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mimisempai · 3 months

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LITTLE SEEDS OF HAPPINESS - Chap 3/4

Chapter 3 : Watering

Chapter Summary

Aziraphale is confronted with his past, but is no longer the same, much to the surprise of his visitor.

But once the latter has left, one question remains: will the bookseller be able to get closer to the florist?

Notes

We learn more about Aziraphale’s background

On Ao3

Chap 1 - Chap 2 - Chap 3 - Chap 4

Aziraphale stared blankly at the street, which was beginning to come alive through the shop window, when his eye was caught by movement inside the flower shop.

He saw Crowley - at least he knew his name now - coming out of the shop, his arms laden with a long cardboard box from which Aziraphale could see flowers protruding. Seeing that he was heading for Justine's restaurant, the bookseller figured it was probably the floral arrangements Crowley had been talking about and needed his book for.

Aziraphale couldn't help but stare at the red head until he was out of sight, then sighed again.

He hadn't opened the shop yet and had no intention of doing so today; he didn't feel like seeing anyone, especially after yesterday's ostentatious visit. He was sure that the local gossips would soon inquire about yesterday's event, and Aziraphale wasn't about to tell them.

However, if he was honest with himself about not wanting to see anyone, there was one person he would have liked to meet. But in light of the events of the previous day, it seemed that any chance of a connection had been rather compromised.

His gaze was drawn back to the florist, who was returning empty-handed this time; he saw him stop in front of his shop, then, as if he'd changed his mind, continue on and enter Nina's café.

Another sigh, deeper than the previous one, left Aziraphale's mouth as his eyes fell on the green plant Crowley had given him the day before.

Aziraphale gently picked it up and placed it neatly on his desk before rummaging through a drawer and pulling out a small floral doily to place under the plant.

"If you like, I could come and look after it for you and..."

He remembered the florist's hesitation right after those words. He couldn't have imagined the hope in the other man's voice when he offered to look after his plant, could he?

It was as if Aziraphale could see his own expression in a mirror. As if he could see the longing that was his in the florist's demeanor, so of course he'd said yes.

But it didn't matter now, it had all been ruined in a split second.

He felt ashamed of the way he'd let Crowley down and couldn't help but feel a flash of anger as he thought back to the scene the day before.

"What the hell is he doing here?!"

Aziraphale was barely aware that the florist was leaving, so tense was he at the sight of the man approaching him with his sure step and arrogant air.

The bookseller's expression hardened and his fists clenched; it was exactly the same attitude this man and the other members of his family had had towards him for the first twenty-five years of his existence, and which he had left behind more than fifteen years ago.

**********

"Mom! Here's a wreath of daisies I made for you!"

As he ran toward his mother, who was reading in the shade of the old willow tree in the garden, Aziraphale heard a sneer in the bushes he passed.

"Pfft, what an idiot! A wreath of flowers!"

"Gabe, you know he's not like us. He can't help it if his mother doesn't come from the same background as our father. As far as we know, Dad is probably not his father. "

Aziraphale shook his head, swallowed back his tears and continued walking towards his mother, who opened her arms to him with a big smile. They could say what they wanted, he loved his mother with all his heart and he would always do his best to make her smile at him like that.

**********

"Mother, you really should be careful that Aziraphale doesn't eat too much. We're all so slim, it would be a shame if he stood out."

At Gabriel's words, Aziraphale lowered his head, instinctively pulling in his stomach and putting down his fork.

"Gabriel, be nice to your little brother."

"But, Father, it's true. The Heavensby family has an image to uphold. It's bad enough that he's the only curly-haired blond in the family, he shouldn't make himself any more conspicuous."

Although his mother gave him a slice of apple pie slightly larger than the others, Aziraphale was unable to swallow a bite before Gabriel left the table.

**********

Aziraphale had just finished an impromptu dance in front of his mother and finished with a graceful curtsy.

"Amazing, sweetie! How lovely! You're so talented!"

Aziraphale smiled ecstatically as his mother applauded, then approached a little more shyly with a sheet of paper in hand and asked her softly, "Mama, I'd like to learn to dance."

"Oh, you want to take ballet lessons?"

He nodded vehemently and his mother said quietly, "I'll have to talk to your father about it, of course, but I'm sure he'll say yes."

She stood up, kissed him on the forehead and said with a wink, "My little prima ballerina," then left the room.

Aziraphale, thrilled with his mother's reaction, came bouncing out of the living room a few moments later when a voice whispered in his ear, "I know what you are. I won't let you bring shame on our family."

Gabriel pushed past him, causing Aziraphale to stumble.

"You, a prima ballerina! What a joke!"

Aziraphale never took dancing lessons.

All it took was one look and all those memories came flooding back.

Aziraphale had said goodbye to his family and his past over fifteen years ago, and he had never regretted it for a second.

His only family had been his mother, his father far too busy with his empire to take an interest in his youngest son, who was too tender and sensitive.

So when his mother died the year he turned fifteen, Aziraphale lived in utter loneliness, despite being part of a large family. His half-brothers and sisters had long since made it clear to him that he was not part of their family.

It was his mother who had instilled in him a love of literature, art, music and dance, always pushing him to be himself, unafraid to be different.

It was the love and strength she gave him that enabled him to stand up to the hostility of his so-called siblings who were hungry for power.

This competition for power intensified when, ten years later, his father fell ill and they all gathered greedily around his bed to get their hands on the inheritance.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, wasn't waiting for anything; he just knew that his father's death would mean that nothing would keep him here.

So it was with surprise that he learned that, despite his position in the family, he had inherited something. Something incredible.

Along with a letter from his mother, he had been given almost all of the buildings on Whickber Street in London's Soho district.

In her letter, his mother had explained that the bookshop had belonged to his grandfather, who had gradually bought up the various buildings without changing anything, just to keep the street as it was, charmingly colorful and welcoming to all who passed through or stayed there.

Of course, Aziraphale hadn't hesitated more than half a second before making his decision; he'd turned his back on his life in the big, cold family mansion without looking back, and two days later he'd moved into the dusty old bookshop. He'd dropped the Heavensby name and taken his mother's, Fell, severing all ties with the rest of his family.

He'd found a different kind of family on the little street made up of eccentric, colorful shopkeepers. A place where he could be himself without being laughed at or looked down upon.

So, of course, Gabriel's arrival in his world came as a shock.

But the more shocked of the two had not been Aziraphale.

"Aziraphale, my beloved little brother! Come into my arms!"

Aziraphale didn't smile, didn't rush into the outstretched arms of his so-called brother and ignored the greeting dripping with false affection.

He stood in front of Gabriel, preventing him from advancing further into the bookstore, and asked coldly, "What do you want?"

Gabriel kept his honeyed smile on as he replied, "It's more like what I can do for you little brother. I want to buy this street back from you."

Aziraphale was so surprised that he burst out laughing.

"You... want what?"

"I want to buy this street."

"Are you stupid or what?"

He saw the moment when Gabriel dropped his fake friendliness and showed the calculating flash in his eyes as he looked around disdainfully, scanning the room, and said, "Honestly, what's it all worth?"

Aziraphale took a step forward, and his face, close to Gabriel's, replied coldly, without an ounce of fear, "It's worth far more than you'll ever be able to pay. It's not for sale and it never will be."

"Everything can be bought, little brother."

Then he smiled sardonically and added, "Even your mother."

Aziraphale had been able to take a lot without flinching, but one thing he would never accept was someone insulting his mother. He took a step forward and grabbing Gabriel by the collar, said almost spitting in his face, "You absolute tosser, my mother had more dignity in her little finger than you and your whole gang of idiot bastard asshole brothers and sisters have put together. I don't know how you got the idea to buy this street, but you will never, ever get your hands on it. You're going to get the hell out of here, and may I never see the shadow of your bony ass or anyone else's from there again. Get lost and never come back!"

Aziraphale pushed him out and slammed the door behind him, still seething with anger.

Gabriel had seen with his own eyes that Aziraphale was no longer the little brother who took everything in and never spoke up.

But even though Aziraphale felt immense satisfaction and pride at the way he'd stood up to his jerk of a brother, he still vibrated with the anger he'd felt when Gabriel had insulted his mother.

Not to mention the missed opportunity to get closer to the florist.

Wait, missed?

"When it looks impossible, look deeper and fight like you can win... even if it's something as trivial as tying your shoelaces."

His mother's soft voice still rang in his ears.

As Aziraphale was trying unsuccessfully to tie his shoelaces for the tenth time, she had said those words to him, and he had often thought of them when he was facing a wall.

"Fight like you can win."

The missed opportunity with Crowley would only become one if he gave up now, without even trying. Aziraphale had always fought for what was important to him, as recently as yesterday against Gabriel, and getting closer to the florist was important to him.

He was tired of standing behind his window, staring at things and convincing himself that he couldn't have it.

He muttered, "Fight like you can win," took a deep breath and left the shop, striding towards the flower shop.

When he arrived at the front of the shop, he watched for a few seconds as the florist delicately placed flowers on his countertop.

Aziraphale swallowed, then muttered again, "Fight like you can win," before walking to the shop door and stepping through.

When the doorbell rang, Crowley looked up with a smile, then a surprised expression as Aziraphale said softly, "Good morning, Crowley. I hope I'm not intruding."

Crowley wiped his hands on his apron, then waved the bookseller in, saying, "No, no, of course you're not intruding, in contrar..."

He paused, cursing his mouth for moving faster than his brain, then walked around his counter to join Aziraphale.

Aziraphale moved forward a little, then, without giving Crowley time to continue, began to speak, "I... um, I wanted to apologize for the rather rude way we parted yesterday. I was surprised by the visit I received...surprised is actually an understatement. It took me a while to get over it, but I really wanted to see you to clear things up between us. More than the visit I received yesterday, I hated the fact that we had to part in such a way and..."

"Would you like to have dinner with me?"

"What?"

Crowley stopped himself from slapping his face.

What had possessed him to blurt it out like that?

But then again, Aziraphale had been so damn sweet in trying to apologize, and he'd taken the trouble to come to Crowley and tell him....

"You know, Crowley, when you plant something, there's always a risk that the seed won't grow, but if you don't plant it, you'll never know what flower it might become."

With the old gardener's words in his head, he took a deep breath and prepared to repeat, "Would you..."

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'll have dinner with you."

"Ah... Oh good, very good."

Doing everything he could to hide how thrilled he was, Crowley leaned against the worktop to look composed and then continued, "What do you think about having dinner at Justine's tomorrow night? Then you can see for yourself what you've contributed."

Aziraphale nodded and replied, "It's absolutely perfect for me." Then, pointing to the lotus flowers on the worktop, he added, "I'll leave you to your work. I won't bother you any further. I am glad things are good between us. See you tomorrow, Crowley."

He held out his hand, and Crowley shook it gently, and though their handshake lasted a little longer than convention dictated, neither was upset.

Then Aziraphale headed for the front door, but as he passed through, he turned and said with a small smile on his lips, "You know Crowley, as much as I look forward to seeing your creations, it's you and not the flowers I'm coming for."

As if embarrassed by his audacity, he hurried out and walked briskly toward the bookshop, unaware that he was leaving behind a florist whose cheeks had taken on the same hue as the lotuses on his worktop.

Next chapter : the long-awaited first date...

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Chap 1 - Chap 2 - Chap 3 - Chap 4

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #human au #alternate universe #flower shop

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blue--ingenue · 1 year

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My Hero

Prompt: "Don't touch her!"

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Pairings: Sebastian x Reader

Summary: Sebastian realizes his true feelings for his Gryffindor when they sneak out of the castle and are attacked by Victor Rookwood.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: violence, mentions of blood, swearing

See bottom for author's notes.

Despite what others in his year may say, Sebastian is rather academically-inclined, thank you very much. He's never been one to pass up an intriguing book or two (especially if it's from the restricted section), but no tome could hold a candle to the rush he feels from trying out a new spell for the very first time. The snap of his wand through the air as it matches the energy of the perfect incantation is intoxicating.

He and his Gryffindor decided to sneak out to practice new spells right after dinner. They’d found a prime spot in the form of the jobberknoll den overlooking the castle. His eyes drift to her, crimson robes sloped gently over her shoulders as she leafs through a book he borrowed from the restricted section. He focuses back on the task at hand. He draws his wand down, flicks his wrist in a flourish toward his target, and feels the familiar pull of magic sing through his body and rush out through his wand arm. "Impedimenta!"

The spell connects cleanly, striking the tallest bough of the willow tree before him. White light spreads from the center of the branch and hums through the rest of the tree as its movements stop almost instantly. He smiles and admires his handiwork. A few jobberknolls peek out from the newly-petrified branches and lock their beady eyes on him just before taking off with indignant twitters.

