#i have anxiety and commissions are like my anxiety trap card

[mayakern]

Would you ever be open to doing skirt pattern commissions? Like, I love your art, and I'd love to stick my own neck out for stuff you wouldnt sell? Or even just, we commission you for skirts that you sell yourself? I'd love to back some of that risk up with money, is basically what I'm saying

i don’t take design commissions, as i really don’t like to be limited in that way. when someone commissions a piece, they expect a particular design/subject matter to definitely see fruition, but i actually abandon the vast majority of my skirt design ideas. like for ever 1 design i complete, there were probably 3-10 other designs i left to either complete later… or never.

also in general, debuting new designs (while still anxiety inducing) isn’t something i worry too hard about in terms of risk factor. it sucks to have something like the milk skirt, where it stopped selling so we retired it, and then i kept getting ppl for YEARS begging for its return, and then i did bring it back… and it’s still in stock after a couple weeks when everything else sold out in 1-2 days. but for the most part this isn’t an issue for us. the milk skirt is just cursed, i guess. it’s literally the only design that hasn’t sold out within a week in the past 2.5 years.

the only exception i’d consider to this would be commissions for a new color variant of an already existing design.

but honestly, this sort of risk/uncertainty is why preorders exist. the manufacturing orders we place for preorders are 2-3x more product (and therefor 2-3x more expensive) than our RTS orders. we could definitely make more RTS sales if we placed bigger orders, but the manufacturing fee would be so high it would be difficult to afford it without preorders (and it takes roughly 3-4 months for skirts to be made and shipped to us, so that’s 3-4 months of not seeing the return on the manu cost)

[illneverrecover]

call you mine (M) | changkyun

➛pairing: Im Changkyun (I.M.) x reader ➛genre: friends with benefits!AU,  non Idol!AU, angst, smut, fluff. ➛word count: 2,741 ➛rating: M ➛warnings: idk this is truly some sweet soft shit, mentions of alcohol, friends with benefits, standing sex, slight rough sex, biting/marking because clearly I have a kink, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of Mingi!!, lots of kissing, soft clown Chaingang truly.  ➛summary: Changkyun knew he ruined your friends with benefits arrangement when he let his feelings be known, and now you’ve left him on read for weeks. So he does the only thing he can to stay sane - he religiously watches your Instagram stories. ➛notes: Another first for me - my first Monsta X fic! I’ve played around with writing Changkyun for a while now, mostly because I live to torture @taetaesbaebaepsae​ (which she deserves from all the PAINFUL and RUDE Baekhyun shit she’s written for me). However, she decided to actively commission her own demise, because she stays not listening to Namjoon and refuses to love herself. I’m glad I finally got a chance to take a stab at writing her ult, and I hope I did him justice! Enjoy your tomfoolery, Kristin! 💖 ➛song: Call You Mine -  The Chainsmokers & Bebe Rexha | Horizon - I.M. & Elhae

It’s pathetic, he knows.

The way he can’t stop watching, the way he seeks your face out in an app full of millions of others. The way he can’t get you out of his bed, his head, his thoughts.

He fucked up, scared you off, and now he’s left with the aftermath of his own stupidity. Watching you through a screen to fight the withdrawals off, to keep his heart beating.

Changkyun knows you would laugh at him if you saw what he was doing. 

Watching your Instagram stories is the only reason he’s heard you laugh in over two weeks, the only way he’s been able to see your eyes light up, your lips curve into a salacious grin. Things he fucking missed, thought he would have plenty of time to indulge in - until he couldn’t keep his mouth shut and ruined it.

He had taken you back to his place after a few shots of whisky at the dingy local bar, hands and mouth unable to leave your skin - just like the hundreds of times before. It had been four months since you had started this friends with benefits relationship, and despite having freedom to see whomever he wanted, Changkyun found himself only starving for you. So hungry that he couldn’t stand another moment in that place, watching you share your smile with anyone other than him. So he had tugged you close, nipped at your ear, told you that you were so damn beautiful that he couldn’t stand there another minute without you coming undone around him. 

You had smirked, slid your hand down the front of his pants, grabbing his cock like you owned it, purring out the words “prove it” before following him outside, just like the hundreds of times before.

Pressed up against his wall, his pelvis flush with yours, Changkyun whispered filth in your ears as he ground up against you, swallowing your moans in greedy kisses. Desperate fingers had pulled at your top, freeing your breasts for him to worship as he worked your skirt up around your waist, thrusting his clothed length against your core until you were whining.

Changkyun always promised to take his time with you, to work you over until you were drunk on his touch and pleading for more - but you never let him, always knowing the right thing to say to get his gaze to go dark and lust to turn frantic, to unzip his jeans and press inside your dripping cunt right there in the hallway. 

Just like the hundreds of times before.

You had come around him, digging your nails in his back so hard it left marks, made him growl your name against your collarbone as his thrusts picked up speed to fuck you through the high. You urge him on in the way only you can manage, begging for his release, whispering how much you want his come deep in your cunt. Biting down against the skin, he had spilled inside you with a final groan, hips twitching as he pumped you full of him, forehead resting against your shoulder.

Instead of pulling away immediately, Changkyun remained collapsed against you, breathing heavy. You had smacked at his shoulder, but he just chuckled, arms adjusting to continue a firm hold of your legs as he stayed inside of you, trapping you against his body and the wall.

“What are you doing, Kyun?” scoffing, you had grasped his jaw, forcing him to look at you. “I let you fuck me dirty against the wall without even demanding you buy me food after. Least you can do is let me get cleaned up.”

He had gazed up at you then, eyes piercing as they looked through you, and your heart clenched tightly in your chest. 

He knew he shouldn’t say it. Knew it would scare you off. And yet….

“I would, you know.” Swallowing thickly, his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Take you to go get food. If you - I mean, if you wanted. If you’d let me.” 

It was like he could see the carefully crafted defenses go up, the pain etching your brow and making your eyes go cold. Anxiety flooded his veins as you wiggled out of his grasp, sliding your clothes back into place as you moved towards his bathroom.

“You don’t mean that,” you murmured, faking a smile. “You know what this is, Kyun.”

“I do mean that!” He knew he sounded too eager, too pitiful, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I’d take you out to dinner. Or,” following you, he paused in the doorway, watching you appraise yourself in the mirror. “We could just get take-out and go somewhere private, drive to a park, bring a blanket and some booze, eat somewhere no one would know or bother us.” 

Your answering laugh had sounded wrong, like it had cost you something - like it was the last thing you had wanted to do. 

“Like a picnic? Changkyun, you’re saying you want to take me on a picnic? Like a proper date?”

Stuttering, he tried to explain himself, but you had cut him off with a single wave. 

“Listen, we both know I’m not that kind of girl, and you don’t want me to be.” Leaning forward, you had pressed a kiss against his mouth, your eyes somber when you had pulled away, moved towards the door. 

“What if I do?” His voice broke, wanting to reach out but his arms remaining stiff at his sides. “What if I want you to be that kind of girl, with me?”

Tears stung your eyes, your stomach sinking like you had been punched. You couldn’t do this, couldn’t handle the inevitable disappointment that would come when you got your hopes up.

“I’ll see you around,” you threw over your shoulder before shutting the door, and shutting him out. 

Just like the hundreds of times before.

It had been two weeks now since he last saw you in person. It wasn’t for lack of trying; texting you at all hours had proven fruitless, even when he tried to send the usual ‘you up’ message like he didn’t just lay his heart out on the line. You responded airily, non committal, and he knew what you were doing. 

You were trying to let him down easy.

So here he was, phone glued to his hand as he scrolled through to find your picture, clicking on it to see if there was any update. You didn’t post a bunch in your feed, but you had a tendency to update your stories often - filling them with silly memes and cute selfies, little videos of you going about your day. Cuddling with your cat, attempting to cook something for lunch. His favorite was when you would do tarot readings for your followers; the way your face would turn serious as you read the cards, passionate fire in your eyes as you helped deliver the message to its owner. 

Seeing you that excited and genuine did something to him, made his chest feel like it was going to explode.

He knows you can tell that he’s watching, can see the icon of his profile showing up at the bottom of the video under “seen by.” He can only imagine what you’re thinking when you see it - that he’s a loser, this friend with benefits who turned lovesick puppy, but he can’t make himself care. It’s the only way he feels close, can pretend you’re still in his life.

He never thought that he would need you, now all he wants is to see you - for you to answer him, to come back to him. 

Changkyun still sends texts, unable to stop his fingers from reaching out, despite knowing you’ll shut him down. He calls sometimes too, late at night when his blood is more whisky than plasma, though you never answer those. Instead he listens to your voicemail, eyes closed to stop the world from spinning, letting your voice lull him to sleep. 

He convinces himself he’s fine with this arrangement, that things would be alright. He can just miss you from afar, observe you live your life through the pixels of a screen. That watching your stories is enough for him, will keep him afloat.

Until he sees you with someone else.

It was another Friday night he was spending alone, half drunk and on his phone, looking for your picture. Taking a deep breath, he had felt his heart stop when he saw the rainbow ring adorning your profile photo, meaning you had updated your story. Sighing, he tapped it, hoping that it would be a few videos so he could pretend for just a moment that he was beside you instead of wasting space on his bed.

The first clip was a selfie, your heavily lidded eyes staring seductively at the camera through your lashes, making his pulse jump and pants tighten. The caption “gonna get drunk tonight!” scrolled across the image, right below the pout of your lips. The next was a small video of you making a drink, giggling about the mixture of tequila and soju you were tossing in your cup, whispering to the camera how it was going to get you ‘all the way fucked up’. But it was the third clip that had his chest heaving, his lungs forgetting how to work.

You were walking out your door, a few people cluttering your front porch as you asked if anyone had a light. Some tall red headed kid - Changkyun refused to acknowledge him as anything more than that - had shouted out, and you squealed as you ran up to him, sliding directly onto his knee before switching the camera into selfie mode to capture the two of you. The next clip was you in his lap, one of your delicate hands sliding through his hair as he gave you a big dopey grin, a cigarette perched on your lips as you cooed at him and told him just how cute he was.

Fuck. He knew that look of yours, knew those moves. Knew exactly what you were doing, what you were hoping to do with that fucking Mingi kid, and he couldn’t stand it, not anymore.

Taking a few deep pulls directly from the liquor bottle, his fingers flew over the keys of his phone, sending you text after text -  all of which were ignored. He knew calling would be pointless, that you would rather light yourself on fire than answer your phone - especially at a party - and he felt desperation creep up his throat, choking him.

Changkyun couldn’t let this happen. Couldn’t let you just forget about him.

Clicking back onto Instagram, he started sending you responses to the story video as he got dressed, throwing on the nearest pair of jeans and sliding on his boots.

<What are you doing? Why won’t you answer my texts? I fucking miss you.>

<And not just fucking you. I miss you. I miss us. If you want me to stay for the rest of my life, I will. You already got me.>

<Answer me, Y/N. Or I’m going to come over, see if you can ignore me to my face>

<Baby?>

<I’m on my way. Don’t take that kid to your bed.>

It took painfully long for the Lyft to show up, and he gritted his teeth the whole route there, knee bouncing to stop himself from demanding the driver to go faster, to just hurry the fuck up and get to you. 

When the car had pulled into your neighborhood, he tried to send another message, instead clicking a video. Too frustrated to change it back, he lets it record, his voice low and pained. 

“I’m on my way, please let me in.” 

You were alone on the deck when your phone started vibrating, the ding of an Instagram direct message making you click the app, eyes widening in surprise when you saw the number of notifications. 

Changkyun, all from him.

Awestruck, you scrolled through every line, your heart throbbing with each word he had written. 

You didn’t think he cared, not like that. Sure, he missed the sex, but that’s what you expected. That’s what all of them wanted when they sent you late night texts, when they called your phone at three in the morning. Empty promises and broken vows were what kept you company in the dark, when they’d predictably leave you alone with an ache between your legs and in your chest.  None of them really wanted you, cared about you. After a few weeks of ghosting, they’d all disappear into thin air like expected, and your heart would harden just a bit more.

But now…

Another chime pulls you from your thoughts, eyes flicking back to the light of your phone. Instead of another direct message, it’s a notification that Changkyun had updated his story for the first time in months. 

Shaking fingers slide against the screen, your vision blurring as you take in the shadowed back seat of another person’s car, the only light  neon pink from the sign of the Lyft drivers decal. For a moment, all you can hear is the quiet chattering of a distant radio, of someone breathing heavily. 

And then his voice croaking over the speaker, raspy with need. 

“I’m on my way, please let me in.”

The video fades just as a car pulls up to your curb, a flurry of movement as Changkyun climbs out, stumbles towards you. He all but collapses into your arms, his breath dripping with liquor, eyes reddened but burning fiercely.  

“Y/N,” he mumbles, hands coming to cup your face, thumb dragging against the smooth skin of your cheek. “I want to take you on a picnic.” 

You laugh, though it comes out more like a sob. “What? What are you talking about? Did you call a Lyft and come all the way across town to tell me that, you clown?”

His finger taps against your lips once, twice. “Shh. Just let me-” he sighs, stomping a foot. “Let me talk.” 

He waits until you nod before continuing, words surging from his mouth as if he couldn’t hold back a second longer. 

“I came all the way here because I want to take you on a picnic. I want to buy you food and take you on cute little dates and do cheesy things that make you smile at me like you are right now,” he grins, pulling you until your chest rests against his own. “I’m here because I couldn’t stand you ignoring me anymore. I meant everything I said - that I miss you, that I want to be with you, if you’ll give me the chance. I want to call you mine.”

Pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes fall shut, his voice fervent and barely more than a whisper. 

“I love you, Y/N.”

Tears brim your eyes, and you fight every old wound that tells you to shove him away, to call him a liar. Instead you allow yourself to follow your gut, your heart for what feels like the first time, leaning back to give him a watery smile in return. 

“I love you too, Changkyun.” 

