#* ―― ｟ MOON JUNE ｠ ⸻ muse ▻ to reach for the stars .

[allvalley]

muse tag.

[selfetishizing]

In which Eiji grossly overestimates the amount of mandarins he and Ash can eat. / 🍊 / ao3

Eiji comes home with a carton of mandarins and drops them at the entrance step with a dull thump.

“It was a good deal,” he tells Ash between breaths. “Ten kilograms for six thousand yen.” And then something about Mikan mandarins being nothing like those Floridian jokes for citrus and how the season for them is coming to a close. Ash never asked in the first place. It was as though he was defending himself from something before Ash could even open his mouth.

“Okay.” Ash kisses him on the cheek and helps him out of his coat, always in that order. Eiji stands on his toes, balancing himself with the cords of Ash’s sweater to aim another on his mouth. Ash leans down to help him, unconsciously souring his expression as he pulls back. “Have one on your way home?” He kisses him again for surety and, well, sure enough, his lips taste like they had been doused with Tang.

“A couple. Two couples.”

Ash whistles. “Dang. These oranges must be somethin’.”

"Mandarins, Ash. Mandarins. Not that I’d know the difference,” he sighs. “Oranges, mandarins... They're all kind of the same aren't they? Maybe it's about the size, the firmness, the peel. Maybe it's about the taste. All I know is that mandarins are like candy, and whatever this is,” Eiji pushes his chest out and wildly gesticulates to the accursed box before them, “is not it. These must be clementines from— oh, I don't know!— Pensa-fucking-cola!” He erupts all at once, shooting up like a thermometer on a dog day June afternoon and fizzling out like cola foam.

Eiji leans back against the door and Ash on the bannister. They stare at it, Eiji with utter disdain and Ash with morbid curiosity. Like a pack of Tic Tacs magnified by one hundred, he muses.

Ash crouches down to pick one of the mandarins up. Eiji moves in accordance, hand reaching out as if to stop him— that the fruit would poison him if he so much as hovered over it. Despite this silent warning, Ash grabs three and plays court jester for His Highness.

He juggles.

He juggles and he absolutely sucks at it while Eiji watches in complete horror; seeing the mandarins not as mandarins, but clipped grenades ready to blow the very hands that handled it. The color had gone from his face. He is but a pale sheet reflecting the warm hue of the ball pit that tormented him from below.

Eiji flashes him a mortified look. What the hell do you think you're doing?

Ash concentrates. Trying not to mess up.

Eiji frowns. This isn’t funny.

Ash almost cries. Yeah it is.

And he messes up.

The mandarins drop to the floor, sad little balls with not a lot of roll in them. Their eyes trace them as they huddle next to the box, like they had desperately wanted to go home and out of the reach of these two men that were belittling them.

Defeated, Eiji's back slides down the door. He holds his head in his hands.

“I miscalculated,” he says exasperatedly. “What are we going to do with all of these oranges?”

“Mandarins.”

“Mandarins.”

Ash sits level with him on the first step, eyes gleaming with warrior morale. He grabs the enemy and thrusts his fingers unto him, peeling them from their leathery armor. Ash— the fearless brute!— sections his enemy into eighths and tears into their head, innards spilling down his chin. In savage fashion, he wipes their juices with the back of his hand, going as far as offering their remains to Eiji. He grins. ��We’re gonna eat ‘em.”

──────────⊹⊱🍊⊰⊹──────────

The sun slowly filters through bleary eyes and he sees a blob of Eiji watching him, head propped on both elbows. Ash hums as Eiji runs his hands through his hair, neither awake or asleep.

“An angel,” he murmurs, grasping his wrist and pulling him in. He presses his lips on the inside of his arm.

“Not quite.” Eiji climbs over him, heartbeats tethered. He smooches his jaw, laces their hands loosely. “Your worst nightmare, actually. A real devil with horns and a pitchfork.”

“Oh no.” Ash wraps an arm around Eiji’s waist, keeping them fixed together. He aims— bullseye!— for his lips, scrunching his nose when he tastes him on his tongue. “Oh no.” Mandarines today. Tangerines yesterday. Clementines the day before.

The wisps of Eiji’s hair tickle his skin as he laughs into his chest. “Told you so.”

“Sugar, you’re sour!”

“You really won’t like what’s for breakfast then.” Eiji rests his cheek against his shoulder, looking up from behind his lashes. Ash stares at him, the world in his eyes. It's enough to mask his disappointment.

“Again?”

“Yes, again. It was your idea."

“Can’t I have you for breakfast?”

“No, silly. That would be cannibalism.”

“But you’d be so delicious." Ash brings their held hands to his mouth, playfully biting one of Eiji’s fingers. Oranges. Of course it tastes like oranges. “Actually, on second thought....”

“Poor thing,” patronizes Eiji, patting his head like he’s the star player of a losing team. “You poor, poor thing.”

“You’re evil,” Ash whispers.

“I know, and you’re absolutely mad about me for it.” Eiji winks and untangles himself from Ash’s cling. He swipes his bangs up and pecks him on the forehead. “It’s waiting for you downstairs.”

“‘It?’ What is ‘it?'”

Eiji is already out the door, down the hall before he can answer.

Ash rolls himself up with linen wraps and lays lax in their unmade bed, ruler of this citrus peel mausoleum. He curses to himself, at the sun, at his sweet-turned-sourheart. He wishes it was the weekend. Then, he'd have an excuse to stay in bed all day and never leave their room. He'd be able to snack on all the Eiji he wants without burning the roof of his mouth with acid fruit.

──────────⊹⊱🍊⊰⊹──────────

The low table is dressed with white lace placemats and their finest floral china— courtesy of Missus Mom Okumura. A carafe is the centerpiece, replacing the vase of lilies Ash had bought Eiji when he went into town. Ash looks through the glass, Eiji’s head bobbing in the saffron pool.

“Come sit,” beckons Eiji, motioning to the cushion adjacent to him. His smile is distorted by pulp. Cautiously, Ash enters. He keeps it cool, keeps it blasé as he shuffles his feet inside with his knuckles tucked into the waistband of his brief, elbows pointed outward. There, his place is set with wooden chopsticks and their granite stopper. And lo and behold, the main course’s presentation is that of a rose, blooming from its peel. He should’ve known.

“You’re joking.”

Ash would've laughed had the situation not been so ridiculous.

“I wish I was.”

“How is it that we have an infinite arsenal of mandarins?”

“Not infinite. The box is almost empty.”

“It took us four days of constant snacking to get to this point.”

“And it will take us one more to finish it.”

Ash points an accusatory finger at him. “You’re crazy if you think I’m gonna stuff myself with another one of those. My shit is literally orange.”

“Put me in a sanatorium then.” Eiji slides the plate in his direction. “Breakfast is served.”

──────────⊹⊱🍊⊰⊹──────────

Ash always liked train rides in Japan, liked how silent it was, and the comforting voice of the announcer telling them they’d arrived at their destination. Living in the countryside meant sprawling fields for hours until they reached the city, a scene Ash never seemed to tire of. A cow would greet him for a second before they were replaced by some grandpa with muddied ankles, before he was replaced by a young girl on a Tiffany blue bell bike, before she was replaced with…

As he stares out the window, he can see Eiji, sitting across from him cross-legged, peeling another offending mandarin. Ash sighs, trying to immerse himself back into his one-man game of I Spy. Eiji wins his attention again— he always does— and so Ash settles on watching Eiji’s reflection behind him.

Eiji always starts at the middle and digs his thumbs into the peel, pulling its skin off as if he were undressing it. Erotic, Ash thinks fleetingly. He strips it sensually, letting it unfurl into a sproutling. Juice drips down his hand when he carelessly breaks into its flesh. Eiji licks up from his wrist, the heel of his palm and sucks on a finger. Naughty, naughty. Ash smiles into his sleeve, letting the thought float up in his head and burst into a million soap bubbles.

Finally, for once this week, his mouth waters, parched. Ash supposes this is what it means to be in love. Even the most mundane of tasks can look enticing if your other half is doing it. He’s sure he’ll be over the moon about this snapshot scene for the rest of the month. He’ll count the replays of Eiji in the train instead of sheep just before slumber, ensuring him tender dreams.

“It’s a lucky sweet one.” Telepathic. Eiji seems to know exactly what he wants.

Ash nods.

Eiji breaks it into fourths, a fourth into a half. Instead of giving him a section, Eiji rises from his seat to sit beside Ash; crosses his legs, leans in, opens his mouth to say “aaaah” as he feeds him. Ash devours, nips his nail.

“There’s people in this car,” Eiji whispers sharply, eyes darting left and right. A man is reading the paper— a huge parrotfish is its cover story. There’s a teenage boy in the back fiddling with his phone, neon lights of his game reflecting softly on his face. A woman Ash presumes worked the night shift is sound asleep.

“No one’s looking.” Ash wraps an arm around him and scooches closer. “Quickly.”

Eiji, Mister Goody-Two-Shoes, puffs his cheek and scans the area one more time, switching his gaze from Ash’s mischievous stare to his near-empty surroundings. He surrenders and angles his head up, eyes closed, waiting, aching. Ash captures him.

“You taste like Sunday morning,” Ash coos, supping the remnants of his juice-glossed lips.

“Ever the poet.” Eiji, blushing, concentrates on turning more quarters into halves. “We still have four of these left. Hopefully they taste just as sweet.”

Ash is sure they will be.

He wouldn’t mind eating mandarins for the rest of his life so long as Eiji is peeling them for him.

[bellemorte180]

The Lost City

Archaeologist, Dr. Caroline Forbes, always had an obsession with the lost city of Ansel. It had never been found and if a few artifacts had not been found over the years in the Amazon Jungle; no one would have ever known of its existence. Yet, Caroline feels as though something is calling her there, pulling her towards something she never was expecting.

June 2020 Bingo-Prompt "Rainforest" @klaroline-events

The rain from the tropical storm pounded down hard against Caroline’s makeshift home; the wind threatening to topple it over. It was a canvas tent, made from the same type of material that were used during her archeological digs and was made to sustain the harsh weather of the Amazon rainforest; however, Caroline was unsure if the tent, and herself could even survive the massive storm raging outside. Although, Caroline would not lie and say that she did not enjoy the rainforest and in fact felt more at home listening to the sounds of the jungle than she had back in her office at Whitmore, the storm itself was terrifying.

Despite the storm, dangerous animals and unbearable humid, this was the chance of a lifetime. Caroline had only dreamed of the chance to be able to follow her ambitions in such a manner. When the grant money came in exclusively for her to not only spend six months in the Amazon but actually search for the mysterious lost city of Ansel, she jumped at the chance. She had spent the entirety of her career studying and perfecting her focus on this particular region of the world. She was the world’s leading expert on the legends of the ancient civilization that had only been confirmed through the few artifacts and drawings that surfaced over the centuries., but she never thought she would actually get the change or funding to search for the city itself.

Caroline never heard of the city until her second semester during her undergrad. The moment she took an introductory history course where Ansel was a brief footnote in the reading material, Caroline was enthralled. There was something almost magical in her attraction to the civilization that it bordered almost on obsession. There was a part of her that itched to step foot in the jungle and almost as though her body knew where that city was. It was insanity but Caroline could not stop herself from to the allure the lost city. It became the topic of her dissertation during her doctorate and spent a good amount of her lectures discussing the religion of the ancient people; a people who worshiped the sun and moon gods; Caro and Klaus.

“Caroline.” Caroline jolted from her musings and looked around her. Someone called her name, but it was not a voice she recognized. It was different, deeper and much richer than anyone who was traveling with her. Her ice blue eyes darted around, looking for whomever called her name.

“What?”

“Do you think this will ever stop? The storm?” Luke asked lightly from the other side of the tent, looking at her confused and as though he had to repeat himself. He was a tall blond grad student who was very compassionate and understanding. His twin sister Liv was the exact opposite. The two of them were acting as her assistants on the search, the two overly excited at the chance when Caroline offered it to them. Her team made up of ten people in total including a tour guide and a man who Caroline deemed the muscle man, for no other purpose than to ensure a jaguar did not kill them in their sleep.

“We’re in the rainforest, Luke. Who the fuck knows?” Liv replied. She liked Liv; the young woman took no bullshit and Caroline admired that. The twins continued to bicker, but Caroline did not hear them.

“Caroline.”

At first, their dig was going amazing. They ventured far into the jungle and within days found a small stone structure that Caroline assumed, due to the drawings etched into the stone, was once a temple used to worship the two gods. They spent hours within the confines of the old ruin, confused on how no one ever stumbled upon it before.

There was a small gold chest that was in immaculate condition that was placed on an altar in the center of the temple. As though, there was a magnetic force guiding her to that chest, Caroline opened it to reveal an old but very beautiful bracelet. There were intricate designs that over the course of her career she had come to associate with the goddess Caro. She itched to touch it but refrained. It was an artifact and a valuable one. She brought it back to the tent and when they returned to the temple the next day, the stone structure had vanished; none of them could locate it again.

“Caroline.”

Then the storm started and raged for days. Their guide said that the storms could last up to a few weeks and that only depressed Caroline. She did not want to be pushed back several weeks in her research but there was nothing she could do. In some ways she felt as though the storm was there to punish her, but for what crime she could not decide.

“Caroline.”

The chest. The voice was coming from the chest. Caroline pushed herself up from the cot that she had been sleeping on for the past few days and walked over to that golden chest; neither Luke nor Liv were paying her any attention. She touched the chest, tracing her fingers over the carvings, a sense of belonging consumed her. It was the same feeling she had whenever she looked at the depictions of the gods in her textbook all those years ago in college. She opened the chest to reveal that bracelet and as though something possessed her, she picked up the bracelet and but in it on her wrist.

Instantaneously, the storm stopped raging outside. The sound of the rain pounding against the canvas tent ceased, as did the chatter between Luke and Liv. The light changed around them as though the sun was peeking out from behind the clouds; no longer hiding herself from view.

The weight of the bracelet on Caroline’s wrist was comforting. It felt as though it had belonged there and the mere thought of taking it off again would be the equivalent of removing a limb. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the feeling of belong to sweep over her and flashes of a life she never lived resurfaced. A city she never lived in and a love she never loved filled her with such devotion A desire to seek out the temple overcame her, and she could no longer stand being stuck inside that tent for a moment longer.