"That ought to come in handy the next time we run into one of your poacher friends," he calls to her. To his left Sebastian hears rustling as she places a leaf between the pages of her book and places it on a moss-covered stump.

“Useful indeed. Not bad,” she comments idly. Sebastian narrows his eyes at her and finds what he’s looking for. Almost imperceptible, the upturn at the corner of her lip lets him know that she’s baiting him. He doesn’t even think before taking it.

“Is that all?” he drawls. She turns to face him fully, and wow. His lips decide that now is the perfect time to pull his faux wounded expression into an utterly besotted grin. He might actually be embarrassed at the level of effortless (and agonizingly to her, unknown) control she has over him if he weren’t so busy trying to quell the blush that seems to hum through the very core of him. The moonlight shines against her onyx hair. Most of it has fallen out of the loose bun she’d wrangled it into with a ribbon and is framing her face like gentle vines about a wreath. She looks ethereal, silhouetted against the moonbeams and the glow of the castle behind them.

She strides toward him, stopping just short of where he stands and looks up at him through fluttering lashes. “I’m sorry,” she says in a syrupy tone that lights a match somewhere deep within him. “Did you want me to say, ‘Oh, Sebastian! My hero! I may rest easy know that I’m in your strong, capable hands!’” she simpers. Though she jabs at him, there is only an easy warmth where the biting sarcasm should’ve been. She’s still gazing up at him when she crinkles her nose and smiles. He’s sure he’d readied a line from his well-crafted arsenal of witty comebacks. He could feel the words on his tongue, drawn back like a bow waiting to fire, but he smiles back down at her and all that tumbles from his lips is a breathless, “Yeah.”

She bursts out laughing at his change in demeanor. It’s a tinkling, melodic thing. There’s no pattern to it, but it’s as though the notes fall at perfect intervals, just so, to create another beautiful harmony each time she pauses for breath. She punches his arm in jest, more of a pat than anything else, and looks back to the castle.

“It’s gotten rather late. Should we be heading back soon?” she asks. Perhaps it’s just his hopeful imagination, but she sounds as reluctant to pose the question as he is to answer it. He likes spending time with her. Just the two of them. But then he sees her stifle a yawn and decides he’d rather like to see her get a full night’s rest for once. Heaven knows she needs it, what with the fate of the school seemingly falling onto her shoulders.

“I suppose so,” he responds. “Wouldn’t want to risk missing curfew.” She rolls her eyes playfully and he sees a grin grace her lips as she gathers her things. He’s so intent on committing her silhouette to memory that he doesn’t notice there’s someone behind him until the tip of a wand presses into his neck. She glances up from her stack of books and freezes. In the same instant the books thud into the dirt she’s already whipped out her wand and fallen into a defensive stance.

“Get away from him,” she snarls. Her voice is low and her gaze is lethal and Sebastian thinks, hysterically, that he likes this look on her. A familiar voice, self-assured and absolutely grating on his nerves, sounds behind him just as its owner presses the wand closer to his pulse point.

“I’ll say this only once: toss your wand to me or your sweetheart here stops breathing,” he spits. Victor Rookwood,the sleazy bastard, doesn’t even have the decency to sound terrified in front of, arguably, the most dangerous witch on this side of the country. He holds her gaze.

“Run! Just get out of he-” he doesn’t get to finish. Rookwood drives a knee into his back so hard he falls to the ground. He feels his cheek scrape against a stone as he goes down, but before he can push himself up Rookwood has a fist in his hair and is pulling him to his knees. The wand tip is shoved painfully into the side of his neck in warning. He wipes a drop of blood beaded at his lip from where it had split on impact and meets her gaze. Without another word she turns a hateful gaze to Rookwood and tosses her wand a few feet to the left of him.

“Good girl,” he purrs. Sebastian feels embers burn in his veins at Rookwood’s sultry tone and resists the urge to grab his wand and snap it in half. He freezes when he feels another presence behind him accompanied by a distinctly human hiss. The presence stoops down and sniffs, nose mere inches from the cut on Sebastian’s cheek. His Gryffindor moves as if to rip the thing away from him, but Rookwood stops them.

“Patience now, Theo. Save it for her,” he tuts. She tenses, but remains where she stands. Theo straightens himself to his full height rather reluctantly and Sebastian sees the moonlight glint off of a pair of red-stained fangs.

“You’re a vampire,” she breathes. Her voice is breathier. Not out of fear for herself, but for him, he realizes as she fixes Sebastian with a mixture of terror and relief.

“Yes, stating the obvious. Quite like a Gryffindor,” Rookwood snaps. He sees a familiar blue glow swirl about her hands and knows that she wouldn’t need a wand to destroy both of the men behind him. She seems to pull the ancient magic from the very ground beneath her as the air hums and crackles. Sebastian has just enough time to wonder why the vampire looks the furthest thing from afraid when Theo is suddenly right behind her. One sickly pale hand fists in her hair and yanks her head back, exposing her throat. The other curls possessively around her front, locking her in place and Sebastian sees red.

“Let her go!” he spits, throwing all his strength into trying to thrash out of Rookwood’s grip. A fist punches the air from his lungs and he sputters. Between gasps he can hear her thrashing in the vampire’s grip. The bastard holding him in place tuts.

“You’re hardly in a position to be making demands, Mr. Sallow,” he chides. He looks to his Gryffindor. Her chest is heaving with anger and exertion. Rookwood continues speaking, his voice laced with venom.

“Theo here has a very…rare gift,” he chooses his words carefully. “That ancient magic of yours could very well turn the tide in this little rebellion. Theo’s gift allows him to extract it from you. I promise it won’t hurt a bit,” he lilts. He sees her swallows and dips her head. She meets his eyes and she gives him a reassuring smile, soft and sweet. Her demeanor shifts instantly as she steels herself, glares defiantly at Rookwood, and please, god, no-

“Do what you will. Let. Him. Go. And I’ll cooperate. I’ll do anything you want,” she grits out. He can only watch, chest heaving as he pulls in breath after ragged breath, as she bows her head in defeat. Theo’s fingers trail her exposed collarbone as he sweeps her hair behind her ear and Sebastian’s throat closes in unbridled rage. His voice is not his own when he thunders, “Don’t touch her!”

“Oh, you will cooperate. And you,” he hisses as he tightens his grip in Sebastian’s hair, “You’re going to watch.”

Her face twists in rage as Theo sniffs her neck, but she doesn’t fight it.

“Oh, and I did mean it when I said this wouldn’t hurt a bit,” he mentions, seemingly as an aside. “It’ll hurt a lot.”

As the words leave Rookwood’s lips Theo seems to find what he’s looking for. Sebastian’s world narrows down to the point where his fangs pierce her skin. There’s not a rustle from the tree he jinxed a lifetime ago so he can hear them sheath into her flesh with perfect, horrible clarity. She doesn’t scream as Theo buries his head in her neck and sucks. The only sound she makes is terrified gasp and a strangled cry as he sucks the life from her veins.

“Stop-please, please! Leave her alone!” he begs. He’s desperate, hysteric. He’d do anything in his power and beyond to take her place. Rookwood only laughs, and laughs, and laughs. He’s hyperventilating as he watches Theo drink the life from her. After every pull Theo takes a soft blue light pulses through her and fades as quickly as it came. He wants to look away. There are a million shrill voices screaming in his head and they’re all telling him to look away! but he can’t. Because she’s looking at him, really looking at him, as though she can see right into his heart and acknowledges a truth that even he can’t bring himself to admit, and smiles at him. His heart, every fiber of it belonging to her - always her - shreds itself to pieces as he realizes she’s trying to be brave for him. Damn Gryffindors. Damn their bravery, and their courage, and damn her for stealing his heart. For being beautiful and selfless, and damn the universe for gifting her with ancient magic only for it to be ripped right from her soul.

Her gaze is growing heavier. The intervals between the blue pulses of light are dragging, and even in the miniscule light she looks pale. She’s already completely limp in Theo’s arms, but it’s the sight of her eyelids falling shut that wrenches a strangled scream from his throat. He doesn’t know how long it’s been going on but his panicked mind wonders if there’s even any blood left in her at all. He tears out of Rookwood’s grip with inhuman strength, wrenches the wand from his hand, and casts the loudest confringo to ever singe the highlands. In quick succession Rookwood rolls away from the flames and apparates himself and Theo away. There’s a loud crack and then - silence. Just a grave, damning silence.

He scrambles to his feet and trips to where she lay, dropping to his knees and turning her on her back. She’s still. Too still.

“Oh god, god no…” he trails off as he gathers her into his arms. He presses two shaking fingers to her pulse point and feels nothing. A choked shout spills from his lips. His arm is propping her up and her head tilts back, exposing the too-pale expanse of her throat. He calls her name again, and again, and again. Her features are slack and her lips are tinged blue. Why are they blue? They’re pink. Always so wonderfully pink…he wonders hysterically. He gathers her in his arms, holds her close to his chest and bows his head.

“Please don’t do this,” he begs. He pleads to her, to the universe, to anyone who will listen. “Please don’t leave,” he sobs. Tears streak down his face, but he doesn’t feel them. He’s so numb with grief that he nearly misses the faint huff of air that graces his cheek. He stills immediately, and when he feels another breath ghost his cheek he feels a giddy flash of hope ignite in his chest. He brushes the hair from her face and holds her head in his hands. Every muscle in his body is taught with anticipation. He gently cradles her and lets his forehead fall against hers.

“Come back to me…” he sobs.

The universe holds its breath - and then answers in the form of a weak, but wonderfully alive, little cough from the girl in his arms. He pulls back and watches, in shock, as she fills her lungs with a gasp. Her brows furrow, her eyelids flutter, and in the second before she opens her eyes Sebastian’s world blazes back into existence with agonizing clarity. Her eyes drift in and out of focus before finally settling on him, and with her first breath whispers, “...Sebastian.”

A sob wracks his body and he allows his head to fall back toward hers. He holds her in his arms like she’s the most precious, fragile thing in the world, and presses a desperate kiss to her lips. If he could only cast a nonverbal spell once in his lifetime, it would be for this. He would imbue this single kiss with all of the things he’s been too afraid to say: I love you. I’m completely and irrevocably yours. I’d give anything and everything to make sure the world never harms you again.

“...Sebastian,” she murmurs against his lips, an urgent edge to her tone that says she has something more to say. He retreats to listen. Impossibly, she’s smiling. She’s looking right into his heart as though he hung the stars in the sky.

“...My hero,” she laughs. He presses another kiss to her forehead and laughs softly with her. She was going to be okay. And Sebastian decided that as long as he had breath in his lungs, nothing would ever harm her again.

Author's Notes: This is my first time writing a character x reader fic lmao. I had fun writing the angst. If you want to see more of my work you can find me on ao3 (blueingenue). If ya'll enjoyed and want to see more, feel free to send me asks!

#sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #angst #hurt/comfort #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #gryffindor #slytherin #fluff #light angst #one shot #no beta we die like solomon #i wrote this at like 2am #tw violence #violence #tw blood #blood #tw swearing #swearing

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thatsbutterbaby · 1 year

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Wreath / Iraq / Ur / Early Dynastic III / 2600-2450 BCE / Shell, Gold, Lapis Lazuli, Carnelian

Queen Shubad's headdress. fourth crown. 14 gold flowers. inlaid petals. blue lapis and paste. 13 groups of willow leaves of gold, with tip of carnelian, 3 strings, gold, laps and ribbon.

This wreath was found above the other wreaths on the skull of Queen Puabi in grave 800 in the Royal Cemetery at Ur. Here three willow leaves are gathered 11 times, and two are gathered twice. In between the gathered leaves are lapis and paste flowers (13 of them) which have alternating lapis and paste petals around a gold center with a lapis bead at the center of that. The flowers themselves are gold. All of the willow leaves are tipped in a carnelian ring, but for one which is missing it. [and one, which is broken] . Unlike the poplar leaves on her other crowns, these are not one piece of gold, but the central leaf seems to be the solid one that is folded over on itself for the bead joiner. There are three holes created, which mean there are three strings of beads between each element. There are also three holes through the flowers, again, creating three strands between element. the pattern appears to be: top strand, alternating gold and lapis balls; middle strand: alternating gold and lapis squat biconical beads; and the bottom strand has alternating gold and lapis pendants separated by a small lapis ball. There are clearly acceptions to this throughout, but this is the basic pattern.

The two cuneiform signs that compose her name were initially read as "Shub-ad" in Sumerian. Today, however, we think they should be read in Akkadian as "Pu-abi."

