#chasing midnight around (joyously)

[violettduchess]

Miss 100% of the shots you don't take - so how about Sariel for an afterglow fic, please?

A/N: well @pathogenic anyone who quotes Wayne Gretzky is ok in my book. I hope you enjoy your fic 💜

Sariel x f! Reader

Word Count: 560

The cold water you splash on your face is bracing and at the same time soothing to your sunrise-pink cheeks. Your heart is slowing from its furious pace, a wild bird having chased the clouds, before finally settling back into the nest of your chest. Your lungs measure out your breaths evenly, ironing out the erratic gasps that only a short while ago fell from your lips. You smooth back your disheveled hair as best you can and then with a sigh, a sound of satisfaction twined with exhaustion, you leave the tiled bathroom, closing the door behind you.

He’s waiting for you, a twilight smile on his beautiful lips. Sariel Noir is many things but right now, the only word that comes to mind is beautiful. The pale expanse of his skin, a sharp contrast to the deep indigo pillows he’s leaning against. His hair in wild disarray, evidence of the pleasure your fingers found curling into those soft, onyx strands.

The sight of him has you pause, physically unable to take another step as you lean back against the bathroom door, your hand pressed against the sudden, rapid wingbeat of your heart, that part of you that he owns fully, that he can influence with a whispered word, a touch, a flash of his violet eyes. He is exquisite like this, out of his staid clothing, unwrapped by your own eager hands. His glasses abandoned on the nightstand, barely visible in the dance of shadows conducted by fingers of moonlight that have slipped through the arched window.

Not a word is necessary. All he does is lift his arms and you are drawn to him, happily, joyously. You push off from the door like a ship from the harbor, sailing across the room, swan-diving onto his plush bed, into his waiting embrace. His laughter sparks light within your soul, the sound twinkling across your bare skin. He pulls you against him, making sure to draw the satin sheets across both your unclothed bodies, always taking care of you. Always aware of what you need.

“And? Have you recovered from my appetite for you?”

That voice, deep as midnight, beguiling as starshine. If you could wrap yourself in it, you would be warm forever.

You open your mouth to answer and instead of words, a yawn slips out, both surprising you and answering his question.

He laughs again, the melody of it light with a tenderness no one would believe the palace devil capable of and you smile as you move closer, bringing an arm around his midriff, laying your cheek against his chest. 

“Rest then, my love,” he murmurs. “I’ll be here.”

His hand begins to gently stroke your hair and each caress feels like it's sinking into your body. A satisfied heaviness fills you as your eyes slowly shut, your mind drifting into the peaceful eventide of dreams.

“I love you, Sariel.” Your whisper is almost a dream itself, serenity coloring your words lavender and gray. Did he even hear them?

His hand stills on the back of your head, his body bends as he leans down to place a loving kiss to your forehead. He’s heard you. And he loves you too. More than he can say.

So he doesn’t even try. He simply holds you against him, his love, his soul, and watches through an amethyst gaze soft with emotion as you fall asleep.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly

[missingjackklinehours]

when tomorrow comes 🌳

good gods i know it's ship day but this is solely a gen michael & lucifer & raphael & gabriel fic :')

Inspired by Sam & Dean's S.W & D.W carvings on Baby. Who's to say the Archangels weren't first in that idea?

Rating: G (Gen Archangels fic)

Special thank you to my beta!

Playlist & Fic available on AO3. (it's also under the cut, if you prefer that!)

Heaven's lush hills always seemed greener and livelier when all four archangels lay against them. A rarity the occasion was, a trivial shard of diamond in the cascading abyss. It always seemed that Heaven needed an archangel here, there, everywhere at once; It made familial bonding far more complicated than things used to be.

However, a special day plucked from each year never failed to offer the archangels plenty of time together. A day of thanks, a day where Heaven displayed gratitude for their eldest brothers—Michaelmas, the Feast of the Archangels.

Morning sun rays highlighted soft violets and dusk plums of aster flowers, a humble gift for the very firsts of their species. By nightfall, bright angel-made clusters of heat-producing hydrogen and helium littered the black sky in the name of each archangel. Fledglings flocked to watch the fiery protostars burn in the cosmos.

While Lucifer happily revelled in the praise, Michael hid his jittery hands by tucking them behind his back and flashed a polite, yet photogenic smile to his newest siblings. Raphael, seemingly indifferent to the holiday, remained by Michael's side, occasionally shooting their brother a subtly reassuring look. Jovial, yet also graciously wanting to include others, Gabriel mingled in the crowds with the fledglings to watch the protostars, enthusiastically explaining to Heaven's children how the young stars would eventually grow to become massive beacons in the night.

By the time the thick, yet routine night fog had clouded the view of the protostars, the flocks of angels had dissipated. It was their cue to leave; The archangel hideout awaited. Or, as Lucifer liked to call it: the Badass Lair.

The refreshing air genially accommodated them, the chilled wind carried their wings as they flew. There was always a sense of thrill around the Autumn Equinox, nearing Michaelmas—perhaps it was the comforting thought of familiarity, a high from nostalgia of sorts. Whatever the seed, it didn't matter; Focusing on the blossom of a sibling’s love and appreciation was much easier.

Raphael's garden always seemed to flourish increasingly with every rare gathering the four indulged in. Even midair, as they descended upon the immense greenery below, Michael had already begun to muse about how the banyan trees had expanded since his last visit. Raphael quietly, yet blithely soaked in the adoration from their archangelic brothers.

The softness of the grass, however, always remained the same. Lucifer was the first to land, being the quickest flier of the bunch. He cracked an astonished grin as he surveyed his younger sibling's growing garden, slightly pivoting to catch the vibrance of Raphael's indigo feathers amongst the blackness of the sky.

"Not bad, Raph!" The Morningstar loudly called out, adding more quietly with a snicker, "For a kid."

The thunderous sound of strong, flapping wings echoed behind him, prompting Lucifer's playful smirk to widen.

"I'm literally only four hundred years younger than you," Raphael's familiar voice remarked, and Lucifer turned once again to meet his sibling's deadpan expression.

"And despite the age difference, Raphael has created far better things than you have, brother," Michael offhandedly commented as he silently landed farther away from the pair. Lucifer's face contorted into a pout, and Raphael fought to contain their own appreciative smile at the eldest angel's words.

"Woooow, Mi! I'm hurt!" Lucifer faked offense.

The heavy fog of nightfall seemed to become almost pellucid at the very presence of Heaven's firsts. Peeks of sheer luminosity from the protostars of Michaelmas seeped from the impervious midnight clouds. Even the banyan trees seemed to lean into the comforting presence of archangelic grace.

Lucifer squinted into the elegant cloak of the night sky. "You think Gabe's gonna break his neck when he crashlands?"

Raphael turned their attention to the sky in search of the youngest archangel in question. "He's been getting better at landing. He'll do fine."

Lucifer hummed in response, brightening slightly when he caught sight of Gabriel nearing the garden. "Mn, doubt it. Wanna bet? Loser has to listen to Michael's fifty page manifesto on why ducklings are Pop's best creation."

Raphael blinked, looking over to Michael in bemusement. "Your-... your what?"

Michael's eyes darted to Lucifer to glare daggers at him, who only sniggered in response. A gust of wind washed over the trio, and frantic fluttering of golden wings broke Michael's glower. Beside him, Gabriel was close to landing—or rather, close to failing at landing. It was really more similar to falling, with his limbs flailing all about and eyes squeezed tightly shut in preparation for impact.

Michael sighed hopelessly at the sight, extending one of his grandiose fuschia wings low to catch his younger brother. Upon the soft sensation of Michael's velutinous feathers, Gabriel's eyes reopened in surprise.

"Hey, no fair! You interfered!” Lucifer huffed at Michael, who merely rolled his eyes and helped Gabriel to his feet.

“I almost made it, I was so close!” Gabriel whined, furrowing his brows as Michael thumbed a smudge of leftover party sweets that was stuck to his cheek.

“Next time, bug. You’ll get it next time,” Raphael reassured, and Gabriel’s grace seemed to relax at his older sibling’s encouragement.

Lucifer yawned, and the twinkle of the protostars above them began to reflect the dew on the grass. “M’kay, new bet. Last one to the tree has to listen to Michael’s manifesto.”

Gabriel perked up curiously and cocked his head at Michael. “What manifesto?”

Michael shook his head and stubbornly huffed. “I was two hundred years old, Lucifer. The duckling phase of my life is over.”

“Oh? So you’re saying ducklings aren’t the greatest living creatures?” Lucifer pried, exaggeratedly leaning his ear towards Michael to hear his response. Raphael and Gabriel eyed the two bickering brothers and exchanged amused glances.

Michael shifted uncomfortably in place in an attempt to keep in his passionate ramblings; He ultimately failed. “I never said that. Ducklings are the epitome of absolute goodness and commendable purity in the universe. The best traits of all of creation can be found in their small yet mighty little bodies. Not only do they bring togeth--”

“Blegh, no more lectures! Lulu, your bet’s on!” Gabriel groaned, spreading his sets of still-developing golden wings.

