natural consequence of marriage and marital relations and after his accident, he had written the prospect off entirely. No woman wanted a cripple, much less one as a father to possible children. Now, though, he had a woman who wanted him just as much as he wanted her, and she was young and had even admitted to wanting children. Perhaps they were a possibility after all?

"Aesop?" his beloved turned her attention towards him. "Isn't she just precious?" 

"Certainly," Aesop agreed though he did not mean the baby – which was bound to be precious nonetheless. He could not help the smirk that graced his face upon catching Sebastian Sallow's indignant expression. 

"You should hold her too," Megan, Sebastian's wife, suddenly suggested, a curious glance on her face. 

"I really think I shouldn't," he chuckled upon seeing Sebastian Sallow's face contort strangely. Poor lad would likely never get used to it. 

"No, please do," Megan, the wife of Sallow, smiled at him. "Ignore my husband - he's a little thickheaded." 

"A little?!" Anne and (Y/N) giggled in unison, promptly ignoring the sound of indignance Sebastian let out. 

"Excuse me for being confused over this...," he waved around wildly with his hands, "situation." 

"Oh, please. Get over it," Megan rolled her eyes, a teasing grin on her face. "Besides, if our daughter is anything like us, having teachers in her corner will be a godsend when she inevitably gets into trouble at Hogwarts."

"Oh, so this is where it's coming from," Aesop shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't play favourites." 

"You will," Megan winked conspiratorially, beckoning him to introduce little Estelle. With her delicate arms and gentle touch, (Y/N) placed the little girl in his arms, smiling at him as he held her; though he was not quite as natural as she was, the tiny thing held awkwardly in his arms. The baby was asleep, so he couldn't view her eyes, but if he had to, Aesop reckoned Estelle resembled her father far more than she did her mother. It made him stop and think about what his children would look like, and instantly, he wished, prayed, they would look like her.  

"Not so bad after all, am I right, Bash?" Megan playfully jested, watching the disdain on her husband's face. "Even if our daughter looks positively tiny in those arms."

"She is tiny," Sebastian remarked. "And in any case, this is weird. (Y/N) you do know I thought him to be a git?"

"Sebastian!" Megan and (Y/N) gasped simultaneously, though Aesop could only snort in amusement. 

"I wholeheartedly believed you to be one of my more promising students, Mister Sallow," Aesop admitted, his eyebrow raised as Sebastian looked at him with surprise. "If you had applied yourself a little more instead of recklessly breaking the rules and surging into things without even considering any consequence, I might have been less...stern with you." 

"I do not surge into things without considering the consequences," Sebastian retorted with affronted indignance – the woman in the room now chortling with mirth. 

"Oh no," Megan giggled. "That is precisely why you were cursed in that blasted tomb of the two lovers and thus experienced...ehem... heightened...carnal pleasure."

If Aesop had been a man to blush, he likely would have. Sebastian Sallow undoubtedly was. His love was, too, averting her gaze from anyone and anything – a ferocious blush on her cheeks. 

"That was one time," he yapped, his arms crossed in front of him.

"Of course," Megan rolled her eyes, turning her attention to the woman beside her. "He was ready to deflower me in that very same tomb. We undoubtedly have to devise a sweeter story about our first meeting if Estelle ever asks." 

"Agreed," Sebastian cleared his throat.

"That's really Sebastian, though," his love chuckled, blush still on her cheeks as she focused on the little babe in Aesop's arms, gently stroking her head in a motherly fashion. "I, for one, can recall a very similar event involving a goblin mine."

Aesop was certain his old heart would give out soon, for this was bound to be yet another tale of her recklessly, foolishly risking her life. She had an affinity for it, no doubt. The words 'goblin mine' were enough to fill him with terror and astonishment – He did not understand how she had survived this long. 

"Do I want to know?" Aesop asked with a groan, eliciting a giggle from her. 

"No," she shook her head with a wink. "No, you really don't."

"I, for one, agree," Sebastian shuddered. "I am not keen on getting slaughtered by an ex-auror today." 

"Oh, Aesop is not that sinister," his love giggled.

"Oh no, I am," Aesop interjected with a threatening smile. "I may have been out of the field for over a decade, but best believe I can still make it look like an accident. I promised your...father," the word spat from his tongue, "as much."

"Your father?" Sebastian asked, his tone worried and, dare Aesop say, alarmed? "What..."

"I don't wish to talk about it," (Y/N) waved him off hurriedly. "Aesop dealt with him more than I did."

"Did he now?" Sebastian mused, a thoughtful look on his face. Suddenly he regarded Aesop with a little less disdain and horror.

Aesop did not count the minutes or hours they stayed at the former Sallow residence. It had been a pleasant change from the frenzied and fully engulfing pre-examination environment at the castle, the atmosphere joyful with little Estelle, even when she had briefly awoken and promptly shown off her impressively large lung. When he and his love were finally leaving, the sun was setting on the horizon, casting a beautifully orange glow over the Scottish Highlands, a warm summer breeze carrying the slightly salty air from the sea.

"Sharp?" Sebastian Sallow lowly called out to him as Megan and (Y/N) said their goodbyes, the latter cooing at the tiny baby in Megan's arms, seemingly not wishing to part from her at all. 

"Yes?" Aesop sighed, his leg starting to ache and his mood souring as he remembered how much he would have to brew throughout the night.

"Did you truly meet her father?"

Aesop was surprised, though he tried not to let it show. Sebastian had been her friend for many years; perhaps he knew more than Aesop did, the issue of her father still one she avoided most days – not even considering the simple fact that she saw Eleazar as hers in any case. 

"We did," he affirmed with a curt nod. "Dratted meater if you'd ask me."

"I can't say I ever had the displeasure of meeting the man," Sebastian scoffed. "But if you truly took care of him in her place, then...I suppose I should thank you.

Aesop only raised his eyebrow.

"She is akin to family for me and wholly responsible for me standing here at all. For being able to have a family – my daughter. What I am trying to convey, I suppose, is please take care of her." 

"You have my word." 

A week passed and then another, both in a similar manner as the others before had; their time largely spent apart during the days as they prepared their students for their final exams and OWLs and NEWTS. Yet when the sun had gone down, and the stars were glittering like a million diamonds over the castle, Aesop found himself precisely where he longed to be: in her home, her in his arms or next to him on the comfortable armchairs, the world around them away far enough for just a while. When in her hut, surrounded by warmth and the feeling of 'home', his thoughts cleared miraculously, no longer filled with exams and potions and students that likely would never achieve anything beyond a 'poor'. 

Megan Sallow had, as Aesop continued to realise, been right: Little Estelle Sallow would enable him to play favourites – if he was still a Professor by then, of course. More notably, though, seeing his love hold the small child and holding her himself filled him with more and more dreams and desires for his own children, the dreams of days hidden in the English countryside now vividly brighter as tiny feet ran around his mind endlessly echoing as if he were stuck in an everlasting pensive memory. It was ludicrous, foolish even – just a mere year ago, Aesop had believed himself to be resigned to forever Bachelorhood, his fate of living alone and forlorn for the rest of his days not likely to ever change. But it had – for fate had steered a most exquisite and extraordinary woman on his path, and perhaps, just perhaps, she would be inclined to share more than just a life with him. 

The very picture of her holding little Estelle was etched into his mind, creating a desire he hadn't thought possible. Aesop did not understand how something so small could hold such power over him. But it did. He wondered if – 

"Sickle for your thoughts?" his lover's sweet voice pulled him from his thoughts as she placed her lesson plans for the following week on the small coffee table before she stood up and walked to her small stove.

"I was just reminiscing," he answered truthfully.

"Oh?" She looked at him with her soft gaze, her head titled in genuine interest. "What of?" 

"Estelle," Aesop sighed. "I fear her mother may be right, and I will be playing favourites in a few years. Do not let Sallow know I said that, though." 

"We both will," she chuckled, preparing another kettle to make more tea, the warm light of the fireplace painting her in an ethereal glow. Though the summer was comfortably mild, the evenings and nights still got cold; thus, Aesop was thankful she continued to light the fireplace. "She was just a darling little thing."

"Not as adorable as ours would be," Aesop let slip out, his tone even as he was only half joking as the thought continued manifesting in his mind. Their children would be more adorable - Aesop was sure of it. Especially because they would be hers – tiny, perfect replicas of her, with her wonderfully bright and loving eyes, her warm persona and exceptional talent. 

"I am not certain where this is coming from all of a sudden, but," she shook her head. "You are not half as shocking as you think you are," giggling quietly as she helped herself to another cup of tea, the fragrant, flowery aroma of rooibos filling the space.

"Oh?" Aesop couldn't help but raise his eyebrow as he watched her. Her beautiful hair was shimmering in the low light of her cabin, her (Y/H/C) waves cascading down her shoulders just like Aesop adored, a shift from the elaborate updos and styles she commonly wore – her hair soft and full, likely smelling of citrus and hyacinth, her skin tingling with spring. In short: She was utterly irresistible.

He could almost feel his manhood straining against his breeches, observing her hum lowly as her hips swayed in an unfamiliar rhythm, her face content, complete with a dainty smile. The atmosphere felt domestic, and Aesop found himself pulled into visions of the English countryside again, the images becoming more vivid with each second that time passed them by. He wanted, needed, more.

"Your bark is far worse than your bite," she continued, her tone teasing as she shot him a grin before returning her attention to the stove.

Is that what she truly believed? That his bark was worse than his bite? Had she forgotten that he had been an Auror? That, realistically, he could crush her tiny body between two fingers?

Before Aesop could stop himself, he had risen from his position in front of the fireplace, stalking toward her like a predator seeking its prey – a fitting description in Aesop's mind. She did not notice him, and it was far too easy for him to slowly wrap his arms around her tiny waist and pull himself against her. He could feel her warm body tense below his fingers, her breath hitching as he towered over her. His hair fanned out against her cheeks when he leaned forward, his mouth brushing against her ear. Goosebumps were rising on her body, and he could make out the slightest shiver the closer he leaned into her.

He revelled in the way her body responded to his. So pliant. So... submissive. 

"I can assure you, my love," he breathed out against her ear, "that my bite is just as bad." 

An audible gasp escaped her as she fidgetted in his arms and turned around, though he kept his arms tightly locked around her waist – trapping her between the stove and himself. She stared up at him, her (Y/E/C) eyes wide as they met his blown-out pupils that bore into hers.

"A-Aesop," she stuttered out. He watched as her cheeks turned rosy, her mouth slightly open. Though their touches had lingered over the past weeks, and their nights had been spent in the embrace of one another, Aesop hadn't been particularly bold or forthcoming beyond precisely that – their romance sweet and innocent and virtuous. He knew of her inexperience, but ever so carefully, he moved his hand upwards, his touch a mere ghost against her body before reaching her face and cupping her chin below his finger. His thumb moved against her lips. They were plump and soft - as was the rest of her. 

His self-control was slipping, his manhood straining, and he felt like a juvenile delinquent. Aesop didn't want or ask for many things in life, but at this moment, he desired her.

"Tell me, Y/N," he breathed out, "Do you truly believe that yourself?" 

"I-"

His hands moved back to her hips, his hold somewhere between a tight grip and a gentle caress. He wanted to caress her, hold her, love her. And he was unable to suppress his desires any longer. He pressed his front against hers, letting her feel what she did to him, her audible gasp and rosy cheeks sending another jolt down his spine. Her cheeks were burning deliciously, and she simply stared at him. 

