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detectivereyes · 3 years

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Even If You Stumble A Step, You’re Still Moving Forward

Summary: TK and Carlos move into their new home post-finale and TK doesn't exactly make the best first impression on their new neighbors...

Notes: this was like a fever dream i had a few months ago and then i stopped writing but decided to revive it last night so... here we are. also title creds (and emotional support creds) to jillian @marjansmarwani because this fic wouldn’t exist without her. and also s/o to brit @moviegeek03 for being extra supportive of yet another fic where [spoiler] tk falls down the stairs again :/

read on ao3

TK shuffles through the maze of boxes stacked several feet high throughout their new home. The scene shouldn’t surprise him considering it was only a few months ago he was moving his own boxes into their old home. However it feels different knowing that most of this stuff isn’t actually theirs.

Well, it is theirs now he figures. But the fact remains that most of the stuff filling the space was either given to them by various members of the extended 126 family, or was recently purchased by TK or Carlos on one of their many trips to Bed Bath and Beyond.

They had taken their time searching for a new place to live. Owen had made it clear that they were both welcome to stay with him (and Mateo) for as long as they needed, but TK had known it was time.

So when a townhome popped up on Zillow that met all their criteria, they wasted no time booking an appointment with the realtor. They both had instantly fallen in love with the open floor plan and deck out back. Plus they knew the extra bedrooms upstairs may come in handy someday.

While they knew the vertical layout of the home itself wasn’t the best, having more stairs than either of them were used to, it checked every other box and was right in their price range so they had wasted no time signing the lease.

A few days had passed since settlement and now most of their days were spent trying to unpack and make this new house into a home. It would never replace the one they had lost, but it had been exciting to build this new home together.

Though on this particular day, TK found himself alone in trying to get settled in since Carlos had a shift. With the 126 still out of commission, possibly forever, and the department not having any openings for paramedics, most of the unpacking was left for TK.

After getting a good chunk of the living room done, he checks the time and decides to go out and see if the mail has come yet. Not that he’s expecting anything with their address still being so new, and not getting much physical mail anyway to begin with. But it still provided a good excuse to take a break.

TK opens the front door and starts to make his way down the set of stairs leading down.

He makes it about halfway before his attention is caught by one of his new next door neighbors, Mr. Martin- if he remembers correctly, exiting at the same time. Mr. Martin gives a friendly wave and TK goes to return the gesture.

Except, he’s not paying attention when he takes the next step, and he misses, his heel just barely hitting the edge of the step before he starts to go down. He tumbles until he comes to a hard stop at the bottom, with most of his weight coming down on his right knee, sending shooting pains up and down his leg.

The rest of his body is sore, and by the time his ears stop ringing, he can just barely make out a new female voice asking “Sir, are you okay?”

He opens his eyes, which he had not even realized he had squeezed shut at some point, to see his neighbor, Mrs. Bailey- his brain supplies, from across the street making her way over to check on him, worried lines painting across her forehead.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m fine,” he grimaces while pushing himself up to a seated position. He tries to hide the blush forming on his cheeks. Not the best way to make a good first impression on his neighbors.

“Are you sure, son? We can call for help if you need it. Someone you know, or 9-1-1?” Mr. Martin joins in the conversation.

“No!” TK interjects too quickly, startling both neighbors. He panics for a moment when the weight of the predicament settles in. He meets the gaze of both figures still staring at him, clearly concerned and waiting for him to say something. “I mean, I’m a paramedic. I’m fine. Or I will be fine. Thank you,” he flashes them both a quick smile before pushing himself up off the ground, ignoring the sharp pains that radiate from his knee when he tries to put any weight on it.

Getting back up the stairs is no easy feat, and he doesn’t have to turn around to know that both Mr. Martin and Mrs. Bailey are still watching him, concerned. Fortunately, they don’t know him well enough to try and follow or help. He’s not sure he would feel comfortable enough receiving help from some strangers. Half the time he doesn’t even feel comfortable receiving help from the people he does know.

He leans heavily on the railing, refusing to turn around out of fear of further mortification. Once he’s inside the home, he collapses right inside the hall, unable to go any further since his knee decided to stop cooperating.

A few tears pool in his eyes, and he’s unsure if that’s due to the pain or embarrassment. Not knowing what else to do, he takes out his phone and shoots a quick text to Carlos.

TK: we have to move

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for the three dots to pop up before being replaced by Carlos’ response.

Carlos: ???

TK sighs and rubs his face, trying to figure out the best way to explain the situation.

TK: i feel down the stairs out front and all the neighbors saw

Carlos: Holy shit, are you okay??

He lets out a puff of air at that.

TK: you mean besides my bruised ego?

TK: no, i hurt my knee but i’m fine. that’s not the issue here.

Carlos: Okay, I’ll be home in an hour and you can let me be the judge of that. If I see any swelling, we’re going to the doctor.”

He rolls his eyes at Carlos’ worry. At worst, it’s a bad sprain, nothing that can’t be fixed with some icing and wrapping. But there are other things they need to worry about.

TK: you’re missing the point, carlos. the entire neighborhood thinks i’m an idiot. we can’t live here anymore.

TK knows he’s being dramatic, but the more he thinks about it, the more embarrassed he gets. The idea that these are people he’s going to have to continue to face everyday for the foreseeable future. And that now all they’ll be able to think about when they do see him. Now he’ll just be known as the guy who can’t walk down stairs.

Carlos: Relax, TK. I’ll be home soon.

TK: you mean our temporary place of residence which we will soon be moving out of

He doesn’t get a response after that.

His mind continues to spiral while he waits for Carlos to arrive. He knows the other man is likely climbing the walls trying to leave his shift early but it would still be awhile before he could be allowed to leave.

Left alone with his thoughts, his mind keeps playing out the series of events that happened minutes ago. He can't help but beat himself up over embarrassing himself like that. Ironically enough, it’s not even the first time he’s fallen down stairs, having taken a tumble down the stairs in Carlos’ place a few months back. And of course he would manage to injure himself that time, and this time as well.

He should at least try to get up so he can find an ice pack to lessen the swelling. Sitting on the floor up against the wall can’t be doing his knee any favors. Yet he can’t bring himself to move, instead resting his head back against the wall and sighing.

TK pulls out his phone again, cycling through the apps until he hears the tell-tale keys jingling in the already unlocked door.

As soon as Carlos steps through the door, he nearly trips over TK in the doorway. “Woah, hey! TK, are you okay?” he crouches down to TK’s level.

TK shrugs. Now that he’s face to face with Carlos, he can’t help but feel suffocated by another person judging him, even if Carlos’ worry comes from a place of concern.

“Can I take a look at your knee?”

TK nods, allowing Carlos to gently inspect his swollen joint. He winces as Carlos traces his hand around his kneecap.

“This doesn’t look good, babe. I think we need to go to the hospital.”

“No, it’s fine,” he quickly shakes his head. The worried look in Carlos’ eyes only makes his heart ache, and he can only try to find ways to make it go away. “Just help me up and we can ice it. It will look better once the swelling goes down a bit.”

Carlos gives him a look that screams I don’t believe you but sighs. “Fine, but if it doesn’t…”

“I know, I know. You’ll drag my ass to the emergency room,” TK gives him a reassuring smile.

Carlos returns the smile, and extends a hand to help TK up. TK accepts, and allows Carlos to take on most of his weight once he’s standing. They slowly make their way over to the living room, with Carlos softly depositing TK onto the sofa. He then disappears into the kitchen before returning with an ice pack in hand.

“Thanks,” TK smiles, trying to mask the wince as Carlos places the pack onto his knee.

“Do you want to watch an episode of The Office?” Carlos asks, picking up the remote and settling in the spot next to TK.

TK shrugs, knowing that Carlos is just trying to appeal to him by offering to put on his favorite show. The other man doesn’t even like the show that much, often finding the humor dry and tasteless, but TK thinks he just doesn’t get it.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

There it is.

“I just can’t believe I did that in front of our new neighbors. They probably think I’m an idiot.”

“I’m sure no one thinks you’re an idiot, TK,” Carlos gently reassures him.

“Yeah all the neighbors saw me make an idiot of myself,” TK sighs exasperatedly. “God, how am I supposed to face these people everyday now?”

“Hate to break it to you babe, but this is not a valid reason for us to move.”

“I know,” he sighs again.

“Besides,” Carlos continues. “If your track record has proven anything, it’s that this won’t be the last medical emergency at our new home. It’s good that the neighbors are getting used to it now.”

TK gives him a pointed look.

“I’m pretty sure this is the second time you’ve fallen down the stairs since we’ve started dating,” Carlos says with a light chuckle.

“Whatever,” TK scoffs. “At least the other time it wasn’t in front of total strangers.”

Carlos softens. “That’s true. But I’m sure the neighbors just care about you. I don’t think this is that big of a deal, TK.”

“You weren’t there though. It was mortifying.”

“What did they say, exactly?”

TK nervously looks down. “They asked if I was okay. And if I needed any help.”

Carlos raises his eyebrow, waiting to see if TK continues.

“They offered to call for help but I said no and went back inside.”

“See? They just care about you TK. I haven’t really talked to anyone yet but they seem like nice people.”

“I guess,” TK shrugs.

“I know, you’re still embarrassed. But if nothing else, they’ll probably forget about it by the next time we see them.”

“You don’t think I’ll be known as the ‘clumsy neighbor who can’t walk down stairs’?”

“Maybe the ‘cute clumsy neighbor that can’t walk down stairs,’” Carlos says with a smirk. “But we could always change that.”

TK cocks his head to the side.

“You think our new neighbors might enjoy some peach scones when we go over and have a proper introduction?”

“You really plan to charm our new neighbors with your baking?”

“You think it will work?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then yes, I do,” Carlos grins proudly. He then leans over and gently removes the ice pack from TK’s knee, grimacing at what he sees. “This still looks pretty swollen, babe. I think we need to go to the hospital.”

TK gives him a pained smile. “You sure I can’t talk my way out of this?”

“Nope,” Carlos says, popping the p. He stands up before extending his hand to help TK do the same.

TK accepts, shifting his weight and leaning into Carlos once he’s fully upright.

“You know, I think you may have a paramedic blindspot when it comes to your own health.”

TK lets out a light laugh. “Yeah, I’ve been told.”

A week later, Carlos softly knocks on the door of Mrs. Bailey’s home across the street with one hand and a plate of peach scones in the other. TK had offered to hold the scones but when they went over to Mr. Martin's home earlier in the day, it was quickly discovered it was too difficult for him to manage getting up the stairs and holding the plate.

So he settles for letting Carlos do most of the work while he awkwardly limps up the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing to keep some pressure off his knee.

After their quick trip to the emergency room, it had been determined that TK’s initial assessment was right and it was just a bad sprain. He was given a brace to help reduce the pain and a pair of crutches, which (much to Carlos’ dismay) he abandoned after only two days, citing that they only made it harder to get around their home which he can now say for certain has too many damn stairs.

A problem which seems to follow him as he also has to get up the stairs to greet his neighbors.

“Maybe we should have moved to a neighborhood of single level homes,” he states with a wince as he joins Carlos at the front door.

Carlos snorts. “We can take it into consideration if we ever have to move again.”

“God, please don’t say that. I don’t want to think about moving ever again.”

“Good,” Carlos gives him a soft smile. “Because I’m planning on staying here for the long run.”

“Me too,” TK returns the smile just as Mrs. Bailey opens the door.

“What a lovely surprise!” she exclaims taking in the sight of the two men.

“Hello ma’am,” Carlos says with a polite smile.

“We brought you some scones,” TK adds, gesturing to the plate in Carlos’ hands.

“Oh how thoughtful of you. Please come in. How are you doing?” she asks, turning to TK. “I’ve been worried.”

He exchanges a look with Carlos, the other man's face clearly saying I told you she cares, before turning back to Mrs. Bailey.

“I’m fine, ma’am. Thank you for asking. It’s just a bad sprain. But I do appreciate your concern, especially the other week.”

“Oh, of course dear,” she says with a warm smile. “Now, you boys aren’t going to make me eat these scones all by myself are you?”

They both let out a light chuckle and exchange another glance before following their new neighbor, and friend inside.

#i've posted too much today #but i need share before i end up deleting it #but actually if it flops i may just delete anyway #whatever at this point #911 lone star #911lonestarfic #tarlosfic #my fic #usersaaya #userbones #reyeslonestartag #pragmaticoptimist34 #tuserpaige

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fictionalabyss · 4 years

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Protector : Surprise?

Pairing : Dean x Reader, Sam, Alex (oc), Azazel, Detective Baker (oc), Ash, Brady (mentioned), Abby (oc) (mentioned)

Word count : 2,795

Warnings : Prison (mentioned), interviews/interrogations, pregnancy complications due to stress, bedrest, fear, panic, house fire, guns, violence, physical abuse, threats, murder, death . Series TW : Domestic Abuse is a constant topic- be it mentioned, or actually happening.

Continuation of this series was commissioned by : @iflostreturntosteverogers

Final part of Protector.

Masterlist • Patreon • Ko-fi.

Weeks passed, and everything was being dragged back up. New statements, new interviews. Alex was pulled in again, but this time he had both you and Brady with him and he was treated with respect. No asshole like Baker trying to stonewall him into some kind of a confession. “We just want to be sure this statement is correct, given everything that Baker’s done. Just a formality, I promise.”

New detectives and new experts poured over every detail of Dean’s arrest and the so-called case Baker was trying to build around the idea of Dean murdering your first husband.

You were brought back in the room yourself, asked why Baker had it out for Dean, why he was so sure Dean had killed your first husband. You were honest with that fact that you had no idea but you were scared. Baker scared you. Then you opened your phone, went to a picture and slid it across the table.

“When was this?”

“Yesterday morning. Around 11. I went out to check the mail and there he was.” It had scared you to find Baker parked outside, eyes boring into you. You had kept your eyes locked on his as you brought up your phone, snapped a picture and then called Brady. “I’d like to file a police report of continued harassment despite a restraining order. This isn’t good for my pregnancy. My doctor is worried.” You then slipped them a note from your doctor about the stress.

“Can I get a copy of this picture?”

“Of course.” They handed you your phone back and you were given an email to send the photo to.