"'Atta boy," Lucifer impossibly brightened, his grin quickly returning. "On three! One... "

With one singular number down, Lucifer watched in incredulity as Gabriel mischievously laughed, a flash of golden feathers passing them all by. After the initial shock wore off, Lucifer briefly hummed, nodding in approval.

"Touché, little brother, touché," The Morningstar muttered to himself, before theatrically shrieking into the night, "YOU'RE DEAD MEAT, GABE!"

Gabriel's boisterous bursts of both elated and happily frightened screams in the distance elicited an endeared smile from all three of the older angels. With a whistling streak of vermillion wings, Lucifer chased after his youngest archangelic brother.

Michael and Raphael observed them in comfortable silence, the illumination from the protostars just bright enough to see the vivid colors of their wings against the midnight sky. As the breeze audibly raked through the trees, Raphael slightly swiveled to curiously peer at Michael.

"I'd actually like to hear about these ducklings," Raphael calmly stated, gesturing with their head towards the specific tree that Gabriel and Lucifer were headed for.

The blinding look of pleased excitement on Michael's face was enough to bring a smile to Raphael's lips.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

In contrast to the vivacious growth of much of Raphael's garden, the Badass Lair retained all of its youthful glory.

The haphazardly-built abomination of a fort from sticks and logs stood distinctly adjacent to the veiny streams of the garden. Across from it dwelled a meager hill of lush grass and florid lilac petals of asters—A place where Michael taught all three fledglings to fly, a place where Lucifer created his first defective star, a place where Gabriel grew the lavender flowers as a gift to Raphael. It was their safe haven, a site of alleviation and bliss.

In the center of both dear venues settled a special banyan tree— their banyan tree.

Against the smooth, grooving bark of their tree, Michael’s ginger fingertips almost seemed to purr. The swaying aerial roots that veiled the intricate trunk wavered joyously over his head, and in a sense, their tree looked overjoyed to see Michael. Behind him, Raphael sincerely watched at the way their older brother’s fingers reverently traced the markings on their tree.

“You know… it’s not just gonna disappear, Mi,” Raphael’s voice was soft, a kind whisper carried by the midnight wind. Michael’s hand never halted against the tree bark, marginally turning his head to look at Raphael with a sad smile.

“That’s true,” Michael’s gaze fell back to the etchings on their tree. “It just seems like it was yesterday when… You three have grown too fast.”

Raphael sympathetically tilted their head, stepping forward to place a soothing hand on Michael’s shoulder. Up close, the carvings on their tree stood out boldly, a beloved memory held close to all of their hearts.

Under the then-small aerial roots of their banyan tree, each fledgling archangel had carved their names into the young bark. Something to hold onto, Michael had stated, a bittersweetness as Heaven had first begun to flourish; The eldest had an inkling that duty would steal time spent together—And he was right.

Raphael could still make out the places where Michael had once helpfully guided Raphael’s shaky hand, the spelling mistake in Lucifer’s name, the heart that Gabriel had drawn after his name, and Michael’s near-perfect handwriting, even in carving-form.

“Lusifer?” Gabriel, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere, squinted as he approached the base of their tree. Both Michael and Raphael struggled to repress a thoughtful smile as Gabriel sounded it out again.

“That’s how my name should’ve been spelled!” Lucifer called out from above, and his siblings gazed upwards to catch him resting against an exposed branch. “Lucifer with a c… ridiculous! Looks like luck-i-fer.”

Michael’s rapture remained as he lightly shook his head. “Brother, you are just stating this because you lack efficiency in spelling.”

Lucifer playfully stuck his tongue out at his older brother. Michael scoffed in good nature, and Gabriel giggled at the sight. Raphael’s attention wandered outwards to the perched hill, a peaceful silence enveloping the archangelic siblings.

The argent light from the protostars shone divinely upon the lucid green and lilac of the hill, an invitation of sorts. The sifting breeze was cool, a grateful lullaby to its archangelic inhabitants. The night was the epitome of perfection, though not because of nature—rather, because of the familial love that radiated energetically from each of their graces. A comforting peace, a cherished silence of nostalgia lingered between the four… until Gabriel’s reticent, yet hopeful voice proposed a profound request.

“I wanna stay with you all forever,” His voice was dreary, a sweet innocence embedded into his tone. It prompted all eyes to shift to him. “Let’s stay together no matter what, okay?”

A beat of tranquility followed, their banyan tree leaned in to listen. Michael was the first to react, tugging Gabriel into a tight hug, a sentiment that few were blessed upon. Gabriel’s toothy beam was evident in his quiet giggles as Michael held him close, before the eldest pulled back with a gentle smile of his own.

“Of course,” Michael assured, crystal emotion brimming in his eyes.

A rapid flash of vermillion flared from the top of the tree, and both Gabriel and Michael’s squeaks of surprise induced a jump from Raphael. Lucifer, who had quite literally deliberately plummeted from the tree, now held both of his brothers in a deathgrip hug, a wide grin across his face.

“You’re a real dumbass if you think you’ll ever be able to get rid of me,” Lucifer sniggered lovingly, and Gabriel leaned into his brother’s embrace. Michael lightly elbowed Lucifer for the profanity, yet his delighted simper lingered on his face.

Raphael shuffled closer, eyeing their brothers with absolute admiration. Their hand moved to lightly ruffle Gabriel’s hair, who turned his cheery beam to his sibling. Raphael’s brothers observed them with a giddy sense of euphoria, the aura resonating a promising hopefulness in anticipation for their response.

“Without a doubt.”

[charlieliqueur]

Bigby Wolf X Reader

Summary; Bigby is forced into going to a fair outside of the city. He expects to find Mundies and Fables, but not what he actually stumbled upon...

▪️▪️▪️

It was loud.

Painfully loud. Footsteps, bell chimes, laughter, screams, so much noise. So many people. His footsteps hit the ground, grass sparse due to heavy traffic. The pathways were marked with orange cones and plastic tape.

Bigby spotted Beast at a strongman game, Holly and Grendal sitting at a table in the shade, Woody and Jack playing darts. He slowed, seeing Mundies and Fables alike crowding games and stands.

It was overwhelming.

The scents mainly. Sweet, salty, savory, natural, unnatural. All manners of deodorant, perfume, cologne, shampoo, laundry detergent. It fogged up his mind, and he instinctually reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. Sticking a lone one between his lips, Bigby brought the lighter out, and opened it. The metallic sound echoed in his head, as another scent joined the others right before he lit the cigarette.

He stalled, lifting his head up slightly. He took a breath through the nose. It was cluttered with all the other scents, but it was there.

Something so soft, a gentle pheromone of wood, rain, and untouched earth... of home.

It took his mind to memories of a place much kinder, much more pleasant. He searched for the source. A stand, an object, something...

Then a strong burst hit him, like lightning, and he saw you. You ran past, rushing after someone. Your hair a mess, with dandelions and daisies tangled in it. A temporary painting of a wolf sat against your flushed cheek, and a clutter of plastic bracelets and beads littered your wrists and neck, a collection of trophies you had won.

Your smile was a million fireflies, your eyes the sparkle of gemstones, your laughter a cascade of beautiful thunder. You were there and gone in less than a second. You disappeared into the crowds, chasing after your friend, and Bigby's eyes never left you as you ran. They still lingered long after you were out of sight.

"Bigby?"

The voice tugged him from his thoughts. He blinked a few times, slouching slightly. Bigby hadn't realized how alert he'd been, the sight of you such a shock.

He eased, and turned to where the voice came from. He saw Snow, a confused look on her face. "Someone you knew?" She asks, looking past him in the direction you rushed off into. "No... thought I recognized them, but I guess not," Bigby says, glancing back as he spoke. He looked back to Snow. Her hair neatly pulled back and braided, her wrists bare, her skin untouched. So unlike the wild, free-spirited delight that had rushed by.

"Well, Flycatcher, Beauty and I were gonna head to some rides. You in?"

"Uh, no thanks."

"Alright... just try to lay back a bit, okay Bigby?" She says, then she turns and leaves. He adjusted his tie, lit the cigarette, and continued walking.

But you still dominated his thoughts. Even in the chaotic space, you were all he could manage to think about.

Morning turned to noon, noon to evening. And as the colored lights seemed to be more at home, and the families began to leave, the thought crossed his head that he should go. Why would he stay if all he was going to do was mope over a girl he only had just glimpsed?

He slicked his hair back once more, sighing, pulling out another cigarette to try and dilute your presence. It had stuck with him all day.

Just as he lit it, he heard something.

"Oh my gosh, just do it!"

"No, I'm all awkward and it'd be weird."

"And?? Listen, either you do it, or I will. And I won't be gentle about it either."

"Okay, okay!"

It was you. Bigby wasn't sure how he knew. He just did. He pulled the lighter down, prepared to look around like a wild animal for you, but something tapped his shoulder before he had the chance. He turned around carefully, seeing you right there. A smile on your face, even more beads around your neck.

"Hey, I kinda sorta noticed you were wandering around on your own. If that was your plan, totally okay! But, if it wasn't, my friends and I were doing the same thing, hoping onto whatever rides have the shortest lines... if you wanted to maybe, I dunno, come hang out with us...?" You asked, still smiling, only a shyness had overcome you.