Penn Museum

#wreath

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aesopsharpmybeloved · 5 months

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Echoes of Yuletide

A look into the life of Aesop Sharp, his family, friends, and the Christmas he spent with and without them. And, of course the love that brought back his ✨spark✨.

I would be desperately lost without my consultant, partner in crime, and brilliant friend @tea-withjamandbread

Yay, I managed to finish the Christmas fic before actual Christmas!

Echoes of Yuletide (10k words)

tw: parent death, best friend death, mourning/grief, child loss (implied), sexual content (mentioned), past alcohol abuse, teacher-student relationship (reader is an adult)

Aesop Sharp loved Christmas.

That is, he was absolutely crazy about them as a small child. It was never just about the presents (though those were a big plus), but it seemed that time in December was filled with nothing but happiness and cheer. Willow Creek, where he and his parents lived, was normally never as bright as it was during this time. It was a small village, and life there was slow. Nobody was ever in a rush to get anywhere, and there was always time to spare to to chat up the neighbours, as his dad and mum were so fond of doing, there was always time to go check out what the local greengrocer had on stock, ad there was always time to take a walk through the village green, to sit and just watch as life around happened, leisurely and calmly.

During the time of Yuletide, however, the whole village lit up in a flurry of colours and cheer, and everybody was rushing. Rushing to see as many people, to sing carols at as many houses as possible. It was a pleasant kind of rush. People decorated not only their homes, but the entire hamlet as well, and once the sun had set in the afternoon, Aesop always marvelled at the brilliant sight. There were candles and oil lamps burning with coloured flames upon every house, a wreath on every door, and some people even had fairies suspended around garlands for their ethereal multicoloured glow.

“Are they charmed? To stay where they are, I mean.” Aesop would ask his mother, as he didn’t think he himself would be too thrilled about the prospect of just standing or fluttering around, stuck in one place outside in the cold of winter. “No, dear,” Magdala Sharp would answer, “fairies are very vain little creatures, they enjoy being used as decorations, as they get to be looked at and admired.”

Aesop soon decided the fairies indeed were quite full of themselves, as when he offered one of them a crumb from his gingerbread man, the fairy did eat it, but then proceeded to stick its tongue out at him and blow him a raspberry.

The Sharp household was always much jollier than usual too. That is, it was always jolly - his father’s little jokes never failed to leave him giggling, and even his mum, who always rolled eyes at her husband good-naturedly, offered a chuckle from time to time at the puns Theodore Sharp said. During Christmas, however, his father was the most cheerful Aesop had seen him, and his enthusiasm was more than a little contagious. His mum wore beautiful dresses and jumpers every day, and made Aesop hot cocoa whenever he asked for it. His dad would show him how to sneakily pinch the freshly baked Christmas biscuits, and how to quickly dodge the spatula if caught in the act. His parents would dance around the living room together to the rhythm of whatever carol Theodore sang.

“Easy on the mead and eggnog, dear, we wouldn’t want you to take down the tree because you were a bit too frivolous in spinning me!” Aesop’s mum would warn, but the Muggle always only laughed harder and spun her faster.

It seemed like normal life actually stopped during this time - there was only the smell of vanilla and cinnamon, combined with the earthy scent of their Christmas tree, beautifully decorated by his parents and him without magic. There were slow evenings spent by the fire in their living room, where he’d roast apples or chestnuts to snack on, while his parents lay curled up together on the sofa, talking among themselves so softly, Aesop barely heard them.

And then, when he’d wake up on Christmas morning, it was still a little dark outside as the excitement wouldn’t let him sleep a minute longer than necessary. He’d run down the stairs to find a neat pile of presents wrapped in colourful paper and bound with strings and ribbons left under the tree. He’d return up the stairs, and quietly enter his parents bedroom to crawl between their sleeping forms on the bed. “Mummy,” he’d whisper in his high little voice barely able to contain his joy, “Daddy! Wake up, Father Christmas was here!”

His mum would wake up quicker than his father, but both would eventually indulge him and go downstairs to see what they’ve been given, but not before taking turns tickling the child for having woken them up so early. And as Aesop cheerfully played with his new toys, he was faintly aware of his parents watching him with content smiles on their faces, huddled together on dad’s large armchair, drinking their morning tea and trying not to succumb to the seductive pull of slumber.

If he knew it would be the last Christmas they spent like this, Aesop wouldn't have woken them when he came into their room. No, he’d cuddle up to his dad, and he would just hold him while he slept, because eight months later, his father was stabbed while at work by a robber trying to escape, and left for dead.

Hearing his mother’s anguished cries when she was told the news would haunt him for the rest of his life.

And yet, after that first night, which he too spent sobbing uncontrollably into his pillow, he never saw his mother cry for dad again. That is, he knew she cried at the Funeral, but she made little to no sound, and her tears weren’t visible behind the black weil she wore over her face.

Aesop cried a lot, and he cried often, and Magdala would hold him close to her, shush him, and comfort him, but she wouldn’t tear up. And even then, Aesop understood that it wasn’t because she wasn’t sad about losing dad, but rather because she didn’t want her son to be even sadder than he already was. Aesop knew she was suffering like he - she lost weight and grew pale, and she’d sigh more than he ever heard her sigh, and wistfully look at the places her husband would sit, as well as the unfinished tree house he began building for Aesop. Aesop would often come into his parents bedroom at night to sleep next to his mother, and breathe in his father’s smell that lingered upon the pillows and the blankets. He even snuck a few of father’s shirts into his room.

The bedroom next to his own used to have a crib and a rocking chair in it, and he used to see mum going there quite often before dad passed. Shortly after the funeral, the room became empty, and Aesop never saw his mother come near it anymore.

Aesop Sharp, once a happy, cheerful, delightfully mischievous young child now spent the majority of his days silent under the crushing weight of his father’s death.

He knew justice was served in the end, but it offered him little comfort.

“Sweetheart?” Magala said one day. Aesop didn’t answer, but looked up at his mother from the book he was practising his reading on, “The man who hurt your daddy confessed to what he did. And he was punished for it.” He didn’t say anything. In a way, he was glad the man would be punished, but in the end, no punishment would ever bring his father back.

It was the first time he regretted his father wasn’t a wizard - his mother would always say that it didn’t matter whether a person was a wizard or a muggle, because all that mattered was if they were a good one, and his dad was the best man Aesop ever knew. But if he had been a wizard, he surely wouldn't have died, Aesop was sure of it.

For the first time in his life, Aesop wasn’t looking forward to the colourful lights, nor the jolly wreaths, not even the rude but pretty fairies. They had no tree, Magdala baked no biscuits, nobody sang carols. He didn’t even want cocoa. He still found a few presents in their living room after he woke up on the 25th, but instead of playing with the soft stuffed Niffler, or the new set of Gobstones, he just took the new throw blanket he recognised as his mum’s knitting project, and once again curled up in dad’s spot on his parents’ bed to sleep some more.

The one gift he wanted he knew he could never have.

—

The young boy was grateful for the change of scenery that summer. The coolness of Gwydir forest calmed him, its utter peace helping quiet down the storm inside his heart. For the first time, he wasn’t looking forward to their neighbour’s children coming back from Hogwarts in hopes they’d play with him, despite being quite older than him. He mostly just wanted to be alone.

But then he met Ashley.

One sunny July day, Apollonia Chadwick, whom he called ‘aunt Chaddy’ even though she wasn’t a sister of either of his parents, came back from the small village nearby followed by a girl, who looked to be the same age as Aesop. She had straw coloured hair and azure eyes that seemed to be sparkling a little bit. She and Aesop shook hands awkwardly, and she offered to show him around, share with him the secret adventuring spots she discovered in the woods.

And Aesop was sad to go home when summer ended, as he didn’t want to leave the girl who became his best friend over the two months.

Ashley lost her mum a year ago, mum and a baby sister, and the two children bonded over their shared grief in losing someone so vital in their lives. They spent the summer running through the woods together and having their own little adventures. Aesop found a true friend in her, found himself gravitating to the young girl who, even under the weight of her sorrow, was one of the most brilliant, and contagiously energetic people he ever met.

“At least the bad man was punished, isn’t that good?” she’d ask one afternoon as they sat in his aunt’s little garden, snacking on fresh strawberries Magdala brought them earlier. “I suppose…” Aesop would reply, not really knowing whether it was good or bad.

“I think people should be punished when they’re bad… aren’t you punished after you’ve been bad?”

“I am. Mum sits me down and asks me to think about why what I did was wrong.” “And bad people should be too. They especially.” “That’s what dad did, you know,” Aesop confessed. He didn’t truly speak about his father that often, not even with mum. It was just too painful a topic. It was a little easier with Ashley. He actually felt a little better, talking about it. “He’d catch bad people so that they’d be punished, and he’d protect the good.” “I want to do that too when I grow up,” she grinned at him proudly, standing up to further prove her point. “You want to be a policewoman?”

“A poli-what? Oh, right, that’s the Muggle job!” Ashley said, and Aesop flushed. He forgot Ashley was from an entirely wizard family. “No, I want to be an Auror. So yes, pol-... pole-... whatever you said, but with magic. Don’t you?” “D-don’t I what?”

“Don’t you want to be an Auror? Catch bad people and help the good. Like your dad, except using spells.” “I-... I don’t know. Maybe?” Aesop thought. It never once occurred to him. He was too little, he’d have to wait and grow up before he could become an Auror. Would he want to become an Auror? He admired his father, and thought the world of him for trying to make the world a safer place. Would he be proud of Aesop, if he decided to follow in his footsteps, though in magical settings? Aesop liked helping people, it wouldn’t be exactly a bad thing to have helping and protecting people as his job.

“You have to be really tough to be an Auror though, I don’t know if you have what it takes…” “Of course I have what it takes to be an Auror!” Aesop looked at her offendedly, finding the girl’s eyes sparkling more than he ever saw them. He didn’t even know why he was so offended, seeing as he only just now found out that he could one day do what his pa did, but he didn’t like the tone of Ashley’s voice, like she didn't believe that Aesop was tough enough to be able to be a wizarding world policeman.

“Oh, really?” she asked with a wild grin, her voice still awfully smug and teasing. The lad puffed out his chest: “I have what it takes to be a brilliant Auror. Just wait, you’ll see!”

—

He and Ashley would write each other letters throughout the entire year, with the help from their respective parents of course. The art of masterfully wielding a quill still escaped Aesop somewhat, but his reading was getting better and better. And when possible, Ahsley’s father would bring her round to spend the weekend over at Sharps’.

“This place is huge!” she’d say the first time she visited, eyes as big as saucers. Aesop was giving her a tour while his mum and Mr Montgomery talked in the dining room over a cup of tea. “ I mean, our house isn’t small, but this place is really something else, like you could live here with your grandparents and there’d still be enough room. Do you really live here with your mum alone?” Aesop only shrugged. He didn’t have grandparents. That is, he knew his mum did have a mum and a dad of her own, but they never visited or spoke much. Mum said her parents didn’t agree on her marrying a Muggle as a pure-blood witch. Dad didn’t talk about his parents much as they both passed before Aesop was born. He only told the young lad that Grandma Sharp was kind, and knew how to make the perfect risotto, and that Grandpa Sharp used to be a gamekeeper, but that was about it. It was a large house, but only now Aesop realised just how large it truly was. And how empty.

“Yes. I was supposed to have a baby brother or sister, though.”

Ashley thought for a little bit.

“I was supposed to have a little sister too, I told you that. I was looking forward to her too, even though I didn’t know if it would be a boy or girl back then, dad only told me after… I was just happy someone would play with me,,” Aesop wanted to hug his friend. He knew she was very strong, but whenever she spoke about her family, the light in her eyes would dim. He hated seeing it. “Maybe we could pretend that you’re my brother and I’m your sister,” she offered, a sparkle returning to those eyes momentarily, and her voice was slightly hopeful.

Aesop didn’t understand how that’d be possible, considering they lived hundreds of miles away from each other, and his mother and her dad weren’t particularly close. But as he watched his friend’s growingly excited expression, saw the gleam in her pretty eyes, he found himself smiling back at her: “Alright. I’ll be your brother.”

“Then it’s a deal!”

—

Aesop was surprised to find a colourful garland adorning his windowsill one morning in December. Snow descended softly upon the prickly fir needles and the elegant, silky red ribbons. Soon, the scent of vanilla and cinnamon filled his nostrils and he sighed. In a way, he was happy, he missed the lovely smell and the pretty colours, but deep within his chest a dull ache remained. In just his nightshirt, he made his way to the kitchen, where his mother was only just pulling out a tray of gingerbread men out of the oven.