"Aesop," she whimpered helplessly. He was all-consuming. His deliciously musky scent of sandalwood and firewhiskey enveloped her until all her senses were inhabited by him and only him. His body surrounded her, and the warmth he emitted was nearly suffocating, but it was Aesop, after all. 

Aesop.

The same man she had grown to love as much as she had. A man she would entrust her entire life with, knowing that he would do the same. A man who loved her wholeheartedly by his own admittance, who had defended her honour against a man he had never known when she had not even been his. His beard was rough against her cheeks, his head slowly moving down as he pressed feather-light kisses on her jaw and neck. He deeply inhaled her scent, never getting enough, relishing in the slight tremors that shook his love and the whimpers that fell from her lips. 

"My love," he mumbled as he continued to kiss her neck, bent down awkwardly to her much smaller height and frame, caressing her sides as he held her close. "You would be the most stunning mother." His hands found her hips, one of them reaching to carefully touch her lower stomach, the very place that would swell with their children, where she would safely carry them until they were ready to come earthside. His voice was gentle, scarcely above a whisper, yet its rough rumbling sound resonated within the air. 

"Is that something you could wish for?" he mumbled, looking at her before he placed his lips upon hers, savouring her saccharine taste as they moved in sync; him much more dominating. "For me to make you a mother?" 

Her eyes bulged, looking at him, shell-shocked with her mouth still open. "Ae-Aesop," she stuttered lowly, "where is this coming from?" 

He smirked at her, his caramel eyes meeting hers with a piercing gaze – a heated shiver tumbling down her spine. "I have not stopped thinking about it ever since you have held Estelle. You were captivating." 

His lips met hers again, a blazing fire of desire and want behind the kiss that swallowed her whole. 

"Aesop we," she gasped. "We can't. We're not even wedded." 

He couldn't help the laugh that escaped his mouth. If this was her only problem, it could easily be rectified. More so, Aesop wanted to rectify it. "You think I would want to fuck my children into some random woman?" His voice was several tones deeper, still pressed into her as she took in his unusually forthright and vulgar words with wide eyes. "If it were up to me, my love, we could be married on the morrow and expedite our wedding night." 

"Y-you – you want to marry me?"

"Let me reiterate," Aesop whispered against her lips. "I will not fuck my children into anyone but my wife. Anything you yearn for, it's yours." 

He observed her face carefully – meticulously. His love wore her heart on her sleeve, conflicting emotions clouding her features. This was her decision and hers alone; she would carry and birth their children, after all. Just before he could pull away and express to her that she had all the time in the world that she needed, her quiet, breathless voice reached his.

"Will it...hurt?" she asked with uncertainty, biting her lip as she stared up into Aesop's eyes. She knew very little of marital relations, her mother telling her just enough to understand what needed to happen for her to conceive. Beasts were luckily quite the same, but in any case, the act did not sound or seem pleasant – but for Aesop and a chance at a family with him, she could endure.

"For a second," he spoke truthfully. "Just a second." 

"Okay," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, letting him place his lips against hers. His mouth felt dominating, his beard coarse against her soft skin, lightly distracting her from his manhood pressing into her lower stomach. Arousal, excitement, anxiousness... they coursed through her as she let herself be enveloped and cared for by him. 

Aesop slowly guided her towards the bedroom, his lips never leaving hers, leaving him in a rather awkward position bent down to her height with his leg thrumming away lowly, but the sheer yearning was enough to make him forget the lingering pain, his sense zeroing in on her and the way her body felt beneath his fingertips. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her body flush against his as he kept pressing himself into her, his manhood finding purchase and a torturous relief; before, reluctantly, he moved his lips from hers, both of them breathing deeply.

Ever so carefully, with Aesop's eyes never leaving hers, his fingers moved to her front, carefully unbuttoning her bodice, her chest rapidly moving up and down.  

"You do not have to lay with me if you don't wish to," Aesop mumbled, his hands ceasing their careful administrations though he held them at her chest.

"I want to," she breathed out, her voice barely above a whisper. "I trust you."

Aesop nodded with a smile, leaning in to kiss her again as his hands removed her bodice, his hands moving around her waist again to carefully unwrap her overskirt; before long, the delicate fabric joined her bodice on the floor, leaving her in her corset and bloomers. Their lips moved in unison, passionately filling his and her soul before they became one, and Aesop could feel her delicate, diminutive hands working to liberate him of his vest. He smiled contently into the kiss, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest at her rather ungainly movements of opening the buttons but allowing her to feel him just as he felt her. Aesop's hand trailed a line against the bone of her hip, his other hand holding her waist steady as the warmth of her body slowly seeped through the thick material of the corset. Pulling away, Aesop could see the peak of her breasts pressing against the corset, barely spilling over – teasing him deliciously. 

Her delicate hands tugged at his vest before Aesop let it fall to the ground alongside her garb, leaving him in his breeches and a cotton blouse, some chest hair peeking through at the top. She smiled at him – shyly, nervously, but Aesop could not glimpse a flicker of uncertainty. Carefully, he reached around her, ably loosening the laces of her corset, before the torturous thing joined the rest of her garments and his vest on the floor. She gasped, a sudden sensation of vulnerability as Aesop saw her chest in all its glory, her peaks hardening against the sudden air that kissed them in a welcoming embrace. Before she could cover herself, Aesop tenderly grabbed her wrists, holding them in his much larger hands, his eyes never leaving hers – warm and comforting. 

"You are exquisite," he whispered, pulling her close. His larger body enveloped hers, her peaks chafing against the cotton with delicious friction before he kissed her fervently again, his hands roaming across her body as hers found his waist. 

Though his body had significantly changed ever since he had left the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Aesop remained lean and well-muscled, his shoulders still broad and strong – the assertive air around him never leaving. She could feel it between her fingertips, his shirt leaving little to the imagination as it clung to his body like a second skin. 

She gasped into him when his hands suddenly touched her breasts, his hands fondling, fondling them gently, effortlessly cupping them in his large hands. Two fingers slowly swirled around her hardened peaks, teasing her with a gentle, loving caress, swallowing her soft moans as he put forth all his longing and desire into the kiss. Against his mouth, Aesop could feel her soft whining; his manhood twitching as desire unlike he's ever felt before rushing through him.

"Get on the bed," Aesop growled lowly, eyes half-lidded in eros. She pulled away shakily, her eyes trained on him as he guided her towards the bed, letting herself lower down on the mattress when the back of her knees met the edge. Aesop stepped closer, looking down at her with an untamed gaze that sent shivers of craving and a newfound feeling she couldn't describe through her body. His fingers trailed below her chin, tilting it up slightly as he took her in. He felt like a young gentleman again, brimming with ferocious, carnal appetite when he had scarcely even touched her yet. Merlin knew he needed to be gentle – her inexperience and what Aesop suspected was a grand dearth of knowledge were bound to make this…interesting enough.

"And you are entirely certain you want this?" his voice unrecognisable.

"Yes," she whimpered, her nerves alight. For so long, it had been ingrained into her that she was not to lay with a man unless he was her husband, her very existence at Hogwarts having brought shame upon her family. And yet, as Aesop's presence enveloped her, she could not deny herself the sheer wanting and craving with the lasciviousness the moment brought. 

He moved to his knees, his leg thrumming as he unhurriedly removed her bloomers, the tips of his fingers grazing her sides before she was as naked as the day she was born. The blaze of arousal that ran through him was as intense as the sun, and he has to remind himself like a chant that this is a first for her. He has to be gentle. 

"Lay back," Aesop rasped out, rising to his feet again to remove his boots before he joined her on the bed, leaning over her with one arm supporting his upper body. 

His eyes bore into hers as he slowly let his hand trail a sweet caress down her body. His touch was feather-light, the tips of his fingers scantily making contact with her heated skin, but it was enough to perceive the goosebumps that littered it. Her mouth was slightly open, though her eyes were wide - filled with anticipation, wonder and the lingering fear of the unknown. 

His hand travelled lower, perhaps slightly clumsily, until it finally reached her hip and then the apex of her thighs. Her breath sped up slightly, but her eyes held onto his and Aesop revelled in the trust she was giving him. She had offered herself on a silver plate, and he would not stop until he had devoured her whole.

Ever so slowly, he manoeuvred her legs open, settling himself between them before his hand travelled lower and finally reached the place he wanted to absolutely wreck.

Aesop felt the small wet tuft, his touch teasing as he carefully slid his finger up and down her slit.

"Oh," she gasped, surprised, her breath speeding up as her thighs clenched around him. 

"So responsive," Aesop chuckled lowly, "and I have barely even touched you." 

She only whined when his touch became bolder, his middle finger pressing down on her womanhood as his thumb searched for her clit. If he wanted to fuck her - if she wanted him to take her, he would need to prepare her in every way conceivable. 

"Is this good?" he breathed out, his eyes still not leaving hers as he leant down, peppering her face in soft and gentle kisses. His fingers, at last, found her little nub – small and hard, peeking out like a treasured secret, his thumb simply pressing down on, whilst his middle finger caressed up and down, and she gasped out, her back rising from the bed. 

"Yes," she finally found her words and nodded meekly. "I - Ah!" 

Aesop chuckled as he pressed down harder, slowly drawing precise circles on her clit as her womanhood gradually became more and more damp beneath his ministrations. He littered small kisses along her cheeks and jaw – barely tangible – as she whined and squirmed underneath him, her breath reduced to erratic pants that only fuelled his own arousal. His breeches were confining, but witnessing her descent into bliss was nothing if not a blessing. This was his personal Eden - Aesop was sure of it. 

He could feel her hole, tight and searing and oh so enticing, as his index finger joined his middle finger and touched her with newfound vigour. His thumb increased the pressure on her clit, and she keened.

"Aesop!"

"Yes?" he mumbled, his mouth on her throat, suckling tiny precious bruises all over. He could feel her heartbeat when his lips trailed her jugular vein, and it beat in the rhythm of his own. Her whining and squirming made him growl, but he would have been lying if it didn't excite him all the same. 

"I- Ah!" 

"Use your words, my sweet girl," Aesop drew back, his eyes finding her face again – her eyes shut in unadulterated bliss. 

"Look at me," he bade her, "I want you to look at me when I make you come. When you unravel on my fingers." 

Obediently she obliged, her frantic eyes finding his as she let out desperate pants and arched up into him.  

"Please," she begged him.

"Please, what?" He teased her with a wolfish grin.

"More."

She felt so utterly overwhelmed and treasured as he made her feel things she had never felt before. Aesop was all-consuming, and she lost herself in the pleasure he gave her. Pleasure she had never thought would even exist.

Between her legs, Aesop let his middle finger wander closer to her heat, pressing deeper as he went, feeling her wetness seeping out of her. Ever so carefully, almost curiously, he inserted his finger, coaxing a kittenish trill from her. 

"Oh, oh," she squirmed under him, the sensation foreign and not entirely pleasant. His finger was easily the size of two of hers, a burning feeling accompanying its breaching entrance. 

"Shh," he shushed her, littering kisses over her face once more. "I have to, my love. I have to. Just... let me feel you." 

A soothing exhale let her refocus on the circles he drew on her clit and the pleasure shooting through her. His movements were meticulous, calculated and more pleasing than anything she had ever tried on herself. 

Against his own thighs, Aesop could feel hers tensing and flexing, and he gave her a moment's reprieve before he could sense her settling, and he steadily began moving his finger in and out. She was tight, expectedly so, which only meant he would have to put in a substantial amount of work if she were to take him. To divert her attention further, he descended his head until his mouth found her erect nipples, enveloping one as she flexed into him.