“I’m going for a walk.” Caroline told the twins in a monotone voiced.

“Dr. Forbes? Are you okay?” Luke stood but Caroline ignored him.

“I’ll be fine.” Without a look back at the twins, Caroline strolled out of the tent; bypassing the rest of her team that had stumbled out of their tents in order to investigate the strange change in weather. She paid none of them mind and was able to venture away from the camp site without any of them stopping her. Even without the tour guide, Caroline knew where she was going. She had an intense knowledge of the jungle that had not been present prior to her slipping on the bracelet.

She weaved through the thick trees, bush and rocks. She saw not a single animal, bug or bird, something that she did not even register as unusual. There was a soft breeze flowing around her and the humidity from the heat and rain didn’t even faze her. Her gaze was so focused on the journey in front of her that she didn’t notice how the trees changed around her as she moved past them; obstructing the path she made and preventing her from being followed.

“Caroline.”

Caroline could feel the pulsing of the bracelet around her wrist and it almost felt as though her blood was singing in her veins. Everything felt like magic and something far more than she could understand. Flashes of memories continued to flow through her, and she was beginning to be unable to tell her memories from the new ones apart. She could see those blue eyes gaze at her as though she was the sun.

Caroline felt like the sun.

Ahead of her the stone temple appeared again. She had not seen in since the first day they had trailed through the jungle. They tried to find it again, but it had vanished; but there it stood. However, this time it did not appear to be a ruin. It was massive. It was built upon dusty stone that was covered in ivy. There were stairs with at least a hundred steps leading to the top where Caroline could see an archway waiting for her. It stood well above the trees and would have been hard to miss. Caroline wondered how they could have lost it in the first place or why no one had found it before this moment. Caroline, at first, thought that this was a different temple and that it was not the ruin they had explored before but something deep down inside her knew that it was the same one.

“Caroline.”

The voice echoed again and this time it was louder, beckoning her forward. She began to climb the stone steps towards the top. With each step, the pulsing on her wrist from the bracelet increased. It wasn’t painful, it almost brought a sense of home to her, but as she climbed higher and higher her vision blurred with memories.

Memories of dancing, laughter, love and sex. She remembered being worshipped and burning so brightly that her touched killed and could bring life in one motion. She remembered bringing light to the darkness and the darkness bleeding into her. She remembered touching the stars and loving their master. The pull she had felt her entire life to the sun and moon intensified and suddenly felt as thought that desire was defining itself at last.

The moment Caroline reached the top and stepped through the archway at the top, the storm that had paused the length of her journey resumed with an angry force. Caroline listened to the sound of the raging storm as she looked around the temple. It had a high ceiling made of stone and the walls were covered in etchings that had to have been carved by the people of Ansel. There was a raised stone platform at the very end of the room and two thrones like chairs sat side by side.

However, it was not the thrones that drew Caroline’s attention. There was a man who sat in one of the thrones and his blue eyes were gazing at her in wonder. The man had curly blonde hair, high cheekbone and by the state of his smile, dimples that made Caroline groan. He stood and she could see that he was tall and slim. He wore jeans and a Henley, clothing that Caroline found odd on him. The flashes of memories; memories of him shined brightly before her.

“Klaus.”

As though in a rush to get to her, Klaus ran to her; gathering her into his arm and drawing her as close as he possibly could. Caroline could feel her mind expanding, making room for a millennium of memories that had been locked away. She remembered him; them and the time the people of Ansel worshipped them; preforming sacrifices in their name and providing gifts in exchange for a good harvest.

“Caro.” The name rolled off of Klaus’s tongue, causing a spark of longing to shoot down Caroline’s body. Klaus pulled away and rested his head against her forehead; his hands never leaving her. “Two thousand years without you. Two thousand years I’ve waited. I felt it; your rebirth. I watched you grow and shine, waiting for the time to bring you here.”

“You brought me here?” Caroline whispered. All the times that the story of Ansel reached her in the oddest of moments. The artifacts that just happened to be at Whitmore or research that just flowing during her dissertation. The grant money that just appeared for her as though out of nowhere. The temple appearing and then vanishing. The bracelet and the walk through the jungle. It was one giant puzzle put together by Klaus to lead her here. “Why?”

“All your memories haven’t resurfaced yet. Have they?” Klaus asked her. She remembered him, certainly. She remembered being brought into existence by a flash of light. She remembered their life together as they watched over the people of the world; their people migrating from the birth of humankind to places unknown.

“No.” Caroline breathed. She remembered bits and pieces; her life mixed with these fresh memories that were flowing into her head. She remembered being a child in Mystic Falls, high school, college, loving and losing all at once. “Everything is so jumbled. What is happening to me? Make it stop. Please. Make it stop.”

“Shh. Sweetheart. I will. I will make it better.” Klaus soothed her and placed his hands on the sides of her face. He leaned down and kissed her lips. The kiss was gentle, and it was enough to send shivers echoing through her body. Klaus placed his hand on her lower back and pulled her towards him. Caroline wrapped her arms around his shoulders, deepening the kiss.

With his kiss, everything came tumbling back at once. Her creation and birth of human race in the midst of a new rainforest. Their worship and eventually their betrayal all soured through her being. Thousands upon thousands of years flowed through her mind resting upon one moment of immense pain.

“They betrayed us.”

“Yes.” The story was fresh and real for her. A young girl with long straight brown hair and large doe eyes appeared in front of her. “She was ours. Our sacrifice. The brothers, they loved her. They should have been honored that we chose her. They turned against us. Found a way to ripe your essence, the sun, from you. They killed you and I was too late. I was able to manifest your light into this bracelet, and I waited until I felt your rebirth.”

“It hurt. What they did to me, it hurt.” Caroline could see the pain reflected in his eyes. He had been alone for so long and the thought of him having to watch over humanity without her by his side, well, it explained all the horrible disasters, wars and disease that plagued the world. One sacrifices every so many decades and they protected their children. Klaus was no longer kind to humanity, nor did he care that they had long forgotten him. He would wreak havoc with his temper either way. To Klaus, these people where no longer his children. “Ansel. What happened to it? It was to be the shining city of the world; our home. The birthplace of everything and now it is nothing more than an overgrown jungle?”

“I destroyed it.” Klaus told her in a harsh voice. “All I had left of you was a bracelet and my fury. I toppled the city within days of your death. My fury and rage knew no bounds. The people of Ansel…. they all drowned. Except the brothers.”

“What did you do to them?”

“Their souls are mine. Tormented for all eternity. The girl. Our sacrifice. She joins them and they have to watch her scream. All because they wanted to punish us for her sacrifice.” Klaus’s jaw clenched in anger and Caroline reached up to touch his face; his anger being soothed by her touch. She leaned up and kissed him gently.

“I’m here now.” Caroline told him in a soft voice and the feel of her calmed the raging storm outside; but just slightly. “I’ll never leave you again.”

Klaus reached down and lifted her into an embrace; latching his lips onto hers again. Caroline wrapped her legs around his waist, and he walked them over to the stone alter in the middle of the room. He laid her down upon it and crawled on top of her; his kisses devouring her. While for Caroline, everything still felt new and old all at the same time, for Klaus it was the two millennia of loneliness, desperation and anger that was seeping into the kiss.

Caroline could feel every inch of his pain humming through her body; wanting nothing more than to take it all away. She kissed him back with equal passion; not willing to break the connection. Klaus’s hands trailed over her body, touching and feeling it for the first time in this form. She was still was as beautiful as ever but once she finished her ascension, she truly would burn like the sun.

Klaus balled the fabric of her tank-top and pushed it up, revealing the sports bra she was wearing. The kiss broke long enough for him to pull the offending fabric from her body and toss it across the temple. Caroline pulled her sports bra over her body and allowed it to follow the top. The second her breasts were exposed to the elements; a crack of lighting hit outside the temple walls and a roar of thunder rolls overhead.

His lips descended down upon her nipple, biting and sucking as he went. Caroline cried out his name; her eyes drifting shut at the feeling. Once Klaus was finished with one breast, happy with the marks he left, he moved to the other; giving it the same treatment. Slowly, pulled away from her breast, giving a popping sound as he did so and moved down her body; kissing every inch of skin he could find.

Klaus worshipped her body as she was pressed against the stone alter. It has been far too long since someone bowed down before her and Klaus had no qualms with being the first to do so. He stood from her and pulled at her boots until her feet were free of them. He roughly pulled her jeans down her legs, tearing them as he went.

“I liked those!”

“You’re a goddess Sweetheart, you can have all the jeans you want.” Klaus purred, tossing her a sinful look from those pearly blue eyes. Caroline sat up and slid to the edge of the alter, understanding what he wanted to do. He placed his hands on her thighs and pushed them apart before kneeling before her. Klaus pushed the fabric of Caroline’s pink panties aside and traced her slit with his finger.

“Don’t tease me. Please.” Klaus did not listen to her. Instead he inserted on finger into her before adding another. Caroline hissed and whimpered as Klaus pumped his fingers in and out of her. The thunder was still rolling over head and as Klaus leaned forward and pressed his tongue against Caroline’s clitoris, a definite crack could be heard from the storm outside. “Klaus!”

Klaus was relentless in his devouring of her. He licked and sucked as though he was tasting the finest wine for the first time. Her finger’s weaved through his curls, guiding him in the direction she wanted his tongue to go and Klaus obeyed her every command. Caroline’s cries hit the stone walls of the temple as her release took over her. Her back arched and legs spread even wider.

“You are so much more beautiful than I remember.” Klaus whispered as he quickly undressed himself. Once he was as naked as her, Caroline laid back against the alter again; spreading her legs in order to make room for him. He settled between her thighs and gripped himself in hand. He pushed into her, stretching and filling her. Lightening blazed down from the sky and the thunder shook the entirety of the rainforest.

“Fuck me. Please.” Klaus moved his hips, thrusting into her at a wild pace; not realizing as he did, the rain and the wind outside picked up the point that trees were being unrooted, and derbies was crashing into the world around it. Klaus pounded into her, watching her every move and listened to every whimper as met every thrust. “Klaus. Please. Oh, gods please.”

“I am a god Caroline.” Klaus whispered to her as he thrusted into her at a sharp angle; causing her to cry out again. Harder and harder he pounded into her; her vision blurred, and a blinding light emerged from her eyes. “So are you. Soon you will rise again and soon you will be back to the goddess you once were.”

Caroline felt the heat ripple through her body as her orgasm took over her body. Klaus released himself inside her; resting his forehead against hers. He looked into her blue eyes and he could see his Caro returning to him. He knew he would have her again, but his patience was wearing thin over the centuries. Having her in his arms again made the storm outside lighten just ever so slightly.

Neither of them noticed, however, that the sun began to peak through the clouds and how it shined just ever so brighter.

[scifigeneration]

Why the idea of alien life now seems inevitable and possibly imminent

by Cathal D. O'Connell

Relative sizes of planets that are in a zone potentially compatible with life: Kepler-22b, Kepler-69c, Kepler-62e, Kepler-62f and Earth (named left to right; except for Earth, these are artists’ renditions). NASA, CC BY

This article is an edited extract from an essay, The search for ET, in The New Disruptors, the 64th edition of Griffith Review.

Extraterrestrial life, that familiar science-fiction trope, that kitschy fantasy, that CGI nightmare, has become a matter of serious discussion, a “risk factor”, a “scenario”.

How has ET gone from sci-fi fairytale to a serious scientific endeavour modelled by macroeconomists, funded by fiscal conservatives and discussed by theologians?

Because, following a string of remarkable discoveries over the past two decades, the idea of alien life is not as far-fetched as it used to seem.

Discovery now seems inevitable and possibly imminent.

It’s just chemistry

While life is a special kind of complex chemistry, the elements involved are nothing special: carbon, hydrogen, oxygen and so on are among the most abundant elements in the universe. Complex organic chemistry is surprisingly common.

Amino acids, just like those that make up every protein in our bodies, have been found in the tails of comets. There are other organic compounds in Martian soil.

And 6,500 light years away a giant cloud of space alcohol floats among the stars.

Habitable planets seem to be common too. The first planet beyond our Solar System was discovered in 1995. Since then astronomers have catalogued thousands.

Based on this catalogue, astronomers from the University of California, Berkeley worked out there could be as many as 40 billion Earth-sized exoplanets in the so-called “habitable zone” around their star, where temperatures are mild enough for liquid water to exist on the surface.

There’s even a potentially Earth-like world orbiting our nearest neighbouring star, Proxima Centauri. At just four light years away, that system might be close enough for us to reach using current technology. With the Breakthrough Starshot project launched by Stephen Hawking in 2016, plans for this are already afoot.

Life is robust

It seems inevitable other life is out there, especially considering that life appeared on Earth so soon after the planet was formed.

The oldest fossils ever found here are 3.5 billion years old, while clues in our DNA suggest life could have started as far back as 4 billion years ago, just when giant asteroids stopped crashing into the surface.

Our planet was inhabited as soon as it was habitable – and the definition of “habitable” has proven to be a rather flexible concept too.

Life survives in all manner of environments that seem hellish to us:

floating on a lake of sulphuric acid

inside barrels of nuclear waste

in water superheated to 122 degrees

in the wastelands of Antarctica

in rocks five kilometres below ground.

Tantalisingly, some of these conditions seem to be duplicated elsewhere in the Solar System.

Snippets of promise

Mars was once warm and wet, and was probably a fertile ground for life before the Earth.

Today, Mars still has liquid water underground. One gas strongly associated with life on Earth, methane, has already been found in the Martian atmosphere, and at levels that mysteriously rise and fall with the seasons. (However, the methane result is under debate, with one Mars orbiter recently confirming the methane detection and another detecting nothing.)

Martian bugs might turn up as soon as 2021 when the ExoMars rover Rosalind Franklin will hunt for them with a two-metre drill.

Besides Earth and Mars, at least two other places in our Solar System might be inhabited. Jupiter’s moon Europa and Saturn’s moon Enceladus are both frozen ice worlds, but the gravity of their colossal planets is enough to churn up their insides, melting water to create vast subglacial seas.

In 2017, specialists in sea ice from the University of Tasmania concluded that some Antarctic microbes could feasibly survive on these worlds. Both Europa and Enceladus have undersea hydrothermal vents, just like those on Earth where life may have originated.