His mouth immediately lands on yours, tongue eagerly tracing the seam of your lips until it’s slipping inside, tasting every inch of you, ravenous and unsatisfied until your knees are shaking. He’s walking you backwards towards the door, tugging at your clothes, and you giggle at his impatience.

Pulling away, you gasp for air, palm pressing against his shoulder to hold him back for a moment. “But listen, if I give you a chance, that means you have to stop stalking my Instagram, you creep. And don’t try to deny it, I see you all over my stories, lurking around.” 

He chuckles then, nipping at your bottom lip as his eyes darken. “Please, don’t act like you don’t love the attention,” 

Pushing the door open, he guides you inside, mouth working over your neck, arms wrapped around your waist until your back is flattened against the wall. 

“Plus, there’s no need, now that I got you,” he confesses, his nose swiping against yours gently before he captures your lips between his own, hitching your legs to drape around his waist as he grinds against you, humming words of praise.

Just like the hundreds of times before, but now as his.

[keigoslovebird]

The Cat That Caught the Canary

Pairing: Hawks/Keigo Takami x Fem!Reader

Warnings: violence/threats of violence. A bit of swearing. Reader is fem and has a cat mutant quirk. 

Genre: fluff, some suggestive content near the end

Word count: 7k

Author’s note: This is my very first MHA fic and I am so excited to share my love of Hawks with you all! There will be multiple chapters and smut, angst, and the like later on. I can’t promise any sort of regular updates, but I will do my very best to be semi-consistent. It is very self indulgent and very sweet because I’ve got the big dumb for the bird man. Please enjoy 7k words worth of Hawks fluff and let me know what you think!

Also, “koneko” means little cat or kitten in Japanese.

You don’t know how it happens, but it does. 

You’re walking home from the train station, cutting into a secluded alleyway because the sun hasn’t set yet and there’s still sunlight spilling over rooftops. Your perceptive ears twitch and turn towards the sound of rustling and the shuffling of feet. Your instincts tell you to speed up, to run because there’s something out there, but a lifetime of fighting those instincts forces those feelings down. It’s probably someone else just trying to walk home, it’s fine, you tell yourself. Just to be safe you carefully turn around to look behind you, hoping to see some kind old lady walking down the street.

There’s no one in sight but you just know there’s somebody out there. You sense their presence, their movements but you can’t see them. It feels as if someone has dumped a bucket of ice water over your head, a sickly chill settling deep within your bones. Something is wrong, very wrong.

“I know you’re there. I can hear you,” You call out into the seemingly empty valley between two houses. When no one responds you quickly turn on your heel and head towards the busy, bustling street a few hundred feet ahead. 

“Not so fast, kitty cat,” A low, gravelly voice breathes into your ear. They’re so close you can feel their breath on your neck, tainted with the smell of cigarettes and whiskey. Panic seizes and constricts your heart so fast that you don’t even think before you break out in a sprint. If you can just make it to the street you’ll be okay. The second your shoes hit the pavement, a hand grabs you by your shirt collar and harshly yanks backwards. You’re pulled further into the alley and into the shadows beginning to emerge from above as the sun starts to set.

You feel your back slam into a concrete wall, head bouncing off of it so quickly and forcefully you see stars and a dull ache begins to form at the back of your skull. You’re momentarily dazed, vision slightly blurry but you’re still able to make out two large figures looming over you menacingly. One of them has you caged between their thick, hairy arms, effectively trapping you in place, not that you could’ve outrun them anyhow. You’re small and agile, but they’re just so much bigger than you, or at least it seems that way. It takes a few seconds for your vision to clear, but now you see that your captors are two very large, very intimidating men. The one caging you in is much taller and more muscular than the other. The man to his right has chin-length black hair that’s greasy, likely unwashed for several days, if ever. He’s thin and spindly and the look on his face is reminiscent of a spider awaiting its prey. Your ears flatten against your head, tail tucking between your trembling legs as you realize the gravity of the situation you’re in.

“What’s a cute little thing like you doing walking around alone?” You recognize the voice as the one who called out to you before. He’s standing beside his burly friend who has you trapped. You can smell the cheap alcohol and smoke on the man’s breath even stronger now that he’s so close. “It’s far too dangerous at night. You never know what kinds of things could be lurking in the shadows, just waiting to take a bite into a sweet, tasty morsel like yourself.”

Your heart races, hammering so furiously that it feels as if it’ll beat out of your chest. You’re frozen and silent from the fear overtaking your entire body. The feeling of dread and terror is icy and sharp in your veins.

“I’m curious, kitty cat. Are these real?” The long-haired man reaches a gangly, too long arm over and grabs your ears in a punishing grip. You reach up in an attempt to bat his hands away but the muscular man moves his hands from the wall to hold your hands at your sides. The long-haired man’s other hand snakes between your legs, reaching for your tail and yanking it with a force that makes you yelp. You can feel tears prick your eyes and you shut them tightly to avoid letting them see you cry.

“Yes! They’re part of my quirk. Please stop, that hurts,” You whimper, lip trembling with unshed tears. The hold on your sensitive ears is beginning to overwhelm your senses. “I don’t have much money on me, just take whatever you want but please don’t hurt me.” You plead with them, just hoping they were looking for an easy target to get some quick cash from. 

Before any of you can react, there’s a flash of crimson and suddenly the man who had been holding you in place is knocked off his feet. “Wha-,” The long-haired man doesn’t get a word in before he too has his feet swept out from underneath him. You look over in the direction where the projectiles came from and nearly faint at the sight of number two pro hero Hawks perched atop a building above you. He swoops down from his perch, his huge scarlet wings seeming larger than life as he lands beside you. The two men who attacked you are laying on the ground, feathers wrapped around their wrists.

“Miss, are you alright? I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you earlier, there was another situation downtown that made me late for my patrols,” Hawks looks genuinely apologetic and the whole situation is just so overwhelming and your head is reeling at how fast everything has shifted since he arrived. The chemicals coursing through your body are making your head swim and your thoughts are so jumbled and fragmented you can barely string together a coherent sentence. 

“Y-yes, I’m fine! Thank you, Hawks, I am grateful that you came to rescue me.” You manage to stutter out, bowing at the waist to show your gratitude. In your state of confusion you forgot to address Hawks formally, making you squeak at your carelessness. “Ah! H-Hawks-san I’m sorry for being so casual.” A fiery blush begins to spread across your cheeks from your embarrassment and Hawks’ close proximity. You’ve seen him in tabloids, plastered across social media, and on local news stations, but this is the first time you’ve seen a pro hero in person, let alone such a handsome one.

Hawk’s cool, collected persona rarely wavers, but what does make it waver is the warm, rosy glow of your cheeks and the way your eyes sparkle as you talk to him. He notices that your fuzzy little ears are twitching and he wonders how soft the fur would feel between his fingers. 

“Ah, no need to be so formal with me. I don’t mind when people talk to me casually.” He waves a gloved hand in the air dismissively. Smiling brightly, he shows off his perfect, pearly white teeth. His smile is so warm and infectious that you find yourself smiling back at him. “Especially when they’re as pretty as you are.” He winks and you feel your blush deepen and spread even further across your face. You knew about Hawks’ flirtatiousness from social media posts and tabloids that detailed his various flings, but you never expected it to be directed at you.

Hawk’s eyes flick down to your mouth, hoping it’s too brief for you to catch or that you’re too frazzled to notice. He finds his gaze lingering a bit too long on how your glossy, pink lips part and the way the corners upturn when you smile. He analyzes your face, taking in every painstaking detail to commit it to memory. He takes note of the beauty marks and dimples that frame your pretty, tender smile. It’s a genuine expression of gratitude that makes his insides fuzzy and warm. He wants to wrap himself in the feeling, revel in it, and never let it go.

“O-Oh well thank you and you have my gratitude, Hawks,” You look away shyly, scratching the back of your head sheepishly. You can feel the tip of your tail begin to flick out of anxiety and attempt to subtly reach down and grab it to still its movement. You hope and pray that he doesn’t the way your voice wobbles.

“It was my pleasure, miss. I’m always here to help, it’s my job after all,” He looks as if he’s about to say something else when his phone buzzes from his pocket. He pulls it out and sighs tiredly. “I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly but duty calls. Don’t worry about these guys, I’ve already called the Police Force and they’re on their way. Those feathers will restrain them until the police get here,” He flicks his visor down over his eyes and his wings begin to flap, stirring the air around you as he gets ready to take off toward wherever the Commission has called him to.

A part of Hawks wishes to stay here with you a bit longer, a part of him that he’s been taught to rein in and repress for the sake of his hero duties. He can’t stop and comfort every civilian that he saves when there’s countless more that need him. The frightened, nervous look in your eyes tugs at his heart strings and he just wants to tell you it’ll be okay, but he doesn’t let himself indulge in those thoughts for very long. He’s Hawks, number two pro hero, the man who’s a bit too fast. He has too many people relying on him, counting on him to even entertain the thoughts in his head. 

“W-Wait! I want to thank you somehow.” You blurt out, cringing at the way your voice squeaks. There’s a weighty beat of silence while you dig around in your purse to retrieve a card. “I work at a cat café… Here’s a gift card for a free drink. It’s not much but I wanted to at least give you something.” You awkwardly thrust the card in Hawk’s direction, eyes wandering to avoid making direct eye contact with him. He takes the card and smiles at you again but this time it’s softer, sweeter and it stirs something deep in your belly. This smile feels more authentic and less rehearsed than the kilowatt smile he flashes for the cameras. He takes the card and gingerly tucks it in the pocket of his coat.

The card, emblazoned with the cafe’s name and decorated with paw prints, radiates warmth against his chest.

“Thanks, kid. I’ll drop by sometime when I’m not busy saving the world.” He winks, giving you a two finger salute and in a flourish of brilliant vermillion feathers, he’s gone just as quickly as he came.

He regrets saying that he’ll stop by because truthfully, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to. The Commission has him working more than ever and he never gets a day off, if the dark circles hidden under the concealer underneath his eyes are any indication. He knows he shouldn’t have given you false hope that you’ll see him again, but the way your smile constricts his heart and your scent steals the breath from his lungs, he knows that if you called out for him, he’d come running.

━━

Many weeks pass before you see Hawks again and you begin to think that he has simply forgotten or is just choosing not to see you, a thought that makes your shoulders sag and your ears droop. But really, what would a talented, successful guy like Hawks want with an average girl like you? Sure he said you were cute, but he probably tells lots of people that.

It starts out just like any average day at the cat café you work at. You show up to work at seven am, three hours before opening so you have time to prepare for the day. You unlock the front door with your key and your boss calls out a hello from the back where she’s tending to the cats before they’re allowed to roam the café. 

The café itself is small but cozy and intimate, sandwiched between a bookstore and a thrift store. It always smells like chamomile and daisies, both for customers’ and the cats’ enjoyment. The overhead lights give off a soft, warm glow. There’s several tables and chairs set up along the walls, cat trees and scratching posts taking up most of the free middle space. It’s never terribly busy, just enough to keep the café open and the cats cared for.

You begin your opening duties, starting with sweeping the floors and wiping down surfaces. This part takes the longest because you have to be thorough and diligent in your cleaning, lest you want another visit from the Tokyo Health Department. You decorate the cookies and cupcakes your boss’s wife makes with cat faces and paw prints and arrange them in the dessert display case. Once you finish your duties, it’s time to let the cats out to roam. You open the door that separates the café from the room that the cats play in before opening and five cats come prancing out, the little bells on their collars jingling softly as they move. One of the cats, a grey Scottish fold, rubs against your legs and meows cheerfully at you.

“Good morning Chibi, it’s nice to see you too,” You lean down to scratch between her ears and she purrs, enjoying the affection. “I’ll check with the boss soon to see if we can get another one of those mouse toys that I know you like, how does that sound?” The cat chirps appreciatively and head butts your hand before walking off to convene with the other cats. They’re surrounding the 5 cat bowls nestled in the corner of the café, noticing the blatant lack of wet food in their bowls. Their eyes are dilated, ears pointed forward to express their annoyance. One of the cats reaches his paw into the bowl and pokes the little bits of dry food around it. “I know what you guys are thinking and you’re not getting more wet food after yesterday when Shiro and Kuro ate so much they threw up in a customer’s lap. The same customer. Dry food only today,” You warn over your shoulder as you go behind the counter to put on a clean apron. One of the cats makes a noise akin to a grumble and another seemingly rolls her eyes.

Ten a.m. rolls around and your boss unlocks the front door for the public. A handful of people come in and order the typical fare of cappuccinos and lattes while they play with the cats. You busy yourself with making drinks and cleaning up any messes the cats make while your boss mans the cash register. The sounds of the café blend and intermingle into an ambient, comfortable backdrop to a pleasant atmosphere. A few patrons scattered throughout the cafe are chatting quietly with their companions and the cats are chasing each other around their cat tree, the bells on their collars gently tinkling.

It seems like just a normal day. Until he shows up.

You’re in the middle of making a customer’s cappuccino when you see Hawks through the café window. Your body jerks so hard you almost destroy the cat face that you were drawing in the foam. You never actually expected him to show up and now your head tingles at the possibility that he’s here to see you, although your voice of reason tells you to dampen your excitement. He’s probably here just for the cats or the drinks, nothing more.

Hawks is in his civilian clothes and has a pair of sunglasses on, but those scarlet wings are recognizable anywhere, despite how much smaller and sparser they are. You notice by the way he moves he’s tired, a little worse for wear. 

The bell above the door dings as he swings it open, his presence seeming to suffocate the entire room. Any source of conversation ceases and all heads turn toward the door, including the cats. No one would expect for one of the top heroes in Japan to visit a tiny cat café on the outskirts of Musutafu, in fact, this is one of the last places one would expect to see him in. He’s rarely seen outside of the hustle and bustle of the metropolitan areas, and even rarer seen off duty and out of his hero costume.