"Aesop," she moaned lowly. He hummed in response – the vibrations a delightful sensation.

Though her hut had been comfortably warm before, it felt like it was positively ablaze now, the heat flickering away at her exposed skin, arousal running through her like a Graphorn untamed. The hand that had previously held him up now moved downwards, cupping her other breast, caressing it with teasing strokes that drove her mad.

"So tight," Aesop mumbled against her breast, his finger still dragging through her heat gently and slowly. "My perfect girl. So tight and warm..."

Her breathing quickened – chest rising against Aesop's face, his beard prickly against her delicate skin. Moans escaped her mouth; his thumb steadily increased its pressure on her as he worked her open. Delicately, he slipped in a second finger, pausing as she tensed up and before her tight and warm body opened up to him, welcoming his fingers as she groaned in rhapsody. 

"Aesop..." 

She trembled, overwhelmed by the very emotion and intimacy of the moment, a warm heat gathering in her lower abdomen as his motions slowly sped up, the delicious pressure of his fingers on her nub bringing her closer to the edge of delirium. 

"That's it," Aesop mumbled against her, slowly rising up to look at her face. "That's it, my love." 

Fervently, Aesop placed his lips upon hers again, consuming her cries of bliss as her body arched into his, her nipples brushing against the cotton of his blouse. One of her hands travelled from her sides to his waist whilst the other found his hair tangling itself in it as his movements quickened. Expertly, Aesop curled his two fingers inside her, uncovering the bundle of pleasure that made her keen under him. She broke the kiss, turning her head to the side as she moaned vociferously – panting as she got closer and closer to ecstasy. 

"Aesop, I –" she gasped, looking right into her lover's eyes, her pupils blown and cheeks rosy the closer he brought her to completion. 

"I've got you," he promised lowly, speeding up his movements as he felt her womanhood tighten up around his fingers. "Let go, my love. I've got you." 

She felt like she was burning. From the way his fingers felt on her – in her – making her sweat and drip on the sheets as she writhed beneath him, the heat burning from between her legs before it spread in every little part of her body – an all-consuming inferno.

"I – Ah!" 

"That's it, my love," Aesop cooed, curling his fingers against her spot, watching as she unravelled beneath him. Her eyes clenched, her hips wriggled underneath him, canting upwards – as she chased the foreign sensation that built up inside of her. Aesop fondled her clit a little faster, flicking it with animalistic precision as his fingers mercilessly assailed that tenderly sweet spot inside of her; before long, her womanhood clenched violently, and her first orgasm swept over her. Aesop watched, enthralled and utterly bewitched, as she cried out in pleasure, her thighs clenching around his hips and her tiny hands tightening, finding his shoulders and digging into them. 

"Oh! Aesop!" 

He could only groan, his manhood twitching at the thought of finally settling himself inside her tight, dripping warmth. Aesop continued to move his fingers – in, out – the movement lazy, helping her ride out the crashing waves of her orgasm before her tremble ceased and her moans shifted into paltry whines. He retracted his fingers, bringing them to his mouth as he sucked on them like a man starved, tasting her ambrosial wetness. She tasted like she smelled – saccharinely sweet like honey, entirely addicting. When he opened his eyes once more, he found his love staring at him with wide eyes, her cheeks flushed, and her hair spread around her head like a glowing halo. She was sweaty, her chest still heaving against the swelting heat of the hut – Aesop could feel his eyes darken in desire. 

His lips met hers with another bruising kiss, his prickly beard scratching against her delicate skin. She could taste the remnants of herself on him – an odd taste if one were to ask her – but she was left utterly breathless from the sheer overwhelming intensity of emotions surging through her, her very soul intertwining with his. To love someone as deeply as she loved Aesop had been one thing, but to feel the love reciprocated and returned tenfold was another dizzying reality entirely. 

"I love you," Aesop breathed out. "Fuck – I love you." 

"Aesop," her eyes widened, though her heart overfilled with love at his proclamation, and her eyes filled with tears. "I love you too." 

He smiled at her – how could he not? Whenever did he get this lucky?! Perhaps he had saved a nation once – there was no perspicuous reason for this love otherwise.

His hands found her sides again, feeling her curves with a reverent worshipping touch, relishing the soft skin of her much smaller body beneath the callouses of his fingers. She shivered lightly, keeping her eyes trained on his. No matter the trepidation coursing through her veins, she was safe and cared for in Aesop's arms and beneath his much larger body – enveloping her as the world around blurred outside her focus. With quivering hands, she reached out to his waist, pulling at his shirt with a subtle whine.

Aesop chuckled lowly, pulling his shirt from his breeches before he allowed her to help him pull his blouse over his head as it promptly joined the rest of their garments on the floor. His love glanced at him, a demure gaze as she followed the lines of his scars littering his torso, though most of them were hidden by the ample amount of hair that covered it. 

"And you say I'm exquisite," she whispered bashfully. 

Carefully, she reached out to the largest one by his ribs, following the line with the ghost of a touch into the thick fur in the middle of his chest. Her fingertips danced over his pectorals, causing Aesop to release a shuddering breath before he leaned down again to find her lips. Her hands pawed at him hungrily, almost boldly, as he devoured her lips in a searingly hot kiss.

"May I try something?" he asked breathlessly.

"I trust you."

A wolfish grin spread across his face, sending a jolt of desire down her spine, unsure of what to expect. For one last second, he drank in her gaze upon his body, watching as she took in his broad shoulders and tapered waist before he bent down again, pressing kisses along her neck and collarbones, his hot breath fanning against her bosom. 

"It'll be good, I promise," he mumbled, grin still on his face as he attended to her erect nipples with two kittenish licks before he went lower. His beard scratched against her belly, the delicious friction sure to leave a slight burn on her the following day, but her eyes widened again when he went even lower. 

"Stop thinking," Aesop muttered, feeling her tensing lightly beneath him as he kissed down her torso. "Just let yourself feel."

He ceased again for just a second when his lips reached her lower stomach – a moment to relish her sweet scent with blissfully closed eyes. Lovingly, tenderly, he pressed a kiss down right where her womb would be – a silent prayer, a wish, sent up to whichever God had sent her his way to ensure this would be fruitful. He knew his love was utterly magical, but this secret place of hers was capable of creating wonders he yearned for – possessively, wholly and greedy in ways he hadn't known.

"A-Aesop, what are you –?" she asked with a stutter when he went even lower, spreading her legs further, placing himself between them as he held them in his arms. 

"Push me away if you wish for me to stop, my love," a grin still on his face as he lowered his body to level with her womanhood. He gazed at her – right at the place he was hoping to ravage – whimpering with desire. He wasn't sure if he had ever expected anything, but if he did, it exceeded his expectations, for she looked oh so beautiful and alluring. Unable to stop himself, he bent down, brushing his nose up and down her mound, his beard leaving a deliciously sweet burn against the skin of her thighs as she started to shake and gasp in his hold. She smelled even better than he had dreamed, and without forewarning, his lips closed around her nub and sucked. 

Aesop was silently thankful her hut was nearly off grounds; the absolute wail of pleasure she let out would've been heard by the entire castle otherwise. Her hips canted upwards, her legs sealing around him, and her arms flailing around until they found Aesop's hair. She didn't push him away, but her grasp was tight, holding onto him like he was her lifeline. 

"Aesop!" 

He hummed lowly in response, his eyes closed at the delectable taste, pulling and suckling at her most sensitive part.

"Aesop it – Ah! 's too much I – " 

Her hips moved desperately beneath him – up, down; left, right – wriggling; trying to elude his succour and moving closer simultaneously. Determined to make her stay, Aesop wrapped one of his arms around her hip, pressing her down into the mattress as the other held open her legs. There was not a single thing on earth that could have impeded Aesop's ministrations, her yelps and incoherent pleas falling on deaf ears as his tongue swirled around her clit, pressing circles into her. He desperately osculated her ambrosial wetness – wanting, craving, needing her to come undone once more, his grip on her tightening.

"'sop – Please, I – Ah!" 

His name fell from her lips like a reverent prayer, her upper body thrashing around and her breath uneven as she gulped in the air between her cries of pleasure. Her quim was positively dripping – her fluids spreading against her thighs and onto the sheets of her bed. Aesop's own groans of desire sunk into her, breathing in heavy pants as he devoured her whole. His fingers found her hole again, this time easily inserting two as her womanhood clenched periodically around them. The bed jerked with her movements, the wooden frame clattering against the stone walls as the room continued to heat up. 

"I – Oh, Merlin – I... Ahhh!" 

Aesop chuckled, his fingers curling and hitting the same precious spot over and over again. She tasted so sweet; her womanhood frail and warm against his tongue as he lapped at her rapaciously.

"Good girl," he rasped out somewhere in between. "Doing so well for me."

Her spluttering cries filled him with wicked pride as her head thrashed against the pillows – him holding down the rest of her, leaving her entirely at his mercy – unable to do anything but take what he gave her. It was riveting to know he would be the first man to bed her, that he was the first to introduce her to the endless fields of pleasure, as much as it thrilled Aesop to know he would also be her last. His fingers dallied their movements, his tongue ceasing its assault in place of kittenish licks, wishing to draw out her ecstasy before he decided to enter a third finger. Her eyes scrunched up with the discomfort she was suddenly feeling, his tongue scarcely enough to make it decently pleasing. 

"Aesop," she groaned lowly, pushing her hip into her mattress in a futile attempt to escape him – his iron grip did not relent. "It's too much." 

"Shh..." he soothed her, his fingers moving in and out, curling inside her, opening her and making her all the more pliant for him. "Shh... there you go, my love. You can take it." 

His arm held her hips pertinaciously as his fingers worked deeper inside with each thrust – a little further each time they moved. She yelped, pleasure and pain intermingling when his tongue curled around her bundle of nerves, holding the highly sensitised part of her on the unforgiving, warm cushion of his own flesh before he sucked, the violent waves of ecstasy creeping up on her once more. Her wetness seeped out of her, dripping down the knuckles of his fingers, dirtying her thighs and the sheets below. The sounds he drew from her were utterly obscene, filling the air, which likely reeked of their activities, and he wasn't even close to being done with her. Her thighs trembled under his hold, her upper body thrashing around. 

She wished for it to stop, yet she prayed this would never end. 

"Aesop...Aesop... Merlin, I – Oh, OH."

"It's alright," Aesop mumbled. "You're doing so good for me. My perfect girl." 

Her second orgasm collided with her very soul – violently, fiercely, drowning her in the waves of ecstasy as the world around her shifted into a blinding white, turning her blissfully boneless. Her cries echoed in her hut, bouncing off the walls like sweet singing. Aesop groaned, his being awash with desire as his stiff manhood strained against his breeches – so much that it almost hurt. His fingers moved lazily, a few languid strokes helping her through the aftershocks of her peak, heat consuming her as she lay sapless beneath him. Aesop hastily unbuckled his breeches, pushing them down along with his underpants, letting his sizable erection spring free though his gaze did not wander from her.

His love looked downright sinful. 

She swallowed in greedy, deep breaths, her chest heaving as the electrifying feeling of her ecstasy continued to tingle through her, the world still spinning – she hardly even realised that Aesop was now naked too. Some hair clung to the nape of her neck, the rest fanned out around her as beads of sweat covered her lithe little body. It was as if she glowed from within – Aesop was sure he had never seen anything so beautiful. 