When a NASA probe tasted the material geysered into space out of Enceladus last June it found large organic molecules. Possibly there was something living among the spray; the probe just didn’t have the right tools to detect it.

Russian billionaire Yuri Milner has been so enthused by this prospect, he wants to help fund a return mission.

A second genesis?

A discovery, if it came, could turn the world of biology upside down.

All life on Earth is related, descended ultimately from the first living cell to emerge some 4 billion years ago.

Bacteria, fungus, cacti and cockroaches are all our cousins and we all share the same basic molecular machinery: DNA that makes RNA, and RNA that makes protein.

A second sample of life, though, might represent a “second genesis” – totally unrelated to us. Perhaps it would use a different coding system in its DNA. Or it might not have DNA at all, but some other method of passing on genetic information.

By studying a second example of life, we could begin to figure out which parts of the machinery of life are universal, and which are just the particular accidents of our primordial soup.

Perhaps amino acids are always used as essential building blocks, perhaps not.

We might even be able to work out some universal laws of biology, the same way we have for physics – not to mention new angles on the question of the origin of life itself.

A second independent “tree of life” would mean that the rapid appearance of life on Earth was no fluke; life must abound in the universe.

It would greatly increase the chances that, somewhere among those billions of habitable planets in our galaxy, there could be something we could talk to.

Perhaps life is infectious

If, on the other hand, the discovered microbes were indeed related to us that would be a bombshell of a different kind: it would mean life is infectious.

When a large meteorite hits a planet, the impact can splash pulverised rock right out into space, and this rock can then fall onto other planets as meteorites.

Life from Earth has probably already been taken to other planets – perhaps even to the moons of Saturn and Jupiter. Microbes might well survive the trip.

In 1969, Apollo 12 astronauts retrieved an old probe that had sat on the Moon for three years in extreme cold and vacuum – there were viable bacteria still inside.

As Mars was probably habitable before Earth, it’s possible life originated there before hitchhiking on a space rock to here. Perhaps we’re all Martians.

Even if we never find other life in our Solar System, we might still detect it on any one of thousands of known exoplanets.

It is already possible to look at starlight filtered through an exoplanet and tell something about the composition of its atmosphere; an abundance of oxygen could be a telltale sign of life.

A testable hypothesis

The James Webb Space Telescope, planned for a 2021 launch, will be able to take these measurements for some of the Earth-like worlds already discovered.

Just a few years later will come space-based telescopes that will take pictures of these planets directly.

Using a trick a bit like the sun visor in your car, planet-snapping telescopes will be paired with giant parasols called starshades that will fly in tandem 50,000 kilometres away in just the right spot to block the blinding light of the star, allowing the faint speck of a planet to be captured.

The colour and the variability of that point of light could tell us the length of the planet’s day, whether it has seasons, whether it has clouds, whether it has oceans, possibly even the colour of its plants.

The ancient question “Are we alone?” has graduated from being a philosophical musing to a testable hypothesis. We should be prepared for an answer.

About The Author:

Cathal D. O'Connell is a Researcher and Centre Manager, BioFab3D (St Vincent's Hospital) at the University of Melbourne

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license.

[goldendiie]

as the sun sets fillmore dies, and sarge copes.

. . . .

1979

Fillmore is dying. Sarge knows that much. It’s been a month (or maybe two, or three) since he’d been admitted to some hospital in Albuquerque, and five days since they’d stopped letting Sarge into the room. Not Family, the Nurse had said, an apologetic, red lipstick smile plastered on her face. Bullshit, Sarge had replied. Still, she didn’t let him in.

He goes to the hospital every day, only to sit in the waiting room and stare at the same point in the wall, anxiously waiting for any news. He thinks, maybe Fillmore will just get up and walk out, completely healed by some miracle that Sarge would never be able to describe. Any second now. Any second…. No. No, that’s childish. He gets up, and makes for the door.

As he faces the bustle of the outside world, a part of him wants someone (a nurse? A doctor?) to run up behind him and tell him to stay. He’s been asking for you, they’d say, you can see him now. He pushes open the door, and walks into the dying sunlight. Nobody calls after him, nobody is completely healed.

He returns the next day, like he always does. The secretary remembers his name.

Sarge watches the people who come through the waiting room. They’re here to see sick grandparents, newborn children. Lovers, parents, friends. He begins to fall into space, lost in the cycle of existence that he had come to know. Fillmore is dying. Fillmore could be dead, for all he knows. Maybe they’re removing him from his hospital room now, making it all neat and proper for the next dead man to pass through its door--

“You’re here for Fillmore, right?”

He snaps out of it, and looks up. He’s met with the same careful, sad, red lipstick smile that he’d seen a few days prior. Sarge must look awfully pale, or awfully shocked, because the Nurse quickly says: “You can see him now, if you like.” He hardly feels the ground beneath his feet as he follows her deep into the bowels of the hospital.

“He’s been begging to see you, you know.” the Nurse says cordially, resting a manicured hand on the doorknob of room four-nine-eight. For whatever reason, she pauses before letting him in the room. It’s dark, save for the light coming in from the hallway, and that of the quickly setting sun outside. The only sound inside the room is the unceasing beep, beep, beep of the electrocardiograph monitor.

“You have a visitor.” The Nurse says quietly, turning on the lights.

Sarge watches in vague, distraught horror as Fillmore sat up and turned his sallow, sunken face to look at him. He certainly looked dead, with empty, glossed-over eyes and too-thin appendages. Yet, a wide, familiar grin split across Fillmore’s face as he spoke in a struggling voice: “Hey, man. It’s been a while.”

Sarge deflated in some strange form of relief as he drifted forward to catch Fillmore’s outstretched hand. It felt foreign in his own. Too frail, too cold.

“I’ll leave you two to it.” The Nurse says, exiting quickly.

Fillmore falls back on his pillows as the door clicks shut behind her. “Dunno why she wouldn’t let me see you.” He says, “You know, I’d like to see my lover before--”

“She’s just following rules.” Sarge replies, almost curtly.

“They’re stupid rules.” Fillmore huffs.

The revolutionary spirit Fillmore had gained during the tail end of the sixties never left him, even on his deathbed. Sarge chuckles weakly. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Why would I change?”

Sarge shrugs as he pulls a chair up next to the bed. He opts to change the subject instead of answering the question: “You look like hell.”

“I feel like it, too.” Fillmore replies. “They don’t let me smoke ‘round here, man….”

“That would probably just make it worse.”

“I’m dyin’ here, dude, they could at least let me have a smoke before I off myself.”

It seemed that Fillmore had grown comfortable with his inevitable demise. Ready to meet the unknown, or ready to find true peace. Whichever. Sarge grows quiet with this thought, now staring down at their clasped hands.

Fillmore clears his throat, somewhat startling him. “I, uh, wanted to ask you something, man.” He says. “Like my last wish, or something.”

“What’s that?”

“Lemme preface with the fact that I know you, Sarge.” Fillmore says, “You’re stubborn, you’re damned sentimental, and--”

“Fillmore.” Sarge interrupts. “Get to the point.”

“Move on.” His voice is clear, strong. “Live your life.”

“You can't ask me to--”

“It's all part of life, man. It's gonna happen eventually.”

And that was that. Sarge knows that it’s no use to argue with him; after all, he’s right. In time, he would move on whether he liked it or not. He sighs. “Yeah. Alright.”

Fillmore grins and opens his mouth to say something more, but is overtaken by a coughing fit. Sarge dropped his hand and shot to his feet, ready to find help if need be. “Fillmore, are you--”

“I’m fine.” Fillmore’s hands clutch his chest as he gasped. His voice had become raspy, hollow.“Sit back down, wouldja?”

Sarge did as he was asked. “Sorry, I thought--”

“Don’t apologize.” Fillmore interrupts. “It happens sometimes.”

It shouldn’t happen, Sarge thinks, This shouldn’t be happening to you.

The silence that now consumes the room is pregnant. There’s whispers of ideas of what Sarge could say, but he finds he wouldn’t be able to verbalize them even if he tried.

It’s several minutes until their silence is broken.

“How’re the folks back home?” Fillmore asks. “Any customers?”

“None.” Sarge replies. “And they’re doing fine. Flo and Ramone said they were gonna stop by tomorrow.”

“That’ll be nice.”

It’s difficult to decide whether small talk is a vice or a virtue. In the moment which it matters most, they’re unable to talk about anything meaningful. Yet, conversation is better than the bitter silence, filled only by the monitor on Fillmore’s heart.

Sarge finds Fillmore’s hand again. He squeezes it in some attempt to ease the anxiety he must be feeling. Outside, the sun had begun to set in a fantastic wash of red and orange and periwinkle-blue. The hour had grown late.

“You should get some rest.” Sarge said.

“Yeah.” Fillmore returned, “Sounds like a good idea.”

“I’m gonna stay with you.” He said, “In case I leave and they don’t let me back in tomorrow.”

Fillmore laughed. “See you in the morning, then.”

It’s so normal, natural, that it feels somewhat like a promise. Morning will come, and Fillmore will still be here, waking up with the rising sun. It isn’t long before the sunlight falls off of his face, and he is asleep.

Fillmore looks almost peaceful, if not for the wires and IVs pumping life into him. He didn’t belong here, in this sterile, white environment. He belonged at home, in Radiator Springs, playing that obnoxious music and arguing about the moon landing.

The Nurse ushers in once more, long after the sunset was replaced with a sky dotted with stars. “Visiting hours are over.” She said, lingering near the doorway for a moment too long.

“Can I stay with him?” Sarge asks. He turns his stinging-tired gaze onto her, Fillmore’s hand still clasped between both of his own.

There’s a terribly long pause, before she melancholically utters: “Of course.”

He returns his gaze to Fillmore, who hadn’t stirred. His head is turned towards the ceiling, and he snores quietly. He could tell that he was in pain; every so often his breathing would turn to quiet, strangled gurgling. It never lasted long, though. Fillmore was right. It happens sometimes.

“You’ve fought hard.” Sarge whispers, and Fillmore’s fingers tighten. “But you can’t give up. You need to keep--” his voice deteriorates with each word. “You need to keep going.”

His words fall on deaf ears. Fillmore’s face remains turned towards the ceiling. Sarge sighs and rests his head on the edge of the bed. He closes his eyes, and the night consumes him.

It's not half a moment later, and Sarge is raising his head. He wonders if he’s imagining the flatline. It fades in and out of his hearing as Fillmore’s grip on his hand loosens. His fingers are thin, he notices. As are his wrists, and arms, and torso. He’s too thin. His eyes travel upwards to Fillmore’s (thin, sallow, lifeless) face. His mouth is slightly open, and his empty, glossed-over eyes stare, unseeing, at the ceiling. There’s color yet in his cheeks.

Sarge lets go of his hand, and it falls limply to the side of the bed. The walls are closing in on him, and the flatline only grows in volume as he reaches for the body in a haze. His hands grip the sheets, and then the thin hospital gown. He tries to speak-- some mixture of a question and a plea-- but the only sound that escapes him is a strangled moan.

He’s painfully aware of the Nurse prying him away from the body. She guides him into the hallway, leading him by the arm, as a doctor rushes in to pronounce the death.

“He’s not in pain anymore,” the Nurse hushed, “He’s in a better place.”

Sarge broke away from her and not-quite-ran for the exit, dashing into the lobby and then into the parking lot. Its early morning, almost the time that he play his Reiville, almost the time it would be met with that god-awful rendition of the national anthem--

He slams the door of his jeep and covers his head with his hands, his entire body shaking with silent wails.

. . . .

Fillmore is buried on a wonderfully, painfully sunny day in July. Sarge watches numbly as the plain, matte-black casket is lowered below the desert floor. He hated black, he thought as it’s slowly covered up with dirt. Only then did he share in the opinion; it was void of all life and feeling, not at all suitable for someone who had been as vibrant and intrinsic as the sunset over Willy’s Butte.

Yet, the sun had surrendered itself all too quickly, and Fillmore died young. Born 24 April, 1948; Died 29 June, 1979. He was only thirty-one. Far too young for someone like him, Sarge muses. He’d had a whole life ahead of him, brewing those horrible teas and playing that god-awful music--

“Are you gonna be alright?”

Sarge had lingered too long. He hadn’t noticed that the crowd had dispersed, leaving only him to watch the grave. Ramone is standing behind and to the left of him. His voice is concerned, condolatary.

Sarge turns his back to the gravesite. “I’ll be fine.” He said evenly, brushing the hand away and walking past him.

“You were close to him, man,” Ramone said, following closely behind him. “I’m just worried that you’re gonna--”

“I’m fine.” Sarge insisted.

And that was that. Ramone left him alone, and he continued towards his home in peace. It wasn’t the quiet, content peace that he’d grown accustomed to. No, now it’s empty, void. Silence is better than conversation.

Sarge doesn’t look at Fillmore’s dome (nor the “for sale” sign in front of it) as he passes. He looks straight ahead, chin up and shoulders squared. He lets himself inside his shop, and the door quietly clicks shut behind him. He continued towards the back of the shop and through another door, into his living area. It’s nothing special-- a small kitchen, a sitting area, and a bedroom behind a door off to the side. He stands in the center of it all, aimlessly staring into space.

He needs to clean out Fillmore’s dome. Clean out all of the junk that he’d accumulated over the years, determine what he’d keep and what he’d sell. Speaking of selling, he’d need to get rid of the bus, too, now that there was no one to drive it… Sarge decides promptly to stop thinking about it. He re-enters his shop, flicks on the lights, and stalks up and down the rows of military surplus. Backpacks, boots, butterfly knives. His medals--currently pinned to his lapel-- are usually in a display case front and center. He keeps them in prime condition, like everything else from his time in Vietnam--

He hears gunfire. The surplus shop is gone, replaced by a jungle under a cloudless night sky. He’s cowering behind a tree, holding his rifle to his chest. The NVA or Viet-Cong or whatever they were had gotten their hands on an anti-vehicle gun. Five, maybe ten men were dead just past the perimeter line. Phuoc Tuy, that’s right, he’s in Phuoc Tuy--

Just like that, it’s over. He’s back in Radiator Springs, swaying back and forth like he’s about to fall over. Sarge supposes a car had backfired, or something had fallen over in another room. It’s just stress, that’s all, he thinks. That’s all it took. Stress, and a loud noise.