A couple of people go up to him and ask for pictures of autographs, which he graciously gives with that signature million-dollar smile on his face. He’s inwardly thankful that the café is in one of the more sparsely populated areas of the city so he’s not caught up in entertaining the public when he’s really here for just one thing. You. 

You’re standing behind the serving counter, a determined look on your face as you use a toothpick to draw in the foam of the cup in front of you. Your hair is pulled into a ponytail and you’re wearing a cream-colored apron with the cafe’s logo on it. Your tongue is cutely poking out between your lips, eyes thoroughly focused on your task and the sight is so endearing that he feels warmth spread throughout his body. There’s a tingling in his spine that he knows he should ignore, but the temptation to come see you again was too great to ignore.

“Welcome Hawks-sama! Please sit down and relax. Whatever you would like is on the house, just please let us know and we’ll get it for you right away!” Your boss rushes to Hawks and excitedly babbles at him as he approaches the sale counter, awe-struck and taken aback by the hero’s unexpected appearance. She bows deeply and not-so-subtly gestures at you to bow as well, mouthing “be respectful” and jerking her head in his direction. Flustered by her threatening passion at properly greeting Hawks, you put the cappuccino you were holding onto the counter and bow.

“Thank you for such a warm welcome, ma’am. I insist on paying for anything I order, but I happen to have a gift card from a certain employee of yours.” He grins in your direction, his eyes full of mirth and amusement at your boss’s enthusiasm.

“Of course, sir! Please let the barista know when you’re ready to order and feel free to stay as long as you’d like!” She speaks a bit too fast and a bit too loud, a few customers turning their heads in the direction of the commotion, but Hawks doesn’t seem to mind, likely used to these types of reactions. The ringing of a phone is heard from the back of the store and a conflicted look crosses your boss’s face, not wanting to leave and miss the opportunity to talk to him. “I apologize for the rude interruption sir, but I have an important phone call I must answer. Koneko-chan here can take care of anything you need. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Your boss bows again, hesitating to actually leave but eventually she does, leaving you alone with Hawks.

“I’ve asked her many times not to call me that in front of customers. I have a name but she refuses to call me by it, saying it’s important for the theme of the café, or something like that,” You smile shyly at him, unsure where to look or where to put your hands so you put them behind your back. Your tail is flicking again from your uncertainty and in your head you’re willing it stop.

“Well, what is your name? I never got the chance to ask the day we met and I regret going all this time without knowing your name. Unless you'd like for me to call you Koneko-chan, it’s a pretty cute nickname for an even cuter girl.” Hawks’ tone is laced with a teasing flirtatiousness that makes your heart flutter. He leisurely leans on the shop counter, propping his chin up one of his hands.

“Ah, well, Koneko-chan is a childhood nickname so I don’t mind being called by it, I even enjoy it. I prefer to be called my name by customers, but you can call me whatever you’d like, Hawks.” You look up at him through your lashes and shyly tell him your name, hoping you’re not mistaking his friendliness for flirtatiousness and that he really is expressing an interest in you. 

“Koneko-chan it is.” He declares, flashing you another glimpse of that perfect smile that makes your heart skip a beat. He nods in agreement with himself, as if he was closing some sort of negotiation. “But say, I think you owe me a drink. Could I get an iced coffee, extra sugar?” He scans the menu for a brief second but you know he’s just looking for some caffeine, judging by the slight drooping of his shoulders and the exhaustion you can see through his jovial expression. He hands you the card that you gave him several weeks ago. What he doesn’t say is that he’s kept it in the pocket of his coat since that day, periodically patting it to make sure it was still there, even pulling it out when he had a free moment to spare, despite how far and few between those moments tend to be.

He almost doesn’t like how easily you’ve managed to get inside his head. The part of his brain that was trained to be a hero tells him that he shouldn’t entertain the idea of anything more than a friendship with you, let alone show up to your job and continue to stoke the fire that’s building inside him. The other part of his brain tells him that he deserves to have this sweet, secret little thing with you, even if it’s only for a little while because right now he doesn’t feel like Hawks, number two pro hero of Fierce Wings. He feels like Keigo Takami, an average 23-year-old guy trying to talk to a girl he likes, dare he say, a girl he has a crush on.

“Of course, I’ll get right on it,” You turn to start preparing his drink and check the watch on your wrist. “It’s almost my lunch break, would you like to sit and talk for a bit?” You can hear the insecurity in your voice and hope it doesn’t make him rethink whatever this thing is that’s blooming between you.

“How could I turn down good coffee and good company? Of course, I’d love to.” Hawks eagerly nods his head in his palm, beaming with pleasant agreement.

“Feel free to sit down while I make your drink. I’m sure the cats would love to meet you.” You start pressing buttons on the coffee machine and look over your shoulder to give him a warning.  “Although, I would be careful with those wings of yours, they might mistake them for a toy.” You giggle to yourself at the thought of the cats cornering him, looks of curiosity and wonder on their faces as they use their little paws to bat at his feathers. You don’t notice that Hawks is watching you with a feathered eyebrow raised out of his own curiosity and wonder of what’s going through your head. What he wouldn’t give just to know what you’re thinking about, what you think about him.

“I don’t mind, at least I’ll be useful for something while I’m plucked this thin!” He shakes his sparse wings for emphasis, showcasing the fact that they’re little more than tufts of feathers about the size of your palm. He removes himself from the counter he’s been leaning over for the past ten minutes and walks over to a table to sit and wait. He waves at you from his seat, pointing to the chair across the table from him and grinning, reminiscent of a child that spots their friend from across the cafeteria. 

You don’t know why such a talented, handsome, accomplished guy like Hawks wants to spend time with you, a quiet, ordinary girl but you’re not about to question it. You want to cherish this moment and take advantage of the time you get with him because you know nothing is guaranteed or assured in his world.

After you finish making his drink you hang up your apron and make your way to the table in the corner where Hawks is sitting. You set the cup down in front of him and slide into your seat, a cat hopping into your lap not seconds later. He’s a little ginger cat named Mikan and you scratch behind his ears absentmindedly while he makes biscuits on your thighs.

Now that you’ve changed out of your work apron, Hawks can really take in your appearance. He already knew you were pretty, but he didn’t realize just how stunning you are. You’re wearing a pair of well-worn light blue denim jeans, they’re form-fitting and accentuate the swell of your hips and he has to resist ogling your butt as you walk over. Your top is form fitting as well, the material stretched over your breasts enticingly. He gives you a quick once over before you sit down, hopefully subtle enough that you don’t notice his eyes wandering. He wills those thoughts away in favor of focusing on how thankful he is to even be sitting here with you.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come see you. I don’t get a lot of time off, but they just had to give me some after they saw the state of these things.” Hawks’ tone is joking and light, but you can hear the exhaustion and weariness that tinges his words.“ They’ll regrow soon, it just takes a few days, but I can’t save the world without my wings so I get some time to visit my favorite cat girl.” He winks, his flirtatiousness causing you to quickly avert your eyes to the cat in your lap. You coyly look back up at him and smile when you find his gaze unwaveringly trained on you. Each time you look at him, it feels as if those piercing golden irises are analyzing your every move, every change in your expression. 

That’s not really too far from the truth. A part of Hawks’ hero training was dedicated to recognizing body language cues and facial expressions. It’s been ingrained in him to search for dishonesty, any hint of wrongdoing in the way a person carries themselves. When he looks into those wide, inviting eyes of yours that seem to put him in an unbreakable trance, he doesn’t even know if he could resist you even if you did turn out to be malicious. It should scare him, and it does, but not as much as it should. As much as he’s observed you, he knows you aren’t being disingenuous by the open, unguarded expression on your face and the way you’re casually leaning towards him as he speaks. 

Your voice interrupts his internal monologue, his racing thoughts coming to a screeching halt.

“Oh, I’m sure you know lots of girls with mutant cat quirks. Even if you do, I still better be your favorite.” Judging from the way a smirk is tugging at the corners of your lips and the playful inflection of your voice, you’re teasing him. 

Oh, he likes that. He likes it a lot. 

It sends a delightful shiver down his spine and he’s silently thankful that his wings are much smaller than their usual size, otherwise you would notice the way they’re twitching.

He’s only just met you and he’s already so smitten he would do anything for you. He would rip the moon and stars out of the fucking sky with his bare hands if you asked him to. The effect you have on him is dangerous, he knows this, but he’s never been one to shy away from danger.

“You know you are, Koneko-chan. You’re the only kitty for me.” He sighs dreamily, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands. The lights overhead reflect off of his pupils, highlighting the mischievous glint in his half-lidded eyes. You laugh, high-pitched and contagious, and he’ll do anything to hear it again. His head is swimming with the swarm of emotions he’s experiencing all at once and it feels as if he’s simultaneously drowning and taking his first real breath of fresh air.

Hawks seems to be deep in thought and you take it as an opportunity to admire his beauty. Your eyes follow the angle of his jawline, the high, regal slope of his nose. You focus on those mesmerizing golden eyes and the black markings that give them a more avian-like appearance. He really is devastatingly handsome and to make matters worse, he knows it and he knows you’re staring at him by the way he’s smirking.

You’re so taken by one another that you don’t notice Mikan climb up on the table to meow at you loudly, demanding your attention by headbutting your arm. You chuckle lightly at the cat’s jealousy towards the man across from him, who he sees as the one who’s stealing all of your attention. Hawks watches, fascinated by the way you and the cat have this wordless, unspoken conversation through your eyes. You notice the way he’s watching you two with quizzical interest and you smile, knowing exactly what’s going through his head. 

“Despite what many people think, I can’t communicate with them. Our physiologies are just too different.” You explain as you scratch Mikan’s chin, the cat purring in contentment. “But I am more attuned to their emotions and I empathize with the way they’re feeling because I often feel the same way. It’s an essentially useless quirk but it has its perks, especially here.” The cat rubs his chin against yours and you lean in closer to let him rub his scent on you.

Hawks smiles and can feel his heart swell at the sweet, tender moment between you and the small animal in your lap. He chuckles to himself when he notices that both of your tails are twitching, a sign that a cat is happy, if the extensive Googling he’s done about cat behavior is worth anything. He wants to remember this moment forever, just him, a pretty girl, and a cat in a little cafe miles from the city center. He wants to keep it, tuck it away in his pocket to covet for himself. It feels as if you’re the only two people in the world and for now, you are and that’s all that really matters. 

You feel like you’re floating on a cloud in some faraway land, just waiting for the sobering free fall back down to earth. The way the sunlight hits his flaxen hair like some sort of halo makes him look like an angel and you think he may as well be one. He’s so radiant and ethereal that you feel like you’re being burned alive but you can’t bring yourself to care. You don’t mind as long as it’s his light that burns you.

You’re suddenly jerked from your shared reverie by your boss yelling at you that your break is over. Mikan darts from your lap at the sudden outburst and you both jolt in your seats as well. 

“I’m really sorry, I have to get back to work.” You get up from your seat, trying to look and sound as apologetic as you feel. “But if you want to hang out some more, I’ll be off in a few hours and there’s a cute little park a couple streets from the café that we could meet at… Only if you want! You’re probably busy...” You speak quietly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other in uncertainty.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Koneko-chan.” Hawks says it with a wink, but he really means it. Bar a national disaster, he’d be there just to see you for a little longer.

Hawks hangs around the café for another hour before leaving to stroll through the streets of your quiet little corner of Musutafu, appreciating the lack of attention he gets as he walks around. 

You get off around 4 p.m. and rush to the park you had mentioned to Hawks. True to his word, he’s there, leisurely leaned back on a bench in the middle of the park, watching the birds fly amongst the trees. You join him on the bench, sitting an appropriate amount of space away from him, close enough to be friendly but far enough away to give him adequate personal space. 

“You’re here.” You sound a little breathless and surprised and it almost comes out like a question.

“Of course I am. I said I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” There’s no teasing, no flirtatiousness in Hawks’ voice and the way he speaks so matter-of-factly momentarily startles you. You know this isn’t a side of him that many people get to see and you’re thankful for it.

You talk until the sun hangs low in the sky, learning whatever you can about one another. Your voice feels scratchy from overuse and you feel like you’re dominating the conversation, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them.

Hawks is more than happy to let you do most of the talking. You likely already know most of what’s publicly known about him and what isn’t public knowledge he knows he can’t tell you, at least not yet. He wouldn’t really know what to talk about outside of heroism, he doesn’t have the same opportunities that any other guy in his early twenties does and he knows it would be hard to relate to him. So, he lets you lead the conversation, hanging on to your every word, adding his own input every once in a while. 

You know you’re talking a lot, but Hawks doesn’t seem to mind so you don’t mind either. You’re mostly content with doing most of the talking, but there’s a question burning a hole in your chest that you have to ask him. You pivot your body towards him, placing a gentle hand on top of his and he has to ignore the tingling sensation where your skin meets his.

A serious look takes over your features and anxiety steals the breath from Hawks’ lungs, worried that you’ve completely changed your mind about him, that you’re going to tell him to go away and leave you alone because you don’t need the drama in your life that will inevitably follow you if you were to ever pursue anything with him.

“Hawks...” You start, apprehensive as you struggle to find the right words to say. “You’re always so busy saving and taking care of other people, but who takes care of you?” The moment the words leave your lips you want to take them back, his happy expression quickly fading to a look of somber contemplation.

Hawks is stunned into uncharacteristic silence by the seriousness of your words and the vulnerable expression on your face. No one has asked him about his own wellbeing before, excluding people who ask whether he’s physically fit enough to keep doing his job, whether he’s still of use. His entire life he’s been worked to the bone with little regard for his health, let alone his happiness. He’s been trained to be the government’s human weapon against evil and he’s damn good at being a weapon, but it’s often forgotten what he really is. 

A human.