“Hello, my sweet,” she’d chirp at him with a small smile, quickly followed by a good-natured click of her tongue. “Go get changed, Aesop, it’s quite chilly here. We wouldn’t want you catching a cold and spending Christmas troubled by fever, would we? You can have a few of these after they've cooled down a little.”

And so the young boy changed into his warm clothes, and once more joined his mother downstairs. They shared a breakfast of hot chocolate and the slightly cooled down biscuits. “Mr Pruitt was so nice to bring a Christmas tree for us. It’s outside in the garden, we can bring it in and decorate it later,” Magdala spoke between sips. Aesop knew her cheerful voice was not entirely real, knew that she was hurting just like him.

But she was trying so hard for him. It was only fair that he tried for her too.

So he smiled at her softly: “Alright, mum.”

The Christmas they had wasn’t the same as it was when dad was there. There was no dancing, and he and mum sang their carols quietly. Aunt Chaddy came around, bringing Ashley with her for a few days. The house smelled heavenly, and Magdala made hot cocoa for Aesop and Ashley whenever they asked for it. The two children helped her and Chaddy bake more cookies, cook meals and even offered to cut some wood for the hearth. Unsurprisingly however, his mother wasn’t too keen on letting six year olds swing around with an axe. Still, in a way, it was a nice time. They walked around the village, admired the lights, and Aesop fed some more gingerbread crumbs to the fairies, though only one of them gave him a smile instead of sticking its tongue out at him or making a rude face.

He and Ashley played every day she was there, and Aesop was actually excited to show her his own adventuring spots. She’d call Aesop her brother when nobody could hear, like it was some big secret nobody could ever find out about. It amused him greatly, but he had to admit that he truly loved Ashley as if she was a part of his family, as if she really was his sister.

Chaddy stayed with them the entire holidays, and Aesop was actually glad to hear her and mum talking late into the night all the way from his bedroom. It’s not that he wasn’t happy to be with just his mum, but ever since Ashley pointed out just how large the house truly was, Aesop was unable to ignore it. The sound of his mum’s and aunt’s muted laughter was infinitely better than the complete silence.

And on Christmas morning he’d descend the stairs to find a pile of presents under their pretty fir tree. He patiently waited for his mother and aunt to wake and come downstairs as well before opening them, though, save for a single one he recognised as a gift from Ashley. The girl sent him a very obviously self-made Auror badge (which actually spelled AUЯOЯ), but it brought a huge grin to Aesop’s face anyway. Having talked more about it, the lad decided that he really did want to become one, so that he could protect people and catch the bad guys. Like his dad.

He showed it to his mother after she finally joined him in the living room, but the dark-eyed woman didn’t comment on it, only smiled at him a little sadly.

The next Christmases were quite similar, except they’d go to his aunt’s house to celebrate them, so that Aesop and Ashley could play more. His mother was more than happy to do so, as taking care of the two young troublemakers left her with nearly no time to think about Theodore. The house wasn’t quiet when the little rascals were around and she was glad for it. As years flew by, the children’s adventures became more daring, and they owled another every other day they weren’t together, and would openly address each other as brother and sister in their letters, now written solely by them.

Aesop helped his mother as best as he could, he aided in decorating the tree, and he tried his best to wrap the few small presents he had for his family and friends as nicely as he could.

And even though their Christmases were lovely, filled with delicious food and drinks, illuminated by bright, colourful lights, and full of the sounds of jingle bells and faintly sung carols, there was just something missing. The ‘spark’ that the holidays once held was gone. The memory of a world bathed in golden light, sparkling in its brilliance served as a constant reminder to Aesop that he’ll never again hear the sound of his father’s laughter as he spins his mother around the living room and kitchen, or tells another horrible joke.

And as he and Ashley began attending Hogwarts, he made peace with the fact that Christmas will never again be his happiest time of the year. He was still fond of it, though, and he always looked forward to going home for the break, to enjoy his mother’s delectable turkey and sugary Christmas pudding. The thought of staying at the castle for Christmas he didn’t even dare to entertain, as much as he loved Hogwarts in winter, draped in its elegant snowy coat.

—

And then, only a few years after he finished his education and set out to finally begin his career as an Auror along with Ashley, his present for Christmas left him gaping at his mother.

“W-what do you mean you ‘wrote the house on me’?” the Auror in training stuttered. “I meant what I said, child. I have grown rather tired of the two of you sneaking about like I don’t know Dinah comes by to spend the night,” Magdala Sharp replied, calmly sipping on her tea. Dinah Hecat wasn’t one to blush easily, but even she wasn’t completely resistant to the Sharp matron’s unabashed words. The two of them had been seeing each other romantically for several years now, their relationship having begun when both of them were still at school. Dinah was his match in both wit and power, and Aesop was absolutely mad for her.

“I have simply decided that it’s time to get myself something a little smaller, and leave the house in your care. I was sure you’d jump at the prospect of more privacy…” “Well, yes, but not by kicking you out of your own home!” “Nobody is kicking me out, dear,” His mother let out a long-suffering sigh, as if Aesop was the one who was behaving foolishly now. He wasn’t, was he? His mother just told him she’d be leaving the house where she spent half of her life, and leaving him there. “I am going on my own… I know you were looking into flats and houses for rent, I understand you want to become independent, and I wish you well in the endeavour. But this house truly is too big for one person, especially an ageing person like myself.” Aesop however heard what his mother didn’t say. She didn’t want to stay all alone in the house, husband dead and son someplace far. The emptiness would eat her alive. Aesop, however, could live here with Dinah. “This house holds many happy old memories,” she said then, as if reading his thoughts, “It’s time for it to get some new ones too, I think. Besides, it’s not like I’ll be at the other end of the world, the flat I bought is quite a short way from here.”

Aesop blinked. “You already BOUGHT a flat? How- When-”

“Oh dear, you really should grow more observant, you won’t be a very good Auror like this…”

—

The next several years were possibly the happiest in Aesop's life since his father passed. He became a fully fledged Auror, and he was making a name for himself as one of the most capable ones too. He was ecstatic to find that Ashley would be his partner - they did it. They made their childhood dream too. Ashley actually completed the recruitment programme before Aesop, and never failed to find an opportunity to tease him about it. And while everyone else saw her laughing at his morose face after she poked at his pride some more, nobody saw her embracing him with the words ‘Congratulations, brother.’

Dinah meanwhile was climbing the ministry ladder with all the elegance and ease of a cat. She truly did move in with him shortly after the house fully became Aesop’s own, and they were rather successful in learning to run their little household. The couple grew fairly proficient in balancing their jobs, their home life and their social life. Aesop met up with his buddies and colleagues at a pub every now and then, and Dinah would occasionally spend an evening out with her friends. Ashley would come around often for a free dinner. That is, she'd pay for the dinner by checking up on the plants the couple had in their garden - neither Dinah nor Aesop have ever been overly proficient in Herbology.

And during Christmas time, the house was lively as Aesop never saw it. Friends gathered over to spend the holidays with the young couple, his mother and her family would come for lunch on the 26th, and they’d go out to visit people as well. And then, when the two of them were finally left to their own devices, Dinah would convince her sweetheart to leave the mess and dirty dishes the way they were, and follow her to bed - he still had a present to unwrap, after all.

For a few years, Aesop felt like the ‘spark’ was back. He looked forward to Christmas. He looked forward to taking some time away from work, to taking his sweetheart shopping in London, to eating out in fine restaurants when they didn't want to cook. He looked forward to seeing her when he woke up, and he looked forward to seeing her when he came home from work.

Life was good.

—

And then it wasn't.

Aesop had been worried Dinah was going to give him the boot for some time now, but when she finally did… He found himself torn. He still loved her a lot, and he was feeling utterly miserable after she told him that she didn’t want to be his sweetheart anymore. However, a part of him deep down knew that she was right.

They barely had any time for each other these days… No, that was a lie. They both worked as much as they worked two years ago, maybe even less, actually. The problem was that they stopped making time for the two of them. Dinah didn’t indicate that she’d like him to ask for her hand in marriage, and Aesop never did so. Instead of going home after work, Aesop would pop into a pub with a colleague or two, and Di would spend long extra hours in her job doing extra research nobody asked her for. When one of them came home, the other was usually long asleep. They still kissed and they made love, and that was lovely, but other than that… other than that it felt like they were roommates, rather than a couple. The picnic basket they readied on the kitchen counter in May still stood there in September, because there simply ‘wasn’t the time’.

Both of them cried the evening they decided to separate, and they were both nearly ready to take it all back after that first night. The Auror had no idea how the pair of them managed to resist the want to just go back to how things were. It seemed so much better than the anxiety of the unknown. He himself didn’t know what adult life was like without Dinah, and it scared him.

Yet, Aesop insisted on being a gentleman and let the young woman have the bed while he slept on the couch until she found a new place to live. He actually even offered to vacate the house entirely, but Dinah insisted she was not going to throw him out of his own home.

Several nights in the row, the Auror was woken by his now former lover in the middle of the night to find her unsure and doubtful. Both of them knew that they craved the comfort of one another’s arms, but at the same time realised that stepping onto the sinking ship would mean to drown.

It got a little easier after she finally found her own flat.

He made her keep the key - she was still one of his closest friends, his home was hers whenever she needed it. It was the longest time they hadn’t seen each other. Ashley was there for Aesop during the entire time, offering kind glances and comforting touches, but also horrible jokes that made her partner roll his eyes. The few times he met Dinah during this time, be it passing one another at the Ministry, or accidentally bumping into each other at Diagon Alley, were a little awkward, but the pair always gave each other a smile and a soft greeting, and that was that. It wasn’t until the Christmas ball of the Ministry of Magic did they truly talk to one another again, but surrounded by so many other people, some friends included, things got less and less awkward, and they started meeting up more after that, this time only as friends.

Aesop spent the holidays on his own that year. There was no large feast, no turkey nor Christmas pudding, but it was alright. Aesop had himself a light, solitary dinner at his undecorated home, followed by a few drinks, and he was asleep before midnight. He stopped by his mum’s flat the next day, and also Ashley’s home. It was the first year she and her girlfriend spent the holidays together, and Aesop had the rare opportunity to tease his best friend about being a sappy, sentimental sod. When Christina wasn’t looking, Ash gave him the two finger salute, making him snort with amusement.

Aesop actually felt quite alright to spend some time on his own, his previous relationship having left him quite unwilling to give his heart to somebody else so soon. However, that didn’t mean his bed was always empty. After all, he was young and not entirely bad looking, and an Auror on top of that. There was always a pretty young lady wanting to make his acquaintance a bit more intimately, and who was he to say no to that. Ashley didn’t really comment on his short, little affairs, only occasionally inquiring whether he didn’t think to give at least one of those girls more of a chance to get to know him.

“The ginger one, with the wide-set hips, she seemed nice.” “She was very nice.” “Will you meet her again?” “Possibly. London is not that big, it’d be strange if I never saw her in my life again.”

Ashley rolled her eyes and huffed.

—

The young Auror was called into St Mungo’s one day to find a woman he almost didn’t recognise at first. But as he looked into her brown eyes, took in her hairstyle and the features of her wrinkled face, there was no doubt.

“What the bloody hell happened, Di?” he breathed out, sinking to sit on the bed at her feet. The beautiful brunette, a year his junior, looked like an older lady of at least 60 years, her once chestnut hair dark grey, her once smooth cheeks riddled by lines, her hands, once so soft and youthful, were ones of an old woman.

He held his past lover to him as she cried her poor eyes out, and when the time came for her to be dismissed from the wizarding hospital, there was absolutely no doubt as to where Dinah would be staying for the foreseeable future. Aesop just took it as a done thing, and she didn’t argue. She refused to let him stay home with her the whole day, however.

“I am old, Aesop, not an invalid. I can take care of myself for a few hours.” “I don’t want you to be alone…” Dinah would be quiet for the longest time.

“Did you… did you tell your mother?”

“I did.” “Then I doubt I’ll be alone for long…” She was right of course. Magdala Sharp arrived mere minutes before he left for the office, to be there for her former potential daughter-in-law. The two of them always got on like a house on fire, and were a little too willing to poke fun at him together. Today, however, Aesop was happy about it, as his mother’s words finally brought a genuine smile to the Unspeakable’s face.

“He’s coddling you and refuses to leave you alone, isn’t he. As you can see, dear, we’re two grown up ladies here, you may be on your merry way.”

He knew his mother was long gone when he came back, despite the fact that he left work earlier than he had in months. Dinah was curled up on the sofa, reading one of his silly Muggle detective books, an empty teacup on the little table. Noiselessly, Aesop kneeled next to the sofa and laid a hand upon her knee, just holding it there. Neither of them spoke for a long time, but then.