Days turned to weeks as interviews continued, evidence was questioned and each and every lie Baker told was revealed. The stress of it all had gotten to be too much, your doctor putting you on temporary bedrest. All information about the case went through Sam, and you only heard bits and pieces of the good stuff, only things that would give you hope.

You saw Azazel a few times since that day in the grocery store. You’d walked out of your last doctors appointment to find him in the waiting room, eyes on you as you hurried past, Sam's hand on your lower back to keep you calm. Dean got a picture of that, too.

But since then, nothing. No Azazel, no Baker. Sam said Baker was under surveillance, and Azazel was now being hunted for betraying the patch. Apparently, someone had dropped a video of the arrest at the garage on their doorstep and they finally listened to what Dean had been telling them. One of their top guys was working the other side. And word was getting around fast.

It was another quiet day. Alex was at school, Abby was napping and you were relaxing in bed with a book while Sam headed out on a quick errand. Something about needing to pick something up for dinner, but he’d be back by the time Abby woke up. He promised. You hadn’t minded. Sam had been stuck to you like glue for so long now you relished the time alone. Finally.

The words started to blur, your eyelids getting heavy. Letting the book fall from your hand, you rolled onto your side, pulling the pillow close and letting yourself drift off to sleep.

A piercing sound snapped you awake and panic instantly set in. A fire alarm. Your fire alarm. It sounded like it was coming from downstairs. Getting up, you rushed down and followed the sound to the kitchen. You expected to find Sam cooking but instead found your stove on fire.

You were confused, how could that have happened, no one else seemed to be home and unless you slept walked down and then back to bed, it hadn't been you. You ran to yank open the cupboard under the kitchen sink and pulled out the fire extinguisher, working as fast as you could to get the fire put out.

As the flames died, you noticed something on your stove. A hand towel. It was mostly burned, some blackened shreds all that remained. You looked around the kitchen, looking for anything else out of place but found nothing. Brutus was barking wildly at the back door, desperate to get inside as his claws scratched against the glass every time he jumped against it. You had forgotten he’d been let out before you laid down.

You sighed with relief despite the uncertainty. You were just glad it was out, that no one was hurt. But before you could relax, let alone let Brutus back in, another smoke detector started going off. This time, upstairs.

“Abby!” Running as fast as you could back for the front stairs, you almost fell when he stepped out in front of you, blocking you off from the stairs and the front door. “Move.” You threatened, fire extinguisher clutched tight in your hands. He didn’t move, didn’t say a word, just gave you that cold dead stare he seemed to always be giving you. Your eyes shot to the stairs, this time a click of his tongue grabbed your attention over the sounding alarm and Abby’s cries.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Screaming, you went to take a swing at him with the fire extinguisher, but he far too easily knocked it from your hands. Then he swung, the back of his hand hitting your cheek hard. So hard in fact, that you fell to the floor, eyes wide with shock and fear.

“Why are you doing this to me? I didn’t do anything to you.. Please.. Please, just let me get to my daughter. Let me get her out. You want me, you can have me, please.. Just let me save her.” He just stepped closer, no answer, no change in his face at all. You tried to get up anyways, and he just hit you again. “WHY!?” you screamed at him as tears ran down your cheeks.

You were scared, you were terrified, it was that day all over again in your head, but just like that day you had a child to protect. You could hear Abby’s screams and it was killing you that you couldn’t get her, protect her.

“Because Dean Winchester deserves it.”

“FUCK YOU!” A boot came up in a kick, and you twisted yourself enough that the side of your ribs took the brunt of it instead of your stomach, but it didn’t stop you from crying out in pain.

Then he was leaning over you. “I’m going to make you hurt. I’m going to make it hurt so fucking bad you can’t move.” he smiled at you. “Then I’m going to watch your house burn down around you. Watch as that son of yours finds you. Then kill him too.” You shifted, ready to try fighting back, take a swing, anything, but he grabbed your face by the cheeks in one hand and put a gun to your head which effectively stopped any and all plans. “Then I’m going to wait. I don’t care how long it fucking takes, I’m going to wait. I want to see the look on his fucking face when he comes home to nothing. Because that piece of shit husband of yours took everything from me.”

Your eyes shot to the stairs again, Abby’s screams louder than anything to your ears, and he pushed the gun harder against your temple bringing your attention back to him. His gaze locked on yours.

Suddenly his face changed, and there was a blur of someone running past and up the stairs. Sam. You’d know that giant frame in a plaid button up anywhere. He was going for Abby, he was going to save her. Nothing else mattered.

Until you looked up and behind the man who still held a gun to your head. You couldn’t stop the tears that welled up all over again. “Let go of my fucking wife.” he growled out, a gun of his own in his hand and pressing into Azazel's skull.

“You’re going to have to kill m-”

You flinched as the shot rang out and blood splattered onto your face. You sat there stunned for a moment, not sure he was real as the body hit the floor. “Dean?”

“Surprise?” he gave you a half smirk.

“Dean!” you got up as fast as you could, throwing yourself against him not caring about the blood. You clung to him and cried.

“It's okay, baby. I’m home.” His arms wrapped around you almost just as tight. “You know I wouldn’t let anything hurt you.”

Then Sam down the stairs, Abby in his arms. “Here.” he told you. “Take her outside. Your bed’s on fire.” Your eyes shot to Dean.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and you grabbed Abby before heading out front.

You stood there, your forehead against hers as you cried. You had been so scared you’d lose her, so scared that you’d be stuck there listening to her die. That that would be what you died with in your head.

“Mom!?” Alex rushed over and you started crying even harder. “What the fuck happened?” He asked, ignoring Ash who hurried past and into the house. “That’s it, I’m out of school, I’m not fucking leaving you again!”

“You’re going to school, end of discussion.”

Alex’s head snapped up towards the voice. “Dean!” he rushed from you to Dean, who smiled and opened his arms. There was a moment of quiet between them before Alex pulled back. “What happened!? Why does mom have blood on her?”

“Better come inside and get cleaned up, baby.” You looked over at Dean, still so afraid. “Fire’s out. You're safe now.”

“Fire!?” Alex shot a panicked look to you and Abby, then hurried into the house and froze before getting too far. When you walked in, he was looking down at the body on the ground before he looked back up and met your eyes. “What the hell happened, mom?”

“He wanted to kill us. All of us, watch the house burn down around us so Dean would have nothing left to come home to. I thought I’d lose Abby.”

Alex turned to Sam. “I was getting Dean. Judge ruled last night he was to be released. He wanted it to be a surprise. I should have got dad to come stay with you while I was gone, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” you tried to reassure him, let him know that you didn’t blame him for this. Your voice probably wasn’t very convincing, at least not right now, not with all the pain and fear you were still processing, but you really didn’t blame Sam. “My protector showed up, right on time.” You looked up at Dean, letting him lean in and kiss you gently.

“Always, baby. I’ll always do everything in my power to keep you safe.” You gave him a small smile. “Now, get that ass up to the showers and then you’re on the couch. You’re supposed to be on bedrest.” Dean gave your ass a slap with a smirk. “Sammy, get dad on the line, tell him to get his ass over here and not to come alone. I need this mess cleaned. Alex and I are going to head out to get a new bed. Ash, you’re on babysitting duty.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” Ash mock saluted, making Dean roll his eyes.

“Baby, my jacket?”

“Where you left it.”

With another sweet and tender kiss, Dean headed upstairs and back into his bedroom. He ignored the blackened and burned bed at first, reaching into his closet and pulling out leather. It felt good to wear it again, to feel the weight of it and the patches stitched to it. His jaw tightened as he looked at the bed his children had been conceived in, the bed he’d made love to you in countless times, the bed you had been sleeping in just an hour ago. Azazel might be dead, but it didn’t end there.

And Dean had every intention of ending it.

He knew they were coming for him and he knew they’d be coming soon. He had to get away, he had to get out of town, out of the country. He needed to vanish for a while. Anything to stay out of prison. There was no way he’d survive it. Moving the curtain aside, he peeked out of the motel room and at the car he’d bought last night with cash parked directly outside. It was 2pm, and while the streets weren’t empty, everything was pretty quiet outside the Motel.

Perfect.

Baker grabbed his meager belongings, tucked his handgun into the back of his jeans, and rushed out to his car, eyes darting around as he hurried to the trunk and opened it, tossing his bag in. As he slammed the trunk shut, something was placed over his head that plunged him into darkness and he started to panic.

When he came to again, it was dark and he couldn’t move. His hands were tied behind his back, his feet tied together. He tried to get his bearings. He could hear the low rumble of an engine, the vibrations of a car driving down a highway. He knew he was in a trunk, now he just needed to find the tail lights and kick them out. Shifting around to give himself the space was difficult as he realized something else was in there with him, something big that smelt faintly of blood. He grunted when he hit his head and felt a small trickle of blood. “Shit.” he cursed and started kicking, hoping to meet his mark.

Suddenly, everything stopped, everything was quiet. Despite being in the dark under whatever was still over his head, his eyes frantically darted around as he tried to listen for what would come next.

Doors. Two of them, opening and closing, one on each side of the car. Foot steps, but faint. So he wasn’t on a solid road anymore, and not on gravel either, or a floor or the foot falls would have more sound to them. A field? Shit shit shit. A field meant open space. Even if he could get away and run, he’d be an easy enough target to shoot down.

The trunk opened, and hands reached in, yanking him out. He tried to fight them, tried to do what he could but he was put on his feet, dragged away from the vehicle and then kicked in the back of the knee forcing him to drop.

The hood was yanked off, and even though it was pitch black outside, he had to blink a few times before he could see where he was. The desert.

“You wanted to know where he was.” Baker’s head shot around and he found himself face to face with Dean Winchester. “You found him.” Dean pointed out into the desert, and Baker followed his finger. “There’s no marker, but he’s out there. He hurt her so I fucking killed him.”

Suddenly, a body was dropped down next to Baker, and he looked over to see Azazel, bullet wound to the head. Glancing up from the body, he saw Sam dusting off his hands. There was only one reason Dean would finally admit what he did. Baker wasn’t making it out of here alive.

“You hurt her.” Dean growled into his ear. “You fucking put my family in danger when I couldn’t protect them. She almost died.” Dean grabbed Baker by the hair and yanked his head back painfully. “MY DAUGHTER almost fucking died. Almost burned to death. Because of you.”

“I didn’t-”

“You did do this, Baker. You told him who they were, you knew what he would do. If I would have come home just an hour later..” Dean shook his head. “You can’t even imagine the level of hell I would have rained down on you.”

“Dean-” Dean straightened back up and put a gun to Baker's head. “Look I didn’t-” He was cut off by the bullet that ripped through his head and his body fell to the ground.

Dean was wiping down Baker’s gun that he’d just shot him with when his phone rang. Pulling it out of his back pocket, he smiled seeing your name light up his screen. “Hey, baby. You should be sleeping.”

“Woke up to pee and you weren’t back yet. Couldn’t get back to sleep. Are you going to be home soon?”

“I’ll be heading back home soon. Just finishing up something. You don’t need to worry, baby. No one’s ever going to hurt you again. Your protector is home. I love you.”

“I love you too, Dean. Be careful.”

“Always am.”

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chenoaa · 2 years

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🍀 EMERGENCY COMMISSIONS 🍀

i am once again in desperate need of help, i’m trying to move back home to ohio to get out of a physically and emotionally abusive relationship with my 12 month old son. i don’t have family willing to house me and my son until i can save for an apartment. i really need out of this situation for my mental health, i’m so suicidal being here and i just want to go home. my son needs reconstructive surgery on his ureter and kidney and im hoping to get home quick enough that i can schedule it there instead of here. all commissions will be mailed to you. or if you just want to donate here’s my info - or dm me to get something commissioned!

venmo- @Chenoa-Clary

PP- PayPal.Me/chenoa17

#donations #disabled #mutual aid #lgbtq #commission #signal boost #drawing #art #portrait #boost

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crystal-x-stitch · 4 years

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Commission and Etsy Info! (12-2020)

Hey, I know I haven’t been too active lately, but my cat has some expensive vet bills coming up that could get as high as $1000+ (US) so now would be a great time to commission me or check out my shop if you ever wanted to. Even just a few small purchases can take the edge off of draining almost half of our house down payment fund. This is NOT an emergency so by all means don’t feel obligated! Just if you’ve been interested and are able, check it out!

I can’t guarantee any physical items would be done or shipped before Christmas if you’re looking for presents since it’s a little late. They might make it, but I’m not going to make promises. However, you can buy or commission patterns that will be digitally downloaded and available much quicker!

My commission process is as follows:

- email me at crystalxstitch @ gmail.com (without spaces) with a description of what you would like. The more details the better!

- I’ll reply with any questions I have and a quote.

- If you agree to the price, I’ll make a pattern for you to review. If you are just commissioning a pattern, I’ll email it to you (PDF) after full payment is received.

- When you confirm the pattern is what you want, I take a deposit (for supplies) of about 1/4 the quote.

- When I’m done (usually less than a week for a small-medium project, might be longer if I don’t have something like special colored fabric) I’ll send you photos of the final product.

- When you approve it, I’ll send it out once payment (+shipping) is received. I unfortunately can’t offer free shipping since it varies wildly from domestic to international and I’m just a small-time artist!

- I take payment for commissions primarily through PayPal, but can consider other options like Google Pay or even a check in the mail. I can also make a unique listing on Etsy for you to securely check out with a debit/credit card.

Prices vary, but a one-of-a-kind pattern I will never sell anyone else will be a bit more than the ones I sell multiples of on Etsy and depend on the size. Hoops start at about $15 for a tiny and simple design. I’ll do up to a 10 inch diameter hoop with as much detail as you want (up to 28 count aida cloth) but the price will go up accordingly! I can also do pins and keychains!

Etsy Info:

My Etsy page is www.etsy.com/shop/CrystalXStitch (copy & paste)

I’ll be adding several of my older patterns over the next few days and in the coming months I have a few NEW larger patterns I plan to add.

If you’ve seen a project here (check out my tag #crystal-x-stitch for my work) that isn’t on Etsy, you can ask me to put it up (either pattern or final product).

Keep in mind that my One Piece patterns are only available by emailing me since I can’t host them on Etsy anymore due to the complicated stuff around Etsy’s rules about fan work!