“I… I don’t know,” Hawks’ voice is filled with a rare uncertainty that he’s not sure that he likes. He sighs tiredly, running a hand through his already unruly mess of blonde hair. “I haven’t really thought about it before.” He sounds defeated and it’s the most heartbreaking thing you’ve ever heard and you can feel a lump form in your throat. He has spent every moment of his short life helping people, preventing disasters, saving the world while carrying that heavy burden on his shoulders. He’s Winged Hero Hawks, number two pro hero and his persona is so grand, so great that he feels larger than life. But right now he looks so small sitting next to you on the park bench you’re afraid he might disappear right before your eyes. 

You’re looking at him with those pretty eyes yours that are so full of warmth and love that he just wants to kiss you. He doesn’t give himself time to think about the consequences of what he’s about to do, moving faster than his brain can react.

He puts a rough, calloused palm on your cheek, eyes flicking from your mouth to your eyes, wordlessly asking for permission. Your pulse quickens from his close proximity, his breath fanning over your cheeks and you can smell the sweetness of the coffee that he drank earlier. 

With a slight nod of your head Hawks closes his eyes and leans in, his lips getting closer and you swear your heart is beating so loud he can surely hear it. Your stomach is in knots and you’re not sure you’re taking in enough oxygen. You let your eyes flutter shut and part your lips, your breath quickening as you feel his body press against your own. When your lips finally meet it feels as if the world and time itself have stopped. Your senses are overwhelmed by his musky cologne, his vanilla lip balm, his soft lips against yours. 

Him. 

You can’t see or feel anything but him and you’re so overwhelmed you think you might die, filled with Hawks in every sense of the word, but you can’t even think of anything but him.

Hawks, Hawks, Hawks. 

You’re repeating his name in your head like a mantra, hoping it’ll keep you grounded. His fingers are tangled in your hair you think, but you’re not really sure, not with the way his lips are moving, needy and insistent against your own. You let out a squeak of surprise when you feel his hot, wet tongue probe between your lips and he swiftly loops one arm around your back and hooks the other around your thigh, half pulling you onto his lap. 

The cute little sighs and hums you’re making fill Hawks with more satisfaction than they should. He opens one of his eyes to take a guilty peek at you and he can’t think of anything prettier than the sight of your blushing, squirming body in his lap. He experimentally licks at the inside of your mouth, gauging your reaction before sliding his tongue against your own.

A voice, albeit a very small one, in the back of your head tells you to stop, you’re still in a public park and the sun is halfway hidden behind the landscape. You try to pull away from Hawks but he just leans in further, his lips following yours, so you gently but firmly push against his chest to separate yourselves.

When your lips part there’s a string of saliva that still connects you and Hawks thinks it’s the most erotic thing he’s ever seen. 

It takes a few seconds for his higher thinking to return, but when it does worry he begins to etch itself into his features when he realizes you’ve pushed him away, wings pressing against his back.

“Hey, did I do something wrong there? I thought it was pretty good, and I think you did too judging by those noises you were making.” He always falls back on old habits, trying to mask his insecurity with flippant arrogance. You shake your head, a look of apology on your face.

“As much as I’m enjoying myself, I’d rather not grope each other in the middle of a park like a couple of teenagers,” you muse, “But I would love to see you again and pick up where we left off.” Your tone is suggestive and Hawks can feel his jeans tighten from the implication of your words.

“Ah, of course. I should be treating you like the proper lady you are, and here I am disrespecting your honor in a park.” Hawks tries to lighten the mood, his nerve endings still singing from your little make out session. The air around you feels hot and sticky against his skin and he’s trying to calm the blood rushing in his ears.

“Don’t worry about it. I really, really liked it.” You can feel the heat rise in your cheeks once more, despite the fact that moments ago you were almost dry humping in Hawks’ lap. “But it’s getting late and we both should head home.” You sigh, not wanting to leave your little bubble away from the chaos of the world. You stand up, holding your hand out to him. 

He takes your hand and rises from his seat on the bench. The way that your head just barely grazes his chin makes him realize how small you are. Have you always been that small?

“Hey Hawks?” Your eyes are shining again and you’re playing with a loose thread on Hawks’ jacket. 

“Yeah?” There’s a sort of pleading in your eyes and Hawks wants so badly to give you whatever you want, whatever you’re about to ask him he knows he’ll say yes.

“About what I said earlier…” You start, reaching for his hand and lacing your small fingers with his and squeezing. “I’ll take care of you, if you’ll let me.”

[fictionalabyss]

Protector : Questioned.

Pairing :   Dean x F!Reader, Alex (OC), Sam, Detective Baker (OC)

Word count : 1,463

Warnings : Time jump - little over 4 years after chapter 10. Illegal questioning of a minor.  Fear and anxiety of what's to come. Series TW : Domestic Abuse is a constant topic- be it mentioned, or actually happening.

Continuation of this series was commissioned by : @iflostreturntosteverogers​​

Part 11 of Protector.

Masterlist • Patreon • Ko-fi.

Alex sat at the table quietly, eyes downcast on his hands that were clasped in his lap. The offered glass of water on the table sat untouched.  He’d been silent since entering the room, not a word no matter what they said. They had been nice enough at the start, but they were getting angry. They were running out of time, he knew it, they knew it, hell, they knew he knew it.

“Look, kid, we know you know something. You aren’t stupid. You live with the guy, you work for him-”

“I work in a garage.” Alex finally spoke, though he still didn’t look up at the detective who was leaning on the table. “I work on cars for dumbasses who don’t know the ‘check engine’ light means to check your fucking engine.” He finally looked up. “That's all I know.”

“You work in their garage.”

“I work in a garage. I don’t know who owns it.” Alex shrugged, and that seemed to piss the detective off, he could tell by the way his jaw ticked.

“Yeah? And who got you that job?”

“I applied for it.” Alex dead panned. “I gave my resume to every garage in town, they just offered me better pay.” Alex shrugged. “If you know so much about me, then you know I've had a knack for cars and engineering for years. Want to know about my middle school science fair project?”

“You and Dean left the state a few weeks back-”

“Visiting schools. It’s why I work, to pay for college.”

“Why the extra muscle then?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You were accompanied by-” the detective flipped open the folder on the table. The first page had Dean’s mugshot and a list of information, but Alex barely got a look at it as the pages turned. “Sam Winchester, and one Ash ‘Dr Badass’ Miles.”

“An Alumni of the school showing me around.” Alex shrugged. “What's your point?”

“My point is, son, you’re in danger.” Alex laughed at that. “You think that’s funny? You live and work with the men who, we are convinced, killed your father.”

“Dean is my father.”

“Your real father.”

“My ‘real father’ beat the shit out of me and my mom and tried to kill us before disappearing. He’s a missing person that for some fucked up reason you’re still looking for.”

“Because we’re convinced that Dean had him killed.”

“Yeah? When I was 5, I was convinced that my dad was the best dad on the plant. Sometimes, people are just wrong.”  The door burst open, and Alex just smiled at the detective. “Time’s up.”

“Let’s go, Alex.”

“Ma’am-” The detective held out his hand to try and stop Alex from standing and leaving.

“You! You have some fucking nerve dragging a 17 year old boy in here.” You took a step closer, finger pointed at him. “You have no fucking right to ask him anything without a parent or a lawyer, and I know for a fact he asked for both when he walked into the station. So now, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer for harassing my son.”

“Your husband killed his father.” The detective countered. “Don’t you want justice?”

“If he’s dead, big fucking if, justice has been served. Leave my son alone. Out, Alex.”

Alex stood and gave the detective a polite smile. “Sorry, bud. You fucked up.”

“Alex!” You shot him a glare as he left the room, then turned that glare on the detective. “Stay away from my son.” you growled before turning on your heel and storming out.

Dean was standing next to the Impala when you both walked out. “You okay?” He asked, eyes on Alex.

“I’m fine, Dean. Really, I’m okay.” Alex smiled and opened the back door.

Dean cupped your face as you got close to him. “Are you okay?”

“They took him in for questioning.. For what? Why harass a teenage boy?”

“I don’t know, baby. Sammy’s buddy from Stanford is already flying in, he’s good.” You gave him a nod and he pressed his lips to your forehead, his eyes going behind you as the door opened and the detective stepped out. Dean’s jaw ticked, and you looked up at him. “Let’s go home.”

You turned and glanced back at the detective as Dean opened the passenger side door for you. You slid in, and Dean shut the door behind you. Your attention on the detective who stood watching the three of you with his arms crossed over his chest. “Where’s Abby?” Alex asked, pulling your attention back.

“At home, with Uncle Sam.” you answered as Dean pulled open the driver side door and slid in.

“When your mom called me in a panic, we both hauled ass to the house.” Dean added after his door had shut and he was starting up the engine. He didn’t talk again until he was well away from the curb. “What’d they want anyways? Why’d they grab you from school?”

Alex shrugged. “They were asking about you.”

“About me?” Dean glanced over as you looked at him with worry.

“Mhm.” Alex hummed, looking out the window. “They’re sure I know more than I let on about what you do, where you go and who you meet. They knew we went to Michigan and who with.”

“What’d you tell them?”

“Not much.” Alex shrugged. “That I don’t know shit, I work for the garage who offered to pay me the most and Michigan was a trip with my family to visit a college.” He glanced to the front seat at Dean, eyes meeting in the rear view. “The truth. Dude’s pretty convinced you're a killer, though, and that mom and I are in danger.”

Dean’s brow furrowed and he risked a glance behind him. His eyes were back on the road when he felt your hand on his lap, squeezing it. He chanced a glance your way to see the worried look on your face had deepened.

Dean pulled into the driveway, and Alex was the first out of the car. You slipped from the car next as he turned off the engine. He could see from the way you held yourself that something was bugging you. With a sigh, Dean exited the car.

“Baby,” Dean stopped you from going past him, his hands cupping your face. “What’s wrong? Alex is fine, he-”

“They’re saying you killed his father, they’re saying I should want justice for that. As if him being dead wouldn’t be justice for what happened to us.” you glanced up at Dean. “I don't want to know, I don’t care. I just- He said it in front of Alex. Who knows what else he said to him before we could get here..”

“They don’t have anything or they wouldn’t be harassing the kid. They’ve been doing this shit for years, a few too many bar fights and suddenly you’re the scum of the earth.” Dean half chuckled. “Anything they can slap us with, they will. I’m just sorry you guys are being dragged into it.”

“I don’t want to lose you, Dean.”

“You won't, baby, I promise.” He ducked his head so his lips could meet yours.

“Everything okay?” Sam asked from the doorway, and the kiss broke, your bottom lip trapped between your teeth as you pulled away from Dean.

“Go inside, baby. I’ll be in in a minute.” You nodded and headed in, slipping past Sam without a word. Dean motioned for Sam to come closer as he leaned against the Impala.

“What’d they pull the kid in for?”

“Us. More specifically me. Asked about the garage, the trip to Michigan, told the kid I killed his father.” Dean shrugged.

“Jesus Christ..” Sam was actually stunned by that last one. Sure, the families occasionally got harassed if someone got caught doing some rough shit, but never had a kid been grabbed from school and had shit thrown at them like that. “They’re getting ballsy..”

“When’s Brady getting here?”

“Uh- Tomorrow morning. His flight lands at like 7am, I think he said?”

“Thank fuck  you went to college, Sammy.” Dean pat his brother on the back. “Abby good?”

“Yeah, she was good.” Sam smiled. “Always is for me. How’s the wife?”

Dean sucked his teeth as he started towards the house, brother in tow. “Pregnant, pissed and scared, Sammy. And this time, it’s on me. Fuckin’ Baker.”

“Baker? The same asshole who tried to throw you in prison last time?”

“Shit, yeah eh?” Dean smiled. “I should send him a gift basket or a thank you card, he’s the reason I met her.” Dean stopped outside the door laughing. “Fuck, imagine that on his conscious?” Dean was still laughing as he entered his home, Sam shaking his head behind him.

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[justablobfish]

Finding a present for that person that is impossible to find a present for

Day 13 of my Advent Calender. A new drabble or oneshot everyday until Christmas, following the Continent’s favourite found family and what they’re up to in the winter season. Based on this prompt list

Read on AO3

Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

______

It's going to be Jaskier’s second time visiting Kaer Morhen. 

Two years ago, Geralt had asked him only a few days before they were scheduled to separate for the winter. It had all been rather sudden and the whole season had passed in a blur of anxiety and excitement.

He hadn't even met the whole family then, Geralt's little brother Lambert hadn't made it to the keep that year. Then, the year after, Jaskier got delayed by his family until he couldn't make it to the keep anymore; the path had already snowed over. 

This year though - this year Jaskier is determined to make the most of his time at Kaer Morhen and charm his way into the hearts of Geralt's family until they can't imagine winter without him anymore. 

Step one is to make a good first impression after the Wolves haven't seen him in so long. And the easiest way to do that is to get the perfect welcome gift for everyone scheduled to be there. 

He comes across the first gift mere weeks after the snow of the previous winter has melted. After the tedious experience with his parents he decides to spend some time in Oxenfurt to recuperate. 

In his favorite dingy little bookstore he finds the perfect present for Eskel. 

Yes, yes, a steamy romance novel might not necessarily be the best way to prove himself to his lover's family, but the cover of the book shows your usual handsome warrior with very revealing clothing clutching a swooning damsel in distress in his overly muscular arms. Except this protagonist is drawn with an enormous scar covering the left side of his face. 

He's extremely handsome. So is Eskel, of course, but whenever Jaskier tells him as much he just dismisses the compliment. With this book though, Eskel will have to believe him that scars are seen as attractive by quite a number of people. Why else would they draw the cover like this? 

His second gift he also finds in a bookstore, though this place couldn't possibly be more different than where he found the book for Eskel. 

The "Ye Olde Books" in Toussaint sells only the most esteemed antiquities to rich noblemen who never intend to read them and only display them to prove their supposedly good taste and to exaggerate their riches. 

Jaskier quickly determines the oldest book the store has on offer. It's still younger than the recipient of the gift, of course, but the fairy tale stories it holds should still be similar enough to the stories that must have been popular when Vesemir was a child. 