"Uh," he said, Bigby wasn't sure how to respond. He was still shocked that you had just strolled up to him like it was nothing. Nobody did that. No one. But here you were, smiling at him and eagerly awaiting a reply. "Its alright if you don't wanna, I figured I'd offer-"

"Nah, I'd, uh, I'd like to," he says, and suddenly your smile doubled, and you brought your arms up slightly, exclaiming "Awesome! Er-- I mean, cool." You rubbed the back of your head, your cheeked very flushed now, smiling, a touch of embarrassment added to your mix of emotions.

He couldn't help but smile slightly. "Well, shall we?" You ask, gesturing for him to follow you. He nodded, following you as you led him into the chaotic fairground full of people. "I have to warn you, some of them are a lot more... spontaneous than me. Don't take too much of what they say to heart, your best bet would be to stick with me," you offered, nudging him with your elbow. "Shouldn't be a problem," he says, pulling the cigarette out and treading it out on the ground. He wanted the whole of you in his mind right now.

He didn't want Fabletown, or being Sheriff, or his friends, or home, or Snow, or anything right now.

All he wanted was you.

"Oh, also, my names y/n! Name's are kinda important," you say, laughing to yourself. "I'm Bigby," he says, and you nodded, quickly saying "That's a rad name."

"Really think so?" He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk he couldn't help. "Oh yeah, that's the thing about me, I don't really lie. I'll phrase things weird, but usually no lying," you say, beaming.

"So what to first?" He asks, and you nearly jumped at his eagerness. "I've actually got a list," you say. But instead of pulling out a phone or paper or anything, you pull up your forearm, a list of ride names and places written on the skin, slightly blocked by all the bracelets.

"Oh, here," you quickly pulled off the biggest bracelet you had on, it being much too big for you. You held it out for him as you walked. He carefully took it, easing it onto his wrist. It fit rather well. "Oh, and some of these, before they break my neck," you joked excitedly, pulling a few of the colorful beaded necklaces off from around your neck, hopping onto your tiptoes, and putting them over his head and letting them fall around his neck.

"Voila! That means... actually, I dunno what it means, something in French," you say, bursting into giggles. He hadn't realized he could love a sound so much until he heard your laugh. "So first is actually, ooh, come on!" You grabbed his wrist and pulled him along, suddenly rushing.

That's how he ended up on a mess of rides with you, playing dozens of games, mostly you winning and him having to deal with your ridiculous victory dances. Your friends sometimes snuck around, yet oddly enough didn't stick around you both that much.

It was much darker now, probably nearing midnight. But you didn't have the faintest sign of tiredness. You seemed determined with your list, that Bigby had helped check off with you. "Oh, Ferris Wheel. I wonder if the line's short enough now? Let's see!" You reached back, grabbing his hand. He felt his face heat up, but you didn't react, you simply held it tightly, joyously rushing down a pathway.

He could hear his heart in his ears, thumping harshly against his ribs. He didn't know why he felt this way... and what was it he was feeling

You had brought the both of you to the line just in time to sneak into the last seats. "Want me to stop it at the top for ya?" Asked the operator as you sat across from Bigby. You both nodded.

Bigby couldn't keep his eyes off you. All of this seemed fake, almost as if a dream. He began to worry faintly that he'd wake up, finding himself in his little apartment, the atmosphere being that of his normal life. He realized how pleasing you were to the senses. Your beauty, your scent, your voice, how your hands felt against his skin. But there was still a box left unchecked, still one left on the list...

He wasn't sure if he should, or even could.

He wasn't sure if he had the courage to. It was such a funny thought, being the Sheriff, breaking up fights and hunting murderers, and yet he turned into a scared boy when faced with a girl.

You tugged him from his thoughts by quickly saying, "Look at the stars! Aren't they beautiful?"

He hesitated, still gazing at you a moment, before looking up where you were. They really were something. But they were nothing compared to how they looked reflecting in your eyes.

"Bigby?"

He suddenly realized he'd been staring. You smiled at him. "Seem more interested in me than the view," you teased, a smirk on your lips. Those lips... he felt his toes curl, not wanting to clench his fists infront of you. He was frustrated, but in a calm way. "Can't help it," he says, you noticing the touch of pink across his cheeks. Your smiled faded, but remained. A small, gentle thing.

He couldn't help but look at your lips. Then, you sat forward a little, as the ferris wheel stopped with you both at the top. You asked, "Did I tell you I can read minds?"

"No, don't think you did. Can you?"

"I can read yours."

"Really, so, what am I thinking...?" He asks, curious.

"Come closer," you urge, gesturing. He played along, sitting forward. But as soon as he did, you quickly slammed your lips against his. He was shocked at first, but soon kissed back, his hand finding your cheek, the other your neck.

But just as the moment began, it was suddenly cut short by the ferris wheel jerking into motion. You both sat back, looking at each other, both blushing madly. The ferris wheel stopped, and you both got off, smiling softly. As you walked away, back into the crowds, Bigby carefully reached, feeling his wrist brush your bracelets, before his hand wrapped around yours.

The night was soon to end, and it made him upset, not wanting this moment to ever go. "I, uh, maybe we could, um..." you couldn't find the words. But somehow he knew exactly what you meant.

"Tomorrow afternoon?" He suggests. You smile, and ask "Where?"

"I know a few restaurants here and there, but maybe something a little more lively would be your style..."

"Yeah, that'd be great."

"Then, here..." he carefully wrote out the address for his apartment on her arm, along with a phone number. "The number is for my office, I basically live there," he jokes.

"Office?"

"Yeah, I'm a Sheriff," he says simply.

"SHERIFF?"

Epilogue

Bigby sat in his office, turning through another file. He had finished writing something, before opening a drawer in his desk, and he stopped. Inside were the necklaces you had given him, along with the bracelet. He smiled faintly, gently sliding the folder on top of them. He shut the drawer, just as the door burst open, and a familiar girl rushed in, immediately sitting across from him. "You will not believe what Bluebeard said to me! Now don't get upset, but this jackass-" and you went on to rant, gesturing wildly with your hands, and all he could do was sit back and smile.

"The only good thing that came out of it was Snow finally giving me the damn key!" You say, slamming it down onto the desk. You huffed, leaning back and making funny faces as you remembered the ordeal.

Bigby reached forward and grabbed the key off the desk, observing it. "This isn't 206's key," he says. "I know," you say softly, your cheeks heating up a little. "This is my apartment's key..." he added, looking at you. "Well I obviously need one, what with you working odd hours. What happens if I get locked out?" You say defensively, not wanting to admit to the other reasonings.

"Why would I lock you out?"

"Whenever you get shot or hurt and know that I'll be giving you hell about it," you say honestly. You did say that you told the truth.

"Why else would you need a key?" He asks, offering that smirk that always made you flustered. "Cause..." you say, getting up and reaching for it, but he pulled it back suddenly.

"Cause why?"

"I can take the key back-" He reached forward and grabbed your hand, stilling you as he stood up. He walked around the desk, and your face got even redder. "Why?" He asked, and you avoiding eye contact, bouncing your legs slightly, nervous. "In case I wanna... surprise you..."

"What kind of surprise?" He asks, leaning forward, lifting your chin so you'd have to look at him. "You're the detective, you tell me," you say, but your blushed face and rushing heartbeat said it all.

He chuckled, kissed you, and pressed the key back into you palm, whispering in your ear, "Then I guess you better hold onto this..."

[fatsakurafemboy]

A sad king finds lavender

A collaborative fanfiction writing based on a roleplay I did with some friends.

King Patton was a sad king, yes everyone in the kingdom knew him as a kind and compassionate happy king, but Patton had a problem. His son was to be courting a prince from another kingdom, if his son married and moved away then he would be alone in his overly big castle.

So as the days grew longer, and his son spent more time with the prince, king Patton threw himself into his garden, planting every flower he could think of. One afternoon there was a knock on his door, it was a guard telling him about a thief who stole the chefs cooking utensils, so the always kind and generous king Patton goes to his closet and gets a large box of his personal cookware and hands it to the guard with specific instructions to take it straight to the kitchen.The guard nods and goes on his way there.

King Patton returns to his bed and curls into a ball on it. “What was that about?” Remy the castle wizard asked. You see, Remy had visited the king when he saw he was feeling down, he took it as his personal duty to make sure everyone in the castle was happy. “Someone took all of the chef’s cooking instruments, I gave him some of my own.” Patton told the wizard

“They what?!” Remy had not known there was a thief in the castle or he would have caught them already.

King Patton nods and curls himself into a ball tighter “I’m surprised too, I suppose I should train my guards better. Or maybe be a better king.” He looks to Remy as the man sits up and flicks his wrist and a whole new set of cooking supplies appears in front of the king.

“I thought you might like another set, since you have yours on loan.” Remy said casually, but on the inside he was embarrassed and worried he had upset the king, not that he cared Patton was a king.

Patton looked at the utensils with awe “thank you.” he gets up and puts them on his desk to give the chef later and get his cooking supplies back later. “Anytime you need anything magical, I’m your man.” Remy exaggerates the word magic by moving his hands and making sparkles appear in the air.