#cross stitch #embroidery #commissions #commisions open #etsy promo #crystal-x-stitch

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imgoingtohellsofuckit · 4 years

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Cocky Hero pt 2

I didn’t want to make this a series but I’m in love with Hawks soo here ya go

Hawks x Reader

Warnings - alcohol use, mentions of abuse (mention no descriptions or anything and its very brief)

Summary - Hawks can’t get you out of his head, lucky for him you can’t get him out of yours either

So there you are, waking up in the number two heroes bed. You're fancy gown from the party on the ground and makeup all smeared off. You look over to see Hawks holding onto you tightly. For someone so keen on hookups your surprised he's still holding onto you. Or even that you're still in his bed with him. You move pulling from his arms grabbing your clothes from the ground making your way through the room over to the bathroom.

"Oh man he really doesn't hold back," You say as you look at the deep purple marks along your neck. You sigh lightly. Deciding not to worry about it as you wipe away your makeup and pull your clothes from last night on.

"You want something more comfortable?" You hear from the door. You look to see Hawks smiling lightly as he watches you.

"Depends on what you're gonna put me in," You say.

"My clothes," He smirks. You roll your eyes deciding to look back to the mirror. "I'll grab you a hoodie at least."

"Fine," You say.

He moves pulling away from the door frame to his room. Returning a couple seconds later with a black hoodie.

"Thanks," You say as you pull it over you dress, "I'll call a cab. I've got to get to my house before I go into the office. I'll get this cleaned and mail it back-"

"Nah keep it," Hawks says, "you look better in it anyways."

"I can't keep your clothes Hawks," You say looking to him, "I'll just have an intern drop it off to your agency."

"You're not even gonna drop it off man thats cold," Hawks says.

"Did you get attached?" You say with a smirk.

"Attached? No more like I'm not used to not being the one in control," He says, "every other girl wants me to fly them home and to keep my clothes. Thinking it'll pull me back in ya know."

"I'm not like those girls Hawks," You say, "I have my own game. And I simply play it better than you."

"Do you now?" He asks.

"I guess that's for you to figure out," You say, "now if you'll excuse me I have to get ready for work." You grab your purse then instead of calling a taxi you just place your hand against the wall. Hawks watches carefully. Your quirk. It's portal something pretty cool. When he first heard about it the first time he met you he thought it was one of the neatest quirks he's seen. Making a portal you could move through going anywhere you need. He was surprised you never went into the hero career with a quirk like that. "Try not to miss me too much," You say looking back to Hawks.

"I have a feeling you should worry about your self," He says.

"Sure Hawks," You say before stepping through the portal. It closes leaving Hawks alone. He chuckles lightly.

"Shes... different," He says softly, "man I need to get ready."

So while Hawks was running around to get ready to meet up with Dabi and the League to work out that situation. You were getting ready at your own quick pace. Using that long distance portal exhausted your quirk meaning you wouldn't be able to use it to get to work. Which is fine you've travelled everyway to work so it won't be too much of a pain but still. You could push a bit and use your quirk... it's irresponsible but... it's better time management. You cave using a second portal to pop into her office.

"Wow you're here early," Impression says, "especially considering your company last night."

"Didn't I hear whispering that you went home with MT Lady?" You shoot back, "you have no room to talk." Impression chuckles.

"Sure I have no room to talk but I'm going to anyways," He says, "Hawks is such a man whore. I'm surprised you went home with him. I mean you had plenty of people all over you."

"Yeah but you didn't feel the energy between them," Kami says, "the sexual tension was suffocating. I thought I was gonna die."

You roll your eyes at the comment.

"Besides we all know that every single one of these events we've been invited to Hawks finds himself at her side," Kami says, "he either is in love with you or super attracted to you."

"Anyways," You say moving to your desk to pull out everything for today, "we have a lot of work to do... Kami you are missing about 13 accident reports, Impression you have been asked to speak at UA about hero etiquette to the first years. Have either of you seen Mimica? Because he misfiled a report and I had to track it down at the commission and redo the entire thing."

They knew it was time to work So the Hawks topic dropped and everyone focused on their own matters. Soon the day was over releasing them to their own lives. The others left but you remained back. As always you're gonna be the last to leave. Always needing to finish that last thing before you could go home. When you finally stepped outside onto the street in the thick dark of the night you regretted the extra portal this morning.

"Hey you need a ride?"

You turn to see blond locks and crimson wings. Hawks. But what is he doing here?

"No I was gonna take the train home," You share.

"Nah a pretty lady like you shouldn't be on the train," He says, "let me fly you home."

"I couldn't ask you to do that," You say, "seriously it's no big deal I ride the train all the time."

"I'm offering," He says, "come on what do you have to lose?"

You think for a second. What do you have to lose? You start to step towards him. But instead give him a smirk. Then you press your hand against the wall. A portal to your apartment pops up. You're definitely feeling the overuse but honestly to mess with this cocky bastard it's worth it.

"You're right I shouldn't use the train," You say, "well goodnight Hawks."

"Wait-"

You step inside before he can say anything else.

He looks back at the wall you just walked through.

"Man she's gone," He says, "thats a shame. I wanted to talk to her. Oh well."

Back at your house you collapse on your couch. Clearly exhausted. You see something on your couch and smile lightly. It's the hoodie Hawks lent you. You move grabbing it. It's super soft and it smells like his apartment. That woodsy scent that was all nice and piney.

My phone buzzes. I pull it from my pocket to see an unknown number.

Unknown- Impression gave me your number

It took a lot of convincing

A lot

Y/n - Who is this?

Unknown - Oh guess I should of said that

It's Hawks

Number 2 hero

Y/n - Why do you have my number?

Unknown - Had to know if you go home safely

Y/n - You shouldn't worry about me I'm stronger than your giving me credit for

Unknown - Remind me not to underestimate you.

Pretty and talented.

What's it like being perfect?

Y/n - It's adorable that you think I'm perfect but even I have my flaws

Unknown - likww what/?

augh

ugh sorrry harsd to tyep whjike

caan io vcaall you;

Y/n - I'm a really busy gal I don't know if I have the time

Unknown - :(

Y/n - You have five minutes" make it count

Unknown - :)

He doesn't hesitate. You move answering the call.

"Hello beautiful," He says. I can hear the smirk in his voice. "Miss me?"

"Not really," You answer.

"Wow brutal," He says, "is that how you handle all the trolls online? Or those bitchy reporters?"

"I take them down with more force," You reply, "swift, forceful."

"Mmm so you like fast and forceful?" He asks. You roll your eyes.

"Yeah you wish," You say, "can't last long enough can you?"

"Wanna test that?" He says, "I'm sure I'll make it worthwhile."

"You said that last time."

"And I kept my promise didn't I?" He asks.

"Sure," You reply, "if that's what you want to hear."

"Oh come on you seemed to like it last night~" He teases, "I mean come on I had you moaning so loud. It's a good thing I don't have any neighbors."

"You ever hear of faking it?"

"Don't mock me like that," He says, "you know I'm fragile."

"You are anything but fragile," You say, "by the way you have 3 minutes."

"Oh you're really timing me?" He asks, "you're brutal. How am I supposed to make you fall in love with me if you won't play along."

"Fall for you? Is that what you think is gonna happen?" You ask.

"Not if you don't play along," He pouts, "come on what is it that makes you not want to fall for me? I mean I'm hot. I'm good in bed. I admire the fact you are also hot and good in bed."

"Sorry Hawks but I don't fall in love like that," You shrug, "besides your not my type."

"What?" He asks, "how am I not your type. You slept with me. Aren't you like attracted to me."

"Physically," You cut him off, "but romantically you aren't the type I go for."

"What do you go for?"

"Mm hold that thought for another day Hawks... you are out of time," You smirk.

"What? No way!" He exclaims, "you're really gonna leave right now?"

"Sorry I'm a busy gal," You say, "try again another day~"

You end the call before you can say anything else. While you were entertained with your game deciding to move to your night time routine. Poor Hawks on the other hand was staring at your number clearly frustrated with you taking his chance from him. It's his game. He isn't the one who gets played. He's the player!

"She's so cheeky," He says softly, "well guess I have to just try harder."

And so his new mission is set.

"Impression I need those reports asap," You say looking firmly at the pro, "you're behind as it is and I need you to look at the kids from the sports festival. You know internships are important for rising heroes to bring attention to the agency so you want to bring in a few kids to work with."

"I hate to interrupt," Kami says approaching me, "but something came for you." You look over at her to see her holding a bouquet full of flowers. Roses.

"You hookup with someone last night?" Impression asks, "because they seem to be a bit of a simp."

"Not a hookup just a parasite," You say taking the flowers from her. You look at the card and your suspicions are confirmed.

Hey beautiful, you aren't playing the game right - Hawks

"Who's it from?" Impression asks. You show him the card and he just chuckles lightly. "Well now you'll know not to mess with guys like him." You sigh as you move to your desk. You place them carefully in the vase as the two heroes look at me.

"Is he just too attached or is it something?" Kami asks.

"He's trying to play my game," You say simply, "he wants me to fall for him. I want him to fall for me. He wants to be the player, I want to be the heart breaker."

"Two players hookup and now one of them has to finally lose," Kami says, "that's so fanfic. I love it."

"At least it makes my game more interesting," You say. You pull your phone out and send on message to the man.

Y/n - I like daisies more

Kami leans over my shoulder to see the message and smirks lightly.

"Wow you really are just playing him like a violin," She says, "that's exciting."

"Exciting or not it's my personal life and we are still on the clock. So back to what I was saying and Kami this involves you. Pick out the kids you want extend offers to by tonight so I can call the schools to set everything up. Alright?"

"Yes Ma'am," Impression says, "I'll get right on that."

"Yep," Kami says.

As they move off I sit down at my desk to start on my reports. I get through about half when my phone starts to buzz against the desk. I look down to see Hawks messaged me back.

Hawks - Do I at least get points for trying?

Y/n - No

Hawks - boo

ur making the game hard

Y/n - you don't have to play we could just return to our normal lives

Hawks - You don't want to play?

Y/n - I'll admit that I'm enjoying this game. It's harder this way. Which makes it so much more fun...

Hawks - Then it's settled we have to finish the game.

Y/n - Sounds good to me

I can't wait to win

Hawks - Well look who sounds cocky now

Y/n - I have to get back to work

Besides I'm sure you have to as well

Hawks - boo

You decide to put your phone away and go back to the reports. At the end of your shift Kami waves you down to to invite you to a club. You accept. Walking closely with her and a couple of the sidekicks. It's a impromptu girls night apparently. She had gathered a bunch of the ladies in the office and dragged you all into a club to unwind.

You swirl the vodka and redbull mix as you look over at her.

"Do you want to settle down?" She asks me.

"Settle down?" You ask, "no I really don't. I want to enjoy my youth not worry about some girl or guy that's also trying to figure their life out."

"What about that Edgeshot?" She offers, "you've slept with him a bunch and you said you like him."

"I like him the same way you like that booty call you keep going back to," You correct, "it's physical but he's boring. I want someone who's fun and hot. Someone who can keep up with me."

"Who does that sound like?" She asks.

"No one," You chuckle, "if I met someone like that I'd eat them right up." I sip my drink as she glares lightly at me.

"Okay okay so you don't want to settle down," She says, "you want this picture perfect person first try. Do you think we live in a fairy tale?"

"No," You say honestly, "but I know I don't want to date anyone until I find someone who sticks out. Someone who sees me as more than a pretty face ya know? Like okay take the guys I hook up with. They are fun and attractive. But they don't want the emotional stuff. Which is fine cause they are hookups. But if I wanted something real. Something long term. I'd want this person to connect with me on a spiritual level. Match my fast life ya know."

"You're too picky," She slurs.

"You're too boring," You say, "okay- as fun as this girls night is... I'm bored. Soooo how about bow tie over there?"

"You gonna take him home?"

"If he'll have me," You smirk. You stand flipping your skirt up to make it just a bit shorter then ruffle your hair lighter. "Okay how do I look?"

"Hot," She says. You nod.

"Perfect now come dance with me," You say. You take her hand dragging her to the dance floor. As the fast pace song comes on the two of you moving dancing together. Doing pretty much everything to draw attention of the guys scouting for a hook up. Some guy moves offering to by Kami a drink leaving you dancing with one of the sidekicks. Suddenly you feel a finger tap on your shoulder. You turn to see a familiar face. But it's completely out of place. "Hawks? What are you doing here?"

"You texted me," He says, "'come to Veil I need someone to party with'"

"That sneaky bitch," You say softly.

"What?" He asks.

"My coworker texted you," You explain, "she loves to meddle you know."

"So I was pulled into something?" He asks, "I can't believe I'm being used. What a shame I was super excited to see you cave. And well to see you like this." You chuckle lightly.

"Well if you're already here... I guess it wouldn't hurt for you to buy me a drink," You suggest. He chuckles.

"Well I'm not opposed to spending time with you," He says, "come on."

You lead him to the bar. Each of you order your drink then he hands his card over.

"You party on weekdays often?" He asks me.

"Only when someone else suggests it," You answer, "I'm not going to be the one who leads the decision but I will gladly take advantage of the chance. Do you normally send roses to girls you hookup with?"

"I hate to admit it but you're the first," he says, "you're the only one playing the long game. You'll take a bit more work."

"Will I?" You ask, "mother always said I was high maintenance."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah I always had to have the best growing up," You tell him, "you know I attended UA? It was for General Studies sure but still. And I went to UA's college."

"Wow flashy school," He says.

"Yeah well I had to get in even if it wasn't to be a hero," You share, "it was the best. My mother wasn't a fan on the fancy private school price tho."

"I can imagine," He says, "what does your mother do?"

"She was a baker," You tell him, "she passed my last year of high school."

"I'm sorry for your loss," He says softly.

"It's in the past," You say, "what about you?"

"My parents they aren't around," He says.

"I'm sorry," You say.

"Don't be," He says, "sometimes thats better."

"I get what you mean," You tell him, "pops ran out on my mom and I when I was in middle school. He was the worst. Alcoholic who beat on my mom and I. He died last year. And somehow to me thats better than having him alive."

"Ah tragic origin stories," Hawks says, "they really bread some great people."

