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#Need to watch Voyager its been too long

wzy3ka · 10 months

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| drunk dormmate ⋆ ˚｡⋆ Y.JW (양정원)

Dormmate!jungwon x fem!reader .790. || you pick up your drunk dormmate jungwon.

warnings: mention of alcohol, drunk jungwon, kisses, fluff

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"Don't wait for me for dinner!”

Jungwon, your dormmate said before walking through the door.

You shrugged your shoulders, took your phone out, and started eating some ramyeon you had prepared earlier. Hours later, you felt your phone vibrating on top of your face. Unconsciously, you denied the number. Your phone rang again, but this time you answered.

"Since I answered you at 1:42 a.m are you gonna leave me alone, now?"

"Okay, calm down, Sleeping Beauty. I know it's bothersome to get a call when you're trying to sleep, but I need your help" A male voice corresponded.

You sighed, "Okay, I'm listening"

'To start off, I'm Jay, one of Jungwon's friends, and if I'm not wrong, you're his dormmate" You heard him screaming some names,

"Sorry, Hesseung and Jake are having a dance battle" You snorted amused. "Where was I?"

"'And, if I'm not wrong, you're his dormmate'?" You tried refreshing his memory.

"Oh, yeah. Can you come to pick him up?" He finally asked.

"This late?"

"Please, Y/n"

'Fine, send me the dress"

You ended the call and Jay took no time in sending you the address.

With a heavy sigh, you took the keys of your car, and headed toward the address Jay had sent you.

"The things I do for this dumbass" You mumbled to yourself. Before entering the bar.

You saw two guys dancing on the dance floor, taking their most prohibited dance steps out. You, then, saw a guy with a worried expression, and two others sleeping on the table.

You, then, recognized one of them as your roommate, Jungwon. So the awoken one might have been Jay. You walked toward their table, still hesitant.

"Um, hi? Are you Jay?"

"Yeah, and you must be Y/n. I owe you one, you're my savior. Do you need help to carry Jungwon to your car?"

"No, thank you. You already have too much to handle"

"If you ever need someone to talk to, you already have my number!

"Thanks. Same to you"

Jay helped you get Jungwon up and you placed his arm on your shoulders. He was heavier than he seemed. You gagged at the strong smell of alcohol present on his clothes. You took him to your car and put the seatbelt on him. When you were in your seat, you started driving to your dorm.

It was another long voyage to the dorm.

When both of you finally made it to the dorm, you took him to his room and placed him on his bed.

You walked to his closet and searched for a t-shirt and some sweatpants. "Can't believe I'm doing this" You sighed closing your eyes. As you could, you took his shirt off and put the clean one on him. You, then, took his jeans off and out on him his clean pants, You took his dirty cloth, ready to head out of the room.

However, he had other plans.

"Girlfriend, I don't want to sleep," He said, appearing by your side.

"G-Girlfrined?" You stammered, a blush making its way to your cheeks.

"Yeah, aren't you my girlfriend?" You shook your head, “Then, I'll make you my girlfriend. Let's have a date" He side-hugged you.

"Right now?". Jungwon nodded. "It's 20:30 a.m., there's no open restaurant"

"Then, uh, let's watch movies" He exclaimed excitedly.

"Jungwon I want to sleep" You whined.

"You'll sleep while we watch movies. I want to spend time with my girlfriend" He took your hand.

Butterflies. That's everything that described the moment; everything you felt.

"Fine". Jungwon giggled before taking his blanket and wrapping you in it.

"Don't take it off. You'll get a cold" He warned, fixing his blanket on you. You went to the living room and sat beside Jungwon. He turned on the TV, putting on The Lady and The Tramp.

Once the movie started, Jungwon put an arm around your shoulders.

Halfway through it, without noticing you rested your head on his shoulder and he rested his on top of yours. When the movie was almost finished, you were already asleep... kind of.

Jungwon seemed to notice it. He placed a strand of hair behind your ear and kissed your cheek.

"I love you, Y/n. I hope you someday realize my feelings for you"

However, you heard it, since you were only trying to fall asleep.

Deep down in your heart, you hoped it was real. Without noticing, you were smiling. He stared at you cluelessly. You opened your eyes and tackled him to a hug.

"I love you, too". With that, he was about to kiss you. "Wait, so you're not drunk anymore?" He shook his head, before taking your face in his hands and kissing you passionately.

#enhypen jungwon #enhypen x reader #jungwon imagines #jungwon x reader #jungwon scenarios #jungwon #enha #enhypen #yang jungwon #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #Jungwon imagines #enhypen x you #enhypen scenarios

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vanvelding · 7 months

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I'm going to say one of the nicest things I can about a show about Star Trek: Lower Decks

They played us like a string quartet.

(Spoilers for 4x09: "The Inner Fight")

Lower Decks was sold a Star Trek/Rick & Morty mashup from the start. The first scene is a drunken Mariner literally harming her sidekick, Boimler. It practically screamed, "Mariner & Boimler a hundred tours! Double-u, double-u, double-u dot Mariner and boimler dot com!"

But of course, it also had Star Trek references. One of the earliest is "Who would win in a fight? Khan or Roga Danar?" Why would anyone else in The Federation know or care who Roga Danar is? And there's no imagination on display for the oldest referential paradigm, "Who would win in a fight?" Lazy. Bullshit.

Of course before the end of season one, Lower Decks showed us it was more than that. Boimler was gaining the kind of experience he needed. The story hinted very strongly that Mariner had been in Starfleet a LONG time. She wasn't a omnicompotent mary sue; she was a Commander with her own philosophy/trauma that compelled her to remain an Ensign.

It was a good show and it stood on its own. The references were used well to create interesting stories ("Twovix"), as part of the setting ("Hear All, Trust Nothing"), or just as a gag here and there ("Kayshon, His Eyes Open" and, like a dozen others). The references to the setting become the background radiation, remarkable in how deep a cut they really are (Vendorians?). I've described it to many people as "Star Trek, but everyone has watched Star Trek."

What it wasn't, was related to its namesake. "Lower Decks" was a surprisingly heavy episode about the younger members of the Enterprise crew and their perspective on the missions of galactic import that the viewer usually enjoys an omnisicent view of.

Lower Decks mentions our main cast don't have that omniscient view, but Mariner is a stone-cold badass, Rutherford was part of a secret effort to develop artificial intelligence, Tendi is the Mistress of the Winter Constellations, and Boimler--actually Biomler is no more exceptional than any other Starfleet officer.

So when we get our main cast and the senior officers into a room and they mention Nick Locarno, our thought is, "LOL, another reference. This one from TNG. Not particularly deep. LOL, Boimler is a Beverly Crusher fanboy. I guess it makes sense, they have the character model from the episode with Tom Paris. Clearly, Robert Duncan McNeil is happy to do some voice work. We'll probably make a reference to how much he looks like Tom Paris.

"lol"

Look, if you figured it out then pat yourself on the back. Me? I filed away another reference. I didn't realize that Nick Locarno was connected to the episode of TNG that was this entire series' namesake. The characters even say, "Who?" which is one of the first times they don't get a Star Trek reference. Because Nick Locarno isn't a part of the Star Trek universe they view with an enthusiastic fandomness; it's part of their dramatic history, whether they know it or not.

"ha-ha, I guess Nick Locarno is too deep a cut for the show that called back to Morgan fucking Bateson."

But whatever, A-plot/B-plot. Gags about Starfleet habitually rolling up to seedy establishments in uniforms while looking for information, which is subverted by Captain Freeman being fucking genre savvy (also, wasn't she going to be promoted before getting arrested at the end of season two? I guess getting framed for a crime was deemed to be not very 'admiral-able'). Mariner ends up in a cave with a Klingon taking shelter from a crystal rain.

The pieces are there. Mariner was an ensign during The Dominion War. Two to three years before The Dominion War, Wesley Crusher left Starfleet, our Nick Locarno expy Tom Paris was recruited to Voyager, and Sito Jaxa was an ensign.

And Nick Locarno is in play.

We could have figured it out! We're in the narrative and emotional third act of this series (Tendi gave us the "We'll always be friends" speech last week)! Everyone regular just sat in a room trying to figure out how to help Mariner; we were one fruit salad analogy away from an intervention with Dr. Migleemoo!

Mariner escapes from Cardassian interrogation chambers for fun!

But Locarno is just another TNG reference, like Beverly Crusher. Background radiation. The season's story arc is something original to Lower Decks, which it's proven it's unafraid to do at this point. The series has no relation to "Lower Decks"

And then they fucking hit us with it; Beckett Mariner knew Sito Jaxa. They were friends. Then Jaxa died.

That's Mariner's trauma (that and The Dominion War).

And I didn't see it because I came to see Lower Decks as a series that stood on its own merits as a show while calling back to earlier Treks in a light, non-committal way. And I credit that solely to the writing of the show which leveraged both of those qualities to make an entertaining show that I like before, but now respect.

Just amazing stuff.

#star trek #star trek lower decks #star trek lwd #lower decks #lower decks spoilers #star trek lwd spoilers

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charliehoennam · 2 months

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angel part 2

pairing: louis bloom x f!reader

summary: louis and his newfound crush slip deeper into their attraction after the 'wet dream'.

warning: this fic contains dark themes such as stalking, dubcon/noncon, smut and others. Read at your own risk. 18+ ONLY.

SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG

The early morning sunlight begins to stream into your room. Its beaming warmth stirs you from your deep slumber.

Your head is pounding. The room feels it's still spinning around you and your mouth is drier than a desert.

Water would be really good right now, but you're not ready to get up yet. Your limbs still feel heavy and sore.

As consciousness slowly permeates back into you, you realize the soreness concentrates down between your hips. You lay in bed and think back to the dream you had.

You're riddled with confusion. You've had plenty of hyper realistic dreams before, but this felt different.

It felt so real and so good that you wish it had been real. You brush it off deciding to believe you're just so hung up on your neighbor. Being single for as long as you have been, his kind gesture and his piercing blue eyes are incredibly hard to not find so attractive.

You could still feel his warm breath on your skin. His hands felt soft and rough altogether gliding over your supple thighs and groping at your breasts. The memory of his wriggling tongue in your pussy already has it growing wet again.

You must've been really wet in your sleep judging by the stickiness on your sex. It seemed sort of clean; it must have rubbed against your bed sheets or something. It explains the small crusty stains on the cotton fabric.

Looks like you'll be doing laundry today. You needed to anyways. The stack of dirty clothes that you'd been ignoring during the packing process has piled up.

Louis watches you stir around in your bed from where he's stood behind his dull green curtains.

"So pretty even when you wake up," he thinks to himself.

He's so hypnotized by you, he doesn't even look down at the bowl of cereal in his hands as he eats calmly wondering if you know.

He watches your hand slide down between your legs to feel around, blissfully unaware as you search for any residue in your sore pussy.

His stare is relentlessly fixed on you. He can't look away, not that he even wants to. His heart drums faster in his chest along with his thoughts.

Does she know? Did she wake up? Is she going to touch herself? Did she enjoy it?

Inebriated with intrigue and curiosity, he stands frozen with one wide creepy eye peeping out from behind his curtain.

His mouth dries with anticipation, hoping you would touch yourself at the thought of being fucked by him. He can almost hear his blood rush in his head as his breath catches in his throat. He wishes he could hear every sound you make.

Lou doesn't even notice he's holding his only breath as you investigate your body, running a hand over your sore breasts and swollen pussy, when he sets his cereal down on the flower table by the window.

"I can't believe it," he thinks to himself. "That little filthy whore liked it. Can't get enough. Just the way I like it."

While you're asking yourself how this came to be, wondering if your little wet dream became a masturbating sleepwalking session, Lou's got his pants and belt open to unleash his heavy twitch dick.

With every recollection of your soft skin, the taste and the warmth of your pussy, his precum oozes from his domed head, allowing himself to smear it over his veiny member adding to the lube of his spit.

He can imagine how sweet your moans must sound. He would give anything to hear them while defiles your innocent body, plundering for the mind-numbing high.

It brings him to the idea of setting up cameras in your apartment, which doesn't sound so bad.

How come I hadn't thought of that before? He questions himself mentally, being the perverted voyager that he is.

He makes a mental note to plan that later. His mind is too impaired to churn out the details for that. Right now, all he can focus on how your hand is still between your legs.

As you think back to every possible explanation, your mind seems to only concentrate how realistic your dream felt.

You could smell the musky cologne of his body. You could feel his cock pushing and pulling in and out of you. You could feel his tongue wiggle between your folds once he was done pounding it ruthlessly.

The more you think about it, the more you ache for your neighbor.

The thought of him fucking you into your mattress drives you reach your heavy arm to your nightstand and pull out your vibrating friend.

The soreness of your limbs and the throbbing headache aren't enough to silence your pussy's craving. And it yearns for Lou.

Lou watches with a dry mouth hung open as you grind the humming cock against your pussy, drenching it with your slick to push it in.

You lick your lips and moan as you let the vibrator tease your clit, imagining Lou's face so clearly hovering over you as his dick penetrates your cunt.

The thought of the heavenly sounds your bodies would make as his hips snap against your sweaty hot skin.

You imagine threading your fingers into his silky hair as he buries his face between your legs, his tongue invading your core. The intensity of his thick-browed gaze up at you, gripping you with greedy hands and hunger as his mouth works it's wonder on you.

The watch on Lou's wrist rattles softly in the quiet of his apartment as he tugs his dick; his only little compliment to your performance.

With your legs spread wide, you push the vibrator into your slick slit and begin fucking yourself into your own bliss.

You're so fucking horny and drenched that the squelch of your pussy overcomes the vibrations of your toy. You're so hungry for cock and so pretty unknowingly putting yourself on display, holding one leg back to your chest as you fuck your pussy.

You're moaning, gasping and kneading your breast while Lou struggles to not cum just yet.

He wants to wait to cum with you. He wants to cum together because you're his. You were meant to be his and you have to cum together. He needs to feel - or at least pretend enough - that he's right back in your vice of a cunt, dicking you down raw.

His breath hitches as you get closer together and closer and closer until the pulling tension finally snaps in your cores, sheathing you both euphoric waves of pleasure.

"Fuck," he sighs looking at the curtains he'd just stained with ribbons of pearly white cum.

He really needs you again.

He wants more. He'll always want more.

Looking back out the window, he sees you slowly getting to walk to the bathroom and exit from view. He correctly assumes you've gone for a shower, but he needs another round.

With the camera hooked up to the tv, he finally sits back on his couch with your panties in hand. He presses play and begins to watch his work of art from the previous night, he threads his cock into your panties and begins to stroke his length.

He takes a bit of time to notice all the little intimate details of your home that reflect your tastes. Stroking his softened cock to its hardened state again, he makes notes of most of the things you love.

What a lucky little angel you are. He should be watching the news to see what his team's managed to capture without him. Yet here he is, prioritizing you. Worshipping you. You just don't know how truly special you are...yet.

Louis's head falls back as the vulgar images and sound lull him into bliss.

He remembers how pretty you looked. So exposed just for his eyes. All and only his even if just for a while.

Louis's chest heaves as he stares at the TV. You look so peaceful in your sleep. He wonders if he'll ever get to sleep beside you.

While Lou jacks his cock off to the dirty homemade video with your panties hooked around his cock, the fresh scent of the dark brew in your coffee pot wafts through your apartment, infiltrating your bathroom as you wash yourself in the shower.

The warm water rinses away the soreness of your body as you sit on the ground under the running shower.

You close your eyes to enjoy the soothing calm of the shower. Your mind begins to wander. What is it about him that has you so hung up on him?

Sure, he's attractive. He's no LA fitness model. Just a thin, young man with a deadly smile, luscious brown lock and piercing unyielding eyes that could burn a hole tight through you.

He looked fairly common, but there was still something there within that brought a chill up your spine until the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

To be entirely honest, you can't tell if you're attracted to him or scared of him. But whatever it is, it's pulling you like a magnet.

As he waters his treasured flower, he notices across from his window that you're gathering clothes and bedsheets, preparing a laundry basket as you nestle the laundry soap and softener upon the piled fabrics.

He sees this as an opportunity to get closer to you presenting itself. And given the mess he's made on the curtains and your stolen panties, he knows it'll have to be laundry day for him as well.

The complex you share has a community laundromat for the tenants. He presumes that's where you're going, he needs to get there before you do. He needs you to think it's all a mare coincidence.

He watches you wide-eyed as you set your basket down on the couch.

Your toast's popped up in the toaster.

He sighs in relief, knowing now he has enough time to gather his laundry and soap to race to the laundromat to get there before you do.

He stumbles through his apartment, gathering whatever he can find to toss aimlessly into his laundry basket. Then he gathers the curtains from his window to dump them into the basket, along with your dirty lace panties.

He kinda hates that he ruined them. Now, he'll have to wash them and that will wash away your precious scent. No worries, though. He'll just steal another next time and make sure he keeps that one sealed and cleaned to sniff whenever he craves your pussy.

Grabbing a few more clothes, not really caring if they're clean or dirty, he takes one more glance out the window and see that you're still enjoying your simple breakfast.

Dressed in a pink shirt, he ties his brown locks back away from his face and carries his basket on his hip as he calmly makes his way to the laundry room confident in his plan to win you over.

You finish your slices of buttered toast and coffee before wiping your hands together and quickly rinsing the dishes.

The move must have really taken a toll on you because your body is beyond tired, but you still need to push forward though all you wish you could do is sleep under your covers.

Taking a cold water bottle from the fridge, you walk out of your apartment with basket wearing a simple top, short denim shorts and a pair of flip flops.

As you approach the laundromat, you can hear a machine working already from the hallway. The door is wide open, providing more light into the dull dark laundry room.

Outdated washers and dryers line the the walls of the room - if you can even call it that. It really looks more like a building basement with the lack of windows.

You freeze for a minute as you quickly make out the familiar figure standing with his back to you as he calmly sets his clothes in the washer one item at a time.

After a glance over his shoulder, he turns around his head to flash a smile that attempts to seem more welcoming than devious, though faint worry radiating from your amygdala questions his succession in asserting comfort.

"Y/N, right? The new neighbor?" As if he could ever forget your name.

"Yeah. You're Lou, right?" you reply politely returning the smile.

Without any control, your pussy squeezes around nothing arching for him once again as you're reminded of your dream.

"Are you settling in alright?"

"Yeah, I am. Still have some unpacking to finish, but everything is going well. Thanks for asking."

"Sure thing. Oh, " suggest washer number 3. It works the best if you ask me. Don't bother with number 9. It'll take your coins, but it doesn't work. I personally believe it's intentionally rigged to steal our money."

"Thank you for that. I'll have to keep that in mind," you smile politely.

You wonder if it's actually true or if he just wants you to be closer to him given that washer number 3 is right next to him. Why wouldn't he take the best washer instead?

Brushing off the worrisome questions, you feel like you barely know him enough to make judgements about him, so you walk over to the washer beside his and start loading it up.

"Thank you for the cookies again. They were really good. I almost ate all of them."

He smiles to himself. Almost? That could only mean you didn't eat all of them, meaning there are more of the sleep-inducing cookies that can provide him with another opportunity and hopefully tonight.

His dick twitches at the excitement.

"I'm glad you enjoyed them. Although I admit they're much better when eating within the first two days. After that, they start to go stale."

They don't, but he can't risk you not eating them.

"Guess I'll have to finish them all today. What a sacrifice," you reply ironically flashing a smile at him.

He chuckles at your jokes, trying his best to mimick genuine amusement.

"What an awful way to indulge."

"Did you make them from scratch?"

"Oh, of course" he lies. "They're my late grandma's recipe."

He never even met his grandmother or grandparents. He was given up to adoption at an early age. He lies to add a personal taste; he hopes he can win you over a little with a family-friendly detail.

And he does.

"Aw, that's sweet," you swoon. "Did you learn how to cook with her?"

"She taught me enough to get me by."

"Well, she taught you well. Those cookies were delicious."

Yes, you are. The best thing I've ever tasted, he thinks to himself.

"She taught me how to make a wonderful chocolate cake as well. I'd love to make it for you sometime," he beams at all the possible opportunities that flash through his mind.

"Yeah, I'd love that! I love chocolate cake. But you gotta let me make you something too," you reply feeling a little too spoiled.

"You don't have to do that. I love baking," he hasn't the slightest clue how to make a cake from scratch. Thank God for box mix, though.

"Well, I wouldn't feel so bad about accepting all your treats. Why don't you at least let me take you out then? My treat."

"Are you asking me out?" he smirks locking his eyes on you.

"I might be. Doesn't have to be a date if you don't want to."

Your cheeks flush with warmth as he catches your not-so-subtle invitation.

"Yeah, I'd love that. And I appreciate a woman that isn't afraid to take the initiative."

You smile brightly feeling like you just took a step in the right direction.

"I'm free tonight if you are? I know a great place that serves authentic Mexican food."

"Sounds great to me. How about tonight at 8?"

"Perfect, sweetheart" he grins.

His idea to win you over is actually working, all according to plan.

#louis bloom #louis bloom x you #louis bloom x reader #louis bloom x y/n #lou bloom #lou bloom x you #lou bloom x reader #lou bloom x y/n #nightcrawler #jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #jake gyllenhaal fanfiction #jake gyllenhaal smut

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rkiveinmarvel · 5 months

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in all the seas - sanji vinsmoke. des. fluff. post-timeskip!sanji. the one time sanji left baratie: led him back to you. notes. sanji might be ooc. this is a test fic, i just miss my boy so much. fluffy! fluffy! fluffy! sanji meets enemies-to-lovers troupe, poor boy is nosebleeding again, mentions of smoking (don't smoke too much, guys!), mentions of the straw hat pirates shenanigans. i miss sanji, i want to kiss his forehead and give him a hug! ;<

hey! it's my first time writing for op (gosh, i remember when i said i won't write a fic for anime anymore but here i am now enjoying skypiea zoro ;P what a clown) n e way, sanji might be a little ooc here but i miss him so here you go, a fluffy sanji. i wrote this around 1 am so, please enjoy! happy holidays!

w.c: 2k (and i oop--)

Sanji was indeed a man with a lot of tricks up his sleeves: he’s from the family of mercenaries, part of the famous Straw Hats Pirate, and of course one of the greatest chef in all the seas, with his handsome face, strong kicks and talent in the kitchen, one could assume he’s everything a person can wish for, and that he is.

You’ve been working at the Baratie for years ever since the restaurant found its place on the East Blue, as a kid you were raised by Zeff along with a blonde kid who hates putting artificially made flavor on a dish. You cooked something with something artificially made, he hates it. He cooks you something, you hate it. It was a game of cat and mouse but somehow, Zeff saw this a familiar scene and a everlasting promise between two kids that somehow will always find each other.

“Sanji! I’m hungry!” The voice of Luffy woke Sanji’s staring into space, as the cook of the straw hat stood up, the sharpshooter of straw hats watches him intently. “Sanji, is there something wrong?” Then, he met Usopp’s wondering eyes, as in the back of his mind, he is back in the Baratie, back to you. He lightly shook his head, ignoring the sharpshooter’s question: was it the empty space of the kitchen that made him wish he was with you, was it the vast sea that made him wish you see the lovely view too, was it his new family made him wish that you should’ve met them too, instead of speaking out his thoughts and secrets, he gave Usopp a smile, perhaps a reminder to the sharp shooter that their cook is alright.

The lingering look of longing is still on Sanji’s face until their next voyage on the vast sea, it made the straw hat worry, hell, even the swordsman is now giving Sanji a look of worry, but somehow, when the crew has met a nearby island, they hoped that their cook would have a peace of mind, a recollection of what he longs for, what his face wishes for. As the reached the shore, the crew pushed Sanji out of the ship as they gave him a reassuring look to take all the time he needs to fill the void that’s slipping in his emotion, face, and his cooking.

As he walked to the island’s market, a familiar scent danced in his nose, a cooking that smells like his first home, as his feet lead the way into a fully packed restaurant, a familiar sight of food greeted him. He immediately sat somewhere on an empty table as he scans the menu.

The time pass by faster than he expected, as for once, he ate the food with a smile on his face, perhaps, realizing that he may have a competition in being the best chef in all seas: but this trivial things did not bother him, until, he tasted an articially made flavor on one of the dishes. Instead of throwing his anger like he always do when arguing with the straw hat’s swordsman, he clicked his tongue and requested to talk to the main chef of the restaurant.

Clink. Click. Clink.

Empty Dishes after empty dishes came into the kitchen, with a smile on your face you were happy with the unending order in the restaurant, until your new waiter had come bearing news about the blonde guy at table 19, with a tired sigh, you removed your apron and went outside to talk to the blonde guy at table 19.

Clink. Click. Clink.

“What seems to be the problem–Sanji?” Your eyes widened as your eyes seem to betray the sight infront of you. The blonde man then catches your surprise gaze as he was about to light his cigarette. “Oi–your..” he stopped at his words as he catches and drowned himself into a familiar sight. You’re here. You’re here infront of him.

Instead of saying anything, the both of you seemed to memorize each others faces. 2 Years is indeed a long time, you noticed his growing beard, he memorized the length of your hair, you noticed his new suit, he noticed the tired yet happy look on your face.

“So, you left Baratie.” The both of you uttered the same time, as a chuckle left your lips: Sanji felt like crying—he missed you so damn much. “Bet Zeff didn’t let you go that easily.” He commented as he gestured you to seat. “He actually did, telling me to look for you and kick your ass as we saw your new bounty.” You laughed as Sanji bottled that laugh in his ear.

“Did he now…” He countered as he lips curved into a soft smile. “Stop looking at me like that.” You immediately notice his gaze, making him look away. “Looking you like what?”

Clink. Click. Clink.

—----

Clink. Click. Clink.

“Heard the Straw Hat invited you to be in his crew..” You stated as you sat next on the deck with Sanji as he lit his cigarette. He looked away as you asked the question. “He did. I don’t want to.” He openly sighed and filled the space with smoke, as you click your tongue, you grabbed the cigarette on his hand, and inhaled the smoke yourself. “So, I guess you’ll be here in the Baratie in all the end of time.” I laughed.

“What? Do you plan to leave?” He wondered as you meet his knowing look as you just laid your head on his shoulder. “Depends. Your cooking sucks.” He chuckled as he glared at you. “You use artificial flavors in your cooking!” He sounded so offended.

You nodded as you gave back his cigarette. “Go.” He knows that look, he’s way too familiar with that look. “Zeff can handle Baratie himself, that old man can be anything he wants. So, go.”

Clink. Click. Clink.

“I’ll be fine, Sanji.” His voice seems to blend with sea and the seagulls. “It’s not about you.” He looked away as he hid his blush. “Is it?” I chuckled as you stood up and knelt infront of him. “I’ll be alright, Sanji, and besides, didn’t you say you’re going to prove to me that All Blue is real, how can you do that with you staying here.”

“You’re really making this hard for me, you know..” He grumbles as you gave him a look. “I tend to make you suffer until the end of time, Sanji.” You smiled.

“Stop looking at me like that.” He softly uttered as he leaned in. “Looking you like what?” You replied as you closed the distance feeling his warm lips on yours, as the noise of the sea seem to silenced at this moment, seems like the seagulls have found a place to rest, seems like the warm rays of the sun has bit put on rest. As you pulled away, you met his eyes. “I’m still a better cook than you, you know.” He chuckled.

“Oh, I know. I know. Get out there, Sanji.” You smiled as you stood up, walking away from him, leaving the blonde boy with a distinct nosebleed and a lovesick smile on his face.

—-------

“So, you’re here.” He said with a smile. “Good to see, you still have your both feet on the ground.” You smiled as you saw that his bangs have changed its position. “You changed your look.” You commented as he just stares at you.

“What?” You wondered as he just looked at the food: “You used artificially made flavors.” He complained as you rolled your eyes and just snickered. “You never really got over it, didn’t you?” you laughed. “Why don’t you walk over our kitchen, Mr. Sanji.” You teased as you stood up and lead him to the kitchen.

The tour in the kitchen was just short and subtle; it surprised him that the artificial flavor he hates was actually made by you: he find it funny and continue to tell you that he is the best cook in all seas. By the time the tour finish, he caught a familiar wanted poster hanged on the wall. A poster that he hates so much.

“Seriously, that poster?” He rolled his eyes at you. It was his first wanted poster with no picture attached but an illustration. You chuckled at his antics: “What? The artist took your beauty really well.” You chuckled, as you stare at him.

“I miss you too, by the way.” You stood closer to him as he walked towards the wanted poster hanged on the wall. He blushes as he looked at you. “Does your miss kinda works its way on you giving me a ki–”

“ORDER UP!” Before he can continue, orders came in like a wave from the sea, Sanji frowned at the timing. “Oi, loverboy, talk to you later.” You tapped his shoulder as you left him on the corner, with a smile on his face. He hid his blush and walked back to their ship.

—-----

A familiar straw hat greeted your eyes as you walked on the shore. “OI!! SANJI!!” He shouted happily, as you noticed Sanji walking down excitedly as you approached their ship. As he ran towards you, he gave you a tight hug. “You’re acting like we didn’t talk earlier.” You grumbled in his hug, as you return it. “I had to keep my appearances, there were bounty hunters in the restaurant, after all. If they knew I had some connection on you, they might–”

You punched him lightly on his stomach. “I can handle myself, Sanji.” You sighed: “We’re both raised by Zeff, you know how he is.” you ran your hand in your hair as you looked at Sanji’s face dancing the sunset’s rays. With a teary-eye he looked at you: ah, they’re going to leave again.

