#what better than bait chicken waiting on the floor for you when youre allowed to go grab it

[khayr]

she is looking at the camera, but thinking about the chicken on the ground next to me

[icedmetaltea]

do you still write in general or have all your works been removed from ao3 and halted?? I just found An Eye for an Eye and I maybe horribly obsessed with it hahah

I still write from time to time but for myself or random fandoms that I don't share on here- the ones I have shared for this fandom have been orphaned but can still be accessed here but if u found that I'm assuming u know that lol

Writing these days just makes me feel horrifically self-conscious so if I do share I like doing so on accounts where nobody knows me and I have no expectations to live up to ya feel? ; u ;

Here is a lil doodle and a jealousy snippet I was gonna write at some point if it helps ya feel better *patpat*

(Set at some point in the future, Y/n's gotten enough trust to be allowed in Eclipse's enclosure without supervision and so Kai's joining them to scope the place out + do some plotting since it's too loud for mics to pick anything up above the ambience of water and ironically it's safer for them to talk in here than anywhere else in the facility lol... also it's been so long since I wrote the fic I can't remember if Eclipse is blind or not so let's assume so)

"Wait up!" you barked, running up behind the man so fast you nearly ran into him headfirst as the doors automatically closed behind the two of you.

"Watch it, will you? And I'm working on a tight schedule here, okay? Not all of us are coddled by staff..."

"Coddled?! I'm given the lofty privilege of being used as live bait and you-"

"So this is what it looks like, huh? I haven't been in here for a while." He gave a whistle, turning to you briefly before walking further into the room. You followed close behind him, holding back your boiling temper for the time being. "Last time I was here, the water was filled with algae and god knows what else."

You shrugged. "Yeah. I guess... It helps now that I clean Eclipse regularly. The rest of staff was too chicken to so much as touch it."

"I still can't believe you do that." He wandered closer to the edge of the water, staring down into the dark abyss. Far down, the mer began to rouse from its usual afternoon slumber, scintillations dancing deep below as it slowly moved. "And I can't believe all you've managed to lose so far is an eyeball. You have all your limbs intact, as far as I can tell."

"It was scary at first, sure, but then I realized it was literally just a big fish I was dealing with. One that ruined my albeit shitty life. I was getting money out of the deal, so..."

You kicked your foot absentmindedly, watching the dark outline ripple through the water, approaching the surface.

"It's all bark and no bite."

As if on cue, the surface tension broke as the mer surfaced, the water rippling and floor shaking with the force of its purr. The sound was cut short, though, its head tilting in curiosity as its fake smile stared at the two of you.

"Are you sure about that...?"

The second it heard Kai's voice, the flat side of its face slanted upwards so its teeth were on display, pulling up into a snarl. A low growl rumbled through the floor and up into your legs, making you wobble slightly.

"Hey, what the hell?!" you were quick to say, throwing up your hands in disbelief. "You choose now to throw a tantrum??"

Its tongue flicked out in what you now knew was its own weird way of sniffing the air, and soon after the sound of its growling grew louder.

"Shit!" Kai hissed, "Didn't you say this was safe?"

"Of course it's safe! Hey slimebrain, will you shut up?!" You took a few confident steps forward and punched a hand over one of its tendrils. It relaxed at the contact, a tiny purr mixing in with its incessant snarling. "You're makin' a big idiot of yourself in front of my... acquaintance."

"Oh, so that's the title you're giving me?" He regretted opening his mouth, as the next second Eclipse lurched towards him, snapping its teeth worryingly close to his face. You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw it hadn't ripped the flesh off his nose or something. Yet, anyways.

"Okay, okay!!!" You jumped in front of him, tripping and landing on your ass, but at least it made the mer stop moving. "What's gotten into you? You've been behaving well the past couple of months and you chose today to get all pissy? Honestly..."

Eclipse made something akin to a huffing sound, then unlatched its jaw just enough to grasp the back of your collar. It dragged you, flailing the entire way, away from Kai, only stopping when half your body was submerged in water.

As soon as you opened your mouth to in protest, it the large, flat underside of its jaw hovered over you, blanketing you in shadow. One set of its hands came to hold you in place, ignoring your cries of anger as it continued to growl.

"Okay, I'm just gonna... go..." Kai finally said, a tremble in his voice as his footsteps became more and more distant till the sound of the doors opening and closing made you realize he'd left.

"That pussy..." you spat beneath your breath, though you were much more angry at the mer than him. "You!! You ruin everything!"

As soon as the man was gone, Eclipse's mood seemed to flip like a switch, growls bleeding into those grating attempts at chirps and purrs it never quite seemed to translate into something that didn't sound like a dying whale.

It was proud, perhaps even gloating, you realized as it turned its head completely around to peer down at you with a false grin. Water dripped down on you, and you also realized your freshly-laundered clothes were now sopping wet.

[thefanficmonster]

Our Sunrise

Vince x Tanya (The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope)

Warnings: None

Genre: Romance

Summary: Homes - to some a place of safety, security, warmth and love; to others they pose as the source of their dread. They are suffocating with each day spent within the house’s walls, surrounded by family they can barely stand. In those cases, there’s really only one option to turn to.

Requested: No

It was her idea. She wanted this. He saw the tears in her eyes though, something in her couldn’t bare the thought of leaving her family behind after all. Blood is thicker than water, as they say. But the thought is troubling him, refusing to leave his mind.

“If you could just agree...we wouldn’t still be here, Vince“

Her words rang throughout his head, refusing to let him get any shuteye. 

“There will never be a right moment if you keep thinking about it. Just decide a moment and it will be the right one.“

She’s always had a way of getting under his skin - a look, a smile and he would be hooked. What she does to him can only be described as witchcraft. She’s got him under her spell, and he’s not too keen on breaking free from it.

“Every couple has its sunrise and sunset“ She told him once “The joy of the first big step and the joy of its aftermath.“

He didn’t think much of it - he has become to her mind being overtaken by the books of poetry she reads, it’s nothing new - but for some reason that one quote stuck with him. It bugged him later that night, a part of him refusing to let it go. A small flame of wanting lit inside him - the wanting of that first bid step, the sunrise. He knew what she had meant by that...

If he’s being honest with himself, staying in Little Hope isn’t an appealing future for him. Never was. It’s the last and least desired outcome. He has been making plans to leave and make something of himself since he was in his early teenage years. He never saw how he could become something more here, in this small, suffocating town.

He never thought he’d leave before saving up a good amount of money yet here he is now, behind the wheel of his car, his belongings stuffed in suitcases in the trunk on his way to pick up the love of his life from her home so they could count the last seconds of being in this town together. Meanwhile, neither of them have much to rely on - not money, not connections. They’ll only have each other.

That is, of course, if she goes through with the plan she initiated. She planted the seed of the intrusive thought in his mind.

Running away.

It wasn’t even an option prior to her mentioning it. He wasn’t that desperate to leave. Not that he’d be running away from anything or anyone - he doesn’t have anything or anyone. To him it will be rather simple, consider it moving. All he has is going with him anyway. He’s not leaving anything behind, no real family, no memories - the ones that matter are coming along. Such as the first time he met her. Their first official date. The day he met her family. He still chuckles recalling how nervous she had been when it came to him finally meeting her siblings and parents. All those memories are not tied to the place, they are tied to the person - to Tanya, the only element of importance in his life.

                                                              *  *  *

 A knock sounds from her window, a faint one, not one that’d be caused by a human’s hand tapping the glass. That’d be impossible anyway, her room is on the second floor of the Clarke house. A sound so faint, it would’ve gone by unnoticed by her if she wasn’t so focused on trying to clear her head. She had spent a long enough period of the late hours swimming in the depths of her troubling thoughts, questioning if any of them were concrete or if they belonged to her at all.

Another knock. Now she can decipher it to be a pebble hitting the glass probably as an attempt to attract her attention. She bites the bait and kicks the covers off, exposing herself to the cold - the pajamas not providing her any warmth whatsoever. She makes her way to the window, hesitantly peering outside without moving the curtains that are thin enough to allow her a peek while conserving her privacy. A wave of relief washes over her at the sight of a familiar car parked by the sidewalk and the figure of her boyfriend standing below her window. Her face lights up with a smile as she pushes the curtains aside and opens the window.

“Good evening.“ He greets her formally, taking a small bow

“A lot better now.“ She replies, resting her elbows on the windowsill, “It’s 2 AM you know?“

His eyes widen with fake shock, “Wait, what? Really? No way!“ Despite their voice being hushed whispers, due to the deafening silence around them, the words are transmitted easily and understandably.

Tanya rolls her eyes playfully, “To the point, please.”

Vince chuckles, motioning to his car that’s parked a further ways down the road from where he usually parks. “You said there’d never be a right moment until I chose one and made it right. So, I did. And don’t tell me I packed my stuff for nothing.”

She is stunned, unable to speak or do anything except look at him for a few moments, contemplating how to react. She’s torn between believing him and the thought of it being a ruse. She doesn’t want to fall for it if it’s the latter.

“Quit messing with me, Vince. Why are you really here?“ She finally settles on saying something along the annoyed lines, hiding the pang of adrenalin that has hit her at the thought of him being serious.

He stands his ground, the smirk still playing at his lips, “I know better thank to joke about something so serious, Tanya. Question is...” he raises an eyebrow at her, “...are you still serious about it?”

Holy shit, he means it. He’s serious.

We’re leaving this hellhole. We’re never coming back. There’ll be a sunrise for us after all.

A sunrise - she never realized how much she wanted one until now that she’s so close to having it. The first big decision: leaving Little Hope.

“Are you gonna pack or are you gonna give me a return ticket?“ Vince’s voice snaps her out of her spiraling thoughts of joy and excitement, reminding her that her future depends on what she’s about to say next. She can go through with it or chicken out. She can’t even see the second as an option.

“Give me fifteen minutes.“ She says, for a moment forgetting to keep her voice down, “Don’t change your mind in the meantime!“ she warns him with a serious frown.

He raises his hands in the air as if surrendering and nods, giving her the closure she needs to step away from the window and get to the task of sweeping all her belongings of importance in a suitcase.  Clothes, money, toiletries, etc. She moves around the room, going from the wardrobe to the dresser than to the desks where she stops when her hand automatically reaches for a picture of her and Megan she has next to her reading lamp. She mentally scolds herself for wanting to take all the photos she has with her family - A picture of her, Anthony and Dennis when they were in their pre-teen ages of eight, ten and twelve. A picture of Meghan when she was three, taken soon after she was brought in the family. A picture with Anne on her graduation. And a picture of all of them together - all genuinely happy. She remembers that day well, it sticks out in her memory because of how well behaved everyone was. James was sober. Dennis wasn’t trying to pick fights with her. She was nice to him for a change. This picture was Anthony’s idea of a gift for Anne’s birthday, an idea all siblings happily agreed to.

All these pictures are meaningful to her. She can say whatever she’d like about her family but she knows damn well that they matter to her no matter what they do. But she also knows she’ll love them more at a distance, sticking by them would inevitably make her despise them and she would much rather leave than start hating her own family.

Ignoring the scolding voice telling her not to bring any memories with her, she grabs all the pictures and carefully places them between the clothes in her suitcase to avoid damaging them. She zips it up with a heavy sigh. 

It feels insignificant, like she didn’t just back the majority of her life and identity in a suitcase as if she’s not about to leave the rest of it behind, heading into the unknown. She tries not to dwell on that though, forcing herself to stand up and lift the suitcase and get it over with before she talks herself out of it.