He occupies himself and his mind by displacing and replacing items on the shelves. Vaguely, he realizes how silly he must look: he’s cleaning his shop in full dress uniform, shoes polished, medals pinned to his suit. He really should go change, but he doesn’t. He continues to tidy the shop, over and over again until he can’t bring himself to do it anymore.

He collapses on his couch, and falls asleep almost instantly. He dreams of gunfire and Fillmore’s sallow, sunken face.

The next day is just like any other: Sarge wakes in the early hours of the morning, head pressed uncomfortably into the arm of the couch, staring through the slats in the blinds as the new day rises. As he forces himself to get up, he notices the new creases in his suit. He’d have to iron it sooner or later.

Sarge’s routine is slow and grueling-- or, rather, it had become slow and greuling. He leaves his suit in a heap on the floor, showers with cold water, and dresses once again. A passing glance in the mirror tells him how god-awful he looks: his features are tired and gaunt, complete with heavy bags under his eyes and a thin frown etched into his face.

He looks somewhere between dying and dead; a little like Fillmore before he’d passed. Vaguely, he imagines himself in Fillmore’s place, frail and weak while nurses and doctors prodded at him with needles and tubes. Surely, he would put up a fight, yet it would be all for naught. Inevitably, he would die. The image fades back into that of Fillmore, coughing himself into a sleep from which he would never wake. He hadn’t gone peacefully, Sarge realizes. His eyes were open upon his death.

The thought had shocked him into a stupor. He stands, like a fool, staring at his own wide-eyed reflection in the mirror. He shakes his head, as if to rattle his realization away, and continues on with his day.

. . . .

It’s early October before Sarge had grown numb enough to finally clean out Fillmore’s dome. No one ever bought the lot-- it was practically useless, since traffic on the road had long since ceased-- but cleaning it out still seemed to be a worthwhile idea. Fillmore would have wanted his stuff to be given away, anyways.

The once-colorful interior of the dome was covered in a thick layer of dust. It had been months since anyone had inhabited it, making the haphazard placement of personal items seem like an exhibit out of a museum: the kitchen still has pots in the sink, the bedsheets are still disheveled, and the needle of a record player is still in the grooves of an LP. There’s no good place to start in all of the mess. After all, how is one supposed to go about sorting through someone’s life? There must be an established method, a routine he could follow….

He opts to start with the records. That’s easy, right? They’re neatly packed into crates beneath a wooden stand, on top of which sat a poorly-aged Achiphon. There’s an old ten-inch single under the needle, and Sarge somehow recognizes it, despite how long it had been since he’d seen it. How many times had Fillmore played it for him? Ten? Twenty?

Sarge replaces the needle at the start of the LP, and switches the record player on. It pops with the dust and grime it had gathered over the past few months, before finally crackling to life. There’s drums as a guitar settles down into a melody, and a great diminuendo is met with Jimi Hendrix’s vocals. “Waterfall, nothing can harm me at all…” The music settles into every corner of the dome. Sarge had hated this song back in the day, but now it somehow relaxes him. Fillmore wouldn’t have let him hear the end of it, if he were still around. “My worries seem so very small, with my waterfall….”

He takes in the dome in one sweeping glance, now realizing that he doesn't fully want to disrupt it. It’s as though he’s erasing Fillmore’s last remaining presence off of the earth, truly killing him once and for all.

That’s entirely irrational, though. He flicks through the rest of the vinyls (Hendrix, The Kinks, Donovan, Janis Joplin, Jefferson Airplane), and sets them to the side. He thinks he might sell them. Someone else could get better use out of them.

Sarge moves along, looking for something else to look through. He turns next to the boxes of clothes that are pushed underneath the bed. Most of his shirts are garishly tie-dyed, and most of his pants have holes in them. Surprisingly, Sarge even finds a few of his own items of clothing, evidently left here throughout the years. He moves the boxes next to the crates of vinyls, designating it as things he would get rid of.

He moves on to a bookshelf at the foot of the bed. It’s packed with old, torn-up volumes. There’s old college textbooks, fantasy, science fiction, and…. The dome is suddenly quiet as Sarge pulls an unmarked book from the shelf. He’d been working so quickly, so efficiently, that he hadn’t realized the song had ended. He opens the book, only to find that it wasn’t a book, but a photo album. Sarge flicks through it absentmindedly. Photos of people, places he didn't recognize. Perhaps they were some old college buddies, or some fellow hippies he'd run into in his travels--

Sarge stops, mid-page turn. There’s a polaroid stuffed between the pages like a bookmark. With one steady hand, he removes it from the book and stares at it. He doesn’t remember letting Fillmore take a photo of them together, yet in his hand he held evidence that proved otherwise. The photo is at such an awkward angle that it was obvious Fillmore himself was the one holding the camera. Half of his face was visible: half of a crooked grin, half of a newly-grown beard, half of a nose, one eye. Sarge wasn’t looking at the camera when the photo was taken, instead looking out over some unseen distance. His head rested on the edge of Fillmore’s shoulder, like their closeness was the most natural thing in the world. On the white border of the photograph, scrawled in round, looping handwriting, was a date: August, 1967.

That had only been a few months after they’d met. He remembers that they-- the hippies and the press and whatnot-- had called it “The Summer of Love,” and he never really understood why. Such a strange name, when there was a war in Vietnam and protests in the streets… Sarge’s nostalgia was fleeting, and quickly left him feeling empty. In a fit of sentimental longing, he finds himself wishing to live it all again. To find himself in Radiator Springs again, to meet Fillmore again, to fall violently, fitfully in love again. They had wasted their time together, ignorant of the fact that it would be cut short.

Sarge realizes that he had been staring off into space. He stands, dusts himself off, and pockets the photograph. He sets the photo album aside, and stacks the rest of the books next to the pile of items to be sold. He puts the needle at the start of the LP again, and loses himself as he continues to work.

Waterfall, nothing can harm me at all…

. . . .

Sarge finally decides to visit the grave in November. It’s colder than it had been all week, and the temperature was dropping by the hour; he’d grown so used to the heat that anything lower than sixty degrees felt like winter. With his hands balled in his pockets, he sets off into the desert. He reaches the gravestone as the sun is beginning to set. He stares at it for a moment, coming to grips that he was standing above the body of his closest confidante.

Sarge isn’t sure why, but he begins to speak. “Hello, Fillmore. It’s been a while.”

Half of him expects a reply-- a “hey, man,” or something like that-- but the only sound is the wind, and the distant echo of interstate traffic.

“It’s quieter, without you.” He continues, “No one around to argue with.”

Dead, incomplete silence.

“I miss you.” Sarge blurts out, “I really do. And the time we had together was….” He trailed off, not exactly sure how to say it. “Well, it was just great.”

If Fillmore was listening, he would be grinning from ear to ear. Sarge knows that much.

He kneels down, and scrapes the dirt from the lettering. Born 24 April, 1948; Died 29 June, 1979. Only thirty-one years old. A life as vibrant and intrinsic and fleeting as the sunset over Willy’s Butte. Sarge stands again, and wipes the dirt from his pants. He watches the grave for a moment, now aware of a tremendous weight that had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Goodbye, Fillmore.”

As he leaves, the sky is a wonderful wash of red and orange and periwinkle-blue.

[melodiaemfrp]

Hello, Attuned! Thank you for participating in Melodiae's first Activity Check! Listed here are characters that did not pass the check ( Seven (7) days of activity in-server ) for the period from June 22nd to August 22nd.

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ACE ATTORNEY

Trucy Wright

THE GREAT ACE ATTORNEY

Sherlock Holmes

ALCHEMY STARS

Faust

ARKNIGHTS

Doctor (Frey)

Elysium

APEX LEGENDS

Caustic

Revenant

BLOOD BLOCKADE BATTLEFRONT

Leonardo Watch

BORDERLANDS

Lilith Cashlin

Maya the Siren

CASTLEVANIA

Yoko Belnades

COUNTDOWN TO COUNTDOWN

Iris Black

CRITICAL ROLE

CAMPAIGN 2

Mollymauk Tealeaf

DC COMICS

BATMAN

Dick Grayson

JUSTICE LEAGUE

Roy Harper

TEEN TITANS

Beast Boy

DEATH NOTE

Light Yagami

DESTINY

Orion Zihl ( The Guardian )

The Crow

FATE/

FATE/GRAND ORDER

Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov (Caster)

Arthur Pendragon (Saber)

Fujimaru Ritsuka

FINAL FANTASY

XIV

G’raha Tia

XV

Ignis Scientia

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret

FIRE EMBLEM

PATH OF RADIANCE/RADIANT DAWN

Sephiran

AWAKENING

Panne

Tiki

HEROES

Mirabilis

THREE HOUSES

Mercedes von Martritz

FULL METAL ALCHEMIST

BROTHERHOOD

Edward Elric

GENSHIN IMPACT

Childe (Tartaglia)

Diluc Ragnvindr

Xiao

Zhongli

GRANBLUE FANTASY

Lucifer

GUILD WARS 2

Trahearne

GUILTY GEAR

Zato-ONE

HADES

Thanatos

Zagreus

HYPNOSIS MIC

Hitoya Amaguni

Kuko Harai

Ramuda Amemura

IDENTITY V

Aesop Carl

Edgar Valden

Helena Adams

Norton Campbell

JOJO’S BIZARRE ADVENTURE

VENTO AUREO

Bruno Buccellati

Giorno Giovanna

JUJUTSU KAISEN

Itadori Yuji

MABINOGI

Fawaris (OC)

MARVEL COMICS

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes

MY HERO ACADEMIA

Izuku Midoriya

MY WORLD, MY WAY

Elise

NARUTO

Deidara

NIER

AUTOMATA

Adam

Eve

ORIGINAL CHARACTERS

Alexandra Barreau

Alleged Protégé

Alma Veilleux

Alpheus Holbrook

Amelia Rose Evans/The Autumn Queen

Daniel Dee

Daniel Harris

Dawa

Delathi Vassegre

Fira

Isaac Reuben

King Toklo

Kenta Fujita

Maxedon

Nessarosa Blackwood (The Witch Princess)

Puck Peeters

Saint Celestial III Naiad

Serena Smith / Starlight

Serian

Wilder

PERSONA

3

Aigis

Minato Arisato

5

Haru Okumura

POKEMON

N (Natural Harmonia Gropius)

PROFESSOR LAYTON

Claire Foley

PROJECT MOON WORKS

LIBRARY OF RUINA

Hod

Malkuth

Zena

PROMISE OF WIZARD

Mithra

Rutile

RESIDENT EVIL

Claire Redfield

RWBY

Blake Belladonna

Weiss Schnee

Winter Schnee

SALLY FACE

Sal Fisher

SILENT HILL

3

Cheryl Heather Mason

TALES OF SERIES

VESPERIA

Yeager

BERSERIA

Eizen

TEKKEN

Kazumi Mishima

TOKYO GHOUL

Eto Yoshimura

TOUKEN RANBU

Izuminokami Kanesada

Kashuu Kiyomitsu

Yamatonokami Yasusada

TRANSFORMERS

MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE

Nautica

VANITAS NO CARTE

Jeanne

Noe Archiviste

Vanitas

[vandnana]

Loving You Is Easy

Part Two

Still stifling our laughter, Chanyeol and I made our way to the small dining area through the kitchen. Already seated, Mrs. Park motioned for us to quickly sit down. The table was adorned with dishes I wasn’t familiar with, but the smells reassured me that they were delicious. Chanyeol sat next to me, grinning at the food laid out in front of him. His grandmother caressed his hair, looking at him sweetly. He lowered his head toward her so she wouldn’t have to reach so high, and leaned into her hand.

I was on the outside, looking in as I watched them. It felt like I was a patron of an art exhibition, simply admiring from a distance, but not part of the art itself. Looking at the affectionate interaction between a grandmother and her grandson was heartwarming, but still, unfamiliar. It wasn’t something I understood and it was something I never felt. But I recognized what it was I was looking at. It was love.

There was an involuntary pang that suddenly rose in my heart. I shuddered at the memory of the coldness that always greeted me where I used to be. Rarely our bodies would ever gather to eat together, and even when they did, my mind was somewhere else. The only sound uttered during meals was the clinking of our utensils on our plates, and the slight noise of chewing. Most of the time, my company during meals was our housemaid (which would change every week), but when I’d ask her if she could eat with me, she would say it wasn’t professional. I didn’t like remembering these things, but I couldn’t help it. It was all I knew, and the Park family dynamic was so foreign to me that the thoughts of the past naturally flooded back. 

“June, get some rice! As much as you want!” Mrs. Park urged, handing me the huge bowl of rice from across the table. I reached for it, but Chanyeol grabbed it first. 

I put my hands out to grab it from him, but instead he set it down and grabbed my bowl. He spooned in a heaping mound of rice, then handed it back to me casually, before helping himself to an equally huge amount. 

The pang in my heart that plagued me suddenly faded, replaced with that lovely tenderness only Chanyeol knew how to give. I looked up at him and my rice bowl a couple of times, my mouth hung open. I was completely bewildered because his actions were confusing. I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that he didn’t need to say anything to bring me back to the present moment. I had known him for less than a day, but somehow he knew what I needed before I even said anything.

“Thanks.” I said quietly, still in awe that this one thing could leave me so vulnerable, so speechless. 

I wasn’t sure how long I stared at the bowl contemplating, but Chanyeol took it upon himself to shove a spoon filled with rice and what I assumed was tofu, into my mouth. Shocking me out of my daze, I looked up at his seemingly amused reaction.

“Sorry, I should be eating, not staring at the food.” I uttered, my embarrassment painted on my cheeks and worry stained on my eyes as I let myself believe they thought I was ungrateful, that I simply didn’t want to eat the delicious meal Mrs. Park had made. 

“Hey, no need to apologize. But, if you want me to feed you, I will happily do it.” Chanyeol teased, smirking suggestively. 

Mrs. Park hit him, making him laugh at himself. Yet, too consumed I was in believing that I had made a mistake, too absorbed in my own unnecessary embarrassment in front of these two people who saw me as their own, that I hardly noticed Chanyeol’s flirtations.

“Chanyeol just worry about feeding yourself. June, eat as much as you like!” Mrs. Park smiled.