Patton giggles at the silly man in front of him “I’ll be sure to remember that.” he says to Remy as the man looks out the window, the sun had risen hours ago and Patton had not slept “it's morning.” said Remy wistfully glancing out the window, Patton nods very tiredly “so it is.” the man looks back to the king and shakes his head “you should sleep.” Patton looked exhausted, like he hadn't slept for days, when in reality it had been entirely possible “I should, doesn’t mean I will…” Remy grabbed onto Patton’s shoulders and pushed him backwards onto the bed “Go. to. Sleep.” Patton laid back too tired to fight back, already almost asleep “canscuddlesplease?” Patton says “I didn’t understand a word of that.” Remy chuckles.

Patton hides his face in his hands “Cuddles?” Remy finally understands what Patton was saying “You want to cuddle?” 

“...Maybe?”

“Sure.” Remy shrugged and fell next to Patton on the bed, Patton immediately cuddles close to Remy because he’s been touch starved for so long, Remy cuddles him back platonically as the Patton fell asleep in his arms.

Remy didn’t sleep. In short he had been cursed, cursed to never rest or sleep, a few years back he had been sent on a journey by the townsfolk to hunt down and kill a dragon that had been stealing things from the marketplace, you see Remy was a wizard who fought and chased off monsters that would plague the town, but when he followed the dragon he didn’t see a dragon, but a lady, a witch. When he tried to confront her she cursed him.

So as he laid there holding Patton in his arms, not being able to sleep, and gets very bored quickly, he starts magically putting dandelions in his hair. Patton woke up a few hours later “Good morning Remy.” Patton uncurls himself from cuddling with Remy and gets up, he heads to his closet to get dressed and finds his kingly garbs. Afterwards he heads to the garden to tend to his flowers.

After he takes care of his garden quickly he wanders the halls of his castle, feeling sad and numb. As he continues to walk the halls, none of the guards stop him, even though they are confused when they see his blank expression. Patton was usually a happy king, so why did he seem so… depressed?

Patton enters the ballroom and walks to the center of the room. He closes his eyes, going back to a memory of when he danced with the most handsome prince. He was deeply in love with him, but wasn’t allowed to marry another man, for fear of it bringing shame to the royal name. 

Patton was forced to marry a princess from another highly prestigious kingdom, but she left when she had given birth to their son, Logan, and patton was forced to bring him up on his own. As he reminisces, he dances in the same way as he did at that ball, tears falling silently down his face… His last dance with the prince he was in love with.

Remy walks into the ballroom and went up to Patton, holding his hand and his hip and started to waltz with him “Would you like to talk about it?” Remy asks comfortingly. Patton keeps his eyes closed as he waltzes with the wizard “I just… miss him.”

“What was he like?”

“Oh goodness. Well, he was very kind, gentle, understanding, and funny. He always knew what to say to make me laugh, or even cheer me up… He had an imagination that rivals my own. He always made up the most wonderful stories. Every night he visited, we’d explore all the hidden passageways we have here. He’s the one who taught me how to dance.” Patton chuckles brokenly as more tears fall. “...He was just… the perfect match. A match made in heaven, you could say.”

“What did he look like?” Remy asked growing curiouser and curiouser

Patton smiles and keeps his eyes closed, enjoying the moment “He had honey brown eyes… I could've gotten lost in them forever. He had the most beautiful fluffy brown hair. I loved to run my hands through his hair.” Patton giggles at the memories “He was a little bit taller than me, so he would always rest his head on top of mine as we hugged. And goodness his hugs were the best. They made me feel so safe and loved.” Patton smiles remembering his long lost love.

But as soon as he feels Remy hug him with his chin on his head as they dance, Patton stiffens and whispers “...They felt like this…” Remy pulled back and looked to Patton in confusion as Patton tilts his head a little and looks at Remy’s hair, face, and finally into his eyes, his own eyes widening.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Remy asks confused about the other man’s actions

Patton steps back a little, sad. “I...must have...thought you were him. I’m terribly sorry” He turns to walk away before Remy stops him, gently holding onto Patton's forearm “Do I look like him?” Remy asks “Very much so.” Patton nods as Remy pulls him back into a Waltz “Then, why don't you pretend that i am him? Just for today, maybe it will help to get to say goodbye.” Remy says.

“I suppose i can do that” Patton nods and smiles genuinely for the first time in a long time as they begin to waltz again. Remy takes the lead of the dancing, spinning and dipping Patton as the other man giggles joyously. Remy pulls him close and sways in place as Patton rests his head on the man he is dancing with shoulder, Remy kisses Patton’s forehead, trying to be the man who left the king so long ago.

Patton blinks away tears but smiles softly as he says farewell to his past lover in his mind “Goodnight Patton, I love you” Remy says, even though he’s saying it for Patton’s sake, something in him really means it. And for the first time in the years of knowing king Patton, Remy thinks he’s fallen in love with the kind and caring man.

Patton smiles wider even as a few tears slip down his face again, as he whispers laying his head on Remy’s neck “Goodnight my lark. I love you to the moon and back.” Remy dares to be brave, with the price of his head in the guillotine, he kisses Patton “Goodnight love.” Patton leans his head on Remy’s shoulder again and hugs him whispering repeated “Thank you” to Remy. Remy hugs him back with his head on top of Pattons.

Patton keeps hugging him, very grateful for Remy’s help. He wonders if remy meant it when he said he loved him. “I’m sorry if I was too forward.” Patton looks up at him “What do you mean?”, Remy looked pale and fearful “I kissed you” Patton blushed a little, suddenly very shy “Well, I did kiss back, so i think it’s okay.” Patton chuckles nervously and the color returns to Remy’s face as he sways with Patton a little longer. 

Patton smiles softly and whispers “I love you.”

Remy feels his heart swell and whispers back into Patton’s ear “I love you too.”

“Remy?” Patton exhales shakily

“Yeah?” 

“C-can I kiss you?”

“Yes”

Patton stands up on his tiptoes a little and kisses Remy softly. Remy bends down to give Patton better access to the kisses as Patton tangles his fingers in Remy’s hair. After a few minutes Patton pulls away and peppers kisses all over Remy’s face. Remy laughs at the adorable displays of affection, Patton also pulls away after pressing a short kiss to Remy’s lips, laughing too.

Remy moves Patton's fringe out of his face “your beautiful.”

Patton smiles and looks at him, eyes sparkling with joy and giggles “And your mesmerizing.”

Remy picks Patton up and walks the midnight halls carrying his lover the king to his bedroom, Remy lays Patton in the king’s bed and gently runs his hands through Patton’s hair “Goodnight Patton.”

Patton sighs at the fingers in his hair and motions for Remy to join him. Remy lays next to the the smaller man, he moves Patton so Patton is laying on his chest and he sits his head atop Patton’s. Patton wraps his arms around Remy’s waist gently, wondering how on earth his greatest wish was answered, he sighs in content.

Remy waits for Patton to fall asleep, unable to sleep himself for reasons previously stated. As Patton lays on the man’s chest, the sound of Remy’s heart beating through his chest lulls Patton to sleep after a short while, as well as the general aura of safety and warmth Remy gives off.

Remy stays awake looking out the clear glass wall across from the king’s bed, the stars were in perfect view tonight, the water reflected the colors of the sky perfectly, casting a beautiful midnight blue and royal purple in an amazing array of crashing waves. The lights from the village in the castle’s walls lit up the ground like a million twinkling fireflies as the candles in every window were blown out.

Patton cuddled closer in his sleep, dreaming of his one true love. “...Love you, Remy..” the man said in his sleep

“I love you Patton, I really do.” Remy said, confessing his love to the sleeping and unaware king, as the small man nuzzles into his chest still asleep.

Remy plays with Patton, the kings, hair. If anyone who ever knew Remy saw him right now, they would use this information against him to get him to go whatever their heart desired. And Remy would comply, he would never let anything happen to the man he has fallen in love with.

Patton sighs and completely relaxes against the wizard in his sleep,only waking a few hours later to see Remy awake and playing with his hair. “H-hi.” he smiles looking at Remy with warmth in his eyes.

“Hey.” Remy says looking to Patton with the same expression

“Did you rest at all?” Patton asks concerned

“I don’t really sleep.”

Patton sits up “What do you mean you don’t really sleep? Don’t you get tired?”

“Yes i get tired, but when i close my eyes to sleep nothing happens.”

Patton looks at the bed, deep in thought trying to think of a way to help. He didn’t want the love of his life to have to live like this. “I confess that I do not have a cure for that… I myself have had the same problem at times but have always managed to solve it somehow.”

“It can’t be solved, I was cursed to be this way, never to sleep or rest.”

“...Oh” Patton said sadly

“The cursed dragon witch said only true loves kiss will be the cure.”

“Interesting” Patton frowned thinking he must not be Remy’s true love since they’ve kissed already.

“Likes that kind of thing exists”

“It does!”

“How do you know?”

“Because I fell in love with someone, after many years of thinking the same thing.” Patton said shaking his head, smiling at Remy fondly.

“That’s good, they are one lucky man to have someone as perfect as you.”

Patton chuckles, realizing Remy was oblivious to what he was saying.

“What? Why are you laughing at me?”