He slowly made his way back up to her, his arms on either side of her body, holding him up and relieving most of the pressure from his leg, though it barely hurt as it stood. His eyes didn't leave hers, though they were still hazy in the afterglow. Aesop's hand lovingly caressed her face, pushing back a stray hair or two, waiting until her eyes found his again. His shaft twitched anxiously, resting between her body and his – warm and soft and waiting. 

When she glimpsed at him – her eyes truly finding his – her eyes widened at the sight of him. Aesop hair was dishevelled, the hairline littered with beads of sweat as his dark eyes feasted upon her state. He was the very picture of depravity – his face drenched in her release from his nose to his lips, clinging to his stubble. She blushed fiercely at the view above her, almost averting her gaze had his fingers not caressed her cheeks. For the first time, she could feel the weight of his manhood against her stomach, the naked skin of his large body enveloping hers, but she didn't dare look down. It felt massive, though a large man like Aesop would likely be rather well...endowed. Dread filled her at the thought of him actually entering her, her breath picking up again – unable to hide the nature of her feelings.

Aesop's sweet and gentle caress steered her focus back to him, his smile just as soft. 

"I will be as gentle as I can," he promised, his voice low and placating. "It will hurt for a second, and if you need me to stop, you can tell me." 

He was so honest, so loving – so gentle and kind; her Aesop – that she could only nod, allowing his lips to fall upon hers as he shifted between her legs. She tried to remember what her mother had told her about the marital act – that she would simply need to endure – but it did little to subdue the tension she felt when she could feel him pressing against her folds. A pitiful whine escaped her lips, and she desperately tried to focus on anything else. 

"I've got you," Aesop gentled her, his eyes now looking down between their bodies. He was unable to see much, but his heart thumped erratically at the sight of his manhood, hard and pulsating with need, right at her entrance. It had been a while for him, too; most carnal encounters after Scarborough were merely transactional (if at all), and Aesop wasn't sure if he had ever felt desire and need as intensely as he had at this moment. 

"I've got you," he reiterated quietly, frowning a little as he eased the tip of him inside. She gasped for a second before holding her breath altogether, clenching her eyes shut upon feeling pure pressure. 

"There you go, my love," he whispered against her ear, curling his large body over hers, trying to hold himself back as he felt the tip of his manhood enveloped by the tight heat of her – entering her with a torturously slow pace. 

"I love you. You're doing so well, my love… So well. My good girl." 

Light kisses and a gentle caress kept her with her, her contorted face strained as Aesop gently and slowly worked himself into her – he hated that this even needed to be unpleasant in the first place. Another gasp escaped her abruptly, deep and greedy breaths filling her lungs with the parching air surrounding them. Her sweaty chest stuck to his, her erect buds teased by the hair on his chest. The symphony of sensations was wholly overwhelming as she struggled to contain both him and herself.

Pressure. Agony. Desire. Want. Aesop – inside her. 

Aesop let himself rest, her womanhood pulsating around him as it struggled to contain what little of his length he had inserted. Her small, near inaudible whimpers tore at his heartstrings – enough to distract his mind off the perfectly mindblowing sensation of feeling enveloped by her, his entire being aching with need as she leaked around him and he around her – easing the tight passage with their bodies aflame and hearts beating as one. 

"Breathe, my love," Aesop cooed, his hand caressing the sides of her body in gentle strokes as he tried to ease more of himself inside of her, unable to stop a slight moan from escaping his lips. 

"Aaaahh – " she grit out between her teeth, feeling overwhelmingly full. It was too big – feeling like it was tearing her apart at the seams, and she felt utterly pathetic beneath him. However, was she meant to fit that? 

"Aesop!" 

"Look at me," Aesop whispered, his breath mere inches away from her face. "Come, my love. Look at me. I've got you, okay?" 

Whimpering, she opened her eyes, the caramel warmth of Aesop's finding hers as he was brimming with overwhelming love and adoration – enough to bring down an entire army. He gently placed a kiss upon her forehead as his hand moved lower again, resolved to make this pleasurable for her. If it had simply been about his own pleasure, he would have come undone within but a second.

"Try to relax, my love," he gentled, his hand finding her hardened nub again, smirking when she moaned in bliss as he gently put pressure on it, drawing light circles and cajoling more wetness from the depths of her core. She was feverishly warm, enveloping him with a vice grip – soft, warm, dripping the further he went. The arm holding him above her was tense, straining with the effort to keep him upright when she felt so good around him as he moaned himself with the warmth surrounding him. Slowly, gently, he eased more of himself inside, pressing his hips forward as his manhood fought against the tight clenches of her channel. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears – but they did not leave his.

"Ahh – Aesop!"

"That's it, my love. My beautiful girl...I love you," he gentled. "You are doing so well. So very well for me." 

"I…I…"

"What is it, my love?" he asked, his hip pressing forward another excruciating inch, their bodies aching for the other as he leaked around her the way she did around him – easing the passage and helping her stretch against him. Her breathing was erratic, her cheeks glaringly red as pleasure and pain intermingled once more. "What do you feel?"

"It..mhm..." A tender moan spilt from her, her womanhood slowly loosening around him. "–sop."

"Yes, my love?" He whispered, kissing the corner of her mouth as he felt her shivering beneath him. He rubbed her clitoris with messy and soft strokes, relishing her low moans as her eyes fluttered shut – this time in pleasure. Aesop could not help the small smile that placed itself upon his lips, for she was breathtaking. Another inch pressed into her, the discomfort returning and a choked little sob spilling from her plush lips – a stray tear spilling from her eye. 

"Do you wish for me to stop?" Aesop asked her gently, halting all his movements as he awaited her answer. She did not answer him, though she shook her head furiously from side to side.

"Look at me," he bade her again, his hand cupping her face as he gentled her with a soothing touch. "You do not have to endure if you cannot."

Her teary eyes met his as she gulped before another sharp intake of breath filled her lungs. "I don't want you to stop," she whimpered miserably. "Please just..." she bit her lip, her gaze averting in shame.

"Please, what, my love?" he asked. "You can tell me anything. You need to tell me if you want this."

"What you've been doing with your fingers..." she gulped. "I want…I need…"

"Do you need me to…" he slowly pressed his fingers on her clitoris again – a little more pressure than before – his voice fading as she gasped and arched into him. 

"Yes…" she sighed contently, the furrow of her brow decreasing, and her eyes closed again. "A–Ae–Aesop," she shakily moaned, her hips canting upwards to meet his. 

His self-control was admirable, the strain on his own body and mind evident by the strain in his arm and his own panting breaths. Her womanhood parted for him, the tight muscle easing as she relaxed into his touch – clenching hard then parting like a greedy mouth. His shaft was leaking a trail inside her with each small push forward – she did not believe he could go any further, for it already felt like he was beyond anywhere he should be. Before long, Aesop pushed forward one more time – burying himself with one long and stubborn thrust, reaching all the way inside her. 

She wailed and burst into tears at the sensation, Aesop's own head dropping between the valley of her breasts as he groaned deeply at the sheer feeling.

"Aesop!"

"Fuck," he groaned lowly, the hand next to her head gripping the sheets – his hand surely turning white with force. He had stilled inside her, allowing both him and her to adjust to the foreign feeling. Her chest was rising violently, pushing against his as he fully enveloped her beneath him.

"A-Aesop," she whimpered, a twinging pain still lingering in her lower body, her legs sapless on either side of him. "It - ah…hurts." 

"I know, my love," Aesop breathed out, his eyes clenched in focus. "You're so – ah...tight." 

His hands found her sides again, tracing delicate patterns across her heated skin – all whilst he lingered inside her; unmoving. Slowly, but surely, he felt her settle, her breath evening out and her core loosening. The pain that had pierced her and lingered in her womanhood slowly dwindled away, leaving nothing but a sensation of overwhelming fullness in its wake. His weight upon hers felt strangely comforting, a familiar feeling among the symphony of vast and earth-shattering novelties. Aesop was scalding against her, his broad and heavy and burly body encasing her protectively – shielding her from the world around her, though if she had to describe her world now, there would only be Aesop anyway. She said nothing – much like he did – allowing his panting breath to fan over her bosom as her tears dried. Her fingers, as she now began to realise, had pressed into his sides, leaving red marks on his tough skin. 

"Oh," she whispered as she loosened her tight grip.

"Hm?" Aesop mumbled, the vibrations hitting her bosom. "What is it, my love?"

Her voice was trembling and quiet when she answered him – plagued by the shame of what she had done. "I fear I might have hurt you..."

She could feel Aesop's chest rumbling with a low chuckle, the action sparking…something unknown between the folds of her quim before he rose to meet her eyes again, a lopsided smirk on his flushed face. 

"My love," he mumbled, a stray hair pushed from her tear-streaked face. "My beautiful, beautiful love...You have cried, certainly not from ecstasy this time, and you worry about me?" Another low chuckle vibrated through them. "Fear not – you haven't hurt me. I have endured far worse."

He watched as she bit her lip, evading his piercing gaze in shame, more tears gathering in her eyes. 

"None of that," Aesop chided lovingly, pushing her face to meet his, placing a chaste kiss on her lips. "You're doing so well for me," he whispered, eyes closed in bliss as he felt her walls pulsate around him. He embraced her lips in a loving kiss once more, their tongues mingling as he continued to lead her. "How do you feel?"

"Full," she whimpered lowly. "So… ah – full, Aesop."

A deep groan left his lips upon her admission. Call it male pride or call it unnaturally developed self-conceit, but Aesop could not help the blaze of arousal that burst through him at her admittance. He knew he was charitably blessed, more so than most men – not that she had any way of knowing – but his love took him perfectly, doing so well for him – only him. 

"Fuck," he rasped out, straining above her as her warm heat continued to envelop him in a vice grip. 

She looked entrancing beneath him, eyes shut, with bitten lips – her chest rising against his, body flushed beautifully as it lay against the pillows. And she was all his. Eternally and entirely his.

"You are doing so well," he praised her in a low tone once more, his hands tracing placating patterns on her skin as they descended towards her hips. He could feel her tension under his fingers, her body shivering – so far removed from the ecstatic state she had been in before. 

"Do you trust me?" Aesop whispered, almost inaudible. 

"Yes." Her voice was squeaky, and she did not open her eyes, but the word spilt from her lips with no hesitation – and that was enough for Aesop.

He firmly took hold of her hips, angling himself above her – rubbing comforting circles into her hips. Gently, he eased a few inches out, her quim clinging to him before he eased himself back inside with the same familiar gentleness. A breathless gasp escaped her, her eyes opening to meet his as he meticulously took in her body's every response, his eyes hazy with desire and wanting – it sent a shiver down her spine. It was a peculiar feeling, entirely recondite but not unpleasant altogether. Each slow thrust which met her allowed his pubic bone to grace her clit with delicious friction, his manhood gradually opening her up with every thrust – battering away any clenching as her womanhood took him. Her arms were wrapped around his torso; fingers pressed into the blades of his shoulders as Aesop rhythmically moved, a little more each and every time. 

She watched as his head dropped between his shoulders, a deep groan escaping him as her warmth circled him. Merlin, Aesop could truly not recall ever feeling even close to this – She was so tight for him, so warm, and so delicate beneath him that it took every atom of his being not to rush himself into climax; he felt like a dratted schoolboy again. Thank Merlin, he was adept at concocting Bruisewort Balm as he knew with absolute certainty that his grip on her hips would leave bruises. 

His grinding movements gradually turned pleasant – no longer pressurising.