After the events of the last winter Jaskier at least managed to guilt trip his parents enough that he has no trouble paying for the delicate tome. 

As for Lambert, Jaskier didn't meet him the one year he spent at Kaer Morhen, but he and Geralt ran into the younger Witcher on the Path once. It was a brief encounter and Lambert didn't seem to particularly like Jaskier. 

Geralt reassured him afterwards that it's nothing personal and that Lambert doesn't like anyone. 

Even though they couldn't possibly be more different, Lambert somewhat reminded Jaskier of himself. Jaskier is happy with his place in the world now, but he had to carve it out for himself, which hadn't always been easy. He remembers a time when he, too, felt trapped in the life he was born into, never good enough to satisfy his parents or to become a person in his own right, not just the heir to a legacy he wanted nothing to do with. 

So the bitterness Lambert carries around with him feels very familiar. 

His third gift, therefore, is just as expensive as Vesemir's and on top of that requires a large amount of convincing to work out. Luckily, Jaskier has practice annoying someone enough until they agree to anything. He spent most of his life perfecting the skill with the involuntary help of his lover.

By the time winter comes around again, the specially commissioned Gwent card will have started distribution. Though of course Jaskier will carry a copy of the new Lambert hero card with him as well and present it to Geralt's younger brother. He's made sure it would be stronger than the White Wolf card that became popular in recent years. 

Ciri's gift is easy enough. Jaskier simply buys the biggest, fluffiest teddy bear he can find. Ciri is going to roll her eyes at him and claim that she isn't a kid anymore, but that's exactly what makes it the perfect present. With all that destiny business, the kid forgets far too often to allow herself to be a child sometimes. 

How to get this monstrous thing, which is nearly as tall as Jaskier, back to Kaer Morhen is an entirely different story, though… 

The gift for Yennefer isn't hard to find either once he meets up with Geralt and travels with him again. In a run-down little general store in a village in the middle of nowhere, in the furthest corner of the shop, hidden under a fishing net and a set of gardening tools, lies the most atrocious knitted sweater Jaskier has ever seen. There's no reason to abandon old traditions, even if he and Yennefer don’t meet up at Oxenfurt anymore. And in case Yennefer doesn't attend Kaer Morhen this winter, he'll simply keep it around until the next time they meet. The knitwear is so incredibly ugly, it would be a shame to waste it. 

Geralt informs him one day that Lambert will bring a plus one. Not a boyfriend or close friend or anything, just a superficial acquaintance. The fact that Lambert risked his own hide to save the man's life is - apparently - entirely coincidental and without meaning. It's just that this other Witcher of the Cat school has no other place to spend the winter. Nothing more. 

Geralt calls his little brother an emotionally constipated idiot and Jaskier can't help but burst out laughing at the hypocrisy. 

Jaskier isn't sure whether to get this Aiden a gift as well since he never met the man, but as so often in his life, fate takes matters into its own hands. 

He's perusing his favorite clothes store in Vizima when he finds the most beautiful scarf. It's big and woolen and perfectly flashy. Every handspan or so the pattern and colours change completely. All in all it shows every colour of the rainbow. 

That is not the gift for Aiden, of course. But it's going to look great on Jaskier, especially since Geralt still insists he wears that old grey winter cloak. Granted, the cloak is warm, but oh so boring looking. The scarf will be just the right accessory to add a bit of color to his winter wardrobe. 

The gift for Aiden he comes across as he leaves the store. A little boy, who must be the owner's son, sits at the side of the road and busies himself with thread and needle. 

Curious, Jaskier steps closer and finds that the boy is attaching pieces of felt to a simple hairband. 

Once the kid is done he puts the headband on and the felt pieces stand up in such a way that it appears like the boy has kitten ears growing out of his head. 

Jaskier considers for a moment but then decides that if this Aiden is voluntarily hanging out with Lambert, he must have a good sense of humor. He buys the headband off the boy and heads back to his and Geralt's inn room. 

Maybe it's because he's traveling with Geralt and can't really go looking for a gift for the White Wolf, but by the time their departure for Kaer Morhen rolls around, Jaskier has a little something for everyone, except Geralt. He doesn't even have an idea what he could gift to the man. Anything practical like a new whetstone, better armor or a fancy dagger is something that Geralt is far better equipped to pick out himself. Jaskier has little knowledge about such things. 

And while Jaskier has spent the last twenty years of his life convincing the big oaf that he deserves pretty things every once in a while, too, Jaskier can't think of anything that wouldn't just be in the way when they eventually set out on the Path again. 

The end of autumn creeps closer and closer and Jaskier’s head stubbornly remains empty. It shouldn't be this hard to think of something that Geralt would enjoy. After all, Jaskier has known him for over two decades now. But it seems like everything he could get his favorite Witcher he has already gotten him at some point during their travels. 

He still has no idea when they pass the last village on the way to the Witchers’ keep. 

Or when they start making their way up the mountain path. 

Maybe there's a pretty rock he can pick up? 

What? No, that's a dumb idea. He's not just gonna pick up a random rock just because he's desperate. At this point he'll just have to accept the fact that he has no gift for Geralt.

They reach the keep after two days of tedious climbing - not something Jaskier missed from his last visit - and are greeted at the gates by the other Witchers. Geralt's family members each welcome Geralt with a short hug and a pat on the back, while another man, who must be Lambert's tagalong, awkwardly stands to the side. Vesemir and Eskel nod at Jaskier courtly, Lambert only grunts at him. 

Jaskier makes eye contact with Aiden who rolls his eyes at him apologetically over Lambert's behaviour. 

Then Geralt brings Roach to the stables and they all quickly make their way inside. 

In the large dining hall they meet Yennefer and Ciri. Apparently they only came here a day earlier via portal, making Jaskier and Geralt the last to arrive. 

"I have welcoming gifts!" Jaskier addresses everyone. 

Eskel reacts to his present with eyes narrowed in confusion. Then they grow wide with realisation and wonder. 

Lambert scoffs when Jaskier hands him his parcel. He doesn't scoff again after he unpacks it. 

Aiden grins at him widely and immediately puts his gift on. 

Vesemir simply hums appreciatively. It reminds Jaskier far too much of Geralt. He supposes the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. 

Ciri, as expected, reacts with a pout and the declaration that she's not a child anymore. Still, she clutches the plushy to her chest and refuses to let it go when Aiden says he'll take it if she doesn't like it. 

Yennefer snarls at her sweater and quickly turns away from the group to hide it, but just like Ciri does with the teddy bear, she clutches it to her chest protectively. 

Which only leaves Geralt. 

"I, uh…, " Jaskier stutters and stares at his empty hands. 

"Hmm," Geralt hums. "Saving the best for last?" 

He grabs Jaskier by the shoulder, turns him around so that he's facing the room. He hugs Jaskier from behind and places his chin on Jaskier’s shoulder. 

"Seems like you got me the best gift of all," Geralt hums. "Look!" 

Confused, Jaskier glances about the room. Vesemir and Eskel are sitting in a corner, flipping through their respective books. Lambert is chasing Aiden through the room, who has stolen his Gwent card and is waving it around tauntingly. Ciri holds the teddy out to Yennefer, who's holding her sweater to the bear's chest to see if it would fit him. There's nothing out of the ordinary that Jaskier can spot. 

"I don't under-" he begins. 

"Everyone's here," Geralt explains. "My whole family in one place for the very first time. I couldn't possibly ask for more." 

[ethan-bears]

50 Questions! Tagged by @ahoswhiskers @matbaerzal and @klingdell I think? Ily guys 💞💞💞💞💞

what is the color of your hairbrush? both are black and I struggle to tell them apart

name a food you never eat? avocado, sweet potatoes, black licorice

are you typically too warm or too cold? too warm, which is tragic because I love sweaters

what were you doing 45 minutes ago? cranking out another essay

what's your favorite candy bar? Almond Joy

have you ever been to a professional sports game? yes, a Canucks game and I saw a game in Czech Republic's national league when I was there (also Jaromir Jagr follows you wherever you are in Czechia)

what is the last thing you said out loud? Idk my best friend and I were talking about our wildly different conceptions of when lunch time should be

what is your favorite ice cream? oooh probably salted caramel or peppermint

what was the last thing you had to drink? water

do you like your wallet? I do, actually, I like how skinny it is so I can fit more stuff in my purse

what is the last thing you ate? plums

did you buy any new clothes last weekend? they arrived last weekend, which made me really happy because I had new clothes I could wear to work for the first time in three months!

what's the last sporting event you watched? hockey

what is your favorite flavor of popcorn? salt + butter, don't mess with classics

who is the last person you sent a text message to? my mom

ever go camping? not since I was very very young

do you take vitamins? yeah unfortunately

do you regularly attend a place of worship? no, I'm not religious

do you have a tan? nope

do you prefer Chinese or pizza? pizza

do you drink your soda through a straw? plot twist I don't really drink soda that much

what color socks do you usually wear? white no-shows, but if they're longer I'll wear black or brown

do you ever drive above the speed limit? uh yeah all the time unless I see pedestrians or I know there's a speed trap ahead

what terrifies you? showing emotional vulnerability only to have the person say "eh whatever" about it, intense physical pain, the 1776 Commission

look to your left, what do you see? history notebook #2

what chore do you hate most? washing dishes

what do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? four years ago when I went to an honor band in Australia and all my friends from that trip that I miss 😔

what's your favorite soda? root beer if I ever do drink soda

do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive thru? depends entirely on my anxiety levels and how long I've been driving at that point

what's your favorite number? I literally do not know........

who's the last person you talked to? best friend 🥰

favorite cut of beef? the beef part (love beef)

last song you listened to? "Under Your Spell" from the musical episode of Buffy

last book you read? for school, "the six creeds that won the west," for fun, "Peace Talks" by Jim Butcher

favorite day of the week? Friday night and Saturday

can you say the alphabet backwards? no

how do you like your coffee? Chai tea

favorite pair of shoes? the brown boots I wear at work

time you normally get up? 5-5:30am for work, literally any time of day if it's the weekend (Bad, do not do this)

what do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? sunsets

how many blankets on your bed? two

describe your kitchen plates? white with blue accents

describe your kitchen at the moment? the dishes are clean but they need to be put away

do you have a favorite alcoholic drink? I haven't drank much since I'm not 21 and have had social anxiety around drinking settings until January this year, so I'm still trying to figure it out. My birthday is coming up so I should decide soon what I want to get for it but I'm overwhelmed by choice 😬

do you play cards? sometimes

what color is your car? white

can you change a tire? no 😅

your favorite state? Washington (home)

favorite job you've had? shaved ice/mini donut stand at the farmer's market + Renaissance festival, I really hope we're able to do it again next summer

I tag: @tonystretcher51 @c-hartwriteshockey @pdxwinterhawks @weirdcanucks @churchofrileytanev @disney-prince-quinn-hughes no pressure though, it's a long one

[kinsbin]

Racing To You

Title: Racing To You Word Count: 2125 Ship: Johnny Blaze (Ghostrider)/Alexys [Canon/Self Insert]

Summary: Alexys tries to take a short cut to her boyfriends house on a foggy night and things to horribly wrong. Lucky for her, the man she loves will always know where she is. And is always willing to come racing to her rescue.

Author’s Note: Writing commission for @bad-blue-moon-rising​ of her and Ghostrider! I love this punk hell man with all of my heart and the first thing that came to my mind was ‘oh if anyone hurt her they would die’ and so it was.

[TW FOR VIOLENCE AND ARMED ROBBERY]

The night was quiet. Streets, shrouded in a heavy set mist, licked at the pavement like a beast hungry for scraps. Its tendrils swirled close to the ground, nipping at the heels of all who dare walk in it. Against the fog, the light of the street lamps surrounding the area glowed with a sickly yellow hue that was more ominous than it was comforting. Though the streets of New York were alive in certain districts, bustling with human commotion and existence as a whole, the area of slums was deathly silent. A graveyard of nothingness that seemed endless in its vast expanse. Alexys could feel the terror seep into her bones as she walked as quickly as possible through the murky death trap.

Why did she think that a shortcut was a good idea? Her urge to see Johnny after getting off of work overwhelmed her natural self preservation, she supposed, in the spur of the moment it took to walk down the street and out the line of sight of safety. Instead of being at her boyfriend’s side, though, she was in the dark and lost. Cursing herself under her breath had become her only companion as she walked through the misty nightscape. One arm curled around her body to bat away the oncoming cold while the other brought her nails up to her lips. Sinking her chattering teeth into her fingernails, Alexys nervously squinted in an effort to spy any cross streets or lights beyond the few feet in front of her face that she was able to view. God, she thought with an oncoming sense of dread, she really did not want to be here.

Clank-

Alexys whipped her head around, her brown hair playing itself out with the motion and hitting her in her own face. Blue eyes widened with terror and anxiety through the strands. Was her mind playing tricks on her? Perhaps a raccoon or other sewer animal had meandered around and run into a garbage can in an effort to find some food. The rational thoughts did little to calm the pounding of her heart and sweat forming in the center of her palms, however, and she stepped back slowly...slowly….ever so slowly. Every movement of her shoe hitting pavement sounded all too loud. She felt as though she were in a horror movie, the monster creeping up slowly and surely behind her.

Soon, she stopped walking completely. She held her breath, watching the fog behind her for a long while. There were no signs of movement. Not even a flicker of a light glowing alarmingly. It was a perfect silence. Standing up straight, Alexys let out the breath she had been holding, relieved. There was nothing there, she mused, she was just being silly. The world was scaring her and-

Clank.

Alexys turned again. Another clank echoed softly to her side, to which she turned another time to pinpoint it. A third clank and crash echoed, followed by a series of drunken laughter and her heart sank into her stomach. The figures that emerged from the shadows were large, bulky things. Men with twisted grins and too many beer bottles held between their massive fingers. One held something that seemed to shine in the street light. There was a moment of silence before she realized just what it was.

A knife.