“For such an adorable man, you sure are clueless.” Patton shakes his head fondly still giggling. He takes Remy’s hands in his own gently as he sees the man is still confused “Remy. You are the man I have fallen in love with.”

Remy blushes and stumbles over his words at Patton’s loving gestures. Patton doesn’t look at Remy, squeezing his eyes shut tight, afraid that the man sitting in front of him doesn’t feel the same way. Remy stares in shock at Patton for a moment… before pulling his love in a kiss to show he feels the same affection.

Patton kisses back, wrapping one arm around Remy’s waist while the other hand cups the back of his head gently. Remy’s eyes slip shut and he falls into Patton’s arms that hold him so close, Patton catches him and gently lays him down in the bed, putting the covers over him.

He presses a soft kiss to Remy’s forehead whispering in the sleeping mans ear before heading out to his study to get some kings work done

“Sleep well, my love.”

Taglist: @bexxbeauty @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @mostcertainlynotcis

[outweek30]

Riot Erupts at Stonewall Faerie Gathering Re-enactment Turns Real After Motorists Ram Crowd

NEW YORK [July 10, 1989] — What began as a reenactment of the Stonewall Rebellion on its twentieth anniversary erupted into an actual riot on Saturday, June 24 [1989], which sent four persons to the hospital, and left at least a half dozen others injured and one car nearly destroyed. In at least two separate incidents, motorists purposefully drove their cars into crowds of demonstrators, knocking down some and causing others to chase the drivers through the streets of the Village, according to eyewitness reports.

Scores of uniformed and undercover police, including a riot squad, were called in to assist officers at the Sixth Precinct, who were at times overwhelmed by the sheer size of the crowd, which at its height swelled to over 1,000.

[...]

The evening began peacefully, even joyously, at a gathering called by the Radical Faeries, a collective of gay men given to spiritual individualism and drag. The Faeries gathered outside of the Stonewall, which is now a men's clothing store, armed with yellow foam-rubber bricks. The re-enactment was arranged with the blessings of the store's owner, Statish Malik, who had closed his store for the occasion, and allowed the Faeries to set up a "Stonewall Shrine" in the basement of the store.

Participants threw the "bricks" (yellow for the Yellow Brick Road, explained one Faerie), while others dressed as police officers playfully pushed and shoved journalists and demonstrators and hit them with fake nightsticks, which were actually long, party-colored balloons. After about a half-hour of mock rioting, several people in the crowd reportedly shouted out, "Let's take Seventh Avenue," and the group, now numbering in the hundreds, moved north up the Village's main thoroughfare, blocking traffic as it worked its way towards Greenwich Avenue.

"It was kind of up and fun and bubbly at that point," said Gerri Wells, an OutWeek photographer who participated in the re-enactment. "A lot of people in the cars were getting into it. It was more like Mardi Gras than a riot," she continued.

Chanting "No more homophobia" and similar slogans, the crowd, led by a line of people carrying a blue police barricade above their heads, picked up steam and participants. But as it moved down Greenwich Avenue and then west on 10th Street, the mood somehow changed.

"There were people there hoping for some sort of affirmation of gay power," claimed David Hamburger, who was visiting New York from Boston and was present for the entire happening. "Everyone had their own idea of why they were doing it. Suddenly someone yelled about the two murders and how the police weren't doing anything about [them]," he added, referring to two Black men who were killed on the Morton Street pier early on Friday morning[.] The pier is a popular cruising area and gathering place for gay men, especially gay men of color.

That, according to Hamburger, provided the impetus for the marchers to proceed to the Sixth Precinct on West 10th Street. But others in the growing demonstration did not hear the announcement, and did not know the exact reason for going to the precinct.

As more and more marchers arrived at the police station, police officers inside quickly came out and formed a line in front of the entrance, The crowd cheered as several among them set fire to American flags. Police reported that windows at the police station were smashed by rocks. "The potential for a riot was there, The emotions were high, people were angry, it was hot," Wells said.

[... Commanding Officer Julia Thompson] told the crowd that the homicides did not appear to be bias related, and that they were under investigation. Many of those gathered responded by chanting "Bullshit," "No more lies," and by pelting her with condoms.

[...]

Once away from the precinct building, the marchers picked up the air of revelry again. But the mob continued its march around the Village[. ...] "I think we should do this every Saturday night." Michael Nesline, another of the marchers, characterized the evening as "a completely spontaneous, mob-led action."

[...]

It was apparently other angry motorists that precipitated the evening's most serious violence, In two separate incidents, cars allegedly sped through lines of demonstrators, The first injuries occurred on West 10th Street near Julius, a gay bar, after the mob had returned from West Street. "He tried to run us over," said a tearful Ralph del Valle, who said he had been hit and sprained his ankle, "Then he backed up and tried to run us over again."

An angry mob chased the car through the streets of the Village, as it sped around other cars and up onto sidewalks, ignoring orders from the police to pull over. The crowd caught up to the car, a red Chevy Cavalier[. ...] As police removed the driver and four passengers and shoved them through a side door at the theater to protect them from the crowd, people in the mob surrounded the car and began smashing the windows and lights, using a police barricade as a battering ram." Others pulled off the hood and kicked in the sides, before the police could move them away from the car.

"They all had their middle fingers up, They thought they could get away from us, but they don't know our territory," said Sean Ortiz, an 18-year-old high school student from Forest Hills.

[...]

By midnight the mood of the crowd had once again become mellow and celebratory, although the glass from the smashed car's windows still glittered along Christopher Street, Much of the crowd seemed unwilling to end the night, and the Radical Faeries led cheers of "sodomize tonight." At one point, everyone in the intersection joined hands above their heads and sang, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," as they swayed gently back and forth, and then began dancing to "Ding Dong the Witch is Dead."

[...]

Well after midnight, and after the police had blocked off the Village to traffic, a police captain at 14th Street and 7th Avenue was asked by a motorist why he could not drive through. "You've got to avoid Christopher Street, Sheridan Square, that whole area," the captain replied. "A bunch of homosexuals blocked off ... oh, don't ask."

— Andrew Miller, OutWeek Magazine No. 3, July 10, 1989, p. 8.

[ecotone99]

[HF] Mayella's Dilemma | Side story from "To Kill A Mockingbird"

It was the beginning of March, the clouds started hoarding, coating the bright royal sky, as three kids were vigorously bouncing on flowers which appeared half withered. The boys looked needy, white shirts with serious dirt stains, half ripped pants and mucky faces, joyously romping around in a terribly neglected garden.

“Robert! Stop being a big prick and return my bat to me.”, screeched Walter as he stumblingly trod on lumpy soil chasing his elder brother, who held a decayed metal rod which was detached from the broken clothesline in their yard. Willis the youngest, was taking all the joy out of this by daintily hopping around following his elder brothers.

On the spur of the moment, sprinkles of tepid rain started to touch the noses of the children and it gradually turned to a fierce downpour. As Mayella heard sharp dripping noises coming from the kitchen floor, what appeared to be a confounded look hastily turned into an annoyed expression. She boisterously stomped towards her children, swearing, demanding them to get back inside the house and bring the large bucket to prohibit the rain to flood the small cottage.

Mayella found rainy days intolerable as they throbbingly plucked strings of memories in her head correlating with Tom Robinson’s death. The unpleasant roar of her father and other family members rowdily jubilating when the news broke out, the agony and deep remorse she felt as she glanced outside of her window staring at a void while it relentlessly stormed outside. It was all coming back to her.

“Oh my word, what on earth is taking you rascals so long?! The water is going to flood the lounge if you jerks don’t move your useless limbs quicker. Hurry you twits!”, she shrieks with a more than a successful attempt of outmatching the storm’s noise.

Robert utterly resented his mother, her demeaning words, the occasional lash outs; in his frame of mind, there was no maternal bond in between them. But there was. The other two just accorded Robert’s opinions and mimicked his behavior. Robert went as far as pickpocketing from her coats and fleeing from the cottage, while eventually returning at midnight.

One day later...

The tint of the sky remained unvaried with slight drops drizzling every so often. The flashbacks didn’t stop overflowing inside Mayella, in fact, the strain she felt was augmenting so much that she forcefully decided to depart for a walk in that weather. She steadily wandered on the damp streets of Maycomb, while glaring at the colorless buildings and stores to comfort herself from the haunting thoughts she regained. She didn’t feel better at all. Her soul still ached with deep guilt and anguish. I could’ve said the truth. Tom Robinson died all because of me. I could’ve stopped it. I could’ve…. This repeated chain of thoughts that she had in her mind for several years now rebounded in her head stronger than ever. Her pace rapidly increased as she thought more and more. Something had to be done.

Suddenly, her legs stopped moving which nearly made her lose balance as she laid her eyes on the words “Maycomb County” written in big blue letters with a bit of cursive style added to it. Mayella was married to a fellow Ewell, who was about six foot tall with a large bear-like physique, he had a round face with bushy brows, scars on his forehead and cheek, unshaved facial hair and a seriously unpleasant body odor. Despite being a deputy in the county, he looked closest to a ruffian than anyone. She realized that she instinctively strolled towards the county which made her more troubled due to the absolute hatred she felt towards her husband. She wanted to return home. Even though the kids glared at her with distaste, even though the shelter was dismantled with everything looking decayed, she wanted to return.