You nodded as you just offered your hand to Sanji as you both walk, quietly and appreciating the fondness of the gift of time in the shore. As you two walked, Sanji noticed that you never let go of his hand. “You actually missed me.” He said in such proud tone. He waited for a teasing remarks instead, you just nodded which surprised him.

“Missed you so much, ‘Ji.” You admit as he stopped his tracks and looked at you. Without saying anything, you embraced him as you hid yourself in his chest: god, he missed you too—so damn, much. He just nodded and hugged back your deep embrace. As the sun continue to bathe in the sea, you whispered the stories on how you got to the island and leaving Baratie. He listened intently as he drew circles in your hands, as the moon slowly reveal itself in the sky. He kissed your hand.

“Will you be here, ‘till I find the All Blue?” He asked, but his tone was pleading and full of hope. And just like before, you lay down your head on his shoulder: but this time, you grabbed a cigarette and lit it up as he muttered. “I’ll come back, you know that right?” He smiled as he grabbed the cigarette from your hand as he inhaled the smoke. You just nodded as you held him a little closer: for once, he thanked the past that you let him go—not only because he met an amazing crew but for once, you looked at him: not as a rival in cooking but someone—as your person.

He thought the kiss from the past was just a mere kiss of heat of the moment, but here you are next to him and you looked so gorgeous—as if he was made to see you in all your shining glory—the lingering looks, the bickering, it all leads him back to you. “Go.” You muttered as he smiled as he kissed your hand. “We’ll be alright, Sanji.” That’s it, he leaned in and gave you a knowing kiss, a kiss that bears a sorry for the two years he wasn’t able to hold you and a kiss that carries promise of the upcoming and untold stories of the both of you—and by all the pirates in the world, he can’t wait to spend the rest of his days next to you in all eons, in all times, and definitely in all the seas.

fluff is like a new ground for me lmao, angsty-fluffy zoro and luffy coming right up!

⚘ masterlist 1 | 2 | 3

#sanji vinsmoke #sanji #black leg sanji #sanji vinsmoke x reader #sanji oneshot #one piece #one piece imagine #opla #one piece live action #sanji imagine #vinsmoke imagine #straw hat pirates #straw hat sanji #trinity_archives #one piece au #one piece sanji #sanji x reader #black leg x reader #vinsmoke x reader

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mrs-monaghan · 1 year

Note

Hey I’m new to bts and I love Jikook although I don’t believe they’re a couple yet because. My friend advised me to watch the original bts content before watching the shipper videos because they’re misleading. I’ve been watching all vlives, bang tan bombs, award shows, Bon voyage, and ITS. When I watched all those, I noticed that Jimin gives Tae more attention than any other member, I noticed that Jk gives Jin, and Tae more attention, V gives Jimin and Jhope more attention. I also noticed that the way Jikook communicate is normal and nothing suspicious about it. I then decided to watch Jikook videos because I accidentally watched one when I was searching for Jimin’s song serendipity and came across the Jikook serendipity analysis. I’m now in the rabbit hole. I came across your page and you talked about “the news article that was ready to out Jkk’s relationship back in 2018”. I just wanted to know where you heard that and if there is any proof because I’m a person who doesn’t dwell on conspiracies but rather proof. Another thing, did they really get married because most of the videos mentioned how they got married during their trip to Tokyo. Another thing, are there any pictures of them hangout and living together. Thank you.

You watched BV and noticed Jimin gives V more attention? You watched original content and noticed that JK gives V and Jin more attention?

I am so confused as to what you're talking about. I would bite if u said JK giving Jin more attention but V? What exactly are u watching? Are you sure its not that shipper content that you say you're avoiding? Specifically tkk content? Which ftr you will rarely find Jikook manipulated content. I'm not saying it doesn't exist but its rare. We don't need to manipulate. They give us everything on a silver platter.

I shared the dispatch thing not long before this scroll lower u will see it. No, Jikook are not married. They can't be married. And even if they did it wouldn't be recognised in SK. And at the time of them going to Tokyo, Japan hadn't recognised gay marriage yet. Jikook married as far as I know its something Jikookers like to say coz they act like a married couple. But they have been spotted with matching rings on more than one occasion which is a reason for suspicion.

I already don't like u from your V comment but sure let's look at a few things.

I always bring this up because no one ever talks about it but I honestly love it so much and it really tickled me.

BV season 5 episode 6. Vmin sleep on the bed

JK makes the bed the next morning. Because Jimin is one spoilt boyfriend, alright? But when Vmon slept on that same bed, JK told them

JK definitely favoured Jimin over V there anon.

Run BTS episode 71 JK makes a big pancake for Jimin because he had a penalty to do

The kicker is though, anon. That Jin too was doing the same penalty.

Why didn't JK make him a pancake too? Doesn't that seem like JK played favourites with Jimin and not Jin? 🤔

In the Soop season 1 episode 6. We found out V asked JK to speak casually with him

But JK refused because;

Meanwhile we have him going Jiminah! Jimin! Jiminssi! Everywhere all the time. So again anon, JK refused V one thing but has no issue doing it with Jimin.

Bon voyage season 3 episode 4 after Tkk did laundry they went upstairs and JK only checked on Jimin.

He did not check on Jin behind him.

At this point I'm just offended that you haven't picked up on my favourite thing about Jikook and that's satellite Jeon/Jikook. You don't even need compilations to see this. Anything you watch. Anything at all. They are always next to eo. Always.

They're literally always together. And JK always chooses Jimin. Not V and not Jin. Not anyone else. No matter what you watch.

youtube

Me thinks you need to rewatch what you already did because you missed everything.

Like Mizgator said, you're blind if you don't see it

youtube

#ask shaz #bts ask #satellite jeon #jimin and jungkook #jikook #kookmin #minkook #jimin #jungkook #bts #park jimin #jeon jungkook #if jikook isn't real then neither am i #jikook is real #jikook analysis #run jikook #bon voyage jikook

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aldbooks · 5 months

Text

A Strange Melody - Ch 12 - Epilogue

@sunshinebingo

AO3

6 months later

Azriel, long used to seeing in the dark, stared across his pillow on the longest night of the year at his new wife sleeping beside him. Even in the darkness, she seemed to glow softly like the bond humming contentedly in his chest.

Running his eyes over the soft curves of her freckled face, he thought back to that day on the beach when everything changed…

The sea god’s power was so immense, Azriel could feel it rolling off of him in waves that made even his shadows pause in awe. The man smiled at his mate in an almost fatherly manner before shifting an assessing gaze to Azriel. Amusement lit his hypnotic eyes as he eyed Azriel’s wings.

“I see the cauldron did not just bless you with a fae mate, but a bird.” Azriel bristled slightly but the sea god just chuckled. “You were always a child of land and sea, my dear,” he continued, his attention back on Gwyn who leaned against Azriel’s chest. Glancing down he saw her delicate brow furrow.

“Your father was a sailor who washed up on this very beach after a storm. Your mother was infatuated with him the first moment she saw him and nursed him back to health. They were quite happy for a time, but inevitably, as all sailors do, he felt the call to return to the sea. He promised to return, and I believe he would have, had his next voyage not been as ill fated as the one that led them to each other.”

He felt Gwyn stiffen in his arm at this news. Azriel was a little shocked himself. She was half fae. What did that mean? She seemed to be just as susceptible to the sea’s magic as any other of her kind.

“Perhaps the cauldron knew that one day you would wish to leave the sea and gave you a mate to call you to your father’s home,” he looked almost sad as he said this and Azriel wondered again just what sort of relationship Gwyn had with the sea god.

“So I am to split my time between the land and the sea for the rest of my life? That doesn’t seem fair,” Gwyn asked softly. Azriel held her more tightly. He too was dreading having to sacrifice half of his time with his mate to the sea but he would sacrifice anything to have even that little time with her.

The sea god’s smile widened. “Years ago, when you and your sister were first born, your mother came to me and asked a favor…” Azriel stilled, feeling Gwyn do the same.

He had watched in awe as the sea god summoned the golden triton he was so often depicted with, the source of his power, and pointed the tips of its gleaming tines at Gwyn. Shimmering magic filled the air around them, glowing brighter and brighter until it was almost blinding. Gwyn gasped, clutching the arm around her waist and Azriel pulled her more firmly into his chest, blindly shielding them both with his wings until the light faded and they both stared down at…

Gwyn released a choked sound as she curled her knees up to her chest, lifting one pale foot out of the water. Her toes wiggled experimentally and she laughed, the sound vibrating in his soul like a bell.

The sea god explained that Gwyn’s mother had discovered when the twins were toddlers that they were able to move between land and sea at will and, after a particularly harrowing incident where Catrin had wandered from the shore of one of the islands and into a village on her own, and their mother had almost run out of time to find her before she was forced to return to the sea, she had come to him asking him to bind their power until they were both of age and better able to protect themselves. She had intended to tell them both of their heritage when they were ready and allow them to make the choice themselves to continue living as the oceanids did, or reclaim their ability to landwalk.

“You are still a child of the sea and will still need to return to these waters from time to time,” he told Gwyn with a pointed look. “But, you will have much more freedom to come and go as you please. And I hope you might occasionally decide to visit an old man now and again…”

The sea god’s eyes softened as Gwyn gave him a teary grin and nodded. “Thank you.”

“It is your birthright, my dear… but I wish you joy, Gwyneth.” His gaze shifted to Azriel who had been too stunned to move for most of the exchange. “Treat her well, Illyrian, or even your own gods will not save you from me.”

Swallowing hard, Azriel had nodded and sworn, “Like the treasure she is.”

Satisfied, the god had bade them farewell and disappeared into the dark depths below. Azriel had quickly wrapped Gwyn in his shirt and flown them back to the palace where he introduced her to his family as his mate and she had been welcomed by them all with open arms.

They had courted properly over the last few months as Gwyn became better acquainted with his home and found a place for herself amongst their court. Azriel had still opted to commission a house to be built on the island where he’d found her again, a place for them to be alone together, especially when Gwyn returned to the sea once a month for more than her daily swim. He had tried once to let her take him below but the inability to use his wings and the strange sensation of breathing underwater had unsettled him and so he contented himself with waiting for her on the shore of their island for her to return.

Finally, they had decided to consummate their bond in a small, intimate ceremony on a night his people deemed sacred, surrounded by their family and friends. After a lively Solstice dinner in which they were repeatedly, and obnoxiously toasted by their loved ones, Azriel had flown them out to the little cottage where they would spend the next month thoroughly consummating that bond.

He’d already taken her multiple times, but even still, his body and that tether in his soul, ached for more. He wondered, as he reached out and gently swept a lock of hair from her face, if he would ever have enough of her.

At his touch, Gwyn stirred, sighing as she blinked her luminescent eyes open and gave him a lazy, satisfied smile. She reached for him in the same moment he did her and they were once again lost to that strange melody that sang between their souls.

#gwynriel #don't mind me completely forgetting about the epilogue 😅

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rune-writes · 2 months

Text

Divine Lover of the Moon

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV

Word Count: 19.8K

Rating: T

Pairing: Oschon/Menphina

Summary: Once upon a time, there lived a wanderer whose only purpose was to collect tales from across the star. The tales he would then weave into songs as a source of comfort or entertainment for the people he meets. But when one such tale leads him deep into the woods where he encounters the beautiful Goddess of the Moon, the wanderer finds his world upended, and all that he knew - even his heart - are put to the test.

Notes: my fic written for @fauxlorexiv!! working on this has been such a blast! The accompanying artwork by the lovely @trarioven is embedded in the fic but can also be seen here.

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~

Legend tells of a man who once coveted the love of the Moon Goddess. Oschon the Wanderer, they call him, for being the first person to have successfully traversed and mapped the entire star, or so the story goes. Others claim that it was his aversion to remain in one place for too long that gave him the moniker. Armed with his bow and lute, Oschon would wander, listening to the people’s plight and breathing succor into their despairing hearts.

His tale began on the day of his parents’ death. An illness had overcome his village swiftly, his parents succumbing to it soon after the first signs of an affliction showed itself. The day his parents died, Oschon watched the village men cover them in white linen. They placed them in coffins and lowered them into the ground. A flurry of his mother’s beloved moonflowers took to the wind and landed on her coffin lid. When the men began shoveling earth back to fill in the hole, a part of him wanted to cry, but he remained silent, fingers clasped over his brother’s hand.

He was nine then, and his brother, Nald’thal, was eight.

Partings are ever a forlorn affair, his father once said, yet therein lies hope for a new encounter.

Of course, his father had spoken it upon watching travelers leave. He was always a lover of company. He would sit with them by their fires and listen to them talk of lofty peaks and monstrous seas. Their tales had always painted vivid pictures in young Oschon’s mind, and before he knew it, traveling to where the star would take him had become deeply ingrained in his heart. He’d told his father just that, that one day, he would take his father, mother, and brother to a voyage across the star; and once they’d walked the entire earth and beheld all the wonder it had to offer, they would come home where comfort and warmth awaited them.

The dream never had a chance to come to fruition when his parents left before their time. The moonflower brooch he had received from his mother became a lifeline he held on to. And so, on the day he came of age, Oschon decided to follow it through, bidding his friends, his brother, and his village farewell. Except, of course, his brother couldn't very well leave him alone, so after Nald’thal came of age, he followed in his brother’s footsteps, meeting him serendipitously in a village with Halone in tow.

“And what, pray tell, drove you to follow my brother?” Oschon asked her over a mug of ale after Nald’thal finished recounting his tale.

“Nald’thal needs protection,” Halone said in nonchalance, breaking bread and spreading butter across its surface. Under Oschon’s unyielding stare, she sighed and added, “The village is strong enough to fend itself, and I figure I might find worthier opponents by following you. You’ve always had a penchant for trouble.”

His incredulity was eclipsed by the honesty of Halone’s reply that it left him momentarily dazed. In fact, he realized he was more dumbfounded by the fact that it was indeed the response he had expected, set aside, and subsequently wondered if Halone had somehow mustered a desire outside of her lust for battle. No doubt the beasts back home had learned to cower and hide the moment she stepped into the hills. The prospect of encountering even more powerful creatures had probably been tempting enough; she might not have waited for Nald’thal to proffer the idea. Who knew how long she’d contemplated the thought? Oschon wouldn’t be surprised if the seeds had been sown since their early days of hunting together.

Oschon shifted his gaze to his brother, a man barely eighteen, who was already an accomplished trader by his own rights. He eyed Nald’thal shrewdly, knowing full well he was only there for the profit, if anything. Nald’thal had the decency not to return his gaze. Oschon sighed.

“Well,” he said, looking at his mug and the pale brown liquid sloshing inside. His heart lay in knots. He didn’t quite know how to feel to have companions at his side when he’d set out with the intention to travel alone. It shouldn’t be too bad, he thought. It would be just like back in the village, when the three of them would run around wreaking havoc or coming home from the forest covered in stinging cuts and bruises. His mother would glower while Rhalgr, Halone’s father and the village’s chief, would give a hearty laugh and slap them all on the back. But neither of them could ever forget the chilly smile he’d offered, promising a punishment harsher than anything their young minds could imagine. The memory brought a fresh pang to Oschon’s heart, so he cleared his throat, lifted his glass, and said, “To our fellowship.”

Halone and Nald’thal didn’t miss their beats, echoing Oschon’s sentiment and clinking their glasses together to what would be the dawn of their journey.

***

Ten summers came and went, during which Oschon and his companions had reaped a decent amount of reputation under their belts.

Halone became a fierce warrior, known for her luscious silvery hair and the gleaming spear she always carried by her side. Beasts upon mighty beasts fell on her feet, and though no man could match her prowess with the blade, she sought ever greater heights to hone her skill. And so did she wander, in search of ever more powerful opponents, to the aggravation of Nophica, the Goddess of Abundance, whom they’d met during their journey to the east.

Nald’thal grew into his role as a trader. He had already developed the eye and tongue required of a savvy merchant by the age of eighteen. Now, shortly after his twenty-eighth nameday, he had already pocketed the name of every influential merchant, ruler, and figure the realm over. It was not in his way to trick his customers or deal with bribery. Such was the reason how he had acquired so many loyal patrons.

Oschon, however, could not quite describe himself as having achieved anything worthwhile. His only desire was to learn of the star and its people, to fulfill the promise of his long-forgotten dream. Becoming a wandering minstrel had seemed like an appealing notion at the time. He would travel where the wind took him—be they towns, villages, or simply wilderness—and gather where people were wont to gather. Because where there were people, there were bound to be tales.

One such tale—though it was less of a tale and more of a rumor—told of a great prowling beast in the woods on the outskirts of a small village. “With eyes like twin crimson pools and a body of the blackest of nights,” the men of the village whispered. “The creature looks like the devil incarnate himself!” Except this was a beast, not a devil, with claws and fangs the length of a grown man’s arm that could easily cut through any who crossed its path. Oschon couldn’t confirm the veracity of the tale, as no one in the village had actually seen the beast, and those who had didn’t live to tell it. But the men’s gaunt faces were evidence enough. Something stalked those woods, frightening the villagers enough that no one had dared to step in it for the past several moons. It was only a matter of time before it took its hunting ground to the plain and the village itself.

Oschon looked at his companions and saw that Halone had already broken into a feral grin while his brother only shrugged and sighed, offering a little smile.

Halone stood from the log she was sitting on, reaching for her helmet. “Where did you say this creature was?”

“In the woods just north of here,” one of the men said hesitantly. He glanced at the others, then pointed a finger toward the northern gate. Even if they looked, the darkness didn’t yield much. There was no moon; the stars barely lit the steppe. Even the small fire failed to penetrate their surrounding gloom. But Halone smirked nonetheless.

“It’s a new moon tonight,” Oschon said, a futile warning, as his friend was already adjusting her helmet around her head.

“What of it?”

“With no light to illuminate our way, it would be folly to hunt a beast who could very well see in the dark. You’d step into its maws before you could even brandish your spear.”

Halone barked a laugh. She grabbed her spear leaning against the log she had been sitting on. “Is that fear I hear quivering in your voice? The Great Oschon, afraid to be mauled by a beast?”

“Not everyone has an unquenchable thirst for blood like you.”

Halone sniffed, but not taking the slightest offense, as she knew Oschon’s jibes were, at most, made in playful jest, as it was now, shown in the resigned upturn of his lips. She turned to the men by the fire.

“Should the beast be as great as you claim, I believe it might feed your village for a moon and a half, probably more,” she said. “My companion here will be more than happy to sort out the payment.” She cut a glance at Nald’thal, who dipped his head at the men. Oschon scoffed softly, though he smiled. Then Halone’s gaze shifted heavensward. Starlight shone on the hard lines of her face. “I need no light to hunt my prey, Oschon,” she said. “I pray it does not hinder you either.”

She was gone before Oschon could respond. He shared a half-amused look with his brother. The men, however, sat in nervous silence.

“Do save your concern,” Nald’thal said in an attempt to assuage their apprehension. “Halone is the best fighter in all the realms. No harm shall come to her.”

“Not while I have her back.” Oschon grabbed his quiver lying on the ground and affixed it to his back. Reaching for his bow, he rose to his feet. “Though whether or not she lets me is another matter. For all we know, she’d have felled the beast by the time I caught up to her.”

“Best get a move on then,” Nald’thal said.

Oschon lifted two fingers to his brow in farewell before following in Halone’s tail.

***

Even back in his village, Oschon was known to be one of the best trackers. He could easily read faded footprints, flattened blades of grass, and even the faint trace of aether in the air. No man or beast could avoid his senses for long. Such was the reason why Halone often asked him to tag along her hunting trips. However, as he stepped past the woods’ line of trees now, Oschon found that, for once, his knack for reading trails could not avail him. The trees stood abundantly close, silent like eerie shadows in the night. Their thick, dark boughs spread high and wide like a spider web of limbs. If what little starlight the heavens provided had lit his path toward the forest, now all was engulfed in a pressing darkness.

As though something was trying to keep him away.

Swallowing his sigh, Oschon reached out with his senses again, but try as he might, he could not find any traces of Halone’s aether. And not only her aether either—he could not sense another living being in the woods at all. Even the trees around him felt like cold imitations of their real selves. Oschon held out his hand and touched a nearby trunk. A faint warmth permeated from the bark. At least they were alive.

The thought brought both a surge of relief and a fresh wave of uneasiness. Whatever hid in these woods, it was not their average beast. For a creature to have created such a meticulous, isolated zone with an impeccable barrier that rendered one’s senses mute, they would have had to possess an impressive amount of magical prowess. Oschon couldn’t even find his way out, which made the notion that the barrier covered the entire forest all the more plausible. Reaching for his bow and nocking an arrow, he sent a silent prayer for Halone's safety before he ventured deeper.

The gloom grew ever more pressing the farther he went, so much so that it was easy to think only he existed in the world. Oschon pursed his lips at the familiar feeling. Some said it was the curse of a vagrant, to seek that which they could not attain. Some sought glory while others power; some ventured to the wilds to seek meaning to their lives. Oschon left his village to fulfill a dream. A simple enough goal, and yet each turn of the season had only left a growing pit at the bottom of his heart. Oschon didn’t remember when it started but now he often found himself staying up late past the time Nald’thal and Halone had retreated to their beds. He would find himself a patch of moonlight, sometimes with a mug of ale, other times accompanied with only his lute, and then he would gaze upwards. Always, the moon looked at him, its face round and full. Every night he would unfailingly tell the moon of how his days had gone—the people he had met, the tales he had come across. He would watch how it wax, then wane, then disappear for just a day, and when it returned, he would smile and say:

Welcome back, friend.

Something glimmered in the periphery of his vision. Oschon blinked. It didn’t seem to be a mirage because the light remained. He approached it cautiously, keeping his grip on his bow secure. The glow slowly penetrated the darkness and shapes of trees pulled themselves away from the shadows. Amidst twigs and gnarled roots, he found a fabric of shimmering stars.

Like the midnight sky. The thought unwittingly crossed his mind as he lifted the scarf in his hands. The silken fabric was soft to the touch, the color a deep indigo with a scatter of sparkling dots like starlight. Thin and weightless, yet he could feel the ripple of power across its gleaming surface.

The fabric had so entranced him that when the sound of splashing water broke the forest’s stillness, he jerked, arrow training at the source of the noise. Nothing was there but a pale silvery glow he noted from between the trees. Oschon narrowed his eyes.

A trap, most likely, but the hunter in him thought if he could only debilitate whatever it was emanating the glow, he could disperse the gloom and return his senses. Should it be their quarry, then that was a job well done. The question was: what if it was a different creature from their mark. Whatever the case, he knew he needed to put down the creature behind this barrier. So, putting aside his doubts, Oschon quietly made his way across the undergrowth.

He hid behind a tree a distance away from the edge. He would only have one shot. Oschon steadied his breath and closed his eyes, spreading out his senses wider. He found a trail of aether—finally. Except, it wasn’t merely a trail; he found an entire ocean of it, surging and undulating like waves threatening to wash over him, as though whatever creature hiding beyond these trees had gathered all the aether in the forest and kept it to himself. He tasted salt and the cool touch of ice.

He pulled his bowstring taut. Halone would not be able to best something with this colossal amount of aether, let alone him. Oschon’s throat bobbed in nervousness. One shot, he reminded himself. Steeling his heart, he trained his bow at the clearing—

—and then he froze.

The first thing Oschon noticed was the great, ebony wolf dozing on the bank of what looked to be a lake, its head resting on its large front paws. The second thing were the giggles—light and breathy with a melodious lilt to it.

“Llymlaen, look!”

The pristine water broke apart and two heads emerged. One, with her back to him, had a stream of blue hair down her back, obscuring any shape or size. The other, however, had the face of a resplendent goddess, facing her companion with a grin as bright as moonlight. Oschon stood, transfixed, as the woman brought her cupped hands and showed her friend a frog she had captured.

Oschon could count on one hand the moments he had been entranced by simple beauty, though such moments usually involved the rush of wind from atop lofty peaks or the gentle dapple of moonlight in tranquil nights. Yet this… iridescent woman, young and… not quite beautiful but pretty, and lovely, with hair a bright turquoise blue tumbling down her shoulders in twin tails and a playful glint in the silver of her eyes, took his breath away.

He didn’t quite know what happened then. When he recounted his tale later on, he swore he hadn’t made any sound—no breaking twigs or brushing against the undergrowth; Oschon didn’t even remember if he had breathed. But he did recall a dim glimmer on his chest, and the woman with the lovely face turned her gaze to meet his.

And then the world stilled.

His senses willed him to move, to run, because whoever—whatever—these people were would pin him to the tree with a stake to his heart in the blink of an eye. But Oschon’s feet were rooted to the spot. He couldn’t shift his eyes away from the young woman. A sweet frosty scent—familiar and nostalgic—came over his senses. He blinked, and the trance was broken.

“You—” the woman began.

A whip of a hand; a dagger cut through the air. Another glint from his chest and the dagger hit the tree bark several ilms from Oschon's face. A slit opened across his cheek; blood trickled down his face.

“Llymlaen!” She whirled at her friend.

But the older one, Llymlaen, paid her no heed. “Leave!” She didn’t scream. She barely said the word. But the blue-gray of Llymlaen’s eyes blazed like fire and Oschon found himself not wanting to tempt fate.

He backed a step, then another, his grip on his bow slackening. Oschon stumbled over his own feet before he turned and fled.

***

How he managed to find his way out, Oschon didn’t quite know, but as he ran past the trees and undergrowth, he realized the pressing gloom had dissipated, and he could hear the wind rustling through the leaves and the chirping of night insects. The forest was alive again, unlike the dead, desolate feeling it had before.

Oschon realized he was still holding onto the starry shawl halfway toward the exit. He slowed his pace, then thought he would rather not return to the lake again. Not when someone there was ready to kill him. He stashed the silk in his bag, then got on his way. Only, he then heard a distant triumphant cry and he remembered why he was there in the first place.

By the time he rendezvoused with Halone, the warrior had already felled the beast and was attempting to carry it on her back. A foolish attempt as, just like the villagers claimed, the creature was huge. Black as night, with crimson eyes and claws and fangs the length of a grown man's arm. It almost looked lupine—which brought to mind the midnight wolf he had seen before. Oschon shook his head.

Halone asked him what took him so long and what had happened to his cheek. When he didn’t offer a straight answer, she instead chided him for missing the fight. At least she hadn’t retained any injury, thank the gods. She would have found the beast while all was still dark. Halone confirmed that the darkness had suddenly lifted while she was fighting, so it had only taken a small effort on her part to deal the final blow.

Thoughts of the women he’d encountered threatened to breach into his mind, but he waved them away. Instead, he occupied himself with putting a levitating spell on the beast. He then carried it all the way back to the village.

Nald’thal was waiting for him along with the men who had shared the rumor with them. The men’s eyes lit up the moment they beheld the dead beast, while his brother’s face only held a satisfied smile. Nald’thal then made quick work of the beast, identifying the meat as edible while all other parts had no magical properties. The village chief, having heard of the commotion and their triumph over the monster that had haunted their woods, came out of his house to commend them for their deed. But their village was poor; they had no way to pay them. Nald’thal said as long as they could have several parts of the beast, that would be payment enough.

“It is almost midnight,” he said. “Let us retire and talk more of this after sunrise.”

They were offered lodgings at the chief’s home. As Halone and Nald’thal settled in their rented room, Oschon made his way out. He spotted stragglers still around the cut-up beast, reveling on its size now that it was dead. Oschon dipped his head as he passed them, then after a little wandering, found a quiet spot just outside the fences.

He sat on one of the boulders making up the outer barrier of the village. Had the moon been present, he would have gazed at it and confided his recent ordeals with it. He never expected an answer, just a place to unburden himself free from any judgment that would come with confiding in another human.

But there was no moon tonight. As he gazed at the star-studded sky, his eyes were inadvertently drawn to the brooch on his chest—the moonflower brooch he’d gotten from his mother that now fastened his cloak. He grazed the dull rim, the delicate round petals frozen in stone. If the beast had no magical prowess, did it mean the gloom really had been those women’s doing? There was also the issue of the shawl still hidden in his bag. He should return it, shouldn’t he?

“There you are.” Oschon glanced up at his brother’s approach. Nald’thal offered him an easy smile, took a seat next to him, and leaned back on his hands. He gazed at the sky. “It would’ve been a prettier night had the moon been present.”

Oschon chuckled under his breath and dropped his hand from his brooch. “What brings you here, Brother?”

“Halone said you arrived late.” Oschon felt his glance. “Did something happen?”

Oschon was silent for a while. “I believe the beast is the least of our worries.” He then told Nald’thal about the darkness that had enveloped the forest. Apparently Halone had informed him of it, but he hadn’t known about the other… entities Oschon encountered. When Oschon asked if he recalled Llymlaen, Nald’thal straightened his posture.

“The Sea Goddess?” he asked after a pause.

Fear gripped Oschon’s heart the moment his brother voiced his suspicions. The only deities he knew who resided on earth were Nophica and Llymlaen. But while Nophica had been warm and welcoming—he’d dealt with her when Halone almost killed one of her pets—stories of the stormy Llymlaen always managed to send shivers down his spine. Having been at the other end of her blade which would have pierced his skull had she not missed her mark only confirmed his fear.

“It seemed she and another… goddess… had been in the lake. I think they were the cause of the darkness. I know not why they created it. Or how long they would stay.”

Nald’thal pondered Oschon’s response. “You mean to say they might pose a threat.”

Oschon shrugged. He was more inclined to think they would return to wherever they came from soon enough. Nophica never quite left her grove as far as he knew. He reached into his bag and pulled the starlight scarf out.

“There is also this.”