“You know you can stay here, right? Stay with me, I’d take care of you. I’d marry you too, gladly. It doesn’t matter what you look like, I still think you’re beautiful,” Aesop said quietly, bringing his friend’s hand to his lips for emphasis. Dinah merely clicked her tongue at him: “Stop being an idiot, Aesop. Just because you haven’t been seriously seeing anyone for a while doesn’t matter that your dreams changed. I know you want someone to start a family with, have children… I didn’t want them before, but now I most likely can’t even have them. I don’t want you to tie yourself to me out of pity, or, Merlin forbid, because you feel like you have to. I am not your responsibility and you don’t owe me anything - I knew all sorts of things could happen when I took the job, and it was a risk I took..”

“I want to help you. Not out of pity, but because I love you.” “And I love you, dear. But there’s nothing you can do. I am grateful to you for letting me stay. I am not going to lie and insult your intelligence by saying I’m not glad not to have to bear this on my own, but do you know me as someone who wouldn’t get back up after having been put down?”

“No…” Aesop sighed, “no, not you.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll get used to it. And you - you will find a lovely girl and make her your wife. And I’ll be there to poke fun at you in front of her and the children you’ll have with her.”

“Sounds… sounds great.”

—

Dinah stayed with him for a few weeks, and Aesop was amazed how well they still worked together, though they were no longer lovers. Aesop conjured up a large, comfortable bed for her in one of the empty rooms upstairs, he cooked for the two of them, or just brought home some sandwiches from this and that bakehouse he currently frequented, while Dinah stayed home and made sure he only ever walked around in clean clothes, and that the house was tidy. They’d spend their evenings in the living room, reading and sharing a few glasses of something strong, before retiring to their own rooms to sleep.

Aesop was quite sad to see her go, but the former Unspeakable insisted that despite her ailment, she just wasn’t able to stop working and enjoy the ministry pension just yet. Once more, Aesop was alone in the large house. Dinah still visited, and so did Ashley and her now fiancée, as well as some other friends, not to mention his mother, but at night Aesop was all alone, falling asleep to the empty house settling.

—

And then he met Mary.

She started out as one of his one-night acquaintances, but soon it became obvious she was not going to let the Auror go so easily. After a few more meetings and a few more nights spent with her, Aesop decided that she was a pretty alright woman, and he supposed that it wasn’t exactly a punishment to be with her. He didn’t really court her the way he courted Dinah, he wasn’t being terribly romantic. He did take her out to eat, and he got her the occasional flower, and that was enough for her. She warmed his bed proficiently, if not his heart, and he didn’t mind letting her tag along with him whenever he attended some sort of formal gathering.

It was quite an on-and-off relationship, though. There were some evenings Aesop wanted to spend by himself and she was rather quick to take offence. He never tried to stop her from walking out on him, but found himself sending a box of chocolates or a bouquet of flowers to her work the very next week, which was enough to placate her and get her back into his arms.

He didn’t want to spend Christmas with her either, which was something she took rather harshly every year. It was nothing against her, really, she was pleasant enough, but after the several beautiful years he spent with Dinah, he knew he’d be comparing the two ladies, and neither of them deserved that. It wasn't even like he was doing anything special either. He sent a few presents to friends and colleagues, a bottle of some strong liquor to his boss, and several cards. Like the past few years, he spent Christmas Eve by himself, eating a simple dinner and drinking a glass (or four) of Firewhisky, turned in early, then visited his mum and friends on Christmas day. And then, on the 27th, he’d send Mary some lovely present, a piece of jewellery or a smart accessory, something nice that’d convince her to forgive him, and spend New Years’ with him.

It wasn’t love, but it was alright.

—

And then his entire life changed.

On a cold, dreary day in January, he and Ashley found themselves in a harbour in Scarborough, and neither of them knew that they wouldn't be leaving. Not on their own at least.

Aesop cried rivers at the funeral, his throat sore from all the uncontrollable sobbing he’d done in the previous days. He wasn’t even able to stand and honour the girl who had been his best friend for almost twenty five fucking years. His sister. He wasn’t able to look her wife and son in the eye. Christina touched his shoulder, she tried to embrace him, tried telling him that she doesn’t hold it against him. That she knew he did his best.

But he had not.

He left Ashley there by herself, chasing after their suspect when he should’ve stayed glued to her bloody side. He should’ve protected her. He should’ve saved her. It was so unfair, if anything, he should’ve been the one to die. Ashley had a wife, and she had a child, she should’ve lived, she should’ve remained around to be there for her family. And because of Aesop, she was lying in her coffin, looking like a lot of things, but definitely not asleep. She looked dead. Her cheeks sunk in, and her skin was ashen. Her eyes were closed. She was dead, and Aesop knew it was his fault.

It served him right to be in so much physical pain he couldn’t even sleep.

They wheeled him straight back to St Mungo’s after the funeral.

People came by to see him. His mother. Dinah. Abraham Ronen too, whom Aesop hasnt seen for a few years at that point. A few colleagues, and even his boss. Mary. She cried, sitting by his side. She wasn’t the only one who cried as they sat next to him. Mother alone cried harder than he ever really saw her. She cried harder than she cried at dad’s funeral, that he knew. Mary’s crying had been the most uncomfortable one, though. He asked the healers not to let her in again.

And when she’d show up at his house after they released him weak and limping, seeing him off with a ‘We apologise, Mr Sharp, but we cannot heal your leg, not at the moment at least’, Aesop didn’t open the door for her. She pleaded, and cried, and begged, and threatened, and Aesop didn’t even wheel himself to that bloody front door. He actually thought he was doing her a service. What would she even do with him? He was in so much pain, he couldn’t even… One of the reasons he liked having her in his life was that he liked having her in his bed, and he was pretty fucking certain that was something he was unable to do now, maybe not ever again.

After some time, she stopped coming.

And he started drinking.

It didn’t matter what it was, as long as it packed a punch. He’d drink until he passed out, actually preferring the godawful hangover the next day, as it distracted him from the pain in his leg, in his face… In his broken fucking heart. He was filthy, drunk and half mad when he made an attempt at his life. Dinah’s wrath at his actions descended upon him, and while she screamed at him, furious and fuming and worried to death, in Aesop’s eyes she was an angel on Earth.

He quit drinking, and he finally started using his two bloody feet to get around. It wasn’t easy, his leg still hurt like hell, but Aesop decided to take it as a challenge. Ashley would kick his sorry arse if he never even made an attempt to walk again. Ashley would give him verbal thrashing he’d remember until his dying moment. What would she think if she met looking like he did before Dinah made the decision to pester him until he got better. She wouldn’t even want to be his friend, and definitely not his sister.

Every day he worked so that he could at least pretend that he was someone Ash would waste her time with.

Christina wrote him a card and Aesop considered throwing it out without even reading it, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was ashamed of it, but he was happy Christina and the lad would be leaving to stay with her family in America. He did not celebrate Christmas that year. He actually wanted to drink himself under the table and forget there even was something like Christmas. Dinah was watching him like a hawk though, and actually convinced Abraham and his mother to babysit him whenever she didn’t have time to do it herself, and he was never allowed more than two glasses. He complained about being treated like a child, and while Abraham appeared genuinely apologetic, mum and Dinah would bicker back that he truly was acting like an irresponsible teenager.

However, Aesop was glad in a way. They cared. Despite all that happened, they didn’t give up on him. Aesop wouldn’t have blamed them if they did. But no, one of them was always there with him, willingly listening to his grumpy comments and his self-deprecating tirades. Even though Dinah had her own worries, her own pains, she was absolutely ready to apparate to his house every single day if it meant saving him from drowning himself in booze. So he promised to be good. Abraham was worse, on some days he actually made him laugh. The first time it happened, the sound felt almost unknown to Aesop’s ears. It was most curious…

He asked to be left alone for the holidays, but to no avail. His mother had him stay at her flat. She didn’t decorate, there was no tree, nor Christmas cookies. No turkey and no carols. Aesop felt both glad and sad. Glad not to have been reminded that only a year prior, he was over at Ahsley’s and watched her son open the gift he brought him. However, he was also sad because he knew his mum liked Christmas a lot, and chose not to indulge in them this year on his behalf. Unlike him, she was able to move on. She found her ‘spark’ again. Aesop envied her.

He didn’t even buy her a present. He didn’t buy presents for anybody. And yet he got one from her and from his friends as well. He didn’t open them until next year’s Christmas.

—

It was 1882, and he was the new potions professor at Hogwarts. He walked using his cane, but there were days he felt stable enough to leave it in his rooms. He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but there being dozens of trouble-stirring teenagers around him at nearly all times actually helped him. He didn’t have time to think about Ashley, not to mention her family, when he was busy making sure the students didn't accidentally off themselves inside or outside his class. He suddenly understood why his mother was always so happy to have Ashley there with him. He was kept busy, and he was glad. And whenever he had some time to spare, he spent it deep in the library books, trying to come up with the cure for his leg. His childhood friend would want him to be healthy, Aesop knew that now. Before he realised it, the first snowflakes began falling outside the castle’s windows, and Christmas decorations started appearing throughout the halls.

Has Hogwarts been this festive when he was a student? He could hardly remember. It was difficult to be bitter when the entire school seemed to be sparkling, when the house elves were seemingly intent on making him not fit into his trousers and shirts before the year was done, and when his colleagues were actually being rather brilliant. Well, the Herbology teacher was quite sour. And he decided fairly early on that Headmaster Black was an utter tosser, an opinion that seemed to be shared by the majority of staff. Come to think of it, he was already a tosser when Aesop attended Hogwarts. Di confirmed it for him.

He was glad Dinah was there. And he felt like she was glad he was there too.

The deputy headmistress, he actually reckoned he met at the ministry once, and he absolutely remembered Binns from when he was a student himself, but otherwise it was an entirely new group of people for the former Auror. He got on with Bai Howin quite well, and Chiyo Kogawa, while a little over-obsessed with Quidditch proved to be a quite good conversation partner as well. The magical theory teacher, Eleazar Fig, actually surprised him with his knowledge of the inner goings at the ministry, even offered some information Aesop himself didn’t know, and they’d occasionally share a pint together at the Three Broomsticks.

The holidays were alright. Aesop wasn’t as jolly as he used to be before, but he was able to enjoy himself. He opened his presents from the previous year, and actually sent out his own, only to the few friends he had left. And mother, obviously. When a few colleagues invited him out to the Three Broomsticks, he politely turned them down though. His Christmas Eve was spent in Dinah’s company and the warmth of Firewhiskey. Dinah let him have three glasses now. He’d sometimes indulge more on his own, but she didn’t need to know that. However, as Aesop knew her, she absolutely knew it.

“A little peaky aren’t we today? I certainly hope you’re not coming down with something, dear,” she’d comment on the mornings when it was clearly visible he’d had more than three glasses the previous evening. Otherwise, though, she let him off the hook. He didn’t teach while drunk, and he didn’t cause any further scenes. He also didn’t drink every single day.

The next year, Aesop began exercising more. Despite the many many stairs in the castle, there was a bit more meat on him than he was used to. He discussed with the nurse some exercises safe for him, and was glad to see his metabolism hadn’t turned to complete bollocks over the past few years. He wasn’t as chiselled as he used to be as an Auror, more sinewy and slim now, but he felt strong enough. Despite his bad leg, he felt quite content in his body. He kept himself busy, and more or less healthy, and that was enough of a win for him And it got even better when Abraham joined them.

Aesop found a strange sort of mundane, everyday peace. He’d still have nightmares often during the night, and some days were just plain fucking bad. His leg still hurt like hell, and especially so when he was cold. But he had a routine now, and it kept him functional.

He stopped rejecting his colleagues when they invited him out to the pub, and found the private room there truly wasn’t a bad place to spend an evening in. Especially in his friends’ company.

Most teachers met there on Christmas Eve, talking quietly among themselves, sharing a little toast and wishes for an even better next year. Abraham and Eleazar would depart from them first, both men eager to go home to their wives, then more and more people would retire to either go back to Hogwarts, or apparate to wherever they lived. Moon and Howin would be there the longest, and Moon seldom left on his own two legs. In the end, it’d be just Aesop and Dinah. They’d exchange one last ‘Happy Christmas’ and tip back their drinks, before leaning against one another in pursuit of the nearest Floo flame. It reminded Aesop how it used to be before all this, when both of them were young, when they were healthy.