I nodded at her, helping myself to the many dishes she set in front of us. The rest of the time at the table was rarely silent, both Mrs. Park and Chanyeol’s lightheartedness filled the entire apartment. Chanyeol couldn’t stop trying to talk to me in between bites, prompting continuous scolding from his grandma. The feelings I reserved earlier looking at Mrs. Park and Chanyeol became a distant memory as my belly was filled with delicious food, and my soul bounced at the sound of Chanyeol’s voice. This felt like home.

After dinner, I unpacked my stuff on the floor and Chanyeol did the same, organizing his stuff and picking the drawers he wanted to put his things in. He told me to pick the drawers I wanted, but I didn’t think it mattered, so he ultimately picked for me. I barely had anything to organize, everything I brought fitting in two drawers, and I watched Chanyeol as he contemplated where to put his array of clothes and shoes. I laid on the bed and my muscles thanked me as I sunk into the mattress. I was unsure of what to do next or even what to say. Time felt fragmented because everything happened out of order. 

They treated me as if I had known them my entire life, and I liked that. But it still didn’t feel real. As I let the bed overtake my body, I suddenly felt awkward with Chanyeol in the room. It almost felt like we were a couple in an arranged marriage, like we only knew each other on the surface and were thrusted into intimacy. 

But the feeling that I got with Chanyeol was unbearably familiar, yet unfamiliar. I liked being around him, but I couldn’t understand why back then. His warmth drowned every bad thing that surrounded me and engulfed me in a newness that I felt returned to me after so long. Although my apprehensions bubbled underneath my feet, waiting for something wrong to happen, I couldn’t deny that being with Chanyeol, his bubbliness, his cheeriness, it kept me floating. 

Next to me, I felt the bed sink further, pulling me out my thoughts and toward Chanyeol’s face, staring at me in curiosity. Again, our bodies were dangerously close and the confusing magic I had felt before dinner came back. 

“Whatcha thinking about June?” He asked, genuinely eager to hear my answer. The velvet of his voice told me that he wasn’t just making conversation, he really did want to know.

I looked back up at the ceiling, not brave enough to look him in the eye as I told him the truth.

“Just you...and Mrs. Park...and everything about today. I don’t know what I did to deserve your guys’ kindness.” I replied slowly, my eyes moving from the ceiling to the side away from him. I was embarrassed again, but I couldn’t hide how I felt. In the moment I couldn’t lie or try to make my feelings less intense, I wanted him to know. 

My gratefulness and guilt were largely equal. Nothing felt real. I was happy that I found Mrs. Park and Chanyeol, but everything felt too good to be true. I couldn’t understand why I was so lucky. I got everything I wanted, everything I needed, in one day. A home. A family. 

But I felt guilty. Guilty because I already had a home and a family. And I left them. I left them to save myself, but my mind was still silently suffering. Guilty because I felt indebted to the family I never considered family and I felt confined by the home I never considered home. In my own mind, I was on the outside looking in. I understood that everything I had ever known was poison, but I watched myself drink it slowly because for the longest time, I was the only one watching. 

There was silence in the room as my mind raced, and I gulped loudly as I waited for Chanyeol to say something. I kept my eyes fixed on the ceiling, afraid to see the expression that Chanyeol was looking at me with. The ceiling became my muse in that moment, but for Chanyeol, I was his. He never took his eyes off of me, and in them, no disdain or disgust or confusion. 

He took my chin into one hand, gently moving my head toward him. His gaze was understanding and comforting, bringing me back to the reality I couldn’t fathom. He kept his hand on my chin as he softly spoke.

“Well, the thing is June, you didn’t have to do anything. It’s a weird situation, I know. You just met us and I don’t know what you’ve gone through, but I think you’re supposed to be here living with us. I mean, what are the odds that you would have went to my grandma’s shop today? And now, you’re here, laying next to me like we’ve known each other forever. I should be thanking you honestly. I get really lonely when it’s just me and halmeoni here, but,” 

He paused, the air drenched in a fluid reassurance, my vision suddenly blocked out the walls with his posters, the softness of the bed, the light illuminating us-and found focus in the delicateness of his features, the stars in his eyes, the parting of his lips.

“I have you now.”

I have you now

I blinked really fast hearing his words, unable to process his true intentions, the true meaning behind his reassurance. My heart had never felt so enlightened before he said those words. His words. 

“Chanyeol, I don’t know what to say.” I gulped, trying to vocalize how much his words meant to me, but failing. 

I didn’t have the words- the stomach to say anything that would compare to his words. As he spoke, he watched my expression change, finding meaning in my eyes rather than my lips. 

“It’s okay. I know what you want to say, and I really do mean it. Every word. So, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re in an amazing city and you can do what you want now.” 

When the feathery weight of his words finally found my brain, my shock dissipated. My eyes that were once widened became crescent moons as my parted lips curled into a smile that I could no longer contain. I covered my face with my hands and turned my head back at the ceiling. 

I felt intoxicated by everything he said. It was like he was in my head, like he knew about those doubts underneath my feet, like he knew that I floated because of him.

For some reason, I started laughing cheerfully, not knowing what else to do. My hands found refuge on my cheeks as I finally brought myself to look into his eyes again. 

“Sorry Chanyeol, I swear I’m not laughing at you. I’ve just-I’ve never met anyone like you. You really know what to say to make me feel better.” I let out.

I felt too vulnerable, but in that same moment, I felt myself open up. It only took those words for me to spit out the poison. Everything felt right from the moment we first looked at each other, but his words made it feel real. My presence meant something to him, and hearing him say it out loud moved me. Chanyeol melted the large guilt I felt and replaced it with a spirited comfort only he could have given me. He needed me too, and that was enough for me to step out of my mind and be less afraid. 

“Hey don’t worry about it,” He sat up on the bed and blocked my view of the ceiling with his face, “I know a place that will make you feel three million times better, if you want to go.” 

The magic in the air still lingering around us, we switched to a state of domesticity. I nodded at his suggestion, and he got off the bed, pulling me with him. He walked over to one of his drawers and handed me one of his hoodies that was three sizes too big for me. 

I held it up in perplexity, and he urged me to wear it. “I saw that you only brought one coat, and since it’s late, it’s gonna be really cold.” 

“i think I’ll be okay Chanyeol. I’ve been fine with my coat so far, and besides your hoodie is way too big for me.”

I took him grabbing the hoodie out of my hands as compliance, and grabbed my coat from the top of the dresser. I unfolded it, and slid one arm into the sleeves, but I stopped when Chanyeol planted himself right in front of me with the hoodie still in his hands. I waited for him to say something, but he just innocently smiled as he took my jacket off then put his hoodie over my head. I protested his efforts, trying to push him away, but his arms were longer and stronger. Once my head was through, he casually snaked my arms through the sleeves, then bent down to meet my eyes, his hands on my shoulders. 

“I won’t let you freeze to death in that coat. It’s too thin and my hoodie will keep you way warmer. So please, just wear it.” He pleaded, pouting at me with his big eyes.

“Okay, okay fine. I’ll wear it.” I replied, rolling my eyes at him playfully. His pout turned into a beaming grin. 

He let go of my shoulders with a happy sigh.

“Good.”

[lennart11412]

The Vision of Sir Launfal James Russell Lowell (1819–1891) Prelude to Part FirstOVER his keys the musing organist,  Beginning doubtfully and far away, First lets his fingers wander as they list,  And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay; Then, as the touch of his loved instrument        5  Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme, First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent  Along the wavering vista of his dream.    Not only around our infancy    Doth heaven with all its splendors lie;        10    Daily, with souls that cringe and plot,    We Sinais climb and know it not.  Over our manhood bend the skies;    Against our fallen and traitor lives  The great winds utter prophecies;        15    With our faint hearts the mountain strives;  Its arms outstretched, the druid wood    Waits with its Benedicite;  And to our age’s drowsy blood    Still shouts the inspiring sea.        20  Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us:    The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in.  The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us,    We bargain for the graves we lie in;  At the devil’s booth are all things sold,        25  Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold;  For a cap and bells our lives we pay,    Bubbles we buy with a whole soul’s tasking:  ’T is heaven alone that is given away,    ’T is only God may be had for the asking;        30  No price is set on the lavish summer;  June may be had by the poorest comer.  And what is so rare as a day in June?    Then, if ever, come perfect days;  Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,        35    And over it softly her warm ear lays;  Whether we look, or whether we listen,  We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;  Every clod feels a stir of might,    An instinct within it that reaches and towers,        40  And groping blindly above it for light,    Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers;  The flush of life may well be seen    Thrilling back over hills and valleys;  The cowslip startles in meadows green,        45    The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,  And there ’s never a leaf nor a blade too mean    To be some happy creature’s palace;  The little bird sits at his door in the sun,    Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,        50  And lets his illumined being o’errun    With the deluge of summer it receives; His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings; He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,—        55 In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?  Now is the high tide of the year,    And whatever of life hath ebbed away  Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer,    Into every bare inlet and creek and bay;        60  Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it;  We are happy now because God wills it;  No matter how barren the past may have been,  ’T is enough for us now that the leaves are green;  We sit in the warm shade and feel right well        65  How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;  We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing  That skies are clear and grass is growing;    The breeze comes whispering in our ear    That dandelions are blossoming near,        70  That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,  That the river is bluer than the sky,  That the robin is plastering his house hard by:  And if the breeze kept the good news back,  For other couriers we should not lack;        75    We could guess it all by yon heifer’s lowing,—  And hark! how clear bold chanticleer,  Warmed with the new wine of the year,    Tells all in his lusty crowing!  Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how;        80  Everything is happy now,    Everything is upward striving;  ’T is as easy now for the heart to be true  As for grass to be green or skies to be blue,—    ’T is the natural way of living:        85  Who knows whither the clouds have fled?    In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake;  And the eyes forget the tears they have shed,    The heart forgets its sorrow and ache; The soul partakes the season’s youth,        90  And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe Lie deep ’neath a silence pure and smooth,  Like burnt-out craters healed with snow.    What wonder if Sir Launfal now    Remember the keeping of his vow?        95 Part First    “MY golden spurs now bring to me,      And bring to me my richest mail,    For to-morrow I go over land and sea      In search of the Holy Grail:    Shall never a bed for me be spread,        100    Nor shall a pillow be under my head,    Till I begin my vow to keep;    Here on the rushes will I sleep,    And perchance there may come a vision true    Ere day create the world anew.”        105      Slowly Sir Launfal’s eyes grew dim;      Slumber fell like a cloud on him,    And into his soul the vision flew.  The crows flapped over by twos and threes,  In the pool drowsed the cattle up to their knees,        110    The little birds sang as if it were    The one day of summer in all the year,  And the very leaves seemed to sing on the trees:  The castle alone in the landscape lay  Like an outpost of winter, dull and gray;        115  ’T was the proudest hall in the North Countree,  And never its gates might opened be,  Save to lord or lady of high degree;  Summer besieged it on every side,  But the churlish stone her assaults defied;        120  She could not scale the chilly wall,  Though around it for leagues her pavilions tall      Stretched left and right.      Over the hills and out of sight;        Green and broad was every tent,        125        And out of each a murmur went      Till the breeze fell off at night.  The drawbridge dropped with a surly clang,  And through the dark arch a charger sprang,  Bearing Sir Launfal, the maiden knight,        130  In his gilded mail, that flamed so bright  It seemed the dark castle had gathered all  Those shafts the fierce sun had shot over its wall    In his siege of three hundred summers long,  And binding them all in one blazing sheaf,        135    Had cast them forth; so, young and strong,  And lightsome as a locust leaf,  Sir Launfal flashed forth in his maiden mail,  To seek in all climes for the Holy Grail.  It was morning on hill and stream and tree,        140    And morning in the young knight’s heart;  Only the castle moodily  Rebuffed the gifts of the sunshine free,    And gloomed by itself apart;  The season brimmed all other things up        145  Full as the rain fills the pitcher-plant’s cup. As Sir Launfal made morn through the darksome gate,  He was ’ware of a leper, crouched by the same, Who begged with his hand and moaned as he sate;  And a loathing over Sir Launfal came;        150 The sunshine went out of his soul with a thrill,  The flesh ’neath his armor ’gan shrink and crawl, And midway its leap his heart stood still  Like a frozen waterfall;  For this man, so foul and bent of stature,        155  Rasped harshly against his dainty nature,  And seemed the one blot on the summer morn,—  So he tossed him a piece of gold in scorn.  The leper raised not the gold from the dust:—  “Better to me the poor man’s crust,        160  Better the blessing of the poor,  Though I turn me empty from his door:  That is no true alms which the hand can hold;  He gives only the worthless gold    Who gives from a sense of duty;        165  But he who gives but a slender mite,  And gives to that which is out of sight,—    That thread of the all-sustaining Beauty  Which runs through all and doth all unite,—  The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms,        170  The heart outstretches its eager palms;  For a god goes with it and makes it store  To the soul that was starving in darkness before.” Prelude to Part SecondDOWN swept the chill wind from the mountain peak,  From the snow five thousand summers old;        175 On open wold and hilltop bleak  It had gathered all the cold, And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer’s cheek;  It carried a shiver everywhere  From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare;        180  The little brook heard it, and built a roof  ’Neath which he could house him winter-proof;  All night by the white stars’ frosty gleams  He groined his arches and matched his beams;  Slender and clear were his crystal spars        185  As the lashes of light that trim the stars;  He sculptured every summer delight  In his halls and chambers out of sight;  Sometimes his tinkling waters slipt  Down through a frost-leaved forest crypt.        190  Long, sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees  Bending to counterfeit a breeze;  Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew  But silvery mosses that downward grew;  Sometimes it was carved in sharp relief        195  With quaint arabesques of ice-fern leaf;  Sometimes it was simply smooth and clear  For the gladness of heaven to shine through, and here  He had caught the nodding bulrush tops  And hung them thickly with diamond drops,        200  That crystalled the beams of moon and sun,  And made a star of every one:  No mortal builder’s most rare device  Could match this winter palace of ice;  ’T was as if every image that mirrored lay        205  In his depths serene through the summer day,  Each fleeting shadow of earth and sky,      Lest the happy model should be lost,  Had been mimicked in fairy masonry      By the elfin builders of the frost.        210  Within the hall are song and laughter;    The cheeks of Christmas glow red and jolly,  And sprouting is every corbel and rafter    With lightsome green of ivy and holly;  Through the deep gulf of the chimney wide        215  Wallows the Yule-log’s roaring tide;  The broad flame pennons droop and flap    And belly and tug as a flag in the wind;  Like a locust shrills the imprisoned sap,    Hunted to death in its galleries blind;        220  And swift little troops of silent sparks,    Now pausing, now scattering away as in fear,  Go threading the soot forest’s tangled darks    Like herds of startled deer.  But the wind without was eager and sharp;        225  Of Sir Launfal’s gray hair it makes a harp,          And rattles and wrings          The icy strings,  Singing in dreary monotone  A Christmas carol of its own,        230  Whose burden still, as he might guess,  Was “Shelterless, shelterless, shelterless!” The voice of the seneschal flared like a torch As he shouted the wanderer away from the porch, And he sat in the gateway and saw all night        235  The great hall fire, so cheery and bold,  Through the window slits of the castle old,  Build out its piers of ruddy light  Against the drift of the cold. Part Second  THERE was never a leaf on bush or tree,        240  The bare boughs rattled shudderingly;  The river was dumb and could not speak,    For the weaver Winter its shroud had spun;  A single crow on the tree-top bleak    From his shining feathers shed off the cold sun;        245  Again it was morning, but shrunk and cold,  As if her veins were sapless and old,  And she rose up decrepitly  For a last dim look at earth and sea.  Sir Launfal turned from his own hard gate,        250  For another heir in his earldom sate:  An old, bent man, worn out and frail,  He came back from seeking the Holy Grail.  Little he recked of his earldom’s loss,  No more on his surcoat was blazoned the cross;        255  But deep in his soul the sigh he wore,  The badge of the suffering and the poor.  Sir Launfal’s raiment thin and spare  Was idle mail ’gainst the barbèd air,  For it was just at the Christmas-time;        260  So he mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime,  And sought for a shelter from cold and snow  In the light and warmth of long ago.  He sees the snake-like caravan crawl  O’er the edge of the desert, black and small,        265  Then nearer and nearer, till, one by one,  He can count the camels in the sun,  As over the red-hot sands they pass  To where, in its slender necklace of grass,  The little spring laughed and leapt in the shade,        270  And with its own self like an infant played,  And waved its signal of palms.  “For Christ’s sweet sake, I beg an alms:”—  The happy camels may reach the spring,  But Sir Launfal sees only the grewsome thing,        275  The leper, lank as the rain-blanched bone,  That cowers beside him, a thing as lone  And white as the ice-isles of Northern seas  In the desolate horror of his disease.  And Sir Launfal said,—“I behold in thee        280  An image of Him who died on the tree;  Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns,—  Thou also hast had the world’s buffets and scorns,—  And to thy life were not denied  The wounds in the hands and feet and side:        285  Mild Mary’s Son, acknowledge me;  Behold, through him, I give to thee!”  Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes    And looked at Sir Launfal, and straightway he  Remembered in what a haughtier guise        290    He had flung an alms to leprosie,  When he girt his young life up in gilded mail  And set forth in search of the Holy Grail.  The heart within him was ashes and dust:  He parted in twain his single crust,        295  He broke the ice on the streamlet’s brink,  And gave the leper to eat and drink;  ’T was a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread,    ’T was water out of a wooden bowl,—  Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed,        300    And ’t was red wine he drank with his thirsty soul.  As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face,  A light shone round about the place;  The leper no longer crouched at his side,  But stood before him glorified,        305  Shining and tall and fair and straight  As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate,—  Himself the Gate whereby men can  Enter the temple of God in Man. His words were shed softer than leaves from the pine,        310 And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine, That mingle their softness and quiet in one With the shaggy unrest they float down upon; And the voice that was softer than silence said:— Lo, it is I, be not afraid!        315 In many climes, without avail, Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail: Behold, it is here,—this cup which thou Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now; This crust is my body broken for thee,        320 This water His blood that died on the tree; The Holy Supper is kept indeed In whatso we share with another’s need. Not what we give, but what we share,— For the gift without the giver is bare;        325 Who gives himself with his alms feeds three,— Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me.” Sir Launfal awoke as from a swound:— “The Grail in my castle here is found! Hang my idle armor up on the wall,        330 Let it be the spider’s banquet-hall; He must be fenced with stronger mail Who would seek and find the Holy Grail.” The castle gate stands open now,  And the wanderer is welcome to the hall        335 As the hang-bird is to the elm-tree bough;  No longer scowl the turrets tall. The summer’s long siege at last is o’er: When the first poor outcast went in at the door, She entered with him in disguise,        340 And mastered the fortress by surprise; There is no spot she loves so well on ground; She lingers and smiles there the whole year round; The meanest serf on Sir Launfal’s land Has hall and bower at his command;        345 And there ’s no poor man in the North Countree But is lord of the earldom as much as he.