Oschon heard his brother’s sharp intake of breath. “Theirs?”

“Possibly.”

“Why do you have it with you?”

“It was stranded on the ground. I forgot I was still holding it when I ran for my life.”

“You ran?”

Oschon frowned. “Would you have done differently had Llymlaen attempted to gut you with a knife?”

Nald’thal wouldn’t, both of them knew. Halone would be a different matter. Part of him was glad he didn’t have to regale her with the tale of how he had escaped a bloodthirsty goddess, but he figured he would have to tell her sooner or later.

“Return it,” Nald’thal said firmly.

“And risk my life again?”

“You’d risk all our lives if you keep holding onto it.”

He wasn’t wrong, though it didn’t stop Oschon from wincing inwardly. Hold on to it and be marked by Llymlaen, or return it and risk being killed there and then. But Nald’thal convinced him that the Sea Goddess would do no such thing. If it’d make Oschon feel safer, he could always take Halone with him.

And be mocked for running away? Oschon would rather brave the danger alone.

***

The next morning, Oschon apprised Halone of what had happened. True to character, she offered to come, no doubt to perhaps challenge Llymlaen as she had once challenged Nophica, so Oschon told her no. She made to protest, but Oschon turned to his brother and said that if he didn’t return by sundown, they were to search for him. Oschon then left his companions to sort through their quarry’s meat, pelt, claws, and fangs, and made his way back to the forest.

It took him half the time it had taken him the night before to reach the lake. It was empty; the water still and pristine, almost like a mirror in the way it reflected the sky and trees with perfect clarity. Oschon stepped as close as he dared to the water’s edge, then hollered: “Hello!” His own voice echoed back.

Oschon steeled his nerves then went on. “I wish to apologize for last night! And to return a scarf I found in the woods.”

Silence answered him. He traced the surge of aether he’d sensed the night before but nothing could be found. Had it all been his imagination? Yet the scarf in his hand was as real as the scar that still smarted on his cheek. He walked along the bank, then found the tree where he’d hidden himself. Sure enough, he spotted the crevice where Llymlaen’s dagger had burrowed deep.

As he wondered what he was supposed to do, his senses caught a familiar ripple of power. Oschon whirled around just as the air not ten yalms behind him shimmered. The dress appeared first, platinum-white and sparkling under the sun, hugging a petite body as her torso, arms and legs came into view, then finally her face. Ice-blue crystals draped down her shoulder and a sash of similar color wrapped around her waist. Her skin was pale and flawless; her hair, lustrous and silken, tied on both sides of her head and kept in place by a golden headdress.

She exuded a most reverent of auras, with waves upon waves of those sweet frosty aether rolling off of her. Her eyes shone silver and her mouth curved into a cold smile. A hazy glow shrouded her that seemed to be coming from inside her rather than outside.

For a long second, Oschon was back in the forest last night, transfixed and lost.

“There you are.” The goddess drawled, as though she had been waiting for him. She dropped from the back of her great, shaggy wolf without breaking her gracefulness. Then she held out her hand. “I’d like to have my scarf back, please.”

Her voice snapped him out of his trance; Oschon stumbled with his words. “Right, yes…” He fumbled with his bag, then with the drawstrings, somehow managing to get it to open. He drew the starlight shawl out to the open. Oschon vaguely sensed the goddess frowning but when he turned to face her again, she looked as impassive as ever.

“Here.” He placed the fabric on her outstretched palm. She snatched it and inspected it carefully. “The wind must have blown it away. I found it on the ground—” He made to turn and point, but a growl from the giant wolf stopped him. “I did not mean to take it.”

The goddess sniffed disdainfully. “A likely story, coming from someone who enjoyed peeking on women bathing.”

“I didn’t—” Oschon began, flushing fiercely.

“Of course not.” She gave the scarf a flap, then a satisfied nod, before wrapping the shawl around her shoulders. “Good thing Llymlaen isn’t here, or she would have gouged your eyes and fed them to her sharks.”

Oschon swallowed his nervousness. “Please, let me explain. I was here with my companion to hunt a beast that’s been sighted around the area. We got separated. Forgive me, I never meant to trespass.”

“A beast?” The goddess’s eyes went wide with surprise. It startled him to have elicited such a response from her. “What manner of beast?”

“A… wolf of some kind,” he said, rather hesitantly, then quickly added, “that’s been taking residence in the woods for a while. I doubt it was your hound, rest assured, please.”

“I see. Have you caught it then?”

Oschon wasn’t sure what to make of this change in attitude, but he replied nonetheless. “Aye, my companion found it while still blinded by the darkness—” There; the slight recognition of what he was referring to. “—so you see how I might have stumbled upon you accidentally.”

“Ah… Well…” The goddess trailed off, eyes shifting away. Then suddenly, she sighed. “Llymlaen, can we please stop? The human’s not at fault and I sorely hate acting like I’m angry.”

Oschon blinked. There was a pause, followed by a glint in the sky. Oschon shut his eyes as a trident flashed across the expanse and struck the ground ilms from where he stood. Wind whipped like a storm in the middle of a raging sea and Oschon tasted a tang of salt in the aether. He held his breath and willed his hammering heart to still. He heard the trident being lifted from its perch then felt the sharp tip of its blade graze the skin beneath his jaw. It turned his face upward. He opened his eyes to a countenance as beautiful and terrifying as a tempest.

“I should have gouged both of your eyes,” Llymlaen hissed.

Oschon fought against the tremble in his knees.

“Llymlaen!” the other goddess scolded. Llymlaen scoffed, nicked his skin, then stalked away. A thin trail of blood trickled down his neck. “I’m sorry. She means no harm.”

Oschon doubted it, but the goddess didn’t seem to pick up on his unease. She was already speaking nonstop.

“I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience I have caused you. The barrier was a safety measure to hide us from prying eyes. Of course it seemed you possessed some sort of knack at following trails more than most, so I could not entirely blame you for it. Not to mention you have your friend with you! Oh, I do hope they are alright—”

Oschon was taken aback by the sudden stream of words pouring out of the goddess’s lips. She spoke too fast about too many things with too little elaboration; it was hard for Oschon to keep up. She might not have stopped had Llymlaen not called her name.

“Ah, forgive me,” she said with a sheepish grin. “As I was saying, thank you for returning the scarf. I need it to return home, you see, and after realizing it was gone, Llymlaen almost hunted you down if I hadn’t asked her to wait. I knew you would’ve returned.”

That made him pause. “You…knew I would return?”

The goddess gasped with both hands delicately covering her mouth. “Ah, goodness, forgive me for not introducing myself.” She made an elegant swish of her knee-length dress, bent her knees, one ankle behind the other. “I am Menphina, Goddess of the Moon.” She rose from her curtsy and offered him a radiant smile as though that was enough for an answer. Although, now that he thought about it, perhaps it was. The starlight scarf and the soft glow surrounding herself should have given her away—or if not, she wore a full moon brooch on her shoulder that was pretty telling by itself. And yet never had he thought he would meet the Moon Goddess frolicking on earth, because the moon should have…

He recalled there had been no moon last night.

“And my companion there is Llymlaen, the Goddess of the Sea, as you might have surmised.” Menphina added with no regard to his befuddlement, half-turning to where Llymlaen was standing beside the hound.

He heard the clearing of a throat, then another warning: “Menphina.” Oschon caught a slight purse gracing the Moon Goddess’s lips.

“I thank you for bringing me back my scarf again, Oschon.” A pause. “I bid you well.”

How she knew his name—he didn’t know, nor had he the chance to ask, because by the time Oschon shook out of his trance, Menphina had already climbed atop her hound, who met Oschon’s searching gaze with a growl. “Hush, Dalamud,” the goddess said. She met Oschon’s eyes briefly before her eyes inadvertently fell to something on his chest.

Before Oschon had the chance to see what she was looking at, Llymlaen had already shot to the sky, Menphina and her hound following suit.

***

For the next several days, Oschon stayed in the village, helping Nald’thal and the village butchers to skin the beast and distribute the meat to all the villagers. Halone accompanied some of the men back to the woods as protection, and once they were quite certain all dangers were averted, the three of them decided to leave, with the rest of the beast parts packaged in magical containers ready to be sold or traded in the next town they visited.

Oschon didn’t apprise his companions of all that transpired in the woods, only that the goddesses were gone and the scarf along with them. Halone was still upset that she didn’t get a chance to cross blades with Llymlaen, and sometimes, the conversation turned to speculations on who the other goddess was. Oschon claimed the goddess didn’t introduce herself, and he couldn’t quite remember the scriptures as to guess who it might be. Halone called him daft while Nald’thal couldn’t believe him. But his brother never pressed him further, so Oschon left it at that.

One night, however, as they were settling at the inn of a small town, Nald’thal offered to have a drink in the yard. They’d made a hefty sum from selling the beast’s remains, and then trading the wares they’d collected since, but Oschon, for once, opted to stay indoors.

“Something occurred in those woods,” Nald’thal then said decisively. “Do you not notice the change too, Halone?”

Halone nodded. “Spill it, Oschon. You’ve gotten a lot quieter, and never once, in the past few weeks, have I seen you go on your nightly stalks with that brooding manner of yours. What happened?”

Oschon scowled and folded his arms. “For one, I do not brood,” he said, then added, “nor do I stalk.”

Halone scoffed. “Then were you being merry every time you drank under the moon?”

Oschon’s scowl deepened. Indeed, ever since Menphina revealed herself to him, coupled with the fact that she knew him by name, Oschon hadn’t stopped to grace the moon with his tales. He almost did, last week on the night of the full moon, strolling out of his tent to a patch of moonlight beyond their campsite as he usually did. Only, he made a double take at the last second and retreated back inside. He didn’t even spare the moon a glance. Oschon didn’t know why he was making a big deal out of it, nor why he hid her presence from his companions, but in the end, under Nald’thal and Halone’s scrutiny, he waved his hand and said they were imagining things.

By the next new moon, they arrived in a larger town where Nald’thal had a client who was waiting for the rest of their beast’s jarred, preserved organs. The sun had just dipped beneath the horizon, taking the last of its dying rays and leaving the world painted in black. Aether-infused lamps sprang to life, illuminating city streets and dark corners. While Oschon loved the wilderness, he couldn’t deny a city at night held a certain kind of alluring beauty to it. One wouldn’t even realize it was night at all, except by the streak of indigo sky caught between the rows of buildings.

Oschon was sitting outside the inn, polishing his bow and humming to himself, an empty dinner bowl on the table before him, when a familiar ripple shimmered in the air. He was on his feet instantly, an arrow trained at Menphina, who had materialized out of nowhere.

“Could you please point that elsewhere?” she said with an annoyed huff, a delicate finger pushing the tip of Oschon’s arrow to the side.

“Menphina.”

The goddess made flesh: silver eyes, sparkling dress, and the unmistakable glow beneath her porcelain skin. The only noted difference was that now the starlight scarf was securely wrapped around her shoulders, just like how she’d donned it right before she left the lake roughly two fortnights ago. No more chance of the wind picking it up, Oschon thought. For a moment, he found himself back in that clearing, spellbound as he’d beheld the Moon Goddess’s resplendence for the first time—a recollection that was cut short by the sight of a silvery glint and the sharp pain across his cheek.

He heard the murmurs first, then felt the wary glances. They pierced through the thin veil of his fascination, bringing his attention to his spectators. The inn’s patrons were looking at Menphina with both caution and captivation. The only consolation was the fact that there were only a few of them outside the inn that they couldn’t make any significant fuss. So Oschon did what he thought was best: he put his arrow back in its shaft then slung his bow across his back. Then he crossed the yard and asked Menphina to follow him—and for heavens’ sake, to dim her glow. From the corner of his eyes, Oschon saw the goddess tilting her head in confusion though she followed him without question. By the time they left the inn’s premises, her light had dissipated.

He took her to a deserted alleyway next to the inn. His only thought was to bring her far away from prying eyes. But his mind had strayed, fixed on the question of why she was there and turning up every possible answer that entered his head, that he hadn’t quite seen where he was going. It wasn’t until the goddess asked it herself—“Where are you taking me?”—that Oschon stopped and looked over his shoulder. Menphina’s gaze was clear, almost innocent-like. It almost made him forget she was an immortal being as old as the universe itself.

He cleared his throat, then turned around. “Forgive me,” he said, then, having decided to come directly with his query, added, “have I, perchance, done something else that acquired your ire?”

Menphina blinked, puzzled. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t believe the goddess of the moon would come to the star for no reason.”

Menphina cocked her head to the side, then lifted her face skyward. “It is a new moon. I do not see why I need a reason to visit the star when I have no duty that binds me to the sky.” It was Oschon’s turn to look perplexed. And then the goddess giggled. “Forgive me; I jest,” she said. “While yes, I am free to leave as I go during a new moon, perhaps I should say first that I came alone. Llymlaen isn’t here with me. Even Dalamud stayed behind. So be at ease, please. I only came to see you.”

Her gentle smile brought to mind the day he had returned her scarf. She’d known his name before he had introduced himself.

“Do you know me?” he asked.

“I am the warden of the moon,” she replied matter-of-factly. “It would be amiss of me if I do not know the name of the man who regales me with the most fascinating tales.”

His suspicions were right, then. Menphina had been there in all his brooding and stalking and silent ruminations. She’d listened to every tale and every heartfelt confession he had expressed after nightfall—even when he had nothing to say and would only sit in silence, letting his mind wander to memories he rarely treaded. If only the earth could swallow him whole…

How long had she been watching him?

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a scary, brooding face?” Cool fingers touched his forehead; Oschon sucked in a breath. “There,” she went on, “the wrinkles.” Her finger moved, smoothing his skin. For a moment, Oschon found himself gazing at the moon, cocooned as he often was in its soothing light. He felt the tension leave his shoulders, and Menphina smiled.

“After being subjected to the receiving end of Llymlaen’s wrath, I was afraid you’d been left frightened,” she went on as her fingers fell to the scar on his cheek, brushing the faint line there. His still-sensitive skin tingled. She finally retracted her hand, and Oschon could finally breathe again. “But you seem to be very much hale and whole. I am glad.”

He averted his gaze from her moonbeam smile. “I don’t suppose goddesses usually check up on mortals they’d terrorized.”

Menphina, however, met his remark—cutting or otherwise—with a delighted grin. “As a matter of fact, no. Which is why you should be proud that you receive a personal visit from yours truly.” She sounded haughty, looked haughty, but the glint in her eyes seemed to say that, again, this was all jest. Oschon didn’t quite know how to handle her, much more so when she suddenly asked to be shown around town.

As much as he would like to decline, Oschon found himself complying. He told himself he would rather not risk another goddess’s wrath, after having escaped the previous one by a hair’s breadth. Yet as he took Menphina out of the alley and back into the crowded street, he found himself rather enjoying her company.

Oschon wouldn’t have thought it for a goddess, but it seemed Menphina did have a childlike innocence about her. He noticed it in the way her eyes sparkle at lamps on the streets or the little baubles decorating storefronts. A group of street musicians held a performance in the square and she clapped her hands in rhythm. She walked with a skip in her step, her arms swinging on either side of her, as she took in the people coming and going all around her. And when a street vendor selling steamed buns caught her attention, the goddess squealed and bolted right towards it. Like a child, Oschon found himself thinking.

Apparently, his wasn’t the only attention Menphina had captured either. He noticed several passers-by glancing at her. Even the people queueing in front of the steamed bun vendor gave her curious glimpses. She might have dimmed her ethereal aura, but Oschon realized it wasn’t so easy to hide her foreign nature.

Oschon reached her side within several quick strides. In one smooth motion, he had unfastened his cloak and draped it over her shoulders. As he fastened it firmly before her chest and pulled the hood to cover her glistening hair, Oschon found that her silver eyes were fixed on him. He let go of her.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “for my impertinence. Just for the time being, until you leave.”

But Menphina didn’t seem to mind it. In fact, she pulled the hem closer around herself and smiled her moonlight smile. Oschon’s heart skipped a beat.

“This is a moonflower, is it not?” she later asked after they had gotten their steamed buns and were sitting a little ways away, in a slightly quieter spot at the square with benches set under the awning of trees. Heat rolled off their buns in tendrils. Menphina blew at it the way Oschon had shown her, carefully bit into the pastry, then brought her hand up to her cheek as her lips spread wide in a contented grin. “Ah, this is delicious!”

Oschon felt himself smile before he dug into his own bun. “Yes,” he replied, “that brooch is a moonflower.”

“I knew these round petals looked familiar,” she said. “I saw them once, long ago. An entire field of it. They always lit up under the moonlight.” Menphina brushed the rim of the brooch. It glimmered under her touch—which reminded him…

Had the brooch not glimmered also when Llymlaen attempted to attack him? He vaguely recalled a glint over his chest.

As though picking up on his thoughts, Menphina added, “Where did you get it from? I sense magical properties in it.”

Truthfully, the thought had never occurred to him. He’d never felt any of its sort from the brooch, yet there was no other explanation how he had survived Llymlaen’s dagger. The Sea Goddess couldn’t have missed, unless on purpose, and she had seemed to have enough indignation to gut him there and then. Menphina confirmed it as much, saying Llymlaen had never missed her mark. A new sense of dread overcame him, and with it, a new sense of appreciation for the brooch. His eyes dropped to the small ornament, so worn with time, having lived through a little over a score of summers. Yet it was as pristine as the day he’d gotten it.

“My mother gave it to me,” he said. “I… don’t know much about where she’d gotten it, but I remember my mother giving that to me just before she died. She said it would protect me.” His memory was rather fragmented; part of him had always thought it was a dream. But he knew what he saw: a moonless night, a figure in white, and her mother’s familiar smile.

“Your mother must have loved you so to gift you such a powerful parting gift.” Beside him, Menphina stared at his brooch with a faraway look on her face.

They finished their buns, and after throwing the wrappers away, spent the rest of the night walking around town. As the night grew darker, so did the crowd thinned. Lamps were dimmed and doors were locked. In a deserted corner of the town where a stream ran quietly down a canal, Menphina swept her gaze over the sleeping settlement. She stopped, then turned and unfastened the moonflower brooch from around herself.

“Thank you for entertaining me. It is not often I get to witness human life so closely, not one with proper companionship at least.” Her eyes crinkling with mirth, she returned the cloak to Oschon. All at once, the soft glow of the moon penetrated their surrounding darkness. She lingered for a while, then finally said, “I should take my leave. It is nice to finally meet you, Oschon.”

She turned her back to him, tilting her face upward. Her skin gleamed silver and her dress whipped in a non-existing wind. Oschon knew that the moment she left, he might not see her again. So in one compulsive moment, he blurted:

“Would you like to visit again?”

Menphina looked over her shoulder. Oschon dug his fingers into his cloak.

“The next new moon. In another town. I’ll show you other places.”

Her smile was as bright as the radiance that was slowly engulfing her. “I would like that.” And then she shot to the sky like a silver streak of a shooting star.

***

“I saw you with someone yesterday,” came Nald’thal’s probing question the next morning after Oschon finally joined them for breakfast. “Who was it?”

“Who was who?” Oschon asked.

His brother wrinkled his nose, then shared a not-quite-so-subtle glance with Halone. “He’s playing dumb.”

“Which means he has something to hide,” Halone said.

They turned scrutinizing gazes on him, and Oschon quickly wolfed the last of his bacon and coffee before placing his tab on the table. He left the inn ahead of them, claiming he’d found a job for them.

He would not tell them about Menphina. Ask him why, he couldn’t answer. At least, not yet. Perhaps one day he could tell them about her, but he doubted he would meet her again beyond their next promise, so he saw no reason why Nald’thal and Halone would need to know.

Oschon wasn’t lying when he said he’d found them a job. He’d met the man the day before prior to Menphina’s visit. Oschon had promised him that they would hear more about the job before deciding if they would accept it.

On his way to their potential employer, Oschon passed by a clothier that was opening up shop for the morning. A particularly pretty fabric hung at the store front, the color a soft arctic blue. He imagined Menphina donning a cloak in that color instead of the deep green he usually wore. Suppressing all doubts that cropped up in his mind, Oschon strode inside the shop and bought a length of the ice-blue fabric.

By the next new moon, he had finished commissioning the cloak he had planned to gift Menphina. He’d told himself it was better than having to lend her his—that blue suited the goddess better. He’d seen the finished product. He could just imagine it flowing down her shoulders, hiding her inherent glow while still maintaining her elegance. He had even gotten a snowflake button that matched the cloak’s soft color. Oschon wondered what kind of expression Menphina would make when she saw it, which made it all the more difficult to hide from both Nald’thal and Halone because a smile kept threatening to show on his face.

In fact, it was already difficult to throw them both off his trail when he set out to meet the goddess that evening. He didn’t know how Menphina would find him, but seeing as she had materialized out of thin air right outside the inn the last time, Oschon figured he would rather have their next meeting place be more inconspicuous. The back exit of the town he was visiting seemed like a good place—a mostly deserted area whose few guards were easily sent away after he told them of a drunken fight that had broken out in a nearby tavern. He checked his surroundings then, making sure no more stragglers were out in the open, before striding out the gates.

It didn’t take long for Menphina to appear. A glint in the sky, and then a burst of starlight. Oschon almost staggered in shock. He watched the light disperse to reveal a huge black paw, followed by a shaggy ebony head. Menphina, resplendent as ever, waved her hand from atop her hound.

“Were you waiting for me?” the goddess asked, finally breaking Oschon free from his speechless stupor. He shook himself, realized the great hound Dalamud was already sitting on his haunches just a few fulms away, then focused his gaze on the beaming goddess right in front of him who seemed to have no idea what sort of uproar her flashy appearance would have created had there been any other eyewitnesses besides him.

Oschon had hoped to present the cloak in a more gentlemanlike manner, but the towering dog grated on his nervousness. He half-unwrapped the paper bag containing her garb, pulled it free from its confinement, then threw the cloth around her shoulders, securing the snowflake button in front of her chest as he hissed under his breath, “Unless you have some way to make him smaller, I’m afraid we cannot take Dalamud inside!”

The hound growled and Oschon glared at him. Underneath the ice-blue hood, Menphina blinked. She shifted her gaze from Oschon to her hound then back again. Oschon knew he’d won the argument when she sighed and gave Dalamud an apologetic look.

“Forgive me, love.” She held out her hand and starlight began to ensconce Dalamud, diminishing his size until he was no bigger than a common wolf. Dalamud whined and sniffed in dejection, shaking and stretching his now-smaller legs. It was still impressive in form but nowhere near as imposing as before. Despite his uneasiness, Oschon couldn’t help but laugh. Dalamud glared at him and made to bark but even his ferociousness had abated somewhat too.

Perhaps now, everything could go according to his plan. Except, as he was about to lead Menphina inside, a figure standing at the gate stopped him short.

Two figures, more like…

“And who, pray tell, is this, Brother?” Nald’thal asked in a wary tone. Beside him, Halone seemed to be more interested in the goddess Oschon had inadvertently hidden from view.

‘No one’ would be his immediate answer, but the scrutiny on his brother’s face told him enough that he and Halone had seen the starlight and magick and Dalamud shrinking into his current size. Not to mention they had known about the blue fabric-turned-cloak he had purchased that now flowed from Menphina’s shoulders. Oschon pursed his lips—a last act of adamant refusal to divulge his secret—until Menphina tugged his shirt and gave him a silent nod. Oschon sighed.

He stepped aside and gestured to the goddess. “This is Menphina,” he said, then added in a quieter voice, “the Moon… Goddess.”

He might have preferred seeing them shocked, but Nald’thal’s lips were pressed thin while Halone’s blue eyes took on an excited gleam. Menphina, however, beamed brilliantly before dropping into another elegant curtsy. “A pleasure to meet the two of you. Oschon has told me a lot about you.”

Oschon averted his eyes from Nald’thal’s raised brow.

“So this is the other goddess from the lake?” Halone said, sauntering up to them. She bent down by the waist and examined the goddess’s face beneath the hood. The top of Menphina’s head barely reached Halone’s chin. “You’re rather small for one.”

“Halone!” Both Nald’thal and Oschon hissed, but Menphina only giggled.

“Would you say you’re adept in the art of combat?” Halone asked. Nald’thal and Oschon made to interject once more, but she ignored them completely. “I heard Oschon encountered the Goddess Llymlaen in the woods, but alas, I hadn’t the chance to meet her.” She threw an annoyed glance at Oschon, who responded with a frown. “What would you say to a bout of spar—”

“She’s not here to spar, Halone,” Oschon cut in, at the same moment as Menphina replied, “All right.”

Oschon stared incredulously at her, but the goddess only beamed innocently and said to Halone, “I would say I’m good at magick.” Halone smirked at him.

“Next time then,” he said, reluctantly with a sigh. He refused to give into Menphina’s meltingly sweet smile.

Nald’thal and Halone ended up tagging along. Oschon couldn’t say anything against it, not when Halone had completely captured Menphina’s attention. The two women were talking animatedly ahead of them while Oschon and Nald’thal followed closely behind, Dalamud never straying far from Menphina’s side. A few times he felt his brother’s glance. On Nald’thal’s fifth attempt to start a conversation and failing again, Oschon bit down on his frustration and said, “What is it, Brother?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what is happening here,” Nald’thal eventually said. “You told me that the deed was done—the scarf returned, the goddesses gone. Then what is this, Brother? Why in Gods’ names is the Warden of the Moon strolling in some ramshackle street dressed in a cloak from you? Do not tell me she still holds you responsible for taking her scarf, even after you returned it?”

Oschon had expected the string of questions as he had expected Nald’thal to come to such conclusions. He saw no need to correct him. “She wanted to see how humans live their lives, so she asked me to accompany her.”

“As payment for your crime?” Oschon didn’t reply. “Twice?” his brother pressed. He glanced at him, who clicked his tongue in annoyance. “I know she was the woman who was with you last month.” So Oschon saw no other recourse but to nod and shrug, hoping that was enough of an answer. No one could read a goddess’s mind. Even if he were paying for his crime, he doubted two acts of service would be enough to appease them. It might serve as an excuse should Menphina decide she would visit again, now that she and Halone had made some sort of promise.

Ahead of them, the two women were still engrossed in their conversation. Snippets of “lofty peaks” and “unruly beasts” reached his ears. Oschon furrowed his brows. Was Halone telling her about the Mythic Mountains? It had been on a whim. They’d been chasing some manner of beast Halone had been hunting, leading them to one of the highest mountains in the realm, when they’d then come across an abandoned hut and subsequently made it theirs. Oschon was made in charge of its upkeep. He had then put a self-cleaning spell on the building so that whenever they decided to return, it would still be in pristine condition.

Seeming to notice his gaze, Menphina turned her head and tilted her head, quirking a brow at him with a small smile. Heat flushed his cheeks. Unbeknownst to him, Nald’thal had noticed the exchange.

When they reached the town square, a merriment came out of an open door to their right. A tavern—their tavern. Or, at least, the tavern where Oschon usually spent his time performing. It was too late to draw Menphina’s attention elsewhere because then she’d asked. “Can we go there?”

No, they could not go there, but before Oschon could reply, Halone had already said that they could. He eyed his friend. What was this sisterly bond the warrior had immediately forged with the goddess? She noticed his frown. He bristled at her smirk.

So inside they went, finding the tavern packed from wall to wall. Unsurprisingly, as it was rush hour, although it seemed the crowd’s size was double the usual. All the patrons were involved in some kind of revelry, everyone singing as one to a melody performed on the stage. A part of him wished he could take Menphina to a quieter place, but the goddess was already joining the swarm of masses with sparkles in her eyes.

Oschon made to grab her hand, but he felt himself being jerked to the other direction. They pushed and pulled him through the throng, his name chanted in a sing-song sort of way, and before he knew it, he was on the wooden stool atop the wooden stage, a lute thrust upon his hands. “Play for us, Oschon!” a shout came from the back—a grinning barkeep at the counter. Oschon scowled.

He hadn’t wanted to enter the tavern for this very reason. It wasn’t supposed to be his work day, but the barkeep didn’t care about that now, did he? Nor, it seemed, did his companions, because a brief scan of the crowd showed Oschon a jolly Halone clapping alongside everyone. His scowl deepening, Oschon searched for the ice-blue cowl of Menphina and found her with Nald’thal along the side of the ro a little distance away from the stage. A sigh of relief escaped him. It seemed his brother had gotten her to a safer spot. Nald’thal whispered something to the goddess, who in turn gave him a solemn nod. They then turned their gazes to the stage—

—and an expectant look from Menphina was the last thing Oschon had expected to see.

He… couldn’t say no to that face. And so, reluctantly, he sat on the stool and brought his fingers to the strings, joining the band for five consecutive songs.

“That was marvelous!” Menphina exclaimed by the time Oschon joined them. The proprietor had cleared away a table for them, a little to the corner near the doorway. It seemed they had also gotten his permission to let Dalamud in because now the hound was sitting beside Menphina’s chair, spine straight in alert, his growl reverberating every time someone came too close to the goddess, including Oschon. Menphina scratched the back of Dalamud’s ear to calm him. “It really does feel different listening to it in person.”

“By ‘it’ you mean…?” Nald’thal asked.

“Oh, well, I often listen to him play during the night,” she replied nonchalantly. Oschon choked on his drink.

“Of course,” Nald’thal said as Halone patted Oschon’s back. “You would have been there every night…”

Oschon wished the earth would swallow him whole then if it would help him avoid the scrutiny with which his brother was looking at him. He could just hear Nald’thal berating him: so that’s why you stopped your moonlit strolls—which would then lead back to their previous conversation on why he was meeting the goddess in the first place if he had been avoiding her elsewhere. Oschon hated how his brother knew him so well.