In his mind, the image of two young, giggling, drunk people formed. They used to be so carefree, so easy to smile and laugh. They’d snog each other senseless, uncaring that they were barely able to keep standing without losing their balance. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Before they’d depart for their own chambers, Aesop would give Dinah a quick, platonic peck on the lips, and she never commented on it.

His hangover the next day forced him to not even go to the Great Hall to eat, and not even Wiggenweld seemed able to fix the damage. He’d only ever emerge to use the loo, and he wouldn’t even bother changing out of his sleeping clothes. The potions master unwrapped his gifts, and hoped the ones he got for his friends and mother would be liked. Like everything else, Christmas became a routine. It wasn’t bad, and there were definitely bright moments, but the one thing missing, that ‘spark’ the holiday held for him when he was a small boy was gone. And Aesop was convinced that it would stay that way. He didn’t mind all that much. Life was alright.

—

Another change happened though…

The change came in the form of a young woman, a Ravenclaw that started her education in Hogwarts as a Fifth-year. Most unusual. But then again, the entire year turned out to be most unusual.

If Aesop never had to attend another funeral, it would be too soon.

He knew this thought was silly. Everyone dies at some point. A thought that both frightened and strangely comforted Aesop. Eleazar hadn’t been a young man, and Aesop knew the teacher had been heart-broken over his wife’s death, understandably so. And yet, as he stood there in his dark robes and watched his colleague being lowered into the ground in a coffin, he allowed himself a few tears. Eleazar Fig was a good man, and while Aesop only just began uncovering what truly transpired between him and the Ravenclaw and whole-heartedly disagreed on several choices Fig made, the truth was that he was still far better than many people Aesop ever met.

Fig’s protege definitely seemed to think so, as she quietly sobbed her poor eyes out. It occurred to Aesop that she maybe felt like he felt when his father died. Which was a feeling he wouldn’t wish on anyone, truly.

He never expected how close the two of them would grow when he reached out to her.

And close they grew.

—

The very next year, the teacher was frankly surprised to find an extra present for him at the foot of his bed. He was once again miserably hungover and deeply regretting the amount of drinks he had the previous night. It was even worse than last year. Maybe he was just getting old. Next to the little parcels he recognised were from his mum, from Abe, and from Di, stood another one. It was wrapped in simple brown paper, tied up with strings, and decorated with a small twig from a pine tree and a few holly berries. Aesop had a suspicion as to who was the sender, but he struggled to believe it.

Students didn’t often send gifts to their teachers, not even the popular ones like Mirabel or Abraham himself. And yet, it would seem Aesop was a recipient of one this year. How curious. It was only fair, he supposed, given the fact that he sent her a present as well… He still didn’t know just why he did so… except he kind of did.

She was the first person in many years to whom he opened up, actually opened up. His colleagues knew him to a certain degree, but he was never comfortable discussing something too deep with them. He’d be careful about difficult subjects even with Dinah. And yet, here came this young woman, and he felt comfortable telling her things he hadn’t spoken of out loud for years. Or was it a decade already? Aesop didn't know. The Ravenclaw was… she was his friend. She was kind and brilliant. And she understood. She didn’t judge him, and she never once walked out on him. And he in turn supported her. He’d be there whenever he knew she felt troubled, and he was certain he was also the one she opened up to the most. It felt nice.

He grinned when he unveiled his gift.

It was a set of inks of various colours, inks meant for drawing. Aesop showed her his little workshop, and she seemed genuinely fascinated with his interest in art. She commented on many of his pieces, and the teacher honestly felt proud to be a recipient of her praise. It was a thoughtful gift and he was grateful. He only hoped she would like the journal he bought for her. A warm emotion spread within his core, and his heart sped up a little bit, as if fearful to admit it was even there. He didn’t allow himself to dwell on the feeling too much, as it was scary and it was new. Not entirely new. But Aesop hadn’t felt it in so long, it might as well have been the first ever time.

He didn’t stay in his chambers the whole day like he usually would.

Strengthened by a couple of Wiggenwelds and a long shower to wash the stench of booze away, he managed to make himself presentable and actually made it to the Great Hall for lunch. He still felt like shit, and he stumbled slightly more than normally, but it was worth it for him in the end.

The moment she saw him, the Ravenclaw beamed, stood up and approached him.

“Hello, sir. Happy Christmas,” she extended her right hand for him to take, and Aesop did so with a smile, shaking it softly, yet with a firm grip. “Happy Christmas, Miss. I hope my present didn’t make you uncomfortable.” She shook her head vehemently: “Of course not, sir. It's very lovely and thoughtful, and I adore the drawing you did. It’s one of my most favourite places in the castle.”

“I remember you mentioning so. I’m glad you like it. I am very grateful for the set of inks, I’ll certainly use them often. Although I implore you not to waste so much money on your potions master.”

“It’s not money wasted in my opinion, sir. If the gift made you happy, it’s money I was glad to spend…” she got quiet for a little while and so did Aesop. They looked at each other quietly for a few moments, and the professor didn’t notice his heart beating slightly faster. She finally cleared her throat: “I’m sorry, sir, I mustn’t keep you from your lunch, you are surely hungry.” She’d give him a small wave and a smile, and go back to her seat while he made his way over to the High table.

Dinah would be sitting there, definitely quite peaky. He’d give her a teasing grin, one that she wouldn’t return.

“Look at you. One would think you had a glass too many last night, Di,” he teased.

“I feel better about how I look, now that I see you,” she bit back, making Aesop chuckle genuinely.

“Happy Christmas, Dinah.” “Happy Christmas, dear.”

—

Aesop Sharp, a former Auror and a potions master known for his quick wit, that was as sharp as his name, sat in his chair gaping like a stuffed squirrel. The young woman with whom he grew so close over the last two years looked at him nervously.

She just confessed her love for him.

Aesop’s been in love with her for months, he felt he was slowly going mad from how much he longed for her, how much he yearned to close his arms around her and kiss her silly, but he never once allowed himself to hope that she’d ever return his feelings. And yet here she was, saying those three words he was desperate to hear from her lips for so long. It felt surreal. It was Christmas Eve of 1893, and Aesop was considering pinching himself, fully expecting to wake up in his bed, alone.

He looked deep into her eyes, searching for any hint that she wasn’t being truthful, but he found none. He stood up swiftly, startling the poor girl. His heart beat hard and fast, and he was aware of his cheeks warming up under the weight of her revelation, but he felt determined not to keep her waiting for her answer.

“Aesop,” he blurted out instead.

“I’m sorry?” “I-I should have asked you to call me Aesop ages ago,” he admitted, his hand moving to her soft cheek on its own accord.

“Darling girl…”

A sound made him look up. Above the two of them, a few twigs of mistletoe swirled into existence.

“There is nothing more I’d wish than to have you by my side,” he said truthfully as he gathered the young woman into his embrace. And then she kissed him, and Aesop’s brain gave out. There was nothing but her at that moment. Nothing but the feeling of her slight body against his own, nothing but her intoxicating scent, nothing but the sweetness of wine upon her lips, and underneath that was the taste of her, and Aesop knew at that moment that he was desperately addicted to it.

And then, the world exploded into a flurry of lights and colours. Life lit up behind Aesop's eyelids, brighter than any Christmas lights he ever saw, and at that exact moment he felt it. He finally felt the spark that he felt was lost forever. It was right there, within his tender hold, and it shone, and sparkled, and it burned, warming his entire body up.

He moaned quietly into her mouth and pulled her even closer.

Her hands were in his hair and her body trembled in his hold under the weight of their emotions, and the culmination of their hidden longing.

A tear rolled out of his closed eye and ran down his weathered cheek, and Aesop Sharp succumbed fully to the happiness that seemed to be bursting through his veins, filling him up entirely. He was home, exactly where he was supposed to be.

Aesop Sharp loved Christmas.

Hello, and thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little story, and if you did, I'll be very grateful for your feedback. You can also check this story and all of my other stories over at my AO3 ❤

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vivelarevolution13 · 2 months

Text

Sokovia falls in spring.

Much of it is blurry now, forced into oblivion, but he remembers that part with vicious detail - the unassuming, forgettable prelude to hell; Lazarus Saturday, the intermittent tinkling of bells down their cul-de-sac and the heavy wet air while he sat out on the wide expanse of the balcony, sipping on his lukewarm coffee and sneaking a rare indulgent cigarette while the house was empty. It'd done little to ward against the chill of the morning, the kind of cold that broke him out into consistent goosebumps and seeped down into his bones, seemingly misplaced in early April. The metal railing stuck to the warm skin of his forearms when he leaned over it to peer idly down at the street, to where snow had accumulated in front of the row of brand-new luxury apartment buildings; all alike in their appearance, all that same shiny glass and metal and blinding white that had become popular in the last fifteen years, fifteen years too late in regards to the rest of the world, and that would fall apart in about as many. All laid out like a poor man's idea of opulence and a stark contrast to the unkempt street.

He'd hated it initially - hates it still, really. The cheap sterility of it, this sign of the times made palpable infrastructure that was devouring what was left of a once beautiful neighborhood, clashing with the old, dilapidated villas and steadfastly grey communist architecture. But Sandra had said, it's a peaceful neighborhood. There's a good school nearby. Sandra had said, There's a life for us here, love, and it'll be a good change of pace. Look how beautiful the view is from up here. Sandra had said: just because you grew up in exile doesn't mean Miho should.

And she was right. So a pristine-white, new-century-cold castle on the hill it was. He could still fit his dream of a future in Sokovia into a different shape, he told himself; what mattered was what was inside, anyway.

He'd watched as a gaggle of children slipped and skittered their way downhill from the international school, kicking the stray willow wreaths that had slipped off the heads of previous passersby back and forth until they'd get stuck in the muddy slush, and found himself wishing again that he'd gone with his wife and son to visit her mother in Kralyev Pole. But he was scheduled to go back to Vienna in the morning - it was a familiar rhythm by now - and Sandra had just pressed a firm kiss to his cheek and said we'll see you back home at Easter in a purposeful, loving tone that almost got lost between the distracted flurry of packing and her distant eyes.

Looking down at the murky palette of the street below he'd wished, not for the first time, that it'd all felt a little more like home. That he wasn't itching to be back on that plane out of the country the second he landed, a feeling amped up to 11 the second his family had set foot outside the building.

But then again, Novi Grad had never been his home; not really, not in any way that mattered.

He'd been in a foul mood already when his father called, the glaring absence of sound from the open double doors behind him and the grey sky pressing down over his head like a steel trap setting his teeth on edge. He'd let the phone ring and ring for almost a full minute before guilt had finally, inevitably, won over.

Their conversation had been relatively brief, caught between perfunctory and utilitarian, much like all of their other phone conversations since he'd started splitting his time between Sokovia and work abroad. They talked about the unexpected snow, about what is to be done for the anniversary of his mother's death, about whether Mihailo would like a BMX sports bicycle for his birthday. He'd tried explaining that his son still didn't really know how to ride one well - that at eight, the five-speed he already had was perfectly fine, thank you, but it's a nice thought. His father had just scoffed.

"You were never athletic as a child either, you know. Never climbed trees with the other children. Always too afraid of falling, I suppose," he'd said mostly to himself, and then, "If the kid actually had someone around to teach him, maybe he'd be learning faster."

On a different day, he might've let it slide. On a different day, he wouldn't have let the sentimental old age in his father's voice feel like a personal affront. "Nobody ever taught me, and I learned just fine."

This wasn't necessarily true. For most of his young life, Zemo had been coached by a wide plethora of professionals: French, German, Latin, shooting, violin, tennis, horseback riding, mountaineering, art, diplomacy, you name it - he'd had a teacher for every single one of the skills his parents and his surroundings had deemed necessary for a young man of his stature, and eventually, with more or less effort, he'd excelled at all of them; but never alone. There'd been Katya, the au pair that practically raised him in his childhood, young herself and lost in a foreign country and still the warmest presence he'd had in his life. There'd been Oeznik, who'd governed him with a much stricter hand than his own parents, but who had guarded Zemo's life with his own nonetheless.

It's just that things like big-game hunting and history lessons took precedence over things like bike riding and soccer, which was just as well, really. He never liked being mundane.

At the Academy it was a different story altogether. Unnoticeability, the skill of being no more interesting than the person next to him, only came later, and at a cost.

"Just make sure your Germans let you out in time for Easter," the old man'd muttered, "if they even recognize that sort of thing."