As she passed the county and headed towards the direction of her house, she observed piles of miniature sheets of paper lying around very close to the dark green doorway of the county. This piqued her interest as the paper looked glossy and it had a distinctive size unlike the other flyers laying around in the streets. As she approached the county, she managed to notice that those were indeed photographs, more specifically, old mugshots of the prisoners held in this county over the last decades. She spontaneously thought of Tom and the possibility of his mugshot being somewhere in the pile. In the middle of Cecil street, photographs were rapidly being flipped and tossed everywhere, several strollers noticed and few even stopped to inspect until Mayella finally saw a mug shot of a young black man. He looked petrified, we could see his chiseled jawline with his terror-stricken eyes gazing the camera, his big black lips tightly pursed together and hundreds of drops of cold sweat appearing all over his forehead and nose. It was Tom.

The next evening….

The events of this week and the strain that she built up for the past few days made Mayella completely frazzled. She laid awkwardly on the defective couch, defenseless, peeking at the cloudy weather outside with her right eye while having left eye closed half way. All of a sudden, a raucous blast entered right from the front door, as she tilted her enervated head towards the left, she saw a chair flying right at her. It connected and violently ripped apart her jaw, crushing her central incisors. Very quickly, blood started to flow right out of her top lips straight down her chest as she screeched loudly in pain.

“It hurts!, Why, Nelson, It hurts!”, Mayella screamed from the peak of her lungs while the chair completely destroyed the wooden planks and the glassed windows in the direction.

“Robert just showed me this. You just can’t let him go, Mayella, can you?”, roars Nelson with the photograph of Tom Robinson.

‘’....’’, she couldn’t stop crying as the blood flooded her lower face staining her blue dress.

“Can you!”

“....”, she wept louder, as Nelson raised his voice.

“You got--” he gets abruptly interrupted as he heard loud knocking and men gathering from the front door in the house.

“Anyone here, deputy Ewell, we’ve got severe noise complaints. Deputy Ewell. Where is Mrs. Ewell?”, Nelson's face turned blue.

He quickly rushed over to Mayella pretentiously wiping her tears and rubbing his palms against her chin to remove the blood.“Listen, Mayella, listen. Listen! I am terribly sorry about this. Maybe I was a bit too violent. But you won’t arrest your own husband, would you now? Now wipe your tears and go say I slipped from the chair.”, he disclosed as Mayella looked at him with disgust as she walked towards the front door.

Now wipe your tears and go say I slipped. Now wipe- You could've - Now wipe - You - You could've said the truth.

Her mind was completely deluged. It was either truth or misery.

“I could've said the truth”, she whispered while pausing herself undoing the door locks.

I am going to say the truth.

Her fragile and wretched face promptly turned into a strong-willed and firm expression as she faced the officers.

The End

My first serious attempt on creative writing. I am turning 16 and recently I have started to love writing. Let me know your thoughts/feedback on this.

submitted by /u/DiwasMainali [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2Krifxd

[palindromepaladin]

Paragon

By Rixon  Grey

           I love the outdoors, but I hate the wilderness. There is something so sinister about a dark, wooded, terrible area that just makes my skin crawl. It doesn’t help that it’s eleven-fifty-four (yes, in the p.m.) and my boyfriend still hasn’t picked me up off this dirt road. How long does it take a guy to pick up t.p.? This is the last time I go camping, let me tell you.

           After about fifteen minutes of standing by the road, and 64 ounces of a water-Gatorade concoction, I needed to relieve some internal pressure. So I go, walking in the deep, dark, forest at midnight to take a whiz.  Well about halfway through, I won’t give you any details about halfway through what though, I saw a pink light coming from a distance to my left. At first I thought it was a flashlight, looking back I’m not so sure. Now, let me remind you I’m halfway done at this point and trying not to get my feet wet. So I yell out, “Hey! Do you mind?”

           Evidently, the person holding the light did not mind as I finished, stood up, and flipped them my favorite finger, they didn’t move at all. No, the light did not waver, but seemed to grow brighter, as if my gesture had insulted it. The noise of animals and dark terrible things around me got to be too much and my pulse started racing. I could feel my heartbeat in my fingertips. Realizing how frightened I was, I started back toward the road. Hopefully by now Kurt was back and could ward off this pervert. If not… I didn’t think about if not.

           Just then I heard the giggle of a little girl, and spun back to the light, “Hey are you lost?” I asked, now hoping that the girl holding the light hadn’t seen my obscene finger. Thoughts of a scared little girl in the woods awoke a feeling in me, so that I stepped toward the light, when something hit me in the nose. A bug! No… The light had hit me. The source of the light came from a small floating mass, not yards away from me, but right in front of my face. The giggling happened again, and I could now tell that it came from the small ball of light, inches away from me. I felt myself smile, as suddenly the forest didn’t seem too dark.

           Vaguely I was aware of running, chasing the ball of light, joyously through the enchanting woods. I hopped over fallen logs and swerved through trees, my legs pumping with the glory of youth. I dipped under low hanging branches and splashed through puddles. Wherever the light went, I found a path that led me right behind it. My destination, that is, the destination was unknown, even the idea of an end place was illusory. I was content to chase the tiny, glowing orb through the boundaries of eternity. Eventually I was led into a cave. I followed dreamily behind now, only walking, drifting really, behind the peaceful glow. On the walls of the cave, I came to discover, grew luminescent somethings. Green and blue streaks of a weird fungus lit up a path on the structures of the cave.

           The light which I was chasing disappeared from sight, and my senses were momentarily returned to me. My clothes were damp with sweat and I was horribly winded. However, the thought of leaving did not cross my mind as quickly as you think it would have. I wanted to see that light again, and feel those feelings of serenity. Traversing the twists and turns with the help of the light of the fungi, I ended up deciding to take my shoes off. There was grass on the floor of the cave and my shoes were dripping with muddy water, presumably from all those puddles I can hardly recall. After what seemed like twenty minutes of climbing, crouching, and slogging, I saw a faint glow far off at the end of a long natural hallway.

           Turning the corner, still carrying my shoes, the cave opened into a well lit room. I say room because it was a huge… bubble kind of room, like a dome. There were sconces on the walls with huge violet candles, and more of the fungus growing on the bottom corners, to where the room was as bright as day. In the middle of the room were little faeries, flying and floating around a stump. There were three of them, if I remember correctly, and they were no older than my little sister, all about six or seven. All of them were staring at me, as they glided through the air, their bodies no bigger than that of a Barbie doll.

           I cautiously strode into the room towards the faerie girls. Again I felt the little tickle of my mouth forming into a smile, as the girls beckoned me closer. Giggles and the smell of vanilla mixed with lilac surrounded me. I felt like I had the weight of a leaf falling off a tree. Moving closer still I found that the stump was not just the bottom of a dead tree but was carved into a sort of throne. I glided towards the throne with the faeries dancing around me, their giggles and tiny voices filling me with a serene mirth. Every time one of them passed, glitter fell and dissipated like the sparks from fireworks.

           I set my shoes down by the foot of the carved stump and ran my hands along the would-be arm rests. The chair was smooth and warm, like someone had been keeping it warm just for me. Flying away, and returning after a moment, the faeries rested a crown of lilies on my head. I laughed a small, far away laugh, when suddenly the lights flickered. I was no longer in the old cave, cracked with time and weather, but in a large hall.

           The hall was full of velvet and gold, wood carved walls and chandeliers that sprouted from the ceiling like upside-down flowers. In front of me were masses of silver clad soldiers, and I knew instinctively that they would bend to my will. The faeries were thousands now, flying up between the beams of the immensely tall ceiling and around through the crowds of warriors. They all giggled and laughed, spewing glitter and light en masse. The hall shone with the light of stars and magic, tingles surrounded every bit of flesh on me. My smile was now huge and bright, though my teeth clenched together in overwhelming power. The soldiers stood and saluted, and I laughed and laughed. I was aware of a green, silk dress that hugged my skin.

           I got up and danced, spinning and twirling as the silver knights started marching in place. The pounding of their boots were like the pounding of my heart. I danced and the faeries joined me, all of them spinning in a display of sheer beauty. Their lights, all blues and violets, merged together into a disco ball of indigo. At that moment, I knew that nothing would ever make me upset, nothing would ever disappoint me, and that my contentedness would never be-

           “Becky?” I heard the voice, but did not immediately register it as Kurt’s. Instead he had to shake me, nudge me really, for me to stir. When I awoke I was leaning against this rotted, nasty stump. Kurt was standing above me with a flashlight in one hand and his car keys in another. I could smell his spicy cologne. “Hey babe, wake up, I’m back.” I yawned and stood. Looking around I smiled, a light and unassuming thing.

           “How long were you gone?” I asked, as I gave him a hug, “It felt like hours.” He returned the hug.

           “Yeah sorry, the Quick-stop didn’t have any, so I had to go find the nearest grocery store, which yeah, took about an hour.” I gave him a look. “I tried calling you,” He said in his defense, “but you didn’t answer.” He then looked me up and down.  I checked my phone, and it said I had five missed calls from a person named ‘babe’.