“Well,” One of the figures drawled with a sneer, “Looks like a little chickadee wandered too far from her nest, ey boys?”

A trill of agreement echoed and Alexys felt her legs lock in place, face pale with terror. The man who had spoken approached her, tilting his head as if to examine her for a long moment, and held up his knife. He examined it casually, as if he were looking at a deck of cards, “Afraid I have to let ya know, chickadee, that there’s a price to pay for crossing through our terf. Show us your wallet and maybe, just maybe, we can let this one go without too much persuasion.”

The knife was held up to her again. Alexys took a step back, looking at either side of her. Slowly, quietly, she nodded and reached into her hoodie. With no back on her person, she kept her items snuggly tucked in the hoodie of her pocket. Her hands rummaged desperately for something, anything, that could be used as a distraction. As a sort of weapon. Her fingers trembled as she searched, eyes never leaving the man’s before her. She saw his face shift between drunken emotions, growing quickly impatient with her tomfoolery. His knife came closer, a sneer of anger on his lips as he tilted his head, “Lets GO, bitch. I don’t have all night.”

She gripped her wallet at last and acted.

Reaching out, Alexys chucked the smooth piece of leather hard at the men before her, causing them to yelp in surprise and move away, as if expecting a more dangerous item. Using their confusion to her advantage, Alexys turned and bolted, running as fast as her legs would carry her. Her heartbeat was hard in her ears as she pushed her body forwards, catapulting through alleyway after street, turning corner after corner, and moving inch after inch in an effort to escape.

She could only vaguely register the sound of shouts and laughs echoing from above the heartbeat in her eardrums. Heavy feet and dropping beer bottles followed after her as the men ran to catch up. With the head start, she knew she was safe for only a bit. They were taller. They had longer legs. She was slower. They would catch up. The thoughts were what spurred her flight reflexes to push her body more and more until everything was more of a blur than it was already around her. Her throat became dry as her chest heaved with the effort she had been putting in. She had to escape. She had to find help. The sound of the men drawing closer made her shudder in terror.

A turn led her to a dead end. The brick wall before her, lined with dumpsters and two other buildings, cut off her last means of hope. She felt her breath come out in heavy, desperate gasps as her body attempted to accumulate more oxygen. Panic rose again in her heart as she realized the gravity of it all.

This was probably how she was going to die.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she turned around, seeing the figures silhouetted in the darkness before her. The tears spilled as she pressed her back hard against the brick wall, her legs trembling with the effort of keeping her up. She could feel the men sneer at her as they approached, predatory and ready for a battle they were confident they would win. She felt the raw tips of her fingers scratch desperately against the brick behind her as she slid down onto the ground, her mind racing with thoughts of her life.

She wished she hadn’t gone down this shortcut.

She wished that she had Johnny with her.

As if on cue, the sound of a motorbike engine revving echoed like thunder across the shallow alleyways. The men before her (and she as well) flinched with shock at the deafening blow to their ears. Turning to see the source of the noise brought a whiteness to their own faces and a color back into Alexys’.

The figure in the entranceway was illuminated by a bright red flame. To many it looked like hell but, right now, Alexys only saw an angel. The fire was not the only thing unsettling. The lack of skin, muscle, and everything but clothes and bones gave a clear view of just who was blocking them off. Though skeletons could hold no facial expressions without the muscle, the being before them still somehow managed to look incredibly pissed off. His hands gripped the controls of his motorbike so fiercely that they looked as though they were ready to snap off. Embers escaped the flames on his head, crackling and dissipating in the foggy night air.

“Th-thats-” One of the goons spoke in horror, “That’s the Gh...ostrider.”

“Fuck,” The leader cursed, pushing past one of his friends in an effort to make a break for it.

“Going so soon?” The voice that echoed from between the Ghostrider’s bones was deep and amused. It reverberated in Alexys’ core as she pushed herself closer to the wall, this time for her own safety, as she watched him withdraw a chain from around his torso. With a crack of his wrist and the echo of metal to concrete, the entirety of it lit up a brilliant red as the flames from his head traveled to his limbs and onto the chainlink. Gasps and screams of terror echoed out against the men who had cornered her.

“Alexys,” the gravelly voice directly addressed her, “Close your eyes.”

She longed to disobey. To keep her eyes close and watch the man she loved destroy those who had tried to hurt her. Her body shook with anxiety and a strange want for revenge. Biting her lip, she starred in contemplation of the situation. The men were now looking at her again, though, eyes wide with terror as they realized just who they had given chase to. Just what she was protected by.

“Alexys,” His tone was more stern but still soft at her, “Now.”

“You’re so bossy,” She huffed, but did as she was told. Eyes shut tight, she put her hands over them just to show him that she, indeed, was doing what he had asked. There she sat, in the darkness behind her eyes, with no choice but to listen to where she could not watch. She heard it in bits and pieces. There was the whoosh of the whip as it bit through the air and the screams of the men who were being punished. The scrabbling of knives and then the tink of them getting knocked out of hands, followed by screams of terror cut off with hisses and the scent of burning flesh. Growls of laughter from a voice so baritone that it sent shivers up her spine and the roar of motors as the bike she had become so fond of revved in victory.

And then there was silence.

Alexys stayed how she was, not willing to risk seeing what Johnny had kept her from seeing. She was suddenly aware of her fingers trembling against her skin as the shock of the entire night’s events raked her in waves. Tears pooled behind her shut eyes, but still, she did not open them. The sound of heavy boots thudding towards her made her flinch, but relax once it was accompanied by a familiar voice and the touch of bone to flesh.

It faded then, away from bone and into a human hand covered with flesh and blood and muscle. The warmth radiating from the body in front of her was still high. A sense of comfort overcame her at the presence. Even more so when the being finally spoke up, his voice gentle and worried. A tinge of anger spread itself on his tongue when he did finally speak as well:

“You almost got hurt. Why didn’t you-you should have just taken the normal way to my place, dammit.”

She removed her hands from her eyes and opened them only to see Johnny’s worried face illuminated against the lights of the motorbike. His lips were pulled into a tight line, brows knit with worry as he checked her over for any damage. When he was sure that she wasn’t harmed, he pulled her in for a hug. Alexys returned it, dazed at the events of the night still as tears fell down her face. For the first time, she felt protected. A grin spread on her lips as she buried her face into his shoulder, hugging him so tight that she felt the leather of his jacket bend under her fingertips.

“I was just-just so excited to see you,” She babbled through tears of joy, “I just wanted to see you so I took a shortcut and-”

He cut her off with a kiss, passionate and soft. She returned it, smiling as he clung to her and she him. When his lips removed themselves, he pressed their foreheads together with a sigh, eyes soft as they gazed into her.

“No more shortcuts alright? Sides, you know wherever you are, I’ll always come racing to you.”

Alexys couldn’t bite back the giggle that left her as she nodded, “Alright, deal.”

And in the darkness of the night, they shared another kiss to seal the agreement.

[laur-rants]

Fic Update -- Wolfbann

Chapter 5 - With Great Trepidation

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Corvo/Daud, Past Jessamine/Corvo Rated: Mature Chapter Synopsis: Ever brooding, Daud has a lot on his mind.

AO3 Link

Previous :: First :: Next

The past few months haven't been the worst months Daud has ever lived through, but they certainly weren't his best, either.

He sighed, blue eyes ever sharp, honed like the edge of a blade as he overlooked the flooded Rudshore District he and his Whalers currently called home. It was a quiet night; the rains hadn't yet started in full force, which meant Daud was feeling far too restless, far too caged, and far too lost in his thoughts for his own good.

It gave Daud too much time to focus on the guilt that had plagued him for weeks, sinking into his bones and pulling him down like a blood ox in a mire. It was an ever-present feeling, one that strengthened with each passing day. Worse was the dread that accompanied it, the sense of overlooking something -- but what that something was, he wasn't sure. It left him with zero answers and too much to dwell on, especially since he was taking fewer and fewer contracts while he waited out the inevitable.

Corvo Attano. He would come for Emily -- and for Daud. That was certain; the question now was simply when. And with all the brooding Daud was doing lately, he hoped it would be sooner rather than later.

He inhaled deep, instinctively testing the air, searching for that something that his body and heart were missing. With a surge of Void pulled from the mark on his left hand, he let his senses extend outward, eyes and nose and ears sifting through the trails now opened to him, searching for anything that might be of interest.

But nothing called to Daud. No notes of missing familiarity reached him: just the scent of rotting wood, of stagnant water, of people dying of plague, of his bonded wolves as they go about their lives high above the waterways below.

Nothing of Corvo, though; not a whisper on the wind of the man whose life he had single-handedly dismantled. Daud was sure by this point Corvo was dealing with… changes he wasn't used to, with a confusing new life to get a handle of, of emotions and desires that didn't feel like his own.

Corvo was out there, alone, and the anxiety of that thought threatened to suck Daud further down into its murky trap.

He knew Corvo had escaped prison -- Void, he had helped Corvo find the power to even achieve the feat -- but had no idea where he was now . The bond that tied them together had strengthened in the last few months-- a new sensation for both of them to deal with, he was sure -- but not enough to pinpoint Corvo's location.

The bonding to Corvo was, for all Daud could tell, an unexpected side effect of the wounds he inflicted on the Royal Protector that led to his subsequent turning. It was completely different from his Whalers: they had volunteered to the change and were at least mildly aware of what that would entail. The power of the Void gave Daud the ability to extend his magic to them, which helped him build his base, his pack. But with Corvo…

It was entirely foreign and exceptionally powerful. It had taken days to first set in; Daud had woken up in a cold sweat, body screaming with a phantom pain, his back whipped and burned by an invisible attack, one happening simultaneously to a man wrongly imprisoned on the other side of the city. And at the center of all that blinding sensation, one thought rang out loudest:

Emily. Emilypleasetellmetheydon'thaveEMILY!

It was such a overwhelming urge that Daud succumbed to it entirely ; with little explanation he had sent the twins to go fetch the girl before Burrows could lay a greedy hand on her, praying to the Void -- and to the man his mind was melding with -- that they grabbed the young Empress in time.

They had been successful in bringing Emily back unharmed and for a while it gave Daud a sense of peace; Emily was safe with him and fitting in better than expected. But with no follow-up plan and nothing to do but babysit, the guilt and anxiety began to creep up on him once again.

In truth, Daud didn't know if Corvo would kill or spare him for what he'd done. He deserved to die, he was sure, but that didn't mean he was necessarily prepared for it. In hindsight, Daud should have finished the job and put Corvo out of his misery, but there had been no time and little room for error. Jessamine was dead, along with three of his Whalers at Corvo's capable hand. He had no choice but to back out then, had no choice but to just hope Corvo perished to his wounds, bleeding out from those angry red lines gouged deep into the meat of his arms.

Lesser men would have died by the end of the day. Daud should have known how erroneous it was to count Corvo Attano among lesser men.

He stood up from his perch in front of the financial building, a statue of Jessamine Kaldwin herself, commissioned the year before the place flooded to the point of condemnation. She looked stoic, hardened; all that Daud saw, however, was the shocked face of that same woman, watching as her bodyguard tried one last time to save her before it was too late to stop Daud's claws from sinking deep into her throat.

It had been a quick death, he told himself in a desperate plea to quell the bile in his throat. She barely felt a thing, bled out too quickly to even register her fate.

It still didn't stop the roiling ache in his gut, didn't stop him from regretting…well, damn near everything.

He sighed and turned inside: his left fist clenched and in a rush of smoke he disappeared, reappearing in his dimly lit quarters. He shook out his steaming hand and grimaced; the powers the Outsider had bestowed on him certainly had their uses, but not without a price. The itch of the Void crawled under his skin like his own fur, an all-too-familiar sensation at this point in his life. The mark may have allowed him the ability to control his wolfish transformation but it didn't stop both from begging to be used, nagging at the back of his mind, always reminding him that he was a thing of muscle and fur and claws and teeth.

Not the human he still pretended to be.

He'd carried this curse for near twenty years now. He used it to build his pack, to find his place in Dunwall's underbelly -- but that didn't make it any more normal or comfortable or fitting. He hated what he became, now more than ever for having the audacity to push this curse onto someone else.

Daud grimaced; for all his years working as an assassin, he had one strict, self-imposed rule: never let a bitten body walk away still standing.

Corvo Attano, however, did just that.

And now, Void-be-damned, he wouldn't get out of Daud’s cursed head.

Daud walked over to his desk, feeling the fur bristling just under the surface with every step. Just another reminder he had been in his human skin for far too long, that the beast below was growing impatient. He ignored his own instincts for now, though; what he wanted to do next couldn't be completed in his lupine body.

On his desk, his aged audiograph sat silently, expectantly. The card it held was currently blank; Daud eyed it for a moment before clicking a gloved finger gently against the recorder.

With a soft whirr the machine came to life, ready to catch every word.

“Corvo Attano escaped Coldridge,” he started, voice rough and grating. “He jumped the fence, as it were, and I'm sure he didn’t have a pleasant landing on the other side. His thoughts have been... disjointed since then, so I haven't been able to locate him. I sent Billie out to scout for him, but so far, Corvo hasn't shown hide or hair of himself.”

Daud paused and licked his lips.

“But it'll only be a matter of time until he comes here: looking for me, for my Whalers, for Emily, for answers. But what can I possibly offer him, outside of the safe passage of his daughter so she can ascend to the throne? What could I tell him now, that would make any of this easier to deal with, would convince him not to kill me?”

He felt more than heard the rush of wind outside, of the sound of feet climbing old wood. He ignored it, not stopping for more than a moment before continuing.

“Because I know he'll want to, and not just because of what I did to his Empress. I remember when I first turned: scared of the voice in my head, I had killed the beast with my own hands, had wanted nothing to do with what it was. And now look at me, with my head filled with the voices of my bonded, embracing the form I once hated. I suppose it's now my turn to be slaughtered by the monster of my own making.