Going down the stairs, she repeats to herself she’s doing the right thing for herself. The best thing she could do at the moment. It’s only now that she realizes how hard it is for her to be convinced, but she shakes that thought away.

“Hey.“ She nearly trips on the second to last step when she hears a voice. Tanya stops dead in her tracks, looking down the dark hallway, straining her eyes to see the most they can with no light source other than the little light seeping in from the outside. She finally manages to catch glimpse of the outline of a head peering at her from the doorway to the living room. Once spotted, the body the head’s attached to emerges from the doorway, stepping out in the hall. It’s Megan.

“Megan, what are you doing up so late?“ She narrows her eyes to see her little sister better in the dark, all the while making hopeless attempts to hide the suitcase behind her.

“Where are you going?“ The eleven-year-old girl ignores Tanya’s question, tilting her head to the side while asking one of her own.

“Nowhere. Now go back to bed.“ She says with the strictest tone she can muster though it sounds more like a plea than an order.

Another silhouette comes through the living room doorway, taking a stand next to Megan. “Then what’s that suitcase for?” It���s Anthony. “Be honest, Tanya.”

Even if she could’ve fooled Megan, there’s no way she could lie to Anthony. She’s the closest with him, after all. And she doesn’t know this, but he always had a sneaking suspicion she’d leave. He always knew he’d be helping her pack her bags too. He wants her to be happy and he’s certain she’d do the same for him, knowing it’s what would bring him joy in life.

“I saw Vince outside.“ Anthony takes a step forward, encouraging her to take one as well, “Well, Megan did and she woke me up.”

“I’m sorry...” Tanya mumbles automatically, not really sure what she’s apologizing for.

“Don’t be.” Anthony tells her reassuringly, “It’s what’s best for you. Just....call often, ok?”

Her heart sinks a tiny bit under the weight of his words, tears pricking her eyes. She blinks them away though. “Ok, yeah. I will, I promise.“ She puts the suitcase down pulling her brother in a tight embrace which he returns. Pulling away, she feels arms wrapping around her hips. A look down confirms that it’s Megan. She’s not the hugger type, so this is quite odd, but sweet nonetheless.

Tanya kneels down, giving Megan a proper hug. “Do you have to go?” She hears the little girl whisper hesitantly.

Anthony opens his mouth to say something but the older sister gives him a dismissive wave, “Yes, I’m sorry but I do. But I’ll come back.” She pulls away, holding her little sister gently by the shoulders.

“When?“ the girl persists, her gaze unmoving from Tanya’s eyes. She desperately want to look at Anthony for help but she’s aware this is a battle she needs to carry out on her own.

“Soon.“ She settles on saying indecisively, “And when I do I’ll take you with me. Sounds good?“

To Tanya’s relief Megan nods with a small smile, giving her another hug.

“This is a bizarre-ass family gathering.“ The voice comes from behind them, on the staircase, pulling all their gazes in that direction, “And that’s a large-ass suitcase, Tanya.“

The three siblings are left staring at Dennis speechless. None of them dares speak up, uncertain of what they could even say.

Dennis saves them the trouble, “I saw Vince’s car. He hasn’t parked it as subtly as he thinks he has.“ He chuckles, “You’re going somewhere, huh?“ Tanya nods hesitantly, staying wary of his reaction. “For how long?”

Silence again. Luckily for them, that’s all the answer Dennis needs, “I get it. Ok. Um...” He ponders what to say next, going down the two remaining steps, “I’ll miss having someone to argue with...”

Tanya almost sighs in relief, “You have the four other people, you won’t even notice I’m gone.“

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. Um....“ He seems torn, confused and downright baffled with himself. He doesn’t know why he feels so down to see Tanya leave, he just does. So, for once, he acts on instinct and does something really out of character. He opens his arms for a hug. “Come here.“

Although surprised, Tanya’s more than happy to oblige. It’s the first time they’ve hugged. Her heart aches a tiny bit at the thought of it being their last too.

It doesn’t take long for Dennis to go back to being Dennis, “Now get out of my fucking house.”

She pulls away from him, returning his smile before picking up the suitcase and taking bold steps to close the distance between her and the front door. She stops with her hand on the doorknob, debating weather to turn around and say ‘goodbye’. She decides against it, deeming it too...final? Too much like an ending for her liking. This is a chapter left unfinished but not closed. She just needs to open a new one before finishing this one. So no, a ‘goodbye’ isn’t fitting.

She steps out in the chill of the air, feeling it caress her face as her eyes meet Vince’s. With a brisk pace she crosses the space separating them, dropping the suitcase to give him a hug while on the brink of tearing up.

“Goodbyes are tough. I get it.“ He reassures her in a soft voice, his hand gently smoothing her hair.

“There were no goodbyes.“ She sniffs, “Didn’t make it any less tough though.“

Placing the suitcase in the car’s trunk and settling in the passenger seat, next to Vince, feels so natural yet so new at the same time. Like a breath of fresh air, a breath of hope promising something better ahead. A brighter future. Vince’s firm hold on her hand just strengthens her eagerness to see what that future looks like.

To see what kind of sunset this sunrise will lead them to.

@artlovingbre  @sparrow-gg  @megandaisy9  @chairtiger

[notalwaysthevillian]

Parent Trapped

Warnings: Anxiety attack, food mention, arguing

Pairings: Eventual Romantic Remile, platonic LAMP

Word Count: ~2k

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Masterlist

Chapter 3: Dinner

Patton found Virgil outside, hidden against the wall behind a few bushes. He didn’t say a word, just sitting next to his brother and tapping his toes in a 4-7-8 rhythm on the ground. He waited, knowing it was better to let Virgil talk first.

“I do want to sleep over.” Virgil said, his voice sounding a little rough. “But there’s so many what ifs, and...I don’t want to chicken out. Not like last time.”

“I don’t think Roman or Logan would care if you chickened out.” Patton said, squeezing his brother’s hand. “They aren’t like...they aren’t like the kids at our old school.”

“You don’t know that.”

Patton took in a deep breath, hearing Virgil do the same. “I don’t. But what I do know is that they’re certainly a lot nicer than those kids. And that’s already a big improvement.”

“Yeah.”

The two sat in silence for a moment, the gears turning in Patton’s head. A lightbulb went off and he jumped to his feet. “I know! What if we have dinner at their place first? We can even bring Dad, I’m sure he’d want to meet their dad. And then you can see what their house is like.”

“That’s a really good idea.” Standing up, Virgil stretched. Patton winced at the pops that came from his spine. “I should probably go tell them why I took off like I did.”

“No need.”

Virgil jumped at the voice, moving behind Patton instinctively.

Roman bit his lip. “Sorry. But you don’t need to explain. Not if you don’t want to.”

“How much of that did you hear?” Virgil asked, a slight edge to his voice.

“Just the last bit, about you telling us.” Logan said. “I have a few theories, but any of them could be correct.”

“I have anxiety!” Virgil blurted out, closing his eyes. He braced himself for the teasing that would follow.

“Theory number one then.”

Virgil opened his eyes to see Roman push his hair back. “If you’re too anxious to spend the night, we get it. Especially with everything that’s changed recently for you guys. New house, new school, new friends.”

“You...you’re not going to make fun of me?” Virgil asked, mentally cursing himself when he heard the waver in his voice.

Logan blinked at him. “Why would we do that? Anxiety disorders are coming out more and more in today’s teenagers because of various stressors. You’re certainly not the only one to have anxiety in the school.”

Virgil bit back a laugh. Logan definitely didn’t do comfort like Patton, but he did it in his own way. And knowing the facts - that he wasn’t alone - really did help.

“Do you think maybe instead of a sleepover, we can do dinner instead?” Patton asked. “It would help Virgil if he’d at least been to your house before.”

Before Patton was fully done speaking, Roman already had his phone out and was texting. “Dad should be fine with - okay, he already texted me back. He’s cool with it.”

“Can we bring our dad?” Virgil bit his lip. “If that’s not okay -”

Ding! “Dad says it’s okay.”

“Great!”

The bell rang and the four of them headed off to their classes. Roman and Patton walked off together, heading for the gym.

“How long has he had anxiety?” Roman kept his voice low. He knew that it was a sensitive topic and he didn’t want anyone else to hear and go bully Virgil. Not that he would let that happen.

Patton sighed as they walked. “Ever since we were kids. It was hard for Dad when we were growing up. Virgil has always been timid. And Dad had to send us to daycare when we were little, so you can imagine how stressful it was for him. And middle school was...hard.”

Roman looked at Patton, hoping he’d elaborate. But Patton’s lips remained zipped tight on what might have happened during their middle school years.

Putting a hand on Patton’s shoulder, Roman gave him a smile. “Nobody will bully him here. Not if I can help it.”

“Thanks, Ro.”

The nickname through Roman off guard for a moment, but he recovered quickly enough. “Ro. I like that.”

Soon enough, school was over. The twins headed home, waving to the Sanders’ as they got into their dad’s car.

“I’m glad you made friends.” Emile said, also waving at the boys.

Virgil nudged Patton, looking toward the front seat. “Dad! Ro and Logan invited us to a sleepover tonight, but Virgil was anxious about it, so instead we’re having dinner at their house and you’re invited.”

“Okay, let me see if I heard you right.” Emile said after Patton stopped to breathe. “Your friends invited you to their house for a sleepover. Virgil panicked because he doesn’t know them very well. Now you’re having dinner instead and I’m going too?”

“Yep!”

“Alright!” Emile laughed. “That’s for the best, I didn’t exactly have a dinner plan.”

As soon as they got home, Virgil darted up to his room. Patton exchanged a glance with Emile before following.

“V?”

Virgil was tearing through his closet, throwing most of his clothes on the floor. “What do I wear to this? I want their dad to like me, what if he doesn’t like me?”

Patton put a hand on Virgil’s back, putting just enough pressure. “Virgil, take a deep breath for me.”

Virgil did as Patton asked, Patton feeling his body move as he breathed in and out.

“I know you want to make a good impression, but you also want to be you.” Patton explained, pulling a black hoodie off a hanger and handing it over. “Wear what you would normally wear. If their dad is anything like them, he’ll like you for you.”

Virgil nodded, slipping his hoodie on. “You’re right.”

“I know.”

Rolling his eyes, Virgil started shoving Patton out of his room. Laughing, Patton took the hint and left, letting Virgil shut and lock the door behind him.

At five thirty on the dot, the Picanis pulled into the Sanders’ driveway. Virgil was half hiding in his hoodie, his headphones slid down around his neck. Patton tapped him on the shoulder and crossed his eyes, getting a laugh out of the darker twin.

Emile headed up the porch and knocked on the door. After a moment, the door opened and Emile let out a gasp.

“You! I saw you at the grocery store a few days ago.”

Flipping up his sunglasses, Mr. Sanders smirked. “Oh yeah. You’re the one who let me in front of you.”

“Let - nevermind.” Emile held out his hand, hearing his boys walk up behind him. “I’m Emile Picani, and these are my sons Virgil and Patton.”

“Remy. This is Roman and that’s Logan.” Remy said, pointing to each son. A loud beeping started in the kitchen, causing him to curse and dart off.

Patton and Emile gasped at the language. Virgil brushed past them into the house, heading off with Logan to see his room.

“Oh! Yeah, Pat come see my room!” Roman grabbed Patton’s hand and dragged him down the hall.

Emile followed to where Remy had disappeared, listening to the smoke alarm and following the incessant beeping. While Remy grabbed something out of the oven, Emile opened up a window and turned on the stove hood.

“Thanks.” Remy said, dropping the tray on trivet.