[thirst-order-confession]

heeyyyyy not to be a big bother or anything but... i was going through the monster au tag... and was wondering when part 2 of the hux story was going to come out? because i'm kind of in love with this little series and can't wait to see mooooar

Well, it just so has it. Your call has been answered. I actually had part 2 mostly done for awhile now and was looking for a good opportunity to post so... thank you. 

And also, I would like to thank @ichooseyouprocrastination because she sat down and we fangirled over thinking about Hunter!Hux. So thanks, babers 😘

Also this is like 20 pages long (not really) so I put it under the cut so save some scrolling for those actually on the blog. 

It was later that same night and things had settled down, the sun replaced with the moon in the sky and it seemed that the star had taken its unbearable heat with it. In its wake, there was only a comfortable warmth left behind.

The crickets were chirping in the night air, a distant owl hooted. There was the occasional knock of a woodpecker on its tree far off deep into the woods.

Hux sat on a fallen long on one side of the fire while you lay relaxed back your thin bedroll beneath you, your knee swaying lazily as you watched the fire, your dogs lay snuggled in on either side of you. The two of you had just finished eating; you’d shot down a couple squirrels and had cooked them over the fire.

But now it was nearing the time to sleep and you were watching the redhead from across the flames.

“Why don’t you go to sleep?” You asked him softly when you noticed his eyes drooping, his head slipping from his palm where he sat.

At your suggestion, he was blinking awake and sitting up straighter, “I’m not tired.”

For a moment, you just closed your eyes and laughed softly inside, shaking your head.

“You’re fine to sleep out here. This is the least dangerous part of the forest. Plus I have wards placed around here and there that tell me if something comes through this area. If I’m not worried about it and my dogs aren’t worried about it, you shouldn’t be either.” Still, Hux looked unimpressed, his stare unwavering, “Fine. Do what you want. But don’t nod off and fall off your horse tomorrow. We’re going deeper into the Glade tomorrow.” She smirked over at him, “It would be a shame if you got eaten.”

The redheaded man debated a long moment, his eyes narrowed on your. And then he was sliding from his seat and stretching out on his own mat, his arms beneath his chin as he lay on his stomach, his eyes on the fire.

“Say… I’ve always wondered, by the way, what’s it like up North? I’ve heard it’s cold and cloudy. That it rains a lot. Has lots of dodgy weather.”

Hux was quiet for a moment before he sighed, “Well, you’ve heard correct. Sometimes we can go days or even weeks without seeing the sun.”

You grimaced while you ran your hand back through your hair, “Is it like that across the entire North?”

“Mostly, yes. But we live more to the northeast. It almost seems to be more… concentrated over Arkanis. That’s our… city.”

“How dreary. We at least have different seasons here.”

It was now the redheads turn to huff out a laugh, “As I can tell. This heat is absolutely dreadful.” You raised your eyebrow when you noticed Hux smirking softly from the depths of his arms, his irises shinning in the firelight.

You felt your own lips twitch, “Just wait, then. Winter is coming. You should feel right at home with all the rain and snow and sleet when the year grows late.”

“Mmm, I cannot wait, then.”

“I mean, that is to say, if you even stay until winter…?”

Hux was quiet a moment but shrugged, “My father has not set a date to leave yet. But for now, I would assume so. Only now, it’s June and we have much to learn about your forest and monsters. We don’t know what we are facing yet.”

You reached over into your bag and pulled out an animal skin, one filled with some rich, red wine. You uncorked it and took a sip, the liquid burning a bit as it crossed your pallet.

Hux frowned when you made a face, “What?”

“Wine,” you wiped your lips with the back of your hand, “You want some?”

He sighed, “Well, if I’m to be eaten in my sleep, I suppose I should enjoy what’s left of my life.” He held out his hand and you tossed the skin to him.

The man caught it easily and you watched as he pulled the stopper free and took a small sip first and he too made a face before shrugging and taking a longer pull.

You sat up and crossed your legs in front of you, “You have family back in Arkanis then?”

“Yes. There is still some extended family that lives there. And my mother and younger brother, Domhall,” Hux’s lips pursed but took another short drink, now lounging on his side, “He didn’t join us on our journey because my father left him in charge of our estate and to keep the Guilds connected.”

“Mmm, how strange,” you mused to yourself as you maneuvered around to lay on your own stomach, the heat from the fire warming your face, “Typically the eldest is left in charge of the estate. It’s safer so that the name can carry on…”

Hux kept his face stoic despite the fact that he wanted to wince inside.

“…but that’s the North for ya, I suppose. Strange.”

The redheaded man scoffed, “We’re strange? Says the lunatic of a woman who thinks witchcraft is normal.”  

“That’s because it is normal,” you glowered over at him, “Again, it’s you who’s the strange one. You’d be amazed how much easier hunting becomes when you use even the smallest bit of magic.”

“I highly doubt it.”

“You do realize that’s why the town is called Occult right? That’s how our village is almost suspiciously safe despite being on the edge of the Glade?” You sat up slightly, your eyes narrowed at him. “It’s because we live on a ley line thrumming with spiritual energy and have a witch who protects us and keeps most of the monsters out. Miss Kalliope has been protecting our village as far back as anyone can remember, so you know what—”

“Miss Kalliope?” Hux himself was now the one to look suspicious.

Oh, fucking shit. “Uhm… I-I mean—”

“So there is a witch…?” He took another sip of the wine.

You stared back at him a moment, your eyes hardening, “And you’ll do nothing to her lest my offer still stands.” You reached down and pulled your knife from the sheath on your belt, stabbing it into the soft ground before you. “I won’t have you burning her and then fucking over everyone in the village. I won’t let twelve northerners stand between me and my safety.”

For a long moment, Hux just considered you, his icy eyes glowing in the warm light from the fire.

“You say that she… protects the village?” He played with the animal skin in his hands.

You nodded slowly, your face serious, “Legend has it that Kalliope was here first and Occult settled around her. And she’s the reason why we can all sleep without worry at night. She’s a good witch… looney as she can be at times. She can help you, though. Can protect you a bit when you hunt if you ask her for a ward or charm.”

Hux sighed softly and turned over onto his back, his hand resting on his stomach as he looked up at the canopy of trees overhead as well as the stars shinning in the sky. He took another long drink from the animal skin, the wine warming his insides pleasantly.

However, he frowned softly and lifted his head, his eyes peering out into the dark depths of the woods. And although he saw nothing amongst the trees, he still felt as though something was watching him.

Still, when he glanced back at you and found that you yourself were watching him, he frowned and lay his head back down. It definitely wasn’t… just your eyes upon him.

He had felt the same feeling all day but only now just decided to comment on it, seeing as how it was slowly driving him towards insanity.

“Do you ever feel like you’re not out here alone when you hunt? Like something is watching you?”

Your lips twitched and you hummed thoughtfully, your eyes themselves glancing at the trees, “Sometimes… but I’m used to it by now. And if it were something bad watching me, it would have gotten me by now and it hasn’t so… it’s more of a comforting thing now. To know that something’s watching over me. Maybe even making me feel safe.” You shrugged your shoulders. “I feel at home in the woods. Out here by myself.” You turned over on your side then, your fingers digging into the shaggy hair of one of your hounds as you stuffed your father’s coat beneath your head. “And I’m not overly fond of people.”

You grew silent then and Hux narrowed his eyes, very much wanting to press but decided that he shouldn’t, that it wasn’t his place to ask further.

So he lay back on his own bedroll, his gun at his side, and he allowed his eyes to close and forced the sounds of night to lull him to sleep.

Your brow furrowed as you pulled yourself from unconsciousness, the bright sunlight streaming through your closed eyelids causing you to lift your arms and cover your face. And you lay like that a moment, the hounds asleep at your sides snoring softly, the fire silent before you.

However, when you sat up and turned around, eyes sleepily staring across the little clearing, you found that Hux was gone, seemingly missing from his makeshift bed.

You had ought to be worried but instead turned and gazed through the trees and found that Lucio was still tied loosely to a tree, his head lowered to the ground as he ate. But Minerva was gone, as was her saddle and saddle blanket. You wanted to be worried but found that you couldn’t and instead, you lazily climbed to your feet and saddled Lucio, packing your supplies and grabbing your weapons as you pulled yourself up onto your back. Your dogs lazily rose and trotted behind you as you followed the obvious hoof prints pressed into the soft earth.

It didn’t take you long before you found Minerva, the mare lazily grazing herself and she lifted her head as she watched you approach.

Even from here, you could hear the quiet babbling of the river and dismounted Lucio to leave him by his companion before you trekked towards the sound of the water, signaling your dogs to stay where they were at the top.

And you strode down to the trees, following the boot prints, the river came into view and still, through the sleepy haze of your mind, you shifted your rifle on your shoulder and continued downwards. However, when you lifted your head, your eyes widened and your cheeks immediately blazed bright red as you caught sight of a pale, porcelain ass bent over at the water’s edge.

You immediately ducked behind a tree, your hand slapping over your mouth as you screamed internally. Well… you’d definitely found Hux.

Still, you glanced to your side and found that his clothes were discarded a few feet away on the ground, neatly folded and placed atop his boots.

Swallowing thickly, you slowly peered out from behind the tree and watched as the man rose to his full height, broad shoulders rippling as he rolled them before he stepped into the shallows, his pale bum clenching the further he stepped into no doubt the chilled water.

And then, Gods above, he was fucking turning back towards shore, a rag left on a larger rock near the waters edge and you saw everything.