“Perhaps it'll be better that way. The Whalers are… they're mine , but when I'm gone I know they can make their way, even without the wolf with them. I can only hope that Corvo will spare them in favor of coming after me and let them move on to future lives.”

A tendril of amusement passed his mind from the across the bond and his lip twitched in response. At least one of them was listening in, but he wasn't paying close enough attention to say exactly who.

“The girl is safe, at least. I made sure Burrows never got his grimy mitts on her. With her back on the throne and Corvo at her side, well… maybe this wretched, plague-destroyed city will still have a chance to be better after all.”

He finally let the recording end, stopping it with a button press. Behind Daud, he could hear the shuffle of tiny feet, and the scent of lilies and summer greeted his nostrils.

“Daud?”

Daud turned. He hadn't expected the young Empress Emily Kaldwin to enter in on his recording, hadn't thought she would care enough to even listen. Her face, as always, was open, curious; she always asked one question with five others waiting to be voiced.

Absently, he raised an eyebrow before looking over her head and out past the door. He couldn't help but wonder if whichever Whaler who was currently supposed to be watching her knew she had slipped away, or if they had let her go because she had simply asked to.

“Isn’t it a bit late for you to be up and about?” He asked back nonchalantly. As he watched, she studiously straightened, hands behind her back as she lifted her chin in an attempt to appear confident in front of Daud.

“Rulfio said it would be okay,” she stated matter-of-factly. “As long as I didn't get caught.”

“So, does this qualify as getting caught?”

Her nose wrinkled.

“Of course not; I revealed myself. Aren't you an assassin? Don't you know the difference already?”

Daud smirked; some would have found it threatening, the ways his scars pulled and his teeth barely flashed, but Emily was different. She stared giant dogs in the face with little to no fear. Daud was no more intimidating in her eyes.

He had to hand it to the girl; for an Empress in the making, she had plenty of moxie to go around.

He walked over and knelt down to her level. Emily's eyes darted away and she worried at her lip; all the trademarks of a girl thinking she's about to be scolded. Still, she managed to meet his eye as he shrugged in response.

“You got me there; I do know that difference, and you're very good at sneaking around if you got this far and I didn't even notice. So what can I do for you at this hour, Emily?”

She took a deep breath, now finding it hard to face him straight on despite her confidence upon appearing in his office.

“Um, well. It's going to be my birthday soon.”

Daud raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

She nodded, rocking on her heels. “Yeah. I-I'll be ten at the beginning of the month.”

Daud licked his lips, a sense of cold trepidation filling his stomach. “I can't promise Corvo will be here by your birthday.”

The look on her face told Daud he had guessed what she was going to ask for without her even saying it. Emily chewed her lip, eyes watering.

“That’s not-- you're sure?”

“I swear I meant it when I said he was out of prison. But Billie is the best I have, and even she isn't sure where he disappeared to.”

Emily took another breath and found her shoes incredibly interesting.

“That’s…that’s fine. You're doing your best, right? D-do you know if he's okay?”

“I don't for sure,” he said softly, but the weight of dismay was heavy on her shoulders. He tried again, shifting on his knee. “But my heart tells me that he'll be just fine.”

“You don't think someone bad found him?”

“No, and I think they’ll have to try their damndest to catch him.”

She smiled then, wiping her eyes dry, and Daud's head tilted, watching her carefully. Something about seeing the girl upset tugged at his heart; he scooted closer, not wanting to touch or scare her.

“I know you miss him,” he said, voice a rough growl even when softened. “But I promise he will come. He could even be on his way now, you never know.”

She huffed out a laugh. “You don't know that. Besides, you said he wouldn't be here for my birthday.”

“I said I couldn't promise he would be here,” he clarified, holding a finger up. “And I don't make promises I can't keep.”

She hummed thoughtfully at that, studying Daud's hand before finally reaching out her palm. Instinctively, he reached out to hold her hand, and she held his palm and traced the lines in the fabric of his gloves.

“You remind me of him a lot,” she said absently. Daud’s jaw clenched tight, but he didn't respond as she continued. “You’re both really good at hiding and seeking, and fighting with a sword.” She made a face and pushed Daud's fingers into a fist.

“Corvo’s really bad at making friends, though.”

Daud barked out a laugh, teeth snapping shut audibly.

“I'm not very good at that either.”

“What do you mean?” She asked incredulously. “You have all the pups with you, they all listen to you, care about you. Aren't they your friends?”

The pups. Daud could feel the smirk tugging at his lips before he could even hope to wipe it away.

“The Whalers are different: they're…” his throat cinched shut as the instinctive feeling coursed through him, the bond that tied them all to Daud by a web of unbreakable string.

“Servants?”

Daud grimaced, shaking his head as a growl rippled out of him.

“Void, no, they are paid but they don't serve me like the maids served you at the tower, nothing like that. They are bound to me, because they chose to be, because they're…”

“Because they're yours? ”

“Yes, they're mine,” Daud snarled; even as he said the words, the magic crackled underneath, a constant undercurrent of the syllables he spoke. It wasn't just a simple declaration of ownership; the Whalers were his, his pack, his clan, his bonded. Bristling protectiveness surged through him for just a moment before settling back down again.

Emily was keen to notice, her brow knitting curiously as she frowned.

“So, you own them? Like, slaves?”

“No,” he stressed, feeling more uncomfortable. He tried again, hoping to assuage her thoughts. “It’s hard to put into words, Emily, but it's not that. I would say it's like what you have with Corvo, but even that doesn't truly justify what they mean to me. There is nothing like it. They are...”

Family, heart, protection, pack. The instinct rushed up strong like a bristling line of fur and he pushed it down with a shaking breath. He opened his closed hand; where there was once fingers in a glove, the tips of glistening black claws revealed themselves, extending off inhuman digits.

“Mine.”

There was a beat between them as the young Empress took his hand in hers again, undeterred by the sharp new arrivals. Daud clenched his jaw under her scrutiny; he didn't like to acknowledge or give into the ferocious emotional attachment that accompanied his bond, but it was flaring worse than ever with Emily hanging around, with her prying questions and open heart. It kept reminding him his protectiveness was a real emotion, instead of just an side effect of the mark he could choose to ignore.

As if sensing his thoughts, her grin turned toothy and she rocked back on her heels, thinking aloud with another one of those innocent queries.

“Well, can we share?”

Daud stiffened, nostrils flaring.

“Share?”

She licked her lips, her fingers tracing the hard pads of his palm.

“Well, maybe just for my birthday. You can have them all other times. But there's plenty to go around, right? And I like them, and you can't just own people you know, so perhaps I can have a few whalers too? Can they also belong to me?”

There was something heavy there, hanging on Emily's words. Daud could smell it, could feel it tingle in the air, thick like smoke, making the wolf of him take pause. She truly was a wild thing, barely contained, like the spark of a fire threatening to blaze free if not kept in check.

He looked, really looked at the girl in front of him, and wondered if it wasn't just Corvo’s emotions that compelled him to take her away that day, but instead something greater, something stronger than all of them put together.

This girl...this Empress, was…

“Sure,” he finally said. Slowly, carefully, he turned his half-formed paw over, so that the glowing mark under the oily fur was visible.

“Would you like me to show you how it works?”

He saw the way her eyes lit up, at the grin splitting her face, and he clenched his fist, the energy rising from the mark like steam.

“This mark on my hand gives my powers to other people,” he told her, voice growling as the magic made it hard for him to maintain his form. “But it doesn't work on everyone, and it won't work on you.”

Her eyes flicked from his hand to his face, brows knitted in disappointment.

“Why not?”

“Because you don't belong to me,” he clarified, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “You belong to Corvo; I could never take you from him.”

“That's fair,” she said, nodding in agreement. “But how do you choose who, then?”

“Well, my Whalers never belonged to anyone until they joined me,” he rumbled out, teeth feeling heavy in his mouth. “There has to be a want, a need on their part, and an emotional trigger on mine. Otherwise…”

He shook his hand. The mark abruptly died, leaving his palm eerily dark.

“Otherwise the magic of the bond fails. Not everyone is cut out for it.”

“I don't understand,” Emily said, smoothing the fur down over his mark. “How does this help me? I can't make the pups belong to me through your magic.”

“Maybe not today, but perhaps one day,” he told her, voice rough. “As for your birthday, magic can help. I'll let the Whalers know you are on loan for the day; if you want to do something, they will help facilitate it. They'll effectively be yours-- for the day.”

Emily gasped, eyes sparkling.

“You mean it?”

“I wouldn't lie to you, Empress.”

She grasped at his hand in hers and choked back a cry, fingers digging into the thin fur there.

“Thank you,” she managed out, as if such a small gesture meant the world to her.

“Of course, Emily. Just let me know when.”

“Can I ask something else, Daud?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I sleep here with you, tonight?”

He blinked at her, but when she didn't meet his eye he finally understood why Rulfio had been so easy to let her leave, despite the late hour and dangerous area. It was probably what she originally asked Rulfio all along.

In lieu of a verbal response Daud instead sighed, letting the air out of him like a valve releasing pressure. His body morphed and dissolved in a cloud of smoke; finally he allowed fur to replace skin, for fangs to replace his teeth, for a hulking body to escape the confines of his human visage.

Most people he had met in his life shook in terror of him, when he transformed. The power of magic is a frightening thing, even more so when it turned a person into a giant monster. But the innocence of a child kept Emily armored against such prejudice. Instead she watched, enamored and unafraid, reaching out to run a hand against hot fur as he bowed his scarred and shaggy head to her.

Gently his mind reached out, brushing against hers in solidarity.

“Of course, Empress.”

“I'm not Empress yet,” she reminded him while tucking her face into the thick strands of his neck.

“Not today,” he said, curling his warm body around her. She settled against him like a pillow. “But perhaps one day.”

The power of his words shook across the connection and she nodded, believing him. It wasn't long after that her mind smoothed out into the even rhythm of sleep, and he pulled his thoughts away from hers as his body shifted closer around her small body.

As he did so, another mind brushed across his across the Bond; a moment of annoyance and humor flickered into his awareness and his ears perked as another large wolf melted into his room.

“Getting sentimental in your old age?”

Ruddy fur burned away to reveal a crimson coat and dark mask, the glass of the eye sockets glowing against the dim light. Daud huffed and rolled his eyes as Billie stood, wiping away the final tendrils of smoke from her arms.

“Hardly,” he stated, but the amusement didn't let up from across the Bond, and his nose curled. “You're back late. No sign of our escapee?”

Billie shook her head, her face unreadable from behind the mask.

“No, sir. It seems like the river dragged Corvo Attano off elsewhere. I think someone else may have found him first, and I didn't want to intervene or reveal myself.”

Daud's glowing blue eyes trained on her.

“Who? One of Lizzie’s men?”

“A river boatman. No affiliation. He appeared harmless… he didn't reek of Burrows, at least. I didn't see where he took him.”

Daud huffed, thinking this over.

“That's a start, at least. Was the other lead looked into?”

“I have Devon and Kieron on follow-up in the Distillery District as we speak.”

“Good work, Billie,” he told her, and had to fight against the feeling of fondness suddenly bubbling up across their bond. His second-in-command felt it anyway; he saw it in the stiffening of her posture, the shift of her feet.

“Going soft with a kid around,” she murmured, and his lip curled in response.

“You're dismissed, Billie,” he growled, bristling.

Billie managed to stifle a laugh, bowed, and disappeared in a flurry of smoke and ash. He felt her mind retreat and sighed, tucking himself tight against the tiny frame of the future Empress. A tiny drop of his earlier dread returned, nagging at his emotions while Emily shifted back into his heavy fur.

Soft. He had never considered himself such, but then again he never saw himself as hard either. Disciplined, intimidating, competent, sure. But the way Billie addressed him anymore felt like he was lacking in those traits, losing his edge.

Was he, though? Did he need to kill to prove he was, in any way, dangerous? Or worth following?

He growled deep in his throat, hating how loud his thoughts felt. Quickly, he closed off his mind from any intrusive Whalers who may have felt his emotional turmoil and gotten curious. He didn't need any more questioning looks than what he already had to endure the past two months.

He just needed Corvo to get here. Sooner, rather than later. Then he could figure out what would happen next, what he should do with himself, because killing just didn't appeal to him like it used to. Assassinating didn't matter when he had a future ruler to protect, with her mother's blood on his hands, and her father’s grief in his heart.

The Empress really was different, he mused bitterly, before finally curling up and surrendering himself to sleep.

[letterstotheone-whomilovemost]

8.11.21

Good morning. It’s almost been a month since I have written to you. For the past eight days now, I’ve been incredibly sick. I got rushed to the ER last Tuesday, and they wrote off what happened as “anxiety” and decided to make me wait for hours upon hours just to decide they weren’t going to see me further (without telling me of course).

I’ve been sitting at the house, doing nothing, literally nothing just laying in bed for the past week. I’ve been trying to get myself to get up and be more active. But it’s tough, you know? Every time I would get up I was getting extremely light-headed. Not like your normal “black out” iron deficiency— but like, actually cause me to almost faint & it made me go into these panic attacks. Now I’ve been suffering with what I’ve been calling “metal mouth”, cause I’ve been tasting this taste that reminds me of chewing on pennies. Yeah, disgusting- believe me I hate it. I’ve been getting nauseous as well, and it’s not like just a random queasy here and there, I’ve been nauseous pretty consistently for the past couple of days. I haven’t even had a true appetite for the past week. And yes, pregnancy has already been ruled out. I took a test, first one gave me a faint positive, and I took another this morning & it showed nothing.