“Well, not every night. He is not the only human I need to watch over,” Menphina said. “The night is dark and the light I emit can only illuminate so much. But I always try to be there from time to time. Which reminds me, Halone. I promised you a duel next time, but I fear I will not be able to come until the next new moon.”

“Why is that?”

“It is the only time I am free from duty. Although, I would very much like to spend more time with all of you. I cannot go past the next day, but perhaps… I might be able to come earlier.”

Oschon looked up at that. “Would that be possible?”

“I have not done it, but it should be, yes. As long as I return by the next morning, that is.” Her face brightened. “This has been fun. I would hate to know that I can only experience it during the night.”

***

Menphina didn’t stay long that night. After the tavern, they showed her more of the town’s specialities, which wasn’t much as most businesses had closed for the day. When it was time for her to leave, she attempted to return her cloak to Oschon, who told her to keep it as she would be visiting them again.

“Until next time, then,” she said.

“Until next time.”

After the goddess left, they returned to the inn where Nald’thal rounded on him and asked if “paying for his crimes” was truly all it was because the goddess had looked more than ready to visit them again. And there had been no animosity between them. In fact, Nald’thal had sensed otherwise. Oschon pointed out that this time, it was with Halone whom Menphina had made the promise. Halone had the gall to look uninterested. “I wouldn’t have pressed had the goddess said no,” she said.

Both of them knew that Halone would have pressed the goddess if not for a spar but for another visit so she’d have another chance asking for a duel. But that was neither here nor there, so instead, Oschon turned his attention to Nald’thal.

“What have you so ruffled, Brother? You’re not always this bothered.”

For several long heartbeats, they stared at each other. “What bothers me is the thought that you’re falling in love with her. Giving your heart to a divine being will only lead to ruin.”

Love?

Oschon wanted to scoff, yet as Nald’thal’s words sank in, Oschon couldn’t help the flutter in his chest which he quickly shut away. Surely what he felt for her could not be described as such—him, a mere human in the face of an ageless goddess. Fascination, perhaps? Or gratitude? For watching him even during his darkest of nights. And yet every time Menphina visited afterwards, a surge of excitement would bubble in his heart and his pulse would skip every time she threw her moonbeam smile at him.

Radiant—yes, that was the word. From the porcelain skin to her silvery eyes, her lustrous strands of bright cerulean hair. When she returned the next new moon and entertained Halone with a duel, they went to an empty plain astride Dalamud’s back and Menphina shed off the cloak he had given her. Her light simply illuminated the entire steppe that even the stars blinked out of existence. Any other man would have cowered in fear before the massive waves of aether, but Halone stood with her spear drawn out, mouth pulled back in a feral grin.

It was a sight to behold—Halone’s bladework against the might of Menphina’s magick. Light flashed as blade clashed against ice. When everything was over and done, one would think Halone to be sprawled on the ground, unconscious, but the woman had managed to hold her own against the onslaught of a goddess’s magick. If anything, that deserved its own commendation, and such was what Menphina offered with her squeals of delight and praises for Halone’s skills.

“Perhaps I should ask Llymlaen to come sometime,” she later mused, to which Oschon and Nald’thal profusely refused.

Her visits then grew frequent. Always on each new moon she came to wherever Oschon was staying. She had even begun visiting on other occasions, such as during eclipses, though her visits then were usually short. To make up for it, she began arriving during midday. She heeded Oschon’s words and arrived with less fashion, less flash. No more shooting stars atop enormous wolves. If Dalamud did come, she’d made sure to land in a well-shrouded area before shrinking his size and donning her cloak.

Every little mundane thing managed to grasp her interest one way or another. If she wasn’t watching children skipping rope or browsing the little trinkets on a vendor stall, she would stand in front of a bakery watching the bakers make bread. She basked in the trill of laughter and the everyday toll of a working man. Then when she came across an unsightly part of the human world, she would pause then drag Oschon to a wide area. Her little magick shows drew people to her and they would watch as her light put smiles on even the hardest of the men.

She truly loved humans, it seemed, and every time Oschon watched a contented smile bloom on her face, it made him feel that whatever this was—whatever it was he was doing with Menphina—seemed worthwhile.

Having her be part of their group gradually felt like the norm that Oschon never quite realized when Menphina started visiting outside of new moons and eclipses. It was Nald’thal who asked, because he had noticed that Dalamud wasn’t present.

“I have him guard the palace,” Menphina said matter-of-factly.

“Palace?” Halone asked.

For once, they were camping in the woods, Menphina having arrived shortly before sundown. They’d caught some fish and were now grilling them on their fire. Oschon offered one to Menphina, who accepted with a grateful nod. She blew away the heat and bit down on the flesh. Her elation and praise of the simple taste was so genuine that even Nald’thal—who had done most of the preparation—looked embarrassed.

“Yes, my palace on the moon,” she then replied, “as Llymlaen’s lie at the bottom of the seas and Nophica’s hide in the midst of mountains. As is my nature, my spires are built of ice, beautiful and intricate, but cold. Dalamud is my only companion.”

“Do the other gods or goddesses never visit each other the way you visit the star?” Halone asked again.

At that, Menphina paused. “Azeyma, warden of the sun, comes sometimes, but the sun is always rising, always moving. She could never leave her palace for long.” She made another lengthy pause, in which she bit into her grilled fish again. “And then perhaps there are Althyk and Nymeia—the Brother Time and Sister Fate as you might know them. But, again, those visits are rare and far in between.”

“I can’t imagine how lonely you must have felt,” Nald’thal said.

Menphina smiled. “Which is why I turn my attention to humans. They are such fascinating creatures. I could never be weary of them.” She finished her fish within a few mouthfuls. “But yes, to answer your question, the reason why I had to leave Dalamud behind was because he is my channel to the moon. I cannot quite leave it untended when I should be there lighting up the night.”

Oschon chanced a glance to the sky and indeed, he found the crescent moon—only, it wasn’t as bright as it should be. He’d thought the clouds were the cause of that, but perhaps…

His gaze shifted to Menphina, resplendent as ever beneath her blue cloak. She noticed his stare and grinned.

“Since I have told you about my home, will you not tell me yours? The village where you all grew up.”

“Have I not told you about it?” Oschon asked. He swore he could have mentioned it once or twice, but Menphina said he’d only ever told her about his parents passing when he was young. Perhaps he had never seen the need to regale her about it. He…had never liked thinking about his village—a place that held so many memories that he had since forsaken. He’d never quite felt like he fit in there.

Nald’thal, meanwhile, began telling her of their village on a pasture to the west of the realm. A small smithy village, whose residents either worked on the mines or learned smithing under Halone’s father. Halone took pride in her family’s craft, although she was never skilled at it. She’d joined the village’s watch instead after her battle prowess came to be known.

“Oschon was a troublemaker,” she said.

“I believe the two of you were,” Nald’thal countered. “Oschon would go exploring the wilds then come back battered and bruised, Halone in tow. Our mother would scold him all night long.”

“Not to mention her father,” Oschon added, referring to Rhalgr, Halone’s father, who had taken them in after their parents passed. A small smile tugging at the corners of his lips even as his heart made a little twinge of pain.

“And was there not a flower field nearby where we liked to play?” Halone added. “Moonflower was it? That brooch you have, the one your mother gave.”

“Ah, yes, I remember that.” He recalled the field, where small, round flowers bloomed as far as the eye could see, covering the entire land in a blanket of white.

Halone’s gaze grew dreamy. “I used to think that was the most beautiful place in the entire star.”

“But we left it some ten summers ago,” Nald’thal went on. “We’ve not been back since.”

“Do you not miss it?” Menphina asked.

“From time to time. But we still send word. And I will not deny that my journey with my brother has been exhilarating, and rewarding, to say the least.”

Oschon met his brother’s gaze, and Nald’thal offered him a rare smile.

“Then what about the cottage in the Mythic Mountains? Halone mentioned something about it,” Menphina asked Oschon.

That had its own different kind of beauty, he thought, with a sprawling landscape all around. Looking at Menphina, he decided he might as well show her rather than tell. “Would you like to see it?” he asked. Her beam was everything he could ask for.

Their next destination thus then decided, on Menphina’s next visit with Dalamud, they rode the hound’s back to the top of the highest peaks in all the realm—the Mythic Mountains, whose imposing summit pierced the clouds. When Dalamud landed on the outcropping that stretched over the cliff’s edge, the mist that usually shrouded the entire peak dispersed, revealing a small and modest cottage made of wood and enchanted in such a way to keep it clean, safe, and hidden from prying eyes. A large oaken tree lorded over the area, its gnarled roots cracking the earth and hugging the side of the cliff while its thick overhanging branches made dappled light dance on the ground.

“It’s so beautiful,” Menphina breathed into the cool air.

The world dipped and rose around them: valleys and hills and towering peaks all swathed in green vegetation. Steep cliffs dropped into the abyss as though once upon a time a divine hand had cut the earth into blocks and erected them in irregular intervals. Menphina dared a look over the outcropping and gasped when she could not find where the bottom lay. From somewhere in the distance, the roar of thunderous waterfalls reached their ears.

“Come,” Oschon said, holding out his hand for her to hold. He helped her step off the ledge then led her to their cottage. A protective rock wall shielded it from most of the howling wind.

They hadn’t been there for so long that when Halone opened the door, the air inside felt stiff. But Oschon’s spell had held; the place was mostly clean—the only sign the cottage was uninhabited were the dust motes floating in the air and a general isolated feeling it had accumulated. They had to make it a little more home-like so as they set to work, they let Menphina wander outside.

The sun was already setting by the time Oschon went outside to search for the goddess. He found her sitting on the bench under the oak tree, gazing absently at the distant horizon. She looked up when he called her name, her face breaking into a gentle smile. She patted the space beside her and Oschon hesitantly took his seat.

“What are your thoughts?” he dared ask.

“Hmm.” She pondered. Dalamud had taken his smaller wolf appearance, dozing on Menphina’s feet. He seemed to enjoy being this small now. “I’m thinking how wonderful this place is. So high, and so vast. You could almost see the entire world. I can see why you love it. But a part of me does wonder: does it not make you feel lonely?”

Oschon stared, speechless. He turned his gaze to the surrounding mountains and watched the sun sink low between two pointed peaks. In the distance, a silhouette of birds soared, crying and searching for prey. He had never thought about it—never felt it cross his mind. Every time he stood in this place, time had always stood still. It was easy to forget it existed—that an entire world existed outside this sprawl of mountains and waterfalls. And part of him thought that that was precisely what he sought—a sort of solace to be had that he could find nowhere else. A place where his heart was free to laugh and to cry. A home.

And yet…

“Forgive me for my presumption,” she said in his silence. “I only thought you might feel the way I do in my spire. But I only have Dalamud for a companion while you have such a lovely family waiting for you.”

“What are you trying to say, Menphina?”

The sun cast a golden hue on her smile. It should be impossible for her to be even more radiant than she already was, even with her usual glow dimmed and hidden inside her cloak. Yet there it was—her shine—illuminating brightly under the dying sun.

What bothers me is the thought that you’re falling in love with her.

“Will you play for me?” she asked.

He refused to admit Nald’thal was right, but even he couldn’t ignore how deep his feelings for her had grown. He should stop, back away and turn around before he let himself fall any further, but like the fool he was, he acquiesced to her request, picked up his lute, and plucked the strings.

The melody came to him unbidden. A familiar tune—one that had been dredged up from the depths of his memories along with the rest of his childhood recollections. Oschon played his father’s song, a ballad of love his father had once written and performed for his mother in that field of moonflowers. From the look on Menphina’s face, she seemed to recognize the melody. How—he didn’t bother to ask. But there was one thing he was now certain of: his heart yearned for her, the one person who saw him, and found him, and acknowledged the loneliness he hid even from himself.

She was the solace he’d sought. He didn’t know if he could ever turn back from it.

***

News of failing crops came to their attention one day during harvest season. It wasn’t the first time they’d heard of it. For the past few moons, uncanny occurrences had cropped up in various parts of the realm. The current rumors came from a village near the eastern end of the realm, where they came upon Nophica, who so rarely left the confines of her grove. Clad in a flowing silken dress, she held out her hand over a dying field, strengthening roots and invigorating the soil. Her amber hair glinted in the light.

She nodded her greeting at their approach. “A pleasure meeting you here.”

“A pleasure seeing you here,” Nald’thal replied. “What brings you out of your woods?”

“The villagers’ crops have not been doing well so I came to offer my help.” The goddess spoke lightly, but the setting sun cast light on her grim expression. Oschon dropped to his knees and grabbed a handful of the soil. Brittle. The lands on these parts should’ve been fertile. Nophica confirmed his thoughts as much when she finished her work—or, rather, put a pause on it—and said, “The soil has been acting odd. My magick could not reach it from my grove.”

Oschon felt her gaze discreetly fall on him, though when he attempted to meet it, Nophica was looking elsewhere.

“No matter how much the villagers work on it, their seeds won’t sprout,” she went on. “The ones that do would simply wither and die. I’ve done what I could to keep their crops alive, but what I could save were of much lesser quality.”

“How long has this been happening?” Nald’thal asked.

“For the past few moons. Probably longer.” Another pause. “There is a change in the aether current. Something draws it away from the soil.”

This time, he did feel Nophica’s gaze. He looked up, and indeed, the goddess’s mint-green eyes bore into him. It was only a moment, but he had felt the gravest of predicaments she was trying to convey, and he started to wonder if this was more than a simple matter with the soil.

“Animals that should be fertilizing the soil are nowhere to be seen. There is a shift in the cycle of rain and even the wind seems to have changed course.” Nophica turned to look at Halone. “Have you noticed how violent some of the beasts have become? Vicious.”

Halone nodded her affirmation.

“That may not correlate directly with the weakening soil, but we believe the disruption of aether is to be the cause of them.”

“And what, pray tell, is the cause of this disruption?” Oschon rose from his crouch. His heart hammered. He didn't like how Nophica had looked at him—how she was looking at him again.

“Each of us gods represent a certain element,” she began to say. “I govern over land while Llymlaen governs the sea; Azeyma rules the sun and Menphina the moon. We are bound by duty, and as such, bound to the place of our governance. That is how we maintain the balance of this star’s aether.

“Crossing to another domain is not impossible, though highly regulated, as even a shift of a god’s position could disturb the flow of aether. As such, Althyk, the father of time, and his sister, Nymeia, oversaw it all. They tend to overlook minor disruptions that could mend itself given time, but Menphina’s frequent visits to the star have upsetted the balance beyond natural mending.

“Now the current has changed. The soil loses its nourishment; beasts run rampant; and out on the sea, the tides have grown so restless that Llymlaen has to bring wayward fishermen home.”

“But that’s—Menphina would never—” Menphina would never do anything that could endanger the star. She loved the star and its residents too much. Oschon felt his throat close up. To blame such a thing on her!

“Was that why she looked troubled,” Nald’thal mused, “when we asked her about her visits.”

Oschon whirled at him, eyes flashing. “Are you siding with her?!”

“I side with you.” Nald’thal regarded him coolly. “If you’d not been lost in your affection for her, the thought would have occurred to you too had you spent even an ounce thinking what manner of consequence the presence of the Moon Goddess would have on the star when she should be up there lighting the moon.”

They glared at each other. Oschon then looked at Halone, someone else in their group who had formed a bond with Menphina, but the warrior looked away. Did she share Nald’thal’s sentiments then? Had they discussed it before just between themselves? Hypocrites! They’d enjoyed Menphina’s company as much as him.

Their silence stretched thin, charged and heavy. Nophica spoke calmly. “Menphina has always had a boundless love for humans, yet what she feels toward you seems to go beyond what is expected from a goddess. So much so that she would go as far as break her word with Althyk and heedlessly follow her heart, disregarding any consequences. And so I beseech you, Oschon, as a goddess of this star, will you not stop seeing Menphina?”

A muscle twitched along Oschon’s jaw. She was wrong. Menphina wasn’t at fault. Yet even as he thought so, he couldn’t find it in himself to deny Nophica’s claims. How long had Menphina been visiting him? A year? More? Under the dying sun, Oschon found it hard to breathe.

“Why must I be the one who stops her?” he said through the dryness of his throat. “She barged into my life. I never asked for it. If you want to save the star, do it yourself!”

His eyes flashing, he threw every last bit of venom and hot seething anger that he could muster at Nophica; consequences be damned. The goddess didn’t flinch. She only looked at him with that same sorrow lining her jade eyes. As if she truly was sorry.

Oschon’s breath hitched. His feet turned before his mind could follow. Nald’thal and Halone called his name but he hissed at them not to come.

The next day, Oschon refused to speak with both of his companions. They finished their business promptly, the trouble with soil and crops having been dealt with by Nophica herself. They didn’t see the goddess afterwards, but it was just as well. Oschon had nothing to say to her. He stood by what he said. He didn't believe Menphina to be the underlying cause of this unbalance in aether. Perhaps there were other reasons and those of the deities saw fit to put the blame on the obvious change that had occurred in the past year and a half—which was apparently him.

They left the village shortly after, Oschon trudging quietly behind his companions and giving only the barest minimum of responses when asked about their next destination. He vaguely heard Halone say “somewhere that's not here”, felt Nald’thal’s glance which he refused to meet. More whispered discussions, and then they decided to go to a bigger town where they might settle for a while and look for work. “And for someone to cool his head,” his brother said with a clipped voice. This time Oschon did glare into his back, only to find Nald’thal glaring back.

Their next town was a bustling port city where ships docked and sailed and merchants brought wares from all corners of the star. They’d been here often enough, though in previous occasions, they had been one of the traders crowding the marketplace. This time, they dismounted their steeds near the inn, booked separate rooms, and went their separate ways. Oschon sought solitude. He’d rather not have either of them speaking quietly behind his back of things he’d rather not hear, or to have his brother’s gaze constantly boring into him. He had heard their opinions loud and clear, and no he was not going to stop seeing Menphina.

Such were his thoughts when he left the inn, but as Oschon made his way through the bustling city, the everyday talks gradually seeped into his hearing.

“Good thing the ships made it in time,” a woman carrying groceries said. “I heard the sea’s been unpredictable lately, what’s with the moon going in and out all the time.”

Her companion nodded grimly. “It’s been so dark lately, people have stopped traveling at night. My husband’s not been out hunting either ‘cause of the attacks and accidents happening outside.”

“Good thing we have the moon out tonight.” The woman smiled at the sky. “I hope it finally stays.”

Listening to the two women’s conversation felt like lead weighing his heart. He wanted to scream that the moon was always there, that it was never truly “out”, only slightly dim, which would be the case on an overcast night anyway. He mulled the thought, running it over and over in his mind, rejecting the notion that a cloudy sky was not the same as an absent moon. Yet it was all everyone talked about.

On a deserted bridge in a quieter part of the town, Oschon leaned his arms against the wooden railing and watched the river flow beneath him. One or two men passed by carrying boxes and crates, but otherwise, the place was empty. He spotted the moon’s reflection, beautiful like a lopsided smile. Its soft, gentle glow bathed his back; warm and comforting.

She was there, yet so out of reach.

As though sensing his disquiet, the sky darkened. Oschon blinked. Clouds had moved to cover the reflection of the moon. He lifted his head just in time to see the silvery glow completely disappear, replaced by a glint in the encroaching darkness. He blinked again. It was no star. Indeed, just as the thought formed in his mind, the light shot down like a shooting star, but instead of heading to the far horizon, it was moving at full speed towards him. Oschon barely had time to react before the light softly landed in front of him, coalescing into the single iridescent form of a woman.

Menphina…

Clad in her white dress and the cloak Oschon had given her, the goddess shook the remaining moonlight from herself. And then her silver eyes met his, and her face blossomed into a smile.

Oschon couldn't help but stare. “Why are you—?”

“Here?” She finished his sentence. Her beam widened. “To see you, of course.”

And after Nophica told him not to.

At his silence, Menphina’s brows furrowed. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“Nothing—”

“Don’t lie.”

Oschon pursed his lips. He looked away. “I’m not.”

“I know you, Oschon. I know when you’re hiding something.” Menphina peered into his eyes. “Tell me.”

How was it that she had so much effect on him? Just the sight of her disarming gaze undid every dread and unease that had plagued him since meeting Nophica. He could almost forget everything the goddess had told him just to have this moment last.

Menphina urged him to speak, her mouth set into a little pout that made her look adorable. If only he could bottle her expressions and bring them with him on his travels.

Oschon masked the yearning in his heart with a quiet chuckle. “I can’t win against you, can I?” He paused, then said, “Something came up.”

“Something bad?”

“Something unpleasant.”

“Tell me.”

Oschon’s gaze wandered to the sky where dark clouds now hung as though waiting for rain. “Did you move the clouds to come see me?” he asked instead, half in jest, though judging by Menphina’s guilty expression, it seemed he had hit a mark.

“I can’t stay for very long, so I asked Llymlaen to move the clouds,” she admitted, pink tinging her cheeks. And after Llymlaen had to bring those fishermen back from being lost at sea.

“Why?” he asked. “Why do you keep coming to see me?”

Menphina didn’t answer immediately. When he chanced a glance, he glimpsed a flicker of emotion that froze him to the ground. A flicker, still, but telling enough, settling in the depths of her eyes as she looked at him squarely and said, “Because I want to be with you.”

Never had he thought he would hear those words uttered from Menphina’s mouth. Yearned for them, perhaps; dreamed of them—in all the time they had spent together, watching her smile and laugh and just be there beside him. But now she had uttered them, and Oschon found himself at a loss.

“You haven’t answered my question,” she said softly. “What is wrong?”

Oschon sealed his mouth. Could he tell her about this tingling warmth spreading from his stomach to the tips of fingers? In this very moment, he fought against an inherent urge to pull her into his arms and bury himself in her light.

Giving your heart to a divine being will only lead to ruin.

How right Nald’thal was.

Oschon cleared his throat and shifted his gaze away to the trees lining the river. Men were stringing decorations between the trunks, the tell-tale of an upcoming festival.

“Have you heard of the mid-autumn festival?” he asked. “There’ll be one here within a fortnight. It’ll have a huge bonfire with music and dancing and, of course, food to be shared all around.”

Menphina was silent. It took a while but she finally dragged her eyes from him and toward the trees.

“You’ll find the festivities last all night long.” He paused. “Would you like to come?”

She glanced at him. “Will you tell me what is bothering you then?”

Oschon swallowed past a lump in his throat. “I will.”

“Then I shall come.”

***

Oschon asked Menphina to come a few hours early. It would be a full moon that night; he didn’t want to take her away from her duty. Menphina, having pondered about it, said that it would be alright. She would think of something—which was precisely what Nophica had warned him about. Still, he couldn’t say anything against it. He wanted to see her one last time. Legend had it that if one were to profess their love for another under the full autumn moon, their love would be granted. It was a long shot, but if there was some way he could keep this bond he shared with Menphina, then perhaps, should they be parted, a day might come where he could find his way back to her.

However, when the day finally arrived and he waited for her a little outside of town, she never came. Oschon checked the sky, looked at the town gates in the distance, paced, but as the sun slowly dipped, he began to wonder if perhaps she wasn’t coming at all.

He returned to town and found the square already packed. He spotted Nald’thal in the perimeter, enjoying a glass of ale. Neither of them had addressed the issue with Menphina and Oschon hadn't told him about meeting her tonight; but it didn't matter now. She wasn't here.

Soon, the last tendrils of sunlight disappeared and the bonfire started. Musicians on the makeshift stage started their performance. People flocked to the stalls and tables where meals were served. Oschon couldn't quite stomach the idea of eating now. A gaping maw had formed at the pit of his stomach. Something was wrong.

He barely had the chance to form the thought when someone bumped into his back. He blinked out of his reverie, glancing back. A blue hood; a glimpse of turquoise hair. Menphina's round face peeked out from under a familiar cowl.

“Found you,” she said.

Oschon stared at her in horror. “What are you—?”

“Come.” She grabbed his hand and led him away just as the first cry of dismay broke from the crowd. What had been a fairly clear sky before was now shrouded in darkness. The moon had disappeared along with the stars. People bemoaned a coming of a storm, but Oschon knew better. It seemed Menphina did too, judging from her brisk pace. The festival couldn’t be held without her holding her fort in the sky. They were on borrowed time, but it didn’t matter to him. As long as she was here… As long as the moon was in front of him…

“I’m sorry but I can’t stay for long,” she said hurriedly. “I snuck away when Nymeia wasn’t looking and had Llymlaen help cover the moon for a while.” They stopped at the same bridge they had met the last time, then she turned around and faced him. “Now, you promised to tell me something.”

All was silent. All around, lanterns strung across the bridge swayed in the breeze, which Oschon noticed was slowly picking up. This was borrowed time. Menphina would have to leave soon so the festival could continue.

“Nophica told me,” he said, “about the disrupted aether.”

Menphina blinked. For once, the goddess looked shocked.

Oschon smiled wryly. “We can’t be together, can we?” He needed no answers, but please let him have this moment. If he could only confess his love; if she would reciprocate his feelings; then perhaps all was not lost. “Menphina, I—”

Before he could speak any further, a cry resounded across the heavens like a crackle of thunder. Menphina’s eyes flew open as a bolt of lightning struck the other side of the bridge. Instinctively, Oschon pulled Menphina behind him.

“Menphina,” a voice boomed from the pillar of fire, loud and commanding. The entire fabric of the star seemed to tremble with it. A woman stepped forward from the dissipating fire, clad in a blazing crimson dress. A gold headdress accented her flaming red hair. None of the descriptions Oschon had read of the Sun Goddess did any justice to the wildfire standing before him now. Bright, burning eyes glared at him—or, rather, at the person behind him.

“Menphina,” the voice spoke again, softer now, almost. “Come home.”

A tug at the back of his shirt; it was the first time he’d seen Menphina cower. “Go away, Azeyma! I’m not coming with you.”

Azeyma sighed. “Are you a fool? You know how sacred the harvest festival is! That it depends on the presence of the moon—your presence. You cannot neglect your duty now.”

Menphina tightened her fist on his back. “I promised Oschon I would see the festival with him. I would have come sooner had Nymeia not lock me in my palace.”

“Menphina!” Under the goddess’s reprimanding, reproachful glare, Menphina flinched and ducked her head lower. Azeyma held her gaze, then slowly shifted it to him. Oschon braced himself. “Mortal,” her booming voice said. “I believe Nophica has informed you of the consequences of your action.” Oschon gritted his teeth. At his silence, Azeyma’s voice sharpened. “Will you condemn this star?”

“No! Don’t you dare put the blame on him!” Menphina leaped from behind him and circled him around, arms spread wide as if to protect him from Azeyma. “It was my fault! All mine! I fell in love. I couldn’t stay away.” Her voice broke and it shredded Oschon’s heart to pieces. “Do not punish him.”

“Very well.” Azeyma waved her hand. Bright red coils appeared around Menphina. It slipped her out of her robe and pulled her away.

“Wait—” Oschon reached out his hand on impulse but he only grasped air.

“Our duty is to the star, sister,” the Sun Goddess went on, even as Menphina struggled against her restraints. “We cannot let anyone, not even ourselves, endanger it.”

“Don’t—Menphina!”

The last thing he saw was the wide-eyed fluster in Menphina’s silver eyes; and then they were gone, just as quick as they had arrived.

***

Menphina stopped coming.

Oschon had thought himself ready, but when the next new moon rolled by and for once his night wasn’t interrupted, he found himself outside the city, waiting for the goddess to appear. She never did. When he returned to the inn, Nald’thal was looking at him with so much sympathy, he felt his heart might burst. Perhaps, he thought, that would have been better.

He wasn’t entirely sure about the state of the aether, but everyday, the people of the city talked about how safe the roads had become now that the moon was out every night. Beast attacks were becoming less frequent, and out on the docks, the ship crews claimed that the seas had calmed. There was also the simple fact that the bright moon made their evenings all the lovelier. The festival had already passed, but Oschon swore the streets were more crowded than it had been before. It had only been a short while; did it truly have such an impact? Despite his misgivings, there was no denying that the people were happier having their moon back. Oschon, however, couldn’t force himself to join in the rapture.

The next day, Oschon told Halone he would leave. He needed time alone. Halone and Nald’thal would be alright by themselves.

“What about you?” Halone asked.

“I’ll travel,” Oschon said with a shrug. “The reason I left the village was to see the world in the first place.” The familiar words rolled off his tongue easily, but now he couldn’t help the odd taste as they left his mouth.

“Nald’thal wouldn't be happy.”

“Nald’thal will have to accept.”

Indeed, his brother had prepared a thorough counter argument as to why Oschon’s plan was folly. Oschon deflected, even when he knew some of the points his brother brought up were legitimate concerns.

“You’re running away, just like you did when you left the village.”

Oschon averted his gaze. “I’m not.”

“Yes you are, Brother. Do you think I don’t know what you seek? There is a gaping void in your heart—one you seek to fill. Even now your eyes are empty, as empty as they were the day we lost our parents. But you will not find the solace you seek in your adventures.”

A muscle twitched along Oschon’s jaw. He knew that. He hoisted his bag, grabbed his bow, then made for the door.

“You’ve noticed, haven’t you—the reason you stayed close to Menphina?” Oschon paused with his hand on the doorknob. “If you do not open your heart, you’ll never find peace.”

His heart constricted; Oschon turned the knob and pulled the door open. “Fare you well, Brother.” He let the door shut without a backward glance.