"Aesop," she groaned, her tone entreating. "I – ah…"

"You feel so perfect, my love," he groaned, allowing his face to move downwards so his mouth could envelop one of her hardened peaks once more, his tongue swirling around despairingly, his hair tickling against her heated skin. "– Doing so well for me. Taking me so perfectly."

He could feel her womanhood dampening around him, easing his motions further – a dark chuckle escaped him.

"You like that, my love? Being told that you're my good – ah," Aesop grunted as he ground his pelvis deeper, her lower body pushed into the mattress. "– my good, good, girl? All for me?"

"Yes," she sighed contently, her eyes closing in bliss. 

He cooed against her breasts, deep, breathless, his grinding slowly turning into gentle thrusts – still careful not to hurt her. The hands he held on her hips relaxed, one moving lower to angle her hips differently as he moved his own. Each thrust inwards left her closer to being utterly sapless, unable to do anything but take what he gave, his generous length and girth aiming to brush against the soft spot above her entrance that made her way to wail out in pleasure. 

Aesop's head shot up in astonishment when her womanhood tightened around him violently, her rear and head rising from where she lay as she wailed.

"Aesop! Oh…Oh!" 

His length brushed against her spot mercilessly, teasing her deliciously when she was very much sated from the two peaks of ecstasy before – the sensation both aching and sending her closer to delirium. 

"There you go," Aesop rasped, his shallow thrusts gaining momentum. "Is that good?" he asked, groaning, teasingly pushing his length to deliberately beat away at that tender spot. 

"Yes!" his love cried out beneath him, scarcely believing the sheer pleasure she was suddenly feeling – never having felt such an intense cacophony of feelings aimed at her before. With a growl through clenched teeth, Aesop moved his hands to her breasts, fondling them tenderly as he rose up to look down upon the ethereal form of his beloved. The guttural moan he released when he took in the very picture of sin beneath him shook him to his core, the familiar sensation of his impending peak quelling in his lower region. He had to slow down, fearing he would finish before she did, though he could feel her peak approaching. 

She looked like a sacred piece of art – sweaty, moaning, and blissfully boneless, her hair spread out like a halo, cheeks flushed, and eyes closed – his own groans of pleasure hastening her voracity.  

"You're doing so well for me," Aesop groaned. "So fucking well. All for me. My beautiful girl."

"Yes!" she chanted affirmatively. "All for you." 

His thrusts were slow, tempered - reaching parts of her she never thought anyone would reach. His hips canted against her, pushing her further into the mattress, pressing deep, so very deep, into her, the tip of his manhood pressing against her cervix with the sheer force of his thrusts, her womanhood stretched open. She was utterly vulnerable – her legs shook with the intensity of emotions coursing through her, shaking her to her very soul. 

"Fuck," Aesop hissed hotly. "I love you. I love you so much. My good – ah, girl. Doing so well for me. My lovely woman… So warm, so… ah....good."

"Aesop!" she cried out, her grip on his shoulders tightening as the familiar coil of eros bubbled beneath her skin again, the flames of desire licking their way up from her womanhood and spreading through her body mercilessly. "I – oh god. I –"

"I've got you," Aesop rasped reassuringly, his touch a temperate anchor in the endless sea of ardour she was drowning in. She cried out once more, a stray tear spilling from the corner of her eye, which Aesop gently wiped from her cheek before he reached down and pressed a soft kiss into the crown of her hair. 

"I've got you," he promised once more with a sweet sigh, "You're ah – doing so well for me. I love you so much. Ah – taking me so well. Fuck – I'm so...so proud of you… It's alright... let go for me." 

She felt his soft, groping hand, helplessly desirous touching along her body and face, caressing her softly - oh so softly – with infinite soothing and assurance. It was so much and never enough, the staccato building and building confronting her with the innermost parts of herself. Never had she felt so acutely the agony of her own forlornness, yet embraced in Aesop's arms, she knew she would never feel forlorn again. She was his, and he was hers. She had reached the peak twice before that night, but this was so greatly different that she wondered if she had truly reached it after all. He was turgid and quivering inside her, the strange thrills rippling through her like burning embers – dashing to points of brilliant exquisiteness. She lay near unconscious of the frenzied cries she emitted, unaware of his gaze upon her trembling body as she was consumed entirely. She clung to him in her burning passion, his rhythms flushing up into her, filling her entire, cleaving consciousness until she was nothing but a burning flame.

Aesop nearly came apart at the sight and feeling of her, the sight celestial, but he craved, needed, more. 

"Fuck," he groaned. Though his movements slowed, they did not cease altogether, his eyes closing in bliss as his thick manhood scraped against her tender, clenching walls. His thrusts were gentle as he helped her through the throes of her peak, lidded eyes, observing her every tremble. When his love came to, noting his continued movements, her eyes shot open, their hazy gaze blurry.

Stuttering, his name left her lips, the burning molten between her legs never ceasing. "A-A-Aesop."

He continued to rock inside; out. It was a moment of pure peace for Aesop, the entry into the body of her so very pleasurable – his hips meeting hers. Her legs tensed, and her womb clenched, unsure if it was pleasure or pain this time around. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed in the hut, the room hot and humid amidst their moans and groans and her cries.

"Aesop 's too much," her speech slurred, struggling to keep her eyes on his. 

"You are doing so well," he grunted, adjusting the grip he held on her, snapping his hips up violently, his antecedent restraint and control dwindling. His arms circled her, Aesop's body on hers, his wet body touching hers, so close. "You can give me one more." 

His thrusts pushed the literal air from her lungs, gasps and moans spilling from her bitten lips – his name sometimes in between like a prayer. Aesop's hands caressed down her sides until he bent forward, lifting her kneed to wrap her leg around his waist, holding it there – the new angle leaving her vulnerably open. Their eyes met one another – hazy with lust and wanting and need and earth-shattering love and devotion simmering below the surface. 

"I love you," the young woman sobbed out, his manhood hitting the deepest parts of her, the tip of it pressing against the entry to her womb. Her back arched into him, his scalding chest resting over hers, rough hairs chafing against her tight and tender nipples. She loved him beyond anything - adored him till her knees were weak as she walked and her heart could no longer survive without him. He was her air, her warmth, her very reason for being.

Something gave way, and the potions master above her precipitously, violently, thrust his hips into hers, held up only by his bruising grip as the remains of her lay sapless beneath him. Aesop slid his hands down her body, his callouses leaving goosebumps in their wake as he caressed her soft stomach before his fingers found her erect clit above her entrance. Her wails were the sweetest song Aesop had ever heard, the vicious grip on his shoulders sure to leave imprints for days to come. 

"I love you too – fuck," Aesop hissed, allowing himself to close his eyes as he battered away, his movements forceful and erratic. His mind filled with the reason they were engaging in the first place – a vivid image conjured in his mind of her swollen and rounded body.

"You will look so beautiful," he murmured breathlessly. "So stunningly beautiful. Whole with my children – ah, fuck." 

Her womanhood clenched, flowing and alive and vulnerable as the image filled her too – helpless with adoration of him and what she wanted him to do – before it opened, ready to be filled with new life all for him – with him. 

Both her and his yearning adoration for one another was fearful, leaving them helpless in each other's embrace and so different from what had been their relationship – a new dawn blooming. It was sinking into them as his manhood sunk into her, deep into their being to the centre of all creation. Aesop had not known yearning like this – possibly even feared it his entire life, lest if he adored too much, he would be vulnerable; a slave to his emotions which he certainly had never wished to be. Yet as he moved into her, enveloped tightly and loved, he would no longer fight it. It was so fathomless, so soft, so deep and so unknown – yet he surrendered, just as she had.

"Aesop!"  she cried out.

"Your womb will be full with me," Aesop groaned nonsensically. "So filled with life that everyone shall see."

Her hips canted upwards to meet his thrusts, his finger pressing wildly into her bud as ecstasy drew near – for both of them. Her wails of pleasure filled the room around them, his lowly groans swirling between. Her legs had wrapped around his hips, holding him close in her vices, and her womanhood felt perfectly satisfied – the female inside her never more loved and cared for than it had been in this very moment. His phallus was forcing her to take every sensation, and she no longer felt ashamed to want it all. 

"Take it," Aesop growled. "Take my seed, and I shall ensure you will be a mother." 

"Yes, yes, please, I – " she begged through pleasured sobs, wishing he would finally fill her. The yearning with which she realised the difference between wanting a child and wanting his was discordant, even if it seemed ordinary enough. But to be filled with Aesop's child, and his alone, made her feel like a woman reborn.

One final, forceful thrust before Aesop's lips fell upon hers, his ecstasy intermingling with hers, their souls intertwining as Aesop swelled and swelled, pushing his seed inside her – pure deepening whirlpools of sensation swirling through them until they were one perfect concentric fluid of feeling, his life springing into her.

They gasped into each other as the waves of pleasure ebbed through them, laying utterly still as they knew nothing but each other and warmth. Carefully, Aesop wrapped his arms around his lover's waist and turned them onto their sides, limbs entangled and his manhood still resting deep inside her, not allowing a single drop of his seed to spill. Their eyes were closed blissfully, her head nestled into his chest with his arms encasing her protectively. It was done – she had chosen him, and he had chosen her, his duty now forever protecting and shielding the woman in his arms, a duty he would fill with all his honour. A duty, which, in due time, would be extended to life growing inside her – a life Aesop was looking forward to protecting with all he had.

"I love you," Aesop mumbled into the crown of her hair. "I love you most ardently. You are an incomparable gift, my love."

He felt her tears before he saw them, undue panic rising in his chest as he bade her to look at him. He held her cheek against his hand, warm and flushed after their proclivities. 

"What is it, my love?" he asked in hushed tones. "Have I hurt you?"

"No," she shook her head. "No, you have not I –"

"Then please tell me what –"

"Nothing," she sobbed, a shy smile on her face as she burrowed herself into his hand. "I could have never thought these relations to be so... liberating."

"…liberating?" Aesop asked after a breath of silence. He did not understand. 

"Yes," she nodded into his hand, before she smiled up at him. "My mother had told me that...when it happens, I should lie back and think of England. That I would have to endure until my husband had his heir. She did not mention that it could be… that it would be a mere hitch of pain before an endless field of pleasure."

His heart both shattered and thumped upon hearing her admission, his strokes against her back so soft and gentle, barely discernable if her wet and battered body was not as sensitive as it had been. 

"You let me bed you thinking it would be something to endure?" he inquired, praying that he had heard – understood – wrong. 

"Yes," she replied with no hesitation in her voice. "If it meant that you would father my children – our children – I would have endured a thousand times over. But…this?" Her cheeks glowed in the aftermath, unable to speak of their activities even after what had transpired. "This was nothing to endure."

"And you never have to endure it," Aesop resolutely told her, pressing a chaste kiss upon her lips. "I will not stand for it. This was your choice and yours alone. And should you ever –"

"Shhh," she gently interrupted him with a smile upon her lips. "I do not know what it felt like to you but to me? I do not believe a woman could ever be…happier. Or more loved." 

Aesop returned her smile tiredly – relieved and triumphantly proud. "I do not believe a man could ever find more happiness either." 

For the longest time, Aesop Sharp was absolutely certain that he must have eradicated an entire civilisation in his past life, as there was no other possible explanation for the sheer torture in found himself in. But as his beloved lay in his arms, falling asleep, burrowed safely in his chest away from the world, having chosen him as he had chosen her, he truly could allow himself to dream of forever. 