If possible, you flushed even hotter but didn’t look away as he hurried back towards the shore to grab the rag and soap stored inside of it so that he could properly wash himself, a towel just beside them.

Inwardly, you were cursing yourself, screaming just in general because fuck he was such a stuck up, northern cocksucker but why was he so lean but strong, pale and unblemished expect for the smattering of freckles along the tops of his shoulders and chest, his shock of ginger hair disheveled from sleep. Why was he unfairly beautiful for being someone so ill-tempered and foul?

Why was life so unfair sometimes?

You were about to turn back and hide once more but when you finally tore your eyes away from the trimmed nest of ginger hair and the wondrous thing that it circled, you noticed that he had a familiar chain draped around his neck. He had… He was wearing…

That was your necklace!

You reached into your own shirt and found it to be missing from your neck as expected and you could help yourself no longer as you stepped from the trees just as Hux submerged his most private of parts beneath the water’s surface.

“Good morning, Mr. Hux. How kind of you to wake me this morning!” You snapped as you strode down the bank, the redhead turning his head towards you, his soapy hand scrubbing over his muscled chest. His own cheeks flushed red and he scowled at you, stopping his ministrations for a moment. “And it was also kind of you to take my warding necklace with you. It’s not like I needed it while I slept, defenseless, on the ground in a forest full of monsters.”

“You had your dogs to watch you,” he protested, resuming his scrubbing as he lathered himself up despite your presence. “And I needed to bathe. The bloody heat in your blasted forest makes me stink.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “So then you’ll stink! We’re out in the woods!”

“I’ll only be a minute,” he huffed, scrubbing the bar of soap up and through his hair before he tossed it to shore and began to scrub with both hands. “You could at least turn around. Let me at least have some of my dignity.”

Rolling your eyes, you complied slowly and turned around so that your back was towards the man.

“So… exactly what type of monsters do you have in the forest? What are the dangerous ones?”

You rolled your eyes again. He was trying to make conversation at a time like this?

Still, you sighed and unwillingly gave in, “We’ve got a lot of stuff. You already know about the gehörnte. But then we have the shearshas, sungnerfs, windashes, laelif, lothrosties, werewolves… just to name a few. Sometimes, I think we might also have some saytrs, as well. And then… well, we call them Umbras. But they’re basically these horrible… shadow creatures.”

Hux was silent behind you, the faint splashing having quieted, “The North has shadow creatures.”

Your head lifted slightly at that, “What do you call them?”

“Just shadow creatures. Nothing more.”

Your mind very briefly flashed back to your brother and his bright, smiling face, “Yeah, well… Just watch out for them. Nasty, blood thirsty beasts that they are.”

There was some splashing behind you but you didn’t look, your heart heavy in that moment before something was being draped over your head. You glanced up just in time to see Hux’s pale self striding passed you, the towel wrapped around his waist as he sloshed up the shore toward his clothes.

When you looked back down, you found that it was your necklace, the metal already warmed slightly but the redhead’s skin.

Swallowing thickly, you reverentially took the chain into your hand before you were hiding it back beneath the collar of your shirt, your boots carrying you back up the bank to where your horses waited.

When you returned to the village a few days later, sweaty, thirst for some ale, and in need of a bath, you still were not fond of Armitage Hux. Not in the slightest.

You learned very quickly that he was very arrogant and rather full of himself despite the fact that the first few days had been enjoyable.

You’d spent a few days showing him about the woods, climbing to the tops of some of the lower mountains, explaining the lay of the land to him. You told him about the creatures, explained which ones were most dangerous and which of those were not. You told him about the town and the people, who he should befriend and who he should stay away from.

And you told him this, your voice eerily steady, “Don’t talk to anyone who has traveled off the path and are alone. Don’t even look at them.”

Your father had made that mistake.

Regardless of how pleasant he had been for the first couple of days, you had learned that evidently he only had pride for himself and the skills he had as a hunter. And he was a fucking show off. And it was unfortunate that he was a decent shot and proved to be a skillful tracker and trapper.

You hated him because of it.

Despite his patience with you for the first few initial days, the grace period seemed to rub off and the longer away he was from civilization, the more agitated the man became. And when he was agitated, he was very short tempered and tried to undermine you so many times. And that didn’t sit well with you at all.

Numerous times, you had raised your rifle and threatened him with it. Or better yet, you had threatened to leave him in the Glade. Alone.

He had been rather quiet after that and yet you could always feel his eyes glaring daggers into your back.

You were grateful when you returned home and you could tell that Hux was, too. You’d seemingly had enough of each other and you didn’t want to see the ginger for a good, long while.

Pretentious fucker.

And you didn’t, spending most of your time out in town or in the woods, hauling in carcasses and claiming coin from the Guild for your duties after you had returned, happy to be free of his presence.

However, that didn’t stop you from seeing him in passing during the heat of the day, a new blue roan horse between his legs as he oftentimes galloped into town, rifle shoved into the leather holster on his saddle horn. Too many times, he was shirtless, his pale chest and freckled shoulders glistening with sweat as he thundered into town, his ginger hair tousled and damp with sweat as his leather gloves gripped the reins of his new steed in his palms, his blue eyes still icy hard as he trotted past you.

And you hated the man… because he unwillingly had your respect. And it was very rare that people ever earned something like that.

Not to mention that he was infuriatingly enough, not an ugly bloke either. Probably one of the most pretty and dapper in the village. Someone still unworn and weary from living so near the Glade.

When you next saw him, it was on the night of the summer festival.

The village was lit up entirely with bonfires and lanterns. Every villager was out in the town, dressed in their finest clothes and dresses. Nearly everyone, man, woman, or child, wore a crown of wild flowers on their head.

There had been a feast that day that was still going on, for the hunters had made sure to bring in a lot of kill for the event that night and for the rest of the week: this was only the first night of many and everyone was already in the swing of things, music already pervading the air and filling the silence of the night.

Still, you were stationed near one of the bonfires, the barrel of your rifle clutched in your hands as you stood watch in the shadows of a building, your father’s coat draped over your sweat stained clothes.

You were content to watch and that was all, your hand sometimes reaching for the mug of ale balanced on a barrel between a couple of the log houses.

Just when you were taking a sip, a familiar form walked across the small plot of land between the houses, his fiery hair catching in the light of the flames. And then he was looking at you as if he could feel your eyes upon his person.

And then he was walking towards you and you were sighing internally.

“Well, look who it is,” he was smirking softly as he approached you in the shadows, a mug of ale in his own hands. He paused for a moment out in the light from the fire, his eyes narrowing as lifted his drink and took a sip. “Aren’t you going to join in to the festivities? You are missing so much of the fun.”

For a moment, you took in the sight of him; his deep blue tailored waist coat and a bright red ascot tied around his throat. He wore dark, clean pants and from what you could see, his boots also shone in the firelight.

You shook your head, “Someone has to keep watch. And I volunteered for the week of the festival.”

His eyes narrowed once more, “All week?”

You shrugged your shoulders and shifted your weight on your feet, “The men need a break sometimes. They deserve it.”

“Mmm, highly unlikely.” Hux muttered taking a step closer to you. “My father has had nothing but praise for you, so it seems. He said that he was looking at the records for what you’ve brought in thus far since we have arrived and your work alone overshadows all the other hunters.” He joined you in the shadows and took another sip of his drink as he looked back at the blazing bonfire and the bodies that danced around it. “Why is that?”

You shrugged once more, not looking at him, “There are always monsters to kill.”

“That may be true but like you said before… you aren’t very fond of people. That’s why you would rather be out in the woods than be here in town.”

“You’re right, I don’t like people.”

“You don’t like that people pity you.”

You hesitated a moment before your head snapped in his direction, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I went to the witch like you told me to. And Miss Kalliope told me… Told me about your family.”

Your grip on your gun grew tighter and yet you still just gazed into the fire, “I already have everyone else’s. I don’t need your pity.”

“Regardless, you’re going to get it.” Hux said, placing his cup down near your own so that he could clasp his hands behind his back, the man a towering shadow at your side. “You’ve lost everyone and that’s unfair.”

You were silent a long moment, “Well… I wouldn’t be the same person if things were different.”

“I can almost guarantee that you wouldn’t be so lonely… What with only your dogs and your monsters’ woods to keep you company now.”

You finally snapped your head towards him, “Why don’t you leave, okay? I didn’t ask for your company tonight and now that you’re here, I sure as hell don’t want it.”

Hux was silent for a long moment and his blue eyes scrutinized your face a long moment before he was looking down, glancing over your worn clothes and dirty boots, “Don’t you own anything that isn’t bloodstained?”

Your lip curled in a sneer, “Fuck off, Hux.”

You strode from the alleyway and the redheaded man, your drink long forgotten as you stormed down the street, your gun held tightly in your fists as you willed the burning of tears away from your eyes.

Regardless of what he said, you would show him.

You hastily saddled Lucio and yanked yourself up onto his back, the dark nightmare of the horse snorting noisily and stomping as if he could feel your anger and rage.

And when you went thundering through the town on your stallion, your rifle slung over your shoulder, you caught Hux’s eye still in the alley where you had left him and only now he was joined by his companion Mitaka.

He did not look as smug as you thought he would have been. Instead, his brow was furrowed softly as you fled into the night.

And when you returned to the village a few hours later, you dismounted your horse and all those still at the festival were silent, all eyes on you as you untied the mound of monsters you had been dragging behind Lucio.

You were drenched head to toe in gore from the kills you made that night, your hair stringy and saturated with blood, your face was also stained and splattered with both red and black life force.

Your clothes truly were blood stained but this was the largest set of kills you had brought in in awhile.

You didn’t care who saw or stared. You just wanted their fear.

Again, you found Hux among the crowd, his brow still furrowed with some emotion you didn’t recognize as you began to drag the corpses back through down, your eyes dark and seemingly dilated with blood lust, your features steely as you worked your way through the crowd towards the Guild building.

Two days later, you were saddling up Lucio to disappear off into the woods once more when there was soft knock on the door of your barn.

“What do you want?” You called as you stood up from adjusting the straps, your hand wiping your sweaty brow as you peered out into the barn, only to find the dark haired northerner from before, Dopheld. “Mitaka, what are you doing here? What has Krennic contracted me for now?”

The young hunter flushed a moment, his eyes dropping to the barn floor, “Um, well, Miss Y/N, actually, I myself was just contracted to deliver this package to you.”

From behind his back, Dopheld produced a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine; tucked beneath the neat knot in the center of the package was a bright yellow daisy.

You took it when he extended it to you, a frown on your face, “Who’s this from?”

“I’m… I’m not allowed to tell you.”

You narrowed your eyes. You already knew.

“What’s it for?”

“To show you appreciation for all that you’ve done and will do for the village. It’s… Well, it’s not much on such short notice but it should get the point across.”

For a moment, you glowered at him before nodding his head and the man was licking his lips, nodding in return, and then scurrying off.

Curious, you picked up the daisy and held the stem in your mouth while you pulled on the string hold it all together. You allowed the twine to fall to the floor and when you pushed back the paper, you sighed heavily and touched the fabric, your jaw clenching as you lifted your head and looked out the open barn door, your eyes hard.

You would fucking show him, the bastard.

You tried not to act self-conscious as you strode through the town square where the party was in full swing, your rifle still slung over your shoulder as you made your way to your post, your head held high.

You’d spent all day preparing for tonight, your wild tresses tamed back into a twist back from your face and the daisy wedged into the tie at the back of your head despite the fact that it didn’t match the dress.

The thing wasn’t absolutely horrid, you were disappointed to admit.

It was a deep maroon color with a rounded neck that left your neck and collarbones exposed to the cooler night air, the waist of the fabric gathered in slightly. The uneven, petal like hem of the skirt also didn’t fall all the way to your ankles but instead settled a few inches just passed your knees, leaving your now cleaned and polished boots visible.

You could feel numerous sets of eyes upon you as you made your way through the village yet you tried your damned to ignore them and instead continued forward.

It was also highly known throughout the town that you were unmarried and never had been so you could almost feel the younger lads sniffing at your trail.

Your reputation as a hunter and an ill-tempered woman should be enough to keep them away. You hoped.

Still, you nearly snarled when you reached your post and found that Hux was leaning against the wall of the house where you had been two nights before. And when he saw you, he smirked, his eyes simmering low with a triumphant glimmer.

Tonight, he was wearing a pale yellow waistcoat, a white shirt beneath it, and the same bright red ascot.

“I hate you,” you snarled at him, shrugging your gun from your shoulder as if you were going to shoot him.

Instead, the redheaded man just stepped forward, still smirking, and grabbed the barrel of your rifle and yanked it from your grasp. Not that you were holding on that tightly or anything.

“I know. The feeling is mutual. However… would you care to dance?” He then bent low at the waist and raised his hand in offering.

You crossed your arms over your chest and glared down at him, “No.”

You lifted his head and smirked at you, his eyes seeming to glow in the light of the fire, “Well, that’s too bad.” He quickly reached out and grabbed your hand from where you had it hidden beneath your arm and you growled as he pulled you along.

He herded you toward where the rest of the townspeople were already dancing around one of the roaring bonfires, his hand settling on your waist while the other took hold of your hand.

You were grumbling the whole time, complaining as Hux tried vainly to get you to move to the music being played by the few hunters and women who happened to play instruments and were chosen to play for the event.

“Why are you doing this?” You asked him as he spun you around the other couples dancing to the tune, the song they were playing old and yet known to nearly all those across the continent.

“Because it brings me much joy to see you suffer this torture,” he admitted and your lip curled up slightly when he shot you a smirk as he dipped you low suddenly, catching you off guard so you had to hold onto him, your arms circling around his neck.

And when he lifted you again in his surprisingly strong arms, his body lean yet powerful, you remained close for a moment, his arms curling your waist. And yet you didn’t try to move away from him, your eyes on his.

“Does it really?” You asked breathlessly.

“Maybe... Maybe not as much as you would think,” his own accented voice is surprisingly soft and low, his warm breath fanning over your face. “I must admit, though, you look very nice. The dress fits you well.” You can’t help yourself when you flush, “Not to mention it’s already red so you can’t stain it anymore than your other clothes.”

You can’t help it when a soft huff of a laugh escapes you, “I suppose so.”

“Mitaka said earlier that you were less than pleased when he delivered it.”