           “Oh gosh, sorry, I must’ve really been out… What?” I asked because he gave me this look like, what happened to you?

           “You’re covered in mud, dude, and also…” I just now looked at my shirt and arms, which were all covered in caked mud. My hair felt heavier, full of dirt no doubt, and my knees were scraped and sore.  I looked up at him and asked,

           “What?”

           “Well,” He said,”where are your shoes?”

[josephkitchen0]

I like Chickens. Sadly, So Does Mr. Fox!

Amy Young Miller – Not everybody likes chickens. I don’t mean the eating of chickens, per se, but the keeping of chickens. Chickens, after all, can be noisy, and flighty, and stupid, but I like them anyway. I enjoy going out in the morning and throwing scraps to my hens, watching them eat, scratch in the dirt, and dart after bugs. I like how they come running when I call them. I really like the beautiful, tasty eggs they lay for my breakfast every day. I’m a chicken-loving nerd, but I’m not going to apologize for it. There are worse things.

I came upon this liking chickens trait, honestly. My mom kept chickens when I was growing up. We lived in a small town, and she always had a few tiny bantams. I suspect she kept them around more for the company, and for the humor element, rather than the egg factor. Mrs. Cluck, my favorite, was a friendly little white and black speckled hen with feathers on her feet. She would lay enormous clutches of eggs under our back porch. Now and then she’d get lucky and hatch out a few tiny chicks, but mostly the eggs would age and eventually blow up underneath our feet as we sat there on summer evenings. We’d hear a sharp “pufft!” sound, and then the stink would hit us, and we’d run into the house laughing. That didn’t stop Mrs. Cluck from continuing to lay eggs under the porch, and it didn’t stop me from liking chickens.

So, I like chickens. A few years ago, however, a local fox decided that he liked my chickens, too. For breakfast. And lunch. And dinner, and the occasional midnight snack. I had problems with other predators before this. One night a coon broke into my chicken coop and killed an entire flock of spring pullets, leaving their pitiful, broken bodies behind. An eagle swooped down one day and handily beheaded a hen in our side yard, leaving its body behind. Our own dog, Beatrice, has killed a hen or two, in her exuberant herding of my flock. (She always says that it was an accident and that since she’s an Australian Shepherd, allowances should be made. I don’t buy it.) But the predator I’ll focus on today is the cunning Mr. Fox who made such a wreck of my flock that infamous summer. Somehow this fox came to be the most persistent and dreaded of all my chickens’ predators.

Or, maybe it just seemed worse because the fox seemed so darned clever. For example, he started taking one chicken a day, as far as I could figure, the very week I brought my son, Malachi, home from the hospital. I saw the fox, from the living room window, with my own bleary, bloodshot eyes. But I was powerless, in my postpartum fog and ensuing weakness, to do anything about it. Sure, I’m a rugged prairie woman, but even prairie women have their limits. How did he know that I was in such a vulnerable state? I can’t guess. But he knew. I know he did.

Another cunning move on his part was that he would never breeze through our yard at the same time in the day. He kept us off our guard. Sometimes he’d show up in the morning soon after I let the chickens out of the coop for the day — bless them, never suspecting in their tiny, pea-sized brains, that one of them was going to be in Mr. Fox’s belly in an hour or two. Then other days it would be in the middle of the afternoon. I would hear a squawking chicken ruckus outside, would glance out the window and see that dratted fox, scampering gaily across my yard, grinning at me — which wasn’t easy since his mouth was stuffed with one of my Buff Orpington hens. Cheeky, dreadful thing.

“So, why didn’t you do something?” I hear you muttering. “Take action, woman!” Well, I did a few things, none of which were effective. I clipped hens’ wings to keep them in their yard. We fortified the chicken yard fence, but smaller hens slipped out, regardless. My gallant son Timothy roamed around with his bow and arrows for a few days. We even set a trap one night, at the urging of a friend, with a rooster in a cage close to the house. Our friend explained how it had worked for him. Theoretically, the fox would come after the bait (the rooster) and the pitiful bird would make enough noise to wake us up, we’d stagger to the door and blast the fox away (yes, we do have a shotgun). It didn’t work. The poor rooster was a bit on the haggard side in the morning, but not nearly as haggard as I was. Nothing worked. And, meanwhile, chickens kept disappearing. Every day. Only a small pile of feathers on the grass would be left behind. The remaining chickens were getting mighty jittery.

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Finally, somebody had the brainy idea to train our clever, hyperactive, high-speed dog to chase after the fox every time we yelled “Fox!” Actually, this was easy — Bea’s smart, and very fast, and also quite greedy for dog treats. We’d do our “Fox!” yell, then dance wildly, gesticulating like crazy people toward the chicken coop, and then grab her collar and run out to the coop. She’d joyously bound along with us, delighted with the extra attention, not to mention the dog treat that she knew would follow. Within a couple days, she was, by all appearances, fox-trained, a couple of pounds heavier and anxious as all get-out to get that fox! Whatever a fox was. Now, all we needed was to see the dreaded critter during the daytime and sic Bea on him. (By the way, Bea’s nickname is “Bullet.” She’s fast.) We just knew that not one creature on earth —  well, er, at least in our little corner of the globe— could move faster than her. I suppose there are some creatures on the African veldt, for example, that are marginally faster. Anyway, our nasty Mr. Fox was soon to be history.

After much anticipation, the big day came. I woke around dawn, which is pretty early in Nebraska in June, as you might imagine. It’s 5:00, or perhaps even earlier. I woke to a sound like nothing else I’ve ever heard before in my entire life. Furthermore, a sound I hope to never hear again. I fell out of bed and groped and staggered toward the front of the house, toward that ghastly, unnerving, horrifying sound, stumbling over toys, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Gentle readers, it sounded like a cat — no, several cats, many cats, a legion of cats — all in heat, howling and being strangled, simultaneously. And perhaps enduring some type of medieval torture, as well. I looked out the front window, to see that horrid fox, in our front yard, trying to intimidate our black cat, Pippin. Fox was writhing and posturing and trying to look bigger than he was and emitting that unearthly howl, as our cat watched with a bored expression on its face. Pippin was obviously thinking “Is that the best you’ve got?”

Enter Bea. Time for the unveiling of our meticulous training! The day of reckoning! The end of our nemesis, the end of wholesale and methodical daily chicken slaughter! Bea, our painstakingly trained foxhound, faster than a bullet, was doing her own writhing, in her kennel. Suddenly she clamped her bottom onto the floor of her kennel as she saw me approaching, as she had been trained to do. I fumbled with the latch, and Bea shot out of the kennel and was down the front steps and out the door before I could mutter “Die, Fox, Diiiiiie!”

Malachi Miller cuddles a favorite hen while Bea, an Australian Shepherd, looks on.

You know what happened? It was unbelievable. Unfathomable. Not to mention, deeply disturbing. Mr. Fox … just … disappeared. Vaporized. It was as if he had never been there at all. Poof! If Bea was a steam train, that fox was a zephyr. Bea spent the better part of that morning, devotedly tearing through the bromegrass, bullet-like, and now and then giving an excited, encouraging yip, but we never saw another hint of hide nor hair of that fox, at least not that day. He got away from The Bullet, and he did it effortlessly. One can’t help but grudgingly admire such an adversary.

So now, fast-forward … all the while Mr. Fox was still wreaking havoc on our lives. We’d been through lots of chickens, endured lots of angst and lots of hand-wringing. Lots of googling “safe hen yards,” and “fox extermination” when finally I did what I should have done in the first place: I called my dad.

Bea is ever-alert to our yells of “Fox!”

My dad, Jim Young, is the handiest and most knowledgeable fellow I know. If you live in the area and need an intelligent, well-thought-out answer to any question, large or small, he’s at the coffee shop downtown every morning at 7:00 a.m. He’s a farm boy who grew up during the Great Depression, and he knows how to make anything out of nothing. And when you should do it, too. Which was, in this case, a long time — filled with agony and frustration (and lotsa chickens) — ago. Dad explained patiently to me, as if he had already thought it all through several times and was just waiting for my piteous cry for help (which he probably had, and was) just exactly what I needed to do.

Amy’s chickens are now safe from predators as long as they stay inside the Safety Chicken Fence Extension Extraordinaire (or SCFEE for short).

And we did it. Here’s the simple solution that Dad presented to us. After months of numerous fox-proofing, and ineffective strategies, of course, my dad’s solution was the one that did the trick. This is what we did: we built a simple extension onto our already existing chicken yard fence, which effectively made the fence eight feet tall instead of four feet tall. The chickens don’t fly over it, the fox doesn’t eat them, and so we came to the end of our problems with Mr. Fox. (We still let the chickens out for free-ranging, naturally, but on our timetable, not theirs, and certainly not the fox’s.)

It takes me a while to learn a hard lesson, but once it’s learned, I don’t forget it. Next time, I won’t Google, and I won’t fret or lose sleep. I’ll reach for the phone and I call my dad. I’ll ask him first.

Amy Young Miller is a freelance artist and writer who lives in Nebraska with her forbearing husband, six children, and way too many chickens. She has been published in NebraskaLife and The Milford Free Press.