"I know," You say, "cheers to that." You both clink your drinks together. You chug as much as you can. Hawks is slightly taken back but quickly moves to keep up. You set down the empty class and look back to him. "Come dance with me."

"Of course beautiful," he says smirking. You move dragging him onto the dance floor. Dancing to the fast song. He's all smiles as he watches you move. He can't tell if its the alcohol or if you are just that care free. But watching you move like you were the only person in the room was hypnotic.

After a couple songs he can't hold it back anymore.

"I hate to break the mood but- you're really making it hard for me to hold back," He groans.

"My place is down the street," You tell him, "one portal and we can be there in a flash."

"I'd like that very much," He says. You move taking his hand and leading him towards the wall. You place your hand on the wall and the portal opens.

"Last chance to back out," You tell him.

"I don't back out," He says. You smirk.

"Good," You say pulling him through the portal to your home.

#hawks x reader #hawks bnha #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #bnha #mha

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ahhscheisse · 4 years

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just wanted to say thank you to everyone. i got a lot of different messages from a lot of different people on a lot of different websites kind of reassuring me that bruce lived a good life and that it’s okay to be sad, lots of kind messages, y’know?

i have to get a necropsy done bc of the risk that bruce could be contagious. it terrifies me bc if he is, i won’t get his body back, which means i won’t be able to cremate him. but i need to know bc he was housed with other birds, and i won’t just sit here and wait and see if they get sick. i don’t have the money and that just seems cruel and irresponsible.

i say that bc i am still taking commissions. i’m using my credit cards to pay for all this, and i’m going to be slammed with fees if i don’t pay it back right away.

my commissions can be sent to you digitally and/or via a physical print in the mail. i’m not the best at furry art, but i’m happy to do them as long as it’s not nsfw, bc i’m just. not good at that and not entirely comfortable, either.

i take paypal, ko-fi, venmo and cashapp and prices generally range between $15 for a simple one character sketch to $100 for multiple characters and a complicated background. generally, people pay $25 for a digital commission and an extra $6 - $15 (+ shipping if you’re outside the usa) for a physical print.

i take 50% up front just to protect myself, and i do make sure you’re happy with the initial sketch before i really start in on it.

idk. thanks to everyone who has already commissioned me, who has donated and sent love to me. i feel like i haven’t seemed very grateful, but this is the first death i’ve experienced in a long time that i didn’t feel miserably alone in. so thank you 💚

#not art

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cawolters · 5 years

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December...? DECEMBER!?

What about September?

November?

October?? What did I miss??

Yes, well, no you didn’t miss any vitals updates. I have reasons for why I haven’t been active on tumblr, and the most honest reason is that I didn’t feel like writing and posting on here since spring.

The writeblr community is so so great, one of the best in the web, but the platform is driving me nuts. Flagging, shadow bans, tag dysfunction and draft erasing/crashing, have just completely smashed my love for making fun and elaborate posts.

However, lots of updates has been made and i keep seeing wips I want to tag list and people i want to hang out with, so I’ll stick around for another decade or so! Hashtag always lurking.

The more polite reason for my absence, and equally truthful I might add, is that I was very busy the last few months —COMMISSIONS! LIFE! IRL NETWORKING!

And now I’ll tell you about it all, starting by answering the Q on everyone’s tongue:

1) Is Flash Fiction Friday Getting Revived in 2020?

In short, yup.

I need it, you need it, the world needs it. We need to WRITE folks. And the lovely prompt Friday will be back with week no 30 (!!) on:

Friday the 10th of January!

I have a capable team of creative and lovely writeblrs on the job as to how we an ensure consistent posting —and just and FYI, we might even end up with giving the FFF it’s own blog.

Run free, be with the people my beautiful prompt creature, inspire! And give me something to read!!

Stay tuned for updates and tell me is you want to be added to the FFF tag list.

Now next up is my scrip update!

2) Querying ‘The Serpent Kiss’

All is well in the land of querying.

or... well almost.

Alrighty, lemme explain below.

So, if you’ve been following me for awhile, you know my third child (whom is not currently teething or using my lipstick as a crayon) is my dark new adult fantasy trilogy —The Serpent Kiss <3

If you donno what I’m talking about, here’s a quick summery of the query process:

I finished the English first draft, two and a half years ago (I think?) and started looking into querying after my fifth draft was done.

I decided very early on that I would feel more comfortable working here in Denmark, where I already have a literary network, and actually understand the cultural unwritten rules when working with publishers!!

Since then I have been rewriting, tweaking, had beta-readers, editors, a sponsored translator (who translated the script from English to danish) BEFORE I started querying seriously in Denmark.

During the time where the book was being reviewed, I’ve kept in touch with houses who showed interest in the book from the get go (encouraging me to push onward), done a lot of social media work (especially on Instagram since the publishers all mentioned the importance of that platform) and attended books cons to physically mingle (it makes a difirence —really).

Ah, and now, finally, we’ve starting to get serious replies back from the Danish publishers.

Let’s look at what they’ve said so far.

(And mind you, this is Denmark. We’re a tiny country and we DON’T have adult fantasy books written by danish authors, so their critique is based on that. YA is what’s sellable and had been for years, buuut I also know that tendency will shift, so that’s what I’m really selling. A new trend basically. Always understand what pov the critique is coming from and don’t stop at the first rejection)

3/5: ‘no thank you, there’s no marked in Denmark for your book’

1/5: ‘we love it but rewrite it to YA and we have a deal’ — I said, no thank you

1/5: ‘we love it as is and we want to give you a deal, but we have to work out the legal kinks, and we will give you final answer by the end of January!’

So I’m awaiting the final judgement!!

But not really, it’s not the final judgement. If the deal falls through, and it might, never pop champagne before signing, I still have four more houses I could send the book to here in Denmark.

And, I could still go the international route and query over seas.

Yup! That’s the update on that!

Next up? The general writing!

3) A Year Of Author

“It’s really hard being a writer... Not on the days where you’re writing, but on the days where you’re not!”

— @CAlisaWolters, Instagram confessions

My year of full time professional writing, meaning mainly relying on my text/skill/art to heave in the cash, is six months down and going — OK!!

Here’s what I’ve learned/done so far:

I’m writing 4-7h on commissions, the second book of the trilogy, short-stories, poetry and another little YA project every day. Yes. Every day. And that’s very very cool and also exhausting mentally. My advice to others: HAVE OBLIGATORY DAYS OFF! (Oh yea and I also won nanowrimo but the project is a secret shh).

I’m somewhat alone most of the time but being a closeted introvert, I don’t mind, but I miss coworkers. That’s why Café dates and write-ins with writer pals IS IMPORTAINT.

Also! Speaking of socializing, I’ve been to five writers cons/events and I definitely recommend making it a priority for all professional authors. BRING BUSINESS CARDS!!

I have a set routine and I’m really happy with it! Early mornings is the best! And Monday is where I don’t write, but keep up with social media and answer mails and run errands! MAKE A ROUTINE!

And that’s the update on THAT!! Phew I’m getting winded, are you? Fear not we one have one last thing to cover. Promise.

4) Personal Life and Drag Kings ^_^

Where to start? Ah I know! I’ll start with the drag king storytelling event because that’s really what stands out!

I’m a mom, a wife, a bisexual, a general theatrical person and a genderfluid jellyfish who uses she/her pronounces, so when someone booked me for a storytelling event, I decided to go in drag. Naturally. Tsh duh.

I’ve really been experimenting with my gender this year, playing with apperence and comfortzones, and discovering that my real happiness lies somewhere between flooofy dresses and black buttondowns. And not just the clothes, but there attitude, the demeanor, the mental space of wearing cologne!! It might not sound dramatic, but to me it’s been A RIDE!

(I’ve been dying to go full drag for a long looooong time and I should’ve gone all out on the makeup —but next time!!! Also the event went so so well and I had the best time! I’m going to do it again!)

And NOW I’m done! Hah not really, but I won’t force you to spend all day reading my updates and this post is already so loooong 💕💕✨💕

The new year looms!! May it bring you love and confidence, and lots of new opportunities!!

Hug hug hug!!

~Ciao

#author #cawolters #ayearofauthor #writeblr #my writing #nano 2019 #books #writer #update #query #agents #writing adventures #writing advice

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

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THE HOUSE, (part 2 of 3), a tale of Flocking Bay

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

THE HOUSE

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

7357 words

Written 1990

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Next, I began to check the walls for hidden panels or the like. The walls of the parlor, sitting room, and kitchen were smooth with elaborate flocked paper. The wainscots were all of solid, if elaborate, woodwork. That left the study, dining room, and library. I set eagerly to work. The paneled walls of the study proved depressingly solid.

I was delighted when I finally found the basement stair in the library. A bookcase camouflaged a hidden door with the spring catch concealed as one of the few knots visible anywhere in the wood of the house.

Flashlight in hand, I ventured down the short flight of stairs. The basement proved to be small and bare. It had mortared stone walls and a cement floor. There were no hiding places, even the space under the stairs was empty, no rats, no dust, and no cobwebs … Slowly I went back up the stairs to the library.

I put away my flashlight and went to the study to look at the land records again. The papers revealed that the house’s first buyer was George Oates. His brother and sole heir sold the house seven years later. His name was Harold.

As I am something of a bibliophile, I decided to give the house’s library a detailed look. I was more than pleasantly surprised. Not one book was published later than 1866. Many were far older. Some of the books went back to the 1400’s. Mr. Wickes was apparently somewhat dishonest, intellectually. He had signed and dated the flyleaf of each book, for example, “Hiram Wickes, acquir’d 1565.” Some of the dates went back to 1540 in books published from 1483 to 1497. He would have to have been over 300 years old, if the inscriptions were true.

Hiram was heavily into the occult. There was little that did not pertain to the various occult ‘sciences.’ Even the books in foreign tongues, and there were many, had illustrations that indicated that they belonged to this awesome collection of lore. The impression was that Hiram had read all or most of this collection. His marginal notes were in a wide range of languages, often not the language of the book in question. From scanning the shelves, I deduced that there were over twenty five hundred books in the library.

My near drenching of the day before had taught me that it was wise to take my car into town. Mrs. Alderman greeted me at the slightly shabby old counter that served the library for a check-out desk. “My goodness, young man, how did you get on when the power went out? I have a gas range, ‘cause you never can tell when, hereabouts, the power might go.”

“I’ve got gas where I’m staying, too,” I told her, “I made out okay.”

“Well,” she said knowingly, “the radio says it’ll be another two-three hours before we got power again. Why don’t you go sit by that window? It’ll give you light all morning.”

I thanked her and turned at once to the death certificates. Bingo! George Oates, his wife Wilfreda, daughters - Caroline and Charity, and son Harold (named for George’s brother in Boston), had all been declared legally dead, seven years having passed since their disappearance, and all reasonable attempts at contact having failed. Now, the reason for that malevolent plaque came into focus.

Turning to the letters, I started with the earliest. The Post Office had saved Hiram’s mail in the hope that it would yield some clue to his whereabouts. This practice was followed in the disappearance of all subsequent owners of the house. Hiram’s mail was of considerable interest to any who might know a bit of the occult and something of rare books, as I did. The first letter follows:

My Dear Hiram:

It is with the utmost concern that I read your last communication. You were always my most talented pupil and are a valued associate. I pray you, please, reconsider the rash course that you are now contemplating.

Remember, your copy of Alhazarad is not a good one. The edition of 1784 contains many minor lacunae. Before you attempt anything, consult also the Pnakotic Manuscripts and collate what you learn there with Von Junst.

I know that reading the Pnakotic Manuscripts is a difficult and time-consuming task. Never forget that the source of your present wealth and mine lies in those ancient pages. There is much wisdom there for those with the courage to seek. Everything must be checked against other knowledge.

To call upon Him Whose Name Must NOT be Uttered for so trivial a task is a sure way to serious mishap. Remember, your Alhazarad is incomplete!

In concern for your welfare,

I remain, Richten

At Darkhouse, Arkham, Mass.

Unfortunately, the authorities were unable to trace the mysterious Richten or his address. Arkham, Mass. is, of course well known to all scholars and bibliophiles as the home of Miskatonic University, with its astounding collection of rare books of occult lore.

I had never heard of the Pnakotic Manuscripts but the other items mentioned in the letter were familiar to me. Alhazarad could be none other than the author of the infamous Necronomicon. The 1784 edition survives only as a fragmentary copy in the vaults of Miskatonic University. Von Junst could only be the almost as infamous Black Book. This book also survives in only a few priceless copies. Two of the best ones lurked in the vaults of the rare book collection at Miskatonic. They were separate editions, published a century apart.

Another letter, about a week later than the first, was a bit more specific. Richten started in much the same vein as before but went on:

Calling so mighty a being for so trivial a task is absolutely insane. I know that you enjoy tidiness. Who does not? Yet He Whose Name Must NOT be Uttered is not a mere servant and can be disastrously literal, even when all else is done perfectly.

Binding Him, as you have, cannot please Him. What you have learned from the Necronomicon and the Pnakotic Manuscripts has enabled you to compel Him to bring you gold. The first time that He did was almost fatal. Remember, being able to compel is not the same as being master.

For your own safety, Do Not Do This!!!

Wishing you the best,

Your friend and former Master,

Richten

At Darkhouse, Arkham, Mass.

There were also, unfortunately, not translated, letters from Korea, China, India, the 0ttoman Empire, Germany, France, Morocco, and several places in South America. Apparently our Mr. Wickes had been something of a polyglot and did in fact read all of the languages of the books in his library.

It appeared that a careful search of the house, attic to basement, was in order. If there were any chance that I might find a copy of either the Necronomicon or the Black Book, I could turn a fine profit. Either book in almost any condition, was worth in far in excess of mere $45,000.00 that I had paid for the house.

Turning to the newspaper clippings, I found mostly stories of the disappearances of people who had bought the Wickes place. The George Oates family was only the first. They were not alone. The clippings gave some flesh to the legal death declarations. There was another detail to add to my list. No trace was ever found of the possessions of any person who vanished.

Electric wiring had been installed. Several times. It too had vanished without a trace. After each disappearance, the house was exactly as it had been when Hiram Wickes vanished. Even if the furniture and books were sold or even burned, everything always came back.