He remembers that part clearly, too, that bitter emphasis: your Germans. Like Zemo'd picked the wrong thing to do with his abundant time and money, the wrong way to employ his very specialized skill set, the wrong side of the family to lean into; like his name and heritage were something he'd picked himself and not something that was hammered into him by way of memorization, that he was taught to take pride in and embody down to the last detail. Like this mild-mannered, West-oriented young man who spoke German and a handful of other languages softly but deftly, who subsumed all his wilder impulses and hid his smoking and all his other dirty habits from his family and from the world behind a courteous smile wasn't an inadvertent yet nonetheless direct creation of the man on the other end of the line. A prince and a baron, turned a lowly gastarbeiter.

"They're Austrian," Zemo'd said simply. "Look, I have to go - Sandra and the kid just came in. I'll talk to you later."

It's not the last conversation he had with his father, but it's the last one he rememebers. Subtle judgement, the smell of smoke and cold and stale Turkish coffee and all those little clear bells, ringing, ringing, ringing: Lazarus rising, just to fall a week later.

Novi Grad falls on his son's birthday, the 11th of April, the day before Easter. It takes everything else down with it.

This was not the first time Novi Grad had fallen. Historically, this wasn't even the first time it’d suffered this extent of loss of life. But it was the first time the ruins were cauterized before something could grow from in between them like weeds out the sidewalk. It was the first time that what was lost was acknowledged as such: dead, gone, our condolences for your loss. Nothing more to be done.

There’d been excuses, of course, and platitudes spoken by the feeble remaining government, echoes of the UN and NATO and the EU he'd learned to recognize as empty long before he started working in security consulting:

We empathize greatly with all Sokovian nationals in this trying time. We’re doing everything in our power to stabilize the situation. We’re doing everything we can to never let a catastrophe like this happen again. It’ll just take a few weeks, a month, a year or two or five to rebuild, but patience is of the essence here.

We’re all very horrified, you understand. There aren’t enough resources for everyone, you see. It’s a very complicated situation, there’s no one answer here – now’s not the time to be pointing fingers. But we’re doing everything we can. We’re sure it’ll be enough.

Daće Bog. That’s what his mother used to say – like a vague handwave to ward off all the legitimate fear and anxiety before it can ever take root in her body, in her home. If she saw even a glimpse of it in her son’s face she’d take it as a clear sign that she had personally failed somehow, which would, exacerbated by alcohol and pent-up emotion, upset and anger her more than the original problem itself. Zemo'd learned how to bury and snuff out these embers of fear very quickly.

There's talk of persecution of royalist dissidents abroad - God will protect us from the infidels, you'll see. The regime changes and the country plunges into economic crisis - so what, it'll pass, God willing, and then we'll be able to return. Yet another war breaks out, nothing but a parasitic twin to the last, devouring the country from the inside out and draining off fresh blood – well, it's nothing new. it'll be alright, God willing we'll get the bastards before they get us. Crkli dabogda.

And he’d just nod his little head and allow, very neutral, very acquiescing for the tender age of nine, thirteen, sixteen - sure, of course, it'll all be fine. Much later, he'd adjust the poorly-fitted camouflage greens that would squeeze too tight around his neck and say in that same steady tone of voice into the payphone receiver, Don't worry, mama, don't worry, it'll be taken care of. Daće Bog.

That’s all she’d ever say on the topic, or any topic really. God save us, God willing, God will provide – that was her eternal refrain. Well that and, just you wait until your father gets home, if she'd perceived him to be acting up somehow - more often than not by virtue of sheer existence alone.

This was, of course, yet another half-truth - his father never really took to beating him. There were always bigger things to worry about, things that belonged to the grander picture - too wide for him to fit into as an important variable and just manageable enough to squeeze into his young body like a manifestation of a future his father was pouring all his hope and dreams into.

Either way, the fear was there. The fear of disappointing, of coming up short to the ideal of what a son should be; it was all it took to keep him in line. Father, God – they became two sides of the same coin, the same promise of impending judgement. Both instilled far more trepidation in him than comfort.

It’s only when the bulldozer finally digs up what remains of their old country estate and he can pull his father’s unrecognizable, mangled body into his lap – so small and frail, when did his father get to be so small and frail? – that he thinks: what was I so afraid of all those years?

*** Excerpt from my Zemo character study - turned out to be much longer than a snippet, but I got carried away. Still very much a WIP, but thought I might as well post it until I figure out where I want to go with it.

Translations: Daće bog - God will provide, God willing Crkli dabogda - may they all die, God willing gastarbeiter - (German) foreign or migrant worker

#VERY MUCH A WIP. jesus christ #i know zemo's wife and kid technically have german names in mcu canon but I've decided to ignore this #sokovian language and history heavily yet loosely based on yugoslavia with some mixing with other regional influences. to be developed #anyway! this needs so much work fml but the general idea's there.#helmut zemo #helmut zemo fic #my fic #ficlet

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tiyoin · 1 year

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god au

“My lily, please-“

“That is not my name”

“It was yours long ago-“

“Right ” You drawled. No matter how fast your legs walked, (more like staggered) the gap you tried to create between the two of you never seemed to lengthen, nor shorten for that matter.

He walked behind you calmly, like he was on an afternoon stroll underneath the willows and oaks. Though with each step desperation seemed to seep into the grass, its heavy burden eroding the soil and leaving footprints his ancestors will clamber about.

Though he kept up his relentless track. Once again you've underestimated the gods

“You have no idea how long we- I have been looking for you. How long I had to go without seeing your face, touching your skin, hearing your laugh. All those thousands of years without you felt like I was in the depths of Tartarus.”

You stopped walking, rearing back to face him as you tilted up to face the oh-so-high and mighty god who kept insisting you were his ‘dead lover reincarnated’

“I am not your dead lover! If I was this lover of yours why was I reincarnated and not resurrected? There are tales of the gods reuniting lovers whose other half had joined the great beyond. You're a god yourself, yet here I am a nymph"

"Just because I am a god doesn't mean I can control the fates. Even if I could there'd be a trick or favor played against me. And I am anything but a fool "

“Then who was I before I was resurrected- and don't you dare say your lover”

You were getting tired of hearing the same practiced lines over and over again- like a bard who only knew one tune.

“…You act high and mighty for a nymph”

You froze, lily pad wilting over your head as you searched his eyes. Yes, they were different from that one peeping god's. But they were all the same.

A different shape, a different color, and a different pupil. You thought you'd never see eyes so cold and lifeless ever again.

Yet here they were, staring straight at you.

In later days you'd come to realize that those eyes were all around you. Each one was different in appearance, like pottery in a shop. Each has its design, its own story, and its price.

They'll always have the same darkness, the same emptiness.

The sun’s warmth no longer reflected in their irises. It was like they stole the eyes of the dead.

“You have no power to ask such questions”

You bit your tongue. Not just because he was right; you had no power. You had no land, no domain, and no special powers besides turning into the murky waters of your swamp, or the reeds and wildflowers that littered its banks. And what were you supposed to do with wreaths? And unlike Antheia, you had no seat in Olympus or at any council. You were a nymph.

You should be honored that a god is even looking in your direction- using it to your advantage to have children to tie him down and to hold onto his power.

“I-“

You stopped yourself. You can't explain the feeling, but it was like a flash of lightning in a tempest, its luminescent zig-zags lighting up the battling sky of your mind.

Yes, you had no land, no domain, no seat at Olympus with your name carved in it.

But you had worshippers. 6 powerful ones who proved time and time again they would kiss the ground you, a nymph walked on.

“You are right, I do not have the power to ask such things” You took a step back, adjusting the white of the chiton as you willed yourself to finally look into his fish eyes.

"But you do not have to power to cross over into the marshes of Antheia"

He let out a huff of air, stepping back as well. "The day you hide behind that goddess is numbered nymph." He took two steps forward. He was dancing on the invisible line you had made. The line Antheia had carefully drawn long ago.

"And soon enough, you'll be on your own" He leaned closer "Because now, you'll be playing with the big boys. And we bite, hard”

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phae-undergrove · 2 years

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PERSEPHONE

ROMAN NAME:Proserpina

🌹Queen of the Underworld & Goddess of Spring & Vegetation🌹

🎨COLOUS: Black, Green, Blue, Purple, Magenta, Yellow

🌍ELEMENT: Earth

🌱PLANTS+TREES: The daisy, the lily, the lily of the valley, the lavender, the narcissus, the maidenhair fern, the mint, the iris, the violet, the rose, the asphodel, the poppy, the pomegranate tree, the willow tree, the cypress tree, the black poplar tree

💎STONES & GEMS: Onyx, Obsidian, Quartz, Jasper, Coral, Agate, Citrine, Topaz, Peridot, Sapphire,green tourmaline, Pink tourmaline, Amethyst, Dioptase

💨INCENSE: Pomegranate, Narcissus, Hyacinth, Vanilla, Almond, Bergamot, Anything floral

💐SYMBOLS: Wildflowers, Wreath of flowers worn in hair, Pomegranates, Sheaves of grain, Torch, Bees, Bats, Parrots, Pigs, Deer, Rams, Monkeys, Waterfalls, Rivers & springs, Crown

🕊OFFERINGS: Pomegranates/pomegranate seeds, Pomegranate juice or wine, Spring water or infused water, Honey/honey wine, Wildflowers, Grains, Bread, Cookies or cakes made to look like one of Her symbols, Milk/honeyed milk, Wreath of flowers, Comforting those who have lost a loved one, Donations of time & money to a SA crisis center

ART BY stef Tastan on ARTSTATION

ART BY: ChrissaBug on DeviantArt

If you liked this check out GREEK DEITIES P1

#persephone #queen of the underworld #godess of spring #greek deities #greek goddess #witchblr #beginner witch #witchy tips #witchcraft #baby witch #witch #witchcraft 101 #grimoire #book of shadows #digital grimoire

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bodrewritten · 3 months

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Bride of Discord Rewritten Chapter 19: The Wedding

When the princesses heard of Discord's sudden reformation, it was no surprise that they were skeptical about the situation. It was Luna who eased their worries when she told her sister of her observations. The snowstorm had passed, leaving everything glimmering in a sheen of ice. Princess Luna and Princess Celestia sat under a great willow tree, drops of frozen water overhead beaming every blazing shine of light from the sunset onto the iridescent snow.

"You had given me a second chance, sister. Should we not give him the same treatment, what would that say of our moral judgement?"

Celestia looked upward toward the heavens, seemingly drawing her answer from above.

"I do not believe it is in Discord's nature to go to these lengths for such a goal in the manner he has. In any case, I trust your judgement on the manner better than my own. We will allow him in our kingdom."

Luna smiled up at her sister, who kept a regal face for the next few seconds, until she looked back at Luna and snickered.

"yeah, alright, whatever, tell him to come over Tuesday, but I'm raising the guards' pay."

Luna put her hooves to her sides and guffawed triumphantly.

Of course, it was difficult for Discord to go from plotting against Equestria to doing good deeds, but for the sake of pleasing his beloved, he performed with utmost kindness. Most of the time. He still played a few pranks on ponies every now and then, but hey, in his nature and whatnot.

Life in Equestria could not have been better, especially for Fluttershy and Discord, who seemed to fall in love all over again at the beginning of each day. When he was not spending his time with her, the draconequus was helping ponies with their problems. For instance, he settled a disagreement between Spitfire and Soarin. He also used his magic to protect Equestria from disasters, Fluttershy looking at him after every prevented tragedy like the proudest pony in the world.

"To my one and only Fluttershy," she read, "the love of my life, the apple of my eye, my other half. Without you, my life is empty. I still think that one day I'm going to wake up and meeting you was all a dream, but if it is, I'll take it. You are the best thing that's ever happened to me and I hope you can say the same about me."

She then realized she had been turning the ring, or rather bangle, over and over, the message continuing. She looked up at Pinkie Pie.

"I'm not going to ask how he managed to fit all that in."

"trust me, that's the short version!" Cackled pinkie pie. She helped him design it, after all.

Discord gave her the ring right after she had proposed, and as soon as she'd wrapped it around her hoof it conformed to her size perfectly. Of course, she had no way of wearing a ring of any sort, and so a beautiful bangle would adorn her hoof to show her love for everypony.

"Oh, you look absolutely gorgeous, darling!" Rarity exclaimed once she had made the final adjustments to Fluttershy's gown, lining the hem with a leaf-like trim.

She directed Fluttershy towards the mirror. In it, Fluttershy was sure she had seen the Queen Mab Fairy before her. The dress was simple, but elegant, with a vine design wrapping around her whole body. It was nearly identical to the one she had worn in the forest, only more suited to a wedding. Her veil hung from a wreath of pink roses, which sat perfectly atop her curled hair.

"Rarity," she marveled. "It's beautiful!"

"You're beautiful, Fluttershy!" Rarity hailed! "I only highlighted what is most beautiful about you!"