Originally published in the October/November 2010 issue of Backyard Poultry magazine.

I like Chickens. Sadly, So Does Mr. Fox! was originally posted by All About Chickens

[josephkitchen0]

I like Chickens, Sadly, So Does Mr. Fox!

Amy Young Miller – Not everybody likes chickens. I don’t mean the eating of chickens, per se, but the keeping of chickens. Chickens, after all, can be noisy, and flighty, and stupid, but I like them anyway. I enjoy going out in the morning and throwing scraps to my hens, watching them eat, scratch in the dirt, and dart after bugs. I like how they come running when I call them. I really like the beautiful, tasty eggs they lay for my breakfast every day. I’m a chicken-loving nerd, but I’m not going to apologize for it. There are worse things.

I came upon this liking chickens trait, honestly. My mom kept chickens when I was growing up. We lived in a small town, and she always had a few tiny bantams. I suspect she kept them around more for the company, and for the humor element, rather than the egg factor. Mrs. Cluck, my favorite, was a friendly little white and black speckled hen with feathers on her feet. She would lay enormous clutches of eggs under our back porch. Now and then she’d get lucky and hatch out a few tiny chicks, but mostly the eggs would age and eventually blow up underneath our feet as we sat there on summer evenings. We’d hear a sharp “pufft!” sound, and then the stink would hit us, and we’d run into the house laughing. That didn’t stop Mrs. Cluck from continuing to lay eggs under the porch, and it didn’t stop me from liking chickens.

So, I like chickens. A few years ago, however, a local fox decided that he liked my chickens, too. For breakfast. And lunch. And dinner, and the occasional midnight snack. I had problems with other predators before this. One night a coon broke into my chicken coop and killed an entire flock of spring pullets, leaving their pitiful, broken bodies behind. An eagle swooped down one day and handily beheaded a hen in our side yard, leaving its body behind. Our own dog, Beatrice, has killed a hen or two, in her exuberant herding of my flock. (She always says that it was an accident and that since she’s an Australian Shepherd, allowances should be made. I don’t buy it.) But the predator I’ll focus on today is the cunning Mr. Fox who made such a wreck of my flock that infamous summer. Somehow this fox came to be the most persistent and dreaded of all my chickens’ predators.

Or, maybe it just seemed worse because the fox seemed so darned clever. For example, he started taking one chicken a day, as far as I could figure, the very week I brought my son, Malachi, home from the hospital. I saw the fox, from the living room window, with my own bleary, bloodshot eyes. But I was powerless, in my postpartum fog and ensuing weakness, to do anything about it. Sure, I’m a rugged prairie woman, but even prairie women have their limits. How did he know that I was in such a vulnerable state? I can’t guess. But he knew. I know he did.

Another cunning move on his part was that he would never breeze through our yard at the same time in the day. He kept us off our guard. Sometimes he’d show up in the morning soon after I let the chickens out of the coop for the day — bless them, never suspecting in their tiny, pea-sized brains, that one of them was going to be in Mr. Fox’s belly in an hour or two. Then other days it would be in the middle of the afternoon. I would hear a squawking chicken ruckus outside, would glance out the window and see that dratted fox, scampering gaily across my yard, grinning at me — which wasn’t easy since his mouth was stuffed with one of my Buff Orpington hens. Cheeky, dreadful thing.

“So, why didn’t you do something?” I hear you muttering. “Take action, woman!” Well, I did a few things, none of which were effective. I clipped hens’ wings to keep them in their yard. We fortified the chicken yard fence, but smaller hens slipped out, regardless. My gallant son Timothy roamed around with his bow and arrows for a few days. We even set a trap one night, at the urging of a friend, with a rooster in a cage close to the house. Our friend explained how it had worked for him. Theoretically, the fox would come after the bait (the rooster) and the pitiful bird would make enough noise to wake us up, we’d stagger to the door and blast the fox away (yes, we do have a shotgun). It didn’t work. The poor rooster was a bit on the haggard side in the morning, but not nearly as haggard as I was. Nothing worked. And, meanwhile, chickens kept disappearing. Every day. Only a small pile of feathers on the grass would be left behind. The remaining chickens were getting mighty jittery.

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Finally, somebody had the brainy idea to train our clever, hyperactive, high-speed dog to chase after the fox every time we yelled “Fox!” Actually, this was easy — Bea’s smart, and very fast, and also quite greedy for dog treats. We’d do our “Fox!” yell, then dance wildly, gesticulating like crazy people toward the chicken coop, and then grab her collar and run out to the coop. She’d joyously bound along with us, delighted with the extra attention, not to mention the dog treat that she knew would follow. Within a couple days, she was, by all appearances, fox-trained, a couple of pounds heavier and anxious as all get-out to get that fox! Whatever a fox was. Now, all we needed was to see the dreaded critter during the daytime and sic Bea on him. (By the way, Bea’s nickname is “Bullet.” She’s fast.) We just knew that not one creature on earth —  well, er, at least in our little corner of the globe— could move faster than her. I suppose there are some creatures on the African veldt, for example, that are marginally faster. Anyway, our nasty Mr. Fox was soon to be history.

After much anticipation, the big day came. I woke around dawn, which is pretty early in Nebraska in June, as you might imagine. 5:00, or perhaps even earlier. I woke to a sound like nothing else I’ve ever heard before in my entire life. Furthermore, a sound I hope to never hear again. I fell out of bed and groped and staggered toward the front of the house, toward that ghastly, unnerving, horrifying sound, stumbling over toys, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Gentle readers, it sounded like a cat — no, several cats, many cats, a legion of cats — all in heat, howling and being strangled, simultaneously. And perhaps enduring some type of medieval torture, as well. I looked out the front window, to see that horrid fox, in our front yard, trying to intimidate our black cat, Pippin. Fox was writhing and posturing and trying to look bigger than he was and emitting that unearthly howl, as our cat watched with a bored expression on its face. Pippin was obviously thinking “Is that the best you’ve got?”

Enter Bea. Time for the unveiling of our meticulous training! The day of reckoning! The end of our nemesis, the end of wholesale and methodical daily chicken slaughter! Bea, our painstakingly-trained foxhound, faster than a bullet, was doing her own writhing, in her kennel. Suddenly she clamped her bottom onto the floor of her kennel as she saw me approaching, as she had been trained to do. I fumbled with the latch, and Bea shot out of the kennel and was down the front steps and out the door before I could mutter “Die, Fox, Diiiiiie!”

Malachi Miller cuddles a favorite hen while Bea, an Australian Shepherd, looks on.

You know what happened? It was unbelievable. Unfathomable. Not to mention, deeply disturbing. Mr. Fox … just … disappeared. Vaporized. It was as if he had never been there at all. Poof! If Bea was a steam train, that fox was a zephyr. Bea spent the better part of that morning, devotedly tearing through the bromegrass, bullet-like, and now and then giving an excited, encouraging yip, but we never saw another hint of hide nor hair of that fox, at least not that day. He got away from The Bullet, and he did it effortlessly. One can’t help but grudgingly admire such an adversary.

So now, fast-forward … all the while Mr. Fox was still wreaking havoc on our lives. We’d been through lots of chickens, endured lots of angst and lots of hand-wringing. Lots of googling “safe hen yards,” and “fox extermination” when finally I did what I should have done in the first place: I called my dad.

Bea is ever-alert to our yells of “Fox!”

My dad, Jim Young, is the handiest and most knowledgeable fellow I know. If you live in the area and need an intelligent, well-thought-out answer to any question, large or small, he’s at the coffee shop downtown every morning at 7:00 a.m. He’s a farm boy who grew up during the Great Depression, and he knows how to make anything out of nothing. And when you should do it, too. Which was, in this case, a long time — filled with agony and frustration (and lotsa chickens) — ago. Dad explained patiently to me, as if he had already thought it all through several times and was just waiting for my piteous cry for help (which he probably had, and was) just exactly what I needed to do.

Amy’s chickens are now safe from predators as long as they stay inside the Safety Chicken Fence Extension Extraordinaire (or SCFEE for short).

And we did it. Here’s the simple solution that Dad presented to us. After months of numerous fox-proofing, and ineffective strategies, of course, my dad’s solution was the one that did the trick. This is what we did: we built a simple extension onto our already existing chicken yard fence, which effectively made the fence eight feet tall instead of four feet tall. The chickens don’t fly over it, the fox doesn’t eat them, and so we came to the end of our problems with Mr. Fox. (We still let the chickens out for free-ranging, naturally, but on our timetable, not theirs, and certainly not the fox’s.)

It takes me a while to learn a hard lesson, but once it’s learned, I don’t forget it. Next time, I won’t Google, and I won’t fret or lose sleep. I’ll reach for the phone and I call my dad. I’ll ask him first.

Amy Young Miller is a freelance artist and writer who lives in Nebraska with her forbearing husband, six children, and way too many chickens. She has been published in NebraskaLife and The Milford Free Press.

Originally published in the October/November 2010 issue of Backyard Poultry magazine.

I like Chickens, Sadly, So Does Mr. Fox! was originally posted by All About Chickens