Aesop Sharp now knew that reprieve was possible – even for someone like him, the living proof of it in his strong arms.

[episodeoftv]

Round 1 of 6, Group 2 of 4

propaganda is under the cut (424 words) - may contain spoilers

summaries (pulled from imdb or wikis)

propaganda

Doctor Who - 12.10 The Timeless Children

In the epic and emotional season finale, the Cybermen are on the march. As the last remaining humans are ruthlessly hunted down, Graham, Ryan and Yaz face a terrifying fight to survive. Civilisations fall. Others rise anew. Lies are exposed, truths are revealed, battles are fought, and for the Doctor - trapped and alone - nothing will ever be the same again.

this finale is shit!! absolute ass! nothing happens in it for it to justify having such a cool name. the master captures the doctor, shows her a slideshow that amounts to ‘‘you’re adopted!! :)" doctor breaks out of her matrix prison thing by overloading it with memories when the matrix is The Supercomputer and it’s used to hold all memories of all time lords ever? you know, the species whove been doing their thing for a billion years and live up to 10,000 years? the doctors new memories should either already be there or make nary a dent in it. the doctor’s like ‘‘why would they do that! why would they lie?’’ girl they have been lying to you since forever. they killed you once. theyve tried to kill you so many times. they turned you into a fucked up anti time monster that one time. one of the doctors past past selves even told her it doesnt really matter!! what was even the point

Our Flag Means Death - 2.08 Mermen

cw: vomit

Stede, Zheng, Spanish Jackie and the rest of the Revenge crew team up to take down a nefarious common enemy threatening the world of piracy.

1) paced like a runaway train, worst actor kiss i've seen in all my years, weird resolutions for two newly-introduced characters who started with lots of potential but ended up with no narrative payoff. (spoilers) removed a really strong actor/character from an overwhelmingly mediocre cast and caused a giant rift in the fandom with some (falsely) claiming that the major character death was bury-your-gays, homophobic, ableist, etc. and that they were done with the show (we'll see about that), and others claiming it made perfect sense to kill off this character because he was "ready to die"

2) Season 1 was so promising, and set up so much! Season 2 SEEMED like it was gonna fulfill some of that promise... That is, of course, until they squandered all of those loose plot threads, character moments, potential arcs, etc. in a half-assed episode that was basically all filler and ended with one of the most unsatisfying, pointless, and unemotional deaths of TV that gave us all 'Dean with the rusty nail' flashbacks. Even the *seagull* got a better death. Not even the canon ship felt satisfying!! Their kiss and ending was extremely rushed and they didn't actually go anywhere from the end of S1.

3) Least of all it was all very rushed. More importantly Izzy was absolutely fucked and his death didn’t make sense with the writing of the rest of the series. Ed en Stede’s character development throughout the season got thrown away for some ”happy” ending which would’ve been better if they just stayed with the crew.

[jsaunderswrites]

Jesse reads the Energon Universe Part I: Void Rivals #1-4

Void Rivals #1

I have neither read nor watched Enemy Mine, but I’m familiar with the trope that’s been repeated in a million other stories.

I caught the parallel of the characters being like 80s toy line factions from just the preview. However I don’t think they sold that idea well in the story, because who’s gonna buy these guys? They’re not the LIGHT GUARDIANS and VOILET INCURSION, they’re Agorrians and Zertonians. They don’t have striking character designs, they look like random Star Wars background filler.

They don’t have unique looks or gimmicks like a toy-based character would. We learn that Agorrians have handroids (AIs in small computers in their right hand with limited physical autonomy) but it just looks like a red glove. Youd think having a toyline of guys with fancy hands could be fun; one with a big crusher claw, one that grapples, one with a blaster. But so far it's only a JARVIS voice. That's all.

The part where they seem to be based on different sci-fi aesthetics to further contrast them is cool, but it leads to them looking like two different generic space soldiers.

The art is well rendered and coloured. The space environment and crashed ships are a great mood. But it also just doesn't grab attention and the whole place looks the same.

The characters don't exactly have memorable personalities. Darak is more personable and optimistic, while Solila is more harsh and cynical, but willing to bend the rules rather than dying for nothing.

The problem is there's just no strong hook. Why should I care about these generic characters? The mystery comes too late and seems too self explanatory (they're dehumanising each other in order to keep conflict going) to be the reason to keep reading.

The SURPRISE Transformers crossover lasts four pages and could easily be removed without changing the story at all. It doesn't matter to the actual characters except to repeat the losing all hope beat they already hit!

Void Rivals #2

The flashback establishes that Darak has a shitty dad who hates him, but otherwise it doesn't really build anything into narrative.

I don't know if they'll explain the vision more than Solila attributing it to her god, Zerta.

On the one hand I respect they seem to have avoided the assumption that there should be a romance between the two opposite gendered characters stuck together. But that would at least be something interesting happening.

The reveal of the skuxxoid is framed as a shocking reveal, but who out there has any idea what that is unless you spend all your time on TFWiki?

Void Rivals #3

The cover is a lie.

They introduce a quintesson prosecutor and have him ally with Darak and Solila only for them to turn on him almost immediately. It's so abrupt and lacking in drama I'm wondering if it's supposed to be a joke?

The ending where Solila betrays Darak is the first twist that actually got me.

Void Rivals #4

Every issue requires a Transformers reference so we just cut away to the skuxxoid meeting Shockwave on Cybertron despite having nothing to do with this story.

The decompression really drags this story out. So many pages for so little actual story, and there's no real atmosphere that would justify the trade off.

We learn the leaders of the factions are actually working together but that doesn't shock me at all. This conspiracy is just so underwhelming.

Final thoughts

Apparently Kirkman has a reputation for keeping secrets from comic sellers to preserve spoilers which hurts those businesses. The idea to keep the Transformers reveal a secret, leading to comic shops not preordering this random book, is dumb.

The setting hasn't been established in any way to make me care about the continued survival of these civilisation.

I'm predicting they break out, and broadcast their faces to both worlds.

The Transformers elements feel so artificial and I don't know why they feel like they could be pulled out separately. Do they want to be able to include them in the upcoming Transformers trades?

I haven't been buying the books despite being an obsessive completionist, and I will be grabbing the Transformers books, but in this case I'll probably get the trade collection.

[lonewolflupe]

aLoF ch3 | High Fives

Here is chapter 3, which was so much fun to write! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Spoiler: Fives finally makes his debut (so expect some more of him in my upcoming chapters).

Summary: after Lupe achieves Jedi Knighthood, she finds herself and the Wolfpack in trouble again - but not on the battlefield this time Rating: Teen and up/Mature Tags: comradery, drinking, intoxication by booze, insulting, fist fighting Words: 3.033k Characters: Lupe (OC), Plo Koon, CC-3636 Commander Wolffe, ARC-5555 Fives, ARC-1409 Echo, CC-1010 Commander Fox, unidentified 104th troopers, unidentified Coruscant Guard troopers aLoF masterlist | AO3 ch2 < | ficlet < | ↓ | > ch4

21 BBY, Coruscant | 79’s

Although Coruscant’s 79’s cantina was open to anyone, it was known to be a clone bar. Yet this night there were considerably more clones than usual. Most of them were wearing armour with flint grey markings; the 104th Battalion was noticeably present, and they were celebrating. Lupe, former Padawan to their General Plo Koon and thus their Jedi Commander, had achieved Jedi Knighthood.

Whereas Padawans normally were knighted around their mid or even late twenties after successfully completing their Jedi Trials, the war asked for unprecedented measures. Young Padawans were now rushed into knighthood, skipping their trials so the Grand Army of the Republic could reinforce its commanding ranks. And since Lupe had already proven to be a quick thinker and a capable leader, the Jedi Council had approved of her step up in the Jedi Order.

Despite the ongoing war, Master Plo Koon wanted to celebrate in some way and Lupe wanted to include the Wolfpack. After all, she wouldn’t be where she was today if it hadn’t been for them. And so she had chosen 79’s as location, much to the surprise and amusement of her former Master and to the utter dismay and horror of Commander Wolffe, who felt obligated to attend, but preferably for as short a time as possible. Which had nothing to do with Lupe; he just didn’t want to see his troops as they became unruly in this unbearable bar.

Since Master Plo Koon had started off the evening with a speech for Lupe, the crowd had gotten rowdier. Plo Koon and Commander Wolffe had stayed for a while, engaged in conversation together - probably concerning something civilised, like strategics. But as the evening progressed and the amount of booze had multiplied, they had left the partying to Lupe and the troops. Troopers had come and troopers had gone, but late into the night, there was still some Wolfpack audience in the cantina.

---

Although clearly present, the troopers of the 104th Battalion weren't the only clones attending 79’s that night. At the bar sat two ARC troopers from the 501st Battalion, recognisable by their blue markings.

“Last time I checked, this place wasn’t exclusive to one battalion,” the first one complained when a rowdy trooper from the Wolfpack stumbled against him, making him spill his beverage. “You wouldn’t be complaining if it had been the 212th,” the second ARC trooper replied as he took a sip from his drink. The first one, defined by the tattooed ‘5’ on his right temple and the well-trimmed goatee on his chin, groaned as he watched the Wolfpack being served more drinks. “At least Cody and the boys are civilised,” he sighed, as he attempted to drink what was left of his beverage.

Before he managed to take a sip, his drink was knocked out of his hand as a flint grey-marked trooper walked past and padded him heavily on the shoulder, clearly intoxicated by whatever he had been drinking that evening. The ARC trooper clenched his now empty fist and hit it on the counter of the bar.

“Fives..,” the other ARC trooper said slowly, trying to stop his brother from whatever he was going to do, but he didn’t come through. Fives rose from his barstool, a screeching sound filling the cantina as the metal leg of the stool scraped the floor when he pulled it aside. He turned himself to the centre of the bar, where the remaining troopers of the Wolfpack were located. “It smells like wet hound in here,” he shouted over the rowdy voices of the troopers.

The Wolfpack fell silent as they turned to look at the man that had just drawn their attention. Before anyone could respond, Lupe stepped out of the group, revealing herself to face the ARC trooper. She was smaller than the clones, so he hadn't noticed her before. “What was that, grunt?” she shot back, as she raised a brow. Fives recognised a Jedi when he saw one, and although he was already properly intoxicated at this point, he thought picking a fight with one wouldn’t be his brightest idea.

He swallowed back a witty comeback and shrugged, his eyes rolling as he hated to give in so easily. “My bad, sir,” he said, awkwardly waving his hand as some sort of apology, before turning around. He put back the barstool and was just sitting down again, when the Jedi shot out another remark. “That’s what I thought. Nice skirt, though,” she shouted, and the Wolfpack troopers started laughing. Fives closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, ignoring his brother's hand on his pauldron, before picking up his empty glass and tossing it towards the noisy group.

Without any effort, Lupe stopped the glass mid-air by using the Force, as it was only centimetres away from her face. She looked from the glass towards the ARC trooper and let go of the Force. The cantina was completely silent at this point, except for the sound of the shattering glass as it hit the floor. Deafening silence, before Lupe turned her head towards the Wolfpack. “Looks like meat's back on the menu, boys,” she grinned, as she nodded towards the ARC trooper. That was the moment mayhem erupted.

Two Wolfpack troopers darted forward towards Fives, who waited until the last second before jumping off the barstool and dodging both of them. He hit one in the face with his fist, taking him out immediately, and briefly choked the other with his elbow before pushing him back towards the she-wolf and her pack. The other ARC trooper, still seated at the bar, slapped his hand to his face. “Not again,” he whispered with a sigh, before getting up and readying himself at his brother’s side.