The seasons turned. Oschon found himself sailing to a neighboring continent, hopping from one city to the next like he had always done. He performed in taverns, listened to people's tales and weaved them into songs. It was easy to return to his routines, Oschon realized, though by the end of each night, he would seek refuge in his room and drink his bottles dry. He refused to spend the night outside where the heavens and all its denizens were for all to behold.

The first time he noticed a change in the sky, he was stepping outside an inn with his arms stretched over his head when a couple men’s remark on the brightness of the moon caught his hearing. He was about to pass it off as idle talk of “yes, the moon is so bright and beautiful, the goddess has blessed us with another wonderful night”, but one of them noted how it lacked its usual luster. That piqued Oschon’s curiosity. The sky had been clear as far as he knew. He stepped from under the inn’s awning then looked up. Indeed, no clouds marred the perfect blue-black expanse. Stars blinked in silver and gold. Then there, the moon, almost round but not quiet, and… The men were right. It wasn’t as bright.

“You reckon those moonless nights will return?” one of the men said to his friend.

“Doubt it, but you never know,” his friend answered.

They left, leaving Oschon to his own quiet ponderings.

He decided to leave it and not delve further. Perhaps it was only a trick of the night and the moon would be as it were tomorrow. But tomorrow came, and indeed, the sphere’s usual glow had dimmed. Oschon’s brows furrowed.

Was Menphina on the star again? The last time Oschon witnessed a dim moon on a clear, cloudless sky was when the goddess was channeling her aether through Dalamud from the star. Granted, it hadn’t been her full power, so the moon wouldn’t have been as bright. But if Menphina were here, surely he should’ve heard rumors about unruly beasts and rampaging seas again. Yet all was quiet. He asked traders, merchants, and travelers, and all claimed nothing out of the ordinary. It was odd.

With each passing day, Oschon’s heart grew restless. He scoured the realm for any signs of aether disturbance, but found that all was well. Then one day, he felt a tug—just a tiny twinge—in his heart, and for whatever reason, it drew his gaze westward.

Toward home.

Oschon’s jaws clenched. He hadn’t stepped foot on his home continent for almost two years. Would he find Menphina there? Was she waiting for him? He couldn’t help wondering why she hadn’t gone to him if she was here. Or perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. Perhaps Menphina wasn’t even there and something else caused the waning of the moon’s luminosity. Whatever the reason, Oschon knew it was time to return, so he turned his steed westward and headed home.

His first thought was to visit Nophica. The goddess should know something, and her grove wasn’t far from the eastern port city. The moment his ship landed, he steered his steed toward the mountains.

He had only been there once, when Nophica had called upon him after Halone almost struck her pet down: a massive, labyrinthian oaken grove where the trees grew hundreds of fulms tall, the width of each trunk spanned a score of people. Vines and branches formed such intricate archways that one would feel as though they were walking down ornate halls. The goddess’s elementals ruled over these woods. Oschon treaded carefully with only the help of a torch; no light—not even sunlight—could pierce through the thick foliage.

It was evening by the time he reached her chambers. There was an opening in the trees, foliage and shrubs that acted as curtains, and the sound of gurgling water that should mark the goddess’s personal spring. He dismounted his steed, then approached the leafy curtains.

“Nophica—” he began, but stopped short. A ripple in the aether warned him of two powerful beings in the clearing beyond. He recognized the fresh spring leaves as Nophica, but the other—hot, blazing fire—was something he had only sensed once before.

Azeyma.

Oschon hid behind a tree, his heart hammering. He heard voices, angry and panicked.

“—she will not stop! We have tried everything—I have tried everything—but she will not forsake him. Talk to her, Nophica, I beseech you. If this goes on, she will die.”

He heard a sob, then a pause; murmurs as Nophica said, “Calm yourself, Azeyma. We do not yet know what she hopes to achieve.”

“What else does she hope for by transferring her aether to the moon?” Azeyma seethed. “She plans to relinquish her godhood, and all for her love towards a mortal. She hopes that by diminishing her own aether, she would not disrupt the balance by being here. She hopes the aether she transfers would be enough to keep the moon lit up even after she is gone. But that is folly! What are we if not the accumulation of aether collected from prayers? The moment she drains herself, she will disappear, and once she is gone, the moon will not last for long.”

“What did you say?” Oschon, having heard enough, stepped out of his hiding place and slipped past the vine curtains. The two goddesses looked at him in a mixture of surprise and rage. He looked from Nophica to Azeyma. Angry tears welled within the Sun Goddess’ eyes. “What do you mean Menphina will die?”

Azeyma made to leap at him but Nophica held her back. “She’s dying because of you!”

“Azeyma!” Nophica reprimanded.

Azeyma ignored her. “She refuses to forget you. She refuses to let you go! And all for this…bond…you two share. The longer you keep her in your heart, the faster she will go!”

“Azeyma! Do not put the blame on him.” Nophica gave her a hard shake and a stern look. Azeyma pursed her lips, tears streaming down her face.

When Oschon found his voice, he spoke. “Is Menphina here, on the star?”

Nophica looked at him. “She has been for some time.” Then her gaze shifted upward, as though she could see the night sky beyond her thick foliage. “It does seem that her plan is working. I have not felt any disturbance throughout her stay.”

“Where is she?” he croaked.

It was Azeyma who answered, defeated and frustrated. “In a field of moonflowers.”

He knew where it was instantly. Without sparing another word, Oschon rushed out of the clearing, leaped into his steed, and steered him out of the woods, trusting on his senses and memory to lead him in the dark.

How could he have been so blind? Since the moment they first met, it had seemed that Menphina knew him. She’d known his name—knew things about him that even he tended to hide from himself. He had set it aside as the moon watching him constantly for the past ten or so years—or, as she had put it herself, the man who had regaled her with the most fascinating tales. But that hadn’t explained her fixation on his moonflower brooch, or the way she had recognized his father’s song, because try as he might, Oschon could not remember any time he might have accidentally played it, or hummed it, aloud. She would have to have watched him since all those years ago when time had been simpler, and happier.

It took him several days to reach his old village. The flower scents caught his senses first, then he looked around and found that he recognized the birch trees flanking the well-trodden road.

Home.

The word felt foreign yet familiar. He hadn’t been here for the past decade and a half and yet the familiarity struck him hard like lightning. He slowed his steed to a trot, then veered to the right where a break in the trees revealed an overgrown path. He remembered having taken it countless times in his childhood. Even after nightfall, Oschon could navigate the area purely based on memory.

The end of the tree line came into sight. Oschon pulled his steed to a stop and dismounted, looping the reins on a low, overhanging branch. He could already smell the blooms from here. Oschon took a deep, steadying breath. Patting his steed’s neck, he crossed the remaining distance between him and the edge of the forest and stepped out.

Blossoms, as far as he could see, covered the grassy expanse that spread far and beyond, dipping in slow, undulating hills until it reached the distant gray peaks. Shades of white and silver painted the land, illuminating under the moon’s gentle glow. They swayed in a breeze that slowly picked up, and like a hound bounding and welcoming its master home, it rushed at him with all its might, invisible fingers dragging at his skin and locks of hair, almost pushing him back a step.

Oschon closed his eyes and breathed in the sweet scent. He was home.

The only thing they’d mentioned to Menphina about this place was that it was somewhere he and the others had often played. But the field carried more memories than that. It was the place his father once met his mother, where he had played the love song with his lute and captured her heart; it was the place they were buried, where Oschon had made a little stone table before he left. It was also where he had cried, as a child, sitting on that jutting rock in the middle of the field, refusing to believe that his parents were gone. And then a figure in white had appeared—

—a figure, which now coalesced into the woman sitting where he had usually sat, resplendent in her impeccable dress, with skin as pale as porcelain and lustrous hair that gleamed in the night.

Menphina’s features twisted into a form of surprise. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he took a step forward, then another, and another. And then he was breaking into a run, and Menphina was standing in front of him, her arms spread out just as his limbs snaked around her, lifting her up and pulling her into a twirl. Her laughter lilted like music, a song of unbridled jubilance. He set her down and leaned his forehead against her, breathing her in. She was real.

Menphina cupped his cheek. “You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

All those early days after losing his parents, when Oschon had spent his spare time on this very rock, looking up at the moon—perhaps, even back then, a part of him had yearned for her. For a companion. For solace, or peace—comfort. To fill the void in his heart that had been left barren since his parents’ passing.

Oschon held her hand and brought his lips to the heel of her palm. “Azeyma came to me,” he said. Her surprise was transparent in the widening of her eyes. She made to pull away but Oschon tightened his hold. “She told me you’d forsake yourself.”

She yanked her hand free, then took a step back. Her glare could pierce through the hardest of ice. “This is the first time we met in years and that is what you say to me?”

“Menphina—”

“What did she say?”

Her gaze bore into him. Oschon never thought of hiding it from her. He took a steadying breath. “She said that you’re relinquishing your position as goddess, that you’re transferring your aether to the moon. To be here…” With him.

“And is that wrong? Is it so wrong to wish to be with the person you love?” Her eyes flashed.

“You’ll die, Menphina,” he said. “And you’ll take the moon with you, along with the star. Is that truly what you want?”

It pained him to hurt her, but she had to see it. She had to see that what she was doing was endangering the humans she claimed to love. Her love for one mortal could not outweigh her compassion for the star. Menphina averted her gaze, eyes hard and mouth trembling.

Moments passed in silence, in which a cool breeze from the mountain picked up loose petals from the ground. It danced between them. At last, the sharp edge of Menphina’s gaze softened and she sighed.

“Do you know how I came to know about this place?” she said. “I heard of flowers that bloom under the light of the moon. Isn't it nice knowing the immense gratitude humans have for you that they cultivate flowers in reverence to you?

“I asked Althyk once so I could come down to the star to witness these blooms. That was when I saw a boy. He came here with his friends and they grappled each other and fought with wooden swords. After a while, the boy broke away from his companions to inspect the blooms. I’d thought of stopping him when he started breaking the stems, but when I realized he was weaving a crown, I couldn’t help but watch. Then his mother came to pick him up, and he presented the crown to her. The smile on his face as his mother wore it was forever seared into my mind.

“I knew there was a limit to how often I could come, so whenever I could, I would, every new moon, hoping to see that smile and the gaiety of these children. Until one day I saw him alone and crying.” She looked at him then, and he realized the truth. “I approached him and asked him what was wrong. His parents had just died, entombed not far from here. I couldn’t quite bear to see him like that, so I sat with him and told him all about the wonders of the world and the stars beyond. And when someone came to pick him up, I plucked a flower for him and transformed it into a talisman in the hopes that should he ever find himself lost, it would remind him that he was never alone.”

Oschon touched the brooch on his cloak. He could never remember that night fully. All he knew was that a figure in white had sat with him throughout the night. The brooch was already in his possession the day after. The villagers then said it might have been his mother’s specter coming to give him her final farewell.

“So it was you,” he quietly said.

“It tore my heart every night I see you gaze at the moon,” Menphina went on. “Gone was the jovial boy who had laughed to his heart’s content. So when we finally met again, I couldn’t help my concern. I wanted to see how you were truly faring.” She dropped her gaze, her voice growing soft. “I never would have thought that spending time with you would have me utterly bewitched. I cannot think of a life without you.”

Her words hung in the air between them. Silence ticked by. The moon was barely visible beyond the clouds, like a thin silver bow, its glow barely enough to light the sky. Oschon gazed at it forlornly.

“If I could, I would leave this mortal realm and join you on the moon,” he said. “But I can’t, nor would you be happy with that arrangement. But should you renounce your godhood, so would you forsake your immortality, and then death will take you.” Menphina didn’t object. His eyes softened despite the tightness in his throat. He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “And I do not want for us to unite only for you to leave in the most devastating way. Could we not go back to how we once were? You love the star too much to simply abandon it.”

“I would. For you.”

“You would,” he agreed, “and it would destroy you.” Oschon stepped closer and took her hands in his. He turned her palms upward and gazed at the lines so much like his, tracing them where they intersect one another. Would that things were different. “And it would shatter me to see you broken.”

Menphina’s breath shuddered. A quiet sob escaped her lips. “And what of you?” she asked. “Even in the time we have been apart, you have closed your heart once again.”

“As my father used to say… Partings are ever a forlorn affair, yet therein lies hope for a new encounter. For starters, perhaps it is time I return home.” He smiled at her, then drew her attention to the brooch on his collar—a steadfast, loyal companion, if he ever had one. “And I have your gift with me. I will never be alone.”

The sob finally overtaking her body, Menphina flung her arms around his shoulders. “I would’ve shared one lifetime with you, Oschon.” The last threads of her stubbornness crumbling, Menphina sobbed into his arms. “I love you.”

Oschon’s hold tightened. He buried his face in her hair, soft and silky, and warm. Familiar. “Thank you for being there for me.”

***

After sending Menphina off, Oschon stayed in the field for a while. He sat with his back to the jutting rock, one knee drawn to his chest. If he let his mind wander, he could recall the moment he’d received the moonflower brooch—or talisman, as Menphina had called it. The specter had come from the woods. He’d thought it was his mother. He’d been so happy; he’d let himself ramble on and on. And when the night grew deeper and his eyes heavier, he’d lean on her shoulder, her soft and silky hair covering him like a curtain, smelling of ice and frost. In hindsight, he should have known it hadn’t been his mother, but after waking up in his house the next morning, he’d merely thought it a dream. Except for the talisman in his hand that had proven otherwise.

For the first time in fifteen years, Oschon found himself home. Halone’s father, Rhalgr, was still head of the village it seemed. He clasped Oschon’s shoulder, while his son, Byregot, slapped him on his back. They didn’t show it but Oschon caught tears in their eyes. Not visiting or sending any word was no way for a son—even a foster son—to act, and perhaps that had been one of his reasons for staying away. But he had promised Menphina. He would not run away.

Halone and Nald’thal had returned home a few moons ago. When they entered the house and saw a teary-eyed Rhalgr and Byregot, they froze, and subsequently tackled Oschon to the ground. Halone made him promise never to disappear again. Nald’thal only glared quietly with his arms folded. Oschon, still pinned on the floor, lowered his eyes and asked for forgiveness. His brother didn’t say anything, until at last he told Halone to let Oschon go.

“Are you forgiving him that easily?” she said, indignant.

Nald’thal only offered his hand to Oschon, who grasped it and pushed himself off the floor.

Later that night, he told his former companions about Menphina. As expected, they couldn’t quite hide their shock. Perhaps, had it been someone else’s story, Oschon would be surprised too that a deity would risk so much.

“So she’s the one who gave you that brooch,” Halone said.

“What happens now?” Nald’thal asked.

Oschon didn’t quite know what happened now. “Life goes on, I guess,” he replied. “And with every parting comes a new encounter.”

As though agreeing with him, the flower brooch glimmered, like a faint trace of moonlight along the carvings.

Perhaps a day would come when he could meet Menphina again. The thought brought a smile to his lips.

~ END ~

#ffxiv #ff14 #oschon #menphina #oschon x menphina #menphina x oschon #nald'thal #halone #nophica #llymlaen #azeyma #the twelve #fantastic fauxlore #all the twelve makes an appearance #(somewhat XD im missing someone i know im sorry jsdfjj XDDD)#fanfiction #ff fanfic #ff14 fanfic #final fantasy xiv

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thecameronchronicles · 1 year

Text

Tough Love

TW: Extreme angst. Actions of an eating disorder. Body image issues. Language. Smut.

SUMMARY: Topper forces you to find the beauty within yourself.

WORD COUNT: 2700

*ORIGINAL CONCEPT*

Tough Love

You didn't think anybody would notice and that is what made this so easy. To slip away between entree and dessert, all to relieve the contents that weighed down your guilt. As mundane conversation came through each forced bite, your mind focused on appearing "normal" until you would be able to "work off" the calories that next day. The math spun every thought until each one returned to the work you would need to put in on that treadmill within your mom's home gym. Yes, you thought nobody noticed since you were just some Kook's little sister.

But he noticed…

It was the third time you'd gotten up from the table, a bit lighter in your step with each return as you mended your breath with a new mint. Even if he wasn't aware of the details of what it was you had done each time you left, he read your expression and its silent peril.

The bitter rot of bile stained your mouth as you held yourself over the porcelain latrine, preparing another piece of gum from its wrapper. But the brand blurred in your eyes as you were dangerously dizzy. One too many trips your fingers made in a voyage against your gag reflex as you endured the result of it now. But even through the spell came the reminder it was temporary to remain as one with the crowd surrounding you of perfect physiques.

Stabilizing yourself over the sink, you washed out your mouth with water before placing a mint into your mouth. And then another. The faint taste of sugar made you nearly moan as you craved sustenance that would remain long enough to benefit your body. But you craved to fit in with the crowd your brother teased pitied your existence, just a bit more.

"Watch it!" A girl spoke over your shoulder as you were too busy focusing on setting one foot in front of the other to notice this display. Instead, you left the bathroom, colliding into a hard physique. It took only a minute for your eyes to find his, but from the second they did, he read the jeopardy you were in.

"What are you doing? You're not going anywhere…" He turned to face the table of your friends, calling towards your brother as you could feel gravity tempt you with her promising carelessness. Your hands wrapped in his collar.

"Please don't…" Everything went dark and cold, your body taken in his grace as he escorted you from the country club.

When you awoke, you were quick to notice how you weren't in your normal sheets. The same ones you found to greet you every morning had been altered for a slate gray and a faint smell of a familiar cologne.

"Topper…" You nearly jumped out of your own skin as you threw a hand to your chest. "You scared me-"

"Then we're even…" Your eyes narrowed as you rubbed your eyes, careless to how you just appeared to him by now.

"For what?"

"You fainted…"

"Must have gotten too hot…" You evaded his sharp gaze, the same one that made you nervous whenever you were around him. One that never allowed you comfort as his cool irises held power to seer through you.

"You and I both know that's not it."

"I drank a bit, okay?"

He sat closer to you on the bed, close enough to reach out and capture you if necessary.

"I was watching you all night, you didn't take a sip."

"You…were watching me?"

"How long have you been doing this?"

You looked at the clock. "I guess about ten hours…"

He spoke your name without the slightest hint of humor.

"Top, why do you even care? I'm my brother's problem, right?"

"You asked me not to get him. So I'm giving you one chance to be honest with me."

But instead, you tossed his sheets aside and glared at him when realizing you were wearing one of his shirts. An old tee from a band no longer relevant, but one that made it clear it was not one of your own possessions.

"What the hell?!"

"You aren't leaving…"

You were now annoyed as you moved past him. He allowed you to travel only a handful of feet before taking hold of your wrist.

"Why are you doing it?"

"Because I want to go home!"

"I mean the bulimia!" The word suddenly sounded so ugly out loud. You already knew what he must think of you.

Weak. Ignorant. Immature.

"I'm not-"

"I've seen enough of my grandpa's trophy wives to know the signs. I'm just sorry I didn't see it sooner-"

"Why do you even care?!"

"Because I do…"

"Because I'm an obligation. Right? The little sister to your friend…and you're a good guy and I thank you for all of…" You turned to the bed before turning back towards him, "This…but I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

"Let me go."

"Not until you know…"

"Know what?" He forced you into his chest, the force itself making you gasp.

"Just how fucking beautiful you are." He was angry, but with such sweet words that pulled your guard down.

"And we're gonna start…" He walked you back towards the bed, surprising you with a push that forced you flat upon your back.

"Here…" He held your hands above your head and teased your lips, but pressed the tempting part onto your forehead.

"You're smart, but apparently not enough to know how stupid and dangerous it is…"

"Top-" You shuffled beneath him as he only pinned you harder.

"I know there isn't a guy on this island that has given you the attention you deserve…But that's because I wouldn't let them." Your eyes narrowed.

"You aren't my friend's little sister…you're a woman. A woman who deserves to be cherished…" He kissed your cheek. "And reminded of her worth." He kissed your other cheek.

"Topper…" He softened his grip but doubled down on his intimidating eyes, ones that held sorrow in place of sole lust.

"I wanted to be the first, so I made sure I was…"

"What does that mean?"

He paused for a second, kissing your neck as he spoke.

"Kelce wanted to ask you out the summer you moved here. Rafe the year after that. Even that fucking pogue. There was that kid that Midsummers and the one at the bonfire that you have your number to and your phone-"

"Went missing…" You answered for him.

"You sabotaged my love life?!"

"It would have hardly have been love…they just wanted to fuck you…"

"And what you want is what?" He didn't falter for a moment. Not an evading gaze or worried fumble of speech.

"To love you…" He quieted any response by the soft contact of his lips. Your hands fought his grip for a moment as you wanted to push him away. To be angry at him for the nights you cried in your pillow at the thought that nobody liked you. But the minute you felt that anger reach a fever pitch, the heat of his kiss would replace that. A soft touch to your cheek and a readjustment of his body having explained he desired your comfort above his own.

"Where was I?" He asked a rhetorical question before kissing your nose and cheeks before returning to your lips. A deeper kiss tracing your bottom lip as his hands teased your ribs, enough to feel the tension of his body in relief of a breath when making this contact.

"I always wondered what it would be like to kiss you, but…damn…I think I'm already addicted…" Your eyes rolled softly as his lips continued to your jaw and down your neck.

"You always smell so sweet…" His tongue ran the pulse point beneath your jaw as you moaned for him. The vibration made him smirk into you as he continued down your neck.

"You have the sweetest voice…softest skin…always tempting and taunting me." You blushed as he brushed his hands over your breasts before taking hold of your cheeks again.

"I'll stop-"

"No!" He grinned as your cheeks worsened in their crimson coloring.

"I mean…"

"I was hoping you'd say that…" But as his fingers played with the hem to your top, you became uncomfortable. The natural stretch marks had become traced by his fingertips as you hesitated to breathe.

"Can we…" You moved towards the curtains as he climbed off of you. But instead of closing them, he forced them open wider.

"Topper!"

"I want to see all of you…" He moved back to you, more or so forcing the fabric over your head and resuming his parade of purposeful kisses.

"Perfect…" He spoke between your breasts, holding them with either hand as he continued lower still. But as he came closer to your hips, your eyes moved in any other direction. Similar to a queasy patient giving blood, you looked away. But his withdrawal made you focus on him again.

"Hey…If you don't want this, we don't have to do anything…"

"I do…I just…"

"The deal is that I get all of you…or nothing…" He traced his bottom lip over your navel.

"Please don't let it be nothing." He kissed the areas in which you were most self conscious as he continued down your stomach.

His nose traced your skin as he continued even lower, until the lines of your panties traced his bottom lip. His hot breath chilling your skin.

"I love these hips…watching them…perfect to hold on to…" But as you found comfort in his words, he thrust your panties until you were left in only your bra. Your arms quick to cover and knees swift to join as he kept you apart.

"Don't hide from me…I won't let you…" He kissed into your sex, your body reacting sharply to him.

"Please, Topper…the curtains."

"You don't worry about anybody else. I'm going to take care of you now…only me…" he kept his eyes to you as he allowed his tongue to your clit. One single lick, slow and steady pulling your eyes to roll.

"Keep those eyes open for me, baby, I want you to see you're worth almost drowning for…" He set an immediate steady pace between your thighs, a slow tongue thorough enough to send your fingers through his hair and your toes into a curl. Once he understood your body enough to know each reaction, you had both legs set over either shoulder.

"This is perfect. So wet. So sweet…" He sucked on his fingers before setting one at your entrance. "Eyes to me…focus on me." Your lips parted as your eyes threatened to close with the flutter he allowed.

"Mmm…"

"Tight…so tight…" His lips parted as you nodded.

"I've kissed almost every inch of your body…reminding you how beautiful you are and every reason I want you…" He looked down to the space between you before removing his shirt.

"So you can understand why I'm not gonna wait anymore…but not until you say it…"

"Say what?"

"That you want this…that you know what it means.." Your eyes flashed to the side.

"That it means you're gonna know how beautiful you are when you feel everytime I thrust between these thighs…every flex of my cock and breath to your neck. Every kiss and moan…every fucking thing is because I need to. Because I want to…" He took his cock's head to your split.

"Because I love you-" His words, heavy, were enough of a distraction from his vulnerable you fell.

"You don't have to say it back, but just say yes. Stop torturing me, baby and just say yes…please…I'm fucking throbbing here…"

"Yes…yes-" You were interrupted by the sudden insertion of his head. But he slowed himself inside until he bottomed out. The stretch leaving you a mess already as he smirked.

"Shit…"

"I'm sorry…"

"Why?"

"I'm not as…experienced…"

"I don't want you to be. I want you," He began to thrust, your body lifted just enough to no longer hang off the edge of the bed, "To know my body inside of you. Fingers. Tongue. Me. And I want to be the only one to make you come…even when you're alone…I want you to take those fingers and touch yourself just like I did, whimpering my name and thinking of this…coming to this…"

"Topper…" You whimpered.

"Knowing it's because I love you. Because you're beautiful." He winced for a moment, fisting the sheets beneath you.

"Because you're mine." Silence now filled the space as you were pulled against him. Your bodies writhing in perspiration and desire as pleasure blossomed in the space joining both your hips. Electric sensations and toe curling need presenting the return to whimpers and moans alike until he made you jump with the slam set into the sheets beside you.

"Fuck! You're gonna kill me with how good you feel…"

"Please Topper…"

"Do you want me to stop?" He slowed as you shook your head.

"Please no…don't…oh God…" He grinned before falling into your shoulder. His hair loose before his forehead as it stuck between your skins and his own as he kissed up to your neck and back to your lips.

"I can't take much more…I have to come…fuck…"

"Please…"

"Where?"

"Where?" You asked in almost horror.

"Where do you want me to?"

"Inside…" His eyes widened as you felt him flex inside of you.

"Baby, I'm not wearing anything."

"It's okay…I'm protected…" you signaled to your arm, explaining the contraceptive.

"You sure?"

"Please…you feel so good…"

"Only if you're sure…" He directed you to focus onto him.

"I…I love you, Top, I'm sure…" He smiled softly, kissing you, but not quickening. Instead, he altered your position.

"I need you closer…" He positioned himself behind you as your legs intertwined with his own. Your body was dipped forward enough to reinsert his shaft inside of you before he then began a slow pace. Somehow the angle was sharper and deeper, making all the difference to your blaring insecurities. A hand to your breast keeping you close to him and another on your clit was his own stability as you moved in reaction to him.

"I want to know it feels good…don't be quiet…"

"But…"

"Nobody can hear you. But I need to…you sound so good with me so deep…"

"Topper…"

"Say it again…"

"Topper!"

"No, baby" He chuckled, "That you love me…"

"I love you…I love you…" You spoke the first echo and rasped the one they followed as he quickened himself inside of you.

His body possessed at your back yet somehow still so soft enough to keep you as his prime concern. His teeth bared at your back as he fell into you completely, this angle a favorite for you both as you tightened to each other. A rush of ecstasy plaguing you both as you relied on the grip of each other to survive the unbearable rush of pleasure that stained the sheets beneath you.

"Baby…"

But to his words, he could hear you sniffle. The sudden pleasure and your emotions battling with the latter proving victorious.

"Shit…did I hurt you?"

"No…it…it felt so good and…it was…intense…"

"It's okay…come here…" He pressed you up into his chest as you cradled around him. He pulled the sheets to cover you while his hands remained on your naked skin.

"I know it isn't going to be easy…" he explained as he traced your skin.

"But I promise you, you aren't gonna be alone, okay? And we're going to start with breakfast-"

"Topper…" You were quick to rise.

"I need you to not faint on me again. Or I can't make you come again…and I really don't want to deprive myself of that…but I promise we'll start slow. With everything…" He pressed his forehead into yours.

"I just need you to trust me, okay?"

You slowly nodded, aware of the long road ahead, but willing to take the journey with him at your side. A detoured distraction of him between your legs. But always with interlaced fingers and his care for you on the forefront. After all, he was the only one who noticed. And he would be the one to save you from yourself.