“Well, the last thing you asked me before I left was if I had any clothes that weren’t blood stained. And this was after you talked about my family.”

“And I should apologize for that. It’s not very becoming of me to dredge up your past before you are ready to speak about it,” his eyes searched off into the darkness a moment, his irises illuminated by the fire. “And I suppose that I should apologize for the dress as well. I only wished for you to have something nice. For you to take some time for yourself. You are always... gone.”

Again, you felt your face warm, “Well, it is very kind of you. And I like working, I like being busy. It leaves me less time to... to think about things that I rather wouldn’t think about. And I don’t need nice things. If I wanted them, I could certainly afford them.”

You pulled your arms from his neck then, your fingers accidentally brushing his soft ginger hair as you stepped back. He let you go, his own fingers trailing along your sides as you moved.

He folded his own hands behind his back, “Ah, I see. So, you just enjoy living a simplistic life, then? I can respect that... Would you care for a drink?” He offered you his arm suddenly and you flushed once more and smiled, shaking your head slightly. Nonetheless, you took his arm and he led you towards where they were serving ale.

“You may think you are being sly and coy, Mr. Hux but I do not need your sympathy even though you are trying to place it upon me once more. And I don’t need it.” You spoke softly under your breath as you took the mug of ale he offered to you.

His eyes flickered to you and there was something other than iciness that you saw there, “I don’t often give it so freely so you should except it while you can. What happened... it is unfortunate. Unfair. First your brother... and than your father and mother.”

“Life is unfair, sir. Myself and my skills are just a bi-product of that. The village should be thankful that what happened, happened. As I said before, I wouldn’t be the same if it had happened any other way.”

You turned to go but Hux grabbed hold of your arm suddenly so he could whip you back around. He leaned in and rested his cheek against your own, the action catching you off guard so you froze.

“You will take my sympathy. You will accept it and you will stop telling me to keep it. I chose where I place it. And I choose where I place my respect and it’s unfortunate that you’ve garnered that as well as both a hunter and a man. Now, you need to learn to start accepting kindness. There are few others in this world that deserve it more than you.” He was drawing back and kissing you on the cheek suddenly, his lips lingering a moment, “Have a good evening, Miss Y/N. And please, by all means, enjoy yourself.”

He was leaving then, the warmth of his body suddenly gone as he strode across the courtyard, off to who knows where.

Still, for a moment after he disappeared into the Guild building in the center of the town, you remained frozen, your hand slowly lifting to touch your cheek, the sensation of his featherlight kiss upon your flesh still lingering.

Armitage Hux, ever the bane of your existence. Always the beautiful enigma now in your life.

Over the course of the next few months, you interacted with the redheaded hunter off and on. You typically went about your days only seeing glimpses of him. He seemed to be busy himself, teaching his men about the Glade, visiting Miss Kalliope for goods and charms.

There seemed to be a mutual understanding shared between the two of you now. You were civil when in each other’s company. You didn’t undermine each other... most of the time.

Hux still held onto his old world beliefs of treating a lady differently from a man. And that still pissed you off to no end but you tended to deal with that on a daily basis so you were already used to it.

Still, there were times where you could talk, were you could joke if you happened to be in the market on the same day, procuring the same goods. There was a running tradition between the two of you that if you were both out buying bullets, you would buy the other their stock because you forgot your money one day while shopping.

This new sort of companionship built on respect was easy and light. Teasing, more than anything. You sometimes went on joint hunts together but it was never more than that; never more than sharing a meal and a pint of ale afterwards.

And then summer turned into fall and fall turned into winter.  And you were on Minerva’s back, her hooves crunching through the snow as you pulled your were fur tighter around your neck as you passed through town.  

You were going after a wunderbeast, the bastard having become infamous for looting the town of nearly all its chickens. And it was the middle of winter and the town needed as many chickens as it could have.

Just then, Hux stepped out of the Guild lodge, his hair a shock of bright red against the snow. You offered him a nod of your head as Minerva lazily plodded along.

“Going out already? After the snow has barely settled?”

“If I’m to get the wunderbeast first, then yes. If we want to gave eggs through the winter, then yes,” you teased slightly, only pausing a moment to stop.

Hux walked up to you and patted Minerva on the neck, ruffling his hand through her thick hair.

He was wearing a warm, lambskin coat and tanned, leather gloves to protect his fingers from the harsh weather. He wore the same red ascot around his neck once more, the sight so familiar to you now that when he wasn’t wearing it, you were startled.

“You going to be okay to go on your own? Hypothermia exists, you know,” he smirked softly, something glinting in his blue eyes.

“I’ve spent many winters out in the Glade. I think I can handle myself perfectly well.”

“And there I will cease to argue,” he pats your boot as it peeks through the ring of the stirrup, “But, I don’t want to have to lead a search party out to find you...” His brow furrowed for a fraction of a moment, “Be careful.”

“I always am, Hux,” you nod at him and he steps back with a nod of his own to give Minvera space to walk. “I shouldn’t be long today. The tracks in the snow should be easy enough to follow.”

“You’ll be home for supper then?” He joked and you smiled and shook your head.

“I can’t promise anything.” You called over your shoulder as you distanced yourself from him, moving on.

“Very well. Good luck. And don’t miss!”  

This caused a bark of laughter to erupt from you, “Yeah, you can just sod off! And you know I never do.”

If only you had taken Hux with you. If only you hadn’t gone alone. If only you had followed your own advice, the same advice you had given Hux months prior. The same advice you had taken away from your father’s death.

If only you hadn’t stopped to help someone who was alone and had strayed from the path.

Because you did far more than look or talk to them. To him.

[chicagocityofclans]

Please tag all starters task as cofcpromptstarter

Good Morning City of Clans,

It’s June 8th. The moon is at a Waning Crescent with winds blowing South at 10-15 mph. The high will be 83°F/28°C with a low of 67°F/19°C. There is a 14% chance of rain with overcast skies all day.

It’s time for our second Starter Prompt Event! Everyone should have received an ask from the main with a starter task that is mandatory; these tasks will also be listed below. Everyone must make their task starter between 9 AM CST Tuesday, June 8th, and Friday, June 11th. All Muns must send at least one muse to each starter task by Tuesday, June 15th. Muns are encouraged to send more than one muse but no more than three muses to a starter task. These threads are encouraged to be brought to an end by Tuesday, June 22nd. If you have any problems reaching this deadline please contact the admins. Below are a few things that may help out for this task:

Consider joining up with other players to have a multiple-character thread. Two people could come to the rescue, or a group of others may be being pursued.

There is a mandatory thread drop as of Tuesday, June 8th @ 9 AM CST. This is to allow everyone the chance to focus on these threads and not feel overwhelmed. It’s also to bring to an end any threads that have been going on since the last mandatory thread drop.

Do NOT make any new starters for the unselected muses until all of their starter task threads are brought to an end. There must be a solution or compromise to end each thread. PS: These threads cannot be dropped and must end by Tuesday, June 22nd. Feel free to finish them early as long as the task is complete.

Michelle

Jackson: A significant amount of spiders have been discovered in the Underground. Nests of them are popping up in nearly every section of the Underground and it’s starting to concern the patrons. It’s unclear whether this was purposeful or accidental; either way, Jackson’s love for spiders means he is the man for the clean-up job. Have Jackson post a starter where he must calm down another member of the supernatural and rescue them from the various arachnids.  

Derek: It’s been a long shift, and Derek has found who he believes to be a new face of D.W.; unfortunately all he’s working on is a hunch. Have Derek strike up a conversation with this person to try and gather more evidence to provide back at SKIN HQ. Post a starter where he attempts to deduce whether this person is a part of the human shifter family or just a regular joe. ** Keep in mind that at least ½ of people replying will not be human shifters, as only Anna, Kat, and Michaela have one. Still try to push the conversation forward regardless to see if Derek can make new friends.**

Michaela

Tiggy: Tiggy’s lost control of her powers and she’s beginning to disintegrate everything she touches; her phone, keys, wallet. She’s scared of teleporting, for fear she may self-disintegrate in the process, and is stuck and frightened. Post a starter where Tiggy is panicking about hurting others or disintegrating others belongs; attempting to drive them away.

Dante: Dante is trail running in the woods when he hears the crack of a gun. He could pick up the sound of a rifle anywhere after being in the army. His protective streak comes out and he begins to look around for anyone hurt when he sees a figure walking towards him from the direction of the shot. Have Dante post a starter where he must discover if the person is a friend or foe and if they need help.

Maggie

Jin: Jin has gotten plastered after a particularly difficult shift and has found a new friend at the bar. Whether this friend is supernatural or not; Jin isn’t in his right mind to care, he is in the mind to go adventuring. Post a starter having Jin convince his drinking buddy to go on a crazy exploit before the night is over.

Esther: Being the naturally active person she is, Esther has organized a school fundraiser Mud Run to try and raise money to purchase instruments for those less fortunate at Panthera. Unfortunately, being so busy planning everything, Esther forgot to find herself a partner. Make a starter to try to convince one of the spectators at the event to join her; this could be a friend, acquaintance, or a random stranger she pulls from the crowd.

Krista

Aisling: Aisling is on the clock and out looking for a fresh batch of blood. She has a ‘shopping list’ in hand and spots a rare treat that she knows is Getta’s favorite. Post a starter to convince said ‘treat’ to come down to the Underground with her to donate blood. Or if they’re weak enough, hunt them down and bring them to be turned into cattle. Don’t accept no too easily and try to think of ways to convince them to donate; be creative.

Selene: Ever the Astronomy nerd; Selene has set up her telescope to try and watch the stars far out in the woods. She hopes to get a glimpse of the Annular Solar Eclipse, as well as a glimpse of Uranus. While she’s setting up for a night of stargazing a stranger stumbles upon her campground; much to her dismay. Create a starter with Selene’s reaction; note that the stranger could be in human or animal shape, and maybe any kind of supernatural or human.

Kat

Patch: There is nothing Patch loves more than finding someone with a truly unique feature. Whether that be the color of their eyes, the sweep of their chin, or the shape of their nose; he tries to capture it so he may apply it to one of his creations in the future. Patch has just stumbled across a new face and now must ask the person for a snap. Post a starter where Patch is attempting to procure an image of someone’s body to use later.

Luke: In an effort to impress his new bosses at the television station, Luke has found out about a possible scoop on some disappearances. He’s tracked down a few leads and is now interviewing one of them. Use all of Luke’s general charm to convince the interviewee to let down their walls and tell him something juicy about what they know.

Anna

Zelda: The L is down and Zelda, along with a bunch of other passengers, is stuck. It’s late and she was hoping the Red Line would be faster than driving through the construction mess on the exit near her family’s home. As the group sits, it’s become clear that one of the passengers is freaking out. Create a starter in which Zelda attempts to calm down the situation. Those who respond to it may be also attempting to help or be the person who is freaking out.

Jia: Jia’s just ended another one of his massive parties when he hears footsteps walking around the living room. As he enters he sees an unfamiliar face looking confused and dazed. He discovers that something is wrong with them. Post a starter in which Jia is discovering this person and attempting to find out what happened to them.

[whiskeyintheflask]

Then we saw it  - a majestic silhouette of Tanah Lot against the sunset backdrop, with mammoth waves persistently crashing at its rock base. Upon setting my eyes to it, the Hindu Temple instantly flaunted breathtaking natural splendor, standing on solid sea rock overlooking the Indian Ocean. From our vantage point, it looked as if it was floating among the waves of the sea. It looked like a cultural masterpiece for photography, so Marty and I annoyed the hell out of tourists by grabbing the best spots and asking them to take our photos. Marty and I leaned against the black iron railings, and then my eyes were suddenly steady to her marveling at the ancient Hindu shrine perched on top of an outcrop, amidst the constantly crashing waves. The waves were wild horses, rearing up before crashing down onto the beach, pounding the sand with their white foam hooves. The cool Indian sea air bit into me, pushing me back from the precipice, but I stood there, watching Marty smile as the furious, gigantic waves built up speed and height from far out in the ocean, until the peaks rose high above the salty body of water and crashed over into the rocky cliffs surrounding the temple. Her lips bore the semblance of a child's, just enough to show that she was enjoying the things running in her head, whatever they may have been. The movement of the water seemed to be choreographing her musings. I put my arm around her hips so that I could feel her presence, yet I stayed quiet, allowing her to stay lost in the moment a while longer. The sun was falling behind the horizon, painting the sky with marvelous shades of pink. I observed everything with an unwavering gaze. Marty herself kept looking at the swirls of color upon the sky and the waves crashing against the jagged rocks. The wind lashed in a torrent of its own and the breeze made her look lovelier. How could I fail to love the waves as they danced inward to crash on the rocky base of the heavenly temple? How could I fail to appreciate the balmy air and the cold caress of the ocean breeze? How could I fail to appreciate the girl by my side, with her yellow headband, her flowery dress, and the colorful scarf she kept bringing around with her? Damn, what did I ever do to deserve such a blessing, I thought to myself. Beyond thought, I reached a state of appreciation. There was nothing more to do but to enjoy the moment and thank God for it, even if the moment was running away from us sooner and faster than we wanted it to. I was fully conscious and living in the present moment, the passing moment, mesmerized; mesmerized because I knew that I had to be grateful for what I had in my hands: a beautiful world, and the love of my life. On that June dusk, the ephemeral configuration of my life was, to put it simply, perfect. For a short while, I looked up to the ruby-red glow of the sinking sky and wished for all of it to stay. It was the beauty of the miracle called the now. In a world full of temporary things, I wanted what I had that afternoon to be perpetual – the sunset above, the girl in my arms, the contentment and love inside of my heart - but the people and the moments that we have in life are not really ours to keep, are they? The beauty and tragedy of life is the unpredictability of it. Only the Higher Power knows how the internal eventualities unfold. In essence, life consists of its own passing. We were in some kind of heaven, but one of my all-time favorite songwriters once said that even the sun sets in paradise. The sight was so beautiful that I imagined leaping off, falcon-winged, to soar over the turbulent sea, following the setting sun into its warm, painted seabed. Eventually, the sun sank disappeared below the horizon, paving the way for the moon and the stars. The fleeting moment was gone, but by then the writer inside of me told me that there is always a way to create something everlasting from magical instants that faded too fast, from the beautiful things were meant to last.

Last Smoke Before the Snowstorm (June 2017)