From there, a chaotic bar fight ensued. Glasses and barstools were tossed around, as well as an occasional trooper. The ARC troopers engaged in an intense hand fight as they seemed to stand their ground. The Wolfpack had the numbers, but that included the amount of booze they had downed already. It was only becoming interesting when Fives came face to face with the Jedi. Every moment one of them attacked with a fist, a foot or a knee, the other dodged or blocked it skillfully. And so they were intertwined in what almost seemed like a dance; a tough, unrewarding one, for that matter.

It wasn’t until Fives noticed the Coruscant Guard entering the cantina that he interrupted his fighting. Lupe was just swinging another blow at him, and was startled as much as he was when she fully hit him in the head, expecting him to block like he had done with all her previous blows. They fell down to the ground, Fives hitting his head hard as he reached the floor. Lupe landed on top of him with a slight thud, and she found herself having trouble getting up. Fives wasn’t even trying at this point, closing his eyes as 79’s started to spin around him.

The cantina quieted down as the Coruscant Guard took in the troublemakers. When Fives opened his eyes, an acquainted clone was looming over him, his arms crossed before his chest. “Commander, how good of you to show up,” Fives said jokingly, immediately regretting it as a thrusting pain emerged in his head. “Not this one again,” Commander Fox sighed, as he gestured to his troops to take him in. “Sorry sir, you’re coming too,” he said to Lupe, as two Coruscant Guards dragged her to her feet and took her in with the rest of the troublemakers.

---

“Put him in his regular cell,” Commander Fox ordered as they dragged Fives through the corridor of the Republic’s military prison complex and tossed him into the cell. His ARC brother walked in willingly behind him, glad the chaos was over and ready to sleep it all off on the bench at the back of the cell.

As the cells around them were filled with Wolfpack troopers and some other military disruptors and nuisances, Lupe was brought into the same cell as the 501st ARC troopers. Nearing the back of the cell, she stumbled to the floor, but managed to crawl to the bench where the other ARC trooper had positioned himself. She sat down on the floor, leaning her back against the side of the bench.

Groaning, Fives heaved himself on his lower arms as he looked back at the cell’s door. “I’m sure Fox is going to shoot me one of these days,” Fives uttered from the ground where the Coruscant Guard had tossed him. With a groan he managed to get up, walked towards Lupe unsteadily, and crashed down beside her. "So, you're the one they call Lupe, right?" he asked as soon as he laid his pounding head to rest on the bench behind him. "They do. What do you prefer to be called?" she answered, her eyes closed as she rubbed her eyelids with her fingers. "Well, you can call me-"

"Your name. She asked for your name," the other ARC trooper interrupted, exactly knowing what his brother was playing at. Fives sighed out loud as he slapped the ARC trooper behind him on his chest plate, where a blue handprint stood out. "Yeah yeah, fine. Mirsh'kyramud*. Name's Fives.” Lupe withdrew her hand, opened her eyes and looked towards the clone as if he had just called tookas insufferable creatures. "What, like the number?" she retorted. The ARC trooper sighed out even louder. "Fives. It's Fives,” he reacted, whilst making abrupt hand gestures, as if that was making his point clearer.

*Mirsh'kyramud = brain assassin (boring person)

Lupe looked at the ARC trooper’s face on her left, as she tried to process the fact that the tattooed ‘5’ on his temple wasn't resembling a number. Her head was whooshing. "That still sounds like a number,” she concluded. Fives shot an angry look at her before coming with a witty remark, although as the night progressed, the level of intelligence decreased. "Yeah? Well, Lupe sounds like.. Like Dupe," he snorted back, quite pleased with what he'd come up with.

As her headache worsened, she closed her eyes again and rested the back of her head on the edge of the bench. "I'll Dupe you, next time we're in a fight," she replied softly, as she let her mind drift away and she gave in to her sleepiness. "Well, how Dupe you do," Fives said smirking. The other ARC trooper rolled his eyes, turned around on the bench to turn his back towards them, and tried sleeping off his booze- and brother-induced headache. Not for the first and probably not for the last time, he was absolutely done with the nonsense of his brother.

---

With no sense of time, Lupe woke up in the dimly lit cell. Her head was still aching and her throat was dry, but at least she was able to think clearer again. As she recollected her memories from the previous evening, she found her head resting on the pauldron of the ARC trooper Fives, still sitting beside her. She straightened herself abruptly, looking around to make sure no one had noticed.

Fives started to wake, stretching himself unduly as he yawned. With his right arm stretched out, he almost hit Lupe in the face. “Watch it,” she said, as she whacked away the arm. Fives turned to her in shock as he had no idea where he was and that she was still there, his arm on the bench as he turned his torso, hitting his brother with his elbow in the process. As it dawned on him what had happened the previous evening, he heard his brother groan a low, irritated sound as he had accidentally woken him.

“How's your head?” Lupe asked softly, as Fives started to remember parts of last night. He put his hand on the back of his head, where it was still hurting. That was going to leave a bump. “Insufferable,” the ARC trooper on the bench answered before Fives could respond. “Speak for yourself, Echo,” Fives shot back at his brother. With audible difficulties, Echo lifted himself on the bench, until he was sitting upright. “I just did,” he said dryly. “But we have the same head,” Fives replied, slightly annoyed. Echo bumped his fist into Fives’ upper back before saying: “That's my point.”

Lupe chuckled briefly as she was observing the brothers arguing. Although she was in a fight with them last night, she had to admit, she could have gotten herself worse cellmates. As she sat there, her head clearing up again, she sensed a burning feeling on her arm. When she laid eyes on the culprit, her eyes opened wide in shock. “I have no recollection of this,” she blurted out, as her fingers went over the freshly set tattoo. There, on her upper left arm, below her shoulder piece, the Wolfpack emblem was now immortalised on her skin. Fives looked at her as if he was sorry for her. “My condolences,” he said to her cautiously, as he tried to remember if he'd seen a Jedi before with such a prominent tattoo.

“Are you kidding? I love it,” she shot back at him, looking up at him with a glister in her eyes. He laughed, before tapping his finger on his tattooed temple. “Good, because they're hard to get rid of.” Still touching her tattoo, Lupe got up and stretched herself. She hadn't felt this stiff after any battle she remembered, and the thudding in her head was quite new to her too. It looked like the ARC troopers were experiencing a similar feeling, although she guessed it wasn't new to them.

“I'm sorry for calling you wet hounds last night,” Fives finally said, Echo looking up surprised as he wasn’t used to his brother apologising. Lupe looked over her shoulder to meet his eyes, a smile on her face. “I guess we had it coming. Sorry for disturbing your night,” she replied genuinely. A moment of silence before she added softly: “Oh, and I do love your kama.” Fives smiled, proudly looking at his half-kilt, made out of sturdy leather.

The moment was interrupted when the door to the cell whooshed open. On the other side were Commander Fox, arms crossed before his chest, and Commander Wolffe, hands on his back. Lupe swallowed as she saw the expression on Wolffe’s helmetless face, whilst he shook his head disapprovingly. Although she was a General and Jedi Knight now, Commander Wolffe’s authoritative demeanour still scared her.

“Lupe, with me. You've got some explaining to do,” he grunted to her, as he turned around to start walking away. Lupe saluted the Commander, shot a quick ‘yessir’ at him, and turned towards the ARC troopers grinning. “Guess I'll see you around,” she said softly, winking before walking towards the corridor. “I bet you will,” Fives replied with a smirk on his face, before she disappeared outside the cell.

---

“You really had to put her in a cell with them?” she overheard Wolffe snapping at Fox, as she followed a few metres behind them. “I thought she might be a good influence on them,” Fox pointed out, his stature unchanged. Wolffe sighed and shook his head again. “I'm more concerned about their influence on her.” Fox turned his head, looking at Wolffe. “Rex is doing his best, Wolffe. It's his General that makes them.. Unmanageable.”

Lupe snorted softly as she thought of General Skywalker and the 501st. She hadn't had the pleasure of accompanying them on a mission, but their stories were legendary. And her encounter with the 501st ARC troopers last night had been.. Interesting.

They turned another corner and reached the guard station near the entrance of the prison complex. A red laser barrier was disabled, so that Wolffe and Lupe could walk past it towards the front of the guard post. Fox entered the post, where some of his Coruscant Guard troopers were monitoring the cells at the Republic military base, and handed back Lupe’s lightsaber. “Good thing you didn’t use this last night; you'd have been in a whole lot of more trouble if you had, sir,” Fox warned her, as she took the lightsaber’s hilt from him. Wolffe grunted, turned around and walked out of the base. Lupe sighed, and before following him outside, turned towards Commander Fox one last time. “Sorry for the mess.”

Lupe jogged behind Commander Wolffe to catch up with him, as he briskly strode away from the prison complex. She caught up with him, walking by his side, but she didn’t know what to say to him. For a moment, she felt small, like the Padawan she had been at the very beginning of the Clone Wars, fighting her first battle alongside the imposing clone troopers.

“I appreciate your comradery with the troops, sir,” Wolffe spoke at last, putting some extra weight on the ‘sir’, “but as a General, you have responsibilities and an exemplary function towards them.” He halted, looking her in the eyes intensely to make sure his point came across. “And what you set them up to last night was neither responsible nor exemplary.”

As she shuffled on her feet, still searching for the right words, he noticed the fresh Wolfpack tattoo on her arm. He sighed as his eye softened. “Argh, can’t stay mad at you,”  he growled softly, almost under his breath, but she heard him alright. He turned again to continue his stride, as he gestured to her to keep up. “C’mon, General Koon is waiting for an explanation.”

…

Epilogue

Peculiarly enough, her conversation with her former Master had felt less awkward than the long walk back with Commander Wolffe. Although alcohol was not recommended to Jedi, especially in a time of war, it wasn’t forbidden. And if anyone understood Lupe’s bond with the clone troopers, it was Master Plo Koon. She promised him to stay low for a while, to not attract any more unwanted attention towards herself, and to focus on the war and the battles to come. The war had still enough in store for her, after all.

[theriveroflight]

plant your eggs in someone else’s nest

Fandom: Professor Layton

Rating: G

Wordcount: 707

Relationship: Rachel/Leon

Summary: Leon and Rachel discuss the Wall of Norwell, their sons, and how to move forward.

Notes: Quick flashfic written so I could hit exactly 1mil words on AO3 tomorrow. Set in an AU where Rachel lives and is a Targent agent. Spoilers for Azran Legacy, obviously.

Read on AO3

“Well,” Leon says, looking at the pictures she’s spread on the table, “it certainly is Azran. Where was this unearthed? It’s incredible.”

Rachel closes her eyes. “That’s the thing.”

“Where is it, Rachel?”

“Stansbury,” she answers. “The Laytons moved there a few years ago. It’s where our sons live.”

It’s been a long time. Over ten years. Oh, who is she kidding? She knows the exact amount of time it’s been since she and Leon had to leave Hershel and Theodore behind.

“What a coincidence,” he murmurs.

Rachel isn’t so sure that it’s a coincidence — perhaps something cosmic has aligned in their favour such that she is finally able to see how her sons have grown up.

Her loyalty to Targent is a small price to pay in exchange for the safety of their children. She wishes she could have raised them, of course, watched them grow up — but being assured of their safety is enough to stay her hand. She knows their position, of course, is precarious — but the Targent cause is not necessarily a bad one, and she’s made the right choice for her family.