Emile wasn’t quite sure what was on the tray at first. He couldn’t really see it through the smoke. Waving his hand and the smoke away, he was able to see that it was a pizza. Or, what was meant to be a pizza.

“Shit.”

“You shouldn’t use that language around your kids.” Emile said, biting his tongue immediately. “Sorry, I shouldn’t tell you how to parent.”

“You shouldn’t.” There was no malice in Remy’s voice, but there was a flash of something in his eyes. “Two things, Babes. They’re not in the room, and I’m sure they hear that language at school anyway. You can’t smother them.”

“I don’t -” Emile started to snap, before he took a deep breath. “Nevermind.”

Leaning against the counter, Remy pulled out his phone. “Guess we’re ordering pizza instead. Any qualms about that?”

Emile bit his tongue. There was something about this guy that got under his skin, but he was going to be the bigger man and not rise to the bait.

The smirk on Remy’s face revealed that he knew exactly what he was doing. “Do you know your kids favorite types of pizza?”

“Pepperoni and sausage.”

“Got it.” Remy waited for a moment before Emile heard someone answer the phone. “Hey Nellie, it’s Rem. Yeah, our usual plus one pepperoni and one sausage. Send Gerald if you can, he hasn’t seen the boys for a while. Thanks, Babes. Bye.”

“They know you well I assume?” Emile gestured to the no longer smoking husk of a pizza on the counter.

“I may not be able to cook, but I do try.” Remy slid his phone into his back pocket, leaning his arms on the island. “Let me guess, Mr. Perfect, you can cook any recipe you lay your eyes on and it always turns out well?”

“Wow, you guys are getting along great.”

The dads jumped at the voice, turning to find all of their kids standing in the entry to the kitchen. Logan stood in the front, raising an eyebrow. Virgil was practically plastered to Patton’s back, worry clear in his eyes.

“Why don’t you guys set up a movie in the living room?” Remy asked, looking at Logan. “Em and I are going to talk through this.”

“Dad’s great at that! He’s a therapist.” Patton chimed in, before he was whisked away with the other boys.

“A therapist.”

Emile let out a sigh. “Okay, it’s clear that our parenting styles are very different. But we shouldn’t allow that to get in the way of our kids being friends.”

“Agreed.” Remy glanced at the doorway for a second, before dropping his voice. “Virgil looked really upset. What’s going on there?”

“He has really bad anxiety.” Emile rubbed at his eyes, allowing his mask to drop for a moment. “He’s terrified to take meds for it so the poor kid just lives with it.”

“Crunch ‘em up, throw them in his food.” The horrified look Emile gave him had Remy backtracking immediately. “Right. Different styles. Uh, maybe explain how it would be good for him? He’s probably freaked out about the bad things they’ll do to him.”

Before Emile could respond, there was a chorus of “DAD!” from the living room. They laughed before heading to their kids.

Once the movie was turned on, Emile couldn’t help but notice how their kids interacted with each other. Roman and Virgil quietly bickered over the meanings of The Little Mermaid. Patton kept them from fighting too much. And Logan backed up both sides of the argument with facts.

By the end of the movie, Virgil was sitting by himself in an armchair, done with physical touch for the day. Patton was used to it and left him alone. But even though Roman and Logan didn’t know much about Virgil’s problems, they let him be.

As the credits rolled, Virgil and Patton headed out to the car. Roman and Logan cleaned up the kitchen, leaving the adults in the foyer.

“They’re so good with each other.” Emile said as he slipped on his shoes.

“It’s the first time in a while that Logan has brought home a friend.” Remy said, watching his boys clean up from where he was standing. “One that he actually likes.”

Emile stood, holding out a hand. “We need to be civil. For them.”

Remy shook his hand. “Agreed.”

[loubuggins]

She’s probably feeling better now, but when @nightglider124 said she was feeling under the weather, this little drabble popped in my head. Which is a first for me, as I don’t think I have ever been inspired to write anything RobStar lol. So forgive me if they aren’t perfectly in character! Anyway, I hope you like this Night and I hope you are feeling better!

Human Soup of Sickness

*~*~*

“Ahh...ahhh...chew!”

Even standing outside the door, Robin could easily hear the high pitch sneeze that came from inside a very familiar bedroom. The sound reminded him of a mouse’s squeak and that thought made his lips turn up into a small smile. Looking up at the door, he paused to listen for the voice that made his stomach jump to his throat every time he heard it. The person on the other side released a long, agonizing moan and suddenly any adorable qualities he had associated with her current state were replaced with worries.

He gripped the handle to the oversized mug in his hand and took a deep breath over the intoxicating aroma of chicken and broth that rose from the steaming bowl. His stomach growled at the smell, yearning for a taste, but he shook the treacherous idea out of his head. He would eat later. Right now, she was his first priority, even if that realization made him blush and made his body all sweaty with nerves.

Finally regaining his confidence, he lifted his gloved hand to the door while carefully balancing the cup of soup in his other. After just a quick knock, he heard her voice call through the door.

“Come in!”

Though she had raised it to ensure he would hear, it still came out strained and forced. Very unlike her normally whimsical demeanor. Robin pushed a button on the side of the door and watched it slide open to allow him entrance inside. Her bedroom was still pink as ever, with girly decorations hung all over the walls and furniture. She also had an assortment of random Earth objects that she proudly kept as souvenirs. What was strange, however, were the piles of tissues that covered her bed and slid down to the floor.

“Star?” He questioned with a look that made his mask wrinkle. He looked pointly at the mountain of soiled tissues as they shook and rolled off the bed like an avalanche. Eventually, he saw his very tired and sick friend rise from the pile she had created. Her usual glowing emerald eyes were dulled and a pink tinge outlined the corners of her eyes and puffy nose. Even in her dire state, he still felt his breath hitch in his throat at the natural beauty and soft innocence that radiated off her so easily. Her long and wild rose-pink locks were matted and sticky from sweat and she wore only a nightgown instead of her usual armored uniform. Yet she still managed to flash him a warm smile.

“Greetings, Friend Robin. I apologize for my current unhealthiness. I am beginning to think this is a human disease, for the symptoms have become more severe than as Friend Beast Boy called, a ‘Tamerian Flu.’”

Her voice was still as horse as when she welcomed him in, but she spoke as if everything was normal. It was true that when she had first mentioned she felt under the weather, she had assumed it was a Tamerian version of what they all knew to be the common cold. According to her, the “Tamerian Flu” only lasted for a few days and would not affect her daily responsibilities. All of them had been hesitant to believe her, but the warrior princess was not one to argue with. Still feeling worried when she missed a training session for the first time since they became a team, Robin had decided the sick girl could use a pick me up, and although it was a remedy for human illnesses, he assumed a bowl of warm chicken noodle soup would still feel good going down her throat.

He was still very anxious though, for he had never had to care for another person like this before, especially not a person of the opposite sex. He had depended on his memories of Alfred, his family’s butler, and used those memories to mimic what Alfred would do for him whenever he was not feeling well. That’s what gave him the idea for the soup.

His eyes drifted back to the sea of tissues covering her bed and he fought back the urge to grimace at the contaminating mess. “I’m starting to think so too.” He replied as he stepped closer to her and extended the deep mug in his hands. “I made you some soup. It should help.”

The princess peered at the foreign substance inside the bowl, then glanced up to meet the boy’s eyes that were hidden behind his mask. “Please, what is soup?” She inquired in a hushed, raspy voice.

“It’s uh…” Robin started, but he found it difficult to explain something he just inherently understood. One of the girl’s many quirks was her limited knowledge about human customs. It did, however, forced him to think about seemingly mundane things in a new light, and he welcomed the challenge of seeing things in a different perspective. It was a necessary skill to have in his line of work.

“It pieces of chicken and noodles mixed together in a broth. At this kind is. It’s meant to be warm and easy to eat. Perfect food for when you have a cold.”

She tilted her head like a confused puppy, so Robin took that as his cue to clarify. “A cold as in the human virus, not the weather.”

Her eye light up in understanding and she carefully took the bowl out of his hands and brought it to her lips. She took a deep breath over the thick, brown liquid and a relieved smile appeared on her face. “This smells delightful. Thank you for the Human Soup of Sickness.” She graciously nodded her head as she used one hand to pick up the spoon in the bowl and scooped up a blend of the contents in her meal.

The boy wonder tried his best to stifle his laughter at the phrase she used to describe his offering. “You’re welcome, Star.” He paused for a moment as she brought a spoonful of chicken and noodles to her opened mouth and took a tentative taste. He waited with baited breath for her reaction. Her jade eye widened and he heard a satisfied moan escape her lips.

“This is how you say, quite yummy!”

Robin beamed at her declaration and he stood just a bit straighter, taking pride in her praise. “I’m glad you like it Star. Is there anything else I can get you?”

She took in another spoonful of her soup, before answering him with a nod. “I am in need of some more soft paper.”

“Soft paper?” He muttered to himself as the gears in his head worked out what she had meant. “Oh, tissues! Yeah no problem. I’ll have to run into town to get some though, so it may take a bit.”

She gave another nod of head, a grateful smile on her face. “That is fine. I am appreciative of your kindness, friend.”

The fearless leader felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment and he nervously scratched the back of his head. “Of-a...of course. Happy to help!”

He had spent years training under the most stoic and vigilant detective of all time, and yet here he was reverting right back to his old nervous habits. How was she able to shake him up so badly that he forgot how to contain himself? What was it about this girl that made him act like a teenage boy with a high school crush?

“Can I, uh, get you some medicine or something? Would our medicine work on you?”

The girl responded with a shrug. “Truthfully, I do not know, but I suppose it is worth the shot?”

Robin smirked at her phrasing, but simply nodded his head. “Alright, then I’ll go pick up some tissues and some cold medicine. Until then, enjoy the soup and if you need anything, the rest of the team will be here to help.”

As the boy began to take his leave, the sound of her small voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Friend Robin?”

He looked over his shoulder and met her gaze. The mood in the room had shifted and judging by her crestfallen face and slumped shoulders, he suspected it had changed for the worst. “Yeah, Star?”

The princess dropped her gaze and stared into the soup bowl still in her hands. As innocent as she normally sounded, he had still never viewed her as weak or small. Everything about her was strong and magnificent. She was a force to be reckoned with, and she was always so full of life. It reminded him of her namesake. Nothing burned brighter than the fires of a star. Yet sitting before him, eyes distant and head lowered, she looked like an entirely different person. “I apologize for my current condition. My illness has hindered my ability to contribute to our team.”

Though her voice was strained due to illness, he knew the sorrow laced in it came naturally. He felt a sudden tightness in his chest and an urge to reach out to her, take her in his arms and do whatever it would take to bring back her cheerful smile. Instead, he gave her a sincere grin and spoke with an unusual softness in his voice.

“Hey, you don’t have to apologize for being sick. No one can control that. All you can do is focus on getting better, okay?” To add to his point he flashed her a reassuring smile.

The alien princess felt her cheeks heat up, but she knew it was not from her fever.

“I will do whatever it takes to combat this plague and I swear to be victorious in my battle.” She spoke confidently as she sat up a little straighter. He admired her tediousness, even with something as minor as a common cold.

“Alright Star, but uh, you know you can’t physically fight a virus right? It’s a microorganism that -“

“I know, Friend Robin. I was being the facetious.”