I ended up buying health insurance, dental insurance, AND a tatami mat + futon. I’m honestly pretty fucking stoked. It’s hard getting the health benefits you need when you don’t have an employer, with me being self employed and all. I’m excited to go get my blood work done & to get my vitals checked. I’m going to have to bite the bullet, Yano? I’ve always been scared of doctors, but I gotta stop that shit. I’m twenty two. There’s no reason I should still be scared of doctors, or needles, or drills. /shudder/ I’m trying to get better. I eventually want to get Invisalign for my teeth once I fix all the problems in my mouth. I have to wait 6 months before I can do anything with my mouth, though. That’s the one thing that sucks about dental insurance. BUT! Health insurance will be active as soon as I get my ID cards in the mail :D So, first thing I’ll be doing is booking apts for my vital work & therapy (‘:

I definitely need to get back into therapy, for no reason other than the fact that I’m starting to develop agoraphobia again, and my depression is rearing its ugly head again. I’ve been feeling extremely trapped in my own head as of late. It’s not like I’ve had any reason or anything, and I think that’s why I need to see my therapist again. I know by talking to her, she’s going to be able to see past my own limits and figure out where everything is coming from. I honestly don’t know where any of this came from. Ever since last Tuesday, I’ve just been going through it.

I’ve been so behind on commissions. My work has been getting FUCKED since I’ve been sick. That’s the one thing with being self employed, doing art for a living……. You don’t get paid for time off/sick pay. And MAN, maybe I’m at that age where I need to start taking multi-vitamins. I’m getting older LOL. I’ve been trying to work on my commissions, but man its just so hard when you’re sick. I’m feeling a tad bit better today, and I’ve been feeling better a little bit since yesterday as far as the fatigue/light-headed ness goes. I’m not sure, I’ve been staying hydrated and trying to rest as much as possible, but also trying to move around. They say too much bed rest is bad for you.

Blah! Enough enough about my health bullshit (x I’ll figure out as we go, yeah? Cheers to getting older!

I’ve also been job hunting for a “steady” job that will allow me to get my own place ^-^ I’m really looking forward to our future together, you know?

I hope you’re still wanting the same <3

[md3artjournal]

Feeling sad right now.  Worthless and hopeless, more like it.  

This morning I got out of bed and the first thing I did was draw.  It all ended up bad.  Well, actually, the 4th drawing turned out pretty well.  And it was a re-draw of a sketch I did a few days ago, and in comparison, it was an improvement.  In fact, after all these days of failing to draw everyday and being so out of practice, those original sketches I did a few days ago were already a triumph.  Just doodles and not my best work, but the fact that they’re proof that I finally got myself back to moving pen on paper, back to drawing practice, was significant.  So that fact that I was tackling scale drawings and returning to practicing sketching from models of human figures, was also a step of significant progress.  Heck, the fact that I attempted to go for accuracy and get back into drawing scale humans, vs copping-out to chibi, was all important.  

But I still feel like a failure.  Nothing I did turned out pretty.  Objectively, the 4th drawing today turned out a *little* pretty, but I just can’t see that right now.  I’m too sad.  ;_;  

Maybe I made a mistake listening to a bunch of “artist motivation” YouTube vids.  I have a vetted playlist for “creative motivation”, but today, I just used the autoplay function and let YouTube’s algorithms choose the vids.  Sure, ti was mostly helpful stuff, but the more I dwell on them, the more that ambient things like tone and side messages, jab into me.  And I have untreated depression, so I’m going to dwell and turn neutral memories into poison.  So with all their talk of drawings looking bad without first mastering the fundamentals and how even someone who has drawn for years but not mastered the fundamentals will still suck (in comparison to a newbie who’s studying consciously), I can’t stop thinking about how I am the exemplary “bad art major” used as comparison.  No, that’s not my big problem right now.  Right now, I can’t stop thinking about how after all these years, I just can’t get myself to study “the fundamentals”.  I’ve never been good at perspective, anatomy, and all that.  And every time I sit myself down and force myself to practice it all, I just end up so frustrated, that I ended up with nothing pretty and wasted so much time, that I end up acting nasty to someone, then I have to regret _that_ for all time.  I hate studying.  I just want to get my stories down, and manifest the images in my head.  Even when they’re not technically good, they’ve always made me happy.  I was storyboarding comics before I ever became an art major or studied “fundamentals”.  But I do often feel bad that my drawing aren’t good.  But studying fundamentals makes me so miserable.  So I never study them, and my drawings continue to be bad.  …Though secretly, they make me happy, just capturing some feeling from the image in my head.  Still, technically bad though. 

I always end up in these pessimistic spirals when my depression come around.  Maybe I’ll just crawl into bed and give up on getting any of my other projects done today.  I thought that maybe I could make up for how bad I feel about how terrible I am at illustration, by working on sculpting.  Surely, that would end up better and give me a much needed self-esteem boost.  And I really do need to sculpt.  There are so many things to get done for artist alley in 1.5 months, and gods know I don’t make my money from illustration.  But I just feel so spiritually tired right now, maybe I’ll just go to bed for the rest of the day, or a few hours.  I tried binge-eating chocolate junk food to make myself feel better.  It didn’t work.  That’s why I’m writing.  Writing always makes me feel better.  That’s why it saddens me to know I neglected it for so long, that I haven’t written a story (I could be proud of) in years, after Writing used to be a major part of my identity.  ;___;  I gotta stop finding more stuff to feel sad about.  Maybe that’s why I need to go to bed; to shut off my brain.  Being alive is an endless nightmare; I don’t know how people do it.  

Maybe I need to go back to drawing tigers, or at least animals.  Something that looks prettier than humans—even when I make sketching mistakes.  That’s always been an esteem boost before.  Then when my hands gets re-accustomed to drawing, I’ll go back to that staircase up, drawing humans.  And more importantly, back to drawing fan-art of characters I love.  

There are so many jewelry charms I’ve wanted to sculpt for artist alley, but after last year discovering that past customers have broken the things they’ve bought from me, I’m reluctant to make anything.  They’ll just say my products are bad some more.  I keep screaming to myself that they’re unreasonable for thinking polymer clay, designed as jewelry pendants, could stand up to the thick, jagged metal of keys.  And how am I more culpable for customers who break my ornaments, than customers of illustration artists, who crumple their posters and somehow think that’s the artist’s fault.  I do durability checks on my products, but I also don’t expect them to have the same resilience of industrial plastics and acrylic charms.  Since last year, I’ve been posting “handle with care” warnings at my artist alley table, and I’ve discovered that other polymer clay artists include “care instructions” with each of their products, which is a practice I’d like to try.  But I still feel so stunted with fear to make anything, because I’m afraid people will buy charms from me, crush the on keys, or just throw them into a tote bag to swing around the rest of the convention, to come back and make me feel bad that my sculptures are at fault for not being as durable as the industrial plastics they get from Wal-mart.  I’ve been too afraid to make anything.  For a long time now.  This time last year, I was frantically producing pendants.  Now I’m too afraid to make anything, and I’ve got an ENORMOUS backlog of projects and designs I’ve been itching to get done in time for my yearly, biggest convention.   I’ve been thinking more and more that I’m not cut out for making a living as an artist or in artist alley. I’ve been thinking of quitting next year, since it’s the end of the decade, and possibly making this year or next year, my last year.  I kept telling myself that my social anxiety would be best served by opening an online shop, but I’m so afraid of all the hellish customer stories I’ve heard about online from people who take commissions or have to deal with customers who complain about shipping problems.  I’m afraid of the problems I’ve heard with PayPal.  I haven’t even gotten the guts to get a free Square credit card reader, after all these YEARS—and it was the reason I got my first smartphone a few years ago!  I’m too afraid to do this artist thing.  A comedian once noted that VanGogh failed during his lifetime, because he was too mentally ill to do the networking, required of a successful art career.  Maybe it’s time I accept that.  But I’ve been there before, in non-art office jobs.  I just goof off, writing and wishing I could use my time/energy to make things instead.  Had money though.  I could use money again.  …But I also tried before to use Consumerism as a means to make me happy, since the cubicle job took away all my time/energy for anything else for fulfillment.  And that failed before too.  All my paths and possibilities look like failures and I feel trapped.  I don’t’ know if that’s reality or just my depression.  I really can’t tell the difference anymore.  

[tialovestelevision]

I Fall to Pieces

Here’s one I’ve very much not been looking forward to, because it’s full of body horror and abusive behavior by men, two of my least favorite things. But I’m blogging my way through Angel, so blog my way through Angel I must. 1. We open on an LA sunset. The sun certainly gets big in the West. 2. Doyle is attracted to Angel. Maybe not as much as he is to Cordy, but he is. 3. Doyle’s having a vision. He needs pen, paper, and scotch. I’m not having a vision, but I need those things too. 4. “Maybe I’m a little attracted.” I loved the slow-motion walk out there with both of them staring after him. I’m very rarely attracted to men, and think David Boreanaz is exceptionally hot. 5. People are decorating a cake. Melissa is being stalked. She looks terrified when she gets a card from Ronald. 6. Melissa is taking meds. Probably antidepressants. She thought Angel was someone else. Probably Ronald. Angel is scaring Melissa. 7. Yes, Angel, you’re intimidating. 8. Huh. Doyle has a good point. If someone’s asking for money up front, as long as they’re not simultaneously setting off red flags (and there’s a lot of red flags to set off, in a world where confidence jobs have gotten as sophisticated as they are in this one), I’m more likely to trust them early than if they just do a thing. I know what’s in it for them. 9. Doyle is smarter than he looks. 10. Ronald changed Melissa’s PIN. He also knows she’s taking meds, which are apparently tranquilizers. Gods, I hate him. I think I hate him more than I hate Russell, and he’s out during the day so he won’t die in a way that’s as satisfying as Russell’s photoexplosive defenestration. 11. What would help with her anxiety is Ronald vanishing from existence. 12. “How can two people in love with each other leave each other alone?” “In love? Ronald, we had one date.” This is not an uncommon behavior from men. 13. “I’ll see you tonight,” Ronald says. 14. Ronald was HER doctor. And pressured her into a date. And is now stalking her. 15. Well, now Angel knows something supernatural is going on. 16. The coffee is really terrible. Angel has a good excuse for knowing things. 17. Cordy is suggesting mundane explanations. Angel thinks Doyle’s visions mean supernatural. I’m not sure if he’s right. 18. “Ok, flesh, any time you want to stop crawling is ok with me.” With you there, Cordy. 19. Ronald has a photo of Melissa on his desk, because of course he does. He’s also short an eye, because it’s hovering in Melissa’s house watching her undress. My flesh is extra-crawly. 20. Angel is meeting with Kate at work. She thinks it’s good to see her. 21. “Girl. Client. She’s being stalked. I think it could get ugly.” “She’s being stalked. Then ugly it already is.” Kate wins Best Point of the Episode. 22. Hey, Doyle’s keeping an eye on Melissa. Good move, Angel’s people! 23. Ronald’s hired Wolfram & Hart. 24. Kate just talked to Angel about how traumatic being stalked is. 25. Angel’s doing a bit of the old break-and-enter on Ronald’s office. Found Ronald’s picture of Melissa, his paperwork, fun statuary. Ronald is talking to a woman in the next room. Angel found a book. 26. Now he’s talking to Ronald, pretending to be a man with a sick wife only Ronald can save. Ronald thinks Melissa is his fiancee. Angel is playing this guy hard. Very, very hard. 27. Cordy is also lying. She’s talking to someone else at the hospital. Ronald developed ways to make reattaching limbs more effective. Now Cordy is being a tabloid reporter. Ronald doesn’t tell people how his work works. 28. “What is stalking nowadays, like the third most popular sport among men?” 29. Because of his time as a soulless monster, Angel understands how Ronald thinks. 30. Angel is meeting with the guy who taught Ronald to do things. 31. 80% of the brain is not untapped! 32. He helped Ronald meet psychic surgeons. Ronald was better at it, and that terrified the guy who taught him. 33. Here come the police Kate sent. They found Ronald outside Melissa’s apartment. He can’t put his hands up. They’re climbing up Melissa’s bed. Why can his eyes levitate but not his hands? 34. Ohgodohgodohgod hands… under her blanket. She just saw them, and the police Kate sent is going to check on her beause she’s screaming. 35. Police thinks Kate is having a bad dream. But now he’s being strangled by Ronald’s hands, while Ronald is outside strangling him. Angel got there to protect Melissa, but Ronald saw him. Angel knows what Ronald can do, but Ronald doesn’t know what Angel can do. 36. The hands reattaching was CREEEEPY. 37. Kate got prints. Disembodied hands should leave prints. 38. Doyle, why are you even SUGGESTING the idea of what you’re suggesting? 39. Angel wants to put Ronald in boxes. 40. Ronald is calling Angel’s office. 41. This is a trap, Angel. “If he comes apart on me, he’s gonna stay that way.” 42. Ronald just blasted Angel with a dart carrying a coronary paralytic. That’s… not gonna help much. 43. It’s helping more than it should. I’m not sure how poisons and vampires are supposed to interact. Ronald’s going to go try to kill Melissa now, and Cordy and Doyle who are between him and Melissa. 44. “People need people.” 45. Ronald is at Angel’s house. Doyle has a battleaxe, and Cordy has a dagger. They’re looking for Ronald-parts, but Ronald is in the house. 46. The hand was a distraction, and now both Cordy and Doyle are out of commission. 47. He’s creepier when he talks than when he comes apart. 48. “Angel was right, Ronald. You’re weak.” “I’m weak? Then how is it I killed him?” “Inefficiently.” Heh. 49. Huh. It hruts Ronald to beat up his parts. And Angel broke his jaw. 50. Angel just hit Ronald in the head. That seems to have finished him off. 51. Ronald is now in 12 boxes buried in concrete. 52. Melissa is happy to have paid Angel for his work. Because she needs to know she doesn’t owe him. 53. “You guys go on. I think I’ll stay here and not burst into flame.” Overall: Is it possible to be pleasantly surprised in spite of not enjoying a work? Because that’s what happened here. I didn’t much enjoy this episode - it had its moments, mostly in exquisitely well-crafted dialogue, but the premise was so squicky and unpleasant that it overwhelmed those few moments of fun. But it also managed something the Buffyverse works have, thus far, usually failed to do. It made its point clearly and effectively. And for that, I very much commend it.