“I’m aware,” she responds instead, choosing not to voice her concerns. After all, the Azran to the best of her knowledge are not entirely omnipotent — if they were, they would never have fallen.

She and Leon are dragging them from the depths for humanity’s sake. Their climate-altering technology would save cities from pollution, and the Golden Garden was rumoured to be a site of healing. There are many great boons that will come from unearthing the Azran legacy.

This is the thesis statement of Targent.

“Still,” Leon continues, “it’s useless without the Mask of Chaos. Just gibberish without anything to decode it. I could put some of our squad on translating, but I doubt it will bear fruit.”

She looks down at the wall. Of course it’s coded — the Azran always spoke in puzzles. Nothing is ever straightforward with ancient civilisations.

“Where do you think it is?” she asks. “I can send a pair to go searching.”

Leon taps his desk idly with the other end of his pen. “I’m not so sure that’s the wisest course of action, my love.”

She smiles slightly. The vows they made proclaim that they will remain in love, but some reassurance never hurts. “What do you propose then, sweetheart?”

“Why not go ourselves?” he asks. “It’s been quite some time since we were last on the field. I’m not certain as to the whereabouts of the mask, but it must be close to the wall — there’s no use in a code without a key.”

She nods. “Alright, but why us?”

“Because I am me, and you are you,” he declares. “Together, there is no puzzle that will stop us.” He lightly boops her nose, and she can’t help but laugh a little at the gesture. She leans towards him for a quick, chaste kiss.

“Alright, Leon,” she says. “I trust you.”

And that’s the crux of it — falling out of love does not matter nearly as much as falling out of trust. He is her partner, in every single sense of the word. If they fail to trust each other, then the house they’ve carefully built these last thirteen years, four months, and five days will crumble.

“I’m not going to lie to you,” he says, in a quieter tone. “The fact that Hershel and Theodore are there…”

“I understand,” she says. “Of course I do. There is nothing I want more than to see them again. And now that you’re leader…”

“We can protect them,” he fills in. “And what of young Emmeline?”

“I’m sure she’ll be alright for a few days,” she responds. Emmy — she’s only recently come into their care. Leon had picked her up off the street. A young orphan. She certainly was no replacement for the children they had given up, but she was a beam of sunshine in their lives. “I have no doubt she will thrive here in Targent. She has our protection, after all.”

“Do you think…”

“Hershel and Theodore were safer with someone else then,” she says, answering the unspoken question. “I cannot say I don’t have regrets. But I can push them aside.”

[issybettyx]

Au inspired by the dream smp finale

My writer brain is ticking, so have this

Cw: techno death mention, final dsmp stream spoilers

—

The player wasn’t sure where they were.

The cold was biting at their fingertips, but they pressed their hands deep into their coat pockets, studying the spruce trees around them with a careful eye. They hadn’t seen any form of life in weeks, only knowing the sound of their feet falling onto the ground. In a way, it was relieving to be in nature’s silence, but their anxiety was nagging at them that if anything went wrong, no one would know.

Someone had once asked them ‘If a tree falls in a forest, but no one is around, did it make a sound?’

That question repeated in their head, over and over as they watched their feet, making sure not to trip over any stray roots.

If they screamed, would it truly happen if no one was around to hear it?

The sun was starting to dip over the horizon, and after a whole other day of finding nothing, the player almost lay down to rest for the night.

But something caught their eye.

A structure.

Their feet had never moved faster, reaching a fence and jumping over it without an issue, practically stumbling as they reached the spruce stairs, before their knuckles rapped on the door.

There was no answer.

After a few too many seconds of silence passed, they knocked again.

There was still no reply.

The player attempted to push the door open, but found that it easily opened with a squeak.

There were rows of chests in front of them, and a ladder to their left that led up and down.

First, they went down, crawling down into another chest room. There was a painting pinned to the wall of a man who looked more like a strong warrior.

His hair was long and pink, his cape a deep red as it flapped behind him. The painting used warm colours, depicting this strong warrior in a calm environment.

Words were painted gracefully at the top, reading ‘When the war has been won’.

A sadness filled the player, but they moved on.

They decided to go up the ladder, finding themselves in the attic. In a barrel were several different belongings, the next more expensive than the last. The player didn’t take any of it. Instead, they turned to a bell that was on top of an emerald block, ringing it and listening to the sound as it echoed throughout the house.

An unnerving chill ran down their spine, and they decided to leave it as it was, sending a glance at the emerald block the bell sat on before climbing down the stairs, pressing open the door. Opposite this hut was another, and the player walked up to it, the door opening in front of them as they stepped on the pressure plate.

The house didn’t have a ladder, and was mostly filled with barrels.

There was an image of a brunette on the other side, but it seemed like it had a story behind it the player wasn’t privy to, so they left that house behind as well.

As much as they wanted to take a few things for the journey, something stopped them from it. Despite the house being obviously abandoned by both past occupants, it was as if a barrier stopped their mind from taking anything.

So they continued on, jumping over the fence and hopping over the hill.

There was a portal.

The player entered.

-

The nether was hot, the player knew this. What the player also knew was that the nether didn’t naturally spawn such pathways, following the obsidian that led the way as they looked over the edge, bubbling lava below.

According to ancient scrolls, many dangerous species used to roam these lands. Ghasts, flying creatures that threw balls of fire at players. Piglins, creatures who attacked anyone who didn’t adorn an expensive piece of gold. Magma cubes, blocky creatures that caused damage on impact.

But, after centuries of hunting and heat, they all went extinct.

The nether was a desolate desert.

The path led to another, larger, portal, and the player entered.

What they expected was nothing like what they saw.

It was a civilisation.

Houses were spread across the land, a long path leading up mountains. There was a house in front of them, and when they headed towards it, the player found themself stood on a floor of crafting tables.

They turned left, walking along the oak path that led the way.

As they walked, they looked at the buildings around them, each as silent as the next. The player was alone, but they had a feeling that a while ago this place would’ve been full of life, of loud shouting and arguments, and yet so much happiness and friendship. They saw a museum on their right, breaking off the path to walk towards the tall pillars.

At first glance, the player was confused. But then they realised that it was a museum of the country’s past.

First they walked towards the van in the centre of the room, opening the door and peeking inside.

It was a drug van.

They hastily left.

They turned to the next thing that caught their eye; a blackstone box. Upon entering, they realised there were chests along the walls, each with names scrawled on chests.

Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, Fundy, Eret.

There was a button in the middle of the room.

They moved on.

The next room had stone walls, oak signs along them. After reading the first few, the player realised it was a song, and not a happy one.

There was another button, attached to the opposite wall to the doorway. A chair was in the centre.

They turned back to the song, running their fingers along the words etched into the wood.

I heard there was a special place

Where men could go an emancipate

The brutality and tyranny of their rulers

Well this place is real

You needn’t fret

With Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, fuck Eret.

It’s a really big and not blown up L’Manberg

My L’Manberg

My L’Manberg

My L’Manberg

My L’Manberg.

It was the same names as before, the player realised.

They moved on.

In one of the far corners of the room, there was a bright red egg, and the player immediately felt drawn away from it, moving across the room and onto a platform where several lecterns sat. It seemed to all be from a prison, and that made them jump back down, finding themselves stood in front of an obsidian room.

It had the same feeling as the big red egg.

The player moved on.

They decided to go to the back of the museum, swiftly walking past the egg to see a massive map.

A map of the entire civilisation that was built.

It was so much bigger than the player had first imagined.

They moved on, going to walk out of the museum before realising there were steps into a basement.

After a moment of hesitation, and consideration of the silence that sat heavily around them, the player skipped down the stairs, walking straight forward and ignoring everything around them.

There was a white shrine, a pig head in the centre with a crown that read ‘Technoblade’. There were also several items placed beside it, like a totem of undying. One of the rarest, most expensive items the world had ever come to find.

But it was a shrine, and it would be disrespectful to take from it right?

So, they left the items there, taking in the pig face that looked back at them.

The shade was similar to the man’s hair in the painting, his crown fit for a king. His crown similar to the painting.

That house in the snow, the homely cabin filled with resources that the player couldn’t take. An inhabitant had passed before the others, before the civilisation went silent.

Overwhelming sadness overcame them, something unplaceable that made them freeze in place, looking up at the face staring right back at them. Their heart was full, and yet so empty at the same time.

Eventually, the player moved on.

Their feet carried out of the museum and continued down the oak path, eventually approaching a hill that they walked up with ease, the wooden staircase making the job a little easier. Gates greeted them, which they pushed open.

The first warning sign was the yellow and black walls built up, obsidian and concrete blocks shielding this area from the surroundings.

The player continued down the path, noticing a wooden bench to the left under a tree, looking out over the landscape before them. Judging by how the moon was moving towards it as it moved across the sky, it seemed to be facing west.

A perfect place to watch the sunset.

The player looked to their right, noticing a wooden house that seemed to be inside the mountain, or at least once was.

A sign was placed beside it over an oak log, reading ‘TOMMYINNIT ENTERPRISE’.

Tommy.

His name was everywhere.

His name was on the chests in the museum, as well as the signs along the stone walls in that song, a deadly anthem, an unfinished symphony.

But he seemed to have lived through it all, having had a place unharmed by the unwavering silence.

The player didn’t even push open the door.

Upon noticing an explosion ahead, the player decided to go right first, walking through a short tunnel before finding themself high above what stood in front.

As they continued down the path, they realised all to see was an overgrown pit. A pit was a bit of an understatement, because the thing was massive.

A flag sat at the bottom among the still water, red white and blue with a black semi circle and three yellow crosses.

The pit was once a nation. And the flag screamed power.

The player turned back.

The player moved on.

They walked past the wooden hill house, noticing the tall black tower and small red and white house also within the vicinity, but didn’t waste time looking inside, and instead heading straight to the explosion. It had cut off the path, but placed dirt made it possible to walk across, although a little tight and a little worrying, the player got across easily.

In the distance, they saw a massive blackstone structure, and a daunting feeling crawled inside of their chest, itching that pushed them both towards it and away from it.

They knew that was the prison presented in the museum, and that knowledge was what made them turn back, walking back down the oak path without second glancing at anything.

They needed to leave and they needed to leave now.

“Hello Tommy.”

The player paused, hands twitching at the kind voice that spoke to them. It was a feminine voice, filled with honey and promise of a sweet forever.

The player turned, coming face to face with a dark haired woman, a long black dress flowing to the ground with large black wings from her back. They reminded them of someone, someone forgotten with time.

“It’s time to go home.”

The player looked around at the silent civilisation around them, taking a deep breath. The player looked at the bench, and a melody played in their head, a melody that only reminded them of joy and good things.

All good things must come to an end eventually.

The player remembered sitting beside a grinning brunette, hiding his anxieties behind a facade of confidence.

The player remembered tending to wolves in the snow with a pink haired man, a man who was strong beyond belief in many more ways than one should be.

The player remembered the pride from a brother’s face, holding their nation’s flag high on grounds that would one day become nothing but a deep hole.

Tommy remembered it all, and the woman knew it.

“Your family is waiting, you’ve been here long enough.” She told him quietly, keeping patient as Tommy looked back at her, a desperation in his no longer blue eyes.

“But I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to forget.” He tried, looking at the bench as his chest squeezed too tight to be comfortable.

“You won’t forget.” She assured, taking a few steps closer and offering her hand.

Tommy stared at it for a moment, taking a deep breath before meeting her dark-eyed gaze. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Tommy accepted the hand.

Tommy moved on.