He smirked at his friend’s knowing look and realized that for all her innocence, she certainly picked up on things fast. Without another word, the boy wonder left the room, his cape billowing out behind him. It was the last thing she saw before the large metal door closed shut, leaving her alone once more. But despite being by herself in her room, she still felt oddly better than she had before. Perhaps it was just the soup.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Tamlin stared down at the letter in his hand. He had been staring at it for a long time. The servants he could hear, whispering and hushed, out in the hall. Their masks may have blanked much of their expressions, but their eyes gave enough away, didn't they? It was almost over. Tamlin's own mask did not move; neither of them did, either the one affixed to his face, or the face itself. Grief at Feyre's death still beat dully within him and he wondered if he really had come to love a mortal so much, so fast.

There were two men who stood before him. One wore his foxlike mask easily, for all that Tamlin knew he would have clawed it off and taken half his skin with it, if it would have worked. The other, unmasked, smiled easily, dark wings folded behind him.

She dumped a winged man over our border to die, and you didn't even care. Were you the one who tore them off, at her command? Did you wonder what it would feel like, if done to you?

The letter had his nightmares written into every line, but… there was something else here. Something that would save his servants, save Lucien, save the Spring Court. He could not let them be taken as Amarantha's slaves. Tamlin knew the stories of how the Queen Under the Mountain treated slaves.

"Well?" Rhysand drawled the word out, turning one syllable into two, into three. "You have to admit the offer is generous. You lost the human woman, and still she offers to set your Court free if you come to her willingly. You could hardly have asked for a better outcome." Rhysand shrugged one shoulder slowly, a gesture Tamlin loathed. "The Spring Court answers to her, of course, but you see she's even given you leave to name a Regent."

"I'm surprised she gave so much slack to your leash," Tamlin snapped, eyes narrowed. "To come so far, and it's not even Calanmai. I thought you weren't allowed outside any longer. After you refused to kill Feyre."

Rhysand did not rise to the bait, but a pulsing swallow in his throat told Tamlin his aim had been true. "Her Majesty thought I made a fitting emissary today, since you will soon replace me."

Tamlin's eyes drifted back to the letter. She must have written it herself; the script was elegant and beautiful and yet there were jagged, dangerous edges to the swirling calligraphy. Amarantha, who pretended at a royal bearing but never quite had the patience for follow-through. Amarantha, summoning her new pet home. With the death of Feyre, all his hopes were gone. Even if Rhysand had refused, Amarantha herself had never even hesitated. She'd torn Feyre apart.

Tamlin shook himself all over, trying to calm his mind. Lucien could keep order, until things were settled. The Spring Court would not be left unattended, although even now he could see darkness pooling at the edges of the woods, hear the songs of the trees become muted and mournful.

It was over.

"I… accept Amarantha's offer of mercy for my Court. Give her my thanks," Tamlin said through gritted teeth." I will appear before her tonight, of my own will. I understand that the deal is done."

At first, Rhysand did not move, only raised one eyebrow. Lucien stepped up, effortlessly putting himself between Rhysand and Tamlin, fixing his good eye on Rhysand as his metal eye whirred, just barely audible. "The deal is done, Rhysand. If Amarantha finds this… generosity in her heart, my Lord will honor it."

"Can't wait." Rhysand's voice was nearly a sneer, but even he had thinly-veiled relief in his tone. "I've waited a long time for this." He spun around and stalked away. There was a scramble of servants as he passed through the doorway into the outside air, and winnowed himself away. All of them battling to not be touched by the High Lord of Night's awful darkness.

Tamlin grasped for words that would not come. He raised his eyes, looking slowly all around Rosehall's beautiful walls. Thinking of the gallery he had shown her. The first few smiles that he had brought out from Feyre's face. Discovering she could not read and writing limericks for her as a kind of gift, some way to break the ice between their races. Strange, to have so much of her reflected here when he'd really hardly known her at all. "Lucien. You will act as High Lord in my stead? I am… not sure how much aid I will be able to give, Under the Mountain. I don't know how much... power she'll give you."

"Yes." Lucien did not look at him. His red hair seemed dimmed, somehow. Tamlin stood there, for a long moment, trying to come up with something to tell his Court, some message to pass on. Words had never been an easy thing for him, and neither was giving up; but Feyre was dead and with her, all the hope he'd placed his own survival on.

"You will… say something, to all of them? For me?"

"Of course, Tam. I'll come up with something moving and eloquent. Everyone will be duly impressed. You'll be written into history as a great speechgiver, in the end." The humor was bitter, and Lucien's voice trembled in a way Tamlin could not bear to hear.

"I'm going to my rooms," He muttered, and turned to leave.

Lucien cleared his throat. "Tam…"

Tamlin paused, glancing sidelong at him. Rage boiled within his chest, a helpless child's rage at a world he could not change. "She sent an outfit," Lucien said, softly, pityingly. Tamlin could feel the edge of his claws pressing against his knuckles, wanting to tear and rip and kill. Would he ever have a chance to hunt again, down in the darkness? "You are expected to wear it. When you are… presented. Do you want me to go with you?"

"No. I want you here. I want…" He trailed off, thinking of her eyes. "I want someone to be safe." Tamlin paused, his jaw working, staring down at the floor. He tried to say something more. To explain, to even begin, what Lucien's friendship had been for him.

Finally, he simply growled wordlessly, crumbled the letter into a ball and threw it to the side, and stalked away. Lucien closed his eyes, good eye and metal, as the servants outside the door collapsed into murmurs, a mix of excitement - finally, the masks would come off! - and fear that, perhaps, Amarantha might not keep her end of the bargain at all. Amarantha's mercy was famously subject to her whims.

Finally, Lucien reached down and picked up the letter, gently unfolding it, reading it himself. What he saw there made his eyes flare, just slightly, and his face blanched. He looked the direction Tamlin had gone again.

"Shit."

He took in a few deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. Then he snapped his fingers, Alis appearing as if she'd waited her whole life for the summons, staring at him. He could see tear streaks on the bark-skin of her cheeks, where they trailed out from under her mask. "Alis, I need a new robe. And a dead chicken."

Alis nodded and hurried away. Lucien swallowed.

           I have a Suriel to catch.          

The outfit was simple, his usual shirt with a baldric, although the pants were tighter than he liked. He could hardly hunt in pants like this. Well, you're the prey this time, so no worry there. Really, though, even that wasn't so bad. What bothered him was what the outfit meant. The shirt, baldric, and pants were all the same flat shade of black. Tamlin wasn't exactly vain - well, compared to the rest of the fae, he wasn't - but he knew it did not suit his skin, or hair.

What was left of his hair, anyway. What wasn't in a pile on the floor behind him.

She was dressing him like a doll, in clothes that didn't look right and hardly fit, just because she could. He'd agreed, after all, to go to her tonight. Willingly. He would kneel before the Queen. His stomach flipped and he fought to keep himself calm.

The outfit wasn't completely flat. In certain lights he could see a silvery trace of letters and patterns, like tattoos. Like Rhysand. Tamlin fought back the urge to vomit. She was really piling on the subtlety, wasn't she?

He stopped before a mirror looking himself over. He'd done what she had ordered in her letter; used a knife to cut his long hair short. A bit of blond fell just over his eyes, but the rest was as close-cropped as he could make it. He'd put on the black outfit, down to a pair of newly-made boots in a leather so expensively fine that even he had never seen anything like it. His damned mask, the emeralds making him sick in their leaflike whorls, could never hide enough. It couldn't hide his disgusted sneer at himself.

The orders in the letter had been exact, and the threat had been precisely spelled out. Do what she says to the letter, or forfeit the Spring Court to her service forever. Everyone, down to the children, would be given to her will. There had been a very… detailed threat in there about what would happen to Lucien.

           I don't think he'll need his tongue any longer, unless perhaps you beg me to leave it as a gift to you. Perhaps he could use it on you. I of course will leave him his eye, so he can watch while you-          

"For my Court," Tamlin said out loud, in something just louder than a whisper.

He straightened the way the tunic laid over his hips, frowning at himself. The black washed his skin out to nearly nothing, even with his tan from time spent outdoors. He looked like a short-haired ghost of himself, with only his green-and-gold eyes a splash of color in his expression. Exactly what she intended. An eternity so far from the sunlight… he could feel himself withering at the thought. No more spring. No woods. No hunt.

As if Rosehall itself mourned, he heard cracking somewhere above, the sound of a mournful wind shifting the foundation of this very old manor.

Go on, then. He swore he could hear the manor itself whispering. Go be Amarantha's whore. Rhysand could use the recovery time.

He snorted. There was a sound outside his door, and he paused. He could see shadows through the crack at the bottom of the doorway. Feet. It must be Lucien.

Tamlin walked over as if to open it, but paused his with his hand on the door. The two of them stood, one man on either side, in a long, drawn-out silence. Tamlin never saw it, but Lucien raised his own hand, the red-headed man standing in silence with his fingers resting on the door in exactly the same spot as Tamlin's.

Finally, the shadowy feet simply turned and walked away. He listened to the footsteps disappear down the hall, and leaned his forehead against the door.

           It was never supposed to come to this.          

"I haven't got all day," A silky voice purred behind him. Tamlin spun around to glare at Rhysand, dressed in his own finery. One raised eyebrow told him Rhysand noticed the similarity in their outfits. Where the black suited Rhys, it washed Tamlin out.

           Mirror images. We're mirror images of each other. She's not going to let Rhysand go. She wants a set. Does… does he know she won't let him go?          

"How are you here? These are my rooms! Get out!"

"Your time is up. The deal is done, and you belong to Amarantha. Now." Rhysand smiled, languidly, and his tone dropped to something softer, a lover's voice. "I can find anyone who belongs to her, wherever they are. She asked me to come and get you. Apparently she thought you might waste time if left to your own devices."

Tamlin, never one to have ready words for any occasion, only growled, the roar of the beast an echo behind the sound. Rhysand, after a moment, simply shrugged again and winnowed the both of them away.

Amarantha had spared no expense for the celebration. Spiced wine poured from huge fountains. Guests simply dipped their cups as they saw fit and drank them full nearly to the brim, laughing at the droplets that found their way down the side of the glass to splash onto the stone floor. Tables groaned under the weight of delicacies from every Court in the kingdom.

Musicians played in the corner, a series of mocking mutations of the Spring Court's favorite melodies, changed into minor keys, slower tempos. Turning sprightly into seductive, and cheerfulness into lust.

When Tamlin entered the hall, the sound of the crowd quieted. By the Cauldron, there are so many of them here to watch me fall. He ignored their stares, the whispers behind their hands at his close-cropped hair that fell just barely over his eyes, his skin seemingly paler set against his black outfit, following Rhysand like a puppy.

He ignored most of all the familiar faces he saw mingling through the crowd, the members of the Spring Court who had chosen to suck up to Amarantha, to kiss the ring. Others who had stayed here for one reason or another, but with their masks intact. How right their choices seem, compared to where I am now. The High Lords were here, no doubt at least a few happy to witness his humiliation. Perhaps not, though; it was only a reflection of their own humiliation at her hands. It was their power she was using to hold him.

Everyone would have their stories to tell soon enough, Tamlin thought. His black boots dragged as he forced himself to walk forward, Rhysand falling behind to greet a courtier here or there. His mask slipped, just slightly, and he took in a sudden breath at feeling a hiss of air touch the skin underneath.

"Almost off," Rhysand muttered from just behind him. "Play your part, Spring."

"I fucking hate you, Nightmare," Tamlin snapped, but he kept it a whisper.