The Reverend Orville Olson piled all of Hiram’s books and furniture on the lawn and burned it all. He then exorcised the whole place of the “evil ghost of Hiram Wickes.” To prove that the evil was gone, he spent the night in the house. The burn scar on the lawn and the Reverend Olson both vanished. The furniture and books returned.

I made careful tracings of the strange gold coin in the file and made longhand copies of such of the letters as I could and included all of the oddments that I knew of Hiram Wickes and the Wickes house, and prepared the lot for mailing. I addressed it to Professor Gordon Wetherbee at Miskatonic University.

He was a sort ‘uncle’ to me. He and my father had been close friends since long before my birth. That friendship had been extended to me as I grew and was largely responsible for my love of books and learning. I did not know all or even a fraction of what ‘uncle’ Gordon knew or did but I trusted him absolutely.

I did know that his research had taken him all over the world. He knew more of the occult than any other man of my acquaintance.

One set of clippings caught my eye. “BOY GOES MAD!!” Curiosity piqued, I read on. In essence, the story was this:

It was a fine day in April, 1896. Willie Asphel, age 10, was in the mood to get into trouble. He sneaked off to the Wickes place to break windows. Apparently he missed the house with the first stone, as there was no crash of glass or thump of stone on board. He took precise aim and watched carefully where the stone went. Ever after, his hair was stark white, his eyes crossed, and even after he stopped raving, his mind was never fully normal. He demonstrated a talent for seeing into closed containers and the like.

He died of a brain hemorrhage at the age of fifteen.

The power which had failed last night, came back at 3:30 p.m. I felt a need to digest the tale of Reverend Olson and young Willie Asphel, so I left the library. I walked up the street in the sunlight. Cobbles could be seen here and there through old cracks and holes in the paving. Stepping around the occasional weed, I followed the sidewalk to the Post Office. There I mailed my letter to uncle Gordon.

Thoughtfully, I retraced my steps. My car awaited me. No sooner had I got into it than a gust of wind slammed the door. The impact caused the glove box door to fall open. Inside were five gold coins exactly like the one in the file

To say that I was stunned by this occurrence would have been an understatement. A breeze plucked at my right hand, almost as if it were guiding me to the gold. The moment that I took the gold in my hand, the breeze died away. Only then did I notice that my car windows were closed.

My first response was to say, “Thank you, whoever or whatever you may be.” I drove home slowly, mulling over the day’s events. The clouds roiled overhead like fighting dogs.

Once home, I got my flashlight and went straight to the attic. At the stairs, my light would not shine. Somehow, I must have left it on when I last put it away. Irritating.

I had lots of candles down in the kitchen. For a prize like the Necronomicon or the Black Book, I could search by candlelight. An obsession to find those books seized my spirit.

I hurried down to the kitchen and set up a candlestick, which I took back to the attic. The soft glow of the candlelight revealed the same boxes and trunks that I had seen before. There were still no dust or spider webs to be seen. I heard what sounded like a hundred rats on the floor below. A glance out an attic window showed that night had fallen. The ‘spectral brigade’ never started before dark.

The boxes and trunks contained the curios, mementos and journals of travels on six of the seven continents (only Antarctica was not represented.) Glancing through the journals revealed that although Hiram was meticulous at recording detail and observations, he was also quite secretive about the object of his searches and research. It was both fascinating and frustrating.

Some of the boxes contained disturbingly carved stones and other artifacts. Many of these were only disquieting to look at but a few were truly mind twisting. A number of the journals contained finely drawn sketches in ink of architecture that Escher would have loved, had it not caused actual nausea when studied too closely. Many of the drawings were of ruins but they still retained their otherworldly power. Their geometry was subtly skewed from any earthly construction. There was little else, aside from literally thousands of the above mentioned journals. Valuable to the right collector perhaps but not the precious books that I was seeking.

I tried the second floor next. Both bedrooms, the bath, and the large room that I had dubbed ‘the work room’ all proved to have no secret hiding places. If there were any hidden doors or concealed panels they defied me.

The ground floor was next. I started with the kitchen. The parlor got a once-over walls and ceiling. (I had done the floor when I searched for the basement.) The same was done with the dining room, sitting room, and study. Then it was the library’s turn.

Looking at the wall to wall, knee to ceiling, cases of books with their sliding ladders, I despaired of finishing my search that night. There were over twenty five hundred volumes on those shelves.

I stared at the sea of brown leather backs, some stamped with gold, and decided to start at the right of the door and work my way around the room. Each book had to be inspected to be sure that it was not concealing another book in innocent appearing binding. Many of them were valuable in their own right but none could compare with the Necronomicon or the Black Book.

I did not get far before I was too tired to continue. The books that I was seeking had waited for century and a third. They could wait until morning.

The next day, my inspection of the library resumed. Here, at least, Hiram had achieved order. The books were shelved by subject and author, regardless of language. There was precious little of outright fiction though many were obvious foolishness in the light of modern knowledge. At ten in the morning, I stopped, arms aching and eyes swimming. I was less than a quarter of the way through the herculean task.

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Return to Flocking Bay

#THE HOUSE #part 2 of 3 #Flocking Bay #Written by De Writer

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adiabolikpastel · 5 years

Text

Losing You

Rating: PG-13 - minor sex scene & male x male

Word Count: 4461

Original Character(s): Skye Oakly & Alrick Rosenfeld

ღ This is the first written commission I have ever gotten! Thank you to @the-sloth-woman for writing our boys together! The art for both characters was done by @minoux-draws

An AU piece where demons have taken over, however cannot breed normal. They must use the human’s to secure linage for the future. The Rosenfeld clan captures a human girl to marry off to the head of the family, young Alrick.

Reluctantly, the snake demon prepares for his wedding. There is just one last thing he must do. A young siren who had been his lover for quite some time. Will the two be able to maintain a connection after the big news?ღ

♬° ✧❥✧¸.•*¨*✧♡✧ ♬° ✧❥✧¸.•*¨*✧♡✧ ♬° ✧❥✧¸.•*¨*✧♡✧ ♬° ✧❥✧¸.•*¨*✧♡✧

Alrick closed the door to the penthouse with a resolute click. Anger radiated off him in waves, and it took every inch of his self-control not to rip the door off its fucking hinges.

Why was she so goddamn frustrating!? Surely she could see that he didn’t want to be mated to her either. There were hundreds of demons who he would have been better suited with. Men and women who were thousands of times less infuriating as one stupid human girl. He would have done better to trade her off to the brothel owners. At least there she would find something to do with her stupid mouth.

He shook his head and took a deep breath through his nose. He couldn’t think about Lilly right now, not when he had so much on his plate. There was the ceremony to arrange on top of his normal workload. And that was an enormous task altogether. Was he supposed to just appear in traditional ceremonial dress with no forethought? Please. He didn’t have time to waste fighting with humans.

The first and most pressing matter was, unfortunately, going to be the most difficult. Alrick was an extremely popular demon lord, and living alone for so long had left him a string of paramours. There were many that he did not care about, women who were little more than one-night stands and whose memories were clouded through fogs of wine. There were demons with whom he had more established relationships with, but they would understand his predicament. They would understand how his honor demanded that he put aside his own needs for the future of his people. And even then it had been weeks since he had seen anyone who particularly struck his interest.

But there was one person who he was dreading bringing the news to. He had been seeing Skye on and off for months, and while they had an extraordinary physical relationship, they had managed to keep it hidden from most of the ruling class of demons. Their conversation would be messy, and full of feelings that Alrick didn’t know how to handle. The cowardly part of him wanted to prolong the conversation until after the ceremony. But Alrick wouldn’t let himself be a coward, no matter how difficult it would be.

He spent most of the day making arrangements for the ceremony. His family’s uchikake needed to be pressed and cleaned, the sake needed to be chosen, and he sent out invitations to most of the ruling class. He also ordered contraceptive tea for afterward, just in case the mating did not take hold. There was nothing worse than being forced to raise a cub with someone who was incompatible with you.

Truthfully, he was putting off calling Skye for as long as possible. The clock on his desk slowly ticked down toward the end of the day. He had one last night of freedom before being bound to a human, and he knew he had to make the most of it. He picked up the phone on his desk with a heavy heart and rang the Sakamaki family.

Skye’s familiar voice greeted him on the other end of the line. “Sakamaki residence, this is Skye speaking. My masters are out of the house for the evening, may I take a message?”

For once Alrick was thankful for the human invention of the telephone. It was much faster than sending a messenger, and the person on the other end didn’t have to see the look on his face. “It’s me,” he said, not bothering to introduce himself.

The tone of Skye’s voice changed immediately. “Alrick- I mean, Your Highness,” he gushed. “It’s so nice to hear from you. Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?”

Alrick tried not to wince at Skye’s familiar flirting. “I need to see you tonight. Can you meet me for dinner?”

“Tonight? Well, the Sakamakis are busy, I’m really not supposed to leave the manor unattended.”

“Shit,” Alrick ran his hand through his hair. “Then find an excuse to leave.” Skye’s warm laugh trilled through the end of the phone. “Really Alrick, has it been so long since you last saw me that you’re resorting to ordering me around? I’ll come much faster if you ask nicely,” he teased. “You should know that better than anyone.”

The double entendre of Skye’s words was not lost on Alrick, but his mood was too sour to appreciate them. “Please, Skye,” he rarely ever let himself plead with another person, but he was desperate. “This is urgent. I need you, and it can’t wait.”

“O-oh,” the tone of Alrick’s voice had thrown the flirty attitude form Skye’s voice. “Yeah, sure.”

“Great. Meet me at our usual spot in half an hour. And don’t be late.” Alrick couldn’t see it, but he knew the authority in his voice was enough to make Skye shiver. “Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The nerves in Alrick’s stomach were only intensified by the fact that he arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early. He ordered a bottle of wine for the table and then waited for what felt like an eternity. He fidgeted in his suit, his eyes darting towards the door every few seconds. He had no idea what he was going to say to Skye. To tell him what was going on between him and Lilly was going to be excruciating. He remembered once when they had first started sleeping together when a waitress made the mistake of flirting with Alrick. Skye kissed him so possessively afterward that Alrick thought his lips were going to fall off.

The door to the restaurant jingled at Skye’s arrival. The scales that curved around his eyes sparkled in the setting sun and Alrick felt a pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach. He was dressed in a crisp skirt that fell just above his knees and a sweater that accentuated the curve of his waist. His hair was tied into a loose bun at the top of his head, the rest of his long tresses trailing down his back. Alrick couldn’t tell if it was one of Skye’s many wigs or his real hair, but he looked pretty nonetheless.

“Alrick,” Skye greeted him with a warm smile. “Or is this official business? Should I call you ‘Prince Rosenfeld’ instead?”

Alrick grimaced at the title and loosened his tie. “You don’t have to do that when it’s just us.”

“That’s not what you said the other night,” Skye purred, throwing his arms around Alrick in a soft hug. “I seem to recall you not letting me finish if I didn’t beg for ‘Prince Rosenfeld’ to give me permission-”

“Shhh, shh!” Alrick pressed his thumb to Skye’s lips to silence him. “Do you really want to spill all our bedroom secrets in the middle of the restaurant?”

“Well, not all of them,” Skye’s eyes flashed invitingly and took his seat across the table. “Just the ones that really embarrass you.”

Alrick chuckled, some of the weight on his chest lifting. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too. You look tired,” Skye eyed the cut of Alrick’s suit. “Did you come directly from work?”

“What gave it away?” Alrick poured himself a large glass of wine. “I didn’t have time to go home and change before meeting you, I hope you don’t mind.” That was a half-lie. The real reason he didn’t want to go home was that the human girl would be waiting for him, and seeing her would just make everything much worse.

“Alrick, when have I ever minded you in a suit? You know they’re one of my favorite things to take off you.”

“I suppose you’re right about that,” he ran his hand in his hair. “And am I right to assume that’s exactly what you’re thinking about doing right now?”

“Alrick! How could you accuse me of such lewd and lascivious behavior?”

“Because I’ve been sleeping with you long enough to know how your mind works.” Skye let out a burst of giggles and covered his mouth. “You caught me, I’ve been thinking about ripping it off of you since I walked in.”

A wide grin spread across Alrick’s face. Before he could stop himself he said, “Maybe I’ll have to let you rip it off with your teeth.”

The gravity of what he just said hit him a few moments later. There would be no more bedtime trysts with Skye. After tomorrow he would have a mate, and whether he liked it or not he would be bound to her for all of eternity. He swallowed thickly, the weight of his honor feeling like a large burden. Alrick was the demon prince, and he had a duty to his people before himself. Skye immediately noticed the change in Alrick’s demeanor. “What’s wrong? Was it something I said?”

“No, no,” Alrick waved his wine glass, taking a long sip. “You haven’t done anything, I promise you. Actually, you’re doing too little. Talk to me, tell me about your day.”

“Alright...” Skye trailed off, unsure. “It wasn’t very eventful. I did all the things the Sakamaki’s asked me to. Make tea, get the mail, answer the phones. Laito had me arrange a visit to the brothel for tomorrow morning, which should be super fun to clean up after.”

“Of course he did.” Skye looked around to see if anyone was listening in and then leaned across the table with a wicked expression on his face. “You didn’t hear it from me, but I heard that the last time he went there one of the girls was so scared off by whatever he did that she ran out into the street and almost got hit by a car.”

“Ugh,” Alrick wrinkled his nose. “What could he even think up that would scare someone that badly?”

“I have no idea but I wish I did. Whatever it was, I don’t think it would have scared me if it was with you.”

Fuck. There it was again, the unspoken weight that dangled over Alrick’s head like a sword. He swallowed the last of his wine and hung his head. There was no use in prolonging it, he had to come clean to Skye. “Listen, there’s something I need to-”

“I know.”

“E-eh?” Alrick blinked, flabbergasted. “You know...?”

“I know you’re upset.” Skye’s voice softened. “You’ve been getting this terrible look on your face all night.”

“Ugh... I didn’t realize I was being that obvious.” He slumped in his seat. “Hey, hey...” Skye walked over to Alrick and slid his hand along his cheek. “Do you want to get out of here?”

The touch of his hand was enough to make Alrick melt. “Leave...?”