TAGLIST: @hopebaker @drewspisces @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4tangerine @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @jjmaybanksangel@phildunphyisadilf @mashdan0916

MASTERLIST

TOPPER THORNTON MASTERLIST

BODY POSITIVITY FICS

MARCH MADNESS MASTERLIST

#topper thornton #topper thornton smut #topper thornton fanfiction #topper thornton obx #topper thornton x reader #austin north #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks smut #outerbanks #outerbanks smut #outerbanks fanfiction #obx #obx smut #obx fanfiction #bulimia #body positive fanfiction

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thegeminisage · 7 months

Text

THE VOYAGE HOME breakdown

i liveblogged this on the notes app on my phone bc i could not be bothered w tumblr while i watched it. 10/10 movie i love spock's little bandana

first scene was really rough bc they made us watch the enterpise blow up again. i did NOT like reliving that. she's a beautiful woman and i loved her

kirk being in trouble was so funny. like hes been in trouble in tos before but not THAT kind of trouble

did gasp aloud when they said vulcan exile. kirk spock and bones were on VULCAN EXILE for THREE MONTHS and you're telling me they didn't fuck. impossible. i have so much fanfiction to read

gasped when i saw spock far away on that cliff too. i went from watching the movie to doing whatever it is i do when i see spock on my screen. i was so instantly invested like 100x more than i had been previously. cathy made fun of me for calling it the spock movie but lo: there was spock

thrilled to see his mom again even though she fucking sucks. i thought she had died or something since she wasn't in search for spock lol he doesn't need that!!

me when they mentioned yorktown: omg another aos reference

i knew this movie was about whales but not in what capacity. so when the probe showed up we went back and forth for a really long time on whether this was The Whale. we were very impressed with its little laser

uhura remains the most beautiful woman to ever live. she gets hotter in every film idk how she does that

i liked when kirk gave bones a direct order to like "stay here" or whatever and he said with his mouth "no way" and followed him out anyway. fucking hilarious there's no use trying to hide behind rank anymore captain. their relationships have evolved so wonderfully <3

the time travel cgi was wack. idk what they were doing but it made me uncomfortable

"we can get back but only with NUCLEAR POWER" it's just like back to the future fr

spock's bandana.

i knew he wore it in this film because i have seen fanart and a couple of gifs but it was even better to see it in person as it were

spock was great in this film. unclear how much of his personal memories he had back, i would like to assume most of them? but back at factory settings nonetheless. i liked getting to watch jim and bones teach him to be "human" all over again, even down to jim asking to be CALLED jim, instead of by his title. i have a feeling we're gonna get a lot of that with data in tng and knowing i will love data is all that makes it possible for me to part from spock. spock failing at swearing, being bad at lying, being bad at loving italian - bones said he wasn't firing on all thrusters and he was right, but he's still competent enough to get them back to their own year. i also really liked him knocking out the dude with the radio lol. AND THEN EVERYONE CLAPPED which would have been ridiculous for anyone but spock.

whaling videos sad. i do love that this movie was pro-whale propaganda...i feel like we got a lot of that in the late 80s/early 90s, so maybe whales really WERE gonna go extinct and we saved them thru the power of cheesy movies. one likes to dream

kirk is losing his touch as a honeypot. he so throughly failed to seduce this biologist it's embarrassing. she only cares about whales, dude.

scotty hunting and pecking on the keyboard at the speed of light is me fr. i never learned to touch type and now i have a role model. i mean you can't expect HIM to touch type he's missing a fucking finger

giving the molecule to those guys early is ALSO an aos reference. this is where spock got the idea in the 2009 movie i bet :(

chekov being russian when he got caught is both more hilarious and more distressing, like. considering.

"he is a man of deep feelings" on vulcan this counts as a slur

extremely skeptical of them taking the whale biologist until she pointed out that if whales were extinct there would be no whale biologists in the future and so they needed her. fair point, movie

i feel like movies just never have real water anymore. is that just me? 90s movies had water all the time and these days you never see any real water. shit's expensive. they just cgi it.

THEIR SWIM PARTY CELEBRATIONNNN it was so good. jim dunking people in the water but also william shatner would have drowned in leonard nimoy wasn't holding him up lol that shit looked choppy as hell

i recognized their outfits at the trial all together like that from the photo in aos...made me sad

GIVING JIM THE CAPTAINCY BACK...god FINALLY. the sheer hell he goes through as a retired man...let him work...

i wasn't gonna cry during this movie but when spock said i feel fine i did in fact: cry. HE FEELS FINE.

AND FINALLY. ENTERPRISE BEING BACK. perfect touch to a perfect movie

tonight we start tng (we're going in release order) and i am sooo nervous to leave them but at least we have two more tos movies left so it'll be a gradual transition...ik im gonna like tng but i don't think i'll ever love any star trek character more than i love spock. hes everything to me!!!

#personal #star trek blogging #tvh lb #HIS LITTLE BANDANA #so far my fav movie is still search for spock #wrath of khan and voyage home tie in a very close second tho. i go back and forth on which one wins second place

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exhaustedpirate · 5 months

Text

parent for hire

here is the end of our adventure! consider this a late christmas gift and thank you so much for joining us in this journey! this whole story is dedicated to krystal (@kmomof4) for how amazing she was during this whole thing, thank you so much!

Chapter Eight - Epilogue

word count: 2,010 words

rating: Teen and Up

tag list: @cocohook38 ; @bluewildcatfanatic ; @piraterefrigerator ; @sotangledupinit ; @booksteaandtoomuchtv ; @teamhook

Two years later

Avalon looked the same as it had the last time they had been there. It had looked the same as the time before that, too. And the time before that, and the time before that… Killian and Emma had made the journey to the island many times in the last two years.

After the portal disappeared from the water’s surface, they had sat on the water’s shore for a few long moments, hand in hand, barely any space between them. They hadn’t wanted to leave. They hadn’t wanted to face life without the boy.

Returning back to the Caspartine had been a slow trek, silence filling the space between them. They were received with understanding and mournful expressions. Despite his short time aboard, Henry’s presence had impacted the crew, the boy’s family, greatly.

Killian and Emma had joined the Caspartine crew in their voyages, dividing their time between the skies and the Misthaven court, sharing time with their families.

They had been present for Nemo and Shakespeare’s retirement celebration and had helped the former Captains move their belongings into a cliffside cabin. Then they had been in attendance at Prince Lucas’ birth. He was named Crown Prince after Emma declared her decision to join Killian captaining the Caspartine.

The ship had two captains once more. Ones just as in love as the former.

Their relationship had continued its growth during their separation from Henry. Without adventures and villains, Emma and Killian had finally been able to enjoy the quiet moments. They leaned on each other, trusted each other, and loved each other.

Killian knew he loved Emma far earlier than he thought possible. It took all he had not to shout it out before she was ready. The crew would forever remember the time he almost navigated the ship through a flock of birds when Emma whispered her love for him in his ear. Thankfully, her laughter at his reaction had been easily silenced by a kiss.

Every month, without exception, they would make their way to Avalon. They would row to the shore, settle on the bank of the lake and watch the sun rise and the sun set. Every month, Nimue and the island would welcome them as old friends and they would feel her understanding, her care, the shared love for their missing halves.

Sometimes Killian would quietly tell stories about the stars, repeating some, telling others anew. Sometimes Emma would sing, her voice blending with the nature surrounding them. They did it all in hopes of triggering Henry’s return. It hadn’t worked yet.

The sun was high in the sky, its blinding light reflected in the crystal clear water. Despite the cold air, the warm glow of the sun created a balmy atmosphere. Killian lay on the blanket they spread on the grass, parallel to the bank of the lake with Emma’s head cushioned on his chest.

“It’s Henry’s birthday soon,” Emma said quietly, popping a slice of pear in her mouth. “Will and Elizabeth invited us to be there. We need to bring him something.”

“Aye,” Killian sighed, his fingers running casually through Emma’s hair. “He did tell me what he wanted as a present, when we were last there.”

With a curious frown, she stretched her neck to look up at him. “What did he say?”

“He wanted Henry there.”

“Oh.”

Her quiet answer left even more quiet in its wake. It was why he hadn’t told her then, not when she was so happy, shown by the wide smile on her face, at spending time with their friends. Not when just the thought of the boy reminded him of the missing part of their hearts.

His strokes through her hair turned more comforting as the quiet gave them space to feel their loss.

“It’s been so long,” Emma whispered, her voice breaking. “What if something happened?”

The questions had been asked time and time again. Nimue would smile reassuringly at them, explain that this training was Henry’s destiny, and that she was confident he was safe. Snow and David would hug them, patting their backs comfortingly, giving them words of hope. They stopped engaging with the Blue Fairy after some aggravating comments over their “reckless behavior” when they split their hearts to save Henry instead of preventing it all together. If Killian had had any more interaction with the head fairy he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself from attempting something very foolish.

“We would know,” he answered as he did every time. Despite his own heart-wrenching concern for the boy, he knew that their hearts would also be the ones to warn them.

Emma turned around, carefully avoiding the spread of treats over the blanket. Crossing her arms, she lay her chin on them so they could look at each other. He cupped her cheek with his hand, rubbing his thumb on the apple of her cheek.

“We would.” Like always, she would place her hand over his heart, focus on its steady beating and he would feel the warmth spread over it.

He followed her arm to lay his hand over hers on his chest, his fingers tracing hers, focusing on her ring finger. His heart beat faster at the thought of adorning the empty finger. She smiled, feeling his touch and he was thankful she couldn’t read his mind.

It wasn’t the right time. There was still something missing.

“Come here.” Killian smiled, removing his left arm from behind his head to rise on his elbow.

Emma shared his smile and rising up on the palm of her hand, she cupped his cheek, their eyes focused on each other. His hand laid on hers once more, unable to keep from touching her, from being close to her.

Her lips pressed softly against his, a chaste kiss that still brought a spark to his whole body, like she always did. The kiss turned deeper, their love shared between the touch of their lips, the soft moans and sighs filling their little haven.

A powerful wave made the ground tremble, leaving a feeling of warmth. They opened their eyes, breaking the kiss. A frown creased their brow even as a surprised smile stretched their lips.

“How did you do that?” Killian asked, impressed.

Her smile dimmed as her frown deepened. “That wasn’t me…”

Their joint confusion melted into realization, their eyebrows raised and lips parted. At once, they turned to the lake, their hearts beating faster in anticipation.

Henry stood over the water like they had before, a closing portal behind him. He looked different, older, but they would always recognise their boy.

“Hi.” Even his voice sounded different and not just due to the emotion in it.

“Henry…”

Killian’s whisper prompted them into action. Faster than they thought possible, they stood up, rushing towards the water. Henry did the same, running towards them.

They met in the middle, crashing together in a jumble of limbs. Henry had grown taller, his head now reaching their shoulders, his arms long enough to wrap around them both. There was a mess of sobs, tears, and smiles in the almost non-existent space between them. They were together again.

“You’re back,” Emma cried, grabbing onto Henry’s cheeks to place several kisses on his forehead and cheeks. “I can’t believe you’re finally back.”

“I missed you guys.” Henry smiled, tears streaming down his cheeks, burying his face in Emma’s neck. “So much.”

With Emma’s arms wrapped around the boy, Killian wrapped his left arm around the both of them, his hand on the back of the boy’s head. “So did we, my boy.” He laid a kiss on his forehead.

He raised his head with an excited smile, his eyes shining. “I have so much to tell you!”

“So do we!” Emma grinned, wiping her tears with the back of her hand before going back to touching Henry’s face and arms almost immediately.

“A lot has happened.” Killian smirked, wiping away Henry’s tears, uncaring of his own.

Henry looked between them, his happy smile filling all the cracks in their hearts. They stood in silence for a few minutes, reveling in the fact that they were reunited, that they were a family once more.

“You have cake?” Henry asked, his eyes having finally gone to the spread blanket on the grass.

The two adults let out a surprised laugh. “Aye, my boy. Elsa made it specially for you.”

Henry frowned. “How did she know I would be back?”

“She didn’t.” Emma’s smile was melancholic as she caressed the boy’s cheek. “She makes it for us every time we come here, just in case.”

“Oh…” Henry sighed, a frown creasing his forehead.

“But you’re back,” Killian added, a smile on his face. “That’s all that matters.”

“Yes and we’ll have a lot of time to make up for.”

Henry gave an agreeing nod, a smile lighting up his face. “Starting with having cake.”

They laughed together as they began to walk back to the blanket.

“Actually,” Killian stopped their progress. “There is something that I’d like to do. Something that has been a long time coming.”

His companions looked at him, a curious expression on their faces. The realization of what he was about to do made him nervous, his heart beating faster and his palm sweating.

“I was waiting for you to come back to us to do this,” he began, looking at Henry. “Not only because I wanted you to be present for this but also because you have a very important piece of this puzzle.” Killian took a deep steadying breath, glancing at Emma’s confused expression before holding his hand out towards Henry. “I’m hoping you still have my ring?”

“Yeah.” Henry quickly unclasped the chain. “I kept it safe.”

As the ring was deposited in his hand, Killian saw Emma’s eyes widen in realization. Henry still sported a curious and confused expression.

“Thank you, my boy.”

He turned to Emma, her parted lips and wide eyes greeting him. He dreaded finding something in her eyes that told him this was a bad idea, but all he saw was love.

“Emma,” Killian said with a deep breath. “You know I love you and I hope you know I want to spend the rest of my days by your side. I want to be your family. I want to be your home. And now that we have our boy back, we can be just that.”

Killian smiled at Henry’s shocked face, finally realizing what Killian was about to say. He returned his gaze to Emma, sharing her smile and the watery shine in her eyes.

“So, Emma, our Swan…” His smile grew as his companions chuckled. “Will you marry me?”

He never felt more exposed - his heart in clear view of the world - as he did now, standing in front of the love of his life and his son, holding a ring that symbolized the family he had had once and that he hoped to have again.

His heart stuttered as Emma shook her head. Despite his nerves, he never expected a ‘no’. But then her hand cupped his cheek, her smile wide and bright, her other hand grabbing onto his and he could do nothing but get lost in her eyes as he shared her smile.

“With words like that,” Emma’s voice trembled. “How could I say no?”

His smile widened as he closed the space between them to kiss her fiercely, passionately. He could feel his heart fill with love, warmth, happiness. So full he felt it was doomed to beat out of his chest. Distantly, he heard Henry’s cheers.

They broke for air, Emma’s smile blinding. She let go of his hand to open hers to him. Understanding her intention, he chuckled, sliding the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. Henry wrapped his arms around their necks pulling them into a hug, now filled with laughter.

They were a family. They didn’t need anything else.

Well, Henry thought differently, much to their amusement.

“This calls for some cake, right?”

#parent for hire #carolina writes #the actual big finale #thank you for reading #i love you guys #killian jones #emma swan #henry mills #captain hook #captainswan #captaincobraswan #ouat #once upon a time #cs ff #ouat ff

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weerd1 · 6 months

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It’s Been a Long Road: Two decades after “Star Trek: Enterprise” I still have Faith of the Heart.

After the click, there are 2300 words of me doing a deep dive on my love for "Star Trek: Enterprise." You have been warned.

When I was in elementary school, I was a year younger than my peers. My mom had decided I didn’t need to go to Kindergarten as I was already reading ahead of my level, so she insisted I be placed at age 5 directly into 1st Grade. In ways she was right; I completed the reading and phonics program in my little Arizona school for the entire first grade before Christmas. To this day though, I am clumsy with scissors, paste, and all the “kindergarten skills” and I spent the rest of my school career smaller, weaker, and less coordinated than everyone in my class.

This probably all worked out in the end; sure, I couldn’t play sports, but to avoid bullies and getting picked on, I got funny, and that’s worked out pretty well for me. But in those days when I would play a sport such as baseball, the opposing team would step a little closer, the coaches would advise me to take the walk; I was not as good as my peers, so allowances were made for my performance.

That is exactly how I looked at “Star Trek: Enterprise” for years. It was only four seasons, while its powerhouse predecessors all had seven. It wasn’t set in a utopian far future, but rather not too far from now meaning more modern and vernacular language. The science seemed a little spurious, with writers seeming to think the term “Rigel” was just some made-up word from older Trek series rather than older Trek series using actual star names for locations. The knowledge of Trek seemed a little lacking as well, with the first episode citing “Klingon Warbirds” and basing the hero ship on a design introduced in a then recent movie…that was set 200 years later.

I watched though, as we were coming off of there being CONSTANT Trek on television for the previous 15 years, and this was what we had.

I groused then, a lot. The lack of continuity, the trivia gaffes, the over-sexualization of women characters (ok, that WAS more than a bit overdone, and I still grouse that point).

The theme song. Oh my lord, the theme song.

But eventually, this show won me over, almost in spite of itself. Then there was a major shift in tone for the third season, and it got to be pretty solid, and the FOURTH season was…STAR TREK! Like its predecessors, the show had taken some time to find its footing (c’mon, admit how uneven the first couple of seasons of TNG were), but had pulled itself together, and the show’s future looked bright in 2005!

And then there was a truly terrible last episode and ENT was cancelled and gone.

Twenty years later, here I am, and though the absence of new Trek only lasted about four years—until JJ Abrams 2009 movie—I felt that absence keenly then. I am glad to report there has been Trek I really enjoy since then…and some marginal entries, but that’s not new either honestly. But with all this new material, I still find myself going back to revisit Archer and his crew. I’ve rewatched maybe two TNG episodes in the last 15 years. Maybe two or three Voyager episodes. But TOS, DS9, and ENT I hit regularly. Why does ENT keep forcing itself to the front of my Trek consciousness?

From the beginning, ENT suffered from some external pressures that weren’t helpful to its development. There was a tension between doing more of the same, successful formula Trek had been delivering since “Encounter at Farpoint” (the TNG pilot episode from 1987) and doing something experimental and new. Viewer fatigue was setting in a bit, but fans were vociferous in what THEY thought Trek meant. Anything that strayed too far would take a beating on the internet message boards.

DS9 had just finished off their wartime storyline, and though there were adamant Niners, it was only just beginning to truly find its audience with the advent of home video allowing one to actually watch the whole thing. Meanwhile, the less arc-oriented VOY had added the character Seven. There had been a ratings increase, which the producers took to mean any new show needed an attractive woman in a catsuit. Remember also, we were in the midst of the Star Wars Prequel trilogy, so going BACK to a time when the story could be a little looser was floating in the zeitgeist.

But it was also 2001, and though the visual continuity of the then modern Treks had maintained a history inclusive and accepting of TOS, putting a starship on screen that would look like a century’s LESS development than Matt Jefferies’ design from the mid-1960s was going to be problematic.

I don’t know this is true, but I also suspect that since the previous shows had a British man, a Black man, and a Woman as captains, someone in Production wanted to make sure there was a white, American man back in the center seat. Maybe I’m wrong, but that’s my gut.

So all of this goes into the show, and honestly it kicks off as a bit of a hot mess. So much seems to be playing it safe. Some fairly cliched storylines that occasionally try something a little new. A few things it does try new are not quite there: That aforementioned over-sexualization of the women in the crew*. Cringy comments about relations with aliens. Archer watching water polo.

There are a lot of forgettable episodes, contradictions. And yet, I kept watching. Yeah, I was on message boards complaining about the tech looking too advanced. I’d gripe about how un-Vulcan the Vulcans seemed. I’d gripe about every violation of what I accepted as canon, that was often really just things the fandom had settled on in the 70s and had no basis on the show. And I was just a complete tool online when the first cloaking device showed up.

And the theme song, oh my lord, the theme song.

But I kept watching. And before I knew it, I started to appreciate something about this show. I had to make a choice between griping that this modern show that I was actually enjoying didn’t adhere to a single line of dialog written (then) 40 years before for a show that wasn’t expected to last a year. I, a staunch Trek gatekeeper, was having an awakening about continuity and canon, and I had to figure out why. Finally it hit me.

These characters, these performers, they were more than they should be. These characters were making me love them, even when the stories were mediocre or cliche or counter to what I believed was canon.

Take Jonathan Archer, played with almost megaton-levels of earnestness by Scott Bakula. Archer’s earnest, do-gooder nature is so extreme…you know how a show like “Family Guy,” does a joke, and it’s ok, and then it keeps going way too long, and you get sick of it. And then it keeps going still, and somehow, this only kinda-funny joke goes so long or so far that it actually manages to somehow loop back around to being not just funny, but hilarious. That’s Archer’s earnestness, his naiveté. His “oh gosh” nature is interesting and fun compared to Kirk’s bravado. Then, after he oh goshes his way into losing ANOTHER fight, he’s simply grating. THEN you start to think he’s just devastatingly boring. But if you keep watching, then it comes around to this unironic serving of safe-guy that doesn’t blink in how GOLLY he is as a hero and you smile when he all but winks at the camera. And then, in later seasons when he’s faced with some pretty devastating moral dilemmas, you FEEL it!

T’Pol, played by Jolene Blalock: she’s so attractive it almost hurts to look at her, but you realize soon after that while she somehow seems to keep ending up getting rubbed down in decon Jolene is BRINGING the performance. That her delivery, her tone; the micro-expressions which betray her stoic facade for the Vulcan emotions at a full boil underneath…you buy it. You realize her performance is wonderful, and she’s one of the best Vulcans in the entire franchise.

Connor Trinneer as the character I recently described as “Florida Man in Space,” Trip Tucker. He’s a walking cliche, his accent making “warp-field plasma conduits” sound like something you’d serve up with sweet tea and grits. He’s got Himbo energy that rivals the output of his anti-matter reactor, and still it works. His “I don’t really know much about anything, but I’m willing to learn…oh God I’m pregnant” (actual episode) speaks so beautifully to humans DISCOVERING things for the first time, screwing it up, but learning from their mistakes and going back for more!

I could easily go on about Travis Mayweather, the kid who grew up in space and is both completely knowledgeable and blissfully ignorant of anything that goes on out there. Malcolm Reed, the British tactical officer who if his upper lip was any stiffer, he could use it as a weapon. Hoshi Sato who starts out completely out of her depth, and ends up loving it all. Dr. Phlox, your over-friendly, polyamorous uncle who brandishes optimism like a flame thrower and plays with eels.

They are all just…TOO. Too this, too that, and in doing so, somehow all circle back to being absolutely perfect. Because as flawed as ENT is in its storytelling at times, and how mired it is in attitudes before #metoo, the IDEA of the show is a great one: How does humanity get from the mess we are now to the icons of TOS or TNG? Enterprise shows us it wasn’t a switch, but a road. A long road, getting from there to here.

Yes, even the damn theme song, hokey and way too on the nose is EXACTLY RIGHT for what this show means.

Somewhere along the line, we all knew we had to move in a little closer when ENT comes up to bat, but we all started wishing, hoping, that maybe it would get a home run.

And sometimes, just sometimes, these characters that are great in spite of themselves, and this design, that’s too good for what it should be**, and this show that’s just not on the level of its predecessors does exactly that and knocks one into the stands. Suddenly it’s season four, and Enterprise manages to sum up the humanity Star Trek has been serving up since 1966 better than any show before or since:

Vulcan Ambassador Soval: We don't know what to do about Humans. Of all the species we've made contact with, yours is the only one we can't define. You have the arrogance of Andorians, the stubborn pride of Tellarites. One moment, you're as driven by your emotions as Klingons, and the next, you confound us by suddenly embracing logic.

Admiral Maxwell Forrest: I'm sure those qualities are found in every species.

Vulcan Ambassador Soval: Not in such confusing abundance.

We’re not perfect, we’re not utopian, but we are AMAZING when we give ourselves the chance, and for me, Enterprise takes that idea and runs with it. It often swings and misses, but when it connects, we can smile and clap and let it take its run around the bases, because it makes us feel good. And if it weren’t for Enterprise teaching me how these lessons, these characters are more important that visual continuity or strict adherence to arcane canon, I wouldn’t have accepted the Kelvin timeline. The DISCO Klingons. The Strange New Worlds uniforms, sets, and character interpretations. Because as much as I love what Star Trek means, all of that deeper meaning is nothing if it isn’t entertaining. And Enterprise taught me how important that was.

I could go on about how much better the show got when Berman and Braga took a back seat to Manny Coto, though there are certainly strong arguments that he got a little too fan-servicey. But in the end, the point is CBS took over and closed down Enterprise just as it found its footing. I hope the wave of nostalgia we’re seeing applied (perhaps TOO applied in shows like “Picard”) to modern Trek means we get more than a passing Lower Decks reference to the show. And if not, well, I’ve got my copies, and my fan fic, and my Tumblr memes.

Most importantly though, I’ve got (I’ve got, I’ve got) Faith of the Heart.

*I will give the show credit at least that it was pretty willing to flaunt shirtless men as well, and biceps-a-plenty.

**In regard to things looking more advanced, I will give credit to Brannon Braga for dropping a hint in an interview at the end of season 1 that the Enterprise-E coming back in “First Contact” had subtly altered the timeline, making things a little more advanced. Fans—and I regret to include myself—railed against that online, and it wasn’t really mentioned again. Recently, Strange New Worlds has revisited and canonized the idea that the timeline, even though it is the Prime timeline, DOES go through shifts and changes due to temporal incursions, evidenced wonderfully in the episode “Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow” when a Romulan time traveler admits to altering time so the rise of Khan happens not at the 1992 date that Spock gave us in the original series “Space Seed” to now to him still being a child 30 years later. It’s in-story shorthand for the fact that when a show goes for six decades some continuity has to change and THAT IS OK. I wasn’t ready to accept it then, but am glad it’s now part of Trek.

#star trek #star trek enterprise #long post #another jackass opinion #former gatekeeping asshole #i got better

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expectodragons · 9 months

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Bitter Water || Chapter 1

✦ Summary: Guided only by a thin paper trail and a promising job offer, Catherine Hart returns to the school of her youth. Taking on the mantle of Beasts professor, the young witch must find a balance between her lessons and her continued search of the Highlands. Especially when under the watchful eye of the Potion Master. ✦ Pairing: Aesop Sharp x Female MC ✦ Word Count: 12,200 ✦ Rating: Mature, 18+ only - minors do not interact. ✦ Tags / Warnings: Age difference, alcohol consumption, colleagues-to friends-to-lovers, dual POV, mentions of past character death, slow burn. ✦ Story Playlist: Listen here ✦ Read on: AO3 || Tumblr (continue below)

The letter in her pocket had been a comforting weight during the flight across the Atlantic. Having received the invitation from the Deputy Headmistress herself during a short reprieve in the small encampment in the Andes Mountains.

She had been sat upon the stool inside her canvas tent that dreary morning, glossing over the notes from her Australian correspondent – occasionally comparing the details with her month-old letter from Natty. South America wasn’t where she needed to be from the looks of it.

A heavily creased map was pulled out and laid before her when a pleading hooting captured her attention.

That poor owl, how it ever managed to find her over such a great distance is still a mystery – as it sagged with pure exhaustion upon locating her in the great fog some fourteen-hundred kilometers above its normal flight range. He was rewarded with the entirety of her lukewarm meal and a soft space to sleep while she contemplated the generous offer.

As the North American expedition party had received foul news of visa denial from the British Ministry of Magic over an unruly Dragon Pox epidemic affecting the states just a week prior, Catherine’s current plans were rather up in the air. Which was quite fortunate for Matilda Weasley, it seemed.

And for her too perhaps, as she glanced back at the map on the table.

Her reply of interest was sent ahead to the local village post once the owl had finally regained his energy.

And then it was only a matter of days later, after capturing the poor shivering Fwooper who had been abandoned after a breeding program went haywire, that she was able to make it up to Columbia. The flight to Cuba had been uneventful, her broom sturdy in her grasp. Another owl had been awaiting her there, with a date and time written clearly in Matilda’s familiar penmanship. This letter she kept close to her person as she took off from the sunny island port.

Many individuals would have preferred to take one of the easily accessible Floo points, or even an ocean liner for such a long trip. But those methods of transport required luggage checks and that was something she was desperate to avoid for very particular reasons.

The following journey across to Cornwall had been a regretfully exhausting experience – even with the two Wide-Eye potions she had taken – as an unavoidable storm had sent her some kilometers off course which had left her a soaking mess by the time she entered the Celtic Sea. She had sworn off Muggle transportation ever since her first – and only – voyage on a steamship down to the horn of Africa.

Never again.

So, with her trusty broom, she made the long trek instead. Her hair was helplessly tangled from the gusts of stinging wind that pricked her skin with the sensation of pointed nettles. Her blonde locks hung in icy tendrils down her back, making her whole body shiver. Even the strongest warming charm couldn’t stop the shaking of her frozen fingers.

After two days of recuperation in the local inn, The Prickly Knarl, she had arrived at the meeting with not only the Deputy Headmistress but the new Headmaster as well.

Walter Aragon was nothing like his predecessor and perhaps that was all the more reason to giddily accept the position. A lover of beasts himself, their similar interest had sparked a three-hour-long conversation delving into the finer points of creature care and habitat protection. Their tea had grown cold and her face ached from smiling by the time she had signed the official job offer.

A warm sensation filled her stomach as she strolled down the steps of the Grand Staircase, striking up a conversation with Sir Nicholas over her new position at the school on the way to the Entrance Hall.

It had been over ten years since she had last stepped foot in the castle.

On more than one occasion, during her employment at Brood & Peck, she had spent time with Professor Bai Howin in her outdoor office – trading stories and information on local poachers and potential encampments. She even brought over a recently rehabilitated Diricawl or Kneazle from time to time. But her stint at the beast store was short-lived and her time away from Scotland grew with the flow of years. Though she kept in correspondence with Howin every other month or so.

But to be in the castle itself?

Her last recollection was that of a tearful goodbye on the day of her graduation held on a warm summer morning. Her exit from the castle was far calmer than her initial arrival at the magical school three years prior. Though the missing professor in the crowd of teachers forever left a sting in her heart.

As she crossed the courtyard, old memories seemed to come to life in her mind with every step. Thoughts of her first flying class and several rounds of Summoner’s Court with Ronen filled her head as Catherine headed for the classroom. The flags of the quidditch pitch flapped in the wind, reminding her of her short stint as Gryffindor’s seeker in her seventh year.

The vast sprawling hills and mountains felt like home.

She had climbed rocky cliffs in the Far East, swam in the swirling turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean, and even trekked inside a pyramid or two during her African expedition. But this? This was where her heart truly sang. Surrounded by the dew-covered grass, the tumbling breeze, and miles of undisturbed wilderness. The Highlands were everything she didn’t know she had missed during her time away, exploring the rest of the natural world.

With an even wider smile on her face, she takes off across the castle grounds, her hands digging deep into the pockets of her leather-hide trousers.

Even from a distance, in the grove of towering Scots Pine trees, she could tell that her specified repairs were in the works. The clang of hammers and the rumble of moving stone greeted her once she made it up the path’s small incline.

Though Bai had been more than happy to sleep near the outdoor classroom, Catherine had other plans for the space.

And the once towering hut was in the final stages of being fully disassembled piece by piece to make way for more enclosures. While there were four fully usable paddocks left over from her predecessor, the space was seriously lacking in her opinion. Part of the hut would be left behind for storage purposes: for feed, healing supplies, and grooming items.