"You're going to hate fucking her more," Rhysand replied, that smug smile playing on his face once again. Tamlin fought back the claws that teased at the ends of his fingertips. He could have ruined Rhysand for Amarantha forever, he thought, and never batted an eyelash. Torn his mouth to pieces so he could never smile again. Ripped him apart where it mattered most to someone like Amarantha, left Rhysand's mutilated cock in her bed. Calm, Tamlin.

"High Lord Tamlin of the Spring Court!" Amarantha cried joyfully, announcing his entrance and calling every single fae to turn and look right at him. Tamlin's face burned with shame and he froze where he stood, stone heart a hammer in his chest. Her joy was evident, her bright eyes shone. He had never seen her wicked face so radiant. Tamlin clenched his hands into fists. "Welcome to Under the Mountain, where you will now make your home, by my side."

There was a curl of thought inside his mind, a whisper that did not belong to him. You'll writhe in my bed. Tamlin flinched, and felt Rhysand put a hand on his arm.

"I should have told you she does that, here," He murmured. There was something like sympathy in his face and Tamlin snorted, disgusted at the position he'd found himself in. He had never been one to beg for pity. He should have simply slept with her when she asked. He should have been her lover, until she tired of him. None of this had to happen. He'd done it all to himself. He should have protected Feyre, sent her away in time, gone to Amarantha and tried to bargain.

He should have torn them all limb from limb, all of the fae, left Under the Mountain a bloody mess with Amarantha's corpse as its centerpiece, to turn to bone and be buried. Let the mortals find them someday, when they were brave enough to breach the wall and see why the High Fae's presence was gone. His hands twitched. There was a hint of fur standing up, sharp teeth to bare. He could feel his claws-

"I won't have you do any of that without my permission," Amarantha said from her throne, and the welcome reassurance of claws and teeth just… vanished. He struggled to recover it, but nothing happened. His heart dropped to somewhere near his knees. Amarantha watched his obvious panic with delight.

"The Court of the High Queen of Prythian recognizes Tamlin, High Lord of the Spring Court. You may approach the throne," Amarantha purred. She crooked her finger to him.

Only Rhysand's soft nudge got him to move forward, each step like a clanging bell in his mind. He went to her, standing before her throne. Her crown, with its jagged golden spikes, was a thing of hideous beauty. Jurian's bone hung at her neck, and his eye looked up at Tamlin with some strange intensity from the ring on her finger. Amarantha was beautiful, in the way that certain venomous snakes are beautiful. Her hair was in a pile of elaborate, perfect braids, immaculately pinned into a pattern that nearly made him dizzy. Those wide eyes focused intensely on his. His remaining powers were wilting here, more as he stood before her and felt her magic settling into him, into his bones and under his skin. He wondered if Rosehall would simply collapse, without a High Lord to care for it.

What could Lucien really do? It wasn't his Court, and it was a Court under Amarantha's sway, now.

The smell of her was everywhere, a cloying vanilla touched with cinnamon. A sweetness with rot underneath. He felt drunk on it, terrified by it. She stood and leaned over just a little, put her hand out, rings up. "Kneel, Lord Tamlin. You are High Lord no more."

           What am I, then?          

He hesitated, but there was an ache between his shoulders and an unseen pressure that simply compelled him helplessly downwards until his knees cracked on the stone floor. He did not flinch, to his credit. He reached out, taking her hand in his, looking up at her as he slowly kissed Jurian's eye. It twitched, under his lips, and he fought back sour bile. "I am still Lord, my Queen," was all he said, but every seething ounce of hate he felt for her was in his whisper.

Amarantha smiled at him. The love in her smile was so genuine, so carefree and pure, that she looked like someone else entirely. This woman he could have loved, might even have helped ascend the throne. She could have fooled him for decades, with a smile like that. Centuries. He understood, now, how the High Lords had been so easily deceived. Her smile softened her, made her look almost like… but it was gone, replaced by the sneer he knew so well, saw in his dreams. Nightmares. She stepped back and sat back in her throne, several feet away. "All this could have been avoided if you had come to me in the first place, accepted my love for what it was without being forced. The Court of the High Queen's Consort could have wielded great power and influence."

"You know I could not do that." Why not? He'd doomed himself and Lucien and all of them in the end.

"No," She said thoughtfully, pulling her hand back. "You couldn't, could you?" As Tamlin went to stand, she shook her head. "No. Crawl to me on your knees."

In the hush of the court, he could do nothing else. His body was no longer responding to his commands, only hers. He felt fear, an icy stab through his chest, a stone settling cold into his stomach, as he crawled on his hands and knees the last few feet to kneel before her.

Was this why Rhysand never stopped helping her along with her schemes? Was his body truly no longer his own?

"The High Queen can show mercy," She said, now loudly, a performance for her court. Representatives of each court were there, the other five High Lords in attendance, Rhysand lounging in the shadows, as well as chosen courtiers. That vanilla scent was so heavy he felt himself gasping for air. "The Spring Court is free of its curse. But stand against me and the curse will be so much worse than his." She stood, making the most of every moment, tilting her hips to one side. Tamlin chose to stare down at her feet, realizing with a start that they were bare.

"Look up," She commanded. His eyes slowly rose, to meet hers. She reached down, ruffling her hand through his hair, smiling at him with that sparkling honest genuine joy. "I win, Tamlin," She said quietly. "You should have come here 49 years ago." She touched the side of his face, and his stomach twisted with disgust and… something else.

Something darker, and shameful.

Amarantha removed his mask, easy as you please, and dropped it onto the floor with a clatter. There were answering happy cries from those members of the Spring Court present as they freed their own faces. In Rosehall, he thought, Lucien must be pulling off his own mask, stepping outside into the air. Truly feeling the breeze on his face for the first time in fifty years. For you, Lucien. For the Spring Court.

"Stand, Tamlin. Rhys, if you will." He stood as he was commanded, feeling Rhysand at his elbow again, grasping it gently. Tamlin swallowed and looked down at the ground. They were all watching. Every inch of his skin felt like it was caked in shame and slime.

"Say it, Tamlin," Amarantha commanded. "Say I won. Make it loud enough for them all to hear. Let your courtiers take that moment back to your precious Lucien. Tell them what has happened here."

Tamlin felt Rhysand slowly turning him to face the crowd, but he was somewhere else, somewhere far away, trying to get a handle on how frightened he was. He'd never been good with words. He'd been better at war, but he wouldn't see any down here. Not the kind he knew how to fight.

He thought of Feyre's flashing eyes, her beauty, of the hope he'd had that she would be the one. He thought of her broken body, of his own servants carrying it away to be tended to. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as she'd died, a mix of genuine grief at losing her and fear of what it meant for his own future. It had been his own fault, for not sending her back over the border in time. For letting Amarantha find her.

He had hesitated too long to obey. He felt the compulsion again, the ugly twist of pain between his shoulder blades, the way even his body wanted to do what she said, although his mind resisted.

"You win, Amarantha," His voice said, as if from a distance, muffled in his mind. Someone shouting down a long cave. "My time has run out. I could not meet your demands." There was laughter, from some in the crowd. Cruel, jeering laughter. The other High Lords, though, did not join in. Tamlin fought to hold his head high, and saw in Kallias, the High Lord of the Winter Court, an answering rage that made him wonder if he might still have an ally or two, after all.

"My mercy has been great, for your Court," She said smugly. "I will hold to it. The Spring Court now belongs to me, but I will let them live in a bottled land. Let Lucien play caretaker, Lord-in-waiting, whatever he fancies himself. We have quite the new world to build, my love. Take him to my chambers, Rhys, and wait for me." She turned to address the crowd. "My new paramour must wait patiently for my attention, of course. My heart is only for my Court."

The courtiers tittered and jeered and Tamlin's face was crimson. He had never felt so ashamed of himself, of his failures. He would have roared at them all, but no words came to mind. His hands hung empty at his sides. "Rhys, darling?" Amarantha's voice drawled. "You remember your first night?"

Tamlin saw Rhysand's jaw tighten, teeth gritting together. Some old pain flashed in his eyes. If he heard the scandalized whispers of the courtiers, he did not show it. His head was held high. Tamlin realized the inner strength it took for Rhysand to withstand this, day in and day out. "Yes, my Lady. I remember."

"Prepare Tamlin just the same."

Rhys bowed at the waist, his hand still on Tamlin's arm. "Come with me, Tam, or she'll order you to," He muttered. The usual sneering hostility was gone, replaced by a simple emptiness, something that echoed the empty space inside Tamlin's own mind.

Tamlin went, drifting like a boat loosened from its moorings. Only Rhysand's touch kept him moving in any particular direction. They made it to her chamber doors before Tamlin simply could go no further, shivering like a leaf. He felt a sudden sympathy with the animals he had once hunted in the wood.

He stopped in his tracks as Rhysand opened the door and gestured him in. He turned to look at him, unable to hide the panic. "I can't-"

"You have to," Rhysand said, softly. "I'm sorry for what is about to happen. Please believe that. If it's a comfort, you'll enjoy it, in the moment. She makes sure you do." That flash of pain again.

"I don't want to enjoy it," Tamlin's lips were numb. Rhysand pulled him in, and he stared around. What nightmares Tamlin had often took place in some version of this room, especially as the countdown to the curse's end had begun to weigh on him. It looked nothing like he imagined. It was beautiful in here, not nightmarish. Well-lit and with a crackling fire adding a bit of warmth. It was the sort of room he would have loved to give Feyre. Everything was finely carved, smooth and shining wood everywhere he looked. Bookshelves, a vanity with a large mirror, everything a Queen might want in her private chambers.

           Including you.          

"You don't get to not enjoy it. You don't get to control it." Rhysand was lost in some inner world. "You will have no choices to make here."

The bed was huge, and could have easily fit a half-dozen people sleeping in it or more. Silver like moonlight snaked up around the wood at each corner, to the canopy that let a filmy black veil, speckled with starlight, slightly obscure the pile of blankets and pillows within. The walls seemed to shift as he walked, patterns moving in the wallpaper, forming eyes, as though they were watching him.

"Do you sleep here?" He asked. He'd mocked Rhysand for what he was so many times. He'd never imagined he would be her whore, too. He'd always thought there would be enough time.

Feyre. I thought we had more time. I should never have kept you close to me.

"No. I have my own chambers. She doesn't usually like me to stay, after. Thank the Cauldron for that, at least."

"Will I have my own, too?" There was something to hope for. Privacy. He felt himself cling to the thought like a raft in a storm-tossed ocean. In war and in hunt, all things made sense. In this, it was all chaos, and fear, and helplessness. It had been so, so long since Tamlin had felt so helpless.

"I don't know. I assume so. I… need to get you ready, Tamlin." The sneer was there, but for the first time it occurred to Tamlin that it was not a sneer of hate or smugness, but something self-protective. The ugly superiority was a mask he wore, a shield, a protection against the harm she could inflict.

"Ready how?"

Rhysand closed his eyes, briefly, eyebrows furrowing together. "For your first night." He gestured to the bed, pulling Tamlin over to it. As he pulled a cord, the veiled curtain was lifted on one side, and Tamlin saw what he has missed when they first came in. What the veil had obscured just enough to hide it.

A band of heavy, ugly iron was affixed just above the headboard, and ran the full length of it. There were twelve small circles soldered in. From each circle hung a chain, which began as links of that ugly ironl but gradually changed, silver beginning to twine around and through until the last few links shone in the firelight. At the end of each chain there was heavily engraved, thick silver cuff with a hinge. The bands hung open like terrible hungry smiles, a chorus of watchers, ready for him.

Six sets of silver cuffs.