“Of course,” Skye’s thumb trailed down the side of Alrick's jaw. “We could get a hotel room, just the two of us. I think I know something that will really make you feel better.” His voice was dark with promise.

Alrick sighed before responding. The temptation to disappear with him was strong. It would be so easy for Alrick to lose himself in Skye, to forget all his worries if only for a little while.

The feelings that Alrick had been fighting all night suddenly swallowed him whole. “Yeah,” he said, sinking into the comfort of Skye’s touch. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

The hotel rose high above the expanse of the city, almost as high up as Alrick’s penthouse. It was lavishly decorated with the finest amenities, including a huge bar on the first floor. The room itself had a wide window that overlooked the other buildings of the district: glittering patches of light that faded away to the curling fog of the mountainside in the distance.

It was a shame that neither of them noticed any of that. Alrick’s lips were locked onto Skye’s the minute they got into the car. They crashed into the hotel room, their hands fumbling against clothing and furniture. Alrick barely had time to catch his breath before Skye descended upon him, pushing him up against the wall and kissing his way down his body. The feel of his lips was enough to make Alrick’s eyes roll back in his head with pleasure, but he wasn’t content to lose himself in his mouth alone. Alrick wanted more, he needed more. If this was going to be their last night together he had to make it count.

He resolutely moved Skye to the bed, lowering him onto his back like he had so many times. Alrick briefly remembered the first time they had snuck away to fuck. Skye had caught his eye from across the room, flashing Alrick a sensual smile. They had barely managed to find an empty room before Skye was lowering himself onto his knees, taking him into his mouth like a holy sacrament. It was hot and unbelievably addictive. They both knew without saying that one time wouldn’t be enough.

The memory caused a twinge of pain to stir in Alrick’s chest and he buried himself in Skye to block out the pain. He fought it off bravely, taking solace in the other demon’s hands and thighs. He found peace in the taste of Skye’s lips, bringing him closer and closer to his mouth. Underneath him, Skye met each and every one of his thrusts with ease. They had been together so many times that it was almost second nature, but that didn’t mean that Alrick wasn’t spellbound by the sound of Skye’s voice in pleasure. Just the sound of his name as he arched underneath him was enough to send Alrick over and over the edge.

Later, when they were both spent and clinging to one another for warmth, the guilt returned to Alrick. He had spent so much time with Skye today and he still hadn’t broken the news about the mating ceremony. Perhaps it would be worse now that they had spent the evening making love.

“You know,” Skye lazily rolled onto Alrick’s chest, his wig slightly askew. “I’m going to be so upset if I can’t sit properly tomorrow because of you. I might have to call you back and return the favor.”

Alrick stared at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. “You always promise that but you’ve yet been able to make me that sore.”

“That sounds like a challenge- wait, you don’t look happy about that.” Akye propped himself up onto his elbow. “Pet name,” he used his ironic term of affection, “what’s wrong?”

It was time. Alrick sat up slowly, extracting his limbs from their tangled mess. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and avoided Skye’s confused gaze.

Skye reached for Alrick’s shoulder and attempted to rub away his troubles. “Alrick, please... tell me what’s going on.”

Alrick stared at the floor and took a moment before speaking. “Do you remember a few days ago when they found that human girl? The one they found at the edge of the mountainside?”

“Of course I do,” Skye sat beside Alrick and carefully removed his wig. “It was all anyone could talk about. I just assumed she was going to be given to the demon lord who had found her.”

Alrick’s hands were clenched into fists on his knees. “You’re not wrong.” Skye threaded his hand through Alrick’s hair. “I don’t see why that would make you this upset. Unless you wanted her for your own,” he chuckled hollowly. “Don’t tell me that you’re planning to leave me for a silly little human.”

The silence that hung in the air was suffocating. Skye tried again, his voice tinged with panic. “You’re not really planning on abandoning me for a human. Right, Alrick?”

“She...” Alrick’s shoulders sagged slightly. “She was found by my men. That means she belongs to me.”

Skye’s hand froze in Alrick’s hair. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am. She’s- we’re... I’m...” Alrick turned away, his heart feeling icy. “She’s going to be my future mate.”

It was Skye’s turn to be silent. “Oh... Right, of course.” The resignation in his tone broke Alrick’s heart. Skye pulled away and wrapped his arms around his legs under the blanket. “Of course she is,” he continued. “You’re a prince, it’s only natural that one day you would... That we would have to end.”

“I’m sorry... I never thought that this would happen-”

“Don’t.” Skye cut him off. “Don’t say you didn’t know this was going to happen. You’ve always known what your role in the world is. You’re Alrick fucking Rosenfeld-” tears sprang at

the corners of his eyes but he ignored them. “Don’t you even try to say that you weren’t going to leave me for a woman one day.”

Alrick reeled from Skye’s anger. “Parakeet, this isn’t my fault. I wasn’t saying that this wasn’t inevitable, I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.”

Skye barely heard him. “Who cares about that? Now, later, it doesn’t matter. I guess it’s better this way, so I don’t get too attached.”

“Parakeet-”

“Don’t!” Skye turned on Alrick, his golden eyes blazing. “How can you still call me that when you'll be sharing a bed with her?!”

“Skye, this isn’t my choice!”

“It’s not mine either!” Skye stared down at his body, hating every inch of himself. “It’s not fair, it’s not fucking fair...” He wiped his eyes with a shaking hand and pulled the covers up over his chest.

“I know it’s not fair...” Alrick reached and took his hand, tugging the blanket free from his fingers. “Skye, I promise you that I didn’t plan for any of this to happen.”

Skye’s tears fell harder at the sincerity in Alrick’s voice. He shook his head and his tears dripped onto his scales, making them shine. “It doesn’t matter if you planned it or not, that doesn’t change the fact that it’s happening anyway!”

“I know!” The words ripped themselves from Alrick’s mouth. “Do you think I want this? That I want to be trapped with someone I’ve only known for two days? To be mated to a human-” he choked on the word. He felt like he was repeating the argument he had with Lilly in some sick circle that never ended. “Nothing about this is my choice, Skye.”

“Then don’t go through with it.” Skye threw himself out of bed and knelt before Alrick, pleading. “Turn her away, give her to someone else. You’re the prince Alrick, you can be with anyone you want.” His words came in a frantic rush as he beseeches Alrick. “You don’t have to live a life that’s not yours. Say there’s something wrong with her, say she’s defective. And then we can stay together!”

“You know I have to-“

“Why?! Why is this so important to you, more important than me?”

“Because you know we’re dying out.” Alrick felt detached from the situation like he was viewing all from a very long way away. “Because ever since we nearly wiped out the humans we’ve been unable to have any children of our own. I have to do this so our kind can have any sort of future, even if it’s one with mixed blood.”

Skye sagged, defeated. “It’s not fair... I hate the humans for what they’ve done to us.” Alrick slid his hand along Skye’s jaw, tilting his face to meet his. “As do I, Parakeet. They’ve ruled over us for thousands of years, it’s not right that they kill us off like this. That’s why we have to keep fighting back. And why I as the prince have to fight back hardest of all.”

Skye’s tears finally seemed to come to a close. “You’re right,” he murmured. “For the good of the people, right...?”

“For the good of the people,” Alrick repeated bitterly.

“Well...” Skye folded himself beside Alrick’s legs and leaned his head on his knee. “We still have until the ceremony. I can try to be by your side as much as possible before then. I’ll convince one of the Sakamakis to send me on errands for you. And maybe it won’t be so hard by the time the ceremony comes...” He reached for Alrick’s hand, placing it atop his own head. “How long do we have before she becomes your mate?”

Shit. Alrick was a fool. How could he have thought that prolonging telling would have made this easier? He felt sick. Sick of himself, sick of his circumstances, and sick of the human girl who he just so happened to catch. “It’s tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!” Skye’s head snapped back like he had been slapped. “Why did you wait until now to tell me?”

All their promised time together came crashing down around them. After the mating ceremony, there would be no more sneaking around. Not because Alrick respected his human mate, but because he would be bound to her. Demon mating ceremonies were so much more than simple human weddings. If everything went as planned, he would want no other after her. They would be bonded for life.

There was nothing more to say now. He could tell from the heartbroken look on Skye’s face that he made his mistake even bigger. Alrick stared past him and spoke to the opposite wall. “She was found only a few days ago, there wasn’t much time for me to-”

“No, no! You could have told me when they found her! You could have told me when the damn council made their decision. You had days, Alrick. Days!”

“I know!” He gave Skye a glare that stopped him from speaking. “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to fucking hurt you.”

“C-can’t you see that this hurts me more?” Skye’s voice broke. “How can I go on knowing that this will always be our last night together? That you and I got into a fight because you were being stupid, uncaring, selfish-”

“I’m not being selfish!”

“Yes, you are! Can’t you think about how this is affecting anyone but yourself?” “Parakeet!” Alrick cupped Skye’s cheeks and held him when he tried to jerk away. “You are the only other person who I care about right now. Not the council and definitely not her.” Alrick’s voice softened. “There is nothing in this world I would ever want to do to hurt you. Can’t you see how much I don’t want to do this? That it hurts me to hurt you like this...?”

An explosive sob wrenched itself from within Skye’s chest. He collapsed forward into Alrick, crying freely into his arms. “I’m sorry,” Alrick whispered, tucking his head under his chin. “I’m so sorry, Skye...”

They sat like that until Skye’s sobs became muffled sniffles. Alrick threw a glance out the window and saw the sky had lightened considerably. “Shit...”

Skye followed his gaze. “You have to go, don’t you...?”

“I do.” Alrick sighed and felt a thousand years older. “The ceremony is in a few hours. I need to get some sleep.”

Skye did not need Alrick to tell him what the ceremony entailed. He had seen a few himself, and he could not bear to watch Alrick fuck another woman- let alone see it on public display. “I won’t be there.”

Alrick chuckled quietly and extracted himself from Skye’s grasp. “I wouldn’t want you to be. I don’t even want to be there myself-” he began finding his discarded clothes strewn about the room- “and I don’t have the luxury to blow it off.”

Skye nodded and watched Alrick redress. Within minutes he was the same man who met him in the restaurant. Poised, calm, and unbearably handsome. Alrick ran a hand through his hair to smooth it back in place., completing the look. “I’m going to miss you...”

“I”m going to miss you too, Parakeet... Swear that you’ll never forget me?”

“How could I? I think you’ve ruined me for other men,” Skye laughed without humor.

“Don’t say that,” Alrick stroked Skye’s cheek with the back of his hand. “Don’t let my departure ruin any of your future happiness. Promise me that.”

“I’ll try...”

“Thank you...” Alrick reluctantly let his hand drop. He moved to the door, his shoulders already stiff with apprehension. “I’ll see you when it’s over, Parakeet.”

Skye did his best to smile. “You too, Pet Name...” Alrick gave Skye one last look, memorizing the way he looked under their messy bed sheets. Inside his chest he could feel his heart breaking. Alrick had been in pain many times before, but nothing so far had been as bad as this.

He took a deep breath and buried his feelings as far down as they would go. He stepped through the door and into his new life.

Skye did not sleep. He sat in the puddle of blankets Alrick left behind and felt utterly miserable. He wanted to cry but he had no more tears left. He wanted to scream, but his throat was raw from all the sobbing. He wanted to break every single thing in the damn room but he had no energy. All he could do was sit and feel horrible.

There was nothing left for him to do anyway. Even without the human interfering, he and Alrick were never meant to be. He had just entertained the thought for far too long...

He pressed a pillow to his face and fought off another round of sobs. Every fantasy he ever had with Alrick had been ripped to pieces within a few hours. He had so many dreams for the two of them, so many things that would have made him happy. And now there was nothing.

Unless... If the human woman couldn’t produce children with Alrick she would be taken away, thrown in the brothel where she belonged. If they were a bad match she would be given to another demon, that was a possibility. Or perhaps an accident would befall her, something terrible like falling off a building. Maybe she would even do herself in. Skye heard she put up quite a fight when she was caught, and there was a rumor that her mother was one of the resistance leaders. And if all else failed, he would just have to wait. Human lives were so short compared to a demon’s. There was no law that said Alrick couldn’t take a new mate if his first one died. Skye settled into the bed, finally feeling some sort of peace. He could be patient, he could wait. And if he couldn’t there were then enough ways for him to rectify the situation. The human may have been Alrick’s mate after tomorrow, but she wouldn’t stay his mate for long.

#commission #writing #skye oakly #sky oakly #alrick rosenfeld #the sloth woman

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antiquecompass · 5 years

Text

Untamed Fest Day 2: Dynamic

Summary: Wherein Sizhui has a best friend and a crush and parents who care, perhaps, maybe, just a little too much.

(So, like I said yesterday these fics are going to bounce around the ages of 11-18 for the Juniors. In this one Sizhui is 14. It’s also pre-Sizhui/Jingyi. Don’t worry, nothing will get above Teen in this entire series, and only then bc I, and therefore characters I write, curse like a sailor.)

When it came to personality, at least inside the confines of Lan Academy, Lan Sizhui had taken after his Papa. He projected an aura of quiet leadership and confidence; fair in judgment, but willing to mete out and take punishments. Even at fourteen, he was already one of the leaders on the Student Council; the youngest Vice President in a decade. Sizhui had entered the Academy at the age of eleven, determined to prove any doubters wrong, and had done so quietly and efficiently, just like a Lan should.

Lan Jingyi did not lead quietly, though he was still a leader among their class. Lan Jingyi had the type of dynamic personality that drew others in, fluttering around him like butterflies, but he ignored most of them to keep the company of his two best friends. He was loud, opinionated, and always willing to make his feelings known. He wasn’t the way many thought a Lan should be, but he was very much a Lan, through and through, just willing to openly show the more stubborn parts of their personality that people forgot they had under their veneer of genteel manners.

It was often said that together, Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi truly made the perfect Lan. A balance of the best, and worst, traits. Sizhui was calm and quiet, Jingyi excitable and loud, but where Sizhui often had self-doubts, Jingyi had enough pride and confidence for the both of them. They’d grown up as a pair, rarely apart, settling into their roles and friendship with an enviable and familiar ease. So many years together, being so known to each other, they were a hard pair to defeat in anything--be it something as simple as a classroom debate or something more serious as an actual fight to defend someone’s honor. Since they were always found in each other’s company, they’d become the pride of the family and the Academy.