Rainbow Dash laughed. "I never thought you'd be the first of us to get married, Fluttershy."

The unicorn sighed. "Yes. I thought it would be me, as I did catch Cadence's bouquet, but…oh, you really do look the part, sweetie!"

"Maybe you will be, Rarity, right fartknocker'?" Nudged Applejack teasingly into Rainbow Dash, winking and chuckling as Rainbow rubbed her hooves together, plotting.

Scootaloo shifted in her dress. "Aren't we a little old to be flower girls? After all, we have our cutie marks."

"Maybe," Fluttershy replied, "but I couldn't think of three fillies better suited for the job."

Applejack laid a hoof on her shoulder. "We're really happy for ya, Sugar Cube."

"Even if it is Discord?"

"Well…" Rarity stammered. "We might not have used to agree..."

"But ever since we started hanging out with him, I think we can get used to it." Twilight finished.

There was a frantic knock on the door. "Hey, guys?! You in there? Emergency!"

Applejack approached the door. "One second, Spike."

"Are you mad?!" Rarity yelled. "We're getting dressed!"

The cowgirl rolled her eyes. "Do I have to go over this with you again? We. Don't. Wear. Clothes!" Spike only had a vague understanding of what clothes were anyways.

"Is everything alright, Spike?"

"Oh, right! It's Discord. He's getting…" He peered over at Fluttershy and said the rest in a whisper. "Cold hooves."

The cowgirl gasped and called to her friends. "I gotta go check on the groom. I'll meet y'all at the altar!"

Discord needed a best stallion or mare, but unfortunately, he was still a rookie when it came to making friends, so Applejack had volunteered for the role. After all, she had been the first to support the match.

When she and Spike entered the groom's dressing room, it was empty. They searched in all directions for the draconequus.

She then had a thought and looked up. Sure enough, Discord was hanging by his claws from the ceiling. The cowgirl stomped her hoof.

"Discord, get your rump on outta here!" Applejack commanded. "You're gettin' married in thirty minutes!"

"Make me!" Discord taunted. "I can stay up here all day!"

He summoned a pillow and stretched out against the ceiling.

"Ya can't get cold hooves! You're the one who cried when she asked!"

"I'm not the one with cold hooves..."

He snapped his fingers and Applejack yelped as she felt a sudden chill in her hooves. She glanced down to see that they had been encased in ice.

"Quit foolin' and get down! Fluttershy's gonna be heartbroken!"

She spun around as the draconequus teleported beside her. She tried to tackle him, but her hooves were stiff in the ice. Discord sighed and went over to stare at his reflection in the mirror.

"What makes you think she'll care if I leave her? She'll probably be relieved!"

"How can you say that?" Spike inquired.

Applejack attempted to walk over to him, but she could not shake off the blocks of ice. Spike used his dragon breath to melt them and free her.

"Thanks," she beamed, before approaching Discord. "Now listen here, partner. You may be different, but I've never seen Fluttershy so happy in my life. You may not be the same species, but love comes in all forms."

"Yeah," Spike nodded. "Like with me and-"

"Like with you and Rarity?" Discord huffed. "Please, like that's ever going to…yow!"

Applejack had stepped on his tail.

"no, like me and Twilight! She's like my mom, but we're different species!"

"My point is that I know what love looks like, and I've never seen two ponies, or any other creatures, more in love than you and Fluttershy. Unless I was mistaken and you don't love her…"

"What are you talking about?" Discord snapped. "Of course, I love her! You think I would say yes if I didn't love her? You think I would have given up my plans for hostile takeover if I didn't love her? Well, let me tell you something, AJ! I love that pony more than anything! You hear? More than anything!"

Applejack smirked. "Whaddaya waiting for then?"

The draconequus blinked and then glanced in the mirror. He then snapped his fingers, making a tuxedo appear on his body.

"GODSPEED YOU HANDSOME DEVIL, YOU!" discord shouted at the top of his lungs, before leaping out of the room in a heroic fashion.

"this is insane, I can't do it dude."

He winced as Applejack nudged him in the side. "You better not bail!"

Every pony was in their positions at the altar. Rainbow Dash, Rarity and Pinkie Pie were lined up beside the bride's vacant space, Applejack stood alongside Discord, Twilight beside Spike ready with the rings. Cadance stood in the middle, beneath the arch of roses.

The guests had all arrived and the room was packed. Since Discord had no relations, the closest ponyville citizens sat on the groom's side while the ponies from fluttershy's family on the bride's, along with many of Fluttershy's animal friends. Discord could recognize a few faces from his side out of dozens, like Zecora, Minty, Kimono, Derpy, Woah Nelly, Berryshine, Apple Brown Betty, Big Mac and Sugar Belle. many from Fluttershy family, of whom he met at a humble family get-together.

Discord choked. "In fact, it's quite hot in here, don't you think?" He tugged on the collar of his suit and wiped the sweat from his brow. "You don't suppose she's changed her mind, do you?"

"She's not late," Rainbow Dash whispered. "The ceremony's not even starting until three."

"But every pony's here! Shouldn't we start now? Ouch!"

"Pull yourself together!" Applejack hissed.

"Quit doing that!" He pulled his tail away and turned the end into a fan.

"Relax. We haven't been standing here that long."

"how long is 'that long' exactly-"

"Put that fan away! It's startin'!"

Sure enough, the bird choir began singing the bridal march, with Angel directing them. the flower girls hopped down the aisle, scattering their petals, discord started panicking.

God, what am I doing here? I shouldn't be here with her, all those suitors and she chose me of all ponies, god I don't deserve her what are you doing here-

Then he looked up and remembered why.

She entered the room with grace and elegance, causing every pony to gawk in awe. She walked down the aisle with her head held high, meeting the groom's gaze through her veil. Her long train was carried by more birds.

A smile spread across Discord's face. "She's beautiful."

Applejack gave him a sly grin. "Easy, Sugar. Save it for the honeymoon."

Meanwhile, the others were tearing up, including the flower girls.

"It's so romantic," Sweetie Belle .

"like a dang ol' fairytale" apple bloom cooed.

"all this mush is starting to get to me." Scootaloo moped through tears.

Fluttershy giggled at them as she passed by. Then she turned her attention back to Discord as she walked up the steps. He gently lifted her veil to reveal her beautiful face. After exchanging a loving look, they faced Princess Cadence. They both kneel upon an embroidered ivory pillow, plush and warm with invitation, and pray to the princesses, the beings of higher magic, and unbeknownst to each other, they both pray to one another.

"Mares and gentle colts," the alicorn announced. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Fluttershy and Discord. Never in the history of Equestria has there ever been a love so mythical, yet it started from the most unusual of circumstances. These two standing before you have proved that love surpasses all differences, all flaws, all faults."

She turned to the bride. "Do you, Fluttershy, take this draconequus to be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, until death, do you part?"

Fluttershy looked up into Discord's adoring eyes. "I do."

"And do you, Discord, take this mare to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, until death, do you part?

He was so lost in his bride's eyes that he did not hear her at first. "Huh? Oh, I do! Yes, I most definitely do!"

Cadence chuckled. "In that case, may I have the rings?"

Spike presented the silk pillow and Cadence used her magic to levitate the rings. One was attached to a gold chain, which she placed around Fluttershy's neck. The other slid onto the middle finger of Discord's lion paw.

A word from the Equestrian mythology was read, and Cadence spoke once more.

"By the power vested in me, by the crowning of my role, as princess of love," the alicorn continued, "I now pronounce you, spouse and wife. You may kiss-"

The draconequus did not wait for her to finish and pulled his bride in for a dip before pressing his lips against hers as the world seemed to explode into applause around them.

Rarity nudged Rainbow Dash and tilted her head outside.

"Oh, right!"

The pegasus zoomed out of her gown and out into the skies. The couple pulled away just in time to see her sonic rainboom through the windows, one of which shattered on impact. It shone through the sun, bathing the castle in every color visible to the naked eye.

"seven years of bad luck, darling!"

"you'll give me just enough of that," Fluttershy chuckled.

"BEST WEDDING EVER!" Pinkie cried.

The reception was held in the garden. Vinyl Scratch, under her stage name DJ Pon3 played the song for the bride and groom's first dance: "you're my world." Discord had selected it, the song playing when they first kissed. A dance was shared until a slow song played. The first song discord had played for her.

"Lovely is you/In my life/A perfect thing my wife/The joy you bring/ When times are good and bad"

"Shall we?" Applejack bowed to Rainbow Dash.

"Um, it's kinda slow, isn't it?"

"Well, I get if you're not up to the challenge…"

"Hey, wait a minute! Are you saying I can't handle a slow dance?"

"Can you?"

She grabbed her hoof. "Come on, you rascal."

A few songs later, and Rarity was met with an all too familiar unicorn stallion.

"Miss Rarity," Prince Blueblood greeted. "Would you care for a dance?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You're kidding me, right?"

Fortunately, she was saved by the previously intertwined. "Yo Rarity, we're gonna do the sea snake dance, come on!"

Rarity's eyes lit up at the sight of Applejack and Rainbow Dash. "Certainly!"

Discord gazed down at his new wife as she buried her face in his fur. Then he noticed a familiar figure standing off to the side.

"Yo, Zecora!" he called.

Fluttershy looked up as he led her over to the zebra.

"Greetings, you lovebirds, and salutations," she said. "I just wanted to offer my congratulations."

"We have you to thank for this," the bride insisted.

Discord raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? I never told you.

"See, before I accepted your deal, I went to Zecora for advice and she told me to give you a chance- Wait. Never told me what?"

"That I asked Zecora for advice and she helped me make your garden! Hey, hold on!" He pointed accusingly at the zebra. "You knew this was going to happen all along, didn't you?"

Zecora laughed as she walked away. "Prophetic magic? Not a chance. I took a gamble, now go and dance!"

"wuh-"

Fluttershy silenced him with her hoof. "Does it really matter, dear?"

He sighed and took her in his arms. "No, I guess not."

The party lasted throughout the whole night, through to dawn, and just into the morning until 10am. Foals fell asleep on lawn chairs, the cooler ice melted, candy and chili powder littered the ground. It was nonstop dance after dance, the sea snake, the money dance, at one point the men at the reception threw discord into the air! The festivities only stopped when the dj themself fell asleep. Then, after 1 day of relaxation, the parade went on.

Hours of laughter, music and beads later, and a carriage was ready with 3 ponies to take the couple home, but Discord waved them off.

"No need to exert yourselves, boys. We can drive ourselves."

He released the stallions, paid them their due, and opened the door for his bride with a bow.

"Shall we be off, my dear?"

Once the newlyweds were in the carriage, every pony waved to them and they waved back, until they were a spot in the distance.

Discord sighed and glanced slyly at Fluttershy. "Alone at last."

He was about to put an arm around her when an acorn hit him. He turned to see Angel and the other animals sitting across from them.

"What the…what are they doing here?"

"Well, I said they could move in with us," Fluttershy explained.

"You what?!"

"They're just going to live in the garden. They won't get in the way."

"But do they have to ride with us? I can just zap them to the garden and…"

She stopped his paw before he could cast a spell. "Please? They want to ride so badly, and they've got very polite bathroom habits, so the rental stays clean-"

Discord shrugged. "Happy wife, Happy life I guess."

They arrived at Fluttershy's little cottage, now covered in newly grown springtime flowers.

"Okay, we're here! Now scram!"

The animals seemed to giggle and scatter into the gardens. Fluttershy shook her head.

He teleported himself outside and opened the door of the carriage. He then lifted her into his arms bridal style and carried her towards the castle.

"Home sweet home," he mused. "Never really had one until you lived with me."

"It's much more colorful."

"Oh yes, very."

She giggled as he poked her in the belly. "I think I can live with that."

The front door opened automatically and Fluttershy could feel the weight of the week lifting off of her back.

"What do you think of the interior?" Discord inquired.

"Less dizzy."

He chuckled. "I thought you'd like it. Wait until you see the honeymoon suite."

At his command, a door hanging high on the wall with no stairs leading to it opened. He flew her up to it and Fluttershy gawked at the décor of the room. Everything was in the shape of a heart: the bed, the pillows, the windows, the chandelier, the candles in the chandelier, etc. She did not know what to say about it.

"It's, um…very…"

"a lot, I know. Makes me want to gag too, but isn't this how most honeymoon suites look? I don't think we can afford a honeymoon."

"I wouldn't know."

"Oh well, I'm too tired to change anything now. What even is a honeymoon?"

"don't know, don't care, we have our whole marriage to figure it out."

They plopped onto the plush mattress, kissing gentle and sweet, and drifted off into perfect dreams.

The End, At The Moment.