Tamlin pulled back and away from Rhysand, staring at him wide-eyed. He tried to call for his claws again, and nothing happened. Nothing. "I don't do that. Not even with-"

"You don't have a choice." Rhysand cut him off, frowning, that strange inward expression again. "You never get a choice."

"I don't want it like this."

"Good for you. She does. Get on the bed. Please, before she-"

           Do as you're told, Tamlin. Let him chain you up. Enjoy it.          

"Cauldron," Rhysand swore, softly. "She must be listening to us." They both flinched at her syrupy-sweet voice, as loud as if she'd been shouting inside their minds. For a moment Tamlin fought himself, tried to step back further, to get away.

The twist of pain in his shoulders hurt enough to make him grunt, and he stumbled onto his knees. Her magic threaded through every pore, that vanilla scent seeped into his nose until it was the only smell there was.

"Get up, Spring." Rhysand snapped. "It's not worth it. Focus on survival. Get through tonight, and the next night, and the night after that. If I can do this for fifty years, you can last for a few nights. And never stop planning for your way out."

"There isn't one," Tamlin said through numb lips, allowing himself to be dragged to his feet, moved into the bed. The mattress gave way invitingly underneath him as Rhys gently pushed him. He could feel the silk and fur and velvet of her sheets and blankets. Rhysand pushed him until his back rested against the headboard. He stared into Rhysand's face as one wrist was gently lifted above his head, trying to find some hint of his future in it. Rhysand was empty of expression, but his eyes were a wild shriek of pain.

The other High Lord's face was close to his, and Amarantha's orders murmured into the back of his mind. You're going to enjoy this. He felt himself stir, just a little, towards arousal, a sudden rush of blood between his legs, as Rhysand closed the shackles around his wrists.. He fought it back with a snarl of disgust.

Rhysand's eyes dropped, taking in the situation much more slowly than Tamlin thought strictly necessary, then drifted back up to meet his. "My beauty truly must be legendary," Rhysand smirked, the expression emptier than ever. "I told you she ensures that you enjoy it."

When Tamlin's furious eyes met his, the smirk gradually faded. Tamlin saw, for perhaps the first time in centuries, Rhysand making a genuine and unprotected expression. Worry for me. He wished just as quickly that he hadn't. Rhys leaned in, whispering into Tamlin's ear. "She hears everything. Learn to keep even your thoughts down. Just survive. If there's anything I know in the Night Court, it's ambition and scheming. You'll get out from under her, one day. We both will."

The silver cuffs flashed suddenly blue, and then the light faded again. They were molded expertly perfectly, to the size and shape of his wrists. Where the silver touched skin, he felt cold as ice. Tamlin understood snares in a whole new way. "She's dead, Rhys. This is all I am, now. There isn't any way out."

Rhysand gave him that same smug smile. "Not with that attitude, there isn't. I'll tell her you're ready."

"Do you have to announce it, Nightmare?" Tamlin snapped. "I don't see why I have to be an animal on display-"

"That's what you are," Rhysand drawled, the protective sneer back on in a flash. His wings ruffled, almost. Like an animal going into a defensive crouch, Tamlin thought. "You are her animal. Her victory. Her display." He stood back up, brushing imaginary dust off one dark sleeve. He shouldn't be so pale, Tamlin thought. Fifty years of darkness would do that. He blinked, looking down at the shirt, baldric, and pants. At the boots. He thought of how Feyre would have considered the cost of each piece of fabric.

"I'm still wearing my-"

"She likes to cut them off," Rhysand snapped at him, pointing off to the side. Tamlin, knowing even as he did so that it was a mistake, looked. On a side table next to the bed lay yet another thing he'd been too distracted to notice. A double-ended dagger lay on the table. One end was a shimmering, sharpened silver. There was a space in the middle that seemed to be iron or some other, lesser metal. It had a grip carved into it. The other, where the hilt would normally be, was simple wood, narrowed and sharpened to a deadly point.

Tamlin knew ash when he saw it.

Rhysand stalked away. When the door slammed behind the High Lord of the Court of Night, Tamlin was left alone, chained to her bed, feeling his body working hard to betray him.

He could see himself in the great mirror that hung over her vanity, dimly through the veil, and quickly looked away. As he shifted in the bed, trying to get into a position that did less to pull the fabric of his pants so tightly over the maddening, stubbornly developing arousal he was trying to ignore, the throbbing that grew each time he moved his wrists or tried to shift position or, Cauldron forbid, actually thought about Rhysand chaining him to the wall above the bed (how does she control even this, with an order?), some flicker of reflected light caught his eye above him. He looked up.

The entire top of the bed, on the inside, was one large piece of mirrored glass.

[kmindset]

The Monsters In All of Us: Two (M)

Member: Vampire! Jungkook AU

Summary: Shh! Just read it

Word Count: 2119

Warnings: Mature content, Slightly NSFW, slightly graphic

A/N: Don’t forget, I post this story on AO3 now as well I recommend reading it ter because this got posted a few days ago and I just forgot to post the whole thing here. Username: kmindset Anyway, enjoy!

“The hunt has to be worth it tonight, Kook. I’m not stalking around in five-inch heels for another high cholesterol half-wit.” Moisturizing your face was the easiest part of the night so you rubbed it in like a light massage.

“It will. It’s opening night at that vegan bar and grill.” He bent down to rest his chin on your head. “Most of them are pretty pretentious but worth it.”

You chuckled. Tonight you and Jungkook were doing one of your favorite things Poly Baiting. Scouring night spots for vulnerable humans looking for a fun time with the both of you was horrible, very much so, but you are vampires. You have to eat too and sometimes animal blood from the butcher shop isn’t satisfying enough.

“Why are you even bothering with that? You look as youthful as the day I spotted you through your Sseugae chima.”

“Because it smells goods and what kind of youthful looking woman am I without skin care products?”

“Hm, true.” He leans down to wrap both arms around your shoulders from behind. “Even if you looked as old as you are you would be the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

You chuckled. “One, “thing”? How specist of you. Two, if I looked as old as I am I would be bones, skin, and hopefully some hair.” You turned your head to look in his eyes. His carmine pupils drawing out a fresh wave of lust. Your hand stroked his cheek sweetly. “Thank you, sweetie.”

By the time you get there the place is packed.

There are people in trendy outfits on the dance floor at one end and other people enjoying their meals at the opposite end.

“The irony is so strong I can taste it.” You snicker.

He holds your hand, walking first. “I don’t taste anything, so let’s hurry this up.”

The music sets a fun vibe in the building making even you want to dance but Jungkook is focused on one thing. Razor sharp senses refocus. Many of those around you seem to be a good enough crowd. Some older yet trendy with a contrasting group of confused looking men sat next to a rather happy looking man. ‘Hmm, poor dears got dragged here.” you think. For a moment you contemplate setting your fangs on them but by their disgust, at the appetizer, their friend is tearing into you suspect they’re suffering enough.

“Hello!” A cheerful young man with light hair and a button with the logo greets you and shows you to an open area with a few couches. There are people lounging around and deep in their food or their own conversations.

“Hi!” A woman with two ponytails immediately greets you.

“Hi!”

“How long have you been vegan?”

Years of lying for food and general survival having you speaking a lie in no time flat. “Ah, I’m actually vegetarian looking to go vegan and my fiancee’ here is-”

“Disgruntled and hungry for anything.” He interrupts with a mocking smile. However, the woman doesn't even pick up on his ridicule as she continues smiling. A naive one and a vegan. Jackpot!

“From the reviews of the original building in Incheon, it’ll turn you vegan for sure!” She rambles on about her 6 years as a vegan and the struggle of being vegan in Korea. You’re barely paying attention when you feel Jungkook tense beside you. He seems off-put by something but you don’t smell anything. You choose to ignore him and continue chatting up the girl whose name you’ve already forgotten. Jungkook’s clairvoyance usually doesn't tense him up unless there is something unusual or bad going on and by the grip he has on your shoulder, it can’t be good. Luckily, the chatty woman excuses herself to the restroom.

Before you could even turn to him he whispers. “Something’s not right here.”

“Is it little Miss “Vegan is Better”? Because she won’t be a problem for much longer.”

He shakes his head with a deep frown. “It’s something else. I feel another in pain.”

Jungkook’s senses are so strong he can sense the pain of family and nearby vampires. A handy power for avoiding hunters and aiding your kind.

“Hunters possibly?”

He nods slowly. “We should leave.” He takes your hand to guide you out. Near the exit, the chatty woman blocks your path.

“Hey, you guys! This is my boyfriend, Rod.” She finally takes notice of your path. “Leaving already?”

“Yes. Really sorry, bit of an emergency.” You swipe her phone from her hand, quickly typing out your number in her notes with ‘Y/N: aspiring vegan’ next to it.

“We should meet up sometime and you can help me go vegan.”

Jungkook discreetly tugs on the back of your jacket in quiet urgenance. You guess the sense has gotten stronger.

She nods with an excited smile and waves you goodbye.

Once you are out the door Jungkook says. “It was him.”

You turn back in confusion of who ‘him’ is and meet the eyes of Vegan girl’s boyfriend.

He was staring back at you with a pointed glare.

Him.

“How could he be a hunter? I couldn’t smell him!”

“I don’t know! I’m freaked out as well!” Your husband is sat on the couch with head in his hands. It had been decades since you had seen him this worried. You were stood over him, stroking his hair gently. “It wasn’t a strong smell but I felt something else before the whiff. It was as if he was somehow blocking his scent. But barely.”

Jungkook’s state of distress was something you rarely saw. The scariest of times being when you were pregnant with Harley and hunters were hot on your trail from your increased bloodlust.

For a while, you thought about assimilating just to make it easier on Jungkook. Two of your sisters still lived in London from the days of King Henry VIII. They choose to stay for the better acceptance of your kind. In fact, your mother moved there with your father after her second husband was staked in Vegas and remarried your father.

“Should we report this back to Feratuan?” you ask.

He thinks for a moment. “Not yet. No need to alarm anyone for no reason.”

“No reason!? A hunter concealed his scent Jungkook! And by the way, he was looking at me you would have thought I was the one with the smell! And I guarantee you all that fucker should have been smelling is Light Blue by Dolce and fucking Gabbana!”

“Lily is here.” He announces calmy before you heard a light knock. A sign passes your lips as you cross your arms in annoyance.

“Come in.”

“Hey.” She comes in with a solemn look. Obviously, her paternally inherited clairvoyance picked up on something.“What’s going on?”

You looked to Jungkook to answer.

Her worried father sighs heavily. “We don’t know. We think a hunter was concealing his scent and that somehow he knew what we are.”

Your daughter’s eyes widened in fear. “Oh my god! Seohyun said that happened to her the other day!”

“Who?” Jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed identically to yours, both confused and alarmed.

“My friend! She’s a first gen. Only on her 2nd lifetime. She was attacked a few weeks ago!” Your mouth hung open. “It happened outside the library in Hongdae. She said she was waiting for her boyfriend to pick her up but she was attacked from behind. When her father asked why she didn’t hide or prepare herself she told him she didn’t smell them coming. It wasn’t until they were way too close that she could faintly smell them.”

“Oh my goodness! How did she escape if it was multiple?” Jungkook questioned.

“Luckily her boyfriend showed up. He’s a first gen too but on his 10th lifetime.”

“10? After 9 is when I lost count,” you mumble, momentarily distracted from the matter at hand.

Jungkook nods at his daughter’s words in understanding. Generally, vampires on a higher lifetime have had enough experience to ward of multiple hunters but an attack could still lead to death. “While you’re here, alone, we need to speak to you.”

She nods slowly and lowers to the adjacent couch.