Sizhui was proud to be the one-half of such a whole.

Sizhui also had a problem.

He knew he had a crush on Jingyi. It’d been there for years. Apparently he’d told his fathers at the ripe old age of five that he was going to marry Jingyi one day, and while it’d been a story retold often at family gatherings for laughs...well, Sizhui may not have truly meant it at five, but at fourteen, it was definitely a future he wanted.

And somehow he knew that wasn’t normal.

He knew it was normal, for him, to have a crush. His fathers had taken great pains to inform him about different sexual and gender identities and forms of attraction and the like as soon as he showed the first hints of a boyhood crush. So he knew a crush, especially on attractive, kind, funny, caring Jingyi wasn’t unusual. They’d been best friends since they were four. There was no one else his age Sizhui trusted more than Jingyi.

But Sizhui was worried that he’d passed the crush stage long ago and had been firmly planted in something that he was hesitant to call love, because he was only fourteen, but knew that clearly picturing a future with Jingyi that saw them married and raising some kids of their own as the most natural course of their relationship probably meant something significant.

He knew most Lans fell hard, fell once, and fell in love for life. But Sizhui was a Lan in name only.

Perhaps Nurture had won this round versus Nature.

He still needed to talk to someone before he embarrassingly blurted out his love for Jingyi straight to his face, probably when the other was devouring a basket of chicken wings. That would be Sizhui’s luck. He’d probably make poor Jingyi choke. And then he’d have to give him the Heimlich or something, and Jingyi would probably spit out his chicken bone right into Great Uncle Lan’s face, and then Sizhui would have to go find a grave plot to bury himself in after he died from the collective embarrrassment.

So, yeah, he needed to talk to someone.

**********

Dad’s office occupied the single turret tower of their massive house. He jokingly called it his gargoyle hoard, and often sang songs from Disney’s take on The Hunchback of Notre Dame as he climbed the stairs to the tower. Or he called for Papa with, ‘Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, let down your hair’ which never made much sense to Sizhui since Dad was the one in the tower, but they all indulged Dad’s whims and humor.

From the outside the tower looked imposing in its stone and dark shingled roof, but inside it was full of vibrant color. All of his books were here, crammed on an overstuffed bookshelf, containing every edition of every book he’d published in every language available, a handmade wooden sign hung above it declaring, A Leap of Faith. Art of his various characters hung on the wall, some official that he’d commissioned, some of his own making, but most sent by fans from around the world in the barrels of mail that came to the house each week.

It was a cluttered mess of genius that perfectly encapsulated his dad.

Today Dad was behind his desk, hair pulled up into a messy bun, with fingers covered in paint as he worked out some new character designs for his latest story. He was slowly moving from elementary reading level books to Young Adult, but his new series would straddle that border of Young Adult and New Adult--that vague spot where the characters weren’t young teens, nor in their mid-20s, but still had their own stories to tell. It was a story he’d been wanting to tell for years, based largely on his own life, but set in a mystical and magical modern world.

His papa was unceremoniously sprawled out on the battered couch that had followed his fathers from their apartment in Cambridge, to their home in Boston, to this massive estate in the Berkshires. Sizhui smiled to himself as he pictured his classmates faces if they ever saw the great Hanguang-Jun with such imperfect posture, wearing only worn sweatpants and a t-shirt older than Sizhui. His hair was also pulled up into a messy bun, a red pen clutched in his teeth as he read through the most recent edit of Dad’s new book.

Sizhui smiled as he watched them. His parents had always been so full of warmth and love--for him, for each other, for all their family--that Sizhui knew he’d been spoiled in care and affection. And he wanted that, the connection that they had. He knew it wasn’t effortless, every relationship took work and dedication and effort, but they made it seem so very easy.

“Sizhui, why do you linger?” Papa asked, eyes barely leaving the bound pages in his hands.

“Because he is a good boy who waits until he’s invited in, even though he knows he never has to,” Dad said, waving him inside. “What can we do for our favorite son?”

“Your only son, since you never did give me that sibling I asked for,” Sizhui teased.

Dad smirked. “Not for lack of trying,” he said.

“Wei Ying,” Papa admonished from the couch.

Dad patted the chair next to his desk. “Come. Sit. Speak. Bond. I feel like we never talk anymore.”

“We had an entire family conference just last night,” Sizhui said as he took his seat.

Dad frowned. “But that was school stuff. I want gossip, Sizhui. I want the deets. I want the 411. Give me the dirt. Spill the tea. Or the beans.” He looked to Papa. “What else do the kids say these days?”

“None of what just passed your lips,” Papa said.

Dad frowned. “So mean, Lan Zhan.” His pout became more pronounced as he turned to Sizhui. “See how he treats me? Betrayed by my very own heart and soul.”

Sizhui shook his head at them, but grasped on to the opening. “So, about that.”

He didn’t know what he expected to happen but Dad actually gasped and Papa sat up so fast he nearly tumbled off the couch.

“Is it happening?” Dad asked. “Did it happen?” He pulled out his leather planner, full of post-it notes, napkins, and various other bits and bobs. “I had you two down for at least another month from now, but your Papa insisted it would be before Halloween.”

“What?” Sizhui asked as he looked back and forth between his parents.

“Sizhui,” Papa said as he walked over to the desk. “Did Lan Jingyi not ask you out on a date?”

“What?” Sizhui asked. He felt the blood rush to his face, in his ears, blocking out all other sounds. “What?” he repeated.

Dad grimaced. “Whoops. I think we broke him. Bad parenting penalty.”

“No--I---what?” Sizhui asked again. “I just wanted to know how you, like, know if you like someone more than a friend and you’re running a bet on my dating life? With my best friend?”

“To be fair, your Uncle Huaisang runs a bet on everything,” Dad said.

“Wei Ying,” Papa cautioned.

“Fine,” Dad said, pushing his planner to the side. He sat forward and grasped Sizhui hands. “Sizhui, if you’re asking us this question, do you not already know the answer?”

Sizhui nodded. “But, how can you be sure?”

“In your own heart, what do you feel?” Papa asked. He knelt to meet Sizhui’s downcast gaze. “You don’t have to tell us, or even him, but you’ll feel so much more relief if you acknowledge your own truth.” His smile was small as he patted Sizhui’s knees. “It was the only way I was able to manage all the years when your dad still didn’t know his own feelings.”

“It must’ve been torture,” Sizhui said.

Papa smiled and met Dad’s eyes. “It wasn’t so bad, in the end. But you and Jingyi are different. You don’t have the restrictions on you that Uncle put on me and your Uncle Xichen. You don’t have the physical distance between you. If you want to, you can start dating now. If you feel like you’re ready.”

Sizhui tried not to hunch his shoulders and make himself smaller, but the uncertainty ate at him. “But what if I ruin our friendship? I don’t think--I couldn’t take him hating me.”

“Oh, Sizhui,” Dad said as he clambered over the desk and hugged him. “Jingyi could never hate you. I know you know him better than that, but if you want more, well…”

“Leap of faith?” Sizhui asked.

Both his fathers nodded.

If the Lan-Wei family had its own motto, Leap of Faith, would be it. If they had their own crest, it would be a rabbit surrounded by the words, Daring, Determination, Devotion, and Honesty. His fathers had raised him with those values, and Sizhui did his best to own them, and now, he knew, he could either rely on them or try to patiently wait until Jingyi came to him.

If at school the dynamic of Sizhui and Jingyi made the perfect Lan, at home, Sizhui was very much the best, and worst, of both of his fathers.

“Oh, I know that look,” Dad said as he kissed the top of Sizhui’s head. “Poor Jingyi isn’t going to know what hit him.” Sizhui could feel his wide grin against his hair. “It’s going to be awesome.”

Part 2

#untamedfest #fandom: the untamed #long post #verse: lahl #fic: tales from lan academy #the untamed #my ridic writing #day 2

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thedreadgay · 5 years

Text

a promise sealed with a kiss

word count: 2473 author’s notes: mhawke/varric commission for my buddy @punkdeaf !!! i had a lot of fun with this one, pls enjoy some gay losers reuniting after inquisition

—

The sky was dark with smoke and night around Adamant. The aftermath of battle began to seep into survivors' bones, the crash after the sweat and adrenaline of survival. Varric could feel it, heavier than stone.

He figured Hawke felt it, too. They sat side by side on a fallen block, tucked in a lonely corner of the now crumbling fortress. Armor clanked as Inquisition soldiers passed to and fro, just beyond the jut of the half-broken wall. Their voices washed over Varric: someone calling for the nearest healer, cries of victory, breathless exclamations and barking orders. Words, words, words, the words of a successful siege, the victorious in the face of an army of demons—all the stories of all those people, wrapped into one like threads of a rope. All those damn words. And yet, for once, Varric had none. He and Hawke sat in unusual silence.

“You’re really going then, huh?” Was the best Varric could manage. His voice was scratchy from desert air turned acrid with death and wicked magic. He watched a tower of pyre smoke roll high, high into the sky, sparks reaching up, as though freeing the fallen to become burning stars.

Hawke didn’t respond right away. Varric tore his gaze away from the massive pyre to Hawke. His broad shoulders were hunched, his robes covered in soot. The dark circles under his eyes persisted, as they had for years now. “You know me,” Hawke muttered then, scratching his beard; “Trouble finds me no matter what. May as well try to stay a step ahead and dive right into it.”

Varric gave a half-hearted chuckle. Hawke tried for a weak smile. Both looked about ready to fall apart.

Their gazes simply held, then. Words hung on the tip of Varric's tongue that felt too terrifying to breathe into fruition. He inched his hand closer to Hawke's; the other took it, entwined their fingers. It was the closest inkling of home Varric had felt in a while.

What could he say? All those words were so much that he couldn’t pick them out, like grains of sand sifting through his fingers.

“Just, uh,” he tried quietly, then sighed. “Just… come back. Okay?”

Hawke pursed his lips for a moment. “And what about you?”

Varric remembered their hushed conversation in front of the war room, just before marching from Skyhold to battle. He remembered leaning heavily against the wall, like without some tether he would be swept away in the chaos. “I think… I need to finish this out,” he had rasped.

Hawke had been a mirror before him then, and he was again now. A world of guilt carved lines around his eyes; Varric couldn’t know for sure—didn’t want to know for sure—but he could have sworn some whisper of the Fade still clung to Hawke, a smell like lightning in his clothes; and he could see, in the hunch of Hawke's back, where the demon's echo still slithered down his spine.

“Varric will die, just like your family.”

Not on my watch, Smiley, Varric thought.

“I’ll come back, too.”

Hawke released a sigh, deflating like the world had been lifted from his shoulders. He squeezed Varric's hand, and for just a moment, his eyes sparkled in that way that made Varric's heart skip. “Call it a date, then?”

It drew a laugh from Varric, a real laugh, that felt better than any sugar on his tongue. “It’s a date.”

Hawke's goofy smile was like a ray of damn sunlight in the gloom. He leaned in, and Varric followed. Their kiss tasted like smoke, love, and dare Varric think it—hope. A fine way to seal a promise.

—

Varric came back from the ruins of a prophet's temple, where he saw an ancient evil crumble to ash.

Varric came back from some of his least favourite places: the Deep Roads, yawning caverns with out-of-place carvings, now swallowed beneath water and lyrium. Places hidden behind mirrors, tucked in between the physical and the dreams that were foreign to him. The Winter Palace, a snake pit built upon greed and painted over with gold.

Varric returned home. But Kirkwall was emptier without Hawke.

He rebuilt, and watched, and waited. He trembled where he held their promise, close to his heart, so pure and lethal. Varric wasn't the kind of guy who did promises. Hawke wasn’t either, he knew.

Always an exception, huh? He thought, lying alone and unsleeping in bed. It became a habit of his.

Varric knew what hope and promises did. The risk of a broken heart was a terrifying thing to hold on your own.

Yet, he held.

—

There was a rapid little knock on the doorway of his suite. “Serah Viscount?” A voice squeaked. “I have your mail for you here.”

Varric sighed. Even in the Hanged Man, with the drunken clamour drifting up the stairs to him, he couldn’t escape. Bran must have told the carriers to deliver to him directly now.

“Alright, come on in,” he relented. “You can leave it on the table.”

Varric set aside his writing, not for any intent to actually read his letters, but so none could glimpse a work in progress. A scruffy young mail boy tip-toed in cautiously, setting the stack on the table as though it may bite him.

Varric did a double take as he did. Sitting precariously atop the pile, stark against the crisply folded papers, was a small roll of parchment, tied with red string.

He must have been staring at the scroll, because the carrier stuttered nervously, “S-Serah?”

Poor kid. Probably wasn’t paid nearly enough to see the Viscount have a damn heart attack.

Varric smiled reassuringly, and stood. “How much you being paid to deliver my mail, kid?”

The boy shifted on feet that looked too big for him. “Uh. Five sovereigns, Serah Viscount.”

Not nearly enough. Varric dug into his pocket, and tossed him a pouch; the boy fumbled, but caught it. “Here’s another fifteen. No matter what the Seneschal says, don’t deliver directly to me, unless—” Varric held up the roll of parchment— “I get another letter like this. Sound good?”

“Very good, Serah!” The boy was just about to run out in his glee, but hastily bowed first. “Fine day to you!”

Varric watched him scramble out with the pouch clutched tight to his chest. With no one to see him, Varric held the letter much the same.

The rest of the pile lay forgotten on the corner of the table as Varric retreated to the bed. He was of two minds: to simply hold the precious paper, untie the little red string with care, and carefully pour over the words; or unfurl and take them in voraciously, like a man starved.

He sat on the edge of the bed, and his hands were so torn in what to do that they froze. Varric stared at the letter, his heart pounding.

With shaky fingers, he slid the tie off the scroll, and gently rolled it open.

I'm okay, were the first words. He sighed like he hadn’t relaxed in years, and he traced the letters with his fingertips, as though reaching for Hawke's.

Varric felt full of mush as he read Hawke's quick account of Weisshaupt. Love, fear, and relief pushed and pulled at his insides until they ground him into pulp. The words carried him through his turmoil like a light in the dark. And isn’t that what Hawke always did? Varric chuckled to himself at the thought, fond and soft.