Stronger cages would replace the old iron ones to contain more of the unsavory creatures she planned to introduce. Her sixth and seventh years were going to be in for quite a few surprises this school year if it all went according to plan (and if Matilda agreed).

All in all, her detailed ideas were being handled exactly as she had laid out to the Headmaster after her job offer had been signed.

She nods in approval, waving at the single house elf that was overseeing the unmanned construction instruments – he ducks his head bashfully with the given praise as she heads on to the castle.

The Bell Tower still maintains the indescribable musk of stale air and dusty artifacts. The dueling ghosts barely even pay her a glance as she passes through their wispy forms, making her way across the hall and down the stairs to the tapestry corridor. As her previous lodging was currently dismantled to the ground, she had made her second, and therefore last, request.

Though she had no desire to sleep alongside the creatures, she did wish to remain close enough in case of emergency. If she had learned anything since her first Beasts class some thirteen years ago, it was that magical creatures were nothing if not unpredictable. And with her new room being located just a few minutes walk from the paddocks, she felt more than comfortable with the arrangement.

The room in question had been emptied of all its previous statues. Though the hall outside had gained a few choice pieces: a Hippogriff, a Phoenix, and what appeared to be a badly carved Chimaera in place of the ghoulish-looking stuffed Trolls that had once taken up residence amongst the three woven tapestries.

The old storage space was far warmer than it once had been. Comfortable white and gold rugs covered the stone floor, and a newly conjured fireplace heated the area considerably with its crackling logs. Her paintings, which had been sent ahead from her personal vault in Gringotts, were now proudly adorning the walls, brightening the area even further.

Painted birds swoop past the lush Amazon rain forest, a lone Sphinx stretches out lazily upon the sand of the Egyptian desert, shimmering blue eggs clink together in an Antipodean Opaleye’s nest in the green New Zealand valley. She places the portrait of the sun rising over the sea above her bare-bones bed frame and feather mattress. A Kelpie jumps through the water with a gentle splashing sound as she adjusts the leveling of the painting.

Catherine carefully deposits the large leather bag near the end of the unmade bed – eyeing it with a hint of suspicion for just a moment before she gives a nod and goes to sort through her secondary luggage.

She spends the rest of her day removing items from her traveling bag, the one that was nearly full despite its expandable charm. Celestial blue and gold bedding is tossed against the wall in a heap – it was in desperate need of a good wash after being stored away for so long. But her various books and decorations made their way onto the shelves and cabinets. A large iron perch takes up residence next to the fireplace.

She fussed over the arrangement of her sitting area. Positioning the armchair this way and that until she finally just collapsed into the blasted thing and took a much-needed break.

A very kind house elf appeared but minutes later – with a tray filled with sandwiches, biscuits, scones, and a carefully placed lavender teapot. All courtesy of the Deputy Head who knew she would be up to her eyes in sorting out her chambers and classroom but didn’t want to disturb her at the present moment.

“Please send Professor Weasley my regards and tell her she can find me buried under a pile of unsorted clothes if she requires my presence.”

The house elf looked a little perplexed by the request but shrugged his shoulders and disappeared with a snap of his bony fingers.

After allowing herself the luxury of stuffing three cucumber sandwiches into her mouth and finishing off two blackberry scones – the jam sticking to her fingers, which she lazily licked off – she finally got back into the thick of it.

Only once the window near her sleeping area turned dark with the ebb of nightfall, could she stand back and declare her quarters finished. And with the low embers of the fire battling off the frigid chill of the dungeons, she conjured up a bath and allowed herself to slip under and soak in the steamy water until her tired muscles went lax and tingly once again.

In the morning, Catherine would check in with Matilda, look over the outdoor classroom’s progress, and possibly even head up to Hogsmeade for supplies. Perhaps she would even be afforded time to fly down to the coast to canvas some of the numerous caves. But for now, she closes her eyes, resting her head on the edge of the metal tub, and savors the feeling of returning home after so many years away.

Though she had arrived at the beginning of August, before school supply letters were even sent out, she was surprised to find only a few professors were currently settled into a routine at the school. When she was a student, it had never occurred to her to spare a thought for the personal lives of the staff. Was it silly to assume they stayed at the school year-round?

Only due to her proximity to him, she finds herself running into Professor Binns a little too often for her liking. Though she was entirely polite about the happenstance and would indulge him for a moment about his exhilarating plans for the upcoming school year in regards to Goblin-related topics.

As though Catherine hadn’t experienced enough Goblin-related battles for a lifetime.

“Personally, I always found the rebellion of 1612 far more interesting than the one in 1752,” was apparently the wrong thing to say, as she found herself on the opposite end of an hour-long argument over the worthiness of the later Goblin rebellion.

“Were it not for the quick and calculated planning of the wizard tailor Grimbald Weft, who, as you may know, was a wizard from the small community of Mould-on-the-Wold, a rather fascinating village known for its contributions to the agriculture of several wizarding towns in the later half of the 18th century –“

Madam Scribner was devoted to looking over each and every book in the library, dusting the old tomes, and sending up levitated feather dusters to clean off the large portraits on the second-floor balcony. The librarian had barely paid the new hire any attention when Catherine went wandering up to the upper level in search of books covering local cartography.

There was of course Matilda and Headmaster Aragon, though he was more prone to stopping by for the morning than staying for a full day at this point.

By the time letters were sent out during the middle of the month, more familiar faces seemed to appear in the halls. Her new colleagues blinked back their shock once they realized just who was set to replace Howin. Apparently, the news had been rather sudden when, back in early April, Bai had received a request to join an Eastern expedition set to observe and possibly relocate a new grouping of Yeti in Nepal.

Catherine herself had almost accepted the offer to join the group if it hadn’t been for her already set plans to head to the States with another team. Though those plans ultimately fell apart due to the Pox epidemic and now she was here. Fate had a funny way of working sometimes, she thought with a smile as she greeted a surprised Professor Ronen in the Transfiguration Courtyard.

“The Great Catherine Hart!” he chuckled, immediately swooping her up into a tight hug, “Can it be you have returned to us after all this time?”

The warmth in her body bloomed into a bright laugh as she pushed back her blonde plaited hair, “It would appear you were in need of a new Beasts professor and Matilda managed to get an owl to me in time. I couldn’t even dream of turning it down.”

They quickly caught up over a shared game of exploding snap in the staff room, leaving burnt card-shaped marks on the table, as Catherine regaled him with stories of her travels and he happily told her about his vacation to Switzerland with his wife, Margo over the summer break.

“We went sailing on Lake Geneva. Would you believe it, I tipped us right over into the water. You should have heard her admonishing me while I giggled like a schoolboy – “

“In the summer of ‘98, I had the misfortune of trying to single-handedly wrangle a wild herd of Abraxans from charging upon a Muggle town in Italy – “

For only a moment, at the beginning of her stay in the castle, when she encountered the Deputy Headmistress out after nightfall, did she feel entirely out of place. Speaking to her old professors, not in the place of a student, but as a colleague. Referring to them, comfortably, by name. Asking about matters she never would have broached prior to her employment.

Perhaps sharing correspondence with Bai over the years had made the transition more agreeable. As she was now content with calling out to Abraham about sharing a drink in Hogsmeade before the start of term as he headed up the stairs to inspect the state of his classroom.

At twenty-eight, though she had not experienced the world in its entirety quite yet (she still had North America and Antarctica to explore, after all), she felt competent in her position and her new role amongst her fellow professors. It would take time – she was sure of it – before she was fully submerged in the job, but for now, it was flowing exactly as it should be.

The staff meeting happens on the 24th, sometime before dusk. The time seemed to be intentional as she is greeted with several bottles of drinks awaiting the professors on a tray in the corner – seemingly to be distributed after the meeting.

She greets Matilda before taking a spot near the fireplace, watching as the others begin to trickle in one by one. Professor Garlick had been delighted to see her once she had returned over the weekend. Shah had given her a cordial greeting too. Kogawa had been elated to see her, immediately asking after her new broom model. There was of course the new Defense teacher as well.

Dinah Hecat had left four years prior, on her own terms, as the state of her slowly deteriorating condition began to catch up with her properly. Roland Sterling was a smartly-dressed wizard who met her with a very firm handshake when he properly introduced himself yesterday. He was young, three years older than her if she remembered correctly. But his skill was undeniable, or so Ronen had said when she asked about the placement over a game of gobstones during their shared lunch.

There were only five individuals on staff who were under the age of forty: herself, Roland, Nurse Blainey, Garlick, and Eunice Moore – the arithmancy professor who had scarcely left her classroom since she arrived Tuesday afternoon.

As it was an official meeting with her new colleagues, she chose to dress the part. Forgoing her usual work trousers and dragon-hide waistcoat in favor of a more modest navy skirt and white shirtwaist. Even her hair had received moderate attention this afternoon as she managed to wrap her braid into a carefully coiffed chignon.

She spies her reflection in the curve of a small silver trophy upon the mantelpiece and finds that she rather loathes how matronly she appears to look.

Noticing the slow uptick in chatter now within the room, Catherine hurriedly tugs at two tendrils of her hair – letting them drape gracefully along the frame of her face. Satisfied, she moves to grab a seat at the table before the meeting officially begins. She’s positioned near the end of the setup and Chiyo is more than happy to take the seat to her left as the other professors seem to get the idea and begin to fill the other chairs.

There was only one face she had yet to see during her time at the school as she reacquainted herself with the old halls. Everyone had been quite busy settling back in and preparing their lessons and whatnot. But he was the only one who had evaded her search thus far.

That very face is one of the last to appear at the meeting, grimacing as he makes his way into the room and around the table – taking one of the last available seats; the one on Catherine’s right.

Sharp eases himself into the chair with a pronounced wince and grit of his teeth, acknowledging Ronen across from him, before his gaze finally turns and he makes eye contact with her for the first time in ten years.

His dark brows hitch slightly, as his mind seems to map through some rather interesting equations by the looks of it before the smallest smirk graces the corner of his lips.

“Professor Sharp,” she says politely, inclining her head ever so slightly in his direction – wanting more than anything to start out on the right footing with her old instructor.

The Potion Master chuckles for a moment too short, glancing away before once again meeting her gaze, “Professor Hart, is it then?”

Her eyes gleam with pride, “As of the fourth of this month I’m officially a member of staff, yes.”

There’s a minuscule nod, his attention focusing on Aragon as he makes it into the room at last – with a bundle of unorganized papers and an apologetic smile on his thin face.

“Bai spoke highly of you,” his gruff voice says softly over the dying chatter of the others – his eyes still trained on the Headmaster. “I’m sure you will do her proud.”

Fighting off a smile, Catherine kneads her hands together in her lap, trying not to appear like the overzealous new professor she clearly felt like at the moment.

By the time she manages to get her pride under control from the small bit of bolstering and praise given by her former teacher, Aragon is already in the full swing of apologizing for his tardiness and exclaiming how excited he is to be taking on the monumental role of Headmaster after such an illustrious predecessor.

It takes nearly everyone’s self-control to not outwardly guffaw at the mention of the illustrious Phineas Nigelus Black.

The meeting itself is rather informative for her. Reminders of enforced rules, curfew times, and the importance of awarding and deducting a fair amount of house points. Several professors seem to draw their attention down to the blushing Defense teacher, who ducks his head to the side as if something has taken his interest across the room. She can tell there’s a story there as she catches Ronen’s playful gaze from across the table.

“I’m grateful to you all for submitting your budgetary requests so promptly this year,” Matilda says. “If you find any pressing concerns, you can speak to me privately after the meeting. Though I imagine this year we will find ourselves in a rather fortunate position in those regards.”

The unspoken bit at the end of that sentence seemed to be a not-too friendly reminder of the previous Headmaster’s rather horrendous budget constraints. Luckily for Catherine, she would be requiring only bits and pieces to fund her classroom. The creatures themselves were on loan, as it was. Even some of the food would be easily supplied by the Hogwarts gardens.

“As a reminder, our first Hogsmeade weekend will happen on the third of October this year. Expect to have the schedules delivered in a days time. I believe you will find the rotations to be more than fair. And on that note, the night shifts will be sent along as well. Exceptions to the patrol are the same as last year. Satyavati, you’ll be taking on the weekend shifts, as your classroom hours are impossible to work around. Also, Ranira, your arrangement still stands.”

She has to bow her head to avoid any attention during that particular part of the meeting. As staff patrols were not a thing prior to her fifth year. It appeared at the beginning of her sixth year, for whatever reason she can’t be sure.

Perhaps it had something to do with a fifteen-year-old sneaking out of the castle at every opportunity, going on secretive missions under the instruction of one professor, and single-handedly defeating the leader of a goblin rebellion in a hidden chamber under the school. Or maybe it had to do with students leaving their dorms to meet up with their sweethearts or stroll down to the Restricted Section, who could say for sure.

Whatever the reason, the teachers had all taken on the insufferable task of patrolling the halls of the castle every day of the week well past the midnight hour. And it seemed the structure had remained in place even after she graduated. Pity.

And then, of course, there’s a rather sudden introduction of her to the rest of the staff.

“As you all are aware, Professor Howin has taken an indefinite leave as she joins an excursion party into Nepal. I am pleased to welcome Miss Hart to our teaching staff. I can think of no one better qualified for the position.”

She inclines her head in acknowledgment, all too aware of the stares and encouraging smiles of her colleagues. Her own stomach turned with the swell of the spotlight.

“And I believe that about sums up everything,” The Headmaster claps his hands together. “So, in preparation for another year, let me welcome you all to get properly inebriated!”

With a resounding cheer, Aragon levitates the drink tray over to the table and pops the corks off several bottles, shimmering goblets and crystal glasses appearing just a moment later.

Mirabel circles the table almost immediately, wrapping Catherine into a tight hug – nearly jostling her wine as she does so. She smells of summer-warm marigolds and lemon verbena.

“Bai would be most envious of your new classroom,” she smiles. “I took a walk around the grounds just yesterday afternoon in search of extra mallowsweet for my first-years. It looks lovely, Catherine. Speaking of, you must come by the greenhouses – it’s been so long!”

Ronen wasn’t too far behind, clapping her warmly on the shoulder before clinking their glasses together. Even Aragon took his time going from professor to professor, landing into a lively conversation with her and Shah, of all people, about local creatures.

“You wouldn’t believe the luck I had when I was off visiting my sister over the summer break,” Shah had said. “I swear there was a flock of Auguries who followed us from town to town for the entire stay. Barely a clear day in the whole trip.”

“They are quite perceptive to the weather, you know.”

As she swayed between conversations and groups of chatting and drink-happy colleagues, she would catch the occasional gaze of the Potions professor from his spot near the unlit fireplace – looking perfectly content to remain in the cream-colored armchair with a small glass of amber-colored drink in his left hand.

He spoke to Armando Dippet for a short time as the man pressed past. As well as Crestwell and Waterford – the Muggle Studies and Study of Ancient Runes professors, respectfully. But the conversations were brief in comparison to the rest of the circles.

It was Kogawa, who told her all about the House point mishap of 1899 – all done with barely-contained giggling whispers as she partook in yet another bottle of wine.

The newly-appointed Defense teacher had been a little too eager to award his House points for every correct answer – racking up almost two hundred points by the end of the first month, while the other three houses seemed to lose points faster than they could make them up. It took a gentle intervention from the Deputy Headmistresses to set Sterling right.

As the atmosphere warms, the chatter rising and the laughs increasing, Catherine makes her way back around the long table – nearly tripping over her own feet as she bumps into the corner of it. Finding herself in the company of Sharp once again. He regards her with a single uninterested look. Seemingly content to swirl the amber contents of his glass, while a deep frown lays upon his rugged features.

Grabbing hold of one of the wooden chairs, she spins it around in her grasp and carefully settles herself on the seat – pushing her skirt to the side to avoid tripping over it. She sips from her goblet, watching with amused eyes as Chiyo starts performing a hap-hazardous jig with Roslin Kearney, the music professor, across the room.

“So,” she breathes out, catching the eye of the Potion Master once again. “Any advice for a new professor?”

A tell-tale smirk crosses Sharp’s lips as he settles back into the cushion of the chair and finally meets her eyes once again. He finishes off his drink, gaze momentarily distant as he conjures up a proper reply.

“While our departments vastly differ, some common advice would be to tackle the papers before they overtake your desk and your personal time. Fifth-years, by nature, are a nervous wreck come spring and you’d do good to take your grace with them. Third and sixth years are the true trouble of the populace.”

Sharp takes a moment to grab hold of the Firewhiskey on the table next to him, refilling his glass. He grunts with the effort of reaching back to place the bottle and for a second she allows herself to ponder what the extent of his pain is after a further decade.

“Conflict arises and you will need to act, despite every part of yourself that strives to be the better sort of professor.”

“Is that spoken from personal experience?” Catherine asks with a hint of toying in her voice.

It was strange, finding herself on equal footing with Sharp. With the others, it had come almost naturally. Perhaps it was his demeanor, that impenetrable stone-wall exterior of an ex-Auror and seasoned teacher.

His cedar eyes harden momentarily, “No.”

Stifling a laugh with another careful sip of her wine, she watches the way his dark gaze sweeps across the occupants of the room. Ever observant, ever on guard – always watching.

When he replies, his tone is even, bordering on wistful.

“Every new professor who has passed through these halls seems determined to be better than the best of them. By the end of the year, they’re yanking their hair out from students ignoring their every word, and using their kindness to their own advantage. Nip the distraction before it becomes a problem.”

She nods, “Duly noted. I appreciate the advice.”

Sharp huffs, tipping his glass back before finally depositing it on the table.

“I highly doubt you needed it.”

He grips the armrests as he moves to stand, an obvious whine of discomfort is held tight in his throat as he steadies himself slowly.

Catherine sets her goblet down on the staff table behind her as well, standing to move the chair back into its proper place – removing the obstruction from his path. She meets his gaze, head-on, with a gentle curve to her lips.

“But it’s still welcome, all the same.”

Sharp gives a curt nod, looking as though he wants to say something further, but he ultimately grimaces and says, tightly, “If you’ll excuse me, Hart.”

She ducks out of his way, watching as he exits the room with a quick wave toward Aragon as he goes.

Yes, it appeared that the limp had worsened considerably since her time as a student.

His back hunched ever so slightly as he moved, taking shorter steps as he forced his weight down onto his good leg. Only once his figure disappears from sight, does she return her attention to the party. Mirabel calls her over almost instantly, catching her eye from across the room, demanding stories of her travels as she strides over to meet her fellow professors.

“Well, when I was trekking across China three years back, I accidentally found myself in the den of a very cross Chinese Fireball – “

The party eventually winds down, with several professors claiming the need to retire for the evening lest they receive a truly awful hangover in the morning. It was only Monday, after all.

She giggles at the sight of Mirabel and Chiyo swaying through the courtyard, singing a local tune from the taverns no doubt. Matilda bids her goodnight, flushed and clearly a little tipsy before she makes her way toward the other side of the castle.

When the singing duo is out of earshot – headed for the Greenhouses by the looks of it, she finally sighs. Tugging at the pins that held her chignon together, she smooths out her braid as it lays upon her shoulder, storing away the hairpins into her pocket.

It was a truly wonderful experience that evening, connecting with everyone and feeling like she was on equal ground with her previous instructors. With a final glance towards the lingering darkness of Central Hall, she turns down the stone corridor.

Through the double doors, she’s hit with the familiar metallic scent of the potions hall. A lingering smell of boiled dittany, earthen ingredients, and charred cauldrons fills her senses as she spots the warm glow of the open classroom. Unable to help herself, Catherine peers into the room.

Apparently, Sharp hadn’t retired to the Faculty Tower for the night as she had initially thought.

Taking a step into the room, her low-heeled boots click against the cobblestone floor as memories float to the surface of her mind. Her first class some thirteen years ago, Garreth’s ever more adventurous exploding brews, the defensive lessons with Sharp that had left her both exhausted and equally invigorated.

Her fingers run across the rough surface of the table, edges chipped and cracked by potions gone awry, no doubt. She spots the chalkboards in the far corner of the room, already filled out with lesson plans in tightly-lined writing.

Essence of Insanity? The seventh-years would certainly have a time with that particular concoction. And what was it he had set up for his newest students? She paces towards the neighboring board and has to hold back a laugh when she sees Cure for Boils written at the top.

An immediate memory of her small stint as Headmaster Black comes to the forefront of her mind. That was perhaps the greatest Christmas present she had ever received – the look on poor Ominis’ face!

It’s the clearing of a throat that makes her turn away, eyes going a little wide as she catches sight of Sharp watching her from the open doorway of his office. He had removed his overcoat and was now clad in only his gray waistcoat and pressed undershirt.

For just the briefest flash, she has to remind herself that she is not in fact a student that had been caught out after curfew by the strict professor. No, now she was just a tipsy young teacher making a slight fool of herself in front of her esteemed colleague.

He merely raises a brow in her direction as she sheepishly makes her way over to him.

“Surely you’re not in need of more teaching wisdom already.”

She grins, feeling the warm flush of wine bubbling happily in her belly as she rests against the edge of the table across from him – nearly slipping as her feet seem to be reluctant to maintain her center of gravity.

“I think I’ll wait till after my first week to come crawling back for assistance.”

He smirks, a silent chuckle on his lips as he leans against the stone door frame, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Worried you’ll be in need of a particular potion come morning then?”

Another giggle escapes her mouth as she shakes her head.

“I don’t think I’ll be the one needing a hangover cure tomorrow. Abraham and Matilda on the other hand…”

“They hold their liquor far better than you’d expect,” Sharp admits softly, his eyes examining her features in search of something that’s apparently laid bare on her face.

A silence stretches for a beat too long between them. Catherine notices the way he has his left leg situated, resting his weight on the heel of his boot as opposed to flat down on the floor. The glimmer of something shiny, just behind him resting on the edge of his desk, catches her attention – like a Niffler to a jewel-encrusted necklace – before his words draw her back in.

“Then what, may I ask, are you doing here?”

Catherine blushes, brushing down her skirt with her sweaty palms for a brief second, “I apologize. I saw the light as I made my way down. I was drawn in by old memories I suppose.”

Sharp grits his teeth, adjusting his position again and she has half the mind to ask if he wants to sit back down but she ultimately holds her tongue.

“Ah, off to check on your beasts, no doubt.”

“Off to bed, actually,” she bristles slightly, tugging at the loose strands of her braid.

He looks her over once, an amused expression crossing his features as he says in a slightly chastising tone, “I believe the Faculty Tower is in the other direction, Hart.”

“I’m well aware of that, Sharp. But if you must know, my chambers are at the end of the tapestry corridor since Howin’s cabin is no longer standing.”

There’s a moment where his brows rise and his dark eyes flash. She barely misses the slightest downturn of his lips into a deeper grimace. Was he so repulsed at the thought of her quarters being in proximity to his storeroom? Maybe her time as a student had truly soured his opinion of her. Admittedly, her exploits had been the topic of conversation amongst the students and staff right up until graduation.

“Honestly,” she continues on. “I’ve been here for almost a month now. Maybe if you poked your head out of your office every now and then you would have had the chance to speak to me before tonight.”

Taking note of his rigid stature, Catherine eases her tone – realizing that the glass of wine and two shots of Firewhiskey might have been affecting her reaction to a simple inquiry.

“In the hall by the stairs, there was an old storage room – filled to the brim with statues. Matilda had the elves clear it out for me before I arrived.”

Sharp nods in understanding.

“I wondered what had become of the Trolls.”

“Nasty things, if you ask me,” Catherine says, pushing off from the table to pace back and forth while keeping her eyes on him. “Bit barbaric, honestly. If nothing else, it just frightens the younger students. It’s hardly teaching material, is it? But there is this lingering smell in the hall that I can’t seem to get rid of – which I blame entirely on dusty old stuffed trolls, to be clear.”

She feels a swell in her chest as she realizes Sharp is smiling softly at her little drunken ramblings. Not the best impression to make, of course. Coming to an almost immediate stop, Catherine smooths down her braid and offers up a timid smile.

“And I believe that’s my cue to head down before I begin telling you all about the Pixies I found hidden in a hole behind the tapestry of the wizard with the golden phoenix last week.”

He smirks in amusement, “An enthralling tale, I’m sure.”

Ducking her head with the surge of embarrassment running through her, she says a quick, “Goodnight, Sharp,” before she heads out of the humid classroom and makes for the spiral stairs. Her cheeks burn and her stomach lurches unpleasantly.

Well, at least she wasn’t the one singing drinking songs at the top of her lungs this evening, she tells herself. No, Catherine was quite looking forward to teasing Mirabel relentlessly for her rendition of “My Witty Witchy Lass” come morning.

In the safety of her chambers, she blames the slight racing of her heart on her excessive consumption and shamefully drunken encounter with an esteemed colleague that she was expected to work alongside of. She had to sort herself out before the students arrived if she ever wanted to be taken seriously. Both by them and her fellow staff members.

Aesop had been largely absorbed by his lesson planning this past week. Though many of the materials and units of study had remained relatively unchanged over the two decades of teaching the subject, he still enjoyed refining certain aspects every year or so. In fact, he had only just returned to the school – having spent the past month and a half in Northern England, where he had a residence.

The return to the castle had been entirely uneventful, but the minute he apparated outside of the gates, his chest ached with that familiar feeling. This was truly home for him, as he spent the better part of the year here. However, that wasn’t just it.

While many of his colleagues had a life away from the school, this was the central aspect of his life now. After he left the Auror Department, there was very little awaiting him in the ruins of the accident. Aesop had latched onto this opportunity when it presented itself just a year later. This is what he had.

And while he had enjoyed his time away, savoring in the simple life for a short time – the days where he could sleep in past seven and drink himself into a stupor without cause for concern – this was where he felt he had a true purpose.

Aesop spends most of his days preparing his classroom, detailing out lesson plans, and studying the incoming class listings. Headmaster Aragon takes the time to come down and introduce himself properly. And though Aesop likes the man – far more than his predecessor, of course – he finds the visit largely cumbersome toward the work he’s trying to accomplish.

“You know, Sharp. I must commend you, I regret I was a rather poor student when it came to potion-making. It must take quite a deal of patience to handle the different abilities of your students.”

He had merely hummed in affirmation, wishing for the man to be called away so he could return to the solitude of planning.

In fact, Aesop had found himself so invested in the preparation of his department, that he had scarcely seen another faculty member prior to the meeting. Abraham sought him out, of course, to share in the traditional evening round of Ogden’s Old before term began. And Garlick had managed to track him down as well to discuss their usual ingredient cultivation arrangement.

His days started late and his evenings dragged on well past the midnight hour. By the time he returned to his chambers, the rest of the castle was soundly asleep – the portraits had the annoying habit of loudly shushing him whenever he went to unlock his door.

Aesop’s thoughts had rarely strayed from the upcoming year and it was only with a distant curiosity that he even found himself thinking about Howin’s new replacement. It was with a small amount of shock that he found himself sitting next to his former student; the Hero of Hogwarts herself.

Though Bai had taken to reading her correspondences with Hart every time a new letter arrived, Aesop admittedly hadn’t considered the possibility of the young witch taking on the role.

When he found himself situated in the armchair in the staff lounge, just after Howin received the rare note from the well-traveled creature enthusiast, he would occasionally overhear the tales of her adventures. Tracking down Demiguise in the Far East, rehabilitating Fire Crabs from a poacher in Fiji, and a run-in with a Tebo in the Congo.

Her most recent correspondence from February outlined Miss Hart’s nearly fatal rescue of a Peruvian Vipertooth – much to everyone’s shock and horror.

The woman was clearly deep within the realm of reckless youthful adventuring. To see her, sitting at the staff table looking like a proper teacher, was rather unnerving. Though he greeted her without issue and spoke of Bai’s praises.

What he spent the remainder of the evening doing was pondering the question of why. Why she had forgone her travels to teach. Was it a promise to her beloved Beasts professor? Or perhaps there was a deeper meaning. As he refills his drink, he can’t help but watch the way she moves between their colleagues.

She fits in. That’s what’s strange about it.

Sterling had been a boisterous, but also oddly awkward, individual when he began teaching a few years back. It had taken the better part of a full term for the man to begin to work his way into the older teaching circle. And only thanks to the likes of Mirabel was he ever fully incorporated into their outings to the village.

But Miss Hart…

Aesop shakes his head, staring down into the Firewhiskey in his glass as she makes her way over with a timid smile.

He’s waiting for that same overzealous sort of conversation he had been on the receiving end of when Sterling was first introduced. That naive sense of higher experience than the rest of them. But she properly surprises him when she asks for advice, of all things. He searches her gaze and finds nothing but genuine interest and a twinge of nerves.

So, he tells her what he wished he himself had heard when he began working at the school. Though with her wealth of experience, he honestly doesn’t believe she’ll be in much need of his – or anyone else’s – words of wisdom.

Aesop excuses himself as the prospect of spending any more time in the presence of his drunken colleagues tends to render him rather uninterested. At best, he could reserve a tolerance for those moments during the monthly Hogsmeade outing, but no more than that.

It takes him a few minutes to cross the courtyard and return to his classroom – just a few steps too many for his leg’s liking.

He has every intention of downing a pain potion and finishing up a stack of late correspondences that had been sitting in his inbox since he arrived back at the castle. A handful of notes here and there from old associates at the Auror’s office, an invitation to a Ministry gala in the winter, a reply from Pippin about a rare plant he had come across in his studies over the summer holiday.

Were it not for the soft footsteps outside of his office door, the tittering laughter was enough of a giveaway. He takes a moment to stand before he heads to the doorway – watching as Hart looks over his prepared lesson plans on the chalkboards.