“Your mother and I noticed Daniel’s marks. Every time we see him he seems to have a new injury. He seems fine with it yet when we ask how it happened the boy can’t seem to remember.” He explains in his best and seldom sed ‘authoritative father’ voice.”I’m not going to bullshit, Se Yeon, you know good and well what I’m leading to.”

The barely matured vampire purses her lips. She straightens up in hopes of seeming confident but you know better. More than one hundred and fifty years of motherhood and a maternal and vampiric need to protect your children has made you more than knowledgeable about all of your children. Currently, your daughter’s body language was telling you that she was trying to seem unafraid of her father’s intense gaze but inside was rather frightened and a little ashamed of the evident disappointment that he was not making an effort to hide.

“Se Yeon,” you spoke carefully, not too gentle yet still stern. “We aren’t angry. We just want to know if what we’re suspecting is true.”

If any of your hearts naturally beat there would have been many between when your heart actually did and when she spoke. “It didn’t start out so carelessly. I hadn’t fed in a few days, I am not sure if it was sheer laziness or a distaste for the crowd the weather brought, but I was stagnant.Daniel stopped by and noticed my color. He assumed I was sick and insisted on “caring for me”. I tried to tell him to leave after he brought me some horrendously made chicken soup and useless medicine. Finally, he resolved to cuddle with me. “Cuddles are the most effective meds my darling.” She mocked his words but you saw the smile she held for a brief moment. “In my carelessness and intense need for him to shut the hell up, I allowed him to lay his head on my chest.”

Jungkook was still listening intently and rather impatiently, for the point but you already had your hand over your face. “He didn’t hear a heartbeat.” you finished for her.

She nodded. “It took a moment but right when I thought he was falling asleep he sat up! It caught me off guard, my fangs nearly released. He started freaking out about how this was really bad and I needed to go to the hospital quick! There was no way to calm him and I could only think of one thing to do. So, I played along and acted as if I was afraid. I asked him to hold me. That brought him down enough to stop yelling. He pulled me in to hug me and I buried my face in his neck and…” she gestured outwardly and the two of you nodded for her to continue. “I took just enough to put him out, licked it to heal, and when he woke up he was back on my chest and I had a heartbeat.”

“Courtesy of him.” Jungkook quipped. You nudged him to be quiet.

“It was enough for him though. I asked if everything was alright and she told me about his crazy dream that I didn’t have a heartbeat. I told him everything was fine and let him hear my heartbeat. I was so scared though I told him I wanted to be alone. It was too close a call.”

Jungkook stood and rubbed his neck before ruffling his hair, a frustrated habit. “That doesn’t explain the multiple other marks, Se Yeon.”

Her eyes drifted to the floor. You moved to sit by her and held her hand in gentle encouragement. “It was addicting. S-Something about it was delectable and...familiar? I honestly don’t even know why the urge to drink from him is so strong but it’s as if-” she paused, her head shook as if she wasn’t even comprehending her actions or the taste. “It’s as if I don’t want anything else.”

Her eyes stayed on the floor as if searching for some type of answer but your worried ones drifted up to your husband’s. He was focused on her. His eyes held so many things and you knew he would never admit any of those things to his children, especially Lily, but this went far beyond the problems of your subspecies. This was a father’s worry.

He was willing to do anything and everything for them and for you. But he wasn’t sure what yet.

Additional author’s note: Sorry I forgot to add that in addition to new chapters of the story I’ve also posted the dictionary for this story to help you all understand certain words I use for this fic as well as a side story that is just Jungkook and Y/N with lots of fluff, angst, and SMUUUUUUUUT that I won’t be posting here. Pleeeeeease, go check it out. AO3 username: kmindset

[firenationskydominion]

Chapter 19: A Phoenix Rises again

A few days later Azula and Mya camped outside Capital City and prepared to enter at dawn. But how without risking being thrown into the dungeons? Azula got off the horse.

Az:       My whole tush is sore.

 M:       You’ll get used to it. Try this Yoga pose, it shall relax your strained muscles.

 Az:      My father has secret tunnels which lead everywhere in the palace. It might well be that he is in there...

 M:       I know an entry point... but we need a disguise...

  Mya was unknown to the FireNation people. Nobody had seen her from near. But that was different for Azula. Mya went to the city and bought two large hats.

  Ozai woke and was upset. He felt empty. He had no plan. Nothing to do. Nobody to talk to. He was a ghost. He left his chamber and for a brief moment considered facing Zuko in an Agni Kai to demand back the throne. Who had tried to kill him? Zuko? Some General? His enemies were plenty, but did he have friends? He had visited his followers incognito and many really wished for him to return. He thought about Azula, Amon and Elua. He once had been such a sweet boy like Zuko, but Azulon had beaten him into shape. Ozai mourned himself, his sad childhood and his loneliness. He missed Mya, Amon and Azula. But seeing Amon and Azula would remind him constantly of Myas death. Yet the thought hovered over him all the time and no amount of evading it would soften the pain.

  After exiting his bedroom he took the secret passages to a tunnel on the side of the throne room. He peeped through a hole and saw Zuko sitting on the elevated throne. The fire was off. He decided to prank Zuko and flicked his finger. The flames shot up and Ozai smiled.

  Zuko was talking to his Generals when suddenly the flames around him ignited. He was startled and jumped up. The Kiyoshi warriors came in and checked the whole room. No intruders. Zuko had heard the silly stories of Ozais ghost haunting the palace. If he was a ghost, he was dead for good and Zuko had one worry less to fret about. A short while later a congregation of Generals entered the throne room.

  After the attack on Ozai and Mya the Generals had feared that the deal was off, but Amon kept his word and the trade between the worlds had been coordinated by him and Azula. He never mentioned Ozai or Mya though, even upon request.

  In the meantime Earth King Kuei was increasingly dissatisfied with the peace accord. He finally realized that he had been sidelined by the Fire Nation and started assembling ground troops. The Dai Li had always managed trade and Kuei on his own without their counsel was inept to make responsible decisions. Furthermore some secret Dai Li agents were sabotaging his efforts. His people were dissatisfied and he needed a war to keep their minds engaged. There was also turmoil and rumours about Ozais return. The common people iconified and exploited Ozai as a marketing gag for all sorts of products. He was far more popular now than during his reign. People were simpleminded and craved a strong leader. Zuko was seen as weak and doubtful.

   Zuko noticed that the generals were dissatisfied. They asked him to take a stand and to send troops to face the Earth Kingdom offensive. Zuko was torn. He was pondering over what to do when the fires ignited again. Ozai stepped out of the flames like an apparition.

  O:        It’s time to decide son, or the generals will decide for you.

  Zuko jumped up from the throne aghast.

  Z:         Father! You’re alive!

O:        You all seem surprised to see me. Let me assure you, I am not a ghost. I see at least a few happy faces among you. Let me see who is the most shocked of all is most likely the person hiring archers to kill me... Zuko was it you? General Zheng? General Sako? I will find out eventually.

  Zuko was nervous. What did his father want?

  Z:         A strange way to visit me to barge in like this on a counsel meeting...? Tell me, what do you want?

O:       Oh, I was watching you, always wondering if you sent the arrows... patricide runs in our family... You had the wardens torture me before, so why not go a step further. I will not hold this against you. I know how difficult it is to decide wisely as a Firelord and that you lack the confidence that I always had.

 Z:        Do you want to fight me?

 O:       Not unless I must. I would like to spend a few days here. I have some private matters to attend to. Generals, who ever tried to kill me will most probably try again.

   One of the Generals, a young handsome man, with black hair and golden eyes mustered up all his courage:

  G:       Firelord Ozai, please take back the throne! You have many loyal followers who are willing to sacrifice their lives for your victory!

  Ozai smiled. He closed his eyes and paused, before addressing the generals. His voice was menacing and cool:

  O:        And I, what am I to do then? Kill my son and my brother in order to take the throne back? Are you suggesting treason against the acting Firelord Zuko, General Wuhan?

  The Generals face went pale.

  Ozai looked at Zuko measuring him up.

  O: How does Firelord Zuko treat insubordination and attempts at treason? Will he lash out like I used to? Will he fight him in an Agni Kai to gain superiority? Or will he be lenient and in return suffer a hit from a poisoned arrow? Will he toss Wuhan in a cold jail cell to have him tortured like his own father or banish him to the colonies? I don’t fear to fight my son, if need be I’ll die in flames as our greatest heroes have. Whatever you choose, son, it will create bad blood, uprisals and sectarianism... But please, for the sake of our nation, make a choice!

  Z:         Why did you really return?

O:        Mya is dead. This is still my house and I needed a place to stay. As simple as that.

Z:         Mya dead? Was it the poisoned arrow?

   Ozai bitterly said:

  O:        No, a bomb in a city far away in another world. It all seems so distant, now that I am back. Iroh was so adamant that I wanted the throne back, he attacked me.

  Zuko stared at Ozai, shocked.

  O:        Don‘t worry, son. He should be alright. Nothing a cup of tea could not fix. Now please have the servants ready my chamber. I am tired and I want to rest.

  The Generals and Zuko were confused. Ozai looked at their blank faces.

  O:        What are you waiting for?

  Zuko ordered the servants to comply with Ozais wishes. Ozai was vigilant. He was baiting himself out, attempting to draw the culprit out of the shadows.

  Zuko then dismissed all Generals, also Wuhan who was surprised and relieved to get away without any repercussions.

  ****

  Elua was cooking her chicken broth when somebody knocked at her door. She opened only to find two ladies with enormous hats standing in front of her door.

 E: I don’t buy anything and I do not want to hear about your saviour, thanks.

 She prepared to shut the door but Mya told her about their identities and that they needed her help.

   An hour later the broth was eaten and all three women wore Elua's old clothes. Three old ladies. They packed baskets with cookies and wine and left for the gate of Caldera city. At that moment, a few hundred messenger birds left the palace and flew into the sky. Upon arrival at the gate, they pretended to be old alumnae of Master Shinsendos Firebending school who were on their way to their school reunion. The guards were overjoyed and let them in without a hassle. With this story they proceeded further to the stables. Mya checked the loose floor board. Ozais uniform was hidden, his royal clothes were missing, he had been here.

   Ozai was sitting in his room at his desk reading letters from his supporters. They even sent fanmail with pictures of him painted by their kids. He cringed, but his inflated ego forbid him to destroy depictions of himself, so he filed them meticulously. There was a knock on the door. General Wuhan was outside and bid to enter.

  W:        I have come to ask your forgiveness, Mylord. I had in no means intended to offend your feelings. I heard today that the news from the front are bad. Earth Nation smashed our battalion and many died. You, Mylord are popular, and the idea of your formal return to power gains traction with the commonfolk. You are supported by the Fire priests and the council of sages. I know I am risking my life talking to you, please forgive my insubordination. Do with me what you want, but please, I am begging you, do something about our weak defense.

O:       Wuhan, I despise traitors, you should know me better. You are young though and yet a general. How come?

 W:       I fought bravely, but I was also lucky.

 O:       Very modest of you to downplay your role in the siege of BaSingSe. So you are saying they all want me back. You were a boy during my first reign. You never experienced my rule... You show courage, coming to my doorstep unannounced. You remind me of myself in younger years. You are dismissed.

  Wuhan left light heartedly. He had left a lasting impression on Ozai. A courageous young man, with golden eyes and a very delicious looking tush.

  Ozai left hurriedly to the throne room. Zuko was sitting on the throne. Ozai did not want to use the front door like a commoner with requests, nor the side door like a servant. He decided to enter through another side entrance from the entry hall which the Generals usually took.

  O:        Son, can we talk in private?

 Z:        I don’t know what you want to talk about...

 O:       The war... Kuei is gaining traction. I am a bit... worried.

 Z:        A battle lost is not a war lost!

 O:       Let me command the army. I‘ll crush Earth Nation.

 Z:        Kuei has no clue, it‘s the Dai Li who are mourning their loss of importance. I will never allow you to command my troops, you will overthrow me.

 O:       I have no plans to fight you. But Wuhan’s tactic was just a taste of what is about to come.

 Z:        I cannot please everyone.

 O:       You need to please the right people.

 Maybe the people should decide what path they want to take. If they back you, the generals can‘t do much.

Z:        Those bloodthirsty ingrates who whine about cabbage price hikes and who put up that ugly statue of yours.

O:       Very unflattering, I agree with you. They totally missed my perfect cheekbones and abs! But listen, if they vote for you, you’ll be democratically legitimated! The Generals will have no choice. Let’s create a two party system. They can choose your way or my way. They will choose and nobody will be left to blame but themselves if we fail.

 Z:        You would win the election... and I would again be in defeat.

 O:       I always thought you were the leader who cared about the people. Win their hearts. I can give them fancy parades, but you can give them meaning and a future. Let‘s compete and see who wins. The colonies will vote for you, so will all those who lost kin in the war. Some old folks will vote for me out of loyalty. It will confirm your regency.

   Zuko thought about it and finally caved in. They would first let the Generals assemble and appoint them as small parliamentary chamber. The ongoing offensive demanded swift action. They should freely choose whom they vowed to follow and the losers would respect the decision. After that they would prepare for elections in Fire Nation and the colonies to create a parliamentary monarchy with the Fire Lord as Head of State.

  Ozai summoned the generals. They seemed to fear Ozai who was standing next to Zuko, who was seated on the throne and looked small in comparison. Ozai feigned to be absentmindedly and casually flicking fire with his fingers, but everyone who knew him well saw that he was alert. Every inch of his body was ready to strike. Zuko was already sidelined. Suddenly there was a commotion and the guards notified them of turmoil outside the gates of Caldera city. The families of the fallen soldiers of the most recent clash demanded Zuko to step down. They had been notified by birds from the palace about Ozais return. Ozai couldn’t resist a smile. Zuko had to watch helplessly as Ozai summoned the generals and asked them to vote for either his or Zukos leadership. Only a few dared vote for Zuko. Within less than an hour Ozai had taken over the reign again.

[hazeleyedleto]

Matters Of The Heart Part Two

       You hold a hand up to your mouth, stifling a yawn that doesn’t go missed by Jared’s piercing eyes. “Still not sleeping good yet?”, he tosses out the question and drinks from the steaming mug in front of him. The two of you are currently sitting in a coffee shop a few blocks away from where you’re partaking in painting a mural on the side of the old library, with several other local artists.

       "Not really", you shrug, tracing your thumb up and down the handle of your own coffee cup. You had been engulfed in outlining the background for the main focus of your part of the art piece, way ahead of your schedule, when Jared stumbled along and invited you for a drink since he hadn’t seen you in a couple of days. It was a little chilly out for this time of the year, so you agreed, figuring that a little break and a warm beverage wouldn’t hurt anything. After submerging your paint brush in an old bucket of water and letting the others know you would be back in a bit, you and Jared headed to the cozy little cafe.

       Jared gives a small smile, but doesn’t push you any further on the subject. He mentioned something about smoking some pot the third day he’d seen you with dark bags under your eyes. He figured it would help you mellow out, and make slumbering a regular thing for you again. Your first choice would have been to drink away any cares, but that was quickly weeded out with any smell even resembling alcohol making your stomach churn angrily. That bitter scent was now tied in with regret, it being a big culprit in helping you mess up the best thing in your life; Shannon. When you were sixteen and your parents had passed away, you were sent to live with your aunt. It was there in your sophomore year of high school that you met Shannon, Jared, and Tomo, those three guys becoming the best of friends to you.

       It was eating you alive that in a very short span of time, you did to Shannon’s fiance Emma what Jackson had done to you; and it wasn’t something that you would ever feel good about. Any time you would think about it, shame would burn you to no end. In all honesty you didn’t intentionally set out to have sex with Shannon, you’re still baffled at how it even came to happen, yet at the same time grateful for the heavy drinking that only let you recall minimal details.

       In the two weeks following the incident, you and Shannon exchanged a few texts about it, you telling him that it was his choice if he wanted to tell Emma what happened; but you would take the secret to your grave. You were adamant about how things should be; and Shannon’s calls, messages, and knocks on your door all went ignored. In your mind, you’re lower than scum and Shannon deserves better than you from a best friend. To further that, you were punishing yourself by not allowing yourself any vices to numb your feelings.

       Jared had now become your number one. He practically bought out the stock of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream from Costco for you and camped out on your couch for a whole week, lending a damn good shoulder for you to cry on when you needed to, and just was a comforting presence. As far as you knew, he had no idea what transpired between you and Shannon, and you were more than happy to have the breakup with Jackson to mask your sadness at ending the friendship.

       Once your drinks are finished, you deem it time for you to go back and finish painting, with Jared kindly accompanying on the walk when a familiar black car creeps up, stopping right beside you guys on the sidewalk and rolling the window down. “Bro, we gotta head out to Neon Lights”, Tomo calls out from behind the steering wheel to Jared.

       "Oh shit, I forgot about that", Jared’s eyes widen and he shows an apologetic expression.

       "Monique, wanna come with?“, Tomo invites you along. They have a small show to perform at a rinky dink bar in a few towns over. "Come have a couple drinks while we play.”

       You do your best to pretend like you don’t see Shannon sitting in the passenger seat, looking between Jared and Tomo.

       "Yeah. Come on", your former best friend, or whatever his label is right now chimes in, hope adorning his face.

       You shake your head. “Nah. Still not over my last binge. Thinking about drinking makes me nauseous. Besides”, you nervously pull the beanie tighter over your hair trying your hardest to avoid Shannon sitting in the passenger seat. “I gotta finish something up”.        "Just what the hell happened last time you got shit-faced?“, a curious Jared inquires.

       Thankfully Tomo decides to take a path down memory lane before you can try to force out a lie. "I’m still not over the time you flashed the cops”, he exclaims, making all of you erupt in laughter at the reminder.

       All four of you were drunk and walking along the main strip of whatever town you were in, bar-hopping when somehow a game of truth or dare got started up, and you got dared to flash the next car that came by. Never one to pass up an adventure, you pulled your shirt and bra up, giving a peek of your boobs to the man driving by in a yellow Camaro. He honked his horn in response, spurring the game on even further. “Again”, an easily amused Tomo requested, three sheets to the wind and easily entertained.

       "Dude, no. Just my luck it’ll be the po-po next", you waved your hand in dismissal.

       "Ten bucks says she doesn’t have the balls", Shannon baited you.

       "Game on", you countered and waited for another to car to drive along, considering it was two o'clock in the morning and traffic was extremely light. Not much time passed before another vehicle advanced and both your shirt and bra we’re yanked you by your own hands once again.

       Low and behold, no sooner than said vehicle drove past when a pair of flashing blue and red lights on top of the car suddenly came on and illuminated the night sky.

        You don’t know who took off running first, but you decided to try and follow suit. Just as luck would have it, you ended up landing on your knees six feet away after twisting your ankle.

       Less than five minutes later after being let off with a warning by two amused cops, Shannon, Jared, and Tomo all crept out from the alley they had dodged into. “Fuckers”, you snarled at them and held your hand out to collect your earnings, making them each pay you ten dollars for being chicken shits; along with forcing them take turns giving you piggy back rides back to the car since your ankle was swollen and painful. *************************************************************************        Luckily for you, you’re able to manage minimal contact with Shannon once again for another couple of weeks, but that comes to an abrupt end when he saunters over to the table and invites you to dance. You’re at a party celebrating the release of Thirty Seconds To Mars’ new single, that Jared convinced you to come to. His idea of convincing meant begging you to be his date, literally on his hands and knees; complete with surprising you with a gorgeous navy blue dress in your size, a pair of Jimmy Choo stilletoes, and borrowed accessories from jeweler, Neil Lane. As if you could possibly turn down a night of being pampered like a princess, Jared pulled out one last stop, equipping you with a hair stylist, who swept your hair into an elegant updo; lifting your mood and making you feel excited to leave your apartment for the first time in a month.        This is the first time you’ve been in such close quarters with Shannon since you slept together, making you feel all kinds of awkward, but you can’t very well turn down his request without rousing suspicion, so you follow him out to the dance floor. Once there, you step into his embrace, resting a hand behind his neck, and putting your hand in his, allowing him to hold it up as the two of you began to sway together, you careful to keep your distance and look around as others dance around you. Of course with tension hanging so thickly in the air, the lack of conversation didn’t last nearly as long as you wished it would. Shannon leans down to your ear and speaks just above a whisper, so you’re the only person who can hear. “I know you feel weird since we slept together, but we can put it behind us and pretend it never happened if it’ll make you be my friend again.”

       You still momentarily at his words, searching for the right thing to say, remaining unwilling to catch his gaze. “I’m sorry. For everything. It was all my fault. I shouldn’t have drank so much. I-”. Stuff you’ve been dying to get out pours from your mouth until he interrupts.

       Placing a finger under your chin, Shannon lifts your face until your eyes meet his. You’re shocked to be met not with hate or disappointment from his stare, but rather the warmth and easiness that’s usually present in those hazel eyes. “I don’t wanna lose you, Mo”, he pleads.

       His words make your heart skip a beat, mirroring your own views on the subject. Before you can voice your response, you’re suddenly spun in a circle and dipped backwards, forcing you to grab onto Shannon’s shoulders and let out several surprised shrieks. His eyes are twinkling, a hint of mischief pulling at the corners of his lips. “I’ve missed your smile.” His sentence melted away most of the tension you’d been holding onto, and you felt much more at ease than you had in some time.

       "Friends", you nod, giving your answer and stepping closer to Shannon, resting your cheek on his chest, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence, content with the status of your on-again friendship.

       Of course, anyone who is anyone knows happiness never lasts long, and that is such the case when Jackson appears in your line of vision, wearing a smug smirk. As he approaches, he eyes you up and down, taking in your appearance. “Looks like you’ve gained ten pounds since I last saw you. Surprised you could even find somebody to take your fat, lame ass out.”

       Shannon steps forward, “Leave her alone, man”, he warns Jackson, but you push your way in front of him, ready to fight your own battle. The smell of booze is strong on Jackson’s breath as you get closer to him, and after leering down at your chest, he surprises you by having enough audacity to further insult you. “Those boobs though”, he ogles your breasts like you’re an oasis and he’s been lost in the desert for a week. Just the sound of his voice makes your blood boil; if it wasn’t for him, you never would’ve been put in such a predicament with Shannon you’d just escaped from.

       Unable to control your rapidly growing aggravation, you draw your fist back and then up to Jackson’s nose with as much strength as you can muster. No sooner than your hand collides with him, you yelp in pain, stumbling backwards while cradling your hand to your heart. “Fuck, that hurt”, you yell, then stop to admire your handiwork with great satisfaction as blood runs down Jackson’s face. “But it was so worth it!”

you used my own story! so much better with 30stm in it!!!

i love this story so much, and hell yes for the punch in the face, I’d totally probably not do that, but in my head i’d want too. 

Thankks

Chapter 3 plz!

@fyeahproudglambert

[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