Don’t think I've forgotten our date. My memory may be shite, but never when it comes to you, love.

Varric guffawed, a full and happy sound that melded with the din outside his door. He fell back on the bed, staring up at the words and the sigil of a hawk signed beneath them. He laughed until those beautiful words and familiar sign became blurry through tears.

Giggling like a lovesick fool wasn’t on his list of things to do today, but he was always flexible.

—

“Well, finally he sends word,” Aveline huffed. Though she looked stern with her arms crossed, Varric knew from just the way she leaned on her desk that she was relieved; relaxed, even. The Guard-Captain still needed a hobby. “How Hawke manages to stay alive like this, I'll never know.”

Varric shrugged with a grin. “It’s part of his charm.”

Aveline rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now, too. “You’re downright chipper.”

“You think?” Varric scratched his stubble, and his grin turned wry. “I’m only acting as sappy as you did when you got married.”

She lightly smacked his arm, which wasn’t light at all considering she was built like brick, but Varric snickered nonetheless.

Despite his elation, Varric remained apprehensive as he left the Viscount's Keep, and looked into the cloudy sky. There was still a storm brewing, and he would have Hawke by his side when it hit.

Come home soon.

—

Some days, it hurt to walk past the ancestral seat of House Amell. Others, it brought Varric a fond sense of joy.

It had been ransacked more than once when it sat empty after the rebellion. If not for goods, then information; Cassandra and her Seekers had been among them. He tried not to think of being hauled and thrown into the place, once so full of life, turned harsh and cold. That house was a home, he reminded himself. Hawke's home—and Hawke's home was a home to them all.

That was the joy to it, the feeling he tried to call forth when he did his part to take care of the estate. It lingered beside the hearths, in the books he had carefully sorted back on the shelves, on the stairs where Isabela carved dirty things. It seemed to nurture the people who came in and out, those down on their luck who needed somewhere to stay. I'm sure the Champion wouldn’t mind, Varric would always say.

The Hawke Estate shouldn’t be a lonely place.

It didn’t have any occupants at the moment. The last resident gave Varric a loaf of bread they baked in the kitchen, with a warm smile kindled by the fire, and left with thanks and that joy. Varric couldn’t remember the last time he'd had home-baked bread.

He ate a piece as he wandered the estate, dusting here and there as he went. Pristine places didn’t have much character that Varric liked, but he didn’t want it to go overlooked. Unused. Unappreciated.

That was when he heard an unusual creak from Hawke's bedroom.

Bianca practically never left his side, and he slowly unholstered her then, carefully creeping forward. With his back pressed to the wall, the Amell crest hanging proud above him, Varric peered around the corner, past the open door.

A hooded figure slipped quietly through the window. They turned back and held up one finger, gesturing for silence, but Varric couldn’t see who—or what—lay beyond. The person looked broad, even beneath their fur-trimmed cloak, and they carried a staff in one hand… then, they pulled back their hood.

“Hawke?”

Hawke whirled around, just as shocked, and whatever was still outside scrabbled against the tiles in the garden. Bianca hung slack in Varric's arms, as through a sliver of the doorway, the two met eyes for the first time in years.

Hawke's beard was thicker, and his boots and hem of his cloak were dirtied. He looked as though he had maybe a few more scars and wrinkles, and Varric could say the same. But brown eyes met brown eyes, lighting up with the same joy that sang through the place—Varric understood deeply then, that it was created when a family was brought together—and it was Hawke.

Hawke's face split into a huge grin, and he spread his arms wide. “Honey, I'm home.”

Varric laughed. And laughed, and laughed more, as he remembered how to move again. He holstered Bianca as he rushed forward, and Hawke's staff clattered to the floor as he met Varric halfway. They collided in the middle of the bedroom, crushed together, and Hawke's laughter joined his own in the sweetest chorus Varric had ever heard. A bark sounded, and it was Hawke's mabari that leapt after her master, running in excited circles around the two of them.

It was Hawke. Varric's hands framed his face and brought him down; their noses bumped, Hawke's beard scratched his stubble, and their kiss didn’t taste like smoke. It was hope realized; it was a promise kept; and it was Hawke.

His scent surrounded Varric, and he had the most wonderful ache in his heart that thumped with love. They kissed again; Varric's knees felt weak with emotion, or maybe from Potato headbutting him affectionately. When they parted just so, there were tears heavy in Hawke's eyes. “I made our date,” he murmured thickly.

Varric's cheeks hurt from grinning. Tears sprung to his eyes now too as they sank to the floor together, face to face, wrapped in one another. “So did I.”

Potato nosed her way between them to give Varric her own slobbery kisses, but Varric didn’t mind; he and Hawke kept laughing as Varric scratched behind her ears. “I missed you too, girl.”

She seemed satisfied with the attention, resting her head on Varric’s shoulder. Hawke asked jokingly, “Am I permitted to keep kissing him now?”

Potato's response was a happy rumble. Varric chuckled. “You heard the lady.”

Hawke's kiss, with his thumb stroking the apple of Varric's cheek, felt like home completed.

—

They stoked a small fire in the hearth of Hawke's bedroom. Coats and boots shed, they sat together beneath a thick blanket, sharing the loaf of bread that Varric retrieved. Potato dozed across their laps, basking in warmth and idle pets.

They talked—about everything. Weisshaupt. The Exalted Council. Kirkwall. Tevinter. What was yet to come.

“You're collecting another loaf in your beard,” Varric interrupted, his lips quirking up at the mess of crumbs.

“Snacks for later,” Hawke said without missing a beat.

“You’re such a damn dreamboat.”

“Of course I am. Only the finest man about for me.”

“We ruggedly handsome do tend to flock together, don’t we?”

“Don’t forget gentlemanly.”

They grinned at each other. He could taste the earthy bread on Hawke's lips.

“So,” Hawke murmured, “ready to help save the world, love?”

Varric sighed. “It’s always us in the thick of it, huh?”

“Seems that way.” Hawke kissed a crumb from the corner of his mouth. “But we'll be in it together, hm?”

Varric held him like close wasn’t close enough. Against all the odds that kept him up at night, they were reunited in their home—and Varric knew he could take on anything. “You bet we will.”

#dragon age #hawkevarric #vawke #mhawke #varric tethras #this was so gay i love it..... im so glad i could write this #THANK U FOR THE COMMISSION EM!!!!!#writing #da fic

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this-lioness · 5 years

Text

Feeling a little overwhelmed.

The kitchen cabinet doors still need to be done. This is taking a lot of time because they have to dry pretty thoroughly between each coat, and each one needs 3 coats + a light touch-up. Then we still have to do the edges. This is not helped by the fact that Marc didn’t sand the primer coat before he started painting the first side (which was supposed to be the “front” of the doors), meaning that with each coat of paint on top all the goopy drips and imperfections became more and more obvious. So now I’m going super slow on the other side so that it will be nice enough to be the display side. I’m not mad I’m just disappointed.

We have a gala coming up in two weeks, and I still haven’t sat down to design / paint the mask I’m supposed to use, nor put together any of the little details. We are doing a 5k in a couple more weeks that we are only now starting to “train” for. I’m less stressed about this than it sounds, but it’s still frustrating.

Both of my parents have birthdays coming up, and an anniversary. And my stepfather really wants to get back out to the lake in time to see the colors in what he personally considers “prime time”, and I don’t know what the fuck he’s really looking for, because yesterday everything looked beautiful to me? And if I take him too soon he’s going to be disappointed, but if I take him too late he’s also going to be disappointed, and my mother is just 100% disappointed with everything 100% of the time.

Marc asked me about five times what I was planning on doing for my Halloween costume until I was finally like, “I’m just going to wear the “candy witch” costume I have up in the closet. And I think he’s disappointed, because he loves Halloween (so do I!) but I just do not have the bandwidth to come up with and assemble a costume this year, just to stand around and hand out candy to kids, and also it’s going to rain on Halloween. I sense he’s disappointed that I’m not as “into it” as in previous years.

I am excited for the holidays, but can I just express how much I hate the huge pile of empty decor boxes that sits behind the couch for 3+ months until they’re all over? I fucking hate living around the clutter of holiday decorations PLUS the clutter of the boxes that the decorations are stored in.

We also still haven’t done the photo for our Christmas card this year, and we need to get on that SOON. Not only does the photo need to be staged, but we need to be sure we have our outfits, and then there is a LOT of digital editing that needs to be done afterwards. Like a good couple hours, at least.

I also have 4+ design commissions that I haven’t even STARTED on! And I’m running out of things to tell these people that aren’t, “I PHYSICALLY CANNOT.”

Oh hi, Thanksgiving is also coming up. His Mom will be coming over the night before, and my mother is pretty much only able to eat liquids and gruel, and then afterwards we like to be “those people” and go out for Black Friday. I NEED to have the kitchen done before all this.

Because the kitchen and dining room is complete fucking disarray I have not been able to clean the house! And a messy house is a huge, huge stressor for me. I was going to try to do laundry yesterday, but the guy was doing the furnace, and so clearly I couldn’t occupy the same space. I am thinking of skipping the gym tonight just so I can put a dent in the huge pile that is accumulating in the bedroom.

Marc has not paired socks in like three weeks? Despite the fact that he knows this must be done regularly, like every time I do the laundry? But it just keeps piling up and piling up and piling up, and no matter how many times I’m like, “SOCKS????”, he’s just like, “Well, I didn’t know where you put them!” (1. They are in the same place they always are and even if they weren’t 2. You could ask) or the excuse is, “I didn’t know they needed to be done, you should have put them where I can see them? (1. You are a grown ass man who wears socks EVERY SINGLE DAY AND WE HAVE BEEN MARRIED FOR ALMOST FOURTEEN YEARS. YOU ARE FULLY AWARE THAT SOCKS MUST BE PAIRED AND THAT IT IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. 2. Last time I put the overflowing box of unpaired socks immediately onto your side of the bed, and you MOVED IT TO THE FLOOR AND BLISSFULLY CONTINUED LIVING A LIFE OF UNPAIRED SOCKS.)

We also have THREE events coming up: an author expo, a Christmas craft fair, and A SECOND Christmas craft fair. The summer fair at the cemetery was SO GREAT because people bought a ton of stuff, but this means that I need to rebuild my inventory. And “rebuilding my inventory” isn’t just hopping online and buying shit! I need to design it, and craft it, and then finish it, and do I have enough materials on hand to do it all?

The garden still has not been put to bed for the year, and I don’t know when the hell we’re going to have the perfect combination of time and weather!

Also, I still have two fucking bags of clothes that I need to stage and photograph so I can post it online!

And I haven’t even S T A R T E D photographing my own jewelry to create an online store! Nor do I have any idea when I’m going to have the time to do it!

Also, I would like to be able to draw and paint!

Also, I was supposed to write 10k words in September, and I didn’t fucking write ANY, because how??? Even if I can work up the momentum to finish this goddamned book, when the fuck am I supposed to do it?

And Rosie is getting fixed at the end of this month, and Bones needs to go back to the vet for bloodwork next month to make sure his kidneys aren’t failing and he hasn’t lost any more weight.

So yesterday, on the way home from the gym, when I’m like, “I cancelled the second Christmas fair, the one at the school. It’s just too much for me,” and he’s like, “It’s too much? Are you kidding?”

And I swear to God... I swear to God I would take a bullet for this man, I would literally murder people for this man, and he has my whole heart, but I may have never wanted to fucking strangle him so much as I did right then.

JESUS EFFING CHRIST DUDE. Y’know, I would also like to spend twenty minutes twice a day sitting on the toilet and browsing my phone. I would really also like to check myself out of all responsibilities every time there’s a football game on TV that I want to watch. It would be really great to never have to fucking think about HOW EVERYTHING IN OUR LIFE OPERATES ON TIME AND WITHIN BUDGET AND HOW LITERALLY EVERYTHING GETS DONE, except I CAN’T DO THAT. Last night when we were supposed to be “relaxing” in bed, I sat there sorting through mail so that everything would get paid / done on time, while you sat there scrolling away on your STUPID PHONE THAT I HATE SO MUCH.

He has a bare minimum of responsibilities:

1. Take the garbage bins to the curb and back again.

2. Feed the cats (I occasionally help with this)

3. Do the afternoon litterbox scoop (this frequently gets “forgotten”)

4. Load / unload the dishwasher, hand-wash anything that cannot go in the machine (this maybe gets done once a week, it frequently goes until the sink is so filled with shit that I cannot prepare meals)

5. Take the trash out to the bins (this has been known to sit WAY LONGER than it should)

6. Clean the bathrooms (There are 3 -- 2 full and 1 half. One of the full baths does not need to be regularly cleaned because it’s only there to hold litter boxes, we don’t actually use it. That leaves 1 full bath and 1 half bath, the latter of which is STRICTLY HIS.) The bathrooms are cleaned maybe once a month.

7. Clean the floors (vacuum and mop). This ONLY gets done when guests are coming over, or when I complain that the floors are disgusting and they REALLY need to get done. Half the time he will vacuum (and not thoroughly), and then say, “I’m going to hold off on mopping until right before X gets here, that way they’ll be fresh and clean”, and then will conveniently forget to mop at all.

It’s not as if he’s not aware. We have talked about this. He FREQUENTLY AND WITH HEARTFELT SELF-DEPRECATION will confess that he is terrible about keeping up the house, and promise that he will get better, and it takes everything in my power to say, “No you won’t. Can I just stop pretending that I believe you when you say that, because you clearly do not actually mean it or, if you do, you have no intention of putting forth the physical and mental ambition to follow through.”

And you know what? I DON’T CARE! I love my house and I love taking care of it. I married him knowing these things about him, and he is such a good partner otherwise that I was willing to overlook it, and we laugh about it most of the time and it’s fine. It’s actually fine! I’m not just saying that!

What gets me -- what borderline made me want to murder him -- was the incredulous, “Really? The second craft fair is too much?” last night, and I think the dark depths of my silence afterwards must have clued him into the fact that he had been a Dumbass Supreme, and he spent a good 20 minutes reminding me how awesome I am.

Yes. Yes, I know I’m fucking awesome. Sometimes I just want you to be a little fucking awesome too. PLEASE.

#oc #ugh

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