Perhaps she wasn’t aware that he was still there, as she seems to sway slightly when she moves along to the second board – completely engrossed by what she sees.

Only when he catches her attention does he realize just how tipsy the young woman is. Lost in the memories, she had said as her excuse for being in the classroom. And when she mentions the location of her quarters – well… it truly is his own fault for being completely unobservant.

He hadn’t taken the chance to stroll around the grounds before the students arrived back for the year. And perhaps if he had, he would have realized that the hut next to the Beast classroom was no more. If he had ever managed to go down to his chambers at a decent hour, he may have even seen her just down the hall. But to know that she was just a few steps away was rather unsettling.

Aesop had enjoyed the privacy these past five years. Kogawa had her rooms near her own classroom. And Moon was located out by the North Gate. Down here, he had enjoyed the solitude – the complete lack of students, in fairness. But now, it appeared that another member of staff had taken up residence just down from him.

When she bids him a rather quick farewell, he has to hide his chuckle – watching as she nearly knocks over a stack of cauldrons next to the door on her way out. He gives a tired shake of his head. The room seems quieter than it had been when he was alone: colder. Running a hand through his hair, he returns to his office and finishes off the replies as the clock strikes eleven.

The gold and rosebud-toned sky brought the promise of a gorgeous late-summer day as she began securing the wards around the Beasts classroom.

The familiar roll of incantations fell from her lips, and the surging sensation of her magic flowed from her core to the yew-carved wand – blue shimmers of spellwork slowly dissipated as she moved around the boundaries of the paddocks.

Her Flobberworms twitched on the table next to the covered pavilion, enjoying their morning cabbage and the warmth of the rising sun. While the Diricawls hooted from their enclosed paddock, madly disapparating and reappearing as they waited for their morning meal. At least the Jobberknolls seemed content in their large avian cage – swinging on their perches and peeking out from the branches of the oak tree. Bless the expanding charm, it was like a proper forest when you stepped into their enclosure.

Only once the wards are set in place and she feels firm in their strength, does Catherine begin the morning chores. The Fairies seem content to stare at themselves in the jeweled mirror today, so she passes them by in favor of her more impatient beasts.

The Hippogriffs are all pacing near the edges of their enlarged paddock when she approaches with two large buckets of dead ferrets – the smell alone makes her forcefully turn her head away. It didn’t matter how many times she had handled it over the years, some scents could just not be tolerated.

Their hooves are a thunderous symphony as they all push against each other in their eagerness.

“Come on now, back it up, back it up. Hey! I will show favoritism if you push it, Oswald.”

One by one they jump up to catch their breakfast, swallowing the meat almost whole before charging back in for another. Her fifth years were going to be in for an exciting first quarter, she was sure of it.

It’s the caw from a neighboring paddock that reluctantly has her moving on from Luann who had been pushing her beak into Catherine’s hand for more scritches.

“Yes, yes. I haven’t forgotten about you, I promise,” she informs the creature as she levitates over his specially primed meal.

“Spoiled little thing you are,” she coos as the raw steak flanks fly into the Griffin’s range.

While Matilda hadn’t been particularly keen on her bringing an XXXX-classified beast onto school grounds, Catherine had been adamant that her seventh-years were more than capable of interacting with such a creature. Not to mention, the insured promise of having more than enough protective wards and gear to keep everyone safe left no room for further argument.

And more importantly, Ominis had assured her that this specific Griffin was used to being around witches and wizards and was far tamer than any other he had encountered in Greece. Catherine hadn’t felt the need to ask why he was around Griffins in any capacity but chalked it up to the mysterious work that he never spoke of directly.

After checking in on the Knarls, Dugbogs, and Diricawls, and ensuring that the Fairies had their food laid out in dainty rose-gold porcelain cups, she makes her way over to the actual classroom.

Stored away in cabinets next to the chalkboard were her full lesson plans. All of which were meticulously written out earlier in the month. Bai had left her more than enough to work with and she was incredibly grateful for her predecessor as she eyed old copies of essay topics and test questions under piles of Jobberknoll feathers.

“Ah! I was hoping to find you here.”

Lifting her head from the parchment in front of her, Catherine offers a welcoming smile to the young Defense teacher as he comes up the path. His blue and gold waistcoat swirls and glimmers in the sunlight, his smile nearly blinding as he ducks into the covered classroom. He pulls off his matching navy cap, running a quick hand through his sandy blonde locks.

She straightens up immediately, untying her work apron from her waist. All too aware of what she likely smelled like after working, she casts a silent Scourgify on her muck-covered boots. Her dragon-hide gloves are carefully placed to the side as well before she addresses the man in front of her.

“And what can I do for you, Professor Sterling?”

“Roland, please,” he urges with another beaming grin. “And I was hoping I could compare lesson plans with you.”

“Oh?”

She grabs the wooden stool next to the cabinet and swivels to sit down on it as he leans against the table across from her.

“Howin was kind enough to let me know when she had particular creatures around, you see. A few were quite useful to my students these past years.”

Shuffling through her lesson plans, she nods with a smile, “Ah, I understand. Any beasts you were looking for specifically?”

At that, Roland digs into his waistcoat’s pocket and unfolds a small piece of parchment. His emerald eyes squint slightly as he tries to decipher his own writing.

“Pixies?”

She hums softly, dragging her finger across her plans until the name appears, “Looks like I have it set for my fifth years to begin studying them around the start of February. We’ll use them for about three weeks before we move on to Fwoopers.”

He hahs with delight, quickly scratching down the information.

They set about planning the timing around her introduction to Grindylows, Fire Crabs, and Kappas – the last one making him let out an involuntary cheer.

“The number of requests I made to Weasley last year to appeal for a single Kappa for my sixth-years – “

“Oh, I completely understand her reasoning, of course,” Catherine grins. “If Black was still Headmaster, I imagine I would be stuck with just a pack of Puffeskeins and Horklumps for my older students.”

Roland tucks away his notes, leaning on the table with his elbows, a lazy smile tugging at his lips.

“No, Aragon is a considerable breath of fresh air in comparison. Lucky for you he seems to be invested in your department far more than the others.”

She blushes at the implication, quickly shuffling her papers back into a neat order. Hopping off the stool, she goes to file them back in their proper place. Speaking over her shoulder as she goes:

“I highly doubt that. Professor Onai said she could barely get him out of her classroom yesterday. He just wanted to discuss every little bit and piece of divination – broke her teacups more than once I believe.”

“And – “ she turns back toward her fellow professor, “He was down bothering Crestwell all day Tuesday.”

“Yes, so I heard in the lounge the other night. He has a… what was it again?”

“A motor car – they’re quite the rage in Muggle cities. I think Aragon was hoping to go for a ride in it, honestly.”

He chuckles, dipping his head down, “Now, I would pay good money to see that.”

Catherine hums at the thought, picturing the overzealous Headmaster not only removing the vehicle from its display case, but also trying to steer the petrol engine across the courtyard. Her amusing thoughts are quickly taken from her as Roland asks, quite abruptly –

“So, are you finished for the morning?”

At that, she blinks once before outwardly laughing.

She swipes a hand across her heated brow, “Hardly.”

Gesturing at the paddocks and cages, “I’ve just been waiting for them to finish their breakfast, you see. My Diricawls need grooming, the Jobberknoll cage needs mucking out, and the Dugbogs’ swamp needs readjusting – water temperature, you understand. Not to mention –“

She holds out her hand, wordlessly casting Accio as she summons her broom. It zooms across the yard before landing in her firm grip; her fingers flex along the handle with the muscle memory.

“My Hippogriffs and Griffin need to stretch their wings.”

Roland holds up his hands in playful defeat, laughing as he goes, “Well, I’ll leave you to it then, Hart.”

She gives him a curt nod as he makes his way back down the path to the West Tower entrance. After ensuring everything was back in its proper place, Catherine sets about unlocking the enclosures.

“Come on, then,” she whistles.

The Hippogriffs charge out of the paddock, down the hill towards the courtyard before they, one by one, take off into the air – stretching their wings as they soar above the school grounds. She watches with a trained eye as the Griffin takes his time trotting down the same incline. He turns back to seemingly watch her before he uses his hind legs to jump into a graceful arc – his wings expanding outwards as he glides.

After all the chores were checked off her list and a particular Jobberknoll’s wing was bandaged up, she takes to the sky.

It took a full hour to round everyone back up to their pens. Nigel, the single bronze-toned Hippogriff, required extra encouragement to land in the form of two delicious-looking ferrets. But she was eventually able to lock them in their secure little areas, wards safely back in place over the entire outdoor classroom – therefore preventing them from flying off on their own accord.

Back in the Bell Tower, she takes the stone steps two at a time as she enters the tapestry hall. A proper change of clothes was in order for her trek into Hogsmeade after all. But it’s the creaking sound of a door up the corridor that captures her interest first.

Professor Sharp enters the hall, his back to her, as he leans heavily upon a silver-headed cane. His head is tipped downward as he begins making his way down the corridor with a slow limp. At least it seemed he was taking in the last few days of moderate comfort before term, as he was once again devoid of his usual tailored jacket.

As she watches him go, she’s almost instantly reminded of her conversation with Sterling earlier that morning and she mentally wants to slap herself for forgetting to have a nearly identical talk with the Potion Master.

“Sharp!” she calls out, taking to a light jog as she hurries to catch up to him.

His back straightens before he turns to look at her. An unimpressed raised brow graces his face as Catherine comes to a breathless stop in front of him, a wide grin upon her lips.

“Sorry, I didn��t know when I’d have the chance to speak to you before the weekend.”

She glances at the door he had just exited from, expecting to see the potion store room, but that locked door is further down the hall and a question comes to mind, but once again she holds her tongue.

He’s staring at her when she returns her gaze to his. There’s the slightest tilt of his head as his earthen eyes put their full attention to her face. It’s nearly suffocating.

“You have a, uhm,” he clears his throat, carefully reaching his hand across the space between them, and picks a small downy gray-speckled feather from the top of her head.

He examines it for a moment – twisting it in his fingers. His lips turn up into the beginnings of a smile as she immediately flushes.

“That would be Napoleon’s,” Catherine says by way of explanation as she snags the feather from him with a sheepish smile and tucks it away into her trouser pocket.

At the amused raise of his eyebrows, she feels the need to elaborate.

“The young buck of my Hippogriff herd. I had them stretching their wings this morning and had to round them back up again. He’s the playful sort, wanted to race me, I think.”

The professor hums with that deep rumble of his before she remembers why she had called out for him in the first place.

“As I was saying, blame it on my inexperience, but I apologize for not getting with you sooner. I’m aware that you and Matron Blainey have an arrangement for brewing, as well as your work with Mirabel. If you have the time, I’d be amicable to discussing my own lesson plans with you.”

Understanding crosses his features as he inclines his head toward her, “That would be agreeable.”

“Perfect!”

Sharp begins striding toward the spiral stairs and Catherine quickly moves to walk alongside him.

“I hope I’m not interrupting your own planning session,” she realizes with a shade of embarrassment, having just thrust this upon him. Perhaps she should have made the effort to make an appointment with him first.

His cane clicks against the steps, his gait slowed by the ascent. Her eyes can’t help but travel to his left leg as he walks ahead of her. Had his foot always dragged the way it does now?

He hums in a thoughtful tone, gripping the head of his cane with whitening knuckles, “I’m merely awaiting the completion of several potions for the Infirmary at the present moment.”

“Ah, good timing then.”

The two of them enter the Potions classroom and she spots several cauldrons held under a temporary stasis charm – one that he immediately lifts upon entering the room. From scent alone, she recognizes the familiar Wiggenweld brew. Leaning over, she peers into the neighboring table’s cauldron set-up, ah. The antidote to common poisons, of course.

Her gaze lifts as Sharp settles into the chair at his desk, his cane hanging from the armrest by his right hand. She takes the unspoken cue and crosses the room, summoning a spare chair from one of the dimly lit alcoves to sit next to him.

As she settles onto the stool, Sharp takes hold of a teapot that had been left under a warming charm on his desk and begins pouring the contents into a white cup with intricate green and gold inlaid designs upon it.

“Tea?” he asks, not sparing a glance up from his current task.

She scoots forward on the stool, “If it wouldn’t be a bother.”

He nods, conjuring up a second cup from somewhere in his office. It floats past them on its own saucer which he snatches from the air, pouring once again.

Catherine hums her thanks as she takes a small sip of the warm drink – a herbal concoction that makes her face flush. She’s careful to move the cup away from her immediate reach as she grabs hold of the folded parchment from her trouser pocket.

“While I do have specific creatures that I’ll be rotating through throughout the year, it wouldn’t be terribly difficult for me to procure special ingredients if the need demanded it.”

“There are some – ” he admits, “that I find harder to come by during certain seasons.”

She nods quickly. Certain things, like Unicorn horn, could only be harvested at particular times of the year. Other creatures hibernated through the winter months and were nearly impossible to locate and disturbing them was only for the truly reckless.

“Well, you’re in luck then! I have several connections across the continent who would be more than willing to send a few things your way if your supplies were running low. Now, let’s see…”

He’s content with her current schedule of creature rotation. Flobberworm mucus, Jobberknoll feathers, Fairy wings, and Knarl quills would be available during the first quarter. Kneazle hair and Unicorn byproducts in the second – they’ll start shedding their horns by mid-January, so the timing will be just about right. Puffeskein and Thestral hair in the third quarter. And lastly –

His tone hardens significantly after she says it and her stomach drops with the sensation that she’s about to be on the receiving end of an infamously harsh Professor Sharp lashing.

She hadn’t experienced one of those since the spring of 1893.

“And what exactly are you intending to do with a Graphorn on school grounds?”

She can’t help but beam – she was no longer a student and his words didn’t create the desired effect he had likely hoped they would.

“Educate, mostly.”

Sharp rubs his temples, but she thinks she can spot the makings of what could be a smile under his hand.

“Salazar’s beard, Hart. I trust the Headmaster has at least been informed of your reckless intentions.”

“Of course!” She feels downright cheery now as she takes a sip from her teacup, “Mmm. He was very enthusiastic about the decision actually. Even Matilda was convinced of my plans by the end of the meeting.”

Feeling a twist of mischievousness creeping up her spine, she adds, nonchalantly, “I think the third years can handle it after all. Of course, we’ll be saving the Quintaped for my fifth years. And the Hebridean Black for the older students. They’re the tamer of the dragon breeds, you know.”

He lifts his head immediately, eyes widening before narrowing just as quickly.

The young instructor holds his steady gaze for a moment before ducking her head down with a ringing laugh. She has to cover her mouth with her hand when she sees the way he seems to sag with relief in his chair.

Oh, it was relieving to know that she could still give them all gray hairs even after all this time.

“Honestly, do you still take me for the reckless child I once was, Professor?”

Sharp sighs, resting his cheek in his right palm as he stares at her with a tired, but amused expression for a long-stretching moment.

“Do you wish for a truthful answer?”

“The cheek!” Catherine cries out, smiling brightly at the accompanying sound of his warm timbre of a chuckle.

The comfortable spell is broken by the sound of several alarms going off all at once. Her gaze draws to the cauldrons across the room in realization. The Potion Master hefts himself out of the chair, making his way to the finished brews with a grimace drawn upon his lips once again.

“Would you like some help bottling?” she asks, following after him.

He offers her a calculated look before answering in that usual gruff tone, “I believe I can handle the job. I’m sure you have more pressing matters to attend to.”

Empty bottles fly out from a cabinet near his office, swooping past her before they land in neat little rows on the table beside him. She doesn’t want the warm camaraderie they had shared to end just yet. Stretching up onto the tips of her toes, she looks from him to the cauldrons and back again.

“Only a trip into Hogsmeade to set up orders with Ellie Peck, but that’s not particularly time sensitive.”

Sweeping her gaze toward him, tilting her head down and to the side to appear in his peripheral, she asks, “Do you not trust my ability to bottle and label Wiggenweld, Sharp?”

The ladle in his hand pauses, mid-air, as he sets her with a single raised brow that seems to say Honestly, Hart?

He huffs indignantly, returning his focus to the tedious task at hand.

“I merely assumed that your attention would be required elsewhere.”

Which is about as much of an invitation as she’s going to get. So, with a hidden smile of triumph, Catherine summons more bottles from the cabinet and begins working on the opposite table – scooping, measuring, corking, and labeling the antidotes.

There’s something comfortable about the process, similar to grooming the Kneazles or stocking the feed supplies. But while those tasks were usually done alone, in the heat of the afternoon sun, this particular task was done alongside another. Maybe it was the sense of companionship she had been missing.

It had been well over a year since her last long-stint with a group of fellow creature enthusiasts, after all. She had largely been working solo missions ever since her time in the Far East.

So, standing alongside Sharp, even though his interest in carrying on a conversation was null and void, felt oddly wonderful. Sparing him a glance as she begins sorting the bottled potions into an empty crate, she can’t help but feel the warm bubble of joy in her chest.

When the last of the cauldrons is emptied of its contents, parts of her hair have fallen out of her braid – loose strands curl around her ears from the humidity of the room, and she has to wipe the sweat from her brow.

By the end of it, they have a dozen or so boxes tightly lined with healing potions. She looks from the crates to the man before her and then the quickest glance down to his leg.

“I can take these up to Blainey if you want. I forgot how grueling it is to cross the castle with all these stairs. I certainly could use the exercise.”

Sharp actually rolls his eyes at that and she briefly wonders if she’s overstepped by insinuating that he couldn’t handle the journey up to the Hospital Wing on his own.

“Nonsense,” he says, flicking his wand at the crates, making them levitate beside him. “I have a connection to the Floo network in my chambers.”

“Oh,” is all she can say, quick to send a Levioso at her own stack of boxes as she moves to follow him out of the classroom – their brews trailing behind them.

And though there’s a moment where she wants to ask what the point is in traveling all the way to the Faculty Tower just to use the Floo, she bites her tongue. Particularly when Sharp turns to head down the stairs to the tapestry corridor instead.

She trails after him like a lost little Crup, past the potion storage cupboard before he stops in front of the second door – about halfway down the hall. He holds it open for the crates and for Catherine, who sheepishly slinks past him with a tight smile.

Oh, yes. This made much more sense.

Catherine takes in the living quarters of the Potion Master. Similar to the old room – the one that she most definitely had never snuck into during her time as a student – the dungeon chamber is decorated in warm red tones. A heavy scent of sandalwood caresses her senses as she spins in a slow circle, taking it all in.

There’s a folded partition screen to her right that seems to be placed to give the sleeping area an air of privacy. Stacks of books and papers adorn every surface. A small cart near the fireplace is decorated with several different bottles of ale and whiskey. Curiously, no portraits are adorning the walls this time.

Sharp strides across the room and she refocuses on her task – allowing the crates to come to a peaceful rest on the rug in front of the unlit fireplace.

As her colleague calls for the Hospital Wing, she slowly makes her way over to him – taking only a moment to glance at the writing desk across from her where several charcoal drawings seem to be haphazardly hidden away under a stack of dusty tomes.

When she looks back at Sharp, he’s on his knee in front of the fireplace, carefully sending on the crates through the harmless green flames. Realizing her situation, she moves to join him, passing along the crates one by one.

With the last one through, he dusts off his hands and looks over at her with a pleased glint in his dark eyes. She stands first, offering him her hand before he can even attempt to get up on his own. He seems momentarily reluctant, his eyes refusing to meet her gaze, but he eventually clasps his large palm in her smaller one and allows himself the assistance.

There’s a newly-formed grit to his voice as he continues to avoid her gaze, his eyes focusing on something just past her head.

“Thank you. With your help, I have reclaimed an extra hour to my day.”

“Of course,” she grins. “Two pairs of hands are better than one.”

Catherine allows herself a moment to take in his room once again. And then his attention is upon her and the brewing emotion in his eyes is enough to make her heart race.

“Well, best be on my way. I promised Sirona I’d stop by before term started and I fear I might have skipped breakfast to get everything arranged outside this morning.”

Sharp inclines his head, a small smile upon his thin lips, “Of course. I’m afraid I have the daunting task of finalizing my semester plans laying ahead of me this afternoon.”

She offers a chuckle, feeling her heart beat even out, “I do not envy you in the slightest. I’ll see you later then, I suppose – considering the proximity.”

He nods slowly, “Yes, I suppose we shall.”

With another parting word of thanks and goodbyes, she exits the Potion Master’s private chambers and heads down the hall to her own room.

How strange, she thought, as she switched into a clean set of clothes at last.

Perhaps he had made the move after having had enough of trying to tackle the tower stairs every night. The distance to his classroom was certainly ideal, much like her own request to have her lodging so close to her creatures.

When she heads into the main hall, she glances down the long corridor, half-expecting to see Sharp standing there again. But only the sound of the portraits chattering amongst themselves remains in his place.

Securing her worn leather traveling bag across her shoulder, Catherine makes for the stairs – looking more and more forward to the idea of having a warm meal and a good drink with a dear old friend.

Next Chapter

#aesop sharp x mc #aesop sharp x oc #professor sharp x mc #professor sharp x oc #aesop sharp fanfic #professor sharp fanfic #hphl fanfic #series: bitter water #my fic

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arda-ancalima · 10 months

Text

Canon divergence: The night before reaching England for the forensic science symposium, Mikotoba takes a walk through Dunkirk and encounters a ghost—Kazuma Asogi, alive and reeling from something he cannot say.

This is set after Kazuma leaves Gregson in Jigoku’s cabin on the SS Grouse. His state following the incident is inspired by volte-face by hi_its_ellis.

For Greatest Family Week 2023, July 27th: Free Day (I’m a little late!) @greatestfamilyweek

—

Mikotoba glanced at his watch. He should get back to the ship soon. He was enjoying his walk on dry land, despite the light rain that started just when he was too far to turn back. Even his preparation for the forensic science symposium did not wholly stave off the idleness of the long voyage, and he needed to be active. Thankfully it was nearing its end; within the hour they would depart France and cross the Channel to Dover, and in the morning reach London, his daughter, and old friends.

As he was making his way along the water to the dock, something made him pause: a man with a grip on the railing as if on the verge of collapse, wiping vomit from his mouth as he gasped for air. Mikotoba was tempted to pass on by—it was probably a local that had a bit too much of a good time, and besides, he couldn’t be late for his ship. But something urged him to approach, and he found himself leaning over the man.

“Bonjour. Er…je suis docteur,” he tried to say, knowing his accent was atrocious even if he remembered the right words to say he was a doctor.

When the man turned his face up at Mikotoba, his heart stopped.

“Kazuma?”

He was haggard and rain-soaked and wearing an unfamiliar cloak, but it was Kazuma’s glazed eyes that squinted back in bewilderment.

“Professor?”

Mikotoba couldn’t help himself—he pulled Kazuma into his arms. Holding him tight, he was overwhelmed with a joy that pierced like sorrow, sighing in relief as it spread through his soul. “You’re alive. You’re alive, I never dared to think—” His voice quivered, and he put a hand on the back of Kazuma’s head, cradling him against his shoulder for a moment.

Soon he reluctantly pulled away and put his hands on Kazuma’s shoulders. “Let me look at you. You look sick. Are you all right? What on earth are you doing here?”

Kazuma didn’t seem able to find the words. As he looked him over, Mikotoba noticed the katana hanging from Kazuma’s belt. “Oh! You have seen Susato and Naruhodo! So you have been to Britain? Sorry, you must be half frozen. Let’s find somewhere to get you out of the rain.”

Continue reading on AO3

#tgaafamilyweek23 #the great ace attorney #dai gyakuten saiban #yujin mikotoba #kazuma asogi #seishiro jigoku #ace attorney #mikotoba yuujin #asougi kazuma #fanfiction #arda writes #*#I had barely any time yesterday but I'm off today so here is yesterday's and I hope to get out today's later!#tgaa spoilers #dgs spoilers

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impossibleprincess35 · 8 months

Text

The Echo and the Stain | ch 11

[Excerpt:]

As Qui-Gon headed back in the direction of the cockpit, Obi-Wan jumped up out of his chair and walked over to the kitchenette to grab his canteen where he had been refilling it with their water stores. He took a sip and then flopped down on the sofa behind where she rested at the table, and he asked bluntly, “Is he always like that?”

Satine lifted her head and turned to lean against the back of her chair as she glanced in his direction, “Almec? Always. He’s made it no secret that he thinks I’m too young.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, “I’ve met princesses younger than you who have more of a backbone than that man. Funny how age seems to be a qualification for capability.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, Satine responded with genuine curiosity, “Younger than me? How much younger?”

Thoughts of Princess Fanry of the planet Pijal came to mind and Obi-Wan thought for a moment before he stated, “I believe she was only fourteen.”

“Hmm,” Satine considered the girl’s age with a nod and looked aside. Fourteen was young, not that it reflected poorly in her mind upon the girl Obi-Wan was referencing. Rather, she wondered if the fourteen year old had been well-supported, or had she been thrown into her noble place and abandoned?

Obi-Wan noticed her silence and stretched out on the sofa. There was little to do on the voyage. He had already fumbled through their supply stores in the cargo hold to double check and then triple check the quantities. The engineering bay was the same as it always was. With nothing more to do, the padawan appeared to be committed to a fleeting moment of laziness.

Long and lean, Satine stood from the table and stretched, and then walked to the kitchenette to make a cup of tea. She busied herself there and ignored him, lost in the scent of loose tea and honey, as the kettle began to boil.

“Did you always know that you were going to be the ruler of Mandalore?” Obi-Wan asked out loud, glancing over at her.

Satine paused and although her face never changed, and not a hint of emotion danced upon her features, she was thinking to herself. Her hands resumed expertly handling her tea and she shrugged, “Yes and no,” as she waited for the kettle to finish.

Turning onto his side so he could better glance at her from the angle at which he was lying, Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. He wondered why she couldn’t just answer the question straight-forwardly. Why did everything with her have to be complex? “Yes and no? You’ll need to be clearer than that, Duchess.”

The whistle of the kettle finally sounded, and immediately, Satine removed it from its heat source and poured the water over the infuser of tea leaves. Gesturing with the kettle, she asked, “Want some? I’ll make it for you,” but he declined. She glanced down in her mug and watched the drink begin to steep, and then continued, “The answer you’re looking for is complicated. I could explain it if you want, but do you care to know that much?”

Shrugging, he said, “I don’t have anything better to do.”

Chapter 11 is up.

I loathe Almec. He's a punk ass. (He gives off real strong Senator Xiono vibes YKWIM.)

#the echo and the stain #obitine #obi wan x satine #fanfic

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cldhrbour · 2 months

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[ TRAIL ]: sender leaves a trail of kisses down receivers stomach. ❤ - @recitedemise

he plants her softly in the garden of silk sheets and pillows that cover her bed. fertilizing her with languid kisses as if his whole intent was to commit every spot of her skin to memory , as if he alone in doing so could nurse the garden of her back from wilting away. every once in a while he's gifted with a contented sigh. a thick hum that sings in the cage of her ribs , and in a low , velvety timbre she breathes " so hungry , aren't you. . . " their eyes meet briefly in acknowledgement , the both of them bleeding reverence before he continues his pilgrimage. he's crafting a storm on the canvas of her dermis. across the expanse of her collarbones , traversing dove-white arms only pausing to catch plush flesh between dull teeth. though it may not leave marks 'pon her skin , they're sparks amongst the skating of his hands that sends ripples through her tidal wave , the tracing of his hair as it falls past his face raining porcelain gooseflesh in its wake. to that end , serana reaches , tucks the silk of brown away so she can keep watching the desperate need creasing into his brow as he works. content to watch as she would any other artist. he's just pathed the sensitive skin beneath her breasts , settling into her sternum where he begins his voyage south to feast and taste the bounty of her pliant stomach as if she were a fully ripened summer's peach. oh , she breathes , if only she could bottle this love , this worship , for days when he was much too busy to take his time with her. for when he didn't have until the wee hours of the morning to commit to her memory how his tongue felt tracing the silvery scars that marred her hips.

time blurred , their room only a melody of serene moans and kisses tenderly punctuating the silence. so this was how it was supposed to be. this sacred moment. ( not how she'd described to gale her only experience prior to him , how it was void of any emotion outside of her fear and bal's desire to claim. there was no avoiding it when he'd first seen her bare , traced the swell of her hips so delicately. there'd been a look in gale's eye at the time that she wasn't quite sure what to make of , but now , here together like this , she thinks he'd given himself the job to take extra care and erase all preconceived notions he possibly could. no , she'd only think of HIM now when she traced those marks absently. not her god. not anymore. he could take that place. ) her loose grip tightens against his scalp and gale's head is lifted firmly , yet gently from his ministrations to look up at her. veneration painted on his face , serana delights in the little ardent whimper that sticks sweetly in his throat , percussed by the thundering beating of his heart.

" how beautiful you are with your lips flush. . . " the vampire muses , absentmindedly running her thumb along the swell of his mouth. he'd given her everything. his trust. his devotion. his life. how she longed to return it to him in kind. to fill his well with that which overflowed in hers. crimson eyes seep adoration as she looks at him nestled between her legs as if he's nothing short of holy. they've equally taking on dual roles of god and worshipper and that , serana thinks , is exactly how it's ought to be. " speak to me your poetry , pretty thing. i want you to hear how you make me sing. i want you to hear what you do to me. " whisper your prayers to the skin of my thighs.

#my fist IS IN MY MOUTH I'M SCREAMING #I'M--#DEAN #DEEEAAAAN #✝︎ . ⌜ ic ⌟ . 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬.#✝︎ . ⌜ memes ⌟ . 𝐨𝐡 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥.#recitedemise #